not taking you in there until I know everything’s all right.”
“It’s supposed to be secure. That’s why it’s called a safe house.”
“And right now the vibes are all wrong.”
“Then why are we going back at all?”
“A couple of reasons. There’s equipment in there that I need. And the rest of the team could be in trouble.”
THE NEWS OF the ambush at the Federal Building had hit the cable channels. Tuned in to the CNN broadcast, the watcher felt anger flare up. A lot of money had crossed hands—for results—and now it looked as though everything was going to hell in a handbasket.
After clicking off the TV, the individual walked down the hall, stepped into a darkened bedroom and dialed a cell phone number, hand tightening on the phone while waiting for someone on the other end of the line to pick up.
“Yes?”
The caller spoke in a low, steady voice, working hard to hold back screams. “What the hell is going on?”
“A glitch.”
“You call that a glitch? The attack on the Federal Building has hit all the major news stations. The only bodies they found were that Federal prosecutor—what’s his name—Skip Gunderson? And two of your guys. I assume that means the agent and the girl got away.”
“Yeah. A real screwup.”
“There better not be any blowback.”
“The dead guys won’t talk. And we got the rest of our men out before anyone else showed up.”
“How did you make such a mess of a simple assignment?”
“You neglected to tell us how good Wyatt Hawk is.”
“I’m as surprised as you are.” The caller made a throatclearing noise. “Where are Hawk and the girl?” Maybe that news would be better.
“We don’t know for certain. We figure they’ll come back to the safe house. We can get them there.”
“You’re sure?”
“It’s a good bet.”
“What if that doesn’t work out?”
“We go to plan B.”
“That’s just perfect.”
Before the caller could ask another question, the man on the other end of the line hung up, leaving nothing but dead air.
The caller had thought of a foolproof scheme. Apparently, that held true only if you weren’t working with morons. More proof that if you wanted something done right, you’d better do it yourself. Too bad it took special training to handle this job.
FIFTY MINUTES AFTER leaving the Zipcar office, Wyatt pulled the Chevy Equinox into the woods, torn between bad and worse alternatives. He could leave Carrie in the car or hiding in the underbrush while he went in to find out what was going on at the hideout. Unfortunately, that would mean she was vulnerable if someone was lurking nearby. Or he could take her with him, which would expose her to whatever danger might be waiting ahead.
He made a decision and turned toward Carrie. “I don’t want to leave you here unprotected. We’re going to approach the house from the right side. I want you to stay behind me, and do exactly what I say. If I tell you to hit the deck, you do it.” His gaze burned into hers. “Got that?”
“Yes.”
“Wait in the car until I signal you to get out.”
She answered with a tight nod.
Hoping he could count on her not to freeze up, he climbed out of the vehicle and checked the area before motioning for her to follow.
As they approached the property line, they came in low, making themselves as small a target as possible. The first real evidence that something was wrong hit Wyatt when they reached the electric fence. He threw a stone at it and was only half surprised to find that it was no longer working. Somehow the current to the wires had been disrupted.
He threw another stone, then took a chance and crept forward to touch the fence. Nothing happened. Dead as a drowned rat.
Again he considered leaving Carrie but decided against the tactic.
He was able to lift the wire fence and scoot under, then hold it for her.
She came up beside him, her gaze focused on the house.
“It’s quiet,” she whispered.
“Too quiet. You might think we’d hear the TV. Or guys talking.”
Too bad he didn’t have a pair of binoculars. But he hadn’t anticipated the need to spy on a facility that had been perfectly safe when they’d left.
His instincts warned him to turn around and get the hell out of there, but he couldn’t do it. Not when he felt an obligation to the men who’d taken this assignment with him. What if they were injured? Or being held under threat of death?
“Stay low,” he whispered.
Carrie did as he’d asked.
Taking his time, he moved forward until they came to the flat stretch, where the fields for a hundred yards around the structure had been cleared to make it difficult for anyone to sneak up on the safe house. Great planning when you were on the inside, but not so advantageous if you were trying to get close to the house.
Unfortunately, he found he didn’t have to get close to understand what had happened. The evidence was big as life and twice as plain—a body lying sprawled across the back steps.
Chapter Three
Carrie heard Wyatt mutter a curse.
Alarmed, she followed the direction of his gaze.
From her hiding place, she saw a dark-skinned man with a shaved head lying at the bottom of the back steps, his arms spread and a gun still clutched in his hand. As she realized who it was, her chest constricted painfully. The man was Gary Blain, one of the bodyguards who’d gone out of his way to be nice to her during guard duty. It looked as though he’d been trying to get away when he’d been gunned down.
She choked back a sob. Another casualty. On her account. “No.”
Wyatt put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his side, and she turned toward him, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead against his chest.
“Well, we know why he didn’t answer the phone,” he said in a raspy voice.
“What about the rest of them?”
“We’ve got to assume they’re dead, too. Probably in the house. And Gary almost got away.”
“My fault—again,” she whispered.
“No.
