DeRossi.
Director Casey might have made the reservation, but no way he’d picked it up. Two days ago, the director had been in D.C. Unsure how Agent DeRossi had managed this with him on her tail, he made a note to ask her as soon as he had her cornered. And he would get her cornered.
Holt was going to hang him out to dry when word got back that Jason had misplaced the director. He was alive, that much was clear, but for how long? Out of options and with the wail of more sirens closing in, Jason stalked back to his car.
He opened the door and was about to slide behind the wheel when another flash of color caught his eye. Distinctive red hair was swept back into a high bun. She might have been another traveler distracted by the commotion, but something in the way she was looking over the scene put his instincts on alert.
When she looked his way, he recognized her as the woman Holt asked him to watch out for. Even without the heads up, he would have known she was involved. It was the sly, satisfied tilt of her mouth that didn’t match the shock of the innocent bystanders. Was she the bomb builder? The trigger man—woman? He resisted the urge to walk over and confront her directly.
Instead, he went back and exchanged information with the officers on scene, giving her a chance to make an exit so he could follow her. It was a long shot, but if she didn’t lead him to DeRossi, maybe she’d lead him to the people behind the plan to blow up Director Casey’s car.
Without a cap or scarf, she obviously wasn’t trying to blend in. Hair like hers would be memorable to the dullest of eyewitnesses. He was grateful for her confidence, as that striking hair made it easy to keep her in his periphery with the rest of the world muted by blowing snow. Did she know, as he did, that Casey and DeRossi had escaped the trap?
When he saw her striding away, he quickly returned to his car, prepared to follow her until he had some answers. Choosing the lane closest to the building, he paid the parking fee and pulled through the gate, then stopped just behind the small building to wait.
It didn’t take long and once again her bold overconfidence made it easy. Alone in a boxy Jeep decades past its prime, she drove right by him.
He groaned when he spotted the temporary license plate and his hopes for a name and registration evaporated.
A little voice in his head told him this was too easy, she was practically daring him to follow. But she was a breadcrumb, and possibly the last good lead he’d get today. There was nothing to do but stay on her tail as she took the ramp and joined the sparse traffic traveling toward the mountains.
Fortunately her vehicle was distinctive enough he could fall back to the limits of visibility and still follow. There were several places she might be headed, but this was the most direct route to the area where Director Casey was supposed to be.
Observe and report might be his orders, but he reviewed his tactical options anyway as they inched along. He kept the radio on, listening for any update on the explosion at the airport. A report of a traffic tie-up on the east side of Denver distracted him. The reporter announced a hit-and-run combined with unconfirmed reports of gunfire.
Jason didn’t know the city well enough to attribute that event to his assignment or more localized violence. The roads were treacherous and even driving cautiously he could feel the tires sliding over patches of ice. Using the voice control on his phone, he contacted the analyst again to ask about the traffic report.
He heard the soft tap of fingers on a keyboard before the voice filled the car. “Traffic cameras confirm the report of a collision and it looks to me like there’s a muzzle flash.”
He asked for, and received an accurate description of the vehicles involved. “Did the police take anyone into custody?”
“Negative. Cameras show the SUV leaving the scene and two men exiting the disabled sedan.”
“Anything odd reported?”
“The two men in the sedan left the weapons behind. I can check with the lab about fingerprints, but it won’t be the priority with no victims.”
“Any chance of facial recognition on anyone from the traffic cams? License plates or registrations?”
“Possibly the driver of the SUV.” The soft sound of fingers on the keyboard was all he heard for a moment. “The rest were camera-shy and I don’t have enough to go on. Both vehicles are rentals and I can call you back when the records come through.”
“Do that. Please,” he added. “Is the SUV driver a man or woman?”
“Woman.”
DeRossi. “Any GPS signal on the SUV?”
“No.”
Jason stifled his exasperation. “The director didn’t happen to call in about this same accident, did he?”
“No word from him since he landed safely in Denver.”
Jason muttered an oath and thanked the analyst. “Let me know when you get a match on the driver.”
“Will do.”
“One more thing.” Jason gave the temporary tag on the Jeep. “I don’t expect the information to be accurate, so dig deeper than the first name that shows up.”
“You got it.”
When the call disconnected, he pounded his palm against the steering wheel. Of all the times to slip up. Losing DeRossi was the biggest mistake he’d made since becoming a Specialist.
He urged his car closer to the battered Jeep, determined to confirm how the sexy redhead fit in with DeRossi and the director, or if his instincts were all wrong and he was out here chasing wild geese through a blizzard.
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