Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2) (25 page)

Cappy paid the cab driver and entered the closed-up hangar through a side door. The muscles in his legs worked overtime to lift the pair of cement shoes that seemed to have replaced his boots. The only good news he’d received this evening was the false alarm on the raid of the safe house, but it hardly outweighed the tragedy. The knots in his shoulders made his movements stiff and every time he blinked he saw images of April’s body lying in a pool of blood on her bed.
Son of a bitch.
Cuts and slices destroyed her creamy skin, reminiscent of how he found Michelle. He ground the edges of his palms into his eye sockets.
Fuck.
The action did nothing to stop his mental video from trying to replay the sight of Michelle handcuffed to the iron frame—

No.
He stopped near the private plane’s tail and forcefully pushed the memories down. Dwelling on that tragedy wouldn’t solve a damn thing other than giving him an ulcer.

He hadn’t felt comfortable leaving the Senator behind, but between the police, FBI, and April’s protection detail, the man was well covered.

Christ. Losing a wife and a son.
He shook his head at the senselessness of it.

He glanced around, but didn’t see a single person moving about. A quick peek at his watch gave him the answer for the silence. 11:39 p.m. Everyone was probably at home.

The flickering glow of TV images reflecting off a large glass window caught his attention. Hopefully the pilots hadn’t split and were still resting in the lounge.

Taking advantage of the privacy, he unclipped his cell phone and punched in a private number. It rang two times before a gruff voice, only accomplished by chain-smoking for years, answered,
“Warden.”

“My name’s Cappy; calling on behalf of Senator Bob Harris.”

“Sure you are.”

“‘The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits,’” Cappy quoted Albert Einstein per the Senator’s directive.

“Ain’t that the truth,”
the Warden mumbled.
“Okay, so you’re legit. What can I do for you?”

“I quote, ‘Make that son of a bitch hurt so bad, death would be a welcomed end,’” Cappy recited, then tacked on, “And keep at it until he’s jumping at shadows.”

“Consider it done.”

“And one more thing,” Cappy growled with every ounce of warning he could muster. “Don’t ever supply him with a cell phone or device that allows him to reach the outside again.”

The Warden blustered,
“I beg your par—”

“Can it,” Cappy snapped. “Your greed cost the Senator his wife. If Bob Harris ever figures that out, you’ll be lucky if you don’t end up on the other side of the prison system.”

Cappy hung up, not really interested in hearing the man beg for Cappy to keep his silence. Nothing the warden said would sway him from leaking the news to the Senator . . . though at a much later date. Now would
not
be a good time. The politician couldn’t afford to be arrested for murder on top of everything else.

He sighed and rubbed his short hair. Another vision of April tried to take over until a pair of warm bronze irises with little gold flecks overlapped the image. They blinked and his mental camera panned back until he saw her whole face. She gazed up at him with so much desire he actually sprung a semi.

“Trying to earn the scepter that goes with your King of Stupidity crown?” he muttered as he crossed the distance to the lounge. He rapped on the glass and the two pilots jumped, swinging their gazes his way. He motioned he was ready to go and they signed back they’d only be a moment.

That taken care of, he picked up his pace to make sure Michelle was out of sight when the pilots boarded. He clomped up the metal stairs and paused at the top of the landing, then texted
I’m here. Open Up
.

A matter of seconds later, the door heaved open and Magician and Wraith hovered in the entrance.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he demanded, taking in their tear-soaked faces. His heart thundered and it took all of him not to knock them out of the way to check on Michelle.

“Nothing,” Wraith said, stepping back. “We’re fine.
She’s
fine.”

Cappy stormed past, his eyes searching the entire cabin.

“She’s sleeping in the bedroom,” Magician supplied, following his idiotic movements. “Passed out from consuming a lot of wine.”

He whirled. “What? Wine?”

“Yes—”

“We’ll be able to give you an estimated departure time once the plane is moved to the tarmac and we’ve spoken to the tower,” the captain interrupted, moving toward the cockpit.

The copilot paused by the entrance and peered at their group. “Is everyone present? Can I seal this now?”

Cappy swiped a hand down his face, trying to swallow the bile lodged in his throat from anxiety. Magician and Wraith kept their backs to the man—probably didn’t want the guy to see they’d been crying.

“Yes,” Cappy answered, “go ahead and close it up.”

Cappy didn’t move as he watched the copilot seal the door and disappear into the cockpit. Only after the man locked that door did he exhale. Knowing he was acting like a crazed lovesick boy, he still marched to the bedroom and peered in anyway.

Michelle lay curled in the middle of the queen-sized bed. She hadn’t bothered to crawl under the sheets or change her clothes. The only thing she had removed were her shoes . . . or maybe one of the other women did that for her.

His erratic pulse calmed at seeing her resting so peacefully.

He grabbed the door and closed it with a soft click, then dropped into the seat the Senator had occupied on the flight over. He peered at his two operatives, who now sat on the other side of the table, and demanded, “Someone better start talking.”

The women traded looks and the fear he thought he’d stowed slammed into his gut.

Magician plucked at a mashed tissue and sniffed. She dabbed a corner of the white square against her eye, further smudging the black mascara. The image was so out of character for the normally reserved woman that Cappy’s alarm ratcheted up a notch.

In the past, Wraith had also been aloof, but ever since her escape from SBG, meeting Grady, and reuniting with the team, she had been freer with her emotions. But all that insight didn’t tell Cappy a goddamn thing.

“Do I need to issue an order?” Cappy asked tightly, ignoring the sounds of the plane getting ready and bracing his feet on the floor as they moved out of the hangar.

“She didn’t kill Colin,” Wraith blurted, swiping at a tear tracking down her cheek.

“What?” His heart leapt, and his gaze flew to Magician.

She nodded. “I got a call from SAC Bingham.” Her voice was huskier than usual, probably from crying. “The preliminary test results didn’t find any traces of Colin’s blood or champagne on her dress.”

He exhaled and thumped his head against the seat. The relief coursing through him felt like such a betrayal. In his gut he knew she hadn’t done it but that small shadow of doubt had been hammering him.

“We can’t release her yet,” Cappy mused, staring out the window at nothing. He couldn’t be sure if he was arguing to keep Michelle for her safety or his selfish need to stay close to her a little while longer. “Too many variables, and we’re still trying to get a handle on the SBG angle. The Marshals and Feds won’t be able to protect her from Victor like we can. Cartels, they can manage; that sadistic bastard in jail, not even close.”

“The tower has cleared us for takeoff. Please stay in your seats with your seatbelts on until I turn the sign off,”
the captain instructed over the intercom.

The plane’s speed increased as it taxied up the runway, then lifted in the air, pressing Cappy deeper into his seat. Oh shit. Michelle. He went to unbuckle his belt despite the warning, but Magician had already beaten him to it. He turned and watched her jog up the aisle, open the door, then close it again.

“She’s fine,” Magician said, taking her seat. “Shifted a little bit but not much.”

Cappy nodded, then motioned to his operatives. “Spill it. What happened?”

Wraith cleared her throat and began. “Magician and I thought a celebration was in order, so we cracked open a bottle of wine—”

“You two were drinking on the job?” Cappy thundered, his voice rising. “You were supposed to protect—”

“Shove the lecture,” Magician retorted with disgust. “Of course we weren’t drinking.”

Wraith’s eyes narrowed, the effect eerie with her glistening, puffy eyes. “As I was about to say, we opened a bottle of wine and
juice
cartons
to toast.”

Embarrassment flooded his cheeks. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. “Continue. What happened after that to put you two . . . ?” He waved a hand toward their faces, uncomfortable at the sight of the waterworks running freely. He hated to see women cry. In fact, he didn’t know many men who could handle it when a woman shed tears. Romeo was the only one in the group who had any clue as to how to make the tears stop, but since the operative wasn’t here now, Cappy had to handle it on his own. Christ.

Magician twisted the tissue and whispered, “She told us about Colombia.”

Cappy jerked.

Wraith nodded. “All of it.”

Double Christ. He rubbed a hand over his face and worked to block out the images from that hellish day. Michelle told them
all
of it? Fuck.

In a low voice, Wraith continued, “And Magician also confessed how she got the scar.”

He gawked at the two. Dear Lord. No wonder they were blubbering. Talk about soul-stealing conversations. He shifted and tried to digest the development. To his knowledge only he and Romeo knew the whole story surrounding Magician’s undercover debacle . . . and he suspected they—or at least he—got a sanitized version.

“You need to tell Michelle about Delta Squad.”

He jerked his head up at Wraith’s no-nonsense tone. “She can’t be told—”

“Yes,” Wraith snapped, “she can. We let Grady in.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? On the surface maybe, but Michelle has someone trying to ruin her life just like Grady had, and a group of strangers—us—she can’t tell whether are enemies or allies.”

Cappy’s pulsed jumped.

“Let her in, Cap,” Magician begged softly. “She can keep a secret. Look at all the years of training she’s had with WITSEC. You love her and she loves you.”

The air froze in his lungs. Christ God. Was he that transparent? Had Michelle figured it out too or did his team just know him that well? Please let it be the latter so Michelle could move on with her life when he left. Only one of them needed to suffer the heartache and she already paid her dues in that department to last two lifetimes.

“You know I can’t tell her about Delta.” Each word felt like a shard of glass cutting across his tongue.

“You’ve already messed up once,” Magician stated, her voice no longer shaky and her mask now firmly back in place. “You mentioned you worked for SBG after Colombia when we were all in Cottage Two.”

“What?” Cappy’s blood pressure rocketed up and down like a piston with this conversation.

“Yep.” Wraith tag-teamed. “You said it and she remembered it. She asked about it when we helped get her situated on the bed. Wanted to know if we all worked for SBG and mumbled something about the chain of command. Just as we got her shoes off and were about to leave, she hit us with that she doesn’t believe Magician, Romeo, and Isis really work for the FBI, but you.”

“Christ,” he muttered, seemingly unable to access any other word in his vocabulary.

“She deserves to know and it should come from you.” Wraith leaned against the table and continued to hammer at him. “Take it from someone who had to fake her death just to get away, finding Grady was the best thing that happened out of that nightmare.”

Magician mirrored Wraith’s pose. “Romeo said this earlier and I agree: SBG is going through a change. It’s not going to be all roses, but you have the team to help keep her safe just like we kept Grady safe. Don’t lose her because she thinks you have no trust in her.”

Every word they spoke tempted him so much.

“I’m not allowed to have emotions,” Cappy bit out, if only to remind himself. “I’m the leader of this team.”

“You’re human, not a robot,” Magician retorted. “You’re allowed to feel.”

“You both know all the gory details now. The last time I got caught up in my emotions, I led my unit to their deaths.”

Magician and Wraith blinked.

“Actually, we don’t,” Wraith replied slowly. “Michelle only told us about the rescue.”

SON OF A FUCK. He gripped his hands together under the table.

“Hey,” Wraith soothed, “whatever happened, that was six years ago. We’re not the Army. You have to have a little faith that we’ll be fine.”

“You can’t deny yourself love because you’re afraid to lose us,” Magician followed up gently.

He peered through the window but only saw darkness.

“Get your head out of your ass and don’t screw this up.”

Cappy flinched, turning his attention to Wraith. She had never spoken to him like that before.

“You’ve shouldered all the weight on your own for too long,” Wraith qualified in a softer tone. “I only did it for seven months and the isolation I felt was horrible. I can’t imagine six years without having your parents, siblings, cousins, whatever for support even if you never call on them. Just knowing you could at any time helps with the burden.”

Cappy stayed silent.

Wraith had no problem filling the void with her final boom. “While the team is like family to me, nothing can substitute the bond I have with Grady. SBG doesn’t get to tell me who I can and can’t love and what I do about it. You shouldn’t let them either. Michelle is your other half.”

Michelle placed Talon’s hat on her head and futzed with it for a second. Dark smudges lined her eyes and a faint buzzing still hummed in her blood. Not a shock to still be tipsy at 2:32 a.m.

Sandra had shaken her awake, told her they had landed, and instructed her to hurry through the bathroom bit.

“The airport is a ghost town,” Sandra had murmured. “Since we never crossed the borders and were already ‘cleared’ by security in Kansas, no one from security is waiting outside.” She’d held up Talon’s hat. “Put this on and join us.” Before Michelle could process everything, the woman slid from the bedroom.

Michelle peered at her less-than-stellar reflection. Self-consciousness hit her and she couldn’t help wondering how Sandra and Sonya would treat her once she emerged. She felt closer to Sonya after sharing scar stories, but did the super-chic woman feel the same?

Bracing herself for the possible brush-off, she stepped into the cabin. The sight of so many people caught her by surprise. Almost everyone from yesterday was here. Only Blond B-yotch Isis and the Senator were missing.

As if they read her mind, Sandra and Sonya each broke off their conversations and met her near the edge of the room. Michelle steeled herself, but instead of trite, pithy comments, they each embraced her. Tears sprang at the corners of her eyes. Holy guacamole. Was this what having girlfriends meant? Support without words?

Grady cleared his throat, making the three of them break apart. A frown eclipsed his handsome face and he studied each one of them before encircling Sandra back into his arms. “Do I want to know?”

As if choreographed, they all shook their heads.

“Right,” he gamely replied, “moving on. We’re here to help disguise your exit, Michelle.”

“Safety in numbers,” Raymond explained, placing a hand on the small of Sonya’s back. It was odd to see him without his suit. The pair of designer jeans and henley he had on somehow seemed to make him even more devastatingly handsome—maybe because she could relate to the casual clothes better or because it showed off his exquisitely maintained physique. Either way, Sonya was a lucky woman if Michelle’s intuition was right.

A shiver stole down her spine and the goose bumps she had been ignoring since entering the cabin increased, raising the hair on her arms.

Jeremy had slipped up behind her.

“The few folks working the graveyard shift shouldn’t care,” he rumbled, his gruff voice tickling her ear and causing her to squirm at the rush of pleasure coursing toward her southern parts. “But just in case, when all of us exit at once the potential onlooker won’t have a clue an extra member’s been slipped in.”

She swallowed and peeked over her shoulder. Her eyes feasted on Jeremy’s gorgeous face, sliding down his chest-hugging, bicep-cutting black T-shirt to his cargo pants complete with gun and cell phone clipped to his belt.
Holy fire-flame, Batman.
Her temperature skyrocketed.

She straightened and studiously ignored Sandra and Sonya, not wanting confirmation that her reaction to him had been obvious. And just like that, a strange longing filled her, dampening some of her sweat-producing, indecent thoughts. The camaraderie and ease with which everyone on the plane interacted reminded her of a family . . . one she yearned to be part of.

Talon’s black-bladed knife twirled hypnotically from his position underneath the TV up front. Okay. Maybe she wouldn’t enjoy being buds with
every
member of this family.

She peered at Cappy again, noting the new layer of tension tightening his eyes and pulling at edges of his mouth. “Hey,” she said softly, not wanting to interrupt the soft flow of conversations around them, “are you okay? Was it bad?” She still couldn’t believe the Senator’s wife had been murdered. Colin
and
April. Good Lord, that poor man.

A variety of emotions flashed across his expressive eyes, and for a moment she thought he’d open up, but instead he cultivated a blank mask. “I’m fine. Murders are never pleasant.”

Duh.
Disappointment lanced through her, but she wasn’t surprised he shut her out.

He slung an arm across her shoulders. “Time to go,” he announced, quieting the room.

She allowed him to lead her forward and the rest of the group filed in around her. The moment the cool air hit her face, her stomach clenched and she became sober instantly. The moon was bright and full, and hardly a sound emanated except for an occasional car on the main road.

She tugged the bill of Talon’s hat down and Jeremy gave her a squeeze, pushing her to follow Sandra and Grady. She held her breath, looking left and right furtively as she tromped down the stairs, but nothing happened. The simple plan had worked. No one greeted them at the bottom and no one seemed to care about the arriving passengers on the Senator’s plane.

They headed directly for the large Suburban Raymond had parked right near the stairs and climbed in. Ted hopped into the front passenger’s seat, Talon and Sonya slid into the first bench seat, she and Jeremy took the middle, and Sandra and Grady filled up in the last row. Raymond shut the side doors and jumped behind the wheel.

Jeremy no longer had his arm around her but he sat close enough that every time he moved or breathed, his shoulder rubbed against hers. She shivered.

“You cold?” Jeremy asked, pulling her into his side again.

She flopped her head against his meaty shoulder and held in a sigh.

“I’ve got something to ask you, Michelle,” Raymond called, blessedly giving her an out from answering Jeremy’s question. She could hardly admit the shiver was from attraction and need.

“Sure,” she replied to Raymond, lifting her head and meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“Do you, uh, collect picture frames?”

Michelle straightened. “Huh? Picture frames? What do you mean?”

Raymond guided the vehicle along the access road then glanced back up into the mirror again. “When I stopped by your apartment earlier to pick up some clothes for you, I found black picture frames in the strangest places throughout your apartment.”

Ice-cold dread shot down her spine.

Cappy stiffened and the rest of the group ping-ponged their gazes between her and Raymond.

“Um, I never . . . I mean, I don’t have . . .” She couldn’t think enough to form a sentence. Fear pooled in her gut. “No, I don’t own any.”

“What’s in the frames?” Cappy demanded.

Raymond met Jeremy’s gaze. “That’s just it. Nothing. Every frame has the same fake family that comes with them.”

Jesus Mary Joseph. Someone had been in her apartment beyond the law enforcement search warrant team.

“Show me,” Jeremy snapped.