Chapter Thirty-One
“I’ve got a signal. Target’s on the move.” Tavari’s voice came through Danny’s earbuds as he sat sweltering in a car, baking in the Arizona heat.
About damn time. They’d been at it for three days. Under any other circumstances, he’d have loved this assignment. But now?
It was three days he could have spent with Bella. She’d finally gotten her life back, and he’d wanted more than a couple of days with her before work came calling.
Ryder really owed him that leave.
A check of his phone confirmed that the tracker he and Tavari had placed beneath the metallic gray Toyota Camry was moving.
Special Agent Mia Anderson’s car, from the FBI Phoenix Field Office.
If she was on Espina Negra’s payroll, she wasn’t spending it on her wheels. Or the home in Scottsdale she shared with her husband and their two children. It was a nice house, but not a mansion. Appropriate for two people holding public office with kids in private school.
Agent Anderson turned left out of the back gate of the compound, taking her toward Danny before making another left. Danny followed in the white Chevy Malibu he’d rented, with Tavari following in a four-wheel-drive SUV in case they had to go off-road.
She took the interstate south to central Phoenix.
“Wherever she’s going, it’s not home,” Danny noted over his comms.
His phone buzzed with an incoming call.
He glanced at the screen.
Olivia Flores.
What the hell did that woman want? He let the call go to voicemail.
A few seconds later his phone chirped, this time with an incoming text.
Olivia Flores again.
I researched Omar Hassan and found something you need to see.
She’d attached a photo. He took a quick look. A family with young children on a beach.
Agent Anderson exited Interstate 17 just north of where it crossed Interstate 10 in the central industrial district.
Danny followed.
He needed to keep his focus, so he didn’t lose sight of the FBI agent.
Whatever information Flores had dug up on a dead man could wait.
He passed industrial businesses with graffiti-covered exteriors and chain-link fences. The sun had set, and streetlamps were sporadic, their harsh sodium lights illuminating gravel shoulders and cluttered lots of old equipment or automobiles.
To one side of the avenue he found himself on, a railway terminal stretched for a good mile. Lines of cylindrical tankers and rectangular freight cars sat stationary on the tracks. Looming shapes in the night, illuminated only in sections where security floodlights on nearby buildings touched them.
Gravel crunched beneath Agent Anderson’s tires as she pulled into the vacant parking lot of a nearby demolition business and parked. Danny drove past, turned at the next street, and parked on the side of the road.
He took his phone off the magnetic holder he’d clipped onto the A/C vent, his finger hovering over the photo of Bella he’d installed as wallpaper.
Three nights. Three video calls he’d looked forward to so much that Tavari had actually teased him about it.
A dozen texts in between, including photos of Trip because, dammit, he missed the stupid dog, too.
It didn’t help that he didn’t know when he’d return to Charlotte. For the first time in years, there was somewhere else he’d rather be.
Focus.
He locked the screen and stepped out of the car, scanning to see if anyone had eyes on him. The area appeared deserted. His hand settled on the Sig tucked in a holster beneath his lightweight black tactical jacket.
Rounding the corner, he kept to the shadows as the FBI agent crossed the street to the rail yard, still dressed in the navy pantsuit she’d worn to work.
As if on cue, the metal security gate slid open.
She glanced around, then reached inside her blazer, retrieving her service weapon before slipping inside.
The gate clanged shut.
Well, hell. Whoever Agent Anderson planned to meet, she didn’t trust them.
“She’s armed.” Danny relayed the information to Tavari. “She went through gate three. Take the north side.”
He headed two blocks south, far enough away from the gate to not be spotted. Crossing the street, he vaulted the six-foot brick wall and landed in a crouch.
For a minute he stayed down, listening for sounds of movement.
A quick text to Tavari. Inside.
He pocketed the phone and unholstered his weapon.
Agent Anderson had disappeared somewhere among the long line of tankers. Danny bent low and ran across the open space between the perimeter wall and the first track. He peered through the gap between two of the railcars.
Shit. There were multiple parallel tracks.
Talk about finding a needle in a haystack.
Especially with poor lighting. Not only was he concealed, so were Agent Anderson and her contact.
A drone would have made finding them easier during daylight, but this close to Sky Harbor, it wasn’t worth the risk.
Too many restrictions, and at night, the drone’s anti-collision lights might give them away even if its propeller noise didn’t.
His mouth tightened. He should be on a plane back to Charlotte. Not chasing ghosts in the dark.
He moved in the direction he’d last seen Agent Anderson, staying light on his feet and alert for any sounds that would alert him to another presence.
He and Tavari had been waiting to see what she did with the information Lucas gave her. A canary trap designed to see where the information ended up.
Or didn’t end up.
Caldwell didn’t want her arrested. He wanted to ID her accomplice and follow the trail.
See how high the corruption went.
A beam of light aimed toward the ground appeared next to a railcar on the third track. Danny climbed over the coupler connecting two cars and crept forward, staying low, weapon in hand.
The air carried the faint murmur of voices in his direction. One, the high-pitched voice of Agent Anderson. The other, a lower register. Male—Danny could tell that much—but he wasn’t close enough to ID the voice, or even the accent.
A muted pop echoed. Then another.
Fuck.
A suppressed firearm.
Unless she’d pulled a suppressor out of her jacket and screwed it onto her service weapon after she disappeared into the maze of railcars, that wasn’t Agent Anderson’s pistol.
Danny took off running toward the sound, his gaze and gun sweeping the area. He jumped over another coupler, bringing him to where he’d spotted the light.
Now, there were only shadows. Feet crunched over packed sand and gravel, the sound growing fainter as someone fled. A body lay prone on the ground.
Agent Anderson.
He tapped the flashlight on his phone for a closer look, his mouth twisting in a grimace as the beam fell across the agent’s face.
Too late.
The wine bar was all stainless steel and warm wood. Voices bounced off the high industrial ceiling, filling the tightly packed room. Colorful chandeliers bathed the dining area in an amber light that made the large crimson rug hanging on the wall an even richer shade of red.
It was crowded for midweek.
Isabella cradled her red wine and tried to focus on what Talia was saying. In the background, a lone guitarist crooned into his microphone, his voice mingling with the murmur of conversations and the clink of glassware.
“I can’t believe that reporter tried to call you,” Talia huffed. “After the article she wrote, and what your bodyguard exposed about her history?” Her fingers tapped a steady rhythm that grated on Isabella’s nerves.
“He’s not my bodyguard. He’s my—”
Isabella lifted the glass to her lips and watched the musician perform. What was Danny to her, exactly?
A cork popped somewhere behind the bar, sharp enough to sound like a gunshot.
They’d never defined it. Still, irritation flared at the way Talia reduced him to a job.
“That’s what you heard? Not the part about that woman having the nerve to contact you?” Talia speared a piece of crispy cauliflower like it had personally offended her.
“I can’t believe she called you first, trying to get more information on me and my relationship with Danny.” Isabella pinched a large green olive between her fingers and took a bite, savoring the subtle, briny taste. She nodded toward Talia’s glass of white. “You’ve hardly touched your wine.”
“I’m driving, remember?” Talia took a sip anyway, her fingers tightening around the stem. “You, on the other hand, should have another and loosen up. What’s with the moping?”
Isabella’s shoulders tensed. “I’m not moping.”
Her life was back to normal. Back at AegisShield, organizing trade events. Out of the public eye—where she intended to stay despite Olivia Flores.
Just her and Trip.
It all felt so…steady.
Routine.
Danny had gone and taken all the vibrant colors in her world with him.
Damn. Maybe she was moping.
“I miss him.”
Talia leaned forward slightly. “Are you afraid he won’t come back?”
“No. I—” Isabella’s phone rang.
Danny.
She pulled it from her purse and glanced at the caller ID, her shoulders dipping. “It’s Olivia Flores again. Maybe I should answer it this time.”
“No.” Talia’s voice rang out. Too strident. Too loud.
Isabella drew back, her hand flying to her chest.
Talia exhaled. “That woman doesn’t deserve a minute of your time. Don’t let her ruin our night out. You can call her back tomorrow when you haven’t been drinking.”
The phone dropped back into Isabella’s purse. “You’ve been on edge since the gala. Is everything okay?”
“I’m shocked you’re not more upset.” Talia took another taste of her wine, this time a swallow, not a sip. “A man attacked you.” Her gaze drifted, unfocused. “And now he’s dead.”
The bruschetta in Isabella’s mouth turned to sawdust. “I actually feel sorry for him.”
Talia’s brows flew skyward, disbelief echoing in her tone. “You do?”
She nodded slowly. “He seemed so desperate. I won’t lie—he scared me. But…” she hesitated. “He was as much a victim of his father’s actions as I was.”
Talia tilted her head. Studied Isabella. “That’s very perceptive of you, Izzy.” Then she seemed to shake off the change in mood. “Let’s not spend our night out talking about the past.”
“Cheers to that.” Isabella forced a smile and lifted her glass. The wine sent a warm flush through her veins, loosening the tension in her body.
They kept the rest of the evening light, sticking to safer topics.
Talia was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride back to Isabella’s townhome. When she pulled into the driveway, she shut off her engine.
The motion lights on the security camera lit up the driveway.
Talia glanced up at the light and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not feeling well. Something I ate didn’t agree with me. Can I use your bathroom?”
Isabella peered at her friend. Talia did seem…off. “Of course.” She stepped out of Talia’s car and opened the garage door with the keypad, then deactivated the house security system.
Talia followed her inside and headed straight for the powder room next to the kitchen.
Isabella set her purse down on the kitchen counter and waited for her friend to emerge.
When Talia finally opened the door, her head was down.
“Everything okay?” Isabella asked.
“It will be.”
The air felt…off. Talia’s voice had gone flat.
When she lifted her head to look at Isabella, her eyes were as empty as her voice.
Unease whispered across the back of Isabella’s neck. Her back hit the kitchen counter.
Talia moved forward, caging her in.
Air stalled in Isabella’s lungs. “What are you doing?” Her best friend had turned into a stranger.
“We had to come here. In case anyone’s tracking your phone, they’d see I brought you home.” Talia’s voice was eerily calm. “You’ll text your boss that you’re sick. Stomach virus. All that stress from the gala finally catching up to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Talia cocked her head. “All those years together and you didn’t see it.” Something raw surfaced, then vanished. “I had everything under control until that stupid bitch reporter stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. My brother died for nothing.”
Ice flooded Isabella’s veins. “Your brother?”
No, it wasn’t possible.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
Talia blinked, as if the question had taken her by surprise. “I’m Talia Collins, silly.” Then her lips twisted into a parody of a smile. “But I used to be Amina Hassan.”
Hassan.
Isabella froze. Then instinct took over.
Her fingers clawed for the knife block on the counter behind her.
Talia lunged.
Pain stabbed Isabella’s neck, a burning sensation spreading outward.
Her gaze fell to the syringe in Talia’s fingers.
Adrenaline exploded through her body.
She slammed her hands into Talia’s chest.
The syringe flew.
“Bitch!” Talia’s fist connected with Isabella’s cheek.
Her head cracked against the cupboard. Her hands came up again, but this time they didn’t respond to commands.
She twisted away, stumbling toward the living room on legs that didn’t want to hold her.
Trip danced around her, barking loudly.
“Doesn’t matter,” Talia said, raising her voice to be heard over the dog. “I got enough in you.”
Enough? Isabella couldn’t think.
Her arms and legs grew numb. She stumbled, bouncing off the arm of the sofa before hitting the floor.
“Don’t hurt Trip.” The words slurred.
“I won’t. I’ll take care of him, I promise.”
Isabella’s face rested against the carpet. She reached up for…something. Anything.
Missed.
Danny.
A tear slid down her cheek.
I didn’t tell you—
The world went dark.