Come As You Are. Amy J. Fetzer
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hate her for it, his heart was screaming with joy.
She’d staged her death and hidden herself from the world to protect herself. Although he planned on getting it out of her, he didn’t think it was a good time to tell her he’d been wearing video equipment that night. A direct relay with no recording, so the Venezuelans didn’t have it, yet even if the Vice President’s security cameras didn’t catch her on film, McGill did.
It wouldn’t be long before the intelligence community knew she was alive. And for her sake, he hoped the eyes only classification kept her under wraps. Something had scared her into doing that and from the way she was behaving, it wasn’t over.
As they moved, his hand on her wrist loosened, his fingers sliding to thread with hers. She clutched back and they raced away from the explosion still lighting the night sky.
Salazar jumped back into the chopper and ordered the pilot to lift off. Yet before they made air, a second explosion tore through the van. He cursed and took the controls, struggling to get the chopper above the heat and flames. The craft bucked in the sky, rocking right, and he stabilized, lifting higher. He called up reinforcements, blanketing the city with officers and closing roads. They would find the black truck while he searched for the couple.
He flew the helicopter over the city, using heat signatures to locate the green bug of a car. Then he turned over the controls to the pilot, watching between the land and the thermal monitor. He found it, lowering the chopper, and the blades kicked back the tarp. The rusted German car sat like a fat frog in the mist.
“Send a car right there,” he ordered, then pulled off his headset and climbed between the seats. He reached for the cable and drew out a few feet before he clipped the hook on the cable and stuck his boot in the loop. Without missing a beat, he jumped. The pilot frantically hit the switch, then looked at the others. Two men gaped, the pilot only shrugged and held the craft still. As Salazar lowered to the ground, people peered through bleary windows, cracked open their doors, yet didn’t step into the light. They knew better and went back to their small lives.
Salazar slipped his foot free and hung on, then dropped to the ground. The chopper lifted and he walked to the car, laying his hand on the hood. He jerked back, smoothing his scorched hand over his pants leg, then with a penlight checked the ground. The prints were faint and dusty, and he followed the logical path into the city, the stone walls hovering over him like sentinels. He’d never cared for the city, the musty smell, the drunks and dealers crowding the streets where children once played. A car with flashing lights headed toward him and he hailed them to stop. He ordered the men out, climbed in, then drove off. Pulling out his cell, he contacted a few men he trusted, ones who understood the kind of efficient discretion he needed.
This will be over before nightfall.
In the truck, Max grabbed the GPS tracker and turned it on. A green dot glowed, showing the beacon lodged in Logan’s belt. “Logan’s going in the other direction.” He ducked to look at the sky. “Crap, the chopper’s headed toward them, too.”
“We can’t help them, not if we don’t get away,” Sebastian said as they raced from the chaos. Knifing pain bled through his hand, numbing his fingers. “Riley,” he said, “I hope you have some tricks planned.” Sebastian pointed to the right, and several blocks down, they could see the spinning lights of the police coming toward them.
“Go to that store, there, with the red front,” Riley said, pointing from the backseat.
Sebastian turned toward it and slid the SUV into the store parking lot.
“Wash it.”
“Jesus, you don’t want much, do you, gimp?”
“It’s the best I could do with limited resources.”
Sebastian left the truck and ran to the hose coiled on a rusty hook on the side of the building. He grabbed the bulk and uncoiled it toward the truck as Max turned on the water. Sebastian shot the stream at the dark truck, washing away the paint and turning the black truck a hideous light blue.
“This is it? You really think this will work?” Sebastian asked, using his hands to loosen the paint.
“Anything’s better than more torture,” Max said, trying to spray the top. Within four minutes, they were back in the truck, dark watery paint sliding into the street. The radio snapped with Spanish, orders popping back and forth.
“The checkpoints and roadblocks are closing us off,” Riley said.
“We need to go around,” Max said, focused on the map.
“Back the way we came? No way.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Max said. He adjusted the frequency on the radio, picking up the police. “They’re closing in on them.”
“We get to the CP first, agreed?” Sebastian asked, glancing in the rearview. He dropped his speed, the police vehicles closing in behind them, then blocking the streets.
Riley handed weapons over the seat.
“Max, get us out of here,” Sebastian said when they faced a police cruiser barreling toward them.
“Stop,” Max ordered.
“Hell no!”
“Pull over and stop,” Max insisted and Sebastian obeyed, but not before he laid the pistol in his lap. The police car closed in behind them.
“Any more brilliant ideas?”
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