Chapter 28
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
The rustic, one-room structure, modeled after a Japanese teahouse, sat on a half acre of land inside the Scott’s Run Nature Preserve. It had been listed for sale at just under a million dollars. The agent was Vaughn’s old college roommate and had generously provided the code for the key box.
Vaughn had intimated that it was “work-related,” which was technically true as she and Erin were White House colleagues, but she knew her former roommate understood that to mean that it had something to do with the Secret Service. A white lie to be sure, but for the moment completely necessary.
Connor had been reluctant to trust anyone in “the system.” It didn’t take much, however, to convince him that he didn’t have a long list of options.
If his pursuers had tracked him to Erin’s, they’d probably be able to track him to any of his friends, family, or the people he had served with.
Running through her personal network, she hoped, would prove more difficult.
Shawna Vaughn was one of a handful of female Secret Service agents assigned to the president’s protective detail.
She and Erin had become friendly over several international junkets, as well as always seeming to be in the White House Mess at the same time.
They respected and liked each other but didn’t socialize outside of work.
For Erin, that made Vaughn the perfect choice to reach out to.
Having left her phone at home, and with Connor putting a ton of restrictions on how she could contact her, it had taken a while to track her down.
After they finally connected, Vaughn had needed time to put a plan together. When the Secret Service agent next made contact, she provided a place to meet and explicit instructions on how to get there, including how and where she wanted them to run surveillance detection routes.
Two miles out, she had fallen in behind them, covertly making sure they weren’t being followed. Finally, they had all ended up at the teahouse.
The structure was musty, dank, and felt like it hadn’t been occupied in a very long time.
In addition to a small kitchen and a bathroom, there was a large, freestanding metal fireplace suspended by chains hanging from the ceiling.
It was topped with a wide, soot-stained hood attached to a conical flue that ran up through the roof.
The mesh-screened firebox hovered above a pad of slate and smooth river stones.
It was a definite mid-century touch, probably installed at the same time the structure was built, somewhere in the 1940s or ’50s.
In the kitchen, a faded runner covered most of the floor, though one corner refused to lie flat. Beneath it, Connor noticed an old iron ring set into a wooden hatch.
“Crawl space access,” Vaughn said when she saw him looking. “Plumbing, I think. Watch your step. It doesn’t sit quite flush.”
Vaughn, who had gotten to the house before them, had stacked some camping gear near the front door and had loaded a few supplies into the fridge.
“There’s no Wi-Fi and cell service is hit-or-miss,” she explained, “but the electricity works, there’s a couple cords of wood stacked outside, and the house isn’t officially on the market until next week.”
She was a tall, tough woman in her late thirties, with long, dirtyblond hair, deep-set eyes, and a prominent Roman nose, and she radiated a confident don’t-fuck-with-me aura. A distinct plus in her line of work.
After powering up a tablet and showing them how to access the short-range Bluetooth trail cams she had placed around the property, she produced a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, took three glasses from a cabinet, and carried everything to the table.
“You both look like you could use this,” she said, pouring two fingers of the smoky, golden liquid into each glass.
For the first time since this morning, Erin felt the tension begin to drain from her body. “Thank you,” she said, touching her glass lightly to Vaughn’s. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
Connor didn’t lift his. “Did you tell anyone else about us? About this place?”
Erin glared at him. “How about you start with thank you?”
“It’s fine,” Vaughn said evenly. “He’s right to ask.”
“No he’s not,” she replied, glaring at Connor once more.
A moment passed.
“Thank you,” he relented.
“You’re welcome.”
He held her gaze. “Did you tell anyone?”
“No,” Vaughn responded. “No one knows you’re here.”
Connor studied her a moment longer. “What did you do before the Secret Service?”
“Air Force. Seven years. Base law enforcement. Then detainee ops.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Better mission, broader impact,” she said, taking a sip. “I wanted something beyond a perimeter fence. They were recruiting more women at the time. I figured I’d try for the counterassault team. Protective work wasn’t even on my radar.”
Connor watched her for another second. Then he gave a small nod.
“Did I pass?”
“For now,” he replied, lifting his glass and taking a drink.
Vaughn set hers down. “Okay. My turn.”
Erin felt her shoulders tighten.
“The shootings,” Vaughn said. “Walk me through all of it. Starting at the beginning.”
Connor did—starting with the two men who broke into his apartment. Suppressed pistols. Completely sterile. No phones. No ID. Then Scofield at Erin’s. Forced entry. Same objective.
Erin filled the gaps where she had to.
When they finished, Vaughn asked, “Did you get any photos?”
Nodding, Connor handed her Scofield’s DHS credential, then reached into his backpack and removed his laptop and one of the portable drives.
While she examined the ID, he booted up the computer, connected the drive, and opened the folder.
He turned the screen toward her. Two dead would-be assassins stared back.
Vaughn moved closer and studied the first image. Then the second. Her hand came up, dragging the cursor, and enlarged the picture of the second man’s face.
Her expression didn’t change, but Erin sensed something. A shift. “What?” she asked.
Vaughn didn’t answer.
“You know him,” Connor said.
A long moment passed.
“Yes.”
“From where?”
Vaughn sat back, eyes still on the screen. “He’s not a contract killer.”
“What was he then?”
“A federal agent.”