Blindsided Page 4

  Valerie dodged the growing crowd of bystanders huddling around the corner of her building as she tried to catch her breath.

  Sirens cut through the feeling of cotton in her ears. The police would be here soon.

  Her steps faltered. Shouldn’t she wait for them? They’ll arrest you. Her head throbbed and tears blurred her vision, but she could make out the man in the green jacket still racing toward her. Valerie almost tripped over a neighbor who was hunkered down behind a large truck, cradling her baby against her chest.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. She didn’t know the woman’s name, but she’d seen her around.

  “What’s going on?” the blonde asked, her voice shaky.

  “Someone’s shooting. Stay here.” Valerie moved past them. “I have to go.”

  “But the police…”

  Bile rose in her throat. As she approached her car, the doors unlocked with a pop. Her heart hammered so hard she could hardly draw breath. Both agents were dead. She was splattered with blood.

  And she’d run away.

  Valerie’s stomach contracted painfully and she dry-heaved. Oh, Jesus. What was she doing?

  Keep moving!

  She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the door. Green Parka stood still, watching her. Something about him was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t make out his features from this distance. All she knew was that she couldn’t let him catch her. She’d learned to trust her instincts over the years, and hers were screaming that he was not a friend.

  She threw herself inside the car, pushed the button to start the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot on squealing tires without looking back.

  The steering wheel was cold, but she gripped it hard to keep her hands from shaking as she joined the afternoon traffic pouring out of the nearby business parks and heading toward the freeway onramp. She checked her mirrors obsessively, but no one appeared to be following her. Not that she was an expert in counter surveillance.

  Not anymore. Papá had taught her a few things, but she was rusty.

  Separating from the congestion, she continued another mile down the wide road that led to one of Fairfax County’s mega strip malls. She had to ditch the car. If the cops weren’t looking for her already, they would be soon.

  No one in the massive, car-logged parking lot took any notice of her as she parked and used baby wipes she kept in her glove box to rid her face and hands of blood. Still trembling, she turned her sweatshirt inside out to hide the stains and popped the trunk. She scavenged a granola bar, gloves, fleece cap, and a bottle of water she kept for blizzards and other emergencies. If this didn’t qualify, nothing did. She shoved the snack and water into her tote bag, tucked her hair up into the beanie, and donned the gloves.

  She dropped her keys onto the driver’s seat, shut the car door, and let her palms linger on the Prius. Her first new car, bought to celebrate a big jump in income when she took the job at Aggressor. God, how had things gone so wrong?

  Scanning for threats, she wiped tears from her cheeks and walked away from the car, hugging herself against the biting wind that cut through her inadequate sweatshirt.

  Within minutes she was just another pajama-wearing patron at Walmart.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Zachari, CA

  Two weeks later, Sunday, 4:40 p.m.

  SCOTT HAD BEEN FOLLOWING VALERIE since she left Virginia two weeks ago, and she still hadn’t led him to her co-conspirator, who Hollowell now believed was Suresh. Seeing as how the guy had gone dark the same day Valerie split, it wasn’t a stretch. Hollowell probably had to pull his own teeth to get himself to admit it, though. He’d been so fucking sure she was working alone.

  But the old man’s suspicions of Valerie appeared valid. Everything pointed to her guilt. In addition to the offshore account, someone had been willing to kill to help her escape the feds, and she’d immediately taken off for Zachari, California—about sixty miles north of Los Angeles—with a destination in mind. No hesitation, despite no obvious link to the town.

  And yet, after trailing her for two weeks, he still had a hard time believing she was guilty.

  The turncoat was too fucking nice. She tipped delivery drivers well. She drove too fast in the beat-up Accord she’d purchased in West Virginia, but she didn’t tailgate or cut people off or honk at stupid drivers. She held the door for people and thanked them for doing the same. It wasn’t forced with her either, it was clearly unconscious habit.

  Or maybe she was too fucking hot, and he was the dumbass who turned stupid around a pretty face.

  Which made him laugh. Up until he glimpsed her spark on that last day in Virginia, she’d been the quiet girl in baggy clothes hiding behind a large computer monitor, a messy ponytail, and a foreign language of proxy servers, backdoors, sniffers, and other geek-speak.

  But computer nerd or not, the woman helping her elderly landlady unload groceries—keeping up the ruse?—had been transformed. She’d carved out side-swept bangs that balanced her oval face, and her dark brown hair fell in a shiny sheet past her shoulder blades, reflecting red and blond highlights in the setting sun. She was sexy as hell in slim jeans that hid lean, athletic legs, and a sweater the wind had molded to her killer rack.

  Christ, she was guilty of espionage, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her tits.

  But he also couldn’t stop thinking about the fear and confusion on her face when the sniper started shooting, and again when he told her to run. Scott would bet good money that she hadn’t been in on that day’s massacre.

  Which didn’t make her innocent. Getting involved with the criminal underworld made her culpable. Given her history, he’d expected her to be smarter.

  Scott adjusted his position in the recently purchased beater of a cargo van. Across the street, she gave the older woman a gentle hug before striding to the detached-garage-turned-guest-house. The small rental exactly matched the main house, right down to its white trim, green wood siding, and stone porch.

  Valerie—now going by Victoria Reynoso—had done a nice job of covering her tracks but she clearly didn’t realize her efforts were useless. Scott didn’t have much to offer the world, but he knew how to be invisible.

  And how to wait.

  Down the street, the feds were watching too, operating out of a two-story motel called The Dolphin, which had probably been built in the fifties and never refurbished. Since he wasn’t in contact with them, he’d made up his own names for the agents to amuse himself as he watched them spy on Valerie.

  He’d noticed Hurley first. Later, he’d added Roxy, Billy, Van, Rip, and Oakley, though they did a pretty good job of staying covert. He supposed they had some experience.

  They wanted Valerie to lead them to Suresh—and possibly her buyer—before bringing her in, and Hollowell wanted Scott to stay on as backup and to keep him in the loop. Fine with him. Better they capture both traitors.

  Assuming she was meeting up with Suresh at all. A smart woman would cut ties and start fresh.

  Scott scratched the beard he’d been growing since they took to the road. After so many years in the Marines, shaving was a habit, but his scruffy face changed his look completely. Combine that with the blond highlights the sun had given his overlong hair, sunglasses, and board shorts, and Valerie hadn’t looked at him twice. He was just another transient surfer parked at the beach across from her cottage.

  The surfers figured he was just another guy living out of his van. Which, basically, he was.

  He’d been reading Meditations by Marcus Aurelius for nearly an hour when Valerie emerged from her tiny house. She wore a green V-neck shirt and white jeans with sparkly flip-flops.

  “Where’re you going, honey?” he asked under his breath.

  He’d know soon enough. Even if he lost her, the GPS tracker on her car made sure of that. Probably the FBI had planted their own tracker too.

  Thirty minutes later, he entered Good Old Days Bar & Grill on Harbor Drive. Tonight was the first time Valerie had
gone out in the evening. It had to mean something. Maybe she was tired of being home alone, but he’d never seen her watch football in her apartment back in Virginia. He doubted she was here for the game.

  The place was loud, with a half-dozen flat-screen televisions tuned to the Cowboys⁠–Giants game. Thanksgiving was still a couple of days away, but shimmery green garland draped every booth and circled every pillar in a desperate attempt at cheer. Glittery bells hung in the corners, and an anemic fake tree dressed in tiny beer bottles, football helmets, and hockey sticks sat in the corner by the door.

  Every stool flanking the wide wooden bar was occupied. Valerie had staked out one at the far end, and she sipped a dark beer, her eyes on the entrance.

  She barely registered his appearance, clearly looking for someone else. Not that he expected her to recognize him. The Vans snapback hat was just an extra precaution. He ordered a beer—some piss-pale American crap so he wouldn’t be tempted to drink much of it—and feigned interest in football.

  Across the bar from where he stood, Valerie shook her head at the man next to her and he straightened, a slight frown on his too-pretty face. She glanced around and returned her gaze to the door.

  Slowly, casually, Scott turned to lean his hip against the bar, giving him a view of the open area of tables as well as the entrance. So far, he’d seen none of the feds on her detail, but with luck, by the end of the night, they would have both Jay and Valerie in cuffs.

  As much as he’d enjoyed the change of pace of this assignment, it was time to go home and get pretty Valerie, the fucking Benedict Arnold, off his brain.

  Valerie sipped her beer and fingered the collar of her shirt. She still wasn’t used to wearing form-fitting clothes.

  The sports bar was loud, with twelve flat-screen televisions around the room all tuned to the game, and the din of conversations and shouts overlaying the announcers’ voices. Green tissue paper pine trees hung from the ceiling, and a life-sized elf holding a bowl of mints stood sentinel just inside the door, a dismal reminder of the coming holiday.

  The clientele was fairly clean cut. Apparently, this place appealed to the frat-boys-turned-suburban-dads and young professionals alike, along with a few surfer types.

  Good Old Days was the only sports bar in Zachari with the Dallas game on its main screens tonight, and she was hoping Jay would show. He loved the Texas team as much as she hated the state they hailed from. Jay had given her a hard time about it, even going so far as to buy her a Cowboys T-shirt as a joke for her birthday.

  After their success with Westgate, he’d disappeared. All she had was the voicemail he’d left while she was answering the door to the feds, warning her to get out of town. Since then, he’d been silent. How had he known she was in danger?

  Now that the Cowboys were playing, she had a chance to find out. Jay’s offhand comment about Zachari at the company Christmas party two years ago had brought her to California. She had no idea if he was living here, but—like everyone—he was a creature of habit. That made the football game her best chance to track him down.

  As long as Duncan, or law enforcement, hadn’t picked up her trail, she and Jay might get out of this alive.

  She scanned the knots of people seated at tables and booths up front, but didn’t spot him. Behind the bar, a stocky young blonde with chin-length hair filled beer mugs pretty much nonstop.

  “Need a refill?” the blonde asked, wiping her hands on a red apron. Earrings perforated both ears from tip to lobe, and she had snakebite piercings beneath her lower lip that, at first glance, looked like zits.

  Valerie ordered another stout. If necessary, she would sit here all night. Might as well have a little more liquid courage.

  The woman returned with a frothy glass a minute later and took her money. “Anything else I can get you?”

  “Actually,” Valerie leaned in and tried to look concerned, “I got here late and I’m hoping I didn’t miss my friend. I thought you might remember if you’d served him. Tall, good-looking Indian man? His name’s Jay.”

  The woman studied her for a minute as if trying to decide if she was legit, but then shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but unless they hang out at the bar for a while or tip really well, the faces are all a blur.”

  Figured. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”

  Valerie took a sip of the bitter drink and glanced at the TV screen over the bar without really seeing it, trying to pretend she wasn’t really watching the door.

  Since arriving in California, she’d spent all of her free time either looking for Jay or trying to find a way into Aggressor’s computers. She’d been researching the employees and their families, looking for their backgrounds, hobbies, and interests by friending them on social media.

  Once she set her traps, she’d go phishing. But if she found Jay, maybe she wouldn’t need to.

  And almost like magic, two minutes later, he walked in the door and stopped in the entry next to the tacky Christmas tree. She launched herself off the stool and threaded her way through the thick crowd. At first, he didn’t notice. Then his gaze settled on her face, and his dark features registered shock. Face flushed, he strode up to her, grabbed her by the upper arm, and dragged her to the corridor leading to the bathrooms.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, glancing around him. “Were you followed?”

  Her heart galloped. She’d never seen him like this. “Jay…” She shook her arm free from his painful grip. “No. I don’t think so.” If anyone already knew where she was, wouldn’t they have grabbed her by now?

  “How did you find me?” he asked, his voice thick with displeasure. “What are you doing here?”

  “You told me about Zachari once. The way you talked about it, I figured I’d start here. It was the only lead I had since you scrubbed your online presence.”

  His head snapped back. “I told you about this place?”

  She wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember. They hadn’t discussed childhood memories much, but there was one night… “When you got drunk at the holiday party and I drove you home. You said you came here for vacation as a kid and you loved how it was named after the Greek word for sugar because life here had to be sweet. That stuck with me.”

  He grimaced and made an angry noise in his throat. “Fucking stupid. If I’d realized…” His gaze roved the crowd for threats before he faced her. “But how’d you find me here?” He pointed to the floor.

  “The Cowboys game. This was the only place in town for Dallas fans. Well, the only one that’s not scary.”

  “Dammit.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and frowned. “I know better.” Gripping her shoulder, he squeezed hard and narrowed his eyes, leaning too far into her personal space. “What do you want?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? “I need your help,” she said, unable to keep her voice calm. “Your phone call came too late, but clearly you know something about what’s going on.” She pressed against his chest and he shifted back, letting go. “Besides Duncan, you’re the only one who knows I’m innocent. You can tell the FBI. Maybe they’ll clear us both if you testify.”

  Jay gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Don’t be naive, Valerie.”

  All the fight drained out of her. He’d been her one hope. “You won’t even try? Don’t you want your life back?”

  “Try what, exactly?”

  “Anything.” Her voice screeched, and she glanced around. The last thing she wanted to do was attract attention. Not that anyone could hear her over the music or the noise of the game.

  She took a deep breath, returning her attention to Jay. In the calmest tone she could muster, she said, “We’re smart. I know if we put our heads together we can figure some way out of this.” She held his upper arm. “Please. We can’t give up. We can’t let him win.”

  “I’m sorry.” He shrugged free of her hold and shook his head. “I can’t help you.”

  Her stomach turned to stone. Without Jay, what chance did she have?
“How did you know I was in danger when you called?”

  Jay clamped his lips shut and refused to meet her eye.

  Well, then.

  For a moment she had no words.

  Ignoring the knife of betrayal lodged in her back, she said, “You were involved?”

  He scowled, but didn’t deny it.

  “Why?”

  “Does it matter?” He crossed his arms and met her gaze, his dark brown eyes full of anger, fear, and regret.

  “Yes.”

  His jaw tightened. “Duncan threatened Priya.” The woman Jay was still in love with.

  Valerie sighed. “You can’t run forever.” She sure as hell didn’t want to. She wanted her life back. Her freedom. “Aren’t you tired of looking over your shoulder? It’s only been two weeks, and I can hardly stand it. I’m tired of being on edge, thinking at any moment that Duncan’s goons might find me. I can’t live like this, Jay.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her and put a balled fist against the wall over her head. “If you turn yourself in, I’ll be long gone. There are plenty of places to hide out that I know I never told you about.”

  Anger surged through her. Had their friendship meant nothing to him? “You think I would give you away even if I did go to the police?” As if she’d surrender. Without Jay all she had was the emails she’d hidden on the flash drive, and she didn’t even have those in her possession. Now that everyone thought she was behind the deaths of Agents Dresner and Williams, she needed solid proof.

  Somehow, she managed to keep her face from drooping in defeat. “You don’t know me at all. Maybe you never did.”

  “Valerie, I’m sorry.” Jay stood with his eyes downcast, the anger visibly draining out of him like blood from a cut.

  “Me too.” She straightened and nudged him out of her way. “Good luck.” Without looking his way again, she strode to the ladies’ room.