Withholding Evidence (22 page)

Vole said Ruby considered turning himself in, but decided to meet with Trina first, hoping she could help him cut a deal with the attorney general. Except minutes before the meeting, Ling cornered him and warned him not to say anything. Then Ling set himself up in the coffee shop and monitored Ruby. Ruby’s hostility was a show to let Ling know he was toeing the line.

It appeared Ling had killed Ruby anyway, because Ruby had been prepared to turn himself in, and he was the only person who had seen Ling’s face.

Trina rubbed her temples, her head aching as she took in how thoroughly she’d been manipulated. She bumped her glasses, and for the fourth time in the last hour, the lens popped out of the cracked frame.

Beyond the two-way mirror, Curt ended the interview with Vole, then stepped into the observation area. He sent the Secretary of Homeland Security and deputy attorney general to wait in his office, then asked Trina and Keith to meet with him in the conference room where she’d interviewed Owen the previous afternoon.

They gathered in the room, and Curt’s gaze landed on Trina. She knew him well enough to see the concern in his eyes. “Trina, you’re going to have to stay at the safe house indefinitely. As long as Ling is at large, you’re in danger.”

She’d expected this, but it was frightening nonetheless. “What about Keith?”

Keith dropped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to his side.

“Keith too.” Curt smiled. “You can stay together—but Keith, no more extracurricular ops. I’ll expect you to stay put.”

Now it was Keith’s turn to smile. He stood at attention and said a crisp, “Yes, sir.”

She laughed. Well, at least she was going into hiding
with
Keith. And with the right stilettos and underwear, life in the safe house could be fun. “Can I return to my place long enough to pack a bag? My glasses are broken. I need to grab another pair.” And there were those knee-high boots she’d been wanting an excuse to wear.

“Sure. I have agents there right now, so it’s safe. I just need to find someone to take you there, then deliver you to the safe house.” He fixed a gaze on Keith. “You can’t take her. I need you to talk to the SAC in San Francisco.”

“Understood. Rav called Sean in to guard Trina. He’s here now and can take her.”

Curt nodded. “Good.” Then he reached out and hugged her. “We’re going to do everything we can to round up Ling quickly. If we don’t have him in the next twenty-four hours through covert leads, we’re going public. Make no mistake, public or not, Ling currently tops the FBI’s most wanted list.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Curt.”

“I’ll give you two a moment. Keith, meet me in my office when you’re done.”

Keith nodded.

The moment Curt left, Keith opened his arms, and Trina stepped into them. He’d suffered a blow learning his dad was actively involved with RATinformant, and she ached for him.

“The only thing that’s getting me through this day is knowing you and I will be home together tonight.” He cradled her face. “I love you, Trina. I feel awful you were dragged in to this. It’s my fault you’re in danger and being forced to hide. But I’m selfishly grateful to have you.”

“If there is anyone to blame, it’s the dammed UN force commander. You did the right thing in Somalia, and you aren’t responsible for what your father has done.” She could see he wasn’t ready to relinquish guilt, but she had all the time in the world to work on that with him. She kissed him and said, “I love you, and I’m selfishly grateful to have you too.” She flashed a wicked smile. “Since I’m going home to pack, tell me, do you prefer garters or a teddy?”

“Which one of us is going to wear it?”

She choked on a laugh. “Now that you mention it…”

He kissed her, then said, “I prefer you in nothing at all and think you’re sexy in everything. Surprise me.”

She had a wide, sappy grin on her face as she and Sean set out for her apartment. It was late afternoon. Keith expected to be able to join her at the safe house in an hour or two. There were worse things than being forced to go into hiding with a hot former SEAL.

When they arrived at her apartment, the FBI agents were just packing up and leaving. They’d been looking for signs anyone besides Ruby had broken in and searched the place. Cressida had been called in to provide fingerprints for elimination purposes, and they’d contacted her boyfriend, Todd, in Tallahassee and instructed him to submit prints to the Jacksonville Field Office.

Every surface of her home was coated in black powder. Well, at least this mess wasn’t her fault. Deep down she figured the search for fingerprints was a futile effort. Ruby had worn gloves, and if Ling had been here, he’d have worn gloves as well.

A nervous ache clenched her belly. As fun as it would be to play house with Keith, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before the powers that be would determine she had to go into deep hiding, never to return to her previous life and the job that she loved?

Sean must have guessed her thoughts from the way she frowned as she took in the mess, because he said, “They’ll find him, Trina. Or they’ll find proof he fled the country.”

“I hope so.”

She grabbed a cloth and began cleaning the residue from the counter, but Sean stopped her. “We can’t stay long enough for you to clean. Pack a bag, and we’re out of here. You can hire a cleaning service to take care of the mess.”

She nodded and told herself to suck it up. Keith had lost everything when his home blew up. For her to whine about a little powder was ridiculous. She marched into her bedroom to pack. Sean followed at her heels.

He was a nice man, but having a bodyguard was stifling.

From her overstuffed closet she passed over the small overnight bag and grabbed the bigger suitcase tucked into the back. She placed it on the bed and pulled the zipper, which snagged at the second corner. With a tug, she heard a pop, and it broke free.

A hissing sound caught her attention as she flipped the top open. Sean lunged forward. “Don’t!”

The last thing she saw was the cloud of white gas that poured from the suitcase.

K
EITH’S CELL PHONE
buzzed. He glanced down, and his stomach dropped. Sean had hit the panic button on his phone.

He bolted to his feet, interrupting the meeting of bigwigs he’d been silently observing. “Trina’s in trouble. Sean hit the panic button on his cell phone.” Keith’s mind was already racing. The panic button was an app signal that went out to all Raptor operatives in the area, including Rav.

Keith dialed Rav even as he walked out of Dominick’s office, abandoning the meeting. The attorney general was at his heels, his own cell phone to his ear.

Rav answered immediately. “Where is Sean?” he asked without preamble.

“He took Trina to her apartment.”

Next to him, Dominick was speaking urgently into his phone. “You left? Go back. Now. She’s in trouble.” To Keith, he said, “The agents who were searching her place had finished. They left right after Trina and Sean arrived.”

Keith made a beeline for the exit. “I’m heading over.”

“I’m coming with you,” Dominick said. He followed Keith outside to his car, making calls and giving orders as he went. “I need an emergency unit en route to Dr. Sorensen’s apartment, now! I’m riding with Hatcher, and I want full updates of all radio dispatches. I’ll keep this line open.”

Keith’s brain had switched into full combat mode as he slipped behind the wheel of his borrowed SUV. He had to compartmentalize. He couldn’t think in terms of Trina being in danger. This was an op. Every op had two objectives: take out the target, and protect his brothers-in-arms. Like every op, there was only one acceptable outcome.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

T
HE FIRST SENSATION
Trina felt was fierce pain behind her eyes. Enough to make her want to retreat back into sleep or whatever state of consciousness she’d been in. She twitched, and the movement triggered sudden, violent nausea.

She turned her head to the side on instinct alone and tossed up her lunch. Her head felt as if it would split with each convulsive heave. Cold sweat dampened her skin.

She must have some sort of stomach bug. A bad one. Where was she? A hospital?

With effort, she opened her eyes. Sunlight caused another jabbing pain.

Not a hospital. Not even inside a building. She was in a car. Bound in the backseat. She’d just vomited on the floor. All she could see through the window was sunshine and sky.

Where was she going? Who had taken her?

She couldn’t see the driver from her vantage point right behind the driver’s seat. As far as she could tell, she was the vehicle’s only passenger.

Where was Keith? No. Not Keith. Sean. She’d been with Sean in her apartment, hadn’t she?

The memory came back—opening the suitcase, the gas. Then nothing until now.

Again she looked out the window. City buildings came into view. She was still in DC. In blessed stop-and-go traffic.

She eyed the door handle, wondering if she could open it and roll out before the driver could react. Her hands seemed to be bound, but maybe with her feet?

“You’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Don’t bother trying the door. Child locks.” There was a slight accent to his voice that suggested an Asian background, confirming her fear. She’d been taken by Ling.

She tried to sit up, then discovered she’d been shackled—zip-tied, from the feel of the plastic at her wrists—to the metal child car seat latch next to the seat-belt buckle. With her arms behind her back, her range of motion was limited. Her ankles were bound together but not tethered like her arms.

She had no clue where this man was taking her, but odds were it wouldn’t end well for her if they reached his intended destination. Alone, he’d be in complete control.

She pulled her knees to her chest, ignoring the sharp jabs of pain every motion triggered inside her skull, and kicked at the window. She couldn’t quite reach.

Being short sucks.

She scooted downward, even though it meant torquing her arms. Pain burned along her shoulder joint, but her heels hit the window. The rubber soles of her running shoes bounced on the glass.

The car swerved as the driver realized what she was doing. He said something sharply in what sounded to her untrained ears like Chinese. In English, he said, “I will shoot you if you try that again.”

She was dead when they arrived at their destination anyway. She kicked again. And again. On the fourth kick, the window shattered, safety glass rained down and out, and she screamed with all her energy for help, hoping the noise would rise above the traffic, that someone driving with their window down on the hot summer afternoon would hear her.

The muzzle of a pistol appeared in the gap between the driver and passenger seats. “Stop screaming.”

She took a deep breath and let out a scream that eclipsed the others, and braced herself for the gun to fire.

But it didn’t. Whoever this man was, he’d risked a lot to take her alive. They were probably headed someplace where he planned to torture the truth about Somalia out of her.

She kicked forward, hoping to dislodge the weapon, but missed. She had no leverage in that direction, tethered as she was to her side. All she could do was scream and flail her bound feet, hoping someone would hear and see her legs and alert the police.

And so she did. She screamed for all she was worth. This could be her only chance.

The gun fired, going high and into the seat cushion above her hips. Either he couldn’t aim while facing forward and driving with one hand, or he’d missed on purpose.

Surely the sound of the gunshot would have gotten someone’s attention on the city street.

Sirens sounded in the distance, then grew louder.

Please, let that be the cavalry.

The car lurched to a stop. The driver jerked open his door. Was he leaving her?

No such luck. The door by her head wrenched open, and there was her abductor—the man from the surveillance camera photo—lunging toward her with a knife. She cringed, closing her eyes as the blade sliced toward her.