A Marriage of True Minds: A Sasha McCandless Novella (4 page)

“Leo, I know—”

Leo waved off
the apology he knew was coming.

He’d
told
them, the whole freaking multi-agency team that handled Bricker’s failed
attempt to bring the country to its knees through the release of a killer
superflu. He, and Sasha, and Aroostine Higgins, had argued and reasoned and
insisted that Bricker should be housed in a federal maximum-security
penitentiary far from Pennsylvania and Bricker’s army of deluded survivalists.

Leo personally
thought that Florence ADMAX—the supermaximum-security institution in Colorado
that Mafia boss Nicodemo Scarfo, John Walker Lindh, Timothy McVeigh, and
countless Al-Quaeda operatives, Libyan bombers, and homegrown white
supremacists called home—was just about perfect. But the federal agencies had
claimed that a high-profile trial and incarceration would only serve to
strengthen the prepper network, which had been in some disarray after Sasha and
Leo spent their holidays bringing down Bricker.

What the feds
didn’t say, but Leo knew was part of the calculus, was that they also didn’t
want to admit to the American public just how close they’d come to a global
pandemic of truly apocalyptic proportions. They were in a hurry to sweep
Jeffrey Bricker and everything he meant under the nearest rug.

So, in the end,
over the objections of the people who truly understood Bricker’s cold-blooded
zealotry and megalomania, the Bureau of Prisons been processed him into a
medium-security penitentiary located in Northeastern Pennsylvania. A man who
had executed a former sheriff’s deputy in furtherance of his plans to release a
killer flu was housed with white-collar criminals who’d been running small-time
financial frauds, wise guys with loose ties to organized crime, and the
occasional small-time drug dealer.

And, now, almost
exactly one year later, Bricker had managed to escape, apparently with the help
of one of his local followers.
Shocker.

“How?” Leo said
simply.

Hank rubbed his
temple. “We’re not sure.”

Hank’s hand
moved from his temple to his collar, and he scratched his neck awkwardly. He
looked uncomfortable and ill at ease—and that chilled Leo’s blood. He’d never
seen his former colleague display anything other than a command presence.

“What?” Leo
demanded, his heart racing.

“What do you
mean?”

“There’s
something else, Hank. I can tell. What aren’t you telling me?” He would never
tell a fellow law enforcement officer something so flaky-sounding, but he
felt
a threat—to Sasha, to the wedding, to their future—he felt it deep in his
bones.

Hank cleared his
throat, stalling. “I don’t know the details, but the Criminal Division believes
he has specific plans for further violence. I have Aroostine checking in with
her office. She’ll be able to get the specifics faster than I can—”

“Spill it.”

He exhaled
loudly. “During the search of Bricker’s cell, the Bureau of Prisons found some
materials of concern—”

Leo’s patience
was near its end. “Hank,” he said, injecting a warning into the name.

“The Bureau of
Prisons wouldn’t tell me what they found; but they think he may be planning to
come after you and Sasha.”

No.

Hank put up a
cautioning hand. “Now, don’t go jumping to any conclusions until we have the
full picture, Leo. Aroostine’ll be here in a minute and she call fill—”

Leo charged out
of the kitchen before Hank finished the sentence. He had to find Sasha.
Now.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sasha told herself not to panic. She
took a deep cleansing breath—or tried to—but the newly taken-in bodice of her
dress gave her room to expand her lungs to half-capacity, if that.

She searched
Aroostine’s face. “What reason do they have to believe that?”

The younger
woman was pale but otherwise looked calm. She didn’t bother to sugarcoat the
news. “They found a stack of newspaper clippings about the incident with the
preppers last winter. Also included in the stack was your engagement
announcement, the announcement that Will was joining your firm, and all of the
press coverage about you during the Champion Fuel scandal over the summer,
including a picture that was taken of you in the hospital after you’d been
stabbed. That didn’t come from a media report, by the way. We don’t yet know
how he obtained it, but it appeared to be an official photograph from the
investigating officer’s file.”

Reflexively,
Sasha glanced down at her bare arm, and Aroostine’s eyes followed hers.

The scar didn’t
look that bad, considering that her attacker had severed the brachial artery in
her left arm. It was a pale, raised slash tracing its way across her tanned and
toned bicep.

What wasn’t
visible was the fact that she still hadn’t regained full strength on her
dominant side. Daniel knew, of course, because he was her instructor. She
couldn’t exactly hide the fact from the man with whom she engaged in
hand-to-hand combat on a regular basis. He’d prescribed a series of
strengthening exercises, and she’d been performing them faithfully. She
was
getting stronger, but it was slow going. Even Connelly didn’t know. She didn’t
want him to worry. As it was, he’d spent a full month treating her like a
porcelain doll after the stabbing, and it had nearly driven her insane.

“Oh,” she said,
too loudly, drawing Aroostine’s eyes back to hers.

“He also had
older clippings about the Hemisphere Air crash a few years ago and our case
together.”

Their case
together. The murder of a small town’s only judge in an effort to cover up two
greedy sisters’ efforts to profit from the hydrofracking boom at any cost.
Aroostine had gotten involved in the prosecution of the Pennsylvania Attorney
General for his role in the scandal. And Sasha had been her star witness.

The two had
immediately liked and respected one another. Friendship had come later—after
Sasha and Connelly had recommended Aroostine as a local liaison for the team of
federal prosecutors who tried Jeffrey Bricker for the murder of a former
sheriff’s deputy and the attempted mass murder of, well, the entire Eastern
seaboard.

Aroostine had
wowed the feds and earned herself a job offer as an Assistant United States
Attorney at Department of Justice Headquarters. Had she also earned herself an
enemy?

“Our case?
Bricker’s not gunning for you, too, is he?”

Aroostine shook
her head. “I don’t think so. He seems to be focused on you. Obsessed,
actually.”

Despite the warm
night air, a chill ran through Sasha, and her arms sprouted goosebumps.

She gave what
she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that we’re
two thousand miles away from home at a remote resort, then.”

Aroostine smiled
back warmly, but her smile couldn’t clear the worry from her eyes. “I guess so.
I just wish the Bureau of Prisons had paid attention to us when they assigned
him. Housing him so close to his base of support was a terrible idea from the start.”

Sasha nodded her
agreement. Over Aroostine’s shoulder, she saw Maisy watching them with a
wrinkled brow. She turned to Naya and lowered her voice. “Don’t mention this to
anyone else, okay?”

Naya, who’d been
strangely silent, swallowed hard. “I won’t.”

She gave Sasha
an unreadable look.

“What?”

“I don’t like
this one bit. This is your wedding.”

Naya rarely
panicked, but Sasha could see her worry mounting.

“Naya, it’s
going to be okay. I’m sure the entire federal alphabet soup is out looking for
him. And there’s no way he could even know we’re here, right?”

Naya nodded
uncertainly. “I guess.”

“I’m sure of it.
Look, you’re my maid of honor. Your biggest concern is going to be pouring me
back into this dress tomorrow. Because if I so much as look at a piece of
bread, all bets are off.”

Sasha forced
herself to laugh, and Naya and Aroostine joined her.

It’s going to be
okay
,
she told herself.
Nothing and no one—especially not a demented survivalist
with a grudge—was going to suck the joy out of this wedding.

She reached out
to hug Naya.

And then the
lights went out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~

Someone screamed—a high-pitched, breathy
scream that could only belong to one person.

“Maisy? Are you
okay?” Sasha called across the room.

Beside her,
Aroostine activated her phone’s flashlight app and aimed it toward the sound.

Maisy was
clutching Sasha’s mother’s arm. Both Maisy and Valentina were wild-eyed. Riley
and Jordan seemed calmer but not unshaken.

Sasha minced
across the room, her ivory ribbons trailing her like a shadow.

“I’m sure the
lights go out here all the time,” she said in her most soothing voice.

“We’ve been here
for days, and they haven’t lost power until now,” her mother retorted.

“Mom, they must
have a generator. Let’s just give it a few minutes, okay?”

“She’s right,”
Maisy announced loudly to no one in a clear effort to get a grip on herself.

Sasha rubbed her
friend’s arm reassuringly.

Sasha, her four
bridesmaids, her mother, and Aroostine looked at one another in the glow of the
iPhone.

Sasha smiled. “I
hear it’s good luck for your third-world resort to lose power the day before
your wedding.”

Jordan giggled
first. Then Riley joined her.

And, despite the
joke not being all that funny, their overexcited nervous systems reacted to the
humor, and soon all seven of them were doubled over with laughter, gasping for
breath, and wiping away tears.

“Shh!” Naya
suddenly demanded, straightening up.

The laughter
stopped like someone had lifted the needle from a record.

And they heard
the screaming. A babble of shrieks rising above a series of foreign, guttural
shouted commands. The clomping of booted feet along the long hallway. A door
slamming. And the sound of a pleading, feminine voice, speaking rapidly in
Spanish.
Marisole.

Sasha locked
eyes with her mother.

Valentina’s
violet eyes were huge with fright and something else. Sadness, maybe.

“Mom? Are you
okay?”

Her mother
clasped Sasha’s hands with hers. Her skin was ice cold but she didn’t tremble.

“I’m not
worried, honey. You’re very smart and very strong. And your dad and brothers
and Leo won’t let anything happen to us.”

Sasha bit down
hard on her lip, drawing a drop of blood, but managed not to share her
thoughts.
Based on the sounds coming from outside the room, the men would be
fully occupied taking care of themselves.

“I love you,
Mom,” she said instead.

“I know. I love
you, too, Sunshine.”

Valentina hadn’t
called her ‘Sunshine’ since she was nine years old. Maybe younger. To her
surprise, Sasha felt tears gathering behind her eyes.

No time for that
now
,
she told herself firmly.

She turned her
head, and Aroostine was at her side, tense but cool.

“What’s the
plan?” Aroostine asked.

Sasha was about
to break the news that there was no plan when the door flew open, and Marisole
and Charlotte stumbled across the threshold, roughly pushed by a thin, dark
man. More of a boy, Sasha realized as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she
noticed his smooth skin, and round, babyish face.

He was followed
by an older, bigger man. Both men wore ragged army green t-shirts, dirty cargo
pants, and heavy boots. Both had machetes glinting at their sides. They were
wild-eyed and sweating. Nervous.

Nervous was bad.
Nervous was unpredictable.

Naya was either
swearing, praying, or both under her breath.

They marched
through the door and closed it firmly. The older man, who appeared to be in
charge, stepped forward and surveyed the room.

Sasha stared at
him, her brain refusing to accept the reality of the situation.

This wasn’t
happening. Not this weekend. Not at her wedding.

The leader spoke
in rapid-fire Spanish to Marisole.

“¿Quién es la
novia?”