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A loud tone echoed through the house, breaking the silence in the living room as Michael was still trying to come to terms with the realization that his best friend had been murdered. His eyes flew to Alina, but she was already out of her chair and moving across the living room, heading for the tablet she kept in a drawer in the kitchen.
“Are you expecting company?” he asked, standing and glancing at the sliding door to the deck.
“I wasn't expecting you, but here you are.”
He grunted and moved toward the door.
“The last time that thing went off, someone was trying to kill you.”
Alina glanced at his back as he peered out the glass door into the night. She didn't think she'd mention the Pittsburgh incident. He'd had enough dumped in his lap tonight.
She lowered her eyes to the tablet and swiped the screen, bringing up the security cameras. The front quadrant was flashing. She tapped the area and frowned at the sight of a maroon Mustang weaving through the trees.
“It's Stephanie,” she announced, setting the tablet down on the island.
Michael turned away from the door and glanced at his watch.
“Well, that's a relief,” he said, going back to the couch. “I don't think I'm up for any more surprises.”
“I did warn you,” Alina said, striding toward the sliding door. “You're the one who wanted to know.”
“I know.” He leaned his head back tiredly and rubbed his face. “And I'm glad I know. It's just something of a shock. I knew something was going on, but I never dreamed it went back to Iraq.”
“Why would you? It's not like there was any reason for you to think Dave's death was anything other than what it appeared to be.” She paused with her hand on the door and looked back at him. “If you had, I know you would have started a second war trying to find the bastard.”
“Damn straight I would have.”
Alina nodded and unlocked the door, sliding it open as the Mustang rolled around the side of the house. The headlights illuminated Michael's truck, wheels crunched on gravel, and then Stephanie pulled up next to the F150, killing the engine. Alina stepped out onto the deck, tamping down the fresh wave of anger that washed through her. The emotion was useless right now. It would only cloud her judgment when she needed to be sharp to deal with her old friend.
Stephanie Walker opened the door and reached for something from the passenger side. A cane appeared and Alina watched as she awkwardly got out of the car, leaning on it heavily. She pursed her lips. While Stephanie had been released from the hospital, she was clearly still having problems walking after taking a rifle shot in her leg.
Stephanie closed the door and looked toward the deck, raising her free hand in a wave.
“Hi!” she called, starting across the grass toward the deck. Her purse hung across her body and Alina watched as she dropped her keys into the outside pocket. “Am I interrupting?”
Alina shook her head.
“Not at all,” she replied once the other woman had reached the steps to the deck. “He stopped here on his way to New York.”
Stephanie started up the few steps to the deck.
“Is Damon here too?”
“No. Just Michael.” Alina went over to the sliding door and stood aside so Stephanie could make her way into the house. “How's the leg?”
“Sore. The muscle is all torn up and, as you can see, I need help walking for now. They said it would be a few weeks before it's strong enough to go without the cane.”
Alina raised an eyebrow skeptically, following her into the house. She'd been shot in the leg in the past and, while it certainly wasn’t fun, it hadn't put her out of commission for weeks. Then again, not much could keep her down, she admitted to herself. She wasn't built that way, nor did her chosen profession allow it. If she was down for any amount of time, she became a target. It was that simple.
“Hi Michael,” Stephanie said, nodding to the man on the couch. “How's it going?”
“Not bad. How are you hanging in there?”
Stephanie shrugged and pulled her purse over her head to drop it onto the bar.
“I'm doing the best I can. Honestly, I'm just glad to be out of the hospital and back to work.”
“You're back to work?” Alina asked, moving around her and into the kitchen.
“Part-time.” Stephanie eased herself onto a bar stool, sighing as her weight came off her leg. “Rob didn't want me back at all, but I'm helping Blake out so he didn't have much of a choice. He agreed to let me in the office three days a week if I go to physical therapy on the other two. And no field work, as if I could.”
“Drink?” Alina asked, going to the fridge.
“I'll take a water, thanks.”
Alina looked into the living room.
“Michael, do you want another beer?”
“Sure. Why not?” he answered, picking up their empty bottles and coming around the couch. “I'll bring replacements on my way back from Brooklyn.”
She pulled out two waters and a beer and turned away from the fridge, letting the door swing closed behind her.
“No need,” she told him. “Damon keeps it stocked now, and I hardly ever drink it.”
Michael set the empty bottles in the sink and turned to take the fresh one from her.
“Thanks.”
Alina walked over to the bar, handing Stephanie one of the water bottles. As she took it, Alina swiped the screen on her tablet and began tapping away.
“Resetting the perimeter?” Michael asked, opening the beer. “You're nothing if not thorough.”
Alina's lips curved faintly, but she didn't answer. A moment later, she locked the screen and left the tablet on the bar, a few inches from Stephanie's purse.
“Come into the living room,” she said, straightening up and heading that way. “You can sit in the recliner and put your leg up.”
Stephanie slid off the stool and leaned on the cane, turning toward the living room.
“Where's Damon?” she asked, hobbling into the living room and toward the recliner.
Alina sat on the couch, her gaze hooded.
“Working.”
Stephanie gaped at her.
“Working?!” she exclaimed. “Angela said he'd been shot! What's he doing working?”
“He'll be fine,” Alina said, amused. “It's been two weeks. He's not full-strength, but it takes more than that to keep us down.”
Stephanie made a face and dropped into the recliner.
“I couldn't even contemplate field work right now,” she muttered, pushing back on the chair and elevating her legs. “I'm a useless gimp.”
“Damon wasn't shot in the leg,” Michael said, sitting on the other end of the couch. He shot Alina a look of mild reproach. “If he had been, he wouldn't be working.”
“I wouldn't be so sure of that,” Alina retorted, opening her water and taking a sip. “He's a stubborn bastard.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Stephanie said pointedly and Alina’s lips curved faintly.
“I make no apologies.”
“So what's new with you?” Michael asked Stephanie, sipping his beer. “Has Trent been transferred to Florida all safe and sound?”
Stephanie shook her head, sobering.
“That's actually why I'm here.”
Alina stilled and stared at her old friend, her body tensing as she waited for her to continue. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't what came next.
“Trent is dead.”
“What?” Michael gaped at her. “What the hell do you mean he's dead?”
“Dead. Ceasing to live. Heart no longer beating. Dead.”
“How?” Alina asked, watching Stephanie's face.
“His throat was cut.” Stephanie drank some more water and then capped the bottle. She shuddered. “Actually, it was more than cut. His trachea was ripped out.”
Alina pressed her lips together and glanced at Michael. He looked stunned.
“How the hell did that happen?” he demanded.
Stephanie shrugged.
“That's what we're trying to figure out,” she said tiredly. “It happened tonight, around six. He was alone in an interrogation room. When the agent went to escort him back to his holding cell, he was dead.”
“Cameras?” Alina asked sharply.
“Showed nothing. One minute, Trent was sitting there, waiting. The next minute, he’d bled out all over the floor.”
“That's not possible,” Michael protested.
“Actually, it is,” Alina murmured. “It's a closed circuit feed directly into the server in the basement. If you're tapped into the network, you can override the cameras and replace the live feed. Or, as in this case, simply pause the camera until you want to restart it.”
“Why does that sound familiar?” Michael wondered, glancing at her. “Oh wait. That’s right. It’s what you did to the security cameras when you clocked me over the head and left me unconscious in the parking garage at work last summer.”
Alina’s lips quivered.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Stephanie glared at her.
“You’ve done this? It’s a thing? Is that how you broke into Matt's lab to run tests on bomb residue?”
Alina shrugged, the faintest smile on her lips.
“Possibly.”
“Wait, you broke into the FBI building?” Michael asked, diverted. “When?”
“Allegedly broke into the FBI building.”
“When Matt went to test the residue left on John's car after the accident, all the results were already in the system,” Stephanie explained, shooting Alina another glare. “Alina already knew about the residue. It didn't take much imagination to figure it out. I did wonder how, though. At least now I know how you got around the cameras. How you got past all the rest of the security is still a mystery.”
Alina smiled faintly but was silent.
“If someone tapped into the network, they would have to be in the building,” Michael said, returning to the main topic. “So it was someone inside.”
“And someone he knew,” Stephanie agreed with a nod. “There was an interview in progress in the next room and they didn't hear any screams. There was no sign of struggle at all. It looked like he just sat in the chair and let someone cut his throat.”
Alina was silent, staring down at her water bottle.
“Who had access to him?” Michael asked. “Who knew he was in there?”
Stephanie shook her head.
“Not many. I knew, the agent questioning him obviously knew, and Rob knew. That's it.” She shrugged. “He was supposed to be back in his holding cell when it happened. He wasn’t even supposed to still be in interrogation.”
“When was he being transferred?” Alina asked, glancing up.
“In the morning.”
Michael looked at Alina. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
She nodded.
“It was the last chance someone had before he was moved.”
“Care to enlighten the clueless gimp over here?” Stephanie demanded. “What do you mean? Who? And why before he was moved?”
“I think the real question is how did they know he hadn't already talked?” Alina said. “I'm assuming he hadn't?”
“I don't know, because I don't know what you're talking about!” Stephanie exclaimed. “You're talking in riddles again. I hate it when you do that!”
Alina's eyebrows moved into her forehead and she glanced at Michael.
“Am I talking in riddles?”
He grinned.
“No, but then I know where you're headed with this. She doesn't.”
“I swear to you, Lina, if you don't start talking, I'm going to beat you with this cane!”
Alina looked at her, amused.
“You're welcome to try,” she murmured. Then she laughed and held up her hands as Stephanie reached for the walking stick. “Ok, ok! Calm down.”
She set the cane down and looked at her expectantly.
“What did Trent say in his evidence?” Alina asked. “Was it all about the women he'd killed in Florida?”
Stephanie nodded.
“Yes. After he confessed to the killings with Michael, he came over to us and we've been going through the victims and how he planned it.”
“And Angela?”
“He never told me how he knew to target her,” Michael said suddenly, looking at her. “I asked him that night like you wanted, but all he said was that he met her in Miami and liked the way she looked.”
Alina met his gaze for a beat, then turned her eyes on Stephanie.
“Is that what he told you?” she asked.
Stephanie nodded.
“That's all he would say. We went at him from a couple different angles, but that's all we got out of him. He liked the way she looked.”
Alina's lips tightened briefly and Stephanie watched her.
“You don't believe him, do you?”
Viper looked up and Stephanie repressed a shiver at the look in her eyes.
“No.”
“You think he was killed because of Angela?” Stephanie asked after a moment. “Why?”
“Did you question him about the Cartel? Or Trasker?” Alina asked Michael, ignoring the question.
He nodded. “I did, but I didn't get anywhere. He didn't crack.”
“Hello?” Stephanie waved from the recliner. “You're doing it again!”
Alina sighed imperceptibly and looked at her.
“You know he worked for Trasker Pharmaceuticals, and that Trasker was the company that manufactured the Ebola virus Asad was going to use to infect thousands of people.”
“Yes.”
“It never occurred to you that he targeted Angela after you and I stopped that attack?” Alina asked her.
Stephanie stared at her.
“Well, it's a hell of a coincidence, I'll grant you that, but you think it was intentional? To what purpose? How could he possibly have known that she was friends with either of us?”
“How could an assassin possibly have known that I was in New Jersey?” Alina countered.
Stephanie rubbed her forehead.
“So you think someone was feeding Trent information. Ok. That would explain how he knew who Angela was, but it doesn't answer why. What did he have to gain by targeting Angela? She had nothing to do with those attacks. She wasn't even here! She was already in Miami.”
Michael sucked in his breath beside her, and Alina knew he'd just realized what she figured out two weeks ago when she learned Trent's identity.
“It had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks!” he exclaimed.
“What?” Stephanie looked from one to the other. “What do you mean?”
Michael looked at Alina, but her lips were pressed together thoughtfully and she was staring down at her water bottle again, lost in thought.
“I...” he paused, not sure if he should say what he was thinking without Viper's permission.
Alina sighed softly beside him and looked up.
“Angela wasn't targeted because of Asad's attack,” she said. “She was targeted because of me.”
Stephanie frowned, her eyebrows coming together sharply.
“I don't understand. Why go after Angie? She doesn't even know what you really do.”
“No, but they know I'll protect her.”
Her words fell heavily, and Stephanie gasped as understanding hit.
“Oh my God! They were trying to draw you out!”
Michael took a long gulp of beer, his gut tightening as it always did when he considered that someone in his government was trying to kill Alina. Again.
“And they used Trent to do it,” said Alina.
Stephanie drank some more water and ran a hand through her hair.
“He never said a word that indicated he was acting on anything other than his own sick desire to kill,” she said, shaking her head. “He never said anything about his work, or the virus, or any of that. To be honest, I only asked a couple questions about the virus. DHS is running their own investigation into that and we've been advised to steer clear of anything that could compromise their investigation. So my questions to Trent were really only related to his victims.”
“You recorded the interviews?” Michael asked suddenly.
She nodded. “Of course.”
He looked at Alina.
“That's how they knew he hadn't talked yet. If they could tap into the network to freeze the cameras and get in and out of the room unseen, they could review the evidence audio,” he said. “Once Trent was transferred to Florida, they might not have had the opportunity to get to him before he did cave, especially if DHS came in.”
Alina nodded.
“And there’s another one dead,” she agreed. “Although, I can't say I'll lose any sleep over this one.”
“Lina, this is getting ridiculous,” Stephanie said, lowering her legs and leaning forward. “It's not safe here for you! First an assassin shoots up John's funeral, now you tell me Angela was attacked because they wanted to get to you. Damon's been shot. I've been shot. They know about New Jersey. Hell, they might even know about this house. They're not going to stop until you're dead!”
“I know.”
Stephanie’s mouth dropped open.
“That's it? You know? That's all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?” Alina asked, her voice even and her face impassive.
“That you'll leave!” Stephanie exclaimed. “You've been trained to be invisible. Use it! Run. Get far away and stay hidden until...”
“Until what? Until they give up? Steph, that's not gonna happen.”
“I was going to say until they're caught.”
“They'll never be caught,” Alina said flatly. “They're too well protected.”
Stephanie sat back and looked at her.
“So what then? You're just going to wait until they kill you?”
“Hardly.” Viper's voice was like ice, and Michael winced. “I'm going to kill them first.”