Best Laid Plans (65 page)

“Good.” Maybe she and Ben would get along after all.

“What’s wrong?”

She walked around to her new desk. There was nothing on it, but that would change. She sat in the chair. Comfortable, but it would need to be broken in. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“I have some news you might like.” He pulled a letter from his pocket.

It was from Cheyenne College, the office of Stephanie Adair, addressed to Ben Lawson, Producer,
Maximum Exposure.

“What?”

“Just read it.”

She did, and she smiled. “They fired the chief of campus security.”

“And implemented new security protocols related to when and how they report crimes or potential crimes to the local authorities.”

“Good.” She nodded as she scanned the letter a second time. “Good.”

“It won’t bring Scott Sheldon back.”

“No.”

But maybe the new procedures would prevent another mother from suffering the same grief as Adele Sheldon.

It would never be a perfect world. But keeping a bright light on the truth, exposing lies, highlighting evil, holding people accountable for their actions—or their inactions—would help.

“We’re scheduled to tape in one hour. You should get down to makeup and get ready.”

“Just give me five minutes.”

Ben left, and Max walked over to the window, looked out, and took a deep breath.

Today was the first day of the rest of her life, but she would never forget those who’d died. Not Scott Sheldon, not Karen Richardson, and not her best friend from high school, Lindy Ames. A case that was still unsolved, and probably always would be.

Read on for an excerpt from
Allison Brennan
’s next book

NO GOOD DEED

Available in November 2015 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

CHAPTER ONE

Nicole Rollins had always been a meticulous planner. She had contingencies for almost every possible scenario, which was why she’d been able to fool the DEA for fifteen years. People were mostly predictable, and mostly fools.

Even though being arrested wasn’t in her master plan, she had a contingency, and the minute she was arraigned, the clock started ticking. Her people knew what to do and when to do it. The timeline, by necessity, had to be fluid, but when she was ready, she gave the signal and the countdown began. Nothing was left to chance, because she only had one shot at escaping and she had to get it right.

And if she got it wrong? She’d go out big and take as many of those motherfuckers with her as possible.

But she wasn’t going to get it wrong.

Today marked the end of her old life. Cliché, but true. Nicole sat patiently in the back of the federal van, her face blank. Bored. Defeated.

Boredom and defeat were the furthest things from her mind. Anticipation flowed hot through her veins.

Her feet were shackled and locked to a bolt on the floor. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and attached to a chain around her waist. She wore an orange jumpsuit—she despised orange, it made her skin appear sallow—and her blond hair was now cut short, without concern for style.

She kind of liked the short hair. After a trim, it would fun and sassy. She needed a little fun in her life after being in jail for ten weeks. She’d have to dye it darker, maybe add a few highlights, enough of an appearance change until she could hook up with a plastic surgeon she knew in Monterrey, Mexico. He was so good he’d be able to change the shape of her face and eyes just enough that the feds would be hard-pressed to identify her.

Two armed guards sat in the back, one with his back to the front of the truck, the other directly across from her. Another guard drove, and a fourth was in the passenger seat. A steel-reinforced door with a bullet-proof window separated the cab from the back. Closed-circuit cameras showed the rear compartment to the guards up front. They were being recorded, but there was no live camera feed. She didn’t care—within thirty minutes, she’d be dead or gone, and how it happened would be irrelevant.

Two federal SUVs escorted the van, front and back. This was the third time Nicole had been transported from the jail to the federal courthouse. The first two times were uneventful, but necessary so her team could adjust last-minute details. Last Monday, she went to the courthouse to give the Assistant United States Attorney a juicy morsel to exploit. On Thursday, it was to review documentation and sign the plea agreement. After the explosion at the DEA’s evidence locker ten days ago, the AUSA was more than happy to have a valuable source of information.

The angry, defeated look on Brad Donnelly’s face as he watched her in the courtroom had thrilled her to no end. She won, he lost.

He had far, far more to lose before she was done with him and the people he worked for.

Today, they were taking her back to the courthouse to spill her guts. Third transport, it had become routine. She’d already agreed to the plea deal, so now it was just a matter of talking. Everything she knew about Tobias, his operation, the gun and drug trades, the money-laundering arrangement he’d had with the now-dead bitch congresswoman—she had all week to unburden herself, to make good on her promise before being transported to a federal prison far from Texas.

She wasn’t going to say a word. She’d be free or dead before she ever made it to court.

Nicole was used to stakeouts and long periods of waiting; she remained calm. Very calm. An alert dream state.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Nicole smiled deep inside, so deep that her blue eyes remained blank and her mouth a thin, straight line. Her plan was nearly foolproof. She had contingencies on top of her contingencies, which was why the DEA had never known she was the most dangerous fox in their henhouse.

The transport van slowed as they approached a red light, after the lead SUV drove through the intersection. The guards glanced at the cross traffic. There were supposed to be no stops on the short, ten-minute drive from the jail to the federal courthouse. The lead car had a sensor that turned red lights green so they wouldn’t even have to slow down.

Full stop meant trouble.

They stopped. A school bus was coming through the intersection, they couldn’t risk a collision.

Nicole couldn’t see the bus from the back of the van, but she knew it was there.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t react at all.

But she’d been ready for a very long time. Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline surging in anticipation. And still, she remained motionless.

If Brad Donnelly had been in charge of the operation, he would have changed the route and time at the last minute—it was his M.O. But Nicole took the gamble when she planned her escape that the AUSA would follow standard protocols for a cooperating prisoner, and that Samantha Archer wouldn’t even tell Donnelly the where or when because he’d been so angry about the plea agreement. That was one of those factors that Nicole couldn’t control—who said what to whom, and if what they said would matter. But Sam Archer was predictable, and if she
had
told Brad about the transport, she wouldn’t let him anywhere near it. One reason Nicole had pushed him so hard earlier—both when she was his partner and after her arrest—was to keep him on the edge. Sam Archer got nervous when Brad was in maverick mode. She much preferred to work with cops who took direct orders without question.

And Nicole’s gamble worked.

It also helped that she’d stacked the deck, so to speak, by having someone on the inside to ensure that the AUSA didn’t deviate from protocol. And if they did deviate? She had another plan, though that would have resulted in a higher body count.

This time, she didn’t need it.

The guard sitting directly in front of her spoke into his radio. “Report.”

The passenger said, “Traffic stop.”

The guard was suspicious. Too smart for his own good. He said, “It’s supposed to be green all the way.”

“The lead car is holding up across the intersection, we have the tail car, nothing out of the ordinary.”

The guard said, “Run it.”

“Pedestrians. A school bus.”

Nicole smiled and closed her eyes.

The school bus full of children rolled into the intersection and stopped, blocking the transport van.

“Shit,” the driver said. He radioed immediately. “Alpha-One, we have a situation. Code Yellow.”

The lead SUV responded. “Back up, re-route parallel to the north.”

“Negative,” Alpha-Two responded. “Civilian vehicles behind us, no way to turn around without exiting the vehicle and directing traffic.”

Alpha-One said, “Code Red, be alert. Back-up en route.”

The school bus didn’t move. Three masked men emerged with fully-automatic weapons and opened fire on the front of the transport van.

The windshield was bullet-proof, but enough pressure from high-caliber weapons and even bullet-proof glass breaks.

In less than ten seconds both cops in the cab were dead.

It had been Nicole’s idea to use the school bus. No cop would return fire when her crew was shielded by innocent kids.

The guards in the back of the transport van had their guns out—one aimed at Nicole, one aimed at the rear door. The smart guard who’d sensed a problem before the problem occurred, reported through the open mic, “Two officers down! We’re under attack. Three shooters minimum, possible hostile driver, multiple hostages in the bus.”

There was no response.

“Alpha-One, this is Zeta-One. I repeat, officers down. Under attack. Hostages in bus. Confirm.”

Silence.

“Alpha-Two! Are you there?”

Silence.

One of the two masked men climbed up the front of the truck, through the broken glass, and extracted keys from one of the dead guards. The other men guarded the area.

“You’ll never get away with this,” the smart guard told Nicole. “They’ll hunt you down like a rabid dog.”

She didn’t say a word, just stared at him.

He turned his gun on her. “I die, you die.”

“And then all those children die,” she whispered.

His face fell. She smiled. Just a small smile, but her excitement was growing and she couldn’t contain her glee.

Sirens roared from seemingly every direction, coming closer.

“Open the door,” Nicole said.

The armored transport van had to be unlocked from the outside, but opened from the inside. Her team could get in because they had the right tools, but it would take longer.

Time was critical.

“Officer, if you do not open the door in ten seconds, my people will start killing those children, one by one, until you do.”

“Don’t do it, Isaac,” the second guard said.

“Seven seconds. I’m not bluffing.”

The smart guard, Isaac, was torn. She saw it in his eyes. This was the type of dilemma they’d been trained for, even when the threat was rare. Did you let a prisoner go to save innocent lives? It was a fair trade, as far as Nicole was concerned. But in training, you never gave in to terrorists. In the textbooks, there were hard and fast rules. All criminals were terrorists. Do not negotiate with terrorists.

“Four seconds.”

Isaac glanced out the front and saw a fourth gunman come out of the bus holding a child in front of him.

But children … that was a wild card. You can train for it, but until you were in a situation with the barrel of a gun at the back of a child’s head, you really didn’t know what you would do.

Isaac got up and turned the knob. The click told her it was open.

“Put the gun down and you’ll be spared,” she said.

“Don’t do it! They’ll kill us both!”

She looked Isaac in the eye. “I’m not lying.”

The door opened, and Isaac put his gun down and his hands up.

The other guard didn’t. He didn’t get a shot off before a bullet pierced his skull.

One of the masked men quickly unlocked Nicole’s shackles. She picked up the gun that Isaac had dropped. “No one will believe it, but Isaac, sleep well because you will save those kids.”