Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International (20 page)

“Oh, God,” Savanna said, her focus on the dead man. “He tried to kill me. To kill you.” Her wide eyes rose to meet Trace’s. “For
real
this time.”

The receptionist slapped a hand over her mouth and disappeared back inside the office. Trace heard the sounds of her vomiting as he reached for Savanna and positioned his body to block her view. There was only one way out and it involved getting her across the blood, water, and dead assassin, but she didn’t need to burn the image into her brain.

He’d seen so much of this type of thing, he was immune to it. Someone like Savanna wasn’t. “Ms. Bunkett is unavailable for tonight’s show,” he called to the receptionist. “She’ll be in touch when she’s ready to resume her duties.”

Several people appeared in the doorway at the other end of the hall, Megadeath blocked their entrance. Petit was already dialing the authorities.

Trace took Savanna’s hand and brought her in close. “Time to go. Stay next to me and do exactly what I say.”

She nodded weakly. Her fingers were ice cold, her teeth chattering. She’d been through too much in one day.

And the day wasn’t over.

Chapter Thirteen

_____________________

______________________________________________________

T
HE ROOM WAS
warm, a fire going in the fireplace, but Savanna couldn’t stop shaking.

Beatrice draped a soft blanket over her shoulders. It radiated a comforting heat as if it had been warmed in a dryer or lying on a radiator. “It’s the shock,” she said. A second later, she handed Savanna a cup of tea. “Drink this. It will take the edge off.”

Snow fell lightly outside; the lights of DC spread out below. Coldplay had assured her the windows were bulletproof and no one could see inside, but Savanna turned away from the view and sipped her tea anyway, a strange exposed feeling sending another ripple through her taut nerves.

Beatrice’s office was different at night. The gas log fireplace burned in one corner and soft light pooled on her desk from her desk lamp. A set of antique floor lamps gave the rest of the room a warm glow.

Even with the blanket and tea, Savanna couldn’t warm up. “I’ve never been shot at,” she said, still feeling out of sorts.

“Welcome to the club.” Beatrice sat at her desk and started typing on her computer keyboard. “Unnerving, isn’t it?”

“Someone tried to kill you?”

“More than once. Hopefully, never again. I don’t like it.”

She was so deadpan, Savanna almost laughed. “I don’t care for it either.”

Beatrice glanced over and the two shared a smile.

The door opened and Coldplay burst in, Emit Petit on his heels with a folder in his hand. “Cops cleared us,” Emit said. “The bullets lodged in the walls and ceiling helped, along with the receptionist’s testimony.” He slapped the folder down on Beatrice’s desk. “Guy’s name was Russo. Lenny Russo. He’s been employed by the janitorial service and working at the station for the past six weeks. Background check dies out three years back.”

Coldplay stopped in front of Savanna and her insides warmed instantly.

“How are you doing?” he said, touching her shoulder.

The shaking subsided. “Better.” And she was. The sight of him calmed her nerves in a way the blanket and tea never would. She’d spoken to the detective who’d taken her statement after the traffic accident. Probably the same officer Coldplay and Emit had just finished with.

Beatrice tapped the mouse pad, never taking her eyes from the screen. “So Russo was a plant to keep eyes on Savanna.”

Savanna wrapped the fingers of both hands around her teacup. “Was he the person who hit us today in the car?”

Coldplay put a hand on her lower back and guided her toward one of the chairs across from Beatrice. “Probability is high.”

“But you said the hit and run was just a warning. If he’d wanted me dead, he would have finished it then and there.” She sat, careful not to dislodge the blanket or spill her tea. “I don’t think tonight was a warning.”

“His orders may have changed,” Beatrice said. “Once he found out you were at the station and insisting on airing the Westmeyer investigation, he was told to stop you at all costs.”

“How did he find out?” The cup in her hands shook, tiny shockwaves rippling the surface. “No one expected me to show up tonight. I could see it on their faces.”

“Your altercation with Lindsey when you arrived wasn’t exactly private,” Coldplay mentioned. “And you had the studio send the limo like usual to pick you up. Even though you were late, the original expectation was that you
were
doing the show.”

Savanna rubbed a hand over her face. “The female limo driver who pulled the gun on Lindsey. Was she in on it too?”

“Maybe it was her job to take you out,” Beatrice said. “When that failed, Russo was activated.”

“I still can’t believe the president is trying to kill me to stop this Westmeyer investigation.”

“Maybe it’s more than that,” Coldplay said.

Everyone looked at him, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

A tense silence filled the air. Parker had done the same thing to Savanna many times during their childhood when she’d had a secret. She’d toss out a one-liner, then leave Savanna hanging. Whether it was for dramatic effect or her sister was simply having an inner debate over whether to spill the beans, Savanna was never sure. Every time, it made her insides freeze up a little. Her heart beat quicker.

“You think it has to do with Parker?” Savanna asked Coldplay.

His gaze finally rose to meet hers. “If the president gave her an assignment and she refused to carry it out, he may be threatening you in an attempt to get her to follow orders. I’m sure he knows you’re her one and only weakness.”

Savanna rubbed her neck. The tendons were tight as stone after the accident and then being thrown around at the studio. If that was true, she and her sister were both in trouble.

But I have help
.
She doesn’t.

“Do you have any other theories about why the president is threatening Ms. Jeffries?” Beatrice asked Coldplay.

His jaw clenched and he shot Beatrice a look that could melt steel. Something passed between them—an internal struggle of wills.

Was there another theory Coldplay didn’t want to offer? “That’s the most likely one,” he said.

Most likely? “I’d like to hear all of your theories,” Savanna countered.

Beatrice stared down Coldplay for a moment, then switched her attention to Savanna. “I’d like to hear more about your Westmeyer investigation. Why is the president adamant to stop you from talking about it?”

She didn’t like being shut down, but she was too wrung out to push for Coldplay to explain what other theories he may have had. She’d work on him later. Maybe he would open up when they had less of an audience.

There wasn’t much to tell about Westmeyer. She gave Beatrice and Emit the basic facts she’d already shared with Coldplay. Westmeyer’s founder and CEO was being investigated. Behind the scenes, she believed they were supplying experimental drugs to the Department of Defense for use on soldiers. She had the uncanny feeling Beatrice already knew everything she was saying.

Coldplay was staring at the floor again, his jaw working overtime. Beatrice removed a file from a pile on her desk. “If that’s true, there are people involved who can verify it. Those in charge who’ve okayed it and selected soldiers to be tested. The scientists running the experiment. The soldiers themselves.”

Savanna took another sip of tea. Mint. Her favorite. It had cooled but still tasted good, and talking about work gave her a bit of clarity again. “Finding those people and getting them to come forward is nearly impossible. That’s why I was running with the illegal campaign contribution story while I continued to dig on the drug trials.”

“You’re an expert at what you do,” Beatrice said. “I’m sure you can find the sources you need, but if you’d like help, please say so. I have…other resources…that might be helpful as well. In the meantime, we need to realign your security measures.”

She slid the file across the desk. “I have three safe houses open at the moment. Take your pick.”

“Safe houses? I can’t go back to my apartment?”

“While we increased security, the threat has escalated,” Coldplay said. “We have to change tactics, keep you away from places you would normally go.”

Beatrice flipped open the file and laid out three pieces of paper, each with a picture of the house and the pertinent details. “La Escada is a horse ranch in Virginia. Berkley is a modern estate here in DC, and our premium safe house is on a private island near St. Lucia.”

Holy shit. Savanna had just taken another sip of her tea and nearly spit it out. “You guys don’t mess around, do you?”

Emit leaned on the edge of the desk, arms folded over his chest. “We service the rich and famous, Ms. Jeffries. They expect a certain level of…amenities.”

“Do you have a preference?” Beatrice asked.

Beachfront in the Virgin Islands or horses in the rolling hills of Virginia. She glanced at Coldplay and let her eyes wander for a moment from his head—
cowboy hat?
—to places lower—
or Speedo?

Damn, that was a difficult choice.

His eyes turned to her and she hurriedly glanced away from his lower regions.

“All of them are top of the line for security,” he said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just caught her ogling his crotch. “The island is hidden and hard to approach without being noticed, but difficult to leave if attacked. The cabin at the ranch is also hidden and there’s only one road leading in and out—except that an assassin would use the surrounding woods to go unnoticed upon approach.”

She cleared her throat. “So you’re recommending the Berkley estate?”

“The location is advantageous to keep others out, yet gives us multiple exits. There are safe rooms and I can set up extra layers of security outside.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. The bodyguard called Poison stuck his head in, addressing his boss. “Found the limo.”

Emit motioned him to enter. “Where was it?”

“Driver ditched it on the other side of town.” He wore a jean jacket, motorcycle boots, and black gloves. Striding across the room, he removed what looked like a picture from his inside jacket pocket, and tossed it on the desk. “This was stuck in the dash. Checked it for fingerprints and came up with zilch.”

The men all frowned and Beatrice glanced at Savanna. “Recognize this?”

Savanna leaned in and cocked her head to get a better look. “Oh, my God,” she said as realization hit. “That’s my favorite Gucci bag.”

“Walk-in closet, third row, east side,” Coldplay murmured.

“You memorized what shelf my bags are on?”

He ignored the question. “The limo driver had a picture from inside your…” His head snapped up. “Who else has had access to your bedroom closet?”

“No one.” How embarrassingly true. Brady had never stayed at her place. The only person who ever saw her closet was… “Parker.” A chill swept through her. A new thought dawned. “Could the limo driver have been my sister?”

Coldplay seemed to be on the same mind track. “Why would she leave you a picture of a purse?”

“I…I don’t know. Unless it’s to let me know she’s still alive and here in the area.” She put a hand over her heart. It was beating much too fast, but for the first time in weeks, she had hope. “I need to go back to my place. She may be trying to contact me.”

“No,” the other three—Coldplay, Beatrice, and Emit—all said in unison.

“The killer may be baiting you,” Emit added. “Coldplay, Poison, and I will go.”

“She doesn’t know you guys. If she’s in trouble, she’s not going to talk to you.” Savanna stood and threw off the cashmere blanket. “I’m going to my apartment.”

Emit started to argue and Coldplay held up a hand to stop him. “She needs to do this. I’ll keep her safe.”

A warm sense of accomplishment spread through her veins. Coldplay understood her, knew her need to find Parker wasn’t something she could be talked out of.

Emit’s lips pressed into a thin line for a few seconds as he seemed to be sizing her up. Then he gave a tight nod. “I strongly disagree with this approach, but you’re the client, Ms. Jeffries. If Coldplay feels he can protect you, I’ll allow you to visit, but visit only. Two hours, not a minute more. You will not stay there overnight, nor will you be allowed to stay even two hours if any of the three of us” —he pointed between him and the other two men— “believe there is anything out of place. Your life comes first. Your sister comes second. If you don’t like those terms, I’ll refund your money and you can find a different protection agency.”

Hardball. She liked him and his dedication to doing his job, even if the client was being foolhardy. But seriously, who else was she going to turn to? He knew he had her in a bind. “No need to strong-arm me, Mr. Petit. I agree to your terms.”

Beatrice picked up the photo and fingered it. “I’m going, too.”

Another round of “no’s” rang out, Savanna chiming in this time.

Unfazed, Beatrice looked up at her. “When was the last time you used this bag? Is it possible there’s something hidden in it? Something Parker wanted you to find?”