14
Clifton, VA
2:49 PM Thursday, January 15
What do four undocumented immigrants have to do with an Egyptian student and an Egyptian spy? Brynn had hated word problems as a kid and despised them even more as an adult. Especially this one, which seemed to never end. New pieces were constantly being added, and she had no formula to figure it out.
Brynn rubbed her temples, hoping to ease the tension headache already throbbing. At least an aspirin would get rid of it. Was there a pill that would smother the flicker of tenderness growing inside of her for Jack?
She’d seen honest fear in his eyes when he entered the farmhouse and the relief when their gazes met. What did that mean? The question had flooded her thoughts immediately, and almost as quickly she’d tuned it out. He was concerned. Any decent person would be. After all, she saw the same worry in Garcia’s and Kekoa’s eyes.
Well, maybe not the exact same . . . Besides, it was probably just her spinning emotions from Lyla’s revelation that Jack had been in some kind of treatment. What had it been for and was he okay?
The driver’s-side door swung open, bringing a gust of cold air into the Tahoe. Jack slid into his seat and slammed the door closed with a grunt.
How many phone calls does it take to satisfy an ICE agent and turn Jack’s mood sour? One. Jack’s call to Director Walsh did not result in Jack getting his way and left him—
“Are you pouting?” She snickered.
His gaze swung to meet hers, and it was annoying that the aggravation lining his face gave him a rugged charm. “No.”
Jack backed the Tahoe down the farmhouse driveway, frustration working the muscles in his jaw. He stopped and waited for Agent Flores, who was driving the sedan escorting Seif El-Deeb and Tarek Gamal to an ICE facility for questioning.
“It would’ve been a lot simpler if we were taking them.”
“Just like that?” She snapped her fingers in the air mockingly. “This is likely going to become a federal investigation, Jack. You think you or Director Walsh have some ability to dictate how other agencies operate?”
He sent her a sideways glance that said he believed exactly that. With a huff, she asked, “So what are you guys, some kind of Blackwater?”
Jack gave a noncommittal shrug. “In a way, yes, but with less ego.”
Brynn chewed on that. Blackwater was once a private military firm contracted by the government for their ability to provide high-level security services. They hired former members of the military’s elite operators—Special Forces, Delta, Navy SEALs—offering a select set of skills to assist the US in the war against terrorism and provide security in foreign countries. They even protected government facilities stateside after Hurricane Katrina. Ego was likely a prerequisite of Blackwater’s team members, but it also likely contributed to the string of incidents across the globe that resulted in numerous deaths of its own contractors as well as foreigners, which led to federal prosecution. Blackwater no longer existed—at least not under that name.
The implication that SNAP operated in a similar capacity . . . Brynn cast a glance at Jack, an old fear sprouting to life. He’d wanted to be a part of the CIA’s Directorate of Operations, willingly accepting the risks of clandestine missions until—
She forced her attention to the scene beyond the windshield.
Jack steered the Tahoe behind Agent Flores’s vehicle. Lyla pulled her Audi away with Garcia and Kekoa inside, heading back to the office to begin their own investigation into the two Middle Eastern men. How much clandestine work was SNAP involved with?
Snowflakes began to fall, and Jack turned on his windshield wipers. Agent Flores took a right at the stop sign and Jack did the same, following him down another narrow farm road. Brynn’s phone chirped with a text message. She withdrew it from her pocket. Olivia.
Hey friend, Penny and I are on our way back home. Time went by too fast. Plan a trip to NM this spring. It’s beautiful and not fry-an-egg hot. We miss you. Oh, and say heyyyy to Jack. ;)
Heat inched into her cheeks, and she quickly typed a reply.
Miss you already. If I’m in NM by spring, something didn’t go right . . .
She deleted.
Miss you. Will let you know about NM in spring. Stay safe.
Brynn settled into the leather seat and released a sigh that sent a sharp ache to her ribs. She unbuttoned her coat and slid her hand to her right side, her fingers playing along her rib cage. Tender but not broken.
“You okay?”
His question startled her. “Yeah, a little sore—”
Jack pressed his lips together, irritation in his eyes.
“What?”
He blew out a breath. “I’m frustrated, Brynn.”
“I can see that.”
His brown eyes locked on her. “Do you realize how lucky you and Lyla were that this”—he gestured to the vehicle ahead of them—“didn’t end up worse?”
The earlier sentiment behind Jack’s concern fizzled. She’d read it wrong. Brynn bit her lip, trying to calm her annoyance. “I received a tip and decided it was best not to waste time—”
“Following protocol and ensuring your safety”—his eyes flashed to her—“the safety of my team is not a waste of time.”
Her cheeks stung. “We both went through the same training, Jack. I know what I’m doing. I handled the situation safely.”
“This time, maybe, but you don’t get to decide what or who is worth risking for the sake of the mission.”
His words landed like a punch that hit so hard it took her eight years back. Jack was still holding a grudge for a decision she’d had to make. He wasn’t being fair back then and he wasn’t being fair now. “That’s not what I did. Time is running out. If there’s a chance to find Riad, I’m going to take it.”
“Not without me.”
“You were off doing something with Garcia.”
“I was doing my job.”
“So was I,” Brynn countered, arms folding across her chest. “No one wants to find Riad more than I do, and no one has more to lose than I do.”
“I’m not trying to stop you—”
Jack’s words were muted by a horrific crunch as a black SUV rammed into Agent Flores’s vehicle when it pulled into the intersection. The violent impact sent the sedan flipping several times until it landed upright near a ditch.
The SUV shot forward like it was aiming for the car again. Brynn noticed the steel push bar attached to the front, and a sick feeling filled her gut. “Jack . . .”
He gunned the engine, but a hard hit from behind sent their bodies lurching forward against their seat belts. Her earlier injury seared with pain.
“Jack!”
The screeching noise of tires filled the air along with the ugly odor of burned rubber and smoke as Jack applied the brakes, but he couldn’t keep the Tahoe from being pushed into the intersection.
Brynn whirled around to see who was behind them. “It’s another black SUV. The windows are too dark. I can’t see the driver.”
“Hold on, Brynn.”
She turned back in her seat just as Jack released the brake, unleashing the momentum and launching the Tahoe forward. Jack quickly steered their vehicle into a spin.
“What’s happening?” Brynn screamed, bracing herself.
“They’re taking them.”
Through the windshield, she watched two men with black masks over their faces yank the immigrants out of the back of the car and shove them into the first SUV. The SUV that hit her and Jack was reversing to turn around.
Jack threw the Tahoe into park and unbuckled his seat belt. “Call Garcia.”
Heart racing, Brynn watched Jack jump out of their vehicle, withdraw a gun from his waist holster, and aim it. With cautious urgency, he rounded the driver’s-side door, but he was too late. The tires of the first SUV screeched against the pavement as it took off. And the other—already long gone.
She quickly dialed Garcia’s number and told him what had happened. They were turning around, headed back their way. She could hear Kekoa in the background giving their location to 911 dispatch for fire and rescue. They assured her help was on the way.
Climbing out of the Tahoe, Brynn started for the crumpled sedan with the ICE agents still inside. Crossing the intersection, she stepped through broken glass and around pieces of the vehicle. Brynn looked in both directions for any oncoming vehicles—none.
“Brynn, be careful.” Jack’s words echoed in the cold air. His eyes scanned the horizon around them. No doubt he was concerned about another attack.
The vehicle’s windshield was shattered but still partially in place. She moved toward the driver’s side. The window was gone, and Agent Flores’s head hung forward, blood dripping from a gash across his brow. He was unconscious . . . she hoped.
“Agent Flores!” She tried to yank the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. Reaching through the empty space where the window should’ve been, Brynn checked his pulse. It was weak, but at least it was there. She tugged off her scarf and used it to compress the bleeding on his head, then looked over to see Jack checking the other agent. “How is he?”
“Airbags probably saved their lives, but it looks like his leg might be broken.”
Brynn followed Jack’s gaze to the bone she should not have been seeing. Ew. She looked away, forcing her stomach not to react. “Kekoa called 911. They should be here soon.”
“Let’s hope so.” Jack glanced back at the Tahoe. “I’ve got a blanket in the back. We need to protect these guys from shock and hypothermia.”
Less than a minute later, Jack returned with the blanket. He helped her spread it across the two agents.
“That’s better than nothing.” Jack sat back on his haunches, checked his watch, and surveyed the area around them. The soft sound of sirens echoed in the distance. “I’m growing to both love and hate that sound.”
“Jack, you’re bleeding.” His eyes met hers with a frown. At the edge of his brow, a small gash was sending a stream of blood down the side of his temple. She started to reach for the wound but paused, hand in midair. “Above your left eye.”
He reached up and felt for the wound, finding it with a cringe. “Must’ve hit against the steering wheel. What about you?” Jack looked her over, methodical in his search for signs of injury, but it didn’t lessen the buzz vibrating her nerves. “Do you hurt anywhere?”
“Besides the soreness from earlier, I think I’m okay.”
Brynn swallowed, forcing her focus back to Agent Flores. No matter how much her heart ached for Jack’s concern to mean something more, she needed to remember he was only doing his job.
For someone trained to lie, Brynn was terrible at it. Or maybe he just knew how to read her. A skill that hadn’t served him well eight years ago and one that wouldn’t serve him well now if he allowed his heart to run away with it.
Two fire trucks and an ambulance had arrived and taken over. They pulled Agent Flores out of the car, and Jack was relieved to see him open his eyes and begin answering the EMT’s questions. The other agent had a compound fracture and was being treated inside the ambulance. Lyla, Garcia, and Kekoa arrived at the same time as the county police, who were already several minutes into questioning Brynn.
“How’s that?” A third EMT stepped back from Jack, inspecting his work on the cut over Jack’s brow. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but keep it clean. And if you have any symptoms of a concussion, go to the ER.”
“Got it.” Jack glanced over at Brynn. “Would you mind checking her out as well?”
The EMT looked over his shoulder at Brynn, and Jack saw his eyes gleam with appreciation. “Sure.”
Irritation grabbed hold of Jack, or maybe it was jealousy, but the growing chaos of the scene kept his focus on the very organized and efficient kidnapping of Seif El-Deeb and Tarek Gamal.
After answering questions from the police and ICE, Jack offered his business card to them in case they needed anything else and made his way over to his team. Garcia and Lyla were leaning against the Audi, eyes fixed on the chaotic scene. They both straightened when they saw him.
“Oh, your beautiful Italian face.” Lyla’s brows pinched, her lip puckered mockingly. “Tell me, will you be scarred?”
Garcia shook his head. “The correct question is”—he looked at Jack—“are you okay?”
“I’m joking, Nicolás.” She bumped Garcia with her hand before meeting Jack’s eyes. “I think scars are sexy.”
“Ly—”
“I’m fine.” Jack offered Garcia a sympathetic grin. Lyla took way too much pleasure in getting under his skin. Jack turned his attention on the troublemaker. “And it was a small cut, so no scar.”
“Too bad.” She responded with a one-shoulder shrug before glancing beyond Jack’s shoulder. “What about Brynn?”
Looking back, Jack saw an EMT with Brynn, a stubborn look on her face. Obstinance looked cute on her. His pulse jumped, and Jack tempered the sudden reaction that was becoming all too frequent. Amy. Yes. That sobered him up. He needed to remember Amy. Or at least work out his feelings—whatever they were—for her.
Jack returned his attention back to the team. “She’s getting checked out, but I’m sure she’s fine too.”
The Audi’s dark tinted window slid down, revealing Kekoa. “Brah, it’s too cold out there. I’m turning into frozen kalua pork pop.” He held out a fist. “You good?”
“Yeah.” Jack bumped his fist. “Brother, please tell me you’ve got something.”
Kekoa’s forehead crinkled, dashing Jack’s hopes. “Black SUVs in the Metro area are like cousins at a local barbecue.”
Garcia frowned. “What?”
“You never realize how many you got, and they keep showing up,” Kekoa said, his attention focused on the laptop sitting across his legs. “If I had a make or model or—”
“How about a license plate?” Brynn’s voice came from behind them. “Or at least a partial?”
“That would work, sis.”
“7519.” She looked to Jack. “That was the last four on the one that hit Agent Flores. I think it might’ve been a Toyota 4Runner.”
“You take a hit and keep on ticking, don’t you?”
Lyla’s comment to Brynn drew a timid smile.
“I guess so.” Brynn’s blue eyes met his. “Your head okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Except no scar,” Lyla added. “That would’ve added a level of authenticity to your Dread Pirate Roberts.”
Brynn looked at Lyla. “His what?”
“I’ve got a location!” Kekoa pumped his fist inside the Audi, causing it to rock.
“Heyyy.” Lyla cradled the car. “You’re going to break my car.”
“Where?” Jack and Brynn asked at the same time, neither apparently concerned for the vehicle.
Kekoa stilled. “He’s heading west on Yates Ford Road. About fifteen miles from here.”
Only fifteen miles? “You’re sure it’s them?”
“Traffic cam shows them passing the intersection at Yates and Culpepper.” He shot an anxious look at Brynn. “And I might have had some help from—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jack said, ignoring the suspicious look Brynn shot him. “Send the location to my GPS and keep your eyes on them.”
Jack and Brynn jogged over to the Tahoe. He checked the back, and aside from the smashed-in tailgate, the truck was still operable. They climbed in, and Jack whipped the Tahoe 180 degrees, grateful the damage wasn’t bad. He pressed the gas and accelerated toward the location blinking on his GPS.
His adrenaline climbed with every passing mile. How could fifteen miles feel like a hundred? Agitation electrified every nerve when he hit a red light. He answered an incoming call from Kekoa. “Any movement?”
“The car isn’t moving.” Something in Kekoa’s tone was unsettling. “There’s a lag in the footage. I can’t tell how long, maybe a few minutes, but the car hasn’t moved. Hold on—”
The sound of typing filled the car. As soon as the light turned green, Jack hit the gas, pushing the truck over the speed limit.
“Why wouldn’t it be moving?”
Brynn voiced the question racing through Jack’s brain. He sped up, praying no one would get in his way. Jack grew anxious when they passed more mile markers.
“Where is it, Kekoa?”
“Should be just ahead,” he answered.
“There.” Brynn pointed at a black SUV pulled onto the shoulder.
Hitting his brakes, Jack felt his seat belt tighten against him. He pulled up behind the SUV, leaving plenty of room to maneuver. It looked like the same vehicle he watched El-Deeb and Gamal get tossed into. The windows were tinted black, making it difficult to tell if anyone was inside. No movement. Had they abandoned it?
Brynn’s head swiveled around. “Where’s the other car?”
“Kekoa, check the footage and see if anyone left the vehicle.”
A few seconds passed. “Yeah, brah. One just like it pulled up. The driver got out and into that one before it took off.”
“Just the driver?” Brynn was already unbuckling her seat belt.
“Yeah.”
Jack put the truck in park and got out, Brynn right beside him. Pulling his weapon out again, he kept it aimed ahead of them, not willing to walk into a potential ambush. Taking a wide berth, he raised his weapon at the driver’s side. Empty. Passenger side too. Cautiously, he checked the passenger-side door. It was unlocked.
When he opened it, Brynn gasped.
The two Egyptian men were crumpled in the back seat, their bodies atop each other. Based on the amount of blood spatter, there was no doubt both were dead.
Brynn shook her head, looking at him with dazed eyes. “What is happening?”
“I wish I knew.”
Jack surveyed the mess in the back seat while Brynn called the police for the third time. Nothing. He looked over the passenger seat, his eyes landing on a duffel bag on the floor. Strange.
The ICE agents allowed each of the men to collect whatever belongings they had at the farmhouse and put them into a . . . plastic bag.
“Brynn!”
Jack spun around and spotted Brynn halfway between the SUV and their vehicle. She faced him. Sprinting as fast as his legs would push him, he collided with her body as a fireball exploded behind them.