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Viper glanced up from her magazine in the hotel lobby as the elevator opened and Trent strode out. He was wearing a high turtle neck, and his right arm was heavily bandaged and in a sling. He didn’t look around, but went straight through the lobby to the front desk. He spoke to the person behind the counter for a few moments before turning to leave through the front doors. Viper turned her eyes to the desk, watching as the employee typed into the computer. She watched him for a moment thoughtfully, then closed her magazine and glanced at her watch.
Standing, she moved toward the elevator, tucking her magazine into the oversized tote bag slung over her shoulder. Honestly, Alina didn’t know how women carried bags like this around all day. They were large, heavy, and got in the way of everything. However, it served a purpose for her right now in portraying an image. Not one employee in this hotel would remember the bored guest waiting in the lobby for someone.
The elevator opened and Viper stepped into it, pressing the button for the eighteenth floor with her knuckle. She kept her head down and angled away from the camera in the corner, focusing on her phone in her hand. When the doors opened, she never looked up from the screen as she stepped out of the elevator and turned left. As soon as she was halfway down the silent corridor, Alina tucked it into her pocket and lifted her head, going straight to Trent’s door. She bent over the handle and was inside a moment later.
Unlike Kyle and his two-room suite, Trent occupied a standard, no-frills, queen room with adjoining bath. It was small, functional, and would take all of ten minutes to search. Alina pulled out a pair of gloves, sliding them on as she looked around.
The room wasn’t a mess, but it was certainly feeling the absence of housekeeping. The bed was rumpled and unmade, the trash can needed emptying, and towels were tossed on the floor in the bathroom. A rolling luggage bag lay open on a chair with clothes half in and half out. An assortment of pill bottles littered the dresser and Alina picked one up, glancing at the prescription. Percocet. Another was amoxicillin. She put them back and turned to the suitcase. Nothing of interest there, she decided a minute later. Turning, she went over to the small, functional desk and looked down. A cord hung out of one of the drawers, plugged into the outlet on the wall. Alina reached out and opened the drawer, raising an eyebrow when she saw the slim laptop inside.
Viper pulled out the laptop and sat down, opening it. There was no password protection, and a second later she was opening his email. Scanning it quickly, the only item of interest she found was a receipt for a pair of train tickets to Washington, DC. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and closed out of the email. On the desktop was an unnamed folder and she clicked on it. Opening the first image file, her breath caught and her eyes narrowed sharply. She was staring at a photograph of Angela’s house.
Viper opened all the photos in the folder, shaking her head when she finished.
“That’s not creepy at all.”
There were over thirty photos of Angela, her house, her car, and a whole set of Angela and Stephanie out to dinner. Viper stared at them and her lips tightened. These were surveillance photos. Trent must have started watching her the night he got into town. Alina tilted her head, studying one of the photos of Angela and Stephanie at dinner. Something was nagging at her memory. Something with Stephanie...her head straightened suddenly. The car! Angela came out of work to a flat tire, and Stephanie went to get her. That must be the night they were at dinner.
Viper’s lips thinned unpleasantly. After looking at the photos, there was no doubt in her mind Trent was the one who slashed Angela’s tire. He was probably hoping for a quick and easy grab while she was stranded by the side of the road. Unfortunately for him, Stephanie came to the rescue before Angie ever left the safety of the parking lot.
Viper pulled a flash drive out of her inside jacket pocket and plugged it into the laptop, copying the files over quickly. Trent was targeting Angela, but why? Why was Angela so important?
And why the hell did he just buy two train tickets to Washington, DC?
––––––––
Michael filed off the train with the rest of the passengers, glancing at his watch as he stepped onto the crowded platform. It was rush hour and the commuter traffic was heavy as men and women hurried to get home. Michael followed the wave to the escalators and rode it up to the main hall, his head up and his eyes alert. He didn’t care much for crowds and his time in combat made him uncomfortable with noise over a certain decibel, both of which were out of control during rush hour in 30th Street Station. Since rejoining the civilians in the city, he’d learned to keep his head up and his eyes moving. It helped keep the anxiety at bay.
Michael looked up at the sea of humanity in the main lobby as the escalator ascended. It was just before he reached the top that he saw him. First, it was just his profile, but then the man turned his head to look behind him, affording Michael a full view of his face. It was a face Michael had spent hours studying a few weeks ago while he was trying to track him down. It was a face that Michael doubted he would ever forget.
It was also a face that was supposed to be dead.
Michael pushed past the man in front of him as the escalator reached the main floor and quickly moved through the crowds, keeping his eyes on the back of the head a few yards in front of him. How was it possible? His mind raced as he kept the man in sight. Asad Jamal was dead, killed by Viper a few weeks ago. Yet, there he was in front of him, moving through the crowded 30th Street Station.
His lips tightened, and he watched as Asad passed through an exit and onto the street. What was going on? First one of the terrorists floated up in the Potomac, now here was another one who was supposed to be dead. Did Viper know he was still alive? Where was the third one? And what were they still doing here?
Michael pushed through the exit and looked up and down the crowded sidewalk. He caught sight of him half a block down, walking rapidly with his head down. Michael turned and started after him, keeping within easy distance in the steady foot traffic. It was much less crowded on the street, and Michael felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The fresh air felt good on his face, and he fell into a steady stride as he followed Asad down Market Street. He reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone, pressing speed-dial and holding it to his ear as he walked. The phone rang once and went straight to voicemail. Viper wasn’t picking up. He put his phone away and glanced at his watch. If Asad led him to the other one, he had to alert someone. Viper was the preferable choice. Failing that, he would have to call in reinforcements in the form of Blake and Stephanie, and that was something he didn’t want to do.
One block turned into two, and then three. After fifteen minutes, Michael was beginning to wonder just where Asad was going. Market Street was wide and busy, and the evening traffic was heavy, but Asad just kept striding along the sidewalk, heading east. The only time he paused was near City Hall, where he stopped to look up at the impressive facade before continuing on and turning onto Filbert Street. Here the foot traffic was lighter, and Michael allowed the distance between them to extend. He needn’t have worried. Asad never once looked back, crossing to the next block without slowing his stride. He turned the corner at 12th Street, disappearing from view, and Michael broke into a run, closing the gap quickly and rounding the corner a minute later. He was just in time to see his quarry disappear into the Reading Terminal Market.
Michael hurried to the entrance and went inside the busy indoor farmers market, looking around quickly. He frowned, scanning the area before beginning to move through the market slowly. After a few minutes, he gave up and let out a low curse.
Asad had disappeared.
Stephanie jolted awake when her phone began ringing. She looked around, disoriented, trying to find the source of the noise.
“Here.” Blake’s deep voice cut through her sleep haze and she looked over to see him holding out her phone. “It slipped down the side and I grabbed it before it fell.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the phone. “Hello?”
“How’s the leg?” Lenny asked cheerfully.
“Umm...fine...I think,” said Stephanie, shifting to sit up higher on the pillows. “I can’t really feel anything right now.”
“Hey, take it while you can,” he told her. “When I got shot in the shoulder, I thought it was a walk in the park until I went home and didn’t have the good drugs anymore.”
“Great. Something to look forward to.”
“I’ve got some news for you. It looks like there might be something in that hunch of yours. I talked to the sister of one of the victims, and the best friend of another. They both told me almost the same thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The victims were friendly with a man in their building. When I showed them Trent’s picture, the one recognized him. The other said she never saw him but she knew the name was Trent. Both victims really liked him and thought he was a nice, sweet guy. Now, that in itself isn’t much.”
“It’s not,” Stephanie agreed. “So they knew him. He lived in their building, after all.”
“It gets better,” Lenny assured her. “Turns out both victims ended up having a problem with their garbage disposals. Guess who offered to help?”
“The sweet, nice neighbor?”
“Bingo. He was very helpful. They were both thrilled not to have to call a plumber or handyman. But here’s the best part. When police interviewed everyone in the buildings after the disappearances, Trent denied ever having met either of them. His statements claim he was rarely home because he traveled extensively for work.”
“That’s not enough to hang him, but it’s a start. What about the other two victims?”
“I’m checking them out tomorrow. I’ll let you know what I find out. I just wanted to let you know you were onto something. I hope it helps.”
“It does. Thank you!”
Stephanie disconnected and stared across the room frowning.
“What’s wrong?” Blake asked, looking up from his tablet.
“That was Agent Thomas from Miami,” she said, setting the phone down on the bed beside her. “I called him yesterday. Turns out this Trent character has lived in four different condos in the past four years.”
“He’s having trouble settling on one?”
“Apparently. The weird part is that in each of those four buildings, a woman disappeared in the year he was there.”
Blake frowned.
“That seems a little coincidental.”
“Exactly. So I asked Lenny to look at the files and see what he could find out,” said Stephanie, reaching for a bottle of water on the table next to her. “He did even better. Today he actually talked to friends of two of the victims. Turns out both victims knew Trent, and liked him. He fixed both their garbage disposals for them.”
“What a nice guy.”
“Yep. A real stand-up neighbor. Except when the police interviewed everyone in the buildings, he said he never met either of the victims.”
“And that’s where it unravels,” said Blake. “They always do something stupid, like lie about something that’s easy to check. Did the police ever find the women?”
“Yes. Their bodies turned up months later.”
Blake shook his head with a frown.
“And there are no leads at all?”
“Nope. All four murders are still unsolved.”
“If we presume Trent is the killer, and that he’s targeted Angela, why change his MO now? Why target someone who lives states away? That makes no sense.”
“I know.” Stephanie sighed, capping her water. “None of it makes sense, but something isn’t adding up, and he’s right in the middle of it.”
“You have to tell Michael,” said Blake. “They should know what we’re thinking.”
Stephanie nodded and reached for her phone.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “I’ll call Lina. She’s the one who asked me to see what I could learn about Trent.”
Blake raised an eyebrow.
“She did? When was this?”
“The other night. She stopped by to see me.”
Blake watched as she lifted the phone back to her ear.
“I’m a little surprised she asked for your help.”
“I’m not,” said Stephanie, glancing at him. “As much as she hates to admit it, she’s only one person and she can’t do everything alone.”
“From what I’ve seen, that doesn’t stop her from trying.”
“True enough, but something’s changed. I’m not sure what, but she’s changed. She’s being more distant and focused. This is how she was when she first came back, only it’s worse than it was last year.”
Blake considered her thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, really. It’s just a gut feeling I got when she was here the other night. I can’t really explain it.” Stephanie lowered the phone. “She’s not answering. I’ll try again in a few minutes.”
“Do you think she’s working on another terrorist attack?”
Stephanie shrugged.
“I don’t know. She’s working on something, and I think it’s tied in with John, but who knows.”
Blake frowned.
“What the hell did John get himself into?”
Stephanie looked at him.
“That’s what I’ve been asking myself for the past three days.”
Damon walked into the kitchen, glancing at Angela. She was bent over her laptop in the dining room. He’d give her this: she worked hard. She’d been on the phone for most of the afternoon, alternating between the laptop and pacing.
“You almost done for the day?” he asked. “It’s five-thirty.”
“I’m just finishing up,” she said with a yawn. “That last call just about killed me. It was a forty-minute conference call that could have been a one paragraph email.”
Damon grimaced and opened the fridge to look inside. He was so glad his job did not involve conference calls. For that matter, calls of any kind were rare in his profession. His lips curved suddenly in amusement. What would Viper do on a conference call? God help them all!
“Any idea when Lina will be back?” Angela asked, closing her laptop and standing up to stretch. “What are we doing about dinner?”
“No, and I don’t know,” he said. “There’s a bunch of food leftover from last night.”
Angela visibly brightened and rounded the bar to join him at the fridge.
“I’ll reheat the chicken parm,” she decided, reaching for the large aluminum tray of chicken and spaghetti. “Do you want some?”
“I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.”
Angela set the tray on the stovetop, reaching over to preheat the oven. She jumped when a loud tone echoed through the house.
“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, staring at the stove as if it was a bomb. “Why is the oven so freaking loud?!”
“It’s not the oven,” Damon said grimly, striding over to the cabinet where Viper kept the tablet that was hooked into the security system. “That’s the security perimeter.”
“Why is it on?” Angela demanded, spinning around and looking up at the dark plasma above the mantel in the living room.
“I set it after she left,” Damon said shortly, pulling out the tablet and swiping the screen.
“You know how to use it? Why?”
“Because I have a similar one at my house. Go pull the curtains over the windows in the dining room and across the sliding door.”
Angela gaped at him.
“What? Why?”
He glanced at her and she shivered at the look on his face, hurrying to do as he’d asked without another word.
Hawk scrolled through the security quadrants quickly. After Viper had left, he set all the perimeter alarms except the driveway, knowing that when Viper or Michael returned, they would come that way. Whatever set the security system off, it was not them. He stopped when he came to the quadrant flashing on the east side of the woods.
“It’s done,” Angela said from the living room. “Now what?”
He tapped the flashing area and began scanning through the frames slowly.
“Come away from the windows,” he said absently.
Angela came over to the bar and watched as he studied the tablet.
“It’s not Alina or Michael?” she asked. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Hawk stopped when he saw the figure moving through the trees.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “He just doesn’t give up.”
Angela stared at him.
“It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Trent.”
“Yes.” Damon looked up and she shivered again. “And he came prepared this time.”
Hawk set the tablet down and strode across the living room to the fireplace. Angela watched him reach up into the chimney and gasped when he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun.
“What do you mean he came prepared?” she demanded.
“He’s armed,” he said shortly, opening a wooden box on the mantle and pulling out a handful of shotgun shells. He fed two into the barrel, snapping it closed with a practiced flick of his strong wrist. He dropped the rest of the shells into one of his pockets and headed for the sliding door. “Stay here. Stay away from the windows and keep this door locked until I get back. I’ll knock once, then twice. Don’t open that door for anything else.”
“Wait!” Angela cried, running after him. “What if he’s not alone?”
“He is.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I just told you.” Hawk moved the curtain and slid open the door. “I won’t be long.”
“Wait!” Angela called again.
He paused and looked back impatiently.
“What?”
“For God’s sake, be careful! Alina will kill me if anything happens to you!”
His lips twitched.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. She’s head over heels for you, you stupid man. I swear, the two of you are trying my last nerve!”
That made Damon grin as he turned to step out the door.
“I’ll be sure to tell her,” he said. “Lock this behind me, then get into the hallway and stay there with your back to the wall. I’ll be back soon.”