“Not a bullet,” he reported, getting to his feet. “Must have been damaged by debris from the collision. I’ll find something to patch it up.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes,” he said blowing into his hands to warm them. “It’s our best option.”
She’d been debating and discarding other transportation options. It didn’t seem likely they would be able to get a cab to pick them up in these conditions.
“Wait in the car. We don’t need to add frostbite to our list of problems.”
“Yes, sir.” She wasn’t really offended by the way he snapped orders. This was Director Casey on the job. Any doubts she’d entertained about him lowering his guard or being more relaxed considering the purpose of his travel plans were gone.
From the driver’s seat she watched the minutes tick by on the dashboard clock, wondering what was taking him so long. Every moment they weren’t moving away from Denver was an opportunity for their enemy to gain ground. Apparently the director’s arrival wasn’t any more of a secret than his destination.
When he finally emerged, a plastic shopping bag in one hand and a red plastic gas can in the other, she hurried out to join him. “How can I help?” Anything to get them on the road faster.
“Go change your clothes,” he said with a scowl. “That uniform is too memorable.” He set the gas can and bag on the ground.
“Did you notice if they have any red cloth or tape?” She tapped the damaged light.
“So that’s how they picked us up so fast in the city.”
“It must be.”
Thomas rubbed her arms briskly then nudged her toward the car. “I’ll be finished here in a few minutes.”
“Then we keep moving.” Her emphatic nod lost a little something with her chattering teeth.
“Then we keep moving.” With a grim expression, he set the gas can and bag on the ground and crept under the car again.
While he dealt with the gasoline tank, Jo crawled into the backseat and reached over for the small duffel bag she’d left there.
In the near dark, with snow falling in bigger flakes against the window, she almost missed the flutter of paper. On her knees, she leaned over the seat and reached for the small square.
It was more than paper, it was money. Her fingers recognized the feel even as she unfolded it. She snapped on the dome light to get a better look. It was a fifty-euro note. The serial number on the note told her it was issued by Germany. But it was the other ten digits hand-printed on the short end that stirred her curiosity. She recognized the first three numbers as a Washington, D.C. area code, but the rest of what appeared to be a phone contact was unfamiliar to her. On reflex, she reached toward her purse for her cell, eager to see who picked up on the other end. If this actually was a phone number. Then she remembered Thomas had tossed her phone into the fiery remains of the SUV.
The blizzard seemed warm in comparison to the sudden chill seeping into her bones.
She pulled a change of clothing out of the duffel, but her mind was on the money and how anyone had slipped it into her car. She jumped when Thomas opened the driver’s door.
“I’m finished,” he said, that frown still tugging at his brow.
“That was quick,” she said with a smile that did nothing to ease his expression. The man was too observant for his own good.
“It was a relatively easy fix.” He held up the gas can. “I’ll go pump a couple of gallons into the container and we’ll see if it holds up. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she fibbed. “Just cold.”
“All right. It might be smart to turn off the light before you change clothes.”
He closed the door and she sagged against the seat. Her survival instincts warred with the decision to simply tell him everything, or hold back the more sensitive details. There was no better ally than Thomas Casey, but no worse enemy. She just couldn’t be sure how he’d react.
Continuing her mental debate, she shimmied out of her skirt and pulled her jeans on over her hose. More layers would be welcome in this weather. Next, she swapped her blazer for a hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with the Air Force Academy logo. She was reaching for hiking boots when the door opened again.
“The repair looks good. I’m going to move the car and fill it up.”
“Great.” She told herself she’d feel better, steadier, when they reached the cabin.
“When was the last time you slept? You’re pale.”
Did the man have to comment on every little thing? “I got six straight hours last night. Anyone would be pale after our recent troubles.”
Anyone but him, apparently.
He moved the car, braved the elements once more to pump the gas. Through the window, she watched him chafe his hands while the machine did the work. Tying her shoes, she grabbed his overcoat and slid out the opposite side of the car. She rounded the hood, brushed more snow off the headlights and handed him his overcoat.
“Put this on. I’m just running inside for a couple of things.”
“Hurry. Camera is at ten o’clock. Keep your head down.”
She gave him a mock salute and shuffled through the snow to the store. Grabbing a couple of soft drinks, a bag of chips, two pairs of gloves and two stocking caps, she waited for the gas pump to finish and paid cash for the total.
Wishing the clerk a safe evening, she opened the door only to find Thomas had moved the car so she wouldn’t have to traipse through the snow again.
“Thanks,” she said boosting herself into the passenger seat. She made quick work of the seat belt and, as he put the car in gear, she took the labels and price tags off of the gloves. “Put these on.”
“The heater’s going now.”
“So I’m late with the thoughtfulness. Can’t hurt.”
He tugged the gloves on one by one and continued the slow drive to the cabin she’d prepared.
“Do you need directions?”
“I memorized the route,” he replied.
Of course he did. And probably a backup route, too. “Are you worried they’ll pick us up again?”
“Aren’t you?”
“A little, yes.” The drilled taillight and the marked currency made her wonder what else the people setting up Thomas might have done. What else they might know. Too bad she hadn’t thought to pack a signal jammer. “Does it even matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“Sorry. I was thinking out loud.”
He turned the wiper blades to high and adjusted the defrost setting. “May as well share.”
“I was scolding myself for not packing a signal jammer and wondering, based on our circumstances, if it would have made any difference.”
His shoulders hitched. “Fair question.”
“Does this number mean anything to you?” she read off the phone number.
“What kind of paper is that?”
“It’s a euro. I recognized the country of origin by the serial number. Germany.”
He didn’t say anything else, and he had that famous inscrutable expression on his face, but she felt the tension radiating off of him. She shouldn’t read much into the reaction. For all she knew the storm and lack of visible road signs were getting under his skin.
“Where did the euro come from?”
“Someone left it in the car. The locked car. Right on top of my duffel bag to be precise.”
“Theories?”
“I haven’t had a lot of time to work up any theories,” she admitted.
“You’ve got time now.”
Based on his reaction, and the way he diverted the topic, she had to assume he recognized the number. Would that be a benefit or a hindrance moving forward?
“Theory number one, the one that brought me out here this weekend, is that someone is here in Denver gunning for you.”
He snorted. “That’s not a theory, it’s a fact. Someone somewhere is always gunning for me.”
His stomach tightened at the truth she already knew. “I’m sure, but who really knows how to find you?”
“The Initiative,” he said with bitter intensity.
“That’s your theory. And it’s flawed because whether you believe me or not, I am on your side.”
“That’s just one of my theories.” He squinted out at the road again. “There’s something else on your mind.”
“Theory two is
I’ve
been set up by someone and making you look bad is a convenient bonus.”
“Cross me off the suspect list.” He swore, checked the rearview mirror and backed up to make the turn he’d missed. “I haven’t thought about you in years.”
“Oh, stop. Such praise will go straight to my head.” She cursed herself for feeling those words all the way to her bones.
“Truth hurts sometimes.”
It might hurt more if she believed it. Yes, he’d walked away from the leading edge of a relationship she thought had great potential. His reasoning had been clear from the beginning of their time together. His work wasn’t just important to him, it had global implications. Being involved with someone, caring about them, gave the enemy an easy target.
The very act of staying unattached told her just how important she was to him. How important she had been at one time, anyway.
As a member of the small, shadowy community of intelligence agencies she understood his concerns completely. It was no coincidence she’d adopted his philosophy and avoided lasting personal relationships when she landed her current post.
“We could always go with the classic theory that it’s all a bad dream,” she offered, trying to lighten the mood. The fact was at this point, with a blizzard interrupting communication, theories and educated guesses wouldn’t help them much.
“I could get behind that one. But my cold, wet feet and ruined shoes are proof enough of an annoying reality for me. I don’t suppose you packed anything in my size.”
“Not in the car, no.”
“Because you expected me to be unconscious?”
“It might have been a contributing factor.” A dreadful thought occurred to her. “Your tuxedo for the wedding wasn’t in your suitcase, was it?”
“No. It was delivered directly to the resort.”
“Finally something is going our way.”
He slid a dubious glance at her. “You can’t really expect me to believe the wedding is a primary goal for you.”
“It’s important to you, so it’s important to me that we get you there in one piece.”
“Does anyone know about your hideaway?”
“Anyone?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Jo. You know what I’m asking.”
“No one at work knows. I rented it with my mother’s maiden name.”
“That’s an easy enough personal detail to uncover. Please tell me you didn’t search for the property or call the agent from your office?”
“No,” she said though gritted teeth. “I’m not a fool. I picked up the assignment and developed a plan of action based on the information and implications.”
“What are the implications?”
“Bogus. Dangerous. That’s why I’m here.” If Thomas Casey was a traitor, she’d tender her resignation as soon as the weather cleared. “We learned about the outbreak, discovered the virus you recovered from the Germany mission is missing and...” Her voice trailed off. It made her sick just to think it. She didn’t want to say it aloud.
“And?”
She swallowed, but it did nothing to clear the bad taste from her mouth caused by the outrageous accusation. “And received an anonymous tip that you plan to sell another vial of the virus while you’re here for the wedding.”
“Any kind of confirmation on that tip?” His quiet tone did nothing to dull the lethal edge behind the question.
“Your supposed buyer has been in the country for several months with a diplomatic detail.”
“Whose diplomatic detail?”
Inside she cringed. “I was told I didn’t need to know. However, four weeks ago with the support of U.S. officials, the criminal known as Whelan entered the country to assist with the takedown because he claims he can identify the buyer.”
“Convenient excuse.” Thomas flexed his hands on the steering wheel.
His reaction worried her. She’d heard the rumors about his history with Whelan, but her search for accurate details had come up empty. Considering the close call at the airport, her personal vendetta theory was gaining traction. But that didn’t explain away the outbreak or the potential virus sale. “The agency that arranged for his assistance needs the deal to go through so they can arrest both the seller—you—and the buyer.”
Expecting an outburst, an immediate protest or at least another question, she found his prolonged silence at that revelation unnerving. She knew he was processing, had been trying to figure the angle on all of this since she led him away from his anticipated wedding agenda.
He downshifted to get up the next hill. “So the armchair quarterbacks and their perfect hindsight vision have decided to dig my grave, literally and figuratively, when I’m distracted with my niece’s wedding. That’s cold. Even for the Initiative.”
“As a committee we are
not
behind this.”
“Says the woman who doesn’t know the source.”
“I admit that looks bad, but I purposely took this on in order to protect you and prevent what looks to me like a more personal vendetta.”
“Protect me,” he muttered. “From the Initiative or from something else?”
How to tell him? How was less important than what, she decided, and sharing what she knew might help him trust her faster.
“My committee received intel that you already sold the virus to one extremist group and this new buyer is a line back into the Isely family.”
“Bull. We eliminated them as a player five years ago. That was the whole point of the Oberammergau mission. It was considered a successful takedown.”
“I remember.”
All too well.
She remembered the bruises and burns on his body when he’d made it—two hours late—to the rendezvous point. She’d driven through the night across the mountain and into Austria while he pretended he wasn’t wounded. He’d joked about padding the expense account when she checked into the most extravagant hotel in the area.
She remembered turning up the music on the radio as she dug a bullet out of his back, the marble and mirrors of the luxurious bathroom serving as cold, silent witnesses. It hadn’t made the task easier. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the bright red trickle of his blood swirling in the drain of the white porcelain bathtub.