Читать книгу Soldier For Hire - Kimberly Van Meter - Страница 17

“The arrest warrant was issued two weeks ago. Why aren’t we going after this guy?”

FBI Special Agent Conrad Griggs knew this had been coming but he’d hoped for a little more time. He owed Scarlett but he didn’t know how much longer he could keep the heat off Scarlett’s team while they handled things on their end.

“Red Wolf asked if they could handle the situation internally. Out of professional courtesy, we agreed to let them have time to bring in Xander Scott on their own.”

Senior Director Paul Platt wasn’t known for his leniency or his compassion so his irritation wasn’t unexpected, but Conrad was surprised that Platt was even aware of this case.

“Terrorists don’t get professional courtesy. The man is guilty of killing a US senator and a handful of civilians. He gets no quarter from this agency or any other agency employed by the US government. Am I clear?”

Conrad shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “As far as I know, Xander isn’t guilty until a court of law determines him to be.”

“Don’t play word games with me, Agent. This situation looks bad for everyone. There’s a lot of heat coming down and people higher up than me want this man’s head on a plate. McQuarry was a respected and well-loved senator. Someone’s feet are going to be held to the fire and right now, those feet belong to Scott.”

Reading between the lines, Conrad knew that meant it didn’t matter if Xander was innocent. He fit the bill for the crime and people wanted this to go away, neat and tidy.

“And if he’s being framed?”

“Who the hell would want to frame some nobody for a crime like this?” Platt asked, his tone incredulous. “Have you read Scott’s file? He’s a ticking time bomb. Honestly, I’m surprised it took him this long to snap.”

Conrad didn’t know Xander well but he trusted Scarlett and Scarlett never would’ve allowed a loose cannon on her team.

“Maybe that’s the point,” Conrad suggested with a shrug. “He looks good for the crime...maybe too good. Things usually don’t fall together that easily.”

“Easy? Have you lost your ever-loving mind? This case has been a goddamn nightmare from day one. An embarrassment to the United States government and cleaning up the mess falls to us, so stop dicking around and bring that man in.” Platt adjusted his girth, straining the limits of the leather belt encircling his hips and said, “No more talk about Scott being framed. We don’t need that kind of contamination on the investigation. Bring him in so we can prosecute. End of story. You hear me?”

Conrad nodded, but everything about how Platt was acting felt off. But Platt was his boss so he couldn’t risk losing his job over Scott. Maybe Scarlett was wrong and her man was guilty.

Hell, he knew it sucked to find out that someone you trusted was a bad apple—been there, done that—but sometimes it happened and you just had to roll with it.

Still, Conrad couldn’t help but mention, “You know Xander Scott is a highly decorated veteran, and he served multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Did you read that in his file?”

Platt flushed and his gaze turned shrewd. “Yeah, it’s a shame. Sometimes even the best of us screw up or snap.”

The words rang hollow. Conrad knew better than to keep poking at this particular spot but he was feeling reckless. He nodded, seeming to accept Platt’s answer, adding, “True enough. Just a pity, though, you know? He served our country with honor. Seems wrong to chase him down like a rabid dog.”

“Guilty men don’t run.”

“I guess you’re right.” Or men who know they’re being framed don’t stick around to negotiate. “I’ll make the necessary calls to put a team together.”

“Good. That’s what I want to hear.”

“However, I should remind you that Xander isn’t going to be easy to find. He’s good at disappearing, going off the grid. He doesn’t use a bank so he’s traveling with cash.”

“No one truly goes off grid in this day and age. He’ll leave behind bread crumbs and you’ll find them.”

Conrad would have to call Scarlett and let her know he was out of options.

“And keep me in the loop.”

That last part surprised Conrad. Platt rarely took this much interest in cases like this. Arrest warrants didn’t usually trip his meter. “Sir?” Conrad questioned with a frown. “How deep would you like to be in this case?”

“All the way,” Platt answered, moving to the door. “We all answer to someone, Griggs. That includes me.”

Platt let himself out of Conrad’s office, leaving behind a wealth of questions. Something felt off.

He picked up the phone and called Scarlett’s office but got voice mail. He tried her cell with similar results.

Conrad left a quick but vague message for Scarlett to call him back and then he grabbed his coat. He needed to satisfy the questions in his own head before he sent a team off to bring in Xander.

Listening to his gut had saved his life more times than he could count.

Right now, his gut was saying dig deeper.

So that’s what he was going to do.

Scarlett realized her phone was dead and plugged her charger in. She never let her phone get so low that it completely died but then Xander had thrown off her game.

She wasn’t in a habit of breaking rules but here she was, sharing a roach motel with a federal fugitive. Funny how things changed in a blink of an eye.

Grabbing the burner phone from her bag, she called Zak to check in.

Zak answered on the second ring. “It’s about time. I was starting to freak out. Did you find Xander?”

“Yeah, he caught a plane to Tulsa. I snagged the same flight. Tell CJ he owes you a beer.”

CJ had been sure that Xander wouldn’t fly, that he’d grab a rental or better yet, an old sedan from a used car lot. But Zak had agreed with Scarlett that Xander would take the most direct route, given the time crunch. The two had argued and then bet against one another.

Zak chuckled. “Damn straight he does. So are you with Xander now?”

“Yeah, I convinced him that it was better to work together, not against one another. He agreed. We’re holed up in a shitty motel in Tulsa. It’s a good defensible space but the accommodations are worse than that hotel in Basra.”

“That bad?” Zak asked, shuddering. “I must be getting old because that no longer sounds like an adventure to me.”

“Same.” Scarlett was going to miss her bed but she just had to keep reminding herself she’d slept in worse. “Xander wants to meet up with a local journalist to find dirt on McQuarry. He thinks that might be the best way to find out who’s framing him.”

“Not bad. Journalists always have the dirt. Even if they can’t print it, they know it.”

“It’s risky, though.”

“No argument there but this gig isn’t going to be a cakewalk no matter how you slice it. Risk is part of the detail.”

“You’re right. So here’s what I need you to do. I need you to make contact with Special Agent Conrad Griggs over in the Washington, DC, FBI office. He’s the one keeping the heat off Red Wolf while we figure this out. I need to know if there’s anything he can send to me about this case that might not be common knowledge. Seeing as this is the FBI’s case, they should have more intel than we do.”

“And you think he’s just going to hand it over, nice and sweet?”

“Conrad is a good guy. He and I go way back. He’ll help if he can.”

“All right, if you trust him...” Scarlett heard the question in Zak’s voice but he moved on. “How’s Xander holding up?”

“He’s fine.” Damn man acts like he’s on vacay, not fighting for his life. “Nothing gets under Xander’s skin for too long. Remember, don’t use my regular cell for anything related to Xander. Also, go ahead and give Conrad my burner number. I have my personal laptop so he can send any files he’s got to my Dropbox.”

“Be careful, TL. Assuming Xander is innocent—which I’m sure he is—the fact that someone is willing to go to such lengths to frame him means they won’t stop at killing to get what they want. Don’t step into the crossfire.”

“Head on a swivel,” Scarlett assured Zak. “In the meantime, keep me in the loop but watch your surroundings. You never know who could be watching and listening.”

“Paranoia is my favorite pastime,” Zak drawled, coaxing a smile from Scarlett. “Don’t let Xander do anything stupid.”

At that, Scarlett laughed. “That’s like asking the wind to stop blowing during a hurricane.”

“True, but if anyone can stop him, it’s you.”

Scarlett’s smile remained even as she clicked off. Xander showed up five minutes later, no longer scowling, holding two bags of fast food.

“Sorry for being a dick,” he said, tossing a bag her way. “You’re right. We need to keep things professional.”

“Glad you see things my way.” She opened the bag. A giant bacon cheeseburger. Her favorite. “Loaded?” she asked with a hopeful grin, to which Xander nodded. Scarlett lifted the burger out, inhaling the aroma of grease and fries with delight. She tried not to put too much store in the fact that he remembered how she liked her burger, but she wouldn’t deny the warm spot beneath her breastbone. Focusing her attention on her food, she said, “You’re forgiven,” and tucked into the heart-attack special.

Xander chuckled, unwrapping his own burger to say, “It’s probably a good thing we’re not smashing. There are enough onions on that burger to kill a moose. Your breath will be epic.”

“You’re one to talk about bad breath. You go days without brushing your teeth. You’ve probably got fungus in your mouth from when you were a kid.”

“Brushing isn’t so much important as flossing and I always floss,” Xander said, tossing back a French fry. “A dentist told me that.”

“Your dentist was a quack.”

“Possible. He only took cash and had a lot of stories about the Mexican mafia. I’m not sure he has a license to practice any longer, but he always gave me a good discount.”

“You’re lucky you still have teeth in your head,” Scarlett returned around a big bite. “If we get out of this situation alive, do yourself a favor and see a real dentist before your teeth fall out and you’re left with the need for dentures. Trust me, chicks don’t dig toothless guys.”

Xander waggled his eyebrows. “I don’t know... Could be fun. Imagine what I could do...”

Scarlett threw a fry at him with a laugh. “You’re disgusting,” she said, leaning back in the chair, enjoying the simple pleasure of delicious, greasy food and the company of a fellow soldier.

Tomorrow would happen soon enough and anything could change within a few hours.

So yeah, she’d enjoy a burger and leave everything else at the door.

A beat of companionable silence followed as they finished their dinner. Scarlett changed into something more comfortable to sleep in—cotton shorts and a soft long-sleeved top—and climbed into the bed while Xander spent some time surfing the net, looking for information.

Xander would probably still be boyishly handsome when he was an old geezer—chasing the ladies in his wheelchair and winking as he gummed his applesauce in the old folks’ home—because that’s just who Xander was and always would be.

If Scarlett were to draw her complete opposite, Xander’s face would be the one she drew.

And if she were being honest...she liked that about him.

Xander yawned and finally closed his laptop to disappear into the bathroom. When he reappeared, he was only in his boxer briefs.

She wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it—she’d seen him in less—but her body flushed and she turned on her side away from him as he climbed into the bed.

Closing her eyes, she willed sleep to come but complete silence had always been her enemy. Too much quiet made for easy listening to the noise in her head.

Plus, she wasn’t accustomed to sharing a bed with anyone.

Irritated, she flopped onto her back, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Are you going to do that all night?” Xander asked.

“Sorry. I’m not used to having company in my bed,” she groused. “And you take up more than your share.”

“I promise I don’t have cooties.”

“I know that.”

He chuckled. “Then relax.”

“It’s not that...” She risked a glance toward him. “It’s because...there’s history between us.”

“One time does not history make,” Xander said. “Or so I’m told.”

She wasn’t going to argue the point. Exhaling, she deliberately closed her eyes and rolled to her side, plumping up her pillow and settling once again.

A long beat of silence followed until Xander said, “Do you really regret that much what happened between us?”

That was a loaded question—one she didn’t want to answer. She regretted being messed up in the head, which made it impossible to trust, which in turn made her a nightmare to be in a relationship with. Not that she wanted anything real with Xander.

Or anyone.

Her silence seemed an answer in itself. “I guess so,” Xander replied with a sigh. “That’s an ego-buster.”

Scarlett turned to glare at him. “Did you ever think maybe it has nothing to do with you?” she said, unable to just let him think whatever he liked. For some reason, it mattered with Xander. “Look, aside from the fact that I’m your boss...I’m just not the type to form unnecessary attachments. Trust me, it’s better that way. For everyone involved.”

Every time she’d ignored her instincts and allowed something to happen, it ended badly.

“I’m not cut out for relationships.”

“Me, either.”

His simple agreement coaxed a reluctant chuckle out of her. “Yeah? Two peas in a pod, I guess.”

“Or two broken people with too many sharp edges to be allowed around normal people.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she agreed, the tension lifting a little. She turned to face him, tucking her arm under her head. “Maybe that’s why we’re so good at what we do... We can compartmentalize like Olympic athletes without blinking an eye.”

“Mental boxes for everything,” Xander returned with a half-grin. They were joking but only sort of. That was the sad reality that they both recognized. “I know why I’m broken, but what’s your story, Rhodes?”

This was around the time she usually shut down. But that feeling of safety had returned and she found herself sharing, even when she didn’t want to. “Jacked-up childhood. When my dad wasn’t beating me...he was doing other things.” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle and added, “He wasn’t exactly in the running for Father of the Year.”

“He ever get caught?”

Scarlett shook her head. “Small town bullshit. No one wanted to get involved. There was no one to rescue me so I rescued myself.” A lump rose in her throat. She hated talking about her past. “Anyway, he’s dead but he was dead to me long before that. His going into the ground was just a formality.”

Xander nodded. She was relieved to see nothing but respect in his eyes at her admission. There was no pity, no “you poor thing” judgment in his expression, just plain respect for having the balls to do what no one else had been able to do for her.

And because of that, she admitted quietly, “I don’t regret what happened between us, Xander. There are just reasons—solid ones—to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Xander accepted her answer with another nod because he got it, even if he didn’t agree. She knew he was down for more but he would respect her decision because no matter what that psych eval implied—Xander was a damn good man.

“Goodnight, Scott,” she said, closing her eyes.

“’Night, Rhodes.”

At just like that, suddenly Mr. Sandman decided to stop being a prick—and she slept.

Scarlett was asleep beside him but sleep was a long ways from finding Xander. If Scarlett’s father weren’t already dead, he’d have liked to have been the one to permanently knock his lights out.

How could a father do that to his own daughter? He’d seen a lot of messed up shit in his time but he’d never get used to the knowledge that some people were just bad eggs.

His own father was a royal asshole but he’d never been buggered by him.

Beat him within an inch of his life, but the man hadn’t touched him like Scarlett’s father had touched her.

He wanted to pull Scarlett to him and hold her close, but he knew that would go over as well as giving a cat a bath so he kept his hands to himself.

But aside from Scarlett’s revelation, he had other things keeping him awake. More immediate issues than Scarlett’s messed-up childhood.

With Scarlett with him, his secret wasn’t likely to remain a secret for long. He didn’t want her to know how addicted he’d become to his pain meds. It was his private shame, his weakness, and he loathed the idea of Scarlett thinking less of him.

But there was another reason he needed to keep his pill-popping from her—it created motive.

He couldn’t account for the time when the bomb went off. He’d passed out and woken up after the fact, but he couldn’t exactly tell his TL that he’d been high as a kite during an operation so he lied.

He’d told Scarlett that he’d been on the opposite side of the plaza when the bomb had gone off.

Truthfully, he’d been damn close. It was a miracle he hadn’t been caught in the blast. It was pure luck that in the chaos no one seemed to notice the minor cuts and abrasions on his face.

But the lie weighed heavily on his conscience. He hated lying to Scarlett, but it’d been a split-second decision that he’d had to make and he couldn’t take it back.

Now his statement was on official documents. To admit that he’d lied about his whereabouts would only seal his guilt.

And Scarlett would never trust him again.

He exhaled and rolled to his side, quietly watching her as she slept. It was surreal to be in the same bed once more. He could honestly say that he figured the only way that was ever going to happen again would be in his dreams.

Xander knew he was being a friggin’ sap but he wished he could pull her into his arms and hold on for dear life. It’d been a long time since he’d wanted anyone in that role and he hadn’t expected it to be Scarlett but, damn, she was his equal in every way.

But he was going to respect Scarlett’s wishes and keep it professional. Of course, she was right. It made sense to keep things straight because neither knew how this was going to shake out in the end, but lying beside her and keeping his distance...was a special kind of hell.

Rolling away, turning on his side, he tried to focus on what he knew about the McQuarry bombing.

Thanks to his little blackout—he didn’t know much.

The operation had been simple: provide security for Senator Ken McQuarry as he did his little rally speech in downtown Tulsa. McQuarry had been a typical white male politician sort—trying to hide his soft and doughy gut in expensive suits, his mouth full of rhetoric—and he hadn’t been running any particularly controversial platforms so the job should’ve been a cakewalk.

They hadn’t expected someone to rig the amphitheater and blow up the senator.

Hindsight.

The bigger question was how did someone put Xander’s fingerprints on the plastic explosive when he sure as hell didn’t rig that bomb?

Scarlett groaned softly in her sleep. He didn’t dare try to comfort her. Force of habit, they were all light sleepers. He could only imagine the demons she entertained. Maybe his and hers could have a playdate.

A part of him wanted to know what made her twitch at night, what secrets were locked away in that complex brain, but he would never pry. That was the thing between fellow soldiers, they understood that sometimes talking about things didn’t make it better—it just created more shit to bubble to the surface and no one had time for that.

Still, he wanted to smooth the faint lines from her forehead and chase away her nightmares.

Too bad she’d never let him.

Tomorrow he had a meeting with the political journalist from the Tulsa World daily. They were supposed to meet at an abandoned schoolhouse. He figured the best way to mitigate the risk was to meet someplace with the least amount of prying eyeballs around.

In the quiet dark, it was hard to run from the fear that he might not find the evidence he needed to exonerate himself. The fear that he might actually end up behind bars for a crime he hadn’t committed didn’t help his insomnia.

He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life—done things he was ashamed of—but never had he ever considered harming a civilian.

More than just Ken McQuarry died that day.

He had their names etched on his brain.

Rosie Grogan.

Butch Halford.

Ronnie Pitt.

Layla Osmundsen.

He wasn’t the one who’d planted the bomb but he was complicit in their deaths because he hadn’t been doing his job. Remembering their names was his penance. Maybe if he’d been sober, he would’ve seen the bombs, could’ve gotten everyone to safety... Hell, he might’ve been able to defuse the bombs before they’d gone off.

Again with the hindsight.

He needed help kicking his habit, but there wasn’t time for that now. To think that a doc had prescribed the drugs for his back pain all legal-like and now he was a friggin’ junkie was a dark irony that didn’t escape him.

Most days he functioned fine. But there were other days when he was falling down stupid, out of his head, lost in the black hole of addiction.

Get your head on straight. There was no time for his issues. Not right now.

He forced his eyes closed. Morning would come soon enough and if he didn’t catch some shut-eye, he’d need toothpicks to hold up his lids.

His last thought as he drifted to sleep was the hope that for the first time in his life, luck was on his side.