Blind Fury (27 page)

She and Mick rinsed off in the shower, using the cleaner side of the blanket to dry off before putting their old clothes back on. She changed his bandages, and they ate the energy bars she’d bought the previous night. Some coffee to wash down the food would have been fantastic, but she settled for bottled water. What she really needed was to forget everything they’d done on the floor this morning. The happy memories were messing with her focus. “Okay, last night you said your plan included telling me about Rob. So, what’s the rest of this great idea of yours?”

“I’m not sure great is the right word, but I was thinking that the reason we’re being chased is to keep us from telling anyone what we know, right?”

“Presumably, yes,” she said. “Both about the smuggling and how Rob died.” She had a good idea where he was going with this, but she let him get there in his own way.

He nodded. “So it makes sense to me that if we take everything public there’d be no reason for them to shut us up. The damage would be done. Like you said before, the police or the FBI might not do anything with the evidence, but what if we take it to that reporter you contacted?”

“Why are you suddenly so ready to go to the media with this after all the effort you’ve put into keeping me quiet?”

He looked down at his hands, absently rubbing the calluses and small scars he’d earned over the years. “I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready.” His gaze met hers. “But I don’t see another way to get these guys off our backs. They’ve already made it clear they’ll do anything to keep us quiet.”

Her heart broke for him. “You and the other guys will take a lot of heat from the media and anyone else who gets involved. And the State Department might not be able to sweep the incident under the rug if you do this.” Jenna’s stomach dipped. He could go to jail. After all that they’d been through, she could lose him anyway.

His jaw tightened. “I know, but I’m all out of ideas.”

“I can’t think of anything better either.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “But I’ll be with you the whole way.”

“This means going out. We have to assume our pictures are everywhere now.” He took a bottle from the pocket of his pullover. “How do you feel about going red?”

Good question. She’d never dyed her hair before. “It beats getting caught, right?” But red? Talk about standing out in a crowd.

Since they had no towels, Mick applied the dye while she kneeled over the tub. “What about your eyebrows?” he asked.

“I don’t want to get that stuff too close to my eyes. I have a light brown eyeliner pencil in my tote bag. I think it’ll be close enough.” The hair color wasn’t bright red anyway, more like an auburn.

“Should I leave it in for the full ten minutes?” he asked.

“I don’t know. According to the stylist, my hair is very porous. Apparently that’s why it used to turn green from the swimming pool. How about eight?”

“Green, huh?” He grinned and set the timer on his watch. “I’ll bet you looked like a mermaid.”

More like a sea monster. The kids had teased her mercilessly.

When his watch beeped, he rinsed her hair until the water ran clear. The feel of his fingers massaging her scalp sent warm tingles down her spine. If only they had more time together.

Pushing her disappointment aside, she squeezed her hair over the tub and let it drip for a few minutes before finger combing it and wringing it out again.

When she sat up, Mick smiled. “Wow. I don’t think we need to worry about anyone recognizing you now.”

She glanced in the mirror at the stranger with the chestnut strands. He was right. She wouldn’t even have recognized herself. And after a few strokes with the eyeliner pencil, her eyebrows were a decent match. Redheads often had pale brows anyway, so hers didn’t look weird. She rimmed her lashes with the eye pencil for good measure and stood back. “What do you think?”

He gave her a quick, hard kiss, his eyes sparkling. “I think we’re home free.”

“All right. Let’s go call James Longstreet.” Her pulse quickened. Whatever happened, they were going to finish this today. Then they’d finally be free to plan their future.

Maybe he sensed the change in her mood, because he cupped her face and moved in for the longest, slowest, sweetest kiss he’d ever given her. He left her breathless and ready for more, her heart bursting with joy.

After packing up their meager belongings, Jenna went through the house and cleaned up the evidence of their stay as much as possible. With any luck, the owners would never even know they’d had unwelcome visitors.

She locked the basement door behind Mick and crawled out of the same window she’d climbed into the previous night. If anyone saw them now, the game would be up. The sun had risen and people were sure to be getting ready for work. They were hidden from view by trees and the mass of the house, but they had to get to the front without arousing suspicion.

The neighbors to the north still had their blinds drawn, so she and Mick cut between the two homes on that side and stuffed their trash and the blanket into a can at the curb that was waiting for garbage collection.

The morning air was cool, and when Jenna shivered, Mick removed his sweatshirt and handed it to her. “Here. It’s huge, but you’ll be more comfortable.”

Too cold to refuse his chivalrous gesture, she slipped it over her head and covered her damp curls with the hood. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s still warm.” And it smelled like him too. She breathed in deeply. “I could go for some coffee,” she said, spying a shopping center at the next corner.

“A coffeehouse would be a good place to test your disguise,” he said. “Once we’re done there, I’ll get Longstreet’s number from Information and call him.”

Five minutes later they entered a cafe and she removed the hood of the sweatshirt. The delicious scent of coffee and pastries nearly brought her to her knees. Energy bars had nothing on a bacon-cheese croissant. She smiled at the cashier and gave her order.

Moment of truth time. Did he recognize her? Could he tell she was in disguise? Would he suddenly point and yell, “It’s her!” to the small crowd? Maybe she didn’t look like a redhead. How did a redhead carry herself? Talk? Dress?

She didn’t even know if she was considered a fugitive or a hostage. Her hands started to shake and her knees nearly buckled.

Mick must have picked up on her sudden distress because he leaned over and whispered. “You’re rockin’ the look. Besides, everyone is absorbed in their own world.”

Then he kissed her neck, sending shivers of delight to her toes, and she relaxed.
Quit being stupid
. He was right. Heck, if Hugh Jackman or Brad Pitt passed her on the street she’d probably be none the wiser. Why would anyone notice her?

He paid for their meals and she wound her way through the rustic pine tables to a small round one near the back. No one even looked up as they passed. She waited for the coffee to warm her bones, digging lustily into her food. “This is delicious,” she said to Mick between mouthfuls. “Thanks.”

He chuckled and pulled his baseball cap lower. His transformation wasn’t quite as dramatic as hers, especially now that his killer body was no longer hidden beneath a baggy pullover, but the cap and reading glasses still obscured his features.

After a sip of his own drink, Mick unfolded the copy of the
Washington Post
he’d purchased. “Hmm, look at that.” He flipped it around so she could see the headline at the very bottom of the page, accompanied by two grainy black-and-white photos.

Murder Suspect and Girlfriend Elude Police
. The tiny snapshot of her had been taken at an office party. Her hair was pulled back sharply from her face and she was wearing professional clothing. The photo looked nothing like her, particularly now that she had red hair. Mick’s picture rivaled hers for ineffectiveness. The standard Air Force photo showed him standing next to an American flag in uniform. He looked like an ad for the new Aryan nation with his broad shoulders, fair hair, and light eyes, but he certainly didn’t look like the man sitting across from her.

She breathed out a sigh of relief and her shoulders relaxed. They would be okay. For now, anyway.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yes. Let’s get this over with.”

He nodded and stared at her for a beat before standing, an unexpected frown on his handsome face. “I’ll go make the call.”

“What the fuck happened this time?” Griffin yelled, barely able to contain his fury. The team’s efforts to silence Mick and Jenna were quickly becoming farcical.

He still didn’t see the humor.

On the other end of the phone line, Rizzo stammered. “Uh, they got away, sir.”

Griffin took a deep breath. For Christ’s sake, he was surrounded by imbeciles. “How?” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Beavis missed and they ran for it.”

“Let me guess. You have no idea where they are.”

Rizzo cleared his throat. “Actually, sir, we got a break.”

“Spill.” Partly mollified, Griffin sat back in his leather chair. Maybe things were finally turning around for him.

“Remember those reporters you told us to monitor? Fury called one of them. Longstreet. They’re meeting in an hour.”

Mick’s options were limited. Griffin had figured he’d either go to the police or the press, and he’d taken measures to deal with either scenario. Now he needed to make sure this problem disappeared. He’d spent too much time and money building up Claymore to let a bunch of murderous idiots ruin it.

He’d let the men run the smuggling operation because he had more important things to do, and because he needed to keep his hands clean. But now their attempts to cover their tracks had put his latest bids in jeopardy. Billions of dollars were in danger of being lost because Alan Smith had taken matters into his own hands and noisily erased Rob Ryan from the picture.

There was more on the line than money. Claymore had an important job to do. They helped keep the U.S. safe from terrorists. As the military moved troops out of Afghanistan, contractors were being used in bigger numbers than ever before, and the truth was, they didn’t always color inside the lines.

Whether or not anyone was willing to admit it, the U.S. was at war with Islam. Sometimes you had to do whatever it took to get the job done. Screw the media, screw the politicians who spent all day in their cushy digs in D.C. with no concept of what it was like in the desert. They visited sometimes, and after spending a few hours on the dry soil, they acted as if they understood what it was really like. As if they knew the struggle and the frustration of the average man on the ground just from breathing the same dusty, filth-ridden air.

Claymore was doing the work that the military could no longer do, and the fucking American people should love them for it. They should bow down and kiss their feet for saving their fat, lazy asses every single fucking day.

But hey, as long as Griffin and his guys got to keep going over there and doing God’s work, the American people and the media could spew all the hate they wanted.
 

He wouldn’t let anyone jeopardize Claymore’s mission or its success. Not Mick and Jenna, not Rizzo and his merry band of fuck-ups, and not James Longstreet either. It was time to get rid of the whole lot of them.

“Sir?” Rizzo said. “How do you want us to handle this?”

Griffin laid out his plan—the part Rizzo needed to know, anyway—in slow, easy-to-understand language that a third grader could handle. “Last chance, Rizzo. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be at the Leesburg house in two hours. Grizz is already on his way. Once everyone’s there, wait for me.”

He’d given the dimwits too many chances already. Today was payback time.

Mick stood in the back hallway of the coffee shop and removed the battery from his cell phone, pocketing both. He approached their table and watched Jenna’s beautiful profile as she bent over the newspaper he’d left behind. He had one goal. Meet with the reporter, tell him their story, and get the hell away from Virginia.

Okay, so that was two or three goals, but either way he needed to move. Being around Jenna was torture. Even more so after the morning they’d shared.

She had a hopeful gleam in her eye when she looked at him and he couldn’t stand it. She’d forgiven him too easily. The next few weeks, maybe even months, of his life were going to be ugly. He didn’t want her to suffer for his mistakes. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that once the smoke cleared and life returned to normal, she’d realize her mistake and he’d be left wrecked by his foolish love for her.

He wanted his old life back. No attachments, no commitments, no one to care if he went a little nuts.

“How’d it go?” she asked as he approached the table.

Her hair had dried into soft curls that fell to her jaw, and he itched to run his fingers through it. Mainly as a precursor to kissing her. “He was falling all over himself to meet with us,” he said in a low voice, forcing himself back into the present moment. “He’ll be at the library down the street in an hour.”

“The library?”

“Public, but not too busy. And they should have study rooms where we can talk privately. Plus, it’s close. I’d prefer to stay out of cabs and off buses until after the story breaks.”

“Okay. So, we’ll need somewhere nearby to stay the night.”

“Let’s worry about that later. I want to get over there before he arrives so that we can make sure he comes alone.”

She finished her coffee and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Do you trust him?”

One could only trust a reporter so far, but they needed this one. “I think it’s in his best interest not to give us away to the police. He’d never get another informant if he did that.” Still, Mick would be on the lookout. He always was.

They cleared the table and left, detouring to a discount department store—open twenty-four hours—where Jenna bought a warm pink fleece that clashed with her new hair color. Mick picked out a sporty windbreaker and left the oversized sweatshirt he’d been wearing in one of the dressing rooms.

The walk to the library would take about ten minutes. Jenna slid her hand into his, and they strolled casually along the sidewalk in the gentle morning sun.