The bodyguard glanced over to the other side of the parking lot and gave a nod.
Shit. A feeling of dread swept through blood and bone when the person in the driver’s seat of the white pick-up truck nodded in response. Bernie hadn’t noticed the backup.
With a shudder, Bernie put the 4X4 into gear and carefully reversed up the small gradient. No tire spins. No fast moves.
Watching the show would be a mistake. A foolish indulgence.
The eyes of the bodyguard on the boat followed the rented 4X4 as it traveled along the road beside the lake.
Fuck you, asshole.
Bernie hit dial on a pre-programmed number in the cell phone and sucked in a deep breath of anticipation.
Nothing happened.
Pulling over onto the side of the road Bernie tried again. The amount of plastic explosive in the cabin of that boat should be enough to incinerate everyone on board.
A third try had exactly the same results.
Goddammit!
Had they found the bomb? Was this whole scenario a trap? A setup? A cold sweat broke out over Bernie’s skin despite the heat of the day.
If it was a trap someone would be following, or maybe there was a surveillance plane high in the sky—or a drone. It would be virtually invisible. The pounding of blood through suddenly hot ears made it impossible the hear anything except for the erratic rush of panic.
Pulling back onto the highway, Bernie ignored the feeling of fear that wanted to consume. It was a glitch. A bad connection. Shitty cell service. Or they were blocking signals…
Bernie glanced up at the sky. The FBI was not following. The FBI was a bunch of incompetent fools. Bernie kept driving. For hours, going nowhere. In circles. Filling up with gas and taking in the sights. At the end of the day Bernie drove past the marina again but the Chavez family wasn’t there. The boat was though and the desire to go check why the bomb hadn’t gone off was almost overwhelming. But not being able to ignore stupid urges was why Peter was dead. The man could never resist a potential target and had picked up a female the Feds had planted.
Most people called it entrapment. Dominic Sheridan had shot Peter dead and gotten a fucking commendation.
Bernie’s fingers gripped the wheel so tight they felt welded on.
Next to Sheridan, the female cop was the most important target to destroy. Without that slut, Peter would never have been caught. Bernie had already set that plan in motion. Fernando Chavez was going to have to wait for now, be put on hold.
He lived in a log cabin in the woods though. Perhaps some gasoline and matches could be arranged. It was a hot, dry summer. The fire would grow fast and consume everything in its path. The perfect sort of vengeance—painful, terrifying.
Bernie didn’t even need to see the man die. It just needed to happen. All those responsible for setting up Peter needed to stop breathing on a permanent basis.
After ten hours of aimless driving the small, private airstrip came into view. It was almost tempting to go to Peter. To be with him again if only for a short time, but there was much to do.
Revenge was time-consuming. Soon it would all be over. Soon it would be done.
Chapter Eighteen
Ava had tried to talk to Dominic again in the hallway before going into the negotiation area for his shift, but she could tell from his countenance he wasn’t in the mood to hear anything she said. She chickened out and instead sat in the corner plugged into the ethernet cable so she could download her emails. All wi-fi and cell service had been blocked so the hostage-takers couldn’t communicate with anyone except the negotiators in this room.
Ava was beyond mortified she’d admitted that she was okay with Dominic touching her. When she thought about it, her head wanted to explode. He’d been shocked and taken aback. He was probably placing her on his list of female stalkers, the ones who mooned after him and wanted him in their beds and wouldn’t leave him alone once they got him there.
Ugh.
She wasn’t shy about asking men out on a date, but even that tiny admission to Sheridan had shattered her confidence. She was such an idiot. He was effectively her boss right now, and she was supposed to be watching his back, being that extra pair of eyes so he wasn’t caught unawares. He’d basically apologized for a sleepy, innocent touch and she’d told him, hey, that’s okay, Boss, touch me again, any way you want.
Ugh. She squeezed her eyes shut the same way she gripped the pen she was making notes with. She had to tell him about her connection to Gino, but unless she wanted to yell the sensitive information across a crowded room it was proving completely impossible.
She opened the file Mallory Rooney had sent. Apparently, Lincoln Frazer had finally persuaded the task force investigating the Mortimer shooting in Fredericksburg that the deaths of the six other FBI and former-FBI agents from the NYFO might be related. Members of the task force were double-checking the details to determine if they were truly accidental or natural. Linked or not. The agents at the BAU-4 had agreed to read Ava in on any relevant information that might be useful when figuring out who this UNSUB was. They were emailing Dominic too, but he wasn’t even opening the messages any more. He was focusing on this prison siege situation and not allowing any distractions.
Including her.
Humiliation washed over her once again. How could she have said that to him? She pushed the churning thoughts away and also blocked out Gino-the-snake’s bellicose voice making his crazy demands. A helicopter and fifty thousand dollars. Each.