Annandale, VA
10:47 AM Monday, January 19
“Agnes Buchanan died five years ago in a retirement home in Arlington. The house went on the market shortly after but was then removed. She had one child, a son who died seven years ago in a boating accident in Florida. There’s no record of anyone living there now.”
Brynn read through the file notes on the property they were driving to, and Jack couldn’t help but feel it was strategic on Brynn’s part. If they focused on the case, they couldn’t focus on what almost happened last night. A solid effort by her but a losing battle for him.
“Did Kekoa send you that information?”
“No.” She held up her phone, her smile radiating mischievous spunk. “Virginia tax appraisal website, obituary, and the Miami Herald archives.”
“Wow. Almost as talented as Kekoa.”
Brynn’s grin slipped, and she chewed on her lower lip. “You think his pride is going to be okay after losing to Egypt?”
Jack smirked. “He’ll be fine. In case you haven’t realized it by now, the genius needs a little humble pie every now and again.”
“Just so you know, when we’re done with this assignment, I’m giving Kekoa my business card in case.”
“You’re funny, B.” And making it hard to concentrate. Her humor was one of many things that had attracted him to her in the first place, and now it was happening all over again.
His thoughts went back to the night in the store. They almost kissed. He almost kissed her. She wanted him to kiss her. Or at least he thought she did. He wasn’t super familiar with kissy moments like that one, but he didn’t think he’d misread the signals. Except yesterday she seemed distant. He glanced over at her. She didn’t seem interested in talking about it last night, but the radio silence was making his mind run wild with . . . fear. Had he once again put his heart out there when he knew better?
“Jack, look out!”
Brynn’s warning snapped his attention to a child in a bright-blue snowsuit barreling down a homemade snow hill and into the street ahead of them. Jack carefully tapped his brakes, slowing the Tahoe down without going into a skid. Snowplows and salt trucks were keeping the main thoroughfare streets clear of snow and ice, but they hadn’t made it to the neighborhood streets yet.
A mom waved a gloved hand at them in apologetic thanks before nearly sliding down her walkway to get to her son. The boy was smiling like a kid who was living his best life . . . and then he saw his mom. The smile evaporated instantly as the little boy gestured to the hill, his lips moving a hundred miles an hour to explain. Jack chuckled.
“You think it’s funny to almost run over a kid?”
Jack gave a friendly wave to the mother and a thumbs-up to the little boy, which warranted him a proud smile, before driving past them. “No, I’m just remembering when I was like that boy and doing all the dangerous things without a single care in the world.”
“That kid slid into the street. If I hadn’t seen him and warned you, he could’ve gotten hit and killed.”
“Uh, have you looked around? We’re the only ones driving in this snowy terrain.”
“Okay, but still.” Brynn settled back in her seat. “Sometimes the risk isn’t worth the reward.”
Jack gave her his best side-eye.
“What?”
“The CIA is all about risk.” The snow began falling again, and Jack turned on the wipers. “And some rewards are always worth the risk.”
Brynn’s silence only amped up his concerns. Was she deciding if he was worth the risk this time around?
The GPS voice let them know they were approaching their destination, bringing Jack’s attention to the road and mission. He surveyed the middle-class neighborhood. Most of the homes were ranch style with long driveways, all backing up to a thick wooded lot. Children, like the boy from the previous neighborhood, were taking advantage of the snowfall by building snowmen and sliding down hills that didn’t lead to the street. There was even a father helping his three kids build a snow fort.
This was the kind of place that reminded him of his own childhood home, one where he could see himself raising kids someday. His eyes flashed to Brynn, who was pointing out the windshield, unaware of his thoughts—thankfully.
“The house is up ahead.”
Jack spotted the one Brynn was referring to. White vinyl siding wrapped around the home, and it had a black shingle roof that matched the black shutters encasing dark windows. He pulled in front of the house and unbuckled his seat belt.
Outside the Tahoe, the cold nipped at Jack’s ears, causing him to pull his knit cap farther down. Their boots crunched into the snow as they walked carefully up the sidewalk.
“Whoa.” Brynn grabbed Jack’s arm in a vise grip, her foot slipping beneath her. “Sorry. Ice.”
Her breath curled into a cloud between them, and Jack couldn’t resist letting his eyes find her lips. Brynn pressed her other hand against his chest and stepped back, putting some space between them, but not before he saw the look in her eyes. Desire. No misreading that. He smiled just like that little boy on the sled.
Brynn looked away and released his arm. She started to walk again when she stopped, looked at the driveway, and frowned. “Someone was here.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
“Look at the snow on the driveway.” Brynn pointed to the empty snow-covered driveway. “See how it’s thicker along the edges, but the part in the middle is maybe only a quarter inch thick? That’s fresh snow covering a spot left by a parked vehicle.”
His eyes moved along the driveway, and he could barely make out the tread marks from where a vehicle had backed out. Jack looked at Brynn, his nerves ramping up over the unknown. The last thing he wanted to do was put her life in more danger, but that seemed to be exactly what they kept walking into. “You said no one lives here.”
“I said there’s no record,” she said, correcting him with an edge to her tone. “Maybe they parked in the garage?”
Taking a breath, Jack followed her to the front door and nearly collided into the back of her when she stopped. “Wha—” His question fell silent when he saw the front door sitting ajar. Pulse jackhammering, he withdrew his weapon from its holster and knocked on the door. “Hello? Is anyone home?”
Silence met them, so Jack rang the bell and used the tip of his boot to edge the door open farther. “Hello? Is anyone home?”
“This is literally how every episode of Dateline starts, you know,” Brynn whispered next to him. “Unsuspecting neighbors walk in on a grisly murder.”
“Sheesh, Brynn. That’s not at all promising given the trend following you lately.”
She made a face. “Sorry. Didn’t think about that. Should we go in?”
“Legally, no. But . . .” Jack looked over his shoulder at the houses nearby. No one was out or watching that he could tell. He turned back to the house. “What? You’ve fallen? I can’t hear you.” He began shouting into the silent home. “My partner and I are going to come inside now.”
Jack took a tentative step inside the home, weapon trained ahead of him as he surveyed the foyer, which opened to a living room, dining room, and kitchen. All empty.
Literally empty. No furniture. No people. No sign of life.
“Maybe Agnes really did just die and leave it,” Brynn said.
Jack lowered his weapon but kept it at the ready. Something wasn’t sitting right with him. He glanced up at the vent. “The heat’s on, and up until a few minutes ago, someone was parked in the driveway.”
“Hello?” Brynn called out before looking back at him. “We should check the house to make sure it’s empty and no one”—her blue eyes searched the space around them, apprehension filling them—“got here before we did.”
Jack didn’t like the prick of foreboding that Brynn’s instincts brought to his nerves. He wasn’t being humorous when he mentioned the trend of death following her. Had it preceded them now?
“I want you next to me the whole time.”
Brynn nodded. The two of them walked through the three-bedroom home and found most of the rooms empty of furniture and any signs of life. Back in the kitchen, Jack glanced out the window to the backyard. It was fenced, but overgrowth peeked through the snow.
“There’s food.”
Jack looked over to Brynn, who had the refrigerator door opened. She had pulled out a foam takeout container and opened it. She sniffed it and shrugged.
“You’re braver than I am, B.” He wrinkled his nose. “Is it spoiled?”
“No.” She put it back inside, closed the fridge, and moved to another door. Opening it, she stepped back. “Basement.”
“Behind me.” Jack leveled his weapon ahead of them, forcing himself to maintain focus despite Brynn’s nearness at his back. “Hello? Anyone down here?”
No answer. He spotted a light switch, flipped it, and started down the wooden stairs. When he was a few steps from the bottom, he stopped, confused. The house was empty everywhere else but here.
Jack walked the rest of the way down and counted five folding tables in the unfinished basement, each with an assortment of items on them, including a computer and a printer. In the back was an old futon and a bathroom with some clothes and toiletries inside, indicating someone did live there.
“Is it a sweatshop?” Brynn picked up a white shirt from an ironing board before looking into a cardboard box on the ground. She lifted up a black polo shirt. “Starbucks? I’m pretty sure Starbucks doesn’t get their uniforms from the basement of a house.”
Jack read the patch on the breast pocket of the white shirt. VA Electric? He frowned and looked at another shirt. Same color, different patch. “Virginia Telecom.”
He moved to another box, and his mood shifted from confused to disturbed. Sliding his gun into its holster, he lifted out the familiar gray polo sporting the embroidered logo of GoldTech Security.
GoldTech was one of their clients, and Jack knew without question they didn’t get their uniforms from some basement in Annandale. He examined the patch closely. Something was off. The gold eagle logo was similar to the eagle on US currency. In its talons were arrows and an olive branch. He couldn’t figure out what was different, so he set down the shirt, pulled out his wallet, and withdrew a dollar bill.
Picking the shirt back up, he instantly realized what it was. The eagle was transposed. Facing the opposite direction. It was a fake.
“Jack, you need to see this.”
At the table with the computer and printer, Brynn stood with her hands on her hips, leaning over pages of paper that looked like blueprints. Next to them was a box full of plastic sleeves the size of business cards and what appeared to be a freshly printed ID card for Virginia Telecom with a photo of Seif El-Deeb on it.
“Don’t touch anything,” Jack said when he saw Brynn reach for it. “We need to call the FBI right now.”