“Expose that son of a bitch Ferguson! Put it all on the air!”
“Exposing him means exposing you, too,” she pointed out.
Bitterness hardened his features. “I’m already going down for this and you know it. But if I go down, I’m taking Ferguson with me. I’m not his scapegoat. Help me take him down, Parker.”
She paused. “What kind of evidence do you have?”
“Transcripts and recordings of nearly every conversation I had with Ferguson about Project Aries. Emails, phone calls, memos. I saved it all.”
Her brows shot up. “That was risky.”
“It was necessary.”
“Where is all this proof now?”
“The safe in my study.”
Rebecca sighed. “You kept the evidence at your house? Isn’t that Amateur 101?”
“I work for the DoD, Ms. Parker. Believe me, I made several copies of everything I have. Some are in various safe-deposit boxes, one is with my lawyer, but the copy in my safe will be the easiest to access at ten o’clock at night.” He cocked his head. “So? Will you help me?”
She didn’t need much time to think it over. Nick and his father were at the White House at this very moment, getting nowhere with Ferguson and with absolutely no way to weasel the truth out of him. But if McAvoy really did have proof of Ferguson’s wrongdoing, then Rebecca could deliver it to Nick and they could use it to get a confession from the VP. Or heck, they could just hand over the proof to President Howard himself and let him clean up this mess.
Nick ordered you to stay put, a singsong voice reminded her.
Indecision had her hesitating again, but not for long. Screw Nick’s orders. This was to help him, darn it, and it wasn’t even that dangerous a task. She’d take Connor along, and they would simply drive over to McAvoy’s house, grab the proof from his safe, and then Connor could drop her at the White House and head back to the motel with McAvoy.
Easy as pie. Safe as a home-run hitter.
She met McAvoy’s expectant gaze. “Yes, I’ll help.”
* * *
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but it’s time for me to get ready for my speech,” Troy Ferguson announced, injecting a note of regret into his voice.
But inside, he did not feel regretful. Oh, no, he was seething. He hadn’t wanted to attend this gala in the first place, but any deviation from his regular schedule might be construed as suspicious, so he’d forced himself to put on a happy face and work the ballroom.
Kirk Barrett had a lot of nerve springing this on him at a White House event. Ferguson would have the man’s job for this. Yes, somehow in the near or distant future, he would make sure Barrett paid the price for his insolence. Both of them, he thought, as his gaze moved to the younger of the two men.
Nick Barrett had been the biggest headache of all this past year. Of all the military units that could have been dispatched to that village in Corazón, it just had to be Barrett’s. The son of one of Howard’s most trusted advisers.
Ferguson hadn’t wanted to eliminate the younger Barrett. He hadn’t wanted to put Kirk through that. Truth was, he’d always considered Kirk an ally; they both placed the same value on national security, even though Ferguson hadn’t necessarily been able to voice his support over the years.
So yes, he hadn’t wanted to kill the man’s son. But now he feared he might need to take out the father, too.
“We’ll discuss this in more depth after the gala,” he told the secretary of defense. “I’d like to bring President Howard into the discussion, if you don’t mind.”
Both Barretts looked startled by that.
That’s right, you bastards. Didn’t think I’d do it by the book, huh?
Their surprised expressions only intensified his ire. Clearly his explanation, in which he’d blamed the whole Meridian virus fiasco on Fred McAvoy, had convinced neither father nor son.
But Ferguson was confident that his tracks were thoroughly covered. McAvoy would take the fall for this and now it was just a matter of riding out the impending media storm until this Meridian crap eventually died down.
“I think that’s a wise idea,” Kirk said with a nod of approval. “The president needs to be brought into the loop.”
Ferguson approached the door and rapped his knuckles on it to alert his guard that he was ready to go.
Alfred opened the door. “Mr. Vice President?”
“Please ask one of your men to escort Secretary Barrett and his son back to the ballroom.” He extracted a set of cue cards from the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “I’d like a few moments alone to go over my speech.”
The secretary left the office first, but the younger Barrett lingered, those thoughtful brown eyes focused on Ferguson with such intensity that he experienced a genuine tug of discomfort.
“Mr. Vice President,” Nick Barrett murmured, then nodded and slid out the door.
The moment he was alone, Ferguson pulled out his secure phone and called Carraway.
“We’ve got a problem,” he snapped when the former army captain picked up.
Carraway had been a friend of Ferguson’s brother, another former military man who worked in the private sector now. Carraway had left the army several years ago and now ran a profitable soldier-for-hire company that Ferguson had made use of on more than one occasion. At the moment, however, he was not at all pleased with the caliber of Carraway’s soldiers.
“You were supposed to post a guard on McAvoy’s house and keep an eye on him when he returned from China.”
“I did, but the Barretts must have gotten to McAvoy before you ordered the watch detail. My man said there hasn’t been any activity at McAvoy’s house for the past twenty-four hours.”
“Kirk and his goddamn son have him hidden away somewhere,” he muttered. “I want you to find McAvoy. We can’t have him running his mouth anymore. Post a couple more men on his house. I’ll send some agents to the Pentagon under the guise that I want to be briefed on McAvoy’s trip. If he’s locked up in federal custody somewhere, I’ll know. But if he shows up at his house, it’s your job to take him out. Understood?”
“Understood,” Carraway said briskly.
Ferguson disconnected the call. Damn it. This situation had suddenly become even more precarious. He needed to tread carefully from this point on. Placate Barrett and his son. Play dumb and horrified when they brought Howard on board.
And make sure Fred McAvoy couldn’t cause any more damage.
* * *
“We’ve got company,” Connor announced as they approached McAvoy’s house.
Rebecca glanced out the car window but didn’t glimpse anything that set off her inner alarms. “Are you sure?”
The bodyguard nodded. He drove right past the house and parked several doors down, almost in the exact spot where Nick had parked during their last visit.
“Wait in the car,” Connor said in brusque voice, unholstering his gun before he’d even unbuckled his seat belt. “Let me see what we’re dealing with.”
Rebecca experienced a sense of overwhelming déjà vu as Connor disappeared into the shadows shrouding the residential street. Last time she’d been here, Nick had slunk off to disable the gate, and then the two of them had gone to confront McAvoy about his role in all of this.
This time, McAvoy was in the backseat with his wrists handcuffed behind him, and Nick wasn’t with her.
In fact, after tonight, Nick would never be with her again.
Ignoring the clench of pain, she peered out the window in hopes of figuring out what Connor was doing, though she didn’t doubt that the man was perfectly capable of handling himself. She’d discovered during the car ride that not only had he been a DoD agent for ten years, but he’d also been Delta Force at one point and a heavyweight boxer at another. Needless to say, she had the utmost confidence in Connor’s ability to take care of himself.
Sure enough, when he returned five minutes later, there wasn’t a scratch on him. Didn’t look like he’d even broken
a sweat either.
“What happened?” Rebecca demanded.
“I took care of our little problem.” His expression revealed nothing.
“Who was he?”
“Mercenary.”
“Are you sure?” she said sharply.
Connor nodded. “He wasn’t military. Certainly not government. Definitely a merc.”
She didn’t ask him how he’d “taken care” of the mercenary, but she had a pretty good idea.
In the backseat, McAvoy spoke up uneasily. “Hurry up,” he said as Connor slid into the driver’s seat. “If they sent one man, they might send another. Especially if this one doesn’t check in soon.”
The man had a point, and Rebecca was feeling anxious herself as Connor drove in reverse toward the gate, which was still gaping open from Nick messing with the wiring. They drove right through it and parked by the front door.
The three of them hopped out. McAvoy stumbled slightly, then attempted to regain his balance, a difficult task with his hands yanked tightly behind him. Rebecca took pity on the deputy secretary and grabbed his arm to steady him, which earned her a look of grudging gratitude.
“Thank you,” he muttered as they climbed the porch steps together.
Connor went in first to do a sweep of the house, then returned to collect them and the three of them marched into the study.
Rebecca’s gaze roamed the various oil landscapes hanging on the wood-paneled walls, then focused on the majestic deer head mounted over the fireplace, a slightly terrifying visual she hadn’t paid much attention to during last night’s visit.
But now she paid a lot of attention, because that taxidermy head was precisely what McAvoy made a beeline for. Then he halted and turned to scowl at his keepers. “You’ll need to uncuff me,” he said darkly.
After Connor removed the cuffs, McAvoy turned back to the mantel and ran his fingers along the bottom of the wooden frame the deer was affixed to. Rebecca’s brows soared when the wood panel popped out to reveal the gleaming stainless steel vault behind it, and just when she thought her eyebrows couldn’t go any higher, she noticed the small panel next to the safe’s keypad and her brows pretty much collided with her hairline.
“I feel like I’m in a James Bond movie,” she remarked as she watched McAvoy bring his left eye close to that electronic panel.
The unit emitted one continuous beeping sound as it scanned the man’s eyeball—whose personal safe required eye scans, for Pete’s sake?—and then it beeped three times and flashed a green light. McAvoy proceeded to type a long series of numbers on the keypad before the safe finally opened.
He didn’t waste any time reaching inside and rummaging around. His hand emerged with a small black case, roughly the size of a cigarette pack. He flicked it open, peered at the contents and nodded as if pleased with what he saw.
Narrowing her eyes, Rebecca approached him and peered over his shoulder to find two flash drives secured inside the case.
“The data on these are identical.” To her surprise, McAvoy pried one out and handed it to her. “Keep this on your person. I’ll hold on to the other.”
He tucked the black case into his pocket while Rebecca shoved the little drive into the front pocket of her jeans.
“Let’s get out of here,” she told Connor, who was watching the door with a vigilant eye.
A minute later, they were rushing out the front door with Connor in the lead, McAvoy right beside her and no longer handcuffed.
The gunshot came out of nowhere.
It exploded in the night air and made Rebecca’s ears ring, adding to the confusion taking flight inside her. Her heart pounded, then stopped altogether as the man in front of her collapsed facedown onto the porch floor.
Oh, God. Connor. He’d been shot. He was...dead, she realized as his limp body rolled down the porch steps and landed in a motionless heap on the driveway. Blood pooled around his head, bringing a rush of nausea to Rebecca’s throat.
Another shot cracked in the air and suddenly McAvoy was no longer beside her.
Rebecca instinctively flattened herself on the ground and began crawling toward Connor’s body, her gaze zeroing in on the silver key in his lifeless hand. The car key.
McAvoy’s cry of pain and surprise was cut short by a second gunshot, then a third. A fourth. And then silence.
No, not silence. Footsteps.
Someone was running toward her.
Rebecca grabbed the key from Connor’s hand and heaved herself to her feet. Something hot whizzed by her ear, but she didn’t stop, didn’t turn around.
She threw herself into the driver’s seat and stuck the key into the ignition. There was a blur of movement in the rearview mirror. Two men were running toward the SUV. Both held gleaming black guns in their hands.
Drive, darn it!
Her foot slammed on the gas pedal, her heart sticking in her throat as the SUV lurched forward and peeled away from McAvoy’s house.
She sped through the gate and went right over the curb, bouncing so hard that her head nearly smashed into the roof of the car. When her hands started to tingle and her lungs started to burn, she realized she wasn’t breathing.
Oh, God. Connor. McAvoy. Both of them dead.
She sucked in a deep breath and got so light-headed she nearly went off the road.
Keep it together, Becks. Get to Nick. Expose Ferguson.
She repeated the plan over and over again in her head, clinging to it, needing it to stay calm. Her foot continued to shake over the gas pedal, but somehow she managed to drive in a straight line. Somehow she managed to speed away from McAvoy’s neighborhood without passing out. And without being pursued by some ominous black van.
Inhaling another breath, Rebecca went over the plan again. Get to Nick. Expose Ferguson.
But first...she just had one little stop to make.
Chapter 19
“McAvoy’s dead. Parker got away.”
The report came five minutes after Ferguson stepped off the podium to the thundering applause from the guests gathered in the ballroom. He’d ducked into the corridor to take the call, and now he couldn’t decide whether to feel satisfied or enraged.
“What do you mean she got away? Why was she there in the first place?” he hissed into the mouthpiece.
“I don’t know. All I know is what my man reported. McAvoy showed up at the house with Parker and a DoD agent. My men engaged and eliminated two of the targets. Parker managed to escape.”
Panic seized his throat. He lowered his voice, barely above a whisper. “She saw McAvoy and a federal agent get gunned down?”
There was a pause, then, “Yes.”
Son of a bitch.
This was a disaster. Fred McAvoy and the threat he’d posed had been eliminated, but now an even bigger threat loomed on the horizon. The star correspondent for the country’s number-one news network had witnessed the murder of two government employees.
“You have to find her. Now.”
“I’ve already got my people on it, but you should be prepared. There’s a chance she might go to the Barretts for help, in which case, she’d be heading your way, sir.”
He tamped down his panic by drawing in a deep breath. “I’ll tell my staff to detain her if she shows up here. Did your men clean up the scene at McAvoy’s house?”
“They staged it as a home robbery. Maybe you can explain away the agent’s presence by saying McAvoy requested heavier security because of some trouble he ran into in Beijing.” Carraway’s tone became apprehensive. “There’s one more thing. My men found a flash drive on McAvoy’s body.”
His chest stiffened.
That little rat.
Clearly McAvoy had somehow managed to compile evidence against him. Jesus. Well, luckily Carraway was in possession of the flash drive now. That was good news at least.
“But the case he was holding it in had slots for two drives,” Carraway went on. “There’s a chance Parker might have the second drive.”
His stomach dropped. So much for good news.
“Find her,” he growled.
“Yes, Mr. Vice President.”
Ferguson hung up without another word, then gathered the pieces of his shattered composure and walked back into the ballroom.
* * *
Throughout Ferguson’s heartwarming speech about patriotism and heroism and every other “-ism” relating to the troops, Nick had stood next to his father and studied the vice president’s every move. He had to admit, Ferguson was skilled at captivating a crowd. He made them laugh, made them smile, made them cry. By the time the man left the podium, he’d succeeded in making every person in the ballroom love him.
“He lied to us,” Nick muttered. “I don’t care how convincing his story sounded. My gut is telling me he was the one behind Project Aries.”
“Mine, too,” his father admitted. “But I’m not sure what more we can do tonight.”
“Do you really think he’ll brief the president about this?”
“If he does, then he must be extremely confident that he’s covered his tracks and can never be tied to the Meridian virus.”
Both men’s head shifted in a sharp motion as Ferguson began walking toward the ballroom doors. With the Secret Service agents flanking him, it was hard to be sure, but Nick thought he saw the VP taking a sleek black phone out of his pocket.
Nick took a step, but his dad shook his head in warning. “Be smart, son.”
He forced himself to stay rooted, knew his father was right. He couldn’t just go running after the vice president and try to spy on the man in front of a room full of people. He ended up using Ferguson’s brief absence as an opportunity to check his phone, but there was no message or missed call from Rebecca. She was still at the motel, then, tucked out of sight with McAvoy. Good.
“Somebody’s upset,” Secretary Barrett said in a low voice.
Nick’s father was right—Ferguson had just returned to the ballroom, and although he had a smile pasted on his face, his gray eyes revealed a flicker of unease.
Nick frowned. “Something’s happened.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a skinny male aide hurried over to the vice president and whispered something in his ear.