Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) (8 page)

She swallowed and nodded, looking fragile and exhausted and battle-ready all at the same time. Admiration for this woman kept growing—forget the fact she was beautiful, she had a backbone of steel; she’d been through hell but she didn’t wallow in tears. She was a fighter.

He grabbed a large, thick towel from a pile stacked on a nearby table and wrapped it around her shoulders, feeling her stiffen at the contact. “It’s OK, Vivi.” He ran his hand up and down her back wanting to reassure her and make her feel safe even though he knew better than to make promises. “Everything is going to be OK.”

Jed looked at the lifeguard who’d been knocked out. He seemed to be coming around. Jed retrieved his jacket and shoes from the damp floor and pulled out his phone. He was cold, wet, but damned happy he’d reached Michael in time. He called the local office. “I got one of them attempting to drown the Vincent boy in the hotel pool.” He gave some details over the phone, just enough for them to know exactly where he was and what to do.

The hotel was only a few miles from the Minneapolis Mall and it took less than three minutes for a couple of feds to show up. Vivi and her son sat clinging to one another, shivering uncontrollably. Michael was crying soundlessly. Something about that mute grief twisted a knife in Jed’s heart.

He handed the terrorist suspect into custody while one of the other agents picked up the guy’s belongings from the locker room. The would-be killer wasn’t allowed to get dried or dressed. Jed hoped the guy’s balls snapped off on the way to interrogation.

Jed grabbed his coat and Vivi’s bag from the lounge chair. Turned to find her watching him. There were questions in her frank blue gaze. Big questions about what happened next. Questions he didn’t want to answer.

“Come on.” He herded them out the door, through the lounge and into the elevator. Inside, he slipped his gun out of his holster. “Which floor?”

“Eight.”

“Which room?”

She reached into the side pocket of her purse and handed him a key card. He looked at it. 801.

He led the way, made her stay back while he did a rapid search of the room. It was empty. He figured these guys had people scouring all the local hotels and had gotten lucky. Chances were the guy under arrest had notified his cronies and they’d be on their way over, but they had feds and cops covering every floor and exit. His colleagues were staked out on all the nearby roads, watching and waiting for a bunch of bad guys to arrive on the scene. Even so he didn’t intend for Vivi or her son to be here if anyone slipped through the net. “Get dressed. Quick as you can.”

“What about you?” she eyed his wet clothes.

Thankfully his overcoat and feet were dry. That would have to do. “I’ll be fine until we can get to the local field office. I have other clothes in the car I can change into there.”

She started drying her son’s hair, but he put his hand on her waist and nudged her aside. “I’ll help Michael. You get dressed.”

Her pupils flared in an instinctive reaction to his touch, something animalistic that no one could control. He felt it too and it pissed him off. He did not want to get his job tangled up with emotions. Not this time. They all had far too much to lose if he didn’t bring his A-game to the field.

Then her expression shifted to surprise—which pissed him off even more. As if no one had ever offered to help her before. She nodded, suddenly as mute as her son, grabbed a handful of clothes and went into the bathroom. Jed stripped the kid, dried him, and pulled dry clothes on him. He rubbed himself down as best he could with a towel, ignoring the discomfort of his own wet skin. He wasn’t about to wander into work wearing a robe. He’d never live it down.

Next he packed the Vincents’ belongings. Stuffed everything he found in the drawers and wardrobe into the medium-sized suitcase—pausing for a second over the scraps of silken underwear in the top drawer. A knot of something uncomfortable tugged inside him. These bits of colored satin reminded him she wasn’t just a victim, she was a strong, beautiful woman whose life was about to take another nosedive after a seriously shitty day. There was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t like it. And he really didn’t like knowing it was this particular redhead who’d been caught up in this web of hatred and cowardice that put her and her son in danger, and that he’d played a part in it. Because now it was personal and he didn’t like that either.

This was what his boss was always warning him about. Personal was when you let people get too close, and it ended up screwing with your perspective and objectivity.

Not gonna happen this time.

Michael lay curled up in a ball on the floor. Jed threw everything he could find in the case without folding it. They had to get out of there fast.

Vivi came out of the bathroom looking more like her former poised, assured self. Her hair was slicked to her skull emphasizing her pale features, and tied back in a braid. She frowned at the case, then went back in the bathroom and came back zipping a toiletries’ bag. She tossed it in, then swept a hand under the pillows for night clothes and a stuffy that she pushed into Michael’s arms.

“Put his shoes on for me, will you?” she asked him.

Jed nodded.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her pack up her laptop and charger, then ease her feet carefully into winter boots—fresh spots of blood stained the thick socks she wore, but she didn’t slow down to deal with it. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

She eyed him distrustfully. It seemed to be her default mode. They had that in common, but he was law enforcement. What was her excuse?

“Is there a Mr. Vincent I should contact?” Shit, he hadn’t even thought about it earlier. There hadn’t been any need. She didn’t wear a ring but it didn’t mean she wasn’t married.

“No Mr. Vincent.”

The fact he was glad about that was a really bad sign.
Emotional distance—remember
?

“You’re going to freeze outside in this snowstorm.” She eyed him like he was an idiot. So much for lusting after his manly body.

“Not a lot I can do about that right now. I’ll be fine until we get to HQ.” He closed the suitcase and tugged Michael to his feet. Bent down and looked the boy in the eye. “I know you’re wiped, kid. You’ve beaten bad guys twice today and no one deserves a break more than you do.” He searched the kid’s face but he was zoned out. Jed didn’t blame him. “All I need you to do is get to the car, then I’ll do the rest. OK, buddy?”

Michael didn’t answer but he did take a few steps toward the door. Good enough. Vivi put her coat on while Jed helped Michael. She took the boy’s hand and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, her laptop bag already slung over her shoulder. Self-sufficient. Efficient. Alone. Even holding her son’s hand Vivi Vincent looked very much alone.

That thing tugged inside his chest again.

Terrorists. Danger. Focus.

Jed pulled out his handgun, placing his hand on Michael’s shoulder before carefully opening the door. Waiting for the elevator was one more pulse pounding moment in a day full of adrenaline rushes. They got out at the second floor and walked to the end of the corridor and down the stairs, heading to a side entrance nearest where he’d parked his car. Vivi stalled. “I need to check out.”

Jed shook his head, hand on her lower back urging her forward. “Don’t worry about it. We’re hoping to trap anyone who might be after you.”

Her eyes bulged and her throat rippled as she swallowed repeatedly.
Shit
, he hadn’t meant to spook her more than she already was.

“How did you find me?”

“Tracked your credit card activity.”

“Can the bad guys do that too?” Her eyes narrowed.

“I doubt it, but possibly.” Depended on who they had on the inside and Jed was betting they’d had someone on the inside at the Minneapolis Mall. Hopefully they didn’t have anyone inside the police department.

She fished her cell out of her pocket. “Can they track this?”

He flashed his badge at the uniform who stood at the outside door, then covered Vivi’s hand with his. She was freezing but it didn’t stop the skin-on-skin connection zapping along his nerves with a jolt of something hot and ill-timed.

“Turn it off but leave it in your pocket for now. Let’s get to headquarters where they can figure out a plan and I can get changed.” Because walking around Minneapolis in wet clothes in December was asking for frostbite. “Maybe the feds can use your cell to set another trap for the bad guys and end this thing.”

“And if they don’t?”

He didn’t want to think about that.

Her lips pinched. Blue eyes piercing in their intensity. “You won’t be staying with us, will you?”

Michael’s eyes shifted toward him, just enough for Jed to know the kid was listening to every word and that his answer mattered. “I don’t know where I’ll be yet, but I won’t just abandon you.” He’d thought he was way too experienced to make promises he might not be able to keep—obviously not.
He gave Michael’s shoulder a squeeze and opened the door and walked into the frigid winter chill of the first major snowstorm of the season.
Hello, Minnesota.

“We’re going to be stuck in protective custody, aren’t we?” she shouted over the howling wind.

“For now.” Christ, he was going to freeze to death before he reached the frickin’ car. He took the case from Vivi’s fingers and tried to shield her and Michael both from view and the wind. He scanned the parking lot, searching for the bad guys, knowing they could be anywhere. Goddamn it. This was the USA. None of this stuff was supposed to happen here.

Yeah
. Which was the point these fuckers were trying to make. Welcome to the rest of the world.

***

Pilah’s heart raced as she sat in her little, blue Ford Focus in the hotel’s huge parking lot, engine running to try and keep warm as the thickening snowstorm turned the whole world white. The heater blasted out hot air but her hands and feet were numb with cold. She wasn’t used to such harsh weather. Her mother—a beautiful, blond American—had lived in Florida. Her parents had divorced when she was ten and her father had taken her back to the Eastern plateau of Syria without any objections from her mother.

She knew what it was like to grow up without a mother and didn’t want her daughters to go through the same experience.

After leaving the hospital, Pilah had gone home to find a man called Abdullah Mulhadre camped out in her living room. She’d surprised him. The cold light in his eyes had scared the crap out of her. At first she’d thought he was there to kill her, to tidy up any loose ends, but as time wore on she’d relaxed her guard. They’d spent the afternoon watching news of the attack, monitoring the growing swell of outrage. Then the feature on the boy had aired and she’d rushed to the bathroom to throw up.

She couldn’t believe she’d made such a terrible miscalculation and let the child live. She’d been blindsided by the scale of her mistake. Abdullah had followed her to the bathroom and she'd had to confess she couldn’t remember exactly what they’d discussed in the toy store and the boy
might
have overheard something.

He’d struck her.

Her cheek still stung, and she touched it gently. She hadn’t told him she’d seen the child at the hospital. The man would have killed her on the spot for not eliminating the problem. Abdullah gave her the creeps. She shivered. Most of the men she’d been involved with recently gave her the creeps.

“Why did you get involved with these people, Adad?” she asked her dead husband angrily, wiping the condensation of her breath from the windshield. Of course he didn’t answer, too busy hanging out with vestal virgins while she tried to figure out a way to save their children. “You always were a damn fool.” Her eyes dampened. Fool or not, she’d loved him.

Now it was only a matter of time until the boy gave the authorities a detailed sketch of her face or enough information for the Americans to realize the Syrian Government wasn’t responsible, it was the rebels who’d attacked the mall, and they weren’t finished yet.

The Syrian president would crush those who’d tried to implicate him in international terrorism and the US wouldn’t stop him. Her children would be caught up in the fighting and probably die.

She checked her phone, waiting for a text from Abdullah. Where was he? Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall, dark-haired man shepherd a woman and child through the snow, past her car toward a black 4X4. The man’s hair and pants were damp, snow clinging to him as he moved swiftly through the frigid air. It was
them
, she realized, sucking in a shocked breath. She was glad for the accumulation of snow on the windshield obscuring her from view.

What had happened? Had Abdullah not found them in time? Where was he?

She thought about the pistol in the glove box, but the man was obviously law enforcement and the harshness of his features caused a little shiver of trepidation to flicker over her skin. Before she could decide whether or not to attempt to take care of the problem herself, the black SUV pulled away. She memorized the license plate.

Abdullah had obviously failed in his mission.

Had he been captured? Should she leave? Sargon favored the arrogant man and she didn’t dare cross either of them. If he came out in a few minutes, walking into a snowstorm without the jacket he’d left on her back seat, he’d be angry. Her face still throbbed from his earlier outrage. Her head pounded, a mixture of injury, cold and fear.

Squad cars sped along the nearby roads. If she didn’t leave soon she’d be trapped. Obviously, the cops were waiting for the terrorists to turn up to kill the woman and child, but the boy was gone. Whisked away.

She had to leave.

The phone rang and she checked the number.

The twinge of unease mingled with the hope of hearing her children’s voices.

“Hello?” she said.

“Has the errand been completed?”

How had he heard about the boy? Had Abdullah called him without telling her? Probably.

“Not yet.” They were both careful with their choice of words in case someone was listening in. The fact he’d called her on yet another disposable cell that Abdullah had given her should be enough to protect her identity, but she’d rather he hadn’t called at all. The sudden need to hear her children’s voices made her reckless. “Can I speak to Dahlia or Corinne?” she asked.