Chapter 14
Fourteen
Idon't like this.
The highway doesn’t feel like I’m driving on it.
It feels like a conveyor belt we’re stuck on, pulling us toward precisely the kind of place I've spent years avoiding.
If I hadn't had Naomi with me, I might have gone deeper into the woods after setting her free.
Pure instinct would have taken me farther from civilization.
But she needed food and clothes and real shelter. And while becoming a needle in a haystack is best, becoming a needle among a bunch of needles can be a close second if you do it right.
But heading to an airport ain’t doing it right. Cameras, dogs, cops, attention, surveillance. People are paid to pay attention at airports.
"You look tense," Naomi says from beside me.
I adjust my tight grip on the steering wheel. "Airports are literally designed to catch people like us."
"People like us?" She raises an eyebrow, and I catch a hint of that almost smile I'm beginning to crave.
"Fugitives," I clarify, though I have no doubt she’s amused that an angel like her and a beast like me would have anything in common.
"We won’t be anywhere near security," she points out. "We’ll find Matt in the parking structure, right?"
Matt. The name grates on me. I don’t want to explore why.
"Yeah, but every square inch of that place is monitored," I say. "And if these people are what you say, they'll have access to those systems."
Naomi shifts in her seat, turning toward me. "Do you think I'm lying?"
"No," I answer immediately. "I'm just not convinced this guy can be trusted."
She furrows her brow. "I've worked with him for three years. He’s one of the good ones."
“No offense, Naomi, but you thought there were a lot more good ones in your agency before you crossed them.”
The fading sunlight catches her face just right, highlighting what I've been trying not to stare at since she got into my truck. She looks away, but not before I catch something in her expression that makes my chest tighten.
“I trust him.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t have any other options.”
I nod through a long silence. "Then we'll make it work.”
Denver's skyline appears in the distance, the airport's distinctive white peaks rising against the darkening sky. My instincts continue to scream at me to turn around.
"Tell me about your partner." I mean partner in the professional sense. But it comes out like it’s the personal kind.
"He's not my partner. CIA analysts don't have partners. But he’s a good man." She turns her body toward me. "CIA is like a lot of workplaces, I imagine. Some are just getting a paycheck. Some are just good at what they do. But he’s like me. He wants to make a difference.”
"I hope you're right. Because if he doesn't turn us in, you're making him an accessory."
"Not if your friend did his job. You trust your guy. I trust mine." I still don't like any of it. Especially referring to him as "her guy."
But if this is going to happen the "right" way—the way Naomi, the good tax-paying, loyal government employee, wants it to happen, for the justice system to actually provide some justice—we do need Matthew Spencer.
Because otherwise, all that would be left is my way.
Escape.
Or a whole lot of death.
I guide the truck onto the airport access road as the evening traffic thickens around us. It’s a perfect camouflage, except for the eyes watching through digital lenses.
"When's his flight get in?" I ask, checking the rearview mirror for the third time in thirty seconds.
"Eight forty-five," Naomi says, checking the truck clock. "We have about ten minutes."
"All right. If you trust him, make me trust him. Tell me more," I say, keeping my eyes on the road.
She shifts in her seat. "He's brilliant. Graduated at the top of his class at Georgetown. Could've gone to the private sector and made millions, but he wanted to serve."
Of course he did. Probably looks like he stepped out of a recruitment poster, too.
"He's the one who taught me how to follow money trails. When things started getting weird with what I found, he encouraged me to keep digging."
I frown. "So he knew what you were looking into? Before you got arrested?"
"Yes." Her voice softens. "I'm sure he doesn't know what's going on. He'll be relieved to see me."
Something twists in my gut. Jealousy? Christ, I have no right to that feeling. But I can't help wondering about their relationship. The way her voice changes when she talks about him.
"If he's so concerned, why didn't he come looking for you when you disappeared?"
"He probably tried," she says defensively. "But Matt plays by the rules. He wouldn't—"
"Break them for you?" The words come out harsher than intended.
Naomi turns to look at me fully. "Not everyone solves problems by burning down their lives and disappearing, Walker."
The comment stings more than it should. I grip the steering wheel tighter.
"Once we get the evidence," she says after a moment. "I’ll need someone who can present it. I’m a fugitive. A traitor. No one is going to listen to me. But they'll listen to Matt.”
“If you’re accused of a crime, a fugitive, and he’s such a straight arrow, he should turn you in. What makes you so sure he’ll listen to you?”
She stares out her window, and in a voice so quiet I almost don’t hear her, she says, “He has to.”
I pull the truck into the short-term parking garage. I park in a spot with clear sightlines to exits in three directions. As I kill the engine, I turn to her.
"Just promise me one thing. If this goes sideways, you follow my lead. No questions."
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the same doubt I'm feeling.
"Okay," she agrees. "But it won't come to that."
I hope she's right. Because my way ain’t pretty, and it sure as hell ain’t clean.
"There he is," Naomi says, her voice lifting with relief.
I follow her line of sight, immediately sizing him up.
Spencer is not as tall or as big as I am, but he's attractive.
Fit. Dark skin, dark eyes, sharp features.
I can tell that, like Naomi, he's not an operator, but he can handle himself.
Spencer is angrily jamming at his cell phone, probably due to the unexpected layover and flight cancellation courtesy of Static.
"Come on," Naomi says, already reaching for the door handle. I just grunt in response but follow her out of the truck, staying a half step behind her, eyes constantly moving.
"Matt," Naomi calls. She says it quietly, but it still echoes in the cavernous space of the parking structure. It's late, so there isn't much activity. We have a moment. But not much more than that.
Spencer turns around, his expression transforming from irritation to shock in an instant. "Naomi?"
His eyes flick to me, and I see the change immediately. His pupils widen and his shoulders tense. He reaches for his weapon, but I already have mine drawn.
Naomi holds up her hands to both of us. "Stop. Please."
Spencer freezes, his hand hovering near his jacket, eyes darting between Naomi and my gun. "What are you doing here? How did you get here, and who's this?"
Naomi approaches Spencer like he's a cornered animal, slow with her palms up. I don't like it. She's putting herself between us, making herself vulnerable.
“It's a long story. But this is Walker. He helped me escape."
"Escape?" Spencer's voice rises. “Naomi, I came here to help find you. You’re a fugitive—”
“Matt, you know me. You know what I was looking for was real. You know I wouldn’t do the things they accused me of.”
Spencer shakes his head. “Naomi, I feel like I don’t know anything. What I do know is that you’re in a lot of trouble.” His eyes clock me and the gun I’m holding on him. “And what you’re doing isn’t helping.”
“I know it doesn’t seem that way. But I’m going to find hard evidence of the digital trail I found.”
“How?” he asks.
“I’m going to find El Centinela.”
Spencer scoffs and shakes his head. He looks hurt. Confused. Angry. This isn’t working. “Naomi, this is crazy. You’re only making things worse. It’s not just treason. Those guards are dead. They say you killed them.”
I look at Naomi. She doesn't fold. Doesn’t crumble. But there’s a flicker of despair before it’s quickly replaced by determination again. I wish I could go to her.
"Do you really believe I would kill those men?" Naomi asks, raw, honest, and open.
Spencer doesn't answer immediately. The silence speaks volumes. I watch his face carefully. He doesn't believe she's a killer, but he's struggling to make sense of what's happening.
“I don’t. Of course I don’t. But you have to turn yourself in. You have to trust that—"
I can't take it anymore. "Use your goddamn head," I all but growl at Spencer, stepping forward.
"Walker, please," Naomi says with a hand on my arm.
"They're trying to kill her." The words rip from my throat.
"Who?" Spencer asks, doubt still written all over his face.
"Whoever doesn't want that site found. She turns herself in, she's as good as dead." I don't add that I won't let that happen. Not while I'm breathing.
Spencer's eyes narrow as he studies me. "Who are you?"
"As I said, this is Walker Cole," Naomi explains. "I found him in the woods. I... took him hostage. But now he's helping me."
"What?" Spencer shakes his head, looking back and forth between us like we've both lost our minds. I'm pissed at him for not grasping the danger Naomi is in, but I'm somewhat sympathetic to him for not following.
It has been a crazy few days.
The start of a car engine echoes in the distance, the sound bouncing off concrete walls. Time's running out on our reunion.
Naomi sighs, and I’m astonished by how calm her voice is in the face of all that she’s up against. “Matt. If you believe what they say about me, if you believe I betrayed my country and killed those men, then turn me in. But if you don’t, if you believe I’m the person you’ve always known me to be, then you have to see that there are traitors in our organization trying to destroy me. And I’m asking for your help. Please.”
Spencer runs a hand over his short-cropped hair. His mind clearly working through the implications.
Finally, his body relaxes, and he straightens.
"How?" Spencer asks.
Naomi nods, relief visibly washing over her. "If I can get the evidence that I need, will you get it to the proper people? People we know we can trust."
Spencer's gaze shifts from Naomi to me, his eyes narrowing. "Do you trust him?" The question’s for Naomi but his eyes bore into mine, challenging.
She turns to me. "I do," she says quietly.
Three letters, two syllables. But those simple words hit me like a physical force, something warm expanding in my chest. I've killed men, toppled governments, and disappeared without a trace.
I've been a ghost for years. But in less than seventy-two hours, this woman has somehow seen something in me worth believing.
And God help me, I want to be worthy of it.
Matt turns his gaze to her, then nods. "Then I’ll do what I can."
Naomi steps forward and embraces him. I lower my weapon, but my grip tightens reflexively at the way Spencer wraps his arms around her.
Their familiarity is obvious, the way she fits against him, the comfortable press of bodies that have hugged before.
Something primal in me wants to step between them, but I force it down. Not my place. Not my right.
"Thank you," she murmurs against his shoulder.
When they separate, Spencer glances at me over her shoulder. "Take care of her.” His tone is different now. He’s not confrontational but genuinely concerned.
“I will.” Five letters. Two syllables. But those simple words are a solemn promise I intend to keep.