Countdown (5 page)

Crash!

Every muscle stiffened at the sound from above. It sounded like the men broke his back door window to get inside.

“Daddy, I'm scared,” Ethan whimpered.

Rachel turned to the boys at the same time as he reached out to hug them. “Your daddy is here, and you're safe.” She leveled a cold glare at him. “Now that we know they're not here for a chat, what's the plan?”

He stood and turned the volume on the intercom speaker to low. “They can't hear us, but we can hear them.” The basement wasn't soundproof, but he knew from experience that he would have to be yelling before anyone would hear him upstairs, through the closed door.

He pulled out his smartphone. Telling the police his theories about Launch Operations would be foolish but alerting them to a break-in seemed pretty cut-and-dried. “I'm calling 9-1-1.”

Footsteps and doors slamming could be heard even without the aid of the intercom. “I thought they were supposed to be here,” a gruff voice said through the speaker.

Rachel's breath hitched.

James turned to make sure she was okay. She seemed to understand his unasked question because she nodded, her lips in a tight line. She crossed her legs, sat on the ground and the boys jumped onto either side of her lap. She whispered into their ears, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. He trusted she was attempting to soothe them as she'd done earlier.

“Maybe they're onto us,” the other man said. “I found a car in the garage, but it's empty.”

“Or they got picked up by that neighbor girlfriend of his.”

James turned in time to see Rachel roll her eyes.

“So we're going to check there, too?” the other man's voice responded. “I heard she's a spitfire.”

“I'll go. She won't give me problems.”

The other man laughed, a sickening chuckle. “Just because you hide behind your NSA badge.”

“Hey,” the man yelled. The sound of shuffling feet rattled the bookshelf door upstairs. James flinched. If they were thorough, it wouldn't take them long to figure out there was no wall behind it.

“I wouldn't be here if your team hadn't messed up,” the second man said, his voice seething. “So get to work finding the guy's computer. Grab any electronics you see like a hard drive or something.”

James glanced at the backpack at his feet where he'd stuffed his laptop. Even if they got their hands on it, he felt sure they wouldn't find anything of use. He'd wiped all evidence of his work from it.

“Trash the place?”

“Whatever it takes to get the job done.”

James's heart dropped. He shoved the phone back in his pocket. NSA? This wasn't how the NSA acted, so either the agent was a fake or crooked, but either way, the police wouldn't do him much good if one of the men had an NSA badge to flash.

But now he knew what they were after. They'd confirmed his suspicions. This was about Launch Operations, and Derrick was the only one he could trust. He clicked the intercom volume off before the boys could understand their toys were in danger of being smashed. “I think it's time to go.”

Rachel extracted herself to stand. “Where?”

Crash!

James grimaced and swung his backpack over his shoulder. “Let's focus on getting out of here first.” He pointed to the white door behind the staircase. “This office used to be part of the garage before we remodeled. Boys, time to go.” He led the way in case one of the boys slammed the door open, drawing attention to their location. He cracked the door open and trained his eyes on the set of steps connected to the kitchen.

All clear.

Rachel followed behind.

He waved them closer but kept his eye on the other door into the house. “Remember, no noise, boys. Quiet game.”

Rachel placed Caleb in his booster seat while Ethan jumped into his. James shoved the backpacks the boys had discarded underneath their feet.

“We can buckle them in later,” she whispered.

James grabbed the seat belt to Ethan's left. That was not a risk he was willing to take, no matter how short the ride. “No. We buckle them in now.”

Her wide eyes met his for half a second before she nodded and buckled Caleb.

“Lift the handle as you close it,” Rachel whispered, but it came out more like a hiss. Closing the doors still made some noise. James hoped the chaos the men were creating inside would mask their movements.

A moment later they were all inside the Charger. Rachel held her purse against her chest like someone clinging to a flotation device pictured on an airplane safety pamphlet, and her backpack sat between her feet. “You, too,” he said softly, his eyes drifting to the unbuckled seat belt.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. Confusion lined her forehead. James shook his own seat belt as he clicked it into place with his left hand.

“Oh.” She followed his example as he turned the key in the ignition with his right hand. The door to the house burst open.

“Stop,” a man in a black suit hollered. He whipped a gun out from the holster underneath his suit jacket and aimed the weapon at the windshield.

FIVE

R
achel's heart went into overdrive at the sight of the weapon. Her body stiffened and her fingernails dug deep into the sides of the leather seat. The man kept the gun level at the driver's side of the windshield.

“Shift to Reverse.” James spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “While he's focused on me.”

He had to be joking. Rachel stared at the gun. One move of the trigger finger and James would be shot. The man took one step down the garage steps, but his weapon remained on target.

The man narrowed his eyes and yelled, “Hands up.”

James slowly began to lift his hands. “Rachel.” His voice sounded like a plea.

“He's a bad man, Daddy!” one of the boys cried.

The little voice was her undoing. So much could go wrong, but the alternative meant being in the gunman's control. She'd had more than her share of interactions with arrogant, adrenaline-filled crooks with guns. It never ended well.

Rachel slipped her left hand to the gearshift and shoved it down into Reverse.

The car shot backward. Her head bounced off the headrest as the car smashed against the garage door. The screech of aluminum filled the air as the garage door buckled. James must have floored it.

His hands snatched the steering wheel as the car shot into the street. He swung the car around, and her hands hit the dashboard as he shifted into Drive.

Shards of the left mirror exploded and bounced off the driver's-side window. It mimicked the sound of hail during a thunderstorm. An involuntary scream tore out of her mouth as the wheels squealed and the car sped down the street.

The boys' screeches overpowered hers. “Were you hit?” She turned to find the boys petrified in their booster seats. Little teardrops rolled down their cheeks, but they fell silent. No sign of blood or injury.

James said nothing, but his face paled.

Rachel peeked in the right-side mirror. Were they still shooting? Two men in suits were running to the black sedan in the cul-de-sac.

She flung her gaze back to James. “Call the police. Have you called the police?”

“I wish we could, but we can't.” James zigzagged through the roads out of the subdivision. “Did you hear them? They have fake badges. They shot at us.”

She unzipped her purse, hunting for her phone in the unorganized mess. “All the more reason to call.” If he wasn't going to do it, she would.

“No. Rachel, we're dealing with people who are trying to launch a weapon in the sky.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Imagine what kind of resources they have at their disposal. I won't trust anyone with the safety of my sons until I hear from Derrick.” He lowered his voice so softly she almost didn't hear him continue. “I'd die before I let one of those goons close enough to touch them.”

Her fingertips found her phone at the bottom of the bag, but she hesitated to dial. She'd seen firsthand how much he loved his sons and his words only confirmed it. Her finger hovered over the screen. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears she struggled to think straight. “Is Derrick the contact you mentioned? The one from the NSA?”

“Hold on.” He took a turn at a diagonal. “Yes. I need to speak with him, and I need to focus now. I'm driving straight to the police station to drop you off, but I'm begging you... Do not bring us into this. Please.”

Rachel dropped the phone in her lap. She grabbed the handle on the ceiling and pressed her back into the seat. She needed her bearings. He took another curve. Ah, she knew where they were now. She pointed to her right. “Turn here.”

“That'll take me away from the main road.”

She looked in the side mirror. So far she didn't see the black sedan in view. That didn't mean much, though. They could be only half a block away. “You want me to wait to call the police? Fine. But we need to do the unexpected. Trust me.”

James glanced at her before he turned the wheel at the last second. Rachel's head slammed into his strong shoulder from the momentum.

“Sorry.”

She strained to sit upright. “Drive through the community area.”

He released an exasperated groan. “There's no road.”

Her hands itched to take the wheel herself, to be back in control. “I know. Drive through it. I've sat on that bench and watched teens do it. I called the police, but the point is it can be done.” She shoved a hand past his face, pointing. “Dart through there and you can get to a different exit out of the subdivision. They won't see where we went. They won't be able to follow us.” She spoke so rapidly she wasn't sure if James caught it all.

James shook his head. “Who's ready for a roller coaster?” he asked drily.

The car dove down the sudden decline and past the basketball court to the left. The whimpers in the back seat morphed into a strange mixture of crying and giggling, as if they didn't know which emotion was called for at the moment.

He didn't decrease the acceleration as they went back up the hill and out onto a new street.

“Take a right,” she said. She turned around to get a better view. No sedan in sight. Rachel turned back around. Her stomach roiled as she fought back a sudden rush of motion sickness. “I don't think they saw us.”

“Because they don't believe I'm insane.”

“Oh, but backing up through a garage door at gunpoint is perfectly reasonable?” Snarky comebacks came naturally, but she'd grown good at holding her tongue...until now. “Sorry. In times like these, instinct is your ally.” If only she didn't know it to be true.

He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you're speaking from experience.”

“Another time.” She exhaled, not willing to expound. They reached the main road, and he took a right, barely squeezing between two cars. The final signs of daylight disappeared as streetlights began to glow. Only the remaining light pink hue hung on the western horizon. “Do you know where we're going?”

“Whichever way is fastest to blend into traffic. After that, I'll take you wherever you want.”

“Wherever I want?” Rachel couldn't believe he said it with all the nonchalance of a cab driver. “You just told me that those men—possibly part of a terrorist plot—are out to get me, and you're glad to take me wherever I want?”

He darted a glance to the back seat. Rachel cringed. She didn't want to scare the boys but hopefully they didn't know what the word “terrorist” meant.

“I thought that's what you wanted. The police station—”

“I'm sorry. I took it the wrong way. I'm just stressed out. If you think Derrick is the key to safety, I'll wait until you call him.”

James shoulders sagged. “I can't apologize enough for getting you involved in this.” He turned onto a main drag and headed for the freeway. He merged into the fastest lane and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone.

“Call Derrick,” he muttered into the phone's speaker. The phone's rings switched to the car speakers. “Would you mind handing me my Bluetooth in the console? I think it's best this conversation not have an audience.” His eyes moved to the rearview mirror to check on the boys.

Rachel found the accessory on top of a small storage container. James hit the turn signal to merge onto the freeway.

“Keep your hands on the wheel,” she said. She leaned over and slipped the earpiece over his ear. Her fingertips brushed against light stubble and electricity shot up her arm. She jerked her hands back.

“James?” A deep voice came through the speaker.

James, seemingly unaware of Rachel's response to touching him, reached up and pressed a button on the earpiece. The static sound disappeared from the car speakers. “Derrick,” he said. “I've been trying to get a hold of you.”

Rachel stared at the earpiece, wishing she could hear the other side of the conversation.

“Daddy, can I have a snack?” Ethan asked. Caleb echoed his brother.

Rachel put a finger over her mouth as James tried to catch Derrick up to speed. She remembered the lollipops she kept in her purse for after-lunch treats. Admitting she had an addiction to sugar was something she'd yet to do, but she'd found that indulging in one sweet thing after lunch kept her from snacking the rest of the day until dinner.

Normally she'd seek their dad's permission as it was probably past their normal dinnertime, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If James didn't want them to hear Derrick's side of the conversation, he probably didn't want them to focus on the heated words on his end, either.

Their eyes widened and focused on the candy she passed back. “Don't let it spoil your supper, okay?”

They grinned at each other and settled back into their seats to enjoy.
Children are resilient.
She'd heard that so much. But she hated the sentiment. They shouldn't have to be. It was yet another reason she could never be a mother. She didn't ever want children to have to be resilient because of her mistakes, which she felt certain she would make.

How could someone who grew up with such a horrible upbringing ever be a good mother? They couldn't, she told herself for the millionth time. She'd seen plenty of examples, and she refused to become another case study of evidence.

* * *

James finished explaining what had happened in the past few hours.

Derrick was silent for a moment. “No, you're right. I don't think this was random.”

“I agreed to help, Derrick, under the assumption we'd be taken care of. Now my family and my neighbor are in a...compromising position.” His jaw clenched. They weren't the words he'd normally choose, but he floundered to find something suitable, with the boys as an audience, instead of words like
kidnap
,
danger
,
guns
and
kill
. “What do we do now?”

Derrick's sigh on the other side of the line sounded more like a muzzled growl. “You know this wasn't part of the plan, James. I either have a mole inside the agency or someone impersonating an agent. Either way, we need to find out who is calling the shots.”

James glanced in the rearview mirror. His gut lurched. A black sedan three cars back changed lanes. Another one six cars back stayed in his lane.

He hadn't taken the time to figure out what the model was when he'd looked out his home window, especially since it had been growing dark. The Charger's automatic headlights flipped on as if in reply. “Derrick, straight up, I'm not interested in how you handle the case on your end. I'm calling because I want to know my neighbor and my kids are going to sleep safe and sound tonight. Is it safe for me to take Rachel to a friend's house? I can get the boys to my brother's tonight. Once I know they're away from any threat, I'll come back and do whatever you need.”

“Which brother?”

“The one in Oregon. You remember David and Aria.” James flinched at the memory. Right after Nikki's funeral, David had come to stay with James for what he'd called “the transition.” Derrick and his wife, Cynthia, had arrived with dinner just as James lashed out at David for calling it such a thing. How could you ever transition from being with the woman you loved to living life with her gone...forever?

“Hold off on that,” Derrick said, snapping him back to the present. “The reason I told you how I'm handling the case is in hopes you'd understand I can't offer you protection at the drop of a hat. I need to pinpoint those I can trust and discover how far this goes. Offering you security in Oregon would take some time. And as far as your neighbor, I can't guarantee they won't continue to target her until I gather more intel. For now, I need you to stick together.”

James glanced at Rachel. She watched him, her eyes moist with emotion. Knots ached behind his shoulder blades. How could he tell her they had nowhere to go?

He checked the mirrors and switched lanes to take the next exit. Logically, he needed to identify if he did have a tail while Derrick was on the line. “What do you suggest I do, Derrick?” Everything had spun out of his control. Nothing but dead air answered for a full half minute. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I needed a moment to think,” Derrick finally said. “I need an hour to get a safe house and protection set up. Can you stay low while I do that?”

He took the exit to the right. “An hour?” He pulled up to the stoplight, switched the turn clicker to the left. One black sedan sat two cars back, but no signal blinked on either side. There wasn't an option to go straight. Was one or both of them tailing him?

Rachel's chin jutted forward, her eyes wide. “An hour?” Her whisper sounded incredulous.

“I can't stay put,” James continued. “I'm driving on the freeway hoping to blend into traffic.” And stay away from black sedans.

“I understand, but I'm doing the best I can with limited resources. I need to do this right, James. For your own sake and those boys of yours. Surely you can see that.”

James did, but he wasn't satisfied with the answer.

“Listen,” Derrick continued, “find someplace where you feel safe and sit tight for an hour. You still know how to check for a tail, I assume. I'll contact you in sixty minutes, hopefully with some good news.”

“I don't know where—”

“I'm sure you can think of somewhere. Choose somewhere unexpected where your boys feel safe. Gotta go.”

“Derr—” A dial tone met his objection. He glanced to the side at Rachel, who stared at him with eager eyes. “Okay, I agree. Sounds good. See you in sixty minutes,” he said for her benefit then clicked off the button on his ear.

“He hung up on you, huh?”

If the situation weren't slightly embarrassing, James might've laughed. He found it amusing that Rachel occasionally made statements that sounded like questions in the same way his sons did. She even nodded along like they did. It seemed like a handler's technique to get you to agree. “Well, if you heard, you know what he said.”