Interstate 66
9:51 AM Wednesday, January 14
Grovel? No way. She did not grovel. Her gaze slid to Jack, and Brynn could tell he regretted his words as soon as he said them. She felt bad for her own. Jack didn’t need to be reminded what she was willing to do for her job. He had firsthand experience.
A deep pang resonated within her. She hadn’t expected to fall in love with a fellow recruit. But Jack . . . he’d somehow managed to win her heart and ignite the unrealistic hope that a future with him might be possible even when everything the agency stood for said otherwise.
When it came down to it, they had made her choose.
If Jack thought it had been easy, he was wrong. Very wrong. The agency hadn’t played fair, but nothing was fair when it came to stopping terrorism. If she wanted to do her job to the best of her ability, she had to put distractions in their place.
Is that what my parents had been?
On more than one occasion Brynn wondered if she would’ve made a different choice had she known her mother was going to die. She wanted to believe she would have, but stopping terrorism had become so ingrained in her head that she wasn’t even sure anymore.
When she was flying back to the States, Brynn had had no idea her mother’s death would upend not only her life but also her career. Hours after her mother’s service and making sure her father’s care was arranged, Brynn was already looking up flights to return to Somalia and get back to her job.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her mother’s loss or the emptiness in her father’s life, but she had a job to do. One that was personal to her and her family. The best way to honor her mother’s memory and her father’s sacrifice was to stop terrorism.
However, on the last day of her emergency family leave, Director Peterson called her into his office and informed her that her position in Somalia had been absorbed by another office in the State Department and she would be remaining in Washington, DC.
It felt like a punishment for abandoning post to attend her mother’s funeral. Especially after all the menial tasks that had been passed on to her, but she didn’t complain. Brynn gave it her all to the point that the food in her fridge spoiled, one of her neighbors thought she had died, and the last television show she remembered watching in real time was . . . well, she couldn’t even remember.
And then there was her dad. He never complained about her infrequent and hasty visits. Or the way she’d zone out of a conversation because she was thinking about work. He never said anything. And Brynn convinced herself he was fine, but deep down she knew better.
There had been a longing in his gentle expression that had said he missed her and wanted more time with her—like he knew their time together was coming to an end.
“I’m sorry, Brynn. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Jack’s apology pulled her gaze from the scenery outside and away from her melancholy thoughts.
“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She smirked, her eyes cutting to Jack.
A smile played on his lips and, man, if her heart didn’t give a tiny thump-thumpity-thump-thump at the sight of it.
“And I’m sorry your puns haven’t improved.”
“I’m sorry I implied you and Lyla were a thing.”
Jack’s eyes sharpened the same way they had when he abruptly declined the incoming call from someone named Amy. Was Amy important in Jack’s life? An unwanted flicker of jealousy warmed Brynn’s cheeks. She was just about to apologize for crossing a line when he looked over at her.
“Are you?”
Brynn began tapping her thumb against her phone and then stopped. A CIA instructor had pointed out her nervous gesture—a weakness. So she’d trained herself to control it, remove any outward cue that would expose her emotions. When it came to her training and the tests, she’d been successful. When it came to Jack—less so.
“Yes,” she answered a little too enthusiastically. “I’m also sorry I’m going to have to recruit Kekoa to the CIA.”
Jack’s lips curled. “Don’t even think about it, B.”
Brynn’s heart leapt inside her chest hearing Jack’s nickname for her. A new kind of warmth filled her cheeks, spreading over her body and causing her to tug at the collar of her coat. She wasn’t prepared for the familiar slip, and based on the pink coloring Jack’s cheeks, he hadn’t been either.
“We’re here.” He tipped his chin toward the windshield just as the shopping center came into view ahead of them.
She took in the length of the one-story structure spread over several acres as Jack pulled into the parking lot. This wasn’t your typical strip mall. Fairfax Towne Centre was high-end, catering to a very specific shopper with luxury and designer stores. The dusting of snow edging the manicured landscape of evergreen shrubs almost looked picturesque against the modern design of the storefronts. Cobblestone walkways were punctuated with trees that, in the spring, offered shoppers ample shade but currently were barren except for the strands of twinkling lights still up from the Christmas season.
Why would Riad be here?
While Jack maneuvered through the lot, Brynn tapped her cell phone screen and pulled up the information Kekoa had sent her. “We’re looking for a silver Corolla. License plate number RKA705.”
After several passes between lanes, Brynn pointed to a car. “There.”
Jack quickly found a parking spot a few spaces away, and they both climbed out of the Tahoe.
When Jack rounded the SUV and was at her side, Brynn reached for his arm, which caused him to stop and sent a zip of electricity up her arm. She let go. “Sorry, I’m not . . . well, we don’t know what we’re walking up to, and you know I don’t carry.”
Understanding filled his eyes. “I do.” He patted the bulge at the side of his hip before unbuttoning his wool coat. “Stay to my left.”
Jack’s protective response immediately began messing with Brynn’s heart. Which was ridiculous because he would’ve said the same thing to anyone. Most people assumed CIA officers carried weapons like James Bond or Jason Bourne, but the reality was that most were never issued a weapon. And, while she wasn’t carrying a weapon, she had been trained to defend herself. Still, she wasn’t foolish, and Jack being armed provided a level of security as they approached the car.
Brynn checked the license plate. RKA705. It was the right car . . . and it was empty.
She peered into the back windows and then the front ones. Nothing inside. Frustration curled around her shoulders. “He’s not here.”
Jack pulled out his cell phone and made a call. “Kekoa, I need a favor.”
Those words sent guilt snaking through Brynn. “Ms. Taylor, may I ask a favor?” Her stomach twisted into a knot. She had chosen to keep Riad’s request to herself because . . . because what did it even mean? She had no idea what he’d wanted, and mentioning it would only further fuel the idea that Riad was a threat.
She looked around. Nothing about the high-end shopping center stood out. Why here? What did it mean? Was Riad involved in something more nefarious, as Jack had suggested? Did this location have something to do with Riad’s unspoken favor?
And did she tell Jack?
“Brynn, the door.”
“What?” She spun around, startled. “I’m sorry, what?”
He pointed to the car. “Check the door.”
She walked to the driver’s-side door and reached for the handle. It opened. “It’s unlocked.”
“Thanks, Kekoa.” Jack slid the phone back into his pocket. “Now pop the trunk.”
Brynn did and then met him at the back of the car. “Let me guess, Kekoa hacked the car’s system?”
“No.” Jack lifted the trunk lid with a smile. “OnStar.”
Shaking her head, Brynn peered into the trunk. A suitcase and laptop bag lay inside.
“I think this means Riad may still be around,” Jack said, searching the parking lot. “Let’s do a quick recon.”
Jack’s familiar tone of commitment sent a surge of adrenaline rushing through her, bringing with it memories of their time spent together working field exercises while training for clandestine operations. Jack’s work ethic had been as steadfast as his loyalty, and Brynn had found it irresistible. A biting gust of wind cut through her coat, chilling her and bringing her back to the present.
Looking around again, she noticed the parking lot was growing busier with each passing minute. “Do you think we should leave the car? If Riad comes back and can’t start his car, he might take off on foot.”
Jack glanced over at the storefronts. “If we don’t walk too far, we should still have a good line of sight down the center and be able to keep an eye on the car.”
They walked across the parking lot, then stepped onto the busy sidewalk. Even though it was barely midmorning and blustery, post-holiday sales were bringing out the shoppers. Jack and Brynn hurried along the sidewalk, dodging oblivious shoppers while still maintaining a visual on Riad’s rental car. Where was Riad?
“Do you think he ditched the car?”
Brynn glanced up at Jack. “And his suitcase and laptop?”
Jack turned in a circle, his brown eyes focused and serious as he scanned the area. “Something doesn’t feel right about this.” His gaze met hers. “You don’t think he’d come here and . . .” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “You know—” Jack balled his gloved hand and then opened his fingers wide like some sort of explosion.
Her eyes shot wide. “No.” She gasped, quickly checking around them as if someone would’ve had a clue what they were talking about. “No, I don’t think he would do that.”
But was she sure?
Brynn scanned the faces around her when the squeal of a small child pulled her attention to a bakery where a little girl was dancing with a red balloon in her hand. A reflection in the window nearly choked her. She spun around and searched for the face she thought she’d just recognized. “Jack, I think I saw him.”
Jack turned. “Where?”
Brynn walked toward a cluster of shoppers, eyeing the face of everyone around her. “I swear he was here, Jack.”
“Did you see what he was wearing?”
She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Um, I think he had on a black coat. I didn’t see his pants and . . . uh . . .” Brynn closed her eyes, recalling the glimpse of the man she thought was Riad. “A hat.” She opened her eyes and touched her head. “He was wearing a knit beanie with ‘USA’ stitched on the front.”
“You stay here by the bakery, keep an eye out for him and the car. I’ll take a walk around and see if I can spot him.”
Brynn nodded, still scanning the area for the distinctive hat. After a few minutes of looking, she let out a frustrated sigh, her breath forming a cloud against the cold air.
Jack walked back over. “No sign of him?”
“No, but maybe it wasn’t him? Maybe I just wanted it to be.”
Skepticism filled Jack’s eyes. “Do you believe that?”
She hesitated before answering. “No. I know what I saw.”
“Then let’s go back to the—”
“Jack, there!” Brynn pointed through the crowd of people to a man wearing a black coat and khaki pants but no knit cap. Why did she think it was him? The walk. There was something distinct about the way Remon Riad walked—a confident stride—and yet this man . . .
“Is it him, Brynn?”
“I-I don’t know.” And then the man turned enough that she got a glimpse of his profile. “Yes! That’s him.”
Squealing brakes and the crunch of impact drew Brynn’s attention to the parking lot, where a black car had T-boned an SUV. A woman jumped out of the SUV, panic etched in her face.
“My baby! My baby!”
Instinct urged Brynn toward the desperate mother even as shoppers began running to the SUV. The driver of the black car, a blond man, hadn’t moved. Was he hurt? The entire right side of the SUV was crunched inward, making it impossible for the mom to open the door. She rounded back to the driver’s side, desperation in her movements to get to her child.
“Brynn, where’s Riad?”
Jack’s touch at her back turned her to where Riad had been, only now he was gone. She swiveled her head in every direction, trying to spot him, but the area became congested with people coming to assist the mother and her child.
“He’s gone, Jack. I’ve lost him.”