Hidden Agenda (14 page)

O
livia dug through the glove compartment, trying to find the Tylenol she'd brought, this time for herself. Her head was pounding with a combination of stress, fear, and nervous tension. Every time she quoted a Bible verse saying
do
not
worry
,
she'd start worrying about another possible problem. Like, what would happen if they were pulled over by the police? Or what would happen if they were in an accident?

Michael sat beside her in the driver's seat of their “borrowed” car, heading toward Atlanta. Traffic was lighter than usual for this time of day, but that didn't stop her from scrutinizing every car hanging behind them on the interstate.

Ivan sat in the backseat with Gizmo, still unwilling to talk with her about what he'd said last night. But all she could think about right now was getting her brother to safety—a difficult proposition when she wasn't sure who they could trust.

She managed to swallow the pills dry, then glanced at her watch. They'd made it to the outskirts of Atlanta in good time, but the next step of their journey would be the most telling.

“How much farther?” she asked.

“Not much. Fifteen . . . twenty minutes at the most.”

She studied Michael's face, trying to read his expression. His bruises were fading, and his jaw was clenched, like he held the
weight of the world on his shoulders. But in spite of everything they were facing, her mind couldn't stop focusing on whether or not he'd felt that same charge of electricity passing between them that she had.

Why was she thinking like this? Their worlds spun in different directions. He was an adrenaline junkie, out to save the planet. She might have the same aspirations of making a difference, but they didn't include going undercover as a money launderer for a bunch of drug dealers. Somehow she had the feeling that a house in the suburbs with a dog and cat and a couple of kids would never appeal to the man sitting beside her.

Which was why any notions of a romantic interest on her part needed to be squelched quickly. All she'd ever wanted was a family—the clichéd Mr. Right, two kids, and yes, even that house in the suburbs. But thinking there was any possibility that Michael Hunt was that man was . . . simply ludicrous.

She needed a distraction.

“What does your family do to celebrate Christmas?”

Olivia's question jerked Michael from his thoughts.

He wished he could douse the emotions erupting in him. He'd been with his family last Christmas. Sometimes that life seemed just like yesterday. But other times, he wasn't sure anymore that those vague memories were even real.

“Typically,” he began, “we sit around the dining room table and eat my mother's roasted turkey and giblet gravy. Then we exchange the family gag gift—a sweater made from eight skeins of bright green and red yarn and crocheted by my father's now-deceased older sister. After that we usually stay up late, laughing and eating sweet potato pie and drinking homemade eggnog.”

“Sounds nice,” she said.

“It is.”

“We could still go to your family and tell them the truth. You told me your father and your sister have connections—”

“I can't do that. Not yet.” The words came out harsher than he meant them to.

He turned to her, breathing in the scent of coconuts from the shampoo she'd used at the cabin, while he studied her olive skin and wide almond eyes. He hadn't expected the emotional connection that had developed between them. They might have only known each other for a short time, but she'd already become both his rescuer and his confidant. He needed her . . . they needed each other.

He reached out and squeezed her fingers. “I'm sorry. This isn't your fault.”

She'd simply become another player in a dangerous game that no one ever won. A game he'd joined before it got personal. A game in which the stakes were raised the moment he'd found out that some of the good guys were helping themselves to a piece of the pie the cartel was willing to part with in exchange for their cooperation.

Eeny, meeny, miny
, moe . . .

The old children's rhyme ran through his head. To Valez, the scenario was nothing more than a game. Who would live and who would die. He arranged his enemies like a row of dominos, taking out anyone who got in his way.

“You don't have to be sorry.” Her expression softened. “You're a close family?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about them.”

He studied her profile in the morning sunlight streaming through the window. He admired her for the courage she'd already shown and all the risks she'd taken. “I'm the middle of
three. Two sisters. Avery's a homicide detective, like I told you. Smart. Passionate. Her husband was killed a few years ago in the line of duty.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It hasn't been easy for her being a single mom, but she's done well. I've always looked up to her. She has a teenage daughter, Tess. She's . . . thirteen now. It's hard to believe how fast she's growing up.”

“And your other sister?”

“Emily's a teacher at a private school.”

A smile formed on Olivia's lips. “So she didn't follow the family tradition?”

“Three generations of cops? No.” He took a sip of his coffee, wishing he had a cup of his mother's secret blend she pulled out every holiday. “Emily decided to work for a private academy instead of the police academy. She loves her job and is good at it.”

Finding news about family via the online newspaper or a Google search had never seemed right, but it wasn't as if he'd had a choice. His father's retirement. Avery's recent engagement to one of the city's medical examiners. Emily's broken engagement . . . While he might be able to look up facts on the internet, he couldn't read between the lines. He wanted to ask Emily how she was doing, especially after Charlie's betrayal and shooting, he wanted to meet Avery's fiancé, and he wanted to know how Mama was coping with the death of her only son.

“What about your parents?” Olivia asked.

“My father retired in August. They had a big party for him. My mother's southern bred through and through and isn't one to waste an opportunity to celebrate.”

He'd anticipated his own homecoming for months. All he wanted to do was walk into the house he'd grown up in, sit down in his chair at the table, and eat some of his mother's homemade cooking, while catching up on everything he'd missed.

“How long has it been since you've seen them?”

“Eight months.”

Michael glanced in the rearview mirror as a car pulled into their lane. Dark sedan, tinted windows. It could be anyone. Valez's men, CIA, FBI . . . He'd been careful to ensure they hadn't been followed, but no matter how careful he was, he couldn't stop looking over his shoulder. He tried to shake off the panic, because more than likely he was just being paranoid. But they couldn't take any chances.

He let out a sigh of relief when the car switched lanes again and passed them. They could do this. There was no other choice. They'd gone over all the options of this plan at least a dozen times. Tried to calculate everything that could go wrong. In the end, that was all they could do. Prepare for every obstacle they could think of . . . and pray.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He glanced in the rearview mirror again. “I'm fine.”

“And the pain?”

“Better. Why?”

“You seem . . . distracted.”

He clicked on his blinker and began pulling off the freeway.

“Michael?”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I don't want to scare you, but we're being followed.”

O
livia's stomach took a dip as she turned around.

“Silver Honda Pilot. Three cars back,” he told her.

She caught sight of the vehicle, hanging back far enough to seem unobtrusive, but close enough to keep tabs on them. “You're sure?”

He paused and made a left turn. “It's possible we're simply going in the same direction, but I'm not taking any chances at this point.”

She gripped the door handle and stared into the side-view mirror, wishing this would all disappear. All they needed now was someone shooting at them as they drove through suburban Atlanta.

Michael reached out and squeezed her hand, his eyes never leaving the road. “It's going to be okay.”

She wanted to believe him. Badly. But she'd seen the agent's dead body. Watched Felipe's house go up in flames. Michael wasn't exactly the author of happy endings.

She watched in her mirror as the other car stayed with them. This was no coincidence. “I'm assuming you've been in this situation before?”

“A time or two.”

His grin did little to reassure her that everything would be okay. She might trust him, might have been impressed with his super-cop skills last night, but he wasn't Superman. He'd already taken a beating, been shot, and now there were hitmen after him. What were the odds of escaping another encounter?

She motioned at Ivan to get down. Every encounter with the bad guy so far had included gunfire. There was no reason to believe that this time would be any different. Ivan grabbed Gizmo's collar and pulled the dog down with him.

“After three turns, they're still behind us.”

“You think these are my father's men?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, though I suppose we can now assume that whoever hit the cabin last night was after us. Somehow they picked up our trail.”

“But how?”

She mentally ran through the contents of what they'd grabbed from the cabin. No cell phones, no computers . . . nothing. The car wasn't even theirs, so unless someone had watched them getting into the car . . .

“It doesn't make sense,” she said. “And besides, if they're after us—and know where we are—why didn't they come after us last night?”

“I don't know. I've been asking myself that over and over, but so far I've got a whole lot more questions than answers.”

She had her own set of unanswered questions. Who had known they were at the cabin? And how had they managed to track them here? And was her father the one behind all of this?

Felipe wouldn't have betrayed them. She was sure of that. Unless whoever had struck last night had been after Felipe. But if that was the case, why were they still being chased?

Michael took the ramp and headed back onto the highway.

Olivia pressed back into the seat as he accelerated. “Where are you going now?”

“I want to try to lose them, but first I'm going to slow down to see if they'll pass us, so you can see their license plate.”

Michael eased off on the accelerator. Olivia watched in the rearview mirror as the gap narrowed and the other car came up on their right. She leaned forward, straining to get into position to see the plate.

“I recognize the driver, Michael. He works for my father.”

Suddenly their pursuer jerked his car to the left and clipped their rear fender.

Olivia screamed as her seat belt caught, keeping her from slamming into the dashboard. She grabbed for something to hang on to. Terror slid through her . . . the terror that came with knowing someone wanted you dead.

“Ivan?” She turned around to make sure her brother and Gizmo were all right.

Ivan nodded, clutching the dog, who clearly wanted out of the car. “We're okay.”

“Hang on.” Michael wrestled with the steering wheel, managing to avoid the center divider and a red minivan.

They whipped past a semi as the highway veered to the right, and took the nearest exit. Olivia turned to see if the other car was still following them, but it was going too fast to make the turn, and she gasped as it slammed into the guardrail, then skidded across the asphalt. “I think we've lost them.”

“Good, because we're not stopping.” Michael kept his foot on the accelerator.

Olivia's fingers were cramped from clutching the door handle. If they weren't on the most-wanted list after what happened at the convenience store, there was no doubt in her mind they would be now.

Michael took the next light, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the accident. “We're going to have to dump this car. Someone will have gotten the license number
and reported it, and the cops will soon know it's a stolen car. Hopefully they didn't get a good look at the passengers.”

Which might buy them some time. But time was something she feared they were quickly running out of.

Twenty minutes later, Michael pulled through the gate where the self-storage units were located and parked in the back of the property. Olivia slammed the car door shut, her legs and arms still shaking. She'd always seen her father's house and the island surrounding it as a shelter. She'd believed Felipe's cabin would be safe. Now it seemed that no matter where they went, they were never out of danger. Even inside the gated property she felt vulnerable. But she wasn't sure what would make her feel safe at this point.

She started after Michael, but Ivan signaled to her. “I'll walk the dog around until he's done.”

Olivia watched Michael walk toward the end of the row of storage units. “I think we should stay together.”

“We lost whoever was after us, Olivia. They won't show up here. They're probably on their way to the emergency room right now.”

She hesitated, knowing he was right, but feeling the need to keep him safe. “We don't know who's after us or how they're tracking us. Someone could have sent them. There could be more people after us.”

“And your bodyguard over there will protect us? Just like he did at the cabin, and on the road just now?”

Olivia bit back a wave of anger, surprised at her brother's reaction. But the last thing she wanted to do right now was fight with her brother. They needed to talk through what had happened, not blame each other for the mess they were in.

“What matters right now is that we're alive.”

“Felipe's not.”

The reminder stung hard. She'd not even begun processing his death. They needed to talk about what had happened back at the cabin, but right now, with everything tainted with fear and anger, she didn't even know how to start dealing with her own raw emotions, let alone her brother's.

“No, Felipe's not alive, but what happened wasn't Michael's fault. Why are you mad at him?”

“I'm not mad at him.” Ivan's jaw tightened, his face expressive with anger and hurt. “I'm just . . . mad. Mad at whoever's behind this. Mad that Felipe's dead. Mad that our father isn't who I thought he was . . .”

“I'm sorry. I wish I could make all this go away—”

“But you can't, and that's part of the problem. I need you to stop treating me like I'm still a kid.”

Olivia's fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. “I just want to protect you.”

“From what?” His hands clipped through the words. “The truth?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long have you known the truth about our father?”

“I just found out myself—”

“But you had your suspicions and never said anything to me, because you thought I couldn't handle the truth. Just like our mother thought we couldn't handle the truth about who Antonio Valez really is. But I'm not a kid anymore.”

A shudder passed through her. He was right. As much as she tried, she couldn't protect him from everything. She never should have tried to hide the truth from him.

“I'm sorry.”

“I just . . . I just need you to trust me to be able to take care of myself.”

“You know I do.”

“I know you want to.” He turned. “Gizmo and I are going for a walk.”

Olivia watched Ivan walk away with the dog, knowing all she could do at this point was pray God would protect both of them.

Michael watched the conversation from the end of the storage units, wanting to give them some space. He couldn't understand Ivan's sign language or hear everything that was being said, but the gist of the conversation was clear. Ivan had grown up, whether Olivia was ready to accept it or not.

“Is everything okay?” he asked as she approached him.

He tugged on the edge of the wool cap he'd grabbed from the cabin, keeping his head down, like he'd instructed Olivia and Ivan earlier. Security meant cameras, something they needed to avoid. And he'd become a pro at avoiding detection.

“He's angry at me. And as much as I hate to admit it, he's right. I've overprotected him—but now I'm in the middle of a situation where I can't guarantee his safety and it scares me.”

“Can we ever completely guarantee someone's safety? It seems like so many times I've thought I was in control of something, I've ended up realizing that I actually have no control at all.”

She paused beside him and glared at him. “That's a reassuring thought.”

“I'm not trying to add fuel to the fire, but the reality is that as much as we think we're in control, we're really not.” He ran his hand down her arm. “Don't beat yourself up over it. But giving him a little slack won't hurt either of you.”

“It's hard not to worry about him. I've been taking care of him since he was twelve, and I've always been more like a mother to him than a sister.”

“The two of you have been through a lot together, but I suspect that even if he was your son, things wouldn't be any
different. I think every parent struggles to let their child grow up. I know my mom did.”

Michael stopped in front of unit 415. Three years ago, he'd set up this locker in case of an emergency, hoping he'd never have to use it. So much for hoping. Now he had both the cartel and the authorities after him, which meant he was going to have to play things out very carefully.

“Tell me about the locker,” Olivia said.

“The last time I opened it was about a year ago. My partner and I checked on our gear and added a few more items. It's our backup plan—our emergency stash in case one of our undercover gigs goes south and we need a way out.”

Michael had never really considered that he'd need a way out. He'd always assumed he could go to the department if he found himself in trouble. He'd never imagined a scenario where he'd have to prove his innocence on his own, let alone ensure the safety of someone else. He understood Olivia's worry over Ivan all too well.

He put in the four-digit code, opened the door, then glanced around the 5x5 room. Besides the layers of dust, everything looked exactly the same way he'd left it. A broken lawn mower, a wheelbarrow, hoes and buckets, along with a bunch of garden stuff and other junk he and Mason had picked up at a garage sale. And two large wooden storage boxes.