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Inside, she ignored the curious look from a redhead at the sink and hid in the nearest open stall. Gulping deep breaths to keep the waterworks at bay, she balled her fists and squeezed her eyes shut.

  Damn him. Damn him. She wanted to kick something. How could he just give up? How could he leave her hanging like this, danger dangling over her like a sword?

  She choked back a sob and leaned her head against the stall door. How was she going to exonerate herself now?

  Scott could read lips passably, but neither Valerie nor Suresh was facing his way, so he was stuck reading body language.

  And there was plenty of it.

  Suresh was pissed. Valerie went from happy to surprised to angry, and then nearly broke down right there. Whatever Suresh had said, it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Apparently there was no honor among cyber thieves either.

  Boo-fucking-hoo.

  He’d texted Hollowell to let him know Suresh was here. Scott was supposed to keep an eye on them both until the FBI stepped in. Easier said than done, considering they didn’t look likely to leave here together.

  When Valerie bailed to the bathroom, he followed Suresh. Scott could track her down later, and her former partner in crime was on his way out the door. Apparently football was no longer on the man’s agenda for the evening.

  Scott waited a few beats and then trailed his quarry.

  Pretending to be engrossed in something on his phone, he pushed through the door into the dark parking lot. The air had cooled and the scent of green onions and eucalyptus drifted on the ocean breeze. Traffic on the nearby 101 whooshed in the background, providing a steady stream of white noise that ebbed, but never quite died out.

  Suresh was nowhere in sight, but he couldn’t have gotten away that quickly. Scott pocketed his phone and strode through the shadows toward the end of the building. He spotted Suresh hurrying toward a white Chevy in the side lot under one of the few working streetlamps.

  “Jay?”

  Suresh stopped and turned to a man who stood in the shadow of a gray truck.

  Light flashed, followed by a quiet pop. Suresh crumpled.

  Oh, shit. “Hey!” Scott yelled, breaking into a run.

  The gunman followed suit, jumping onto a motorcycle parked face-out two spaces away. He fired up the crotch-rocket’s engine with its throaty growl and peeled out. The man glanced over his shoulder, giving Scott a glimpse of his face.

  Hurley. One of the FBI agents who’d been following Valerie.

  “What the fuck?” Dread filled Scott’s gut, heavy like wet cement. He jogged to the break between cars and stopped cold.

  Jay Suresh lay sprawled on the macadam, blood shimmering on his face like black oil. His eyes were open and staring at the sky, sightless.

  Either Hurley wasn’t FBI at all, or he was rotten.

  Rubbing a hand down his face, Scott dialed 911. “A man was just shot in the parking lot of Good Old Days on Harbor Drive. When I approached, the shooter took off on a red motorcycle, probably a Honda, California license plate beginning with 11K92.”

  “Sir, may I have your name?” the operator asked.

  Scott gave her a brief description of Hurley and hung up. He wasn’t going to stick around for the police. Until he figured out what was going on with Hollowell and the FBI, he didn’t trust anyone. He wiped his disposable phone and dumped it in the trash can before returning to the restaurant.

  He needed to find Valerie before someone else did.

  Noise and light hit him like a blast as the door shut behind him with a soft thunk. He stopped and searched the tables and the bar for her.

  “Hello.” The hostess gave him an inviting smile. “Back for more already?”

  “Just looking for someone.” He walked past her, ignoring her disappointed frown, and headed for the corridor to the restrooms. It wouldn’t take long for the cops to arrive, and he wanted to be out of here—with Valerie—before that happened.

  At the door to the ladies’ restroom, he paused to listen. No talking, no water running, no noise. Pushing open the swinging door, he peeked inside. His target sat on an upholstered bench in a small anteroom where women could check their makeup or change a baby diaper. She didn’t look up at first, just stared at the tile, kneading her long, thin fingers.

  He stepped inside. “Valerie.”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes widened as she pressed her back to the wall.

  A quick check of the stalls showed the bathroom was empty. Removing his baseball cap, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling the still unfamiliar beard as he returned to stand in front of her. “It’s Scott Kramer. From Aggressor.” As if that would make her feel safer.

  She covered her mouth with a shaky hand as she scrutinized him, recognition dawning in her eyes. “How’d you find me?” she asked, her voice tight and breathy.

  “I never lost you. I’ve been following you since four days before you ran.”

  Her jaw slackened and she looked away, clearly absorbing that revelation. Funny how even hackers bristled when their privacy was invaded. Too bad he didn’t feel like laughing right now.

  “Look.” He stepped closer and she shrank further into herself. “I know you probably don’t trust me, but we need to get out of here.” He ignored her wary expression and pressed on. “You’re not safe anymore.”

  Her eyebrows knit. “What do you mean?” She held his gaze, as if looking for something. He’d never noticed the streaks of gold and green in her eyes before.

  Moron. He crossed his arms and took a deep breath to break the bad news.

  “Suresh is dead.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Zachari, CA

  Sunday, 6:10 p.m.

  THE SCRUFFY VERSION OF SCOTT dressed in a Black Keys concert T-shirt, tan cargo shorts, and running shoes crouched in front of Valerie. She was still reeling from his sudden—and definitely unexpected—appearance, when his words registered.

  Suresh is dead.

  She shook her head. “But I just saw him… What happened?”

  “Someone shot him in the parking lot.”

  Oh, God. Her heart stopped, just hung for a full beat, a painful, useless lump of clay in her chest. Duncan wasn’t playing around. She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

  Poor, sweet, brilliant Jay. How could he be dead?

  She met Scott’s gaze, the deep blue eyes she’d daydreamed about. He’d never looked at her with adoration, had never really noticed her before she got into this mess. Now he stared back, his gaze hard and flat with no reassurance.

  He might not want her dead, but he didn’t like her. Scott had been following her, and now Jay was—

  Anger burned through her like a wildfire on dry grass. “This is your fault, then.” She wanted to shove him away, beat at him, kick and scream. “You told Duncan where to find us.”

  Frowning, he said, “Yes, but I never expected this. It was one of the feds…”

  He didn’t even try to deny it. Her gut tightened. Was there a single man in her life other than her sweet dad who hadn’t betrayed her? Ever?

  Scott held out a hand. His fingers were long and lean, his palm callused. “We can talk more later. I just called the police, so we need to get out of here before they arrive.”

  Valerie didn’t move. Could she trust him? All she had was his word. For all she knew, he’d killed Jay. Or maybe Jay wasn’t dead at all. Hope made her heart leap, but Scott’s expression gave her little room for it.

  “I didn’t do it.” His hand dropped and he gave her some space. “I’m not a fan of either of you, but I’m not…” He scoffed and shook his head. “Okay, technically, I am a killer. But I swear to God, Valerie, right now I’m trying to save your life.”

  I am a killer.

  She shivered. She’d known that. Duncan might have kept her out of the field, but she knew what men like Scott did when they were on a mission. She admired their discipline, their unshakeable confidence in their physical abilities, and their straightforward natur
e.

  But having all those qualities focused in her direction was…unnerving.

  Sirens punctured the noise of the bar outside the bathroom door. As a fugitive who’d left behind two dead FBI agents, what choice did she have? Better the devil she knew, right? If he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done the job right here in the bathroom with no witnesses.

  She hitched her oversized purse up her shoulder and took Scott’s warm, rough hand, letting him pull her to stand on shaky legs. It didn’t matter if she trusted him or not. He’d caught her—had apparently been following her from the very beginning—and she had little chance of escaping now without getting hurt. Better to go with him and wait for an opportunity to run.

  She had to regroup anyway. Her entire plan had hinged on finding Jay and convincing him to testify. Without him, she had nothing.

  Scott released her, cracking the door to check the corridor before pulling it wide enough for them to leave. Conversations, laughter, and the sounds of football commentary swarmed around them, along with the scent of charred burgers, onion rings, and stale beer. From outside, the approaching sirens cut through the jovial din.

  “This way.” He gripped her hand again, pulling her down the hall toward the back of the building.

  As if she needed more proof that her life sucked, the one man she’d wanted so desperately to notice her finally had. And he thought she was everything he fought against.

  And maybe wanted her dead.

  She pushed aside her petty disappointments, ignored the sense of violation that sliced through her at learning she’d been followed for weeks, buried the horror of Jay being dead not fifty yards away—as much as she could—and followed Scott into the kitchen.

  Life was a string of bad shit. She’d had a good run for a few years, but she should have known it was only a matter of time before she crashed.

  Fryers beeped, pots clanged, and short-order cooks glanced up with surprise on their faces, but no one bothered to stop them. Most of them probably didn’t speak much English. Scott led the way past the stock room and a small break room, and leaned on the push-bar for a green metal door that had been propped open with a floor mat.

  Cool, moist air thick with the stench of rotting garbage and fry grease enveloped them as they entered the alley. A light over the door illuminated liquor boxes and kegs and broken glass scattered along the base of the brick wall.

  Scott faced her, still holding her hand as if afraid she’d run if he let go. “We’re going to walk down the alley to Canejo Boulevard and then cross over to Sugar Beach.”

  “Okay.” She let him keep her hand.

  His grip tightened, but he kept their pace casual as the sirens stopped on the other side of the building and blue lights flashed off the alley wall.

  Blue lights meant cops. Here because Jay was dead.

  Why hadn’t she followed him outside? They’d been friends and partners for three years. Together, they’d defeated every computer system thrown at them, much to the chagrin of many government agencies, contractors, and a few terrorist groups. Of course, she and Jay were the good guys. They broke into systems in order to find security holes before the black hats did.

  And with enough time, they always found a hole. Often all it took to break in was a little social engineering to get someone on the inside to reveal key information.

  That had been Valerie’s strong suit. Despite being an introvert, she had a knack for getting people to believe her con. Maybe being a woman made her seem less like a potential threat, but whatever the reason, whenever she asked someone to open an email attachment to make sure it had come through okay, they always did. They even trusted her when she told them she was calling from their IT department and needed to reset their password.

  Jay had been better at writing malicious code to break through barriers on the networks and hide their tracks so they didn’t set off alarms.

  And now he was…gone.

  Her throat tightened painfully. Tonight, he’d been so scared. Was his death her fault? If she hadn’t come to Zachari would he be safe? Either way, she was next on the hit list. She’d led Duncan right to him, so there was no need to keep her alive.

  Valerie’s stomach clenched. Before she could even step to the side, she lost her dinner right there in front of God and Scott.

  “Jesus.” He jumped back and released his hold.

  She rested her hands on her knees and coughed. Dry heaves hijacked her body and she fought for breath. And right on cue, tears threatened and her nose started running.

  Great. Bad enough that Scott thought she was on a par with CIA traitor Aldrich Ames, but now he was seeing her at her physical low too. Well, at least she hadn’t splattered her shoes.

  An irrational laugh built in her throat.

  Digging through her purse, she located a tissue and wiped her face, and then unwrapped a breath mint.

  Finally looking up, she caught Scott staring at her with a mix of distaste and pity. “You okay?”

  No. She nodded and started walking toward Canejo. She’d probably never be okay again. Not at the rate things were going.

  “Why are you helping me?” she asked.

  “Because I’m not sure who to trust right now,” Scott said. “And even if you’re guilty, I don’t want you to end up like your partner.” He appeared sincere—and she usually trusted her ability to read people—but if he’d been following her since early November, he’d already played her for a fool.

  “That morning I ran into you in the parking lot at work wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

  His lips flattened but he remained otherwise stony-faced. “No.”

  If possible, her heart shriveled even more.

  They reached the two-lane road within minutes and crossed over to the shopping village that lined the Sugar Beach boardwalk. She used the bathroom under Scott’s watchful eye to wash her face and brush her teeth. Good thing she carried everything important in her purse.

  A girl on the run always had to be ready.

  He guided her down to the sand with a hand at her back, and pointed her away from the crowds. Waves thundered against the shore, illuminated by the lights on the pier and along the boardwalk. Her flip-flops threw sand against the back of her ankles as she walked, prickling like biting ants.

  As they neared the water, the breeze strengthened, whipping her hair into her eyes like the blades of a blender. Facing the waves, she stopped and found a stretchy band in her bag, and then trapped her wild hair into a makeshift bun.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Somewhere we can lay low until I figure out what to do with you.”

  She wanted to hit him with a witty comeback to show him she wasn’t afraid, but words failed her. Letting him take her hand again, she followed him into the darkness.

  After giving her a moment to clean up in the cement-block public restroom next to the boardwalk, Scott prodded Valerie down the beach until they reached a small cluster of gnarly live oak trees that provided some buffer from the stiff breeze and kept them relatively hidden from view. The only light came from the nearby pier and the waxing moon.

  Right now, the police were looking for the man who’d killed Jay, but at some point they’d probably realize Valerie had been at the bar. Then the manhunt—or woman-hunt—would be on.

  If Scott were smart he’d turn her in, but after seeing a fed take out Suresh, he didn’t know who to trust. Dammit, he needed to think first.

  Would the police expect her to stick around town or flee?

  Scott wanted to get the hell out of Zachari, but for that they needed wheels. His van was safe, parked down the street from Good Old Days, but they couldn’t go near it until the police were done with the crime scene. The beach was as good a place to hang as any until he came up with a plan.

  Valerie sat on a low branch and dug through her bag. She was like Mary freaking Poppins, pulling out one thing after another. Toothbrush, breath mints, tissues. What else did she have in the
re?

  Shit. What kind of idiot didn’t search his captive’s bag for weapons? In fact, he hadn’t patted her down either. He knew better than to trust her just because she didn’t look like a threat. In Afghanistan, anyone might be gunning for you. Young woman, old woman, child. Didn’t matter.

  “Let me see your purse,” he said, holding out a hand and wagging his fingers.

  Startled, she removed her hands and looked up. For a second he thought she was going to ignore his command, but then she held it out by the thick strap, her arm trembling.

  Hell, he might not trust her, but he didn’t want to scare her. Not too much. He needed her compliant but not paralyzed.

  Keeping her in his peripheral vision, he meticulously went through every pocket of her mammoth tote bag, even checking the lining for hidden items. Valerie Sanchez was a woman ready to run. In addition to basic toiletries and feminine products, she also carried two clean pairs of white cotton bikini underwear, a spare T-shirt, individual packets of green tea, three granola bars, two thousand dollars in cash, and an unopened throwaway phone.

  No birth control pills, no condoms.

  So she hadn’t been looking to hook up with Suresh. Not that Scott cared. He handed the bag back to her. “Stand up. I need to check you for weapons.”

  She set her purse on the tree limb and stood. No doubt she found his commanding tone unnecessarily barbaric, but there was little point in pretending that theirs was a friendly relationship. He needed to reestablish an emotional distance.

  Pushing aside his appreciation for her body, he ran the backs of his fingers along her shoulders, down around the edges of her bra, and in between her breasts, checking to make sure she hadn’t hidden a knife or small pistol in her generous cleavage.

  She stiffened.

  “Sorry.” He couldn’t help but apologize. Some things died hard.

  She kept her gaze trained on the sand.

  Quickly, but thoroughly, he violated every inch of her privacy until he was certain she wasn’t armed. Christ, she was the criminal here, so why did he feel like the asshole right now? Goddamned fool.