Rogue Alliance (40 page)

             
He dropped the guns into a ravine not too far from w
here he’d parked the Hummer and
drove down the mountain with sore ribs and a
bad attitude. Guess I’m not
going to
camp out overnight after all, he thought.

FORTY-THREE

             
Un-freaking-
believable, thought Shyla as she waltzed across the parking lot toward her apartment. She’d been looking forward to hiding in the sanctity of home ever since she’d boarded the airplane out of LAX
,
but now, watching a
reporter scrawling furiously with a pen and paper as she interviewed a bemused Carmen, that fe
eling was gone
.

             
“This girl is a minor,” she said in a sharp, biting tone, “y
ou have no right to speak to her without parental consent.”

             
The thin, wisp of a woman looked up over her square framed glasses.

             
“Excuse me?”

             
The fake look of innocence and shock made Shyla want to land a solid punch on that beaked nose of hers.

             
“Did I stutter? No, I didn’t. Now take your pencil and get the hell out of here before I shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

             
Shock shifted to a mix of fear and embarrassment.

             
“No need to get upset,” the reporter said,
“y
ou’re Officer Ericson, right? Maybe I could just talk with you instead.”

             
“Are you missing a chromosome?
” Shyla retorted,
“
No. Get the hell out of here and don’t come back. And if I see you talking to this girl again, I’m going to have you arrested. Do you understand me?”

             
The woman seemed to finally get the message. She pursed her thin lips, stuffed her notepad under her
armpit, and stomped off
.

             
“Well that
was rude,” Carmen said, teasing
.

             
Shyla wasn’t in the mood. She shouldered her duffle bag and stomped past her.

             
“I told you to steer clear of here and stay away from reporters. Why is it that you never listen?”

             
She heard Carmen’s clomping footsteps behind her, rushing to keep up.

             
“If you’d of waited a second, you’d have heard that I was giving that lady the run-around. I was asking her more questions than she was and she was getting nowhere fast. It was actually pretty hilarious. She kept trying to get something out of me but I wasn’t cooperating.”

             
Carmen giggled.

             
“You should have seen her face
,” she continued,
“
when I asked her if she ever got tired of making a living off of other people’s drama.”

             
Shyla halted halfway up the staircase and turned to look down at Carmen
,
who was beaming up at her with pride.

             
“You asked her that,” she said trying hard to suppress the smile that was threatening to creep up.

             
Carmen nodded up and down.

             
“Sure did. Man, I can’t believe you didn’t think I’d be able to handle a lady like that. You should kn
ow by now that you can trust me,
”
she said, putting
a hand
to her chest in mock, melodrama,
“t
hat hurts, Shyla. It really hurts.”

             
Shyla finally let out a healthy laugh, completely amused with Carmen’s witty antics. The girl had worked her way into her heart.

             
“Come inside, you brat. You can make me a sandwich while you tell me all about this conversation. I’ve gotta hear details now.”

*

             
The crash of shattering glass jolted Shyla awake. Disorient
at
ed, she rolled to the floor and reached under the pillow for her handgun in one simultaneous motion. Where was she? What was going on? Was she still in LA?

             
Glancing around, she took note of her surroundings. Faint blue moonl
ight trickled in through a
broken window. She was
in her apartment. That’s right;
she’d flown in late Thursday evening, taken two hefty swigs straight from the bottle and tumbled into bed
,
exhausted, the past few weeks finally taking their toll.

             
Tires squealed against pavement and she leaped to the window in only her t-shirt and panties, gun held defensively to her chest.

             
She honed in on the glow of taillights as the car zipped out of the parking lot and down the street. She couldn’t make out the license plate but by the width of the car and the vague shape, she guessed it was an older, larger make, possibly a Bu
ick. Otherwise, she had nothing;
they were gone.

             
The crisp fall air rushed in past the shards of glass with a short gust and pricked up her skin into a thousand little goose bumps. Careful where she stepped, she cautiously made her way across the room and picked up the brick that had been expertly tossed through her bedroom window.

             
As she was on the second storey and the parking lot was at an odd angle, whoever had thrown it had not only been aiming specifically for her bedroom, but they would have had to get out of their car and walk up the sidewalk in order to manage such a trajectory. It was not a random act by some reckless teenagers. She had been a specific target and they had known exactly where she lived. 

             
As she examined the brick and took mental notes of the scene
,
she started ticking off the possible culprits and motives. Though she had expected a backlash of sorts
,
she was surprised by the attack. Years on the force had taught her the mindset behind assaults such as these. If she had to make a quick guess, the person was a man who had an anger problem but wasn’t ready to face her head on. It was unlikely that they had any connection to Victor. Everyone under him would have very specific instructions on how to behave in regards to her and they were too professional to stoop to such levels.

             
No,
she realized,
this was someone from her past, someone who, now that they knew who she really was, was still angry with her for things she’d done when she’d lived in Redding before. If that was the case, the list
of suspects was fairly short. Alt
hough she imagined there were plenty who didn’t like her much, she doubted there were many who would hate her enough to toss a brick through her window in the middle of the night. Chances were, this person was close to her father. If so, she would bet they were a heavy drinker. Her dad only socialized with fellow drunkards down at his favorite bar.

             
She looke
d at the clock. Yep, two-thirty;
last call was forty-five minutes ago. He had most likely spent an entire evening shooting liquid courage and working up a good mad over old vendettas.

             
As she swept up the glass
,
she wracked her brain trying to recall the names or faces of m
en she’d seen her father with, b
ut it was useless. Her dad didn’t have people to the house often and when he did, she’d always kept to her room. Out of sight, out of mind. Having unwanted attention from her father was more than enough.

             
Deciding her room would be too cold to sleep in and the window would have to wait till morning to fix, she grabbed her comforter and closed the door behind her as she headed for the couch.

             
Huddled under the blanket
,
she couldn’t warm up, couldn’t stop trembling. She felt so cold from the inside out. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet, too hollow.
It
was
almost
tempting to give Shawn a c
all and make him come over. She knew, though, that
Shawn would get on her nerves, asking her a hundred questions about what had happen
ed both tonight and in LA. W
ith the recent revelation of his attraction to her, he could get the wrong idea about her inviting him over
at nearly three in the morning, too.

             
Besides, the person she really wanted to see was Brennan. He’d been the first person who’d come to mind as the solitude settled around her. Though she initially shoved it aside, she had to recognize that his face, his voice, was the one that came to her when she felt that first surge of weakness.

             
Maybe it was because he had been the one to save her from Victor. Maybe it was because he had been the only person she had ever fallen apart in front of and he had simply held her until she put herself back together. Maybe it was because they both knew intimate secrets about one another and though they were on opposite sides, they had built a bond of trust that was more reliable than any other relationship she’d ever had.

Trust me
to build an att
achment to someone like Brennan, she thought.

             
Well
,
attachments weren’t her style,
she decided,
they were messy and confusing. Giving up the idea of sleep, she tossed the blanket aside and marched to the kitchen in search of a pen and paper. She wanted to write Carmen a quick letter. Her life was too convoluted to be making friendships with young teenage girls. She’d known that from the beginning but had ignored her instincts as Carmen had won her over.

             
It took five revisions but eventually she settled on a quick note, folded it up and set it on the kitchen counter so she would remember it on her way out in the morning.
Carmen would be upset when she read it, but she was young and resilient. She’d get over it.

             
Tucking away guilt, she hopped in the shower just as the sky was beginning to turn a grayish-pink. Guilt
was a useless emotion, she reflected; i
t made a person soft. She couldn’t afford to be soft, especially now
.

             
As she showered, she couldn’t stop picturing Carmen and Brennan, n
o matter how many times she tol
d herself
s
he didn’t need them, or anyone. Regardless of
how high she turned up the hot water, she couldn’t stop the trembling.

FORTY-FOUR

             
“Thanks for picking me up, Brennan.”

             
“No problem, Bos
s,
”
Brennan said, keeping his eye on the road.

             
“Stop by the burger joint before heading home, will ya. I’m starving and that food they feed you in jail is bland as cardboard. I need something juicy to sink my teeth into.”

             
“Sure.”

             
Brennan was distracted and moody. Victor’s brash, careless attitude was clashing with his own. Gritting his teeth, he kept quiet and drove.

             
“Now on to business,
” Victor continued,
“
I’ve got to make some phone calls and see if everything’s on schedule for the drop before Halloween. I want security tighter than usual and all possible loop holes sealed up. I know that bitch Shyla is going to be on my ass and I can’t afford for the guy running this shipment to get wind of what’s been going on and get spooked.
I assume Shyla is still around?”

             
“She is.”

             
Victor rolled down the window and took in a deep breath of fresh air.

             
“Yeah, I figured,” he said,
“i
t’ll be fun to mess with her. I don’t know who she thinks she is or who she thinks she’s messing with, but she’s got another thing coming if she thinks she’s going to win this battle.”

             
“She’s just doing her job.”

             
“Oh, really?
” Victor said, glaring at him,
“W
e
ll so am I. And so are you. D
on’t forget it.”