He grabbed her arm and shot a look over at the Starbucks. “We need to get the hell out of here. We’re going to have more company than just cops soon. Shit,” he muttered, practically dragging her with him until they reached the truck on the opposite side of the parking lot. He opened the passenger door and, not waiting to see if she got in, raced around to the other side.
She contemplated running again, but a glance over her shoulder showed a Starbucks full of people staring out the window at them in horror. Most of them were on their phones, probably calling the police. What if she ran and they got caught in the cross fire? Tucker might have said the gun wasn’t loaded, but he was a kidnapper. He could easily be lying.
She jumped in as he started the engine.
“I’m sorry, Karen. I was letting you go but saw that fucking cop. I doubt he’s dirty, but if someone with the DEA is monitoring their transmissions, they might overhear I took you.” He made another snarl of frustration as he peeled out of the parking lot. “You can’t trust anyone but your own people at this point, not even the local PD. If someone other than the NSA gets wind that I took you, you could be a target. That’s why I wanted to drop you off somewhere,” he said, turning into a nearby parking lot to a hardware store. It was a couple of blocks over and well out of sight of the Starbucks.
He parked near the parking lot exit, but left the truck running. “I wasn’t lying—the gun’s not loaded.” He slid it across to her as he pulled a magazine out of his jacket pocket, which he also handed to her. Next came a cell phone—her cell phone. Then her battery. “I figured you’d find someone to help you and borrow a phone, but I had to be sure. I’m sorry about back there, but I need you safe. Take the pistol, your phone, and this truck and start driving. You’ll need to put the battery in and call, but your people will pick you up soon, no doubt.”
Holy hell, she hadn’t been wrong about him. He was letting her go. She should be elated, but . . . “What are you going to do?”
He shrugged and glanced out in the parking lot, his hand already on the door handle. “Find another vehicle and get in touch with Burkhart. With the locals now involved, I definitely don’t want you near me.”
She’d started to respond when sirens blared in the distance. They were close already. That seemed so fast. Fear for his safety clawed at her. “Tucker, you just pulled a gun on a cop, you’re apparently wanted for kidnapping me, and all law enforcement agencies think you’re a terrorist. You can’t . . . you can’t head out on foot here.” Karen knew how things worked. The local PD wouldn’t be opposed to using lethal force against someone who’d just pulled a gun on one of their own and who had allegedly bombed the Botanic Garden, a place where kids frequented daily. Tucker might be skilled, but he wasn’t freaking bulletproof. “You have a better chance of staying alive if you have me with you. They’re not going to open fire on you when you have a hostage. Just drive and we’ll call Wesley from a secure place so he can pick us both up.” When he started to argue, she shook her head. “I’m not leaving you out here to get shot by the fucking cops! I . . . all the evidence suggests you’re being set up and I’m going to help.”
His jaw was clenched tight, but he kicked the truck into reverse anyway.
“And I’m keeping this gun.” She moved it into her lap, the heavy weight giving her comfort. She might be just an analyst, but everyone at the agency put in hours of weapons training. “You were really letting me go, huh?”
He snorted and pulled out what was definitely a burner phone. “Cole might be distracted by a beautiful face, but I’m not,” he murmured, dialing a number. “I figured you’d run at the gas station, so I gave you a window.” Before she could respond, he said, “Hey, Mom. I . . . I know, I know.” His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “Listen, whatever you see on the news, it’s all lies. Yeah, I know you believe me. You and Dad need to go stay somewhere safe. . . . You know where. I’ll explain more. . . .”
Hating that she was overhearing such a private conversation, Karen turned and looked out the window. As she heard Tucker reassure his mom that everything would be okay, she decided then and there that her gut instinct about this man had been spot-on. He might have kidnapped her, but his motives were justified and he’d oddly been looking out for her when he dragged her away from the police officer.
She might be making a huge mistake by staying with him, but it didn’t feel that way.
? ? ?
Sweat trickled down his spine as his fingers flew across the keyboard, the clacking overpronounced in the quiet office. He’d infiltrated an unused room at the DEA for his own purposes, using the credentials of an agent on maternity leave. Since he was familiar with the layout of the building it had been easy enough to avoid security cameras so that no one could trace this back to him. Well, maybe not easy, but doable. All systems had flaws and he had no problem capitalizing on a vulnerability. The DEA deserved this for being too cheap and lazy to run a diagnostic of their safety measures this year.
He was taking a huge risk, but the payoff would be worth it. He’d spent years slaving away for an organization that didn’t appreciate him. Had never appreciated all his hard work. After that asshole Max Southers had passed him up for yet another promotion, he was done kissing ass and playing politics.
It didn’t matter if he did. He never got ahead anyway. Just because he didn’t have military experience didn’t mean he wasn’t qualified, but for some reason it was like an invisible black mark on his record. Keeping him out of certain social circles. He’d graduated summa cum laude from a top university with a bachelor’s in criminal justice, had gone on to get his master’s, and had an incredible success rate with closing his cases.
But Max Southers hadn’t cared about any of that. The guy had had it out for him for some reason. Arrogant fucker. Now he was dead and his precious fucking team were all going to die too. Because there was no way the DEA or any other law enforcement agency would let their “treasonous” actions go unpunished. It was sweet, ironic justice that men like Pankov would be accused of treason when they were such obnoxious patriots. They all thought they were better than him.
They were wrong.
When Hillenbrand had originally approached him, he was suspicious that it had been a trap. That maybe someone at the DEA had suspected his discontentment or even knew about some of his backdoor dealings. So he’d been careful, but Hillenbrand wanted change in this country, just as he did. Maybe he wasn’t as extremist as Hillenbrand or his cronies, but he liked the money he was getting paid. And from what he could tell, Hillenbrand was more in this for the money than the men he worked with too.
And if everything went according to plan, there’d be a lot more. So if he had to take some risks at work, it was worth it for the payoff. As he linked an offshore bank account to one of Cole Erickson’s accounts, he smiled to himself. He was making sure there was a clear trail incriminating all four men, but it couldn’t be too obvious.
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he jumped, then cursed himself. He glanced at the screen, and a shot of adrenaline slammed through him as he read the alert. Tucker Pankov’s parents had just received a phone call from a number with a D.C. area code. He stopped what he was doing and called Hillenbrand.
“Yeah?” he answered on the first ring.
“I might have a hit on one of the targets.”
“That’s good because one of them was just spotted in fucking D.C.,” the man snarled. “Pankov took down a cop.”
“He killed someone?” That didn’t sound right.
“No, but he’s got a woman with him. Sounds as if he’s kidnapped her. I’m not sure what’s going on.” His tone made it clear that was why he was so angry. Hillenbrand liked to be in control of everything.
“Someone just called Pankov’s parents. The number’s got a D.C. area code. I don’t recognize it. Possibly a burner. I can try to get someone here to trace it, but there will be a record of—”