crazy. Bomb plans are probably worth something on the black market. People will buy anything off the internet.” William’s voice quieted, and he spoke again to someone he was with. “I’m interested to know this guy’s angle. Think the local police will find him?”
Locke said, “I’ll be going over there again with Alana to look at mug shots of yakuza soldiers. We’ll figure out who he is, then the cops can pick him up. Guess we’ll unravel this, and this morning’s attack on Alana, somehow.”
Would her brother help? The man could be a valuable ally if he wanted to be.
William said, “That’s the police’s job, Locke. You’re not their director, so make sure you go see their captain and get approval for anything you do in their jurisdiction.”
Locke wanted to roll his eyes but had practiced the art of resisting that urge from the age of four. William spoke like he was Locke’s director, or at least someone he reported to, instead of his colleague. “I’ll take care of it. And I’ll file the report.”
“Report?”
Locke said, “This needs to be passed on. A woman on our intelligence list is dead, and the man who killed her stole schematics to a bomb designed with the purpose of killing the president.”
“Like I said, it’s nothing but a coincidence. Even if your killer was going to construct the bomb from archaic plans he stole, he could be planning to...kill a wild pig with it. The president? That’s a stretch.”
Locke ignored the man’s sarcasm and said, “It’s a stretch I’m supposed to make.” That was their job—to see the threat no one else saw and take appropriate steps to neutralize it. Or if there was no other choice, to give their lives to protect the president. Locke stepped outside. “I cannot in good conscience ignore a possible threat. You know that, William.”
The other director laughed. “Alana was right. You are too serious. It was a break-in, some small-time theft gone wrong. Unless there was something left out of your explanation that proves this to be a legitimate threat to the president’s life?”
As if things were ever that cut-and-dried. “It was the same man. I’ve explained that.”
But that wasn’t the part of William’s speech that had caught his attention. Locke was still stuck on what Alana had said about him to William. He turned back to the house and glared but couldn’t see her. Maybe that was why she had wanted to be on William’s detail.
“If it escalates, we’ll take care of it.” William sighed. “For now, do what you will, Locke. I’ll be there on Air Force One tonight.”
William had already hung up, so Locke tucked his phone back in his pocket. At least he thought this could be a real threat, regardless of what other people’s opinions of him were. How the attack on Alana was connected remained to be seen, but his phone call with William had only cemented the fact he was alone, just like always. He would work to keep her safe, but Alana was his subordinate—and nothing more.
* * *
“Thanks for distracting me with this, Joe.” Alana motioned to her phone and the list of numbers she’d typed into her notes app. Incoming and outgoing calls Beatrice had received on her cell phone. Nothing jumped out at her, probably just cold callers and friends Beatrice wanted to talk to. Likely the information wouldn’t yield a reason why the yakuza had killed her.
“Tell you a secret?” He leaned closer. Alana shrugged. He said, “I don’t like dead people.”
“Neither do I.” She set her hand on his arm. “I’d much rather be surfing.”
“You got that right, sista.” His expression changed, and she caught what it was about when he said, “Seen Kaylee since you been here?” Totally innocent, like he wasn’t trying to father-figure her while Ray was in the room. Her dad had left a hole in her life she hadn’t even begun to figure out how to fill in the years since.
Alana made a face. “My sister wouldn’t answer the door even if I did go over there. Kaylee made it clear she didn’t want to see me again. Ever.”
Joe made a tut sound with his mouth and shook his head. “Shame. I heard—”
“Agent Preston.” Locke’s voice was a bark.
Alana turned to her colleague. Boss. Whatever. She pasted a smile on her face. “Yes, Agent Locke?” It just sounded weird to call him that. The whole team called him Locke, and she didn’t know what his first name was. Surely it had been mentioned when she first met him, but she couldn’t remember. It was bizarre to think of calling him something else, anyway. Like he had a personality instead of just a buttoned collar and tie, shiny shoes and a gun.
“We should make our last visit for the day.”
Right. The marine sniper, the one Locke had wanted to check the file for.
“And that’s my cue to leave.” She looked at her brother. When he didn’t say anything, she decided to go for it. “’Bye, Ray.”
He muttered, “Sounds familiar.”
Locke touched her arm, and she went with him. They were so different, and yet she felt more at home with him than with her family.
Alana wasn’t going to apologize for her brother, no matter how much dichotomy there was in her life. Things were what they were. Alana didn’t regret leaving, but she did regret what things had become. If she could prove to Ray what a good Secret Service agent she was, then he’d see that it had been the right decision for her to leave for the mainland.
Locke turned the vehicle on and got the air-conditioning running, but didn’t pull away from Beatrice’s house. Instead, he grabbed his iPad from the back seat. “It’s him. I knew he looked familiar. I just couldn’t place him.”
“Huh?”
He looked over from the screen, and tilted it in her direction so she could see the photo. Clean-cut, green fatigues. “The sniper. It’s the man I saw in the vehicle this morning. Our yakuza suspect’s getaway driver. Though he looked a lot more like a beach bum, with long hair and a beard.”
Locke drove them to the last house, through the forest reserve to a deserted stretch of mountain. Dirt trail, so much foliage they could barely get through. The SUV would probably get scratched up on both sides.
“Are you sure this is the right direction?” Alana swiped through to a map on the iPad but couldn’t get a strong enough signal for it to tell her where she was.
“I’ve been here before, remember? It was years ago, but this isn’t an address you forget.” Unlike the man’s face. Though years ago Brian hadn’t had facial hair—or looked like a beach bum.
“And this guy—” she found the man’s personal information “—Brian Wells? He lives here?”
“Yes. And if I take a wrong turn, I’ll tell you. I’m not one of those guys you women complain about who can’t ask for directions. There’s no point driving around in the middle of nowhere and getting lost.”
Alana shifted in the seat. What had that been about? It was bad enough being alone in the car with him for hours. Especially now that
