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Angela settled herself in the recliner with her glass of wine and looked at Damon. He was sitting up on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table, ankles crossed. He had a tablet in his lap and was scrolling through something, his attention focused on the screen. She sipped her wine, studying him over the rim of the glass.
“Is there a reason you’re staring at me?” he asked, not lifting his eyes from the tablet.
“Just wondering why you had surgery,” she said readily. “Why aren’t you taking pain killers if you’re still in pain?”
Damon raised his head and looked at her.
“Why would I take drugs when I can still function?”
She shrugged.
“Why fight pain when there are other options?”
“I wouldn’t call this pain,” he said, turning his attention back to the tablet. “More of a mild inconvenience.”
“What did you have surgery for?” she asked a moment later. “You didn’t say.”
Damon sighed imperceptibly and looked up again.
“I was shot.”
Angela’s mouth dropped open.
“What?!” she exclaimed. “When?”
“Last week.”
“What happened? And why aren’t you in the hospital? When I was shot, I was in the hospital for two weeks. Where were you shot?”
“In my side.”
Angela waited expectantly, frowning when no further information was forthcoming.
“How did Lina know?” she asked, trying a different tack. “I mean, it’s not like you work together. You’re in Homeland Security, and she’s a private consultant.”
Damon shrugged, remembering that Angela still believed he worked for the DHS.
“We’re friends,” he said evasively. “I told her.”
“What’s the story with you two?” Angela asked, sipping her wine. “You sure visit a lot, but you never stay long, and it’s weeks or months before you come back.”
Damon crooked an eyebrow.
“Why so interested?” he asked.
“Why are you both so secretive about it? I can’t make it out. What’s the big deal?”
He smiled faintly.
“I think you’re the only one making it a big deal,” he said. “It’s not much of a mystery. We both travel extensively and our schedules don’t line up often.”
Angela pursed her lips and tilted her head.
“Do you ever plan on not traveling extensively?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I assume you’re going somewhere with all this? I’m sure my future travel plans aren’t that interesting to you.”
She shrugged.
“I’m just thinking, you’re not getting any younger and opportunities like the one staring both of you in the face don’t happen all that often. If you keep leaving Lina alone for months at a time, there’s no guarantee she’ll be here next time you roll into town. I’m not trying to be the voice of doom or anything, but that’s the truth. You two have something special going on. You should grab it with both hands and not let go.”
Damon studied her for a long moment.
“How long did it take you to think up that speech?” he asked finally, his blue eyes dancing.
“I just came up with it,” she said with a grin. “How was it?”
“Good,” he admitted. “A little extreme, but good.”
Angela sipped her wine.
“I have my moments.”
The door to the deck slid open and Alina stepped into the living room, closing the door behind her. Angela turned in the recliner to look at her.
“Where’s Michael?” she asked, looking behind her.
“He’s taken Trent into custody. He’s driving him to the field office in the city,” Alina said, glancing at her glass of wine. “Is there any of that left?”
“Yes. The bottle is on the counter in the kitchen.”
Alina nodded and went into the kitchen.
“You let the gunny take him?” Damon demanded, getting up and following her into the kitchen.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” she said, pouring herself a glass of the red wine. “Stephanie called. It’s looking like he’s been a very bad boy, and it is definitely FBI jurisdiction now. Michael is going to question him about Trasker, then turn him over to the Feds.”
Damon opened the fridge and reached in to pull out a bottle of beer.
“Since when did jurisdiction ever stop you?”
“Since I have other issues to worry about,” she said, sipping the wine. “They can take him. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“What did he do?” Angela called from the living room. “And will you two come back in here where I can hear?”
Alina grinned and turned to walk around the bar into the living room, Damon close behind. She found his presence behind her comforting and sighed silently. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get used to having him around.
Rounding the sofa, she sank onto it and set her wine glass on the coffee table. She bent to undo the laces on her boots, pulling them off as Damon settled down next to her.
“Well?” Angela prompted.
Alina glanced up at her as she pulled the second boot off.
“Are you sure you want to hear?”
“No, but tell me anyway.”
Alina set the boots aside and pulled her feet up onto the couch, curling comfortably into the corner. Damon handed her the wine glass, and she smiled in thanks.
“I asked Steph to see what she could find on Trent,” she told Angela. “Turns out he’s moved four times in four years. In each place he’s lived, a woman disappeared. Their bodies turn up a few months later. It’s an ongoing investigation and there have been no real leads, until now. Stephanie had an agent start interviewing people who knew the victims. Two of them knew Trent, yet he denied having met them when the police interviewed him. He just jumped to the top of the suspect list.”
Angela stared at her.
“Do you mean to tell me, you think Trent is a...is a...”
“Serial killer?” Alina provided helpfully. “Yes.”
Angela gulped and lifted her wine glass, draining it. She got up wordlessly and went into the kitchen for a refill.
“I think she’s taking it well,” Damon said. “Considering you just kind of dropped it on her.”
“She asked!”
Angela came back a moment later.
“And he was in my house? Are we sure it was him that night?”
“Yes. I saw the bandages on his neck where you stabbed him,” Damon said, sipping his beer. “I mean, unless someone else stabbed him in the neck in the past few days.”
Angela sank down into the recliner, looking stunned.
“Oh my God. I could have been...he could have–”
“Yes, but he didn’t,” Alina said briskly, not liking the look on her friend’s face. “No point in worrying about what could have happened and didn’t.”
“Why me?” Angela asked, sitting back with her wine. “What made him come after me?”
Alina glanced at Damon and saw the warning in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said smoothly. “He’s been watching you since he got up here, though. He’s got hundreds of surveillance photos of you on his computer.”
“What?!” Angela shrieked. “How do you know?”
“I saw them,” Alina said calmly. “I went to his hotel and went through his room. Not only are there photos of you and your house, but he also has shots of you and Stephanie having dinner.”
Angela shivered.
“That’s just terrifying,” she said, drinking some more wine.
“Please tell me you have copies of those?” Damon asked.
“Of course.”
“Why? Why was he following me? Was he planning it all along?” Angela demanded. “This is unreal. I mean, you hear of this stuff happening, but you never think it will happen to you!”
“I think your flat tire was him,” said Alina. “I think he was counting on you not seeing it and getting stranded at the side of the road.”
Angela gasped.
“He was there!” she exclaimed. “That night! I came out of work and saw the flat, and he just kind of appeared out of nowhere. He offered to drive me home, but Stephanie was coming. I thought he was just being overbearingly chauvinistic when he insisted on trying to help.”
Alina sipped her wine, tamping down the fresh surge of anger welling up inside her. If it wasn’t for pure chance, Trent could have taken Angie before she even got back. Her lips tightened grimly. Angela would have been gone before Viper realized she had become a pawn in the Trasker mess.
“If Trent is the one behind the break-in, can I go home now?” Angela suddenly asked, drawing Alina away from her thoughts.
Alina shrugged.
“Yes, if you want. If you don’t, you’re welcome to stay longer.”
Angela stared into her wine glass thoughtfully.
“I’ll see how I sleep tonight,” she said after a moment. “This is a lot to take in. If I have problems sleeping, I might stay a few more days.”
Alina studied her for a moment, then nodded.
“You’re welcome as long as you need to stay.”
“He’ll be locked up, right?” Angela asked suddenly, raising her gaze to hers.
Alina’s eyes hardened.
“Oh, he will be taken care of,” she assured her, her voice like ice, “one way or another.”
Senator Carmichael stared across the room at the paneled wall opposite, his mind clamoring to grasp what he’d just read. It didn’t seem possible. This morning, everything was going perfectly according to plan. Now, ten hours later, everything had fallen apart, and he had no idea when, how, or why.
He stood up, his legs feeling weak, and walked around his desk to the sideboard where a decanter and glasses sat on a silver tray. Special Agent Blake Hanover was supposed to be suspended, and his cases turned over to another agent; an agent who would not look twice at an upstart businessman from New Jersey who used street racers to run product up and down the coast. Robert picked up the decanter, his hand trembling, and splashed some whiskey into a glass. As of this morning, Hanover was out of it, and it was clear sailing. The decanter landed on the tray with a click and he lifted the glass to his lips.
Now he had no idea what was going on.
Robert turned and staggered back to his desk, sinking into the leather chair with his whiskey. Three hours ago, Tina Ricci had abruptly contacted the FBI and dropped all the charges against Blake Hanover. She then called her attorney, who was on Carmichael’s payroll, and informed her that it was all a terrible misunderstanding. She said she had confused Hanover with someone else and she had dropped the charges. Two hours ago, her attorney went to her office, only to find that Ms. Ricci left earlier and didn’t return. A visit to her townhouse in Georgetown and a chat with her housekeeper elicited the information that she had departed for the airport on an unexpected business trip. As of half an hour ago, there was still no sign of check-in at any of the major airlines for Tina Ricci and no reservation could be found under her name.
She had disappeared.
Robert drained his glass and ran a hand through his graying hair before setting the empty glass on the desk. He dropped his head into his hands.
It was all over. Without the charges, Hanover would be reinstated, and his investigation would continue. It would only be a matter of time before he caught someone in the Casa Reinos Cartel. He came close four days ago. Carmichael got wind of it just in time and the cartel member was the victim of an unfortunate boating accident off the Cuban coast. If Hanover got one of the Casa Reinos, he was done. They wouldn’t hesitate to give him up as the one who paved the way, allowing them to move their product up and down the coast at will. In fact, Carmichael had already been warned by the head of the Cartel. If he didn’t get Agent Hanover in line, they would make sure he came down with them.
Robert raised his head and stared at the picture of his wife and daughter on his desk. The scandal would engulf them. Chloe was starting Princeton in the fall. It would destroy her.
The Senator sat behind his desk for a very long time, staring into space, before he finally reached for his phone. It took three rings and he was getting ready to hang up when the call finally connected.
“Good evening, Senator.”
“Sanders,” Robert greeted Tina’s PA, forcing his voice around the tightness in his throat. “I’ve been trying to reach Ms. Ricci all day. Can you tell me if she took any phone calls that might have upset her at all? I’m worried about her.”
“Not that I’m aware of, Senator,” the woman answered thoughtfully. “She had visitors in and out of her office all morning, then she canceled all her appointments and calls for the afternoon. She didn’t seem upset, just preoccupied.”
Robert frowned.
“Did she give a reason for clearing her schedule?”
“No. After the last meeting, she simply canceled everything and left.”
“Last meeting? When was that?”
“It wasn’t a scheduled meeting. A Federal agent came to the office. He called ahead, but showed up within the hour. I think it was about one in the afternoon...yes, it was just after lunch.”
Robert’s blood ran cold.
“Federal agent?” he repeated. “How strange. What was his name?”
“Oh Lord, let me think,” she said. “It was an Irish name. Give me a minute...it’s right there...Agent...Reilly...O’Reilly! That was it. Special Agent Michael O’Reilly. He was Secret Service.”
“Hm. How odd. Well, thank you, Sanders. If you hear from her, would you please ask her to call?”
“Of course, Senator.”
Robert disconnected and opened his laptop. His fingers trembled as he typed the name into the Secret Service directory. A second later, he was looking at a picture of a red-headed man with a short military haircut and a square chin. He scanned the short bio attached, his heart dropping. Another Marine. So much for the brief flare of hope it would be someone he could manage.
“Well, let’s see who you are,” he muttered.
Ten minutes later, his face was pale and he sat back in his chair. It had gone from bad to worse. Agent Michael O’Reilly had subpoenaed the internal records for Trasker Pharmaceuticals. If Blake Hanover was a thorn in his side, Michael O’Reilly was a damn bayonet. Testimony from a drug cartel could be discredited. Hard evidence from Trasker’s own records was a death knell.
Robert stared at the screen blindly. There was no way out. There was no way to squirm out of this. He was going to crash and burn. Once O’Reilly went through the logs, he’d find Carmichael’s involvement and there would be no talking his way out of it.
He was finished.