Blindsided Read online

  Valerie resumed her perch on the wide branch and hugged her waist, refusing to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you leave me for the police?”

  “I didn’t think you were safe. It seems likely that whoever wanted Jay dead was using you to find him. With that accomplished, you might be next on the list.” Mainly, though, he’d been going by his gut. “Besides, the last guys who tried to arrest you are pushing up daisies. I’d prefer to avoid a repeat.”

  She looked away, scrunching her face in distaste.

  “Look, whoever got to Suresh…” Something clicked in his brain like a chambered round.

  Valerie couldn’t have killed Suresh herself, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t called in someone else to do it once she found him. With her partner out of the picture, she could take his share of the money. If she was guilty of treason, murder wasn’t such a stretch.

  Fuck.

  The idea had merit. And yet… The woman had puked, for God’s sake. Unless she was sick with remorse, he wasn’t buying her as a killer. Sure, she was an accomplished con artist, an expert liar. But, thanks to his dad—aka The Dick—Scott knew how to read people.

  Everything from Valerie’s micro-expressions to her posture had been consistent, from the moment he’d started watching her for Hollowell. Not once had she shown even a hint of duplicity.

  But that only made him doubt his skills. He needed time to sort things out in his head, because suddenly the instincts he’d trusted for so long were in question.

  “What did you do with your phone?” he asked her.

  Her dark brows came together and she tilted her head. “What phone?” She gestured to her bag. “I only have the burner for an emergency. I haven’t even taken it out yet.”

  “You didn’t have a cell phone in the bar?”

  “I haven’t used one since I tossed my iPhone in a dumpster at a strip mall in Manassas. I didn’t want to be traceable.” She snickered. “If I’d only known…”

  At least his stalking skills were still unimpeachable. “How did you know Suresh would be at the pub?”

  “I didn’t.” Her gaze sharpened on his face. “Why?”

  Scott half shrugged. “He didn’t look happy to see you, so it wasn’t a planned meeting. I’m wondering how you found him.”

  “Luck and guesswork.” She sighed and chewed her lower lip. “He talked about Zachari once at a holiday party after drinking too much. The name stuck with me. I’ve been driving around randomly hoping to run into him since I got here. Then I saw a banner for Sunday Night Football.”

  Her fingers toyed with a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “Jay was a huge Cowboys fan. He always preferred to watch the games at a sports bar, so I figured it was worth a try.” She blinked several times and hugged her knees, staring unseeing down the beach. “Now I wish I hadn’t.”

  She appeared sincere. Was she that good of an actress?

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” Scott said, trying not to picture the guy’s dead stare and bloodied face. He’d seen death too many times to count—delivered it plenty of times—but that didn’t mean he liked it.

  Valerie’s eyes were dull. “If you didn’t kill Jay, who did?”

  Guess the lack of trust went both ways. And if she didn’t do it, Scott being the culprit made a lot of sense from her standpoint. After all, why would Hollowell have Scott follow her to find Jay and then use someone else as a killer?

  Jesus, everything had gone fucking catawampus.

  “It was one of the feds. I saw his face clear as day under the streetlight.”

  She raised her eyebrows at his words, but he was certain the man with the gun had been Hurley. He’d even been wearing the same ugly deck shoes.

  “Have they been following me too?”

  He nodded.

  She absorbed that for a moment. “You think the shooter wanted revenge for the agents who were killed?”

  Scott sighed. “Hell if I know.” Nothing made sense right now.

  “But if you all knew where I was, and someone wanted revenge, why not take me out? I was the one with the agents, not Jay. Their deaths were my fault.”

  “Maybe Hurley planned to come for you next. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to wait around to find out.”

  Valerie hugged herself tighter. “Why didn’t they arrest me back in Virginia?”

  “They were hoping you’d lead them to your buyer.”

  “I would believe that if I had a buyer. But since I don’t, it doesn’t work.”

  Yeah, right. “Based on your boss’s evidence, the FBI thinks you do.”

  “Hollowell knows I’m not guilty,” she said, her voice hard as flint.

  “How?”

  “Because he’s the one who set me up.” Her eyebrows lifted. “And I’d bet he’s doing the same thing to you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I find Jay, and then he turns up dead. You and I were both at the bar. Makes sense that one of us did it.” She watched him expectantly.

  “Or that we did it together.” Was that Hollowell’s game? Had he maneuvered Scott into taking the fall as Valerie’s accomplice? After all, she’d been saved by a sniper in the shootout with the FBI. And he’d been there too. Without his rifle, but still there. He’d even run through the parking lot for everyone to see. Dread rolled through his stomach like a rogue wave. “Son of a bitch.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Zachari, CA

  Sunday, 7 p.m.

  SCOTT HAD THE STUNNED LOOK of a man who’d been hit with a two-by-four. She could almost see his mind spinning as he questioned everything he knew about his role in her “escape.”

  Welcome to her world.

  He hadn’t deserved to get dragged into this, but there wasn’t much she could do for him even if he was a pawn. He was still trying to decide if he could trust her, and she was trying to figure out how to beat her boss when she was only now catching on to the complexity—and thoroughness—of Duncan’s plan. She’d played right into his trap.

  What did he expect her to do next? What could she do instead? And where did Scott fit in? Until he made up his mind about her—and she, him—he was a wild card. She needed to keep up her guard.

  “As much as I’d like to explore that more,” Scott finally said, “I think we need to get off the beach, off the streets, and find a place to lay low where we can keep an eye on the news.”

  “Won’t the cops be searching the hotels? Especially the sleazy, cash-only ones.”

  He pushed up his cap and rubbed his forehead. “Maybe.” Pulling the hat down again, he said, “You’re probably not even on the cops’ radar yet, but once they figure out who Suresh…was, you will be.”

  That familiar pain sliced at her chest. Jay. She took a deep breath and imagined her sorrow as a black square. She squished it up really small, shoved it into an imaginary jar, and screwed the lid on tight. That jar in her head held some doozies, and if it ever broke, she’d probably end up on the floor as a puddle of goo.

  “If I check us in,” Scott said, “we should be okay. They won’t be looking for me.”

  “You were there too. And you called it in.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but I haven’t been on the news. Who would recognize me?”

  “You’re assuming Duncan won’t tell the police you’re part of this.” Clearly, Scott was still struggling to believe the man who’d funded his paycheck would implicate him.

  “That would put him under scrutiny too,” he said.

  “Yeah, but there’s no need to consider him a suspect when I’ve been the perfect patsy. The fact that you still think I might have done this just proves how well I played into Duncan’s hands. And so have you.”

  Scott cut her off with a sharp jerk of his chin. “Enough. Let’s table this until we have something more than speculation.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. It was easy to forget that his unassuming surfer boy exterior concealed a dangerous man.

  “Let’s go,” he said, waving
her to standing. “There’s a hotel a few blocks down that should work for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get my van if the area’s clear.”

  “Do I have a choice?” She held her chin high and looked him in the eye.

  He stared back, his expression giving away nothing. “You chose to trust me before. Has something changed?”

  “Then, it was either you or the cops. Now that I’m free of the sports bar, why shouldn’t I take off on my own?” She stood and crossed her arms. “For all I know, you’re planning to give me up to Duncan.”

  “If I give you up to anyone, it’ll be the police.”

  Her laugh came out low and bitter. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  He held her gaze. “Look, I agree something’s fucked up about this whole scenario. Until we figure it out, I’m not inclined to hand you over to your boss or the cops.” Leaning in, his gorgeous blue eyes earnest as hell, he said, “I’m also not inclined to let you navigate this on your own. I can protect you.”

  “And if you decide I’m guilty?”

  “I’m a patriot, Valerie,” he said. No blink, no flinch, no apology. No further explanation necessary. If she had committed treason, he’d drop her on the feds’ doorstop and never look back.

  Oddly enough, it was his candor that made her decision.

  “Then I guess I’d better figure out how to prove I’m innocent.”

  Twenty minutes later, Scott entered room 11 of the Waves Motel, which offered free color TV and FM radio—what a deal—unlimited adult movies, and three hours of rent for under thirty bucks. Exactly the kind of place the police would expect them to go for, and just as craptastic as one would imagine.

  A faded pink tropical-print bedspread clashed with turquoise carpet riddled with bare patches and bleach spots. The room smelled like disinfectant and mold in equal measure.

  Three light taps on the hotel room door caused him to abort his reluctant check of the bathroom, but the black stains around the edge of the tub had already convinced him a shower wasn’t in his best interest anyway. Maybe a combat wipe-down if the washcloths weren’t disgusting.

  He checked through the viewer and opened the door to Valerie, stepping back so she could enter. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

  “You have my money.” She swept inside, the faint floral scent of her shampoo hitting him straight in the gut.

  The more time he spent with her, the more he believed she was innocent. Which made him…what? He’d basically stalked her for weeks. Not illegal—PIs did it all the time—but he still felt lower than a slug. His one justification had been her betrayal of the U.S. Without that, Scott had nothing. The more he learned, the more he believed his real purpose had been to make her appear guilty.

  He swallowed past the bitter taste in his mouth and shut the door, fastening the rickety security chain.

  Valerie made a beeline for the bathroom. A couple minutes later, she emerged, shaking her head. “This place is pretty gross, but the towels smell like bleach, so that’s something.”

  Small favors.

  She stood next to the queen-sized bed, holding her elbows, one hip cocked to the side to support the weight of her flowered bag. “I don’t suppose this place has WiFi.”

  “Not free. I’m guessing that’s not usually a priority for pay-by-the-hour clients.”

  Her gaze strayed to the bed, and she shuddered.

  “We’d need a credit card to activate it. That’s a risk we can’t take.”

  The flowered bag landed on the wobbly faux-wood nightstand with a light thud. “Not a problem,” she said. “I have a couple of Visa gift cards in my wallet for just such an occasion.” She started digging.

  Hot damn. He studied her with renewed appreciation.

  But maybe that meant she’d been planning this for months. He shook his head and turned to the large television perched precariously on a beat-up dresser missing its top drawer.

  “Let’s hope this thing plays more than porn,” he muttered, pressing the power button. The screen sprang to life, showing a naked, muscular black man splayed on a couch, getting sucked off by an equally naked blonde. Her enormous tits jiggled back and forth with her enthusiastic efforts, and a second man behind her was—

  Scott stabbed the channel button on the remote, rapidly scanning past the adult movies lineup. Thank God the TV was muted. Not that it kept his dick from taking notice. Fucking perfect. As if being in close quarters with Valerie wasn’t difficult enough. Especially now that he was starting to believe she might be the real victim.

  Finally, he landed on a local evening news show giving their bottom-of-the-hour recap and turned up the sound. After a lead-in about some kind of scandal with the city council, the Barbie-like brunette got to the story Scott wanted.

  “Police are investigating a murder at Good Old Days Bar and Grill on Harbor Drive tonight after a man was found dead in the parking lot. Rick Montoya has the details.”

  Valerie’s footfalls approached from behind him, and Scott stepped aside to let her see the screen.

  The view shifted to a dark-haired man standing across the street from the bar. He spouted what little they knew about the victim and the shooter. “Police are trying to track down the man who called in the attack. They’re also looking for this woman”—Valerie gasped as her picture appeared in the upper corner of the screen—“Valerie Sanchez, who’s wanted in connection with the murder of two federal agents in Virginia during her arrest on suspicion of espionage. Sanchez was seen arguing with the victim just moments before he left the restaurant.”

  “Bastards,” she whispered with heat. Scott glanced at her. No tears, but her cheeks were flushed. “There was a small part of me that hoped…”

  “I was lying?” he asked.

  She nodded and sighed. “So, I guess I’m on the radar now. The kitchen staff saw us leaving together. It won’t be long before they’re looking for you too.”

  “Guess I should ditch the hat.”

  “And maybe shave,” she suggested.

  “In this germ-infested hole?” He removed his ball cap and dropped it into a small metal trash bin. “No thanks.” Moving into the bathroom, he wet down his hat-plastered hair and splashed water on his face, watching it run down the rust-stained drain. Framed just so in his camera lens, the chipped porcelain might appear artsy, but in person the effect was ruined by the musty scent and peeling linoleum.

  The limp white towel on the rack smelled of bleach, so he dried his face and hair, and snuck a peek at Valerie through the doorway.

  The more he thought about it, the more he believed she was telling the truth. How much did he know about her employer, the man who’d hired Steele Security to watch her?

  Kurt Steele, Scott’s boss, had done his due diligence on Aggressor and Hollowell. Both had good reputations, and Hollowell had friends in high places on Capitol Hill. But the thing with Suresh was not a mugging, not a random attack…

  And Scott had told Hollowell where to find the guy not ten minutes before.

  If he’d known someone had intended to take out Suresh, he would have—

  What? What would he have done? Walked out on the job?

  Bloodshot eyes stared back at him in the mirror. Hell, yes. Some would call him a hypocrite, but the targets he’d eliminated in the line of duty—or working for Steele—had been clear threats to innocent lives or his teammates. He’d take them out again in a heartbeat. No thought required.

  But how had Suresh been a threat?

  If Suresh’s story gave credence to Hollowell’s assertion that Valerie and Suresh were working together—or even proved that Valerie had been working on her own—then the old man needed him alive. Should have been desperate for his testimony. Killing the other hacker only made sense if he was a risk to Hollowell and/or Aggressor.

  Fuck me. Scott rubbed both hands down his face.

  He finger-combed his hair and flipped off the bathroom light. Valerie had pulled back the bedcovers to expose threadbare-but
-clean sheets and sat against the headboard with her computer in her lap.

  “Any luck with the WiFi?”

  “I’m in,” she said, without looking up.

  “If you start digging into shit, won’t someone be able to track our location?”

  She gave him a patronizing smile. “Uh, hacker. Remember?”

  He gave her his best “unimpressed” look.

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “I’m using a special browser that runs my traffic through multiple layers of anonymous servers. And a few other tricks. You want more details?”

  If her sparkling eyes were any indication, she was enjoying having the upper hand for a change. The combination of that look and her being in a bed made it hard for Scott to focus.

  At least she hadn’t started rattling off a bunch of computer jargon. That might have helped cool his libido, but he didn’t want a reminder that compared to her, he was a dimwit.

  He shook his head. “I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

  She glanced up in surprise. “Why now?”

  Leaning against the wall—because he sure as hell wasn’t joining her on the bed, and there was no place else to settle—he crossed his arms and studied her. “Look, I’m not some unthinking pawn for your boss. And I don’t like being played. Right now, all I know is what he told me and what I’ve witnessed. It’s not all adding up, and I’d like to hear your version so I can make my own decision.”

  She closed the lid on her laptop and held it with both hands. “You probably know my pa… my father was a hacker, right?”

  “And that he went to jail.”

  A shadow crossed her face.

  “But you don’t have to start at childhood,” he said. “I’m asking about the last few weeks.”

  Valerie stared at her bare feet. At some point after arriving in balmy southern California, she’d painted her toenails—and fingernails—an orangey pink that looked great against her light brown skin. Tasty, like a tropical fruit.

  Head in the game, Kramer.

  “I think he’s the reason I’m in this mess.”