Escape to Morning (36 page)

“That's him.” Fadima pointed to a man on one of the four video monitors.

From his position in a room in the dome of the U.S. Capitol Building, Will used his binoculars to scan the crowd of ten thousand strong gathered on the Washington Mall, looking for the man she indentified.

The holiday had warranted roping off the mall, posting added security, and requiring a security screening to enter. Homeland Security had capitalized by setting up cameras at the four entrances so Fadima could eye each visitor entering the mall.

Will couldn't contain his fury that Hayata had picked Memorial Day to bring their brand of terror to American soil. Balloons, parades, hot-dog carts, and war protesters clogged the mall from this end, past the Washington Monument, down to the Lincoln Memorial. Music from the U.S. Drum and Bugle Corp set a festive beat, and right below the steps of the Capitol, the U.S. Marine Corps Chamber Orchestra warmed up in anticipation of the president's speech. The aura of honor, of America, of freedom hung in the air, and a brilliant sun gave the illusion that all was well.

Hardly. Will tried to slow his heartbeat, focus on each face. His partner, Simon, had talked about Bakym more times than Will could count, but mostly his description was couched in adjectives like
dedicated, focused, ruthless,
and
evil
.

“Which one is he?” Will asked.

Behind him, Jeff and other Homeland Security agents sat at a bank of computers, running profiles and communicating with agents positioned throughout the crowd.

Please, Lord, help us find him
.

“Black hair, silver teeth. Wearing the red sweatshirt.”

Will spotted him. Figures the scumbag would wear a University of Minnesota sweatshirt. Just an average college student. But looks could be deceiving. Will knew that better than anyone.

Only not today. Today Bakym was going to find out that Will lived up to every inch of his past reputation. Because God might have changed Wild Will on the inside, but on the outside he'd be exactly who he appeared to be. Dangerous. Wild for justice. A man who got the job done, despite the shoulder sling.

“Got him.” He keyed his radio. “Target is wearing a University of Minnesota sweatshirt, dark hair, about six feet tall. Approach with caution.” Especially since Bakym had parked himself next to a family with a double stroller. This could get ugly, fast. “I'm coming down there.”

“Wait!” Fadima grabbed his good arm. After her flight to DC and a day of debriefing, which included a supersize order of French fries, a shake, and a couple of cheeseburgers, Amina— or Fadima as she had introduced herself—had become one of his best informants. Her brother, Kutsi, and father, Nazar, were in a safe house in Turkey, awaiting their transport to America after being found at Nazar's “hideout” at a resort on the Black Sea. No doubt a location he'd use as a cover for his return to Hayata if the CIA hadn't rescued him. Nazar easily gave up the when and where of Hayata's next attack in exchange for asylum.

Fadima's voice rose in pitch. “I think I see one of the girls from Azmi—the Hayata camp in Minnesota. Black hair, wearing a pink poncho.”

Fadima even knew American fashions? Will searched the crowd, found the target. It took him only three seconds to see that the bump under her poncho wasn't her lunch. In fact, if Nazar's specs were correct, tucked inside that poncho was a dirty bomb—a conventional Semtex bomb laced with radioactive materials.

Talk about impact—thousands of families, children, and soldiers remembering the sacrifices made for American freedom would walk away from Memorial Day with a death sentence.

Not on Will's watch.

“I found our delivery girl.” He relayed the information to the teams on the ground and fought a wave of hatred for a man who packed explosives on a girl no more than eighteen. Will then turned his attention back to Bakym.

Gone.

Will studied the crowd, panic filling his throat. “Find that girl!” he yelled into the radio. “Anyone on Bakym?”

“He shook us, Agent Masterson.”

He wanted to slam his fist into the wall.
Please, Lord, help us …
He focused on the edges of the crowd, on the ones leaving. …

Yes!
Bakym was climbing into a pickup parked right off Maryland Avenue. In fact, Will knew that pickup … Simon's pickup—a silver birch Chevy Silverado, his pride and joy, next to his wife and ten-year-old son.

Will updated his men on the ground as he slammed out of the control room, descended the stairs two at a time. He shrugged out of his sling, leaving it on the stairwell, and thanked the Lord for DC traffic. Bakym wouldn't get far. Not today with Independence Avenue blocked off to the west, and SUVs snarled to a standstill on Independence East and Fourth Street.

Will's heartbeat raced. He didn't wait for a cab; he tore across the street, dodging traffic, cut out onto Third Street, and angled down Independence.

Please, God, be on my side today
. Because he knew he was right. Bakym had a reason for leaving, and it wasn't so he could get back to his motel and order a large pizza.

Yes, yes! He saw the Silverado with the Minnesota plates ground to a stop only three cars from Fourth Street. Will pumped up his speed.

Nearing the truck, Will noted that Bakym looked frustrated as he tapped his hand on the steering wheel to some unintelligible hard rock on the radio.

Worried you might get blown up, scumbag?

Will dived toward the truck, had the door open and Bakym yanked out and on the ground before Bakym knew what hit him.

A cell phone bounced out of his hand onto the pavement. Will speared Bakym in the spine with his knee, diving for the phone.

He felt Bakym grab him, claw at his leg, but Will's hand closed around the phone. His injured shoulder screamed.

So did Bakym.
“Nyet!”
Bakym's fist clipped his jaw.

Will's head snapped back. He felt nothing but elation as he recovered and launched himself at Bakym. He cuffed him hard—the best pain relief on the market—and Bakym hit the pavement.

Will was about to jump on him, maybe get in a couple of licks for Simon, when Jeff flashed into his peripheral vision and pounced on the thug. “That's enough, Will. We got him.”

Will stumbled back, breathing hard. He sank to the street, the pain in his shoulder now searing his brain.

While Jeff slapped cuffs on Bakym, Mirandizing his rights, Will glanced at the cell phone still in his hand. Bakym had logged a number in. It blinked, waiting to be sent. Will blew out a breath, carefully pushed End, and deleted the call. Just about then, he felt himself break into a cold sweat.

Jeff and a host of other Homeland Security agents hoisted Bakym to his feet. Bakym swore, then glared at Will. “You!” He seemed stunned, his black eyes wide. “You're not a reporter?”

Will gave a dark laugh. “Hardly. I'm the guy who's going to make sure you pay for what you did to Simon.” He turned to Jeff. “Get him out of here before I do something I probably should regret.”

They hauled Bakym off just as the orchestra began the first strains of “Hail to the Chief” on the mall not far away.

Chapter 22

WILL STOOD ON the front porch, rocking from toe to heel, feeling like an idiot in his suit coat and tie. He held a wrapped gift, and right about now it would take very little for him to dump it at the door, turn, and dive for his pickup.

The coward he was.

But he stood his ground.
God is my portion
.

The door creaked opened, and a little blonde head peeked out. “Hello?”

He crouched, held out the present like a peace offering. “Hey there. Is your mommy around?”

The little girl, he guessed about four, eyed him with huge round blue eyes, then turned and slammed the door in his face.

Oh. He frowned, stood up, and searched for a place to leave the gift. Obviously he'd scared her and—

The door reopened. He prepared to give his best cowboy smile. Only it wasn't a four-year-old blonde in a sundress this time. It was the child's very pretty mother, wearing a matching sundress, her hair down to her shoulders, and surprise on her face. She stared at him for a moment before she smiled. Like the sun peeking out from behind dark clouds. His chest loosened.

“Will Masterson,” Bonnie said. “I just don't know what to say.”

He held out the gift, feeling that, yes, it would have been a much better move to simply leave it and flee. He swallowed past a Mount Rushmore—sized lump in his throat. “Howdy, Bonnie. I'm really sorry I didn't come earlier. I had some stuff to do, and well … but that's no excuse and I …” He dredged up a shaky smile.

Her gaze went to the gift, then to him. A heartbeat passed before she stepped out onto the porch and hugged him hard around the waist. “You're right on time, Will. Thank you for being a friend.”

For a second he simply stood there, feeling foolish; then he settled his arms around her shoulders. Closed his eyes. And somehow in her embrace, he felt a smile, right out of heaven, touch his heart.

Yes, indeed, God was on his side.

Dannette sat with her leg propped on a chair on the grounds of the country club. Red roses fragranced the summer air, and a slight wind frightened away the clouds over the lush Kentucky hills. A country-western band singing love songs, frills, and bows—well, Lacey got her wish. Dannette couldn't help but laugh at Micah, trying to balance a glass of punch in one hand and hug guests with the other arm. He looked resplendent, however, in his black tails, his black hair freshly cut, his gray eyes shining.

Lacey, too, looked radiant. She'd woven lilies into her red-as-a-penny hair and wore a floor-length gown that made her look twenty rather than thirty-something and on her second marriage. Except for her daughter, Emily—cute in a flouncy white dress and white patent-leather shoes, her blonde hair now grown out to her shoulders—Dannette would have thought Lacey was a brand-new, never-been-kissed bride. She floated when Micah took her in his arms at the altar and blushed to match her hair when he kissed her.

If any two deserved to be together, it was Lacey and Micah, the star-crossed childhood friends who'd waited twenty years for this magical day.

Dannette took a sip of her punch as Conner sat down beside her.

“How are you feeling?” He knocked on her leg cast before sitting down next to her.

Her compound fracture still burned at times, but she hoped to have the cast off in another couple of weeks. After a month or so of physical therapy, she'd be back in the woods again.

Thank You, Lord
. The doctors had made her well aware of the fact that had her friends not tracked her down, she might have lost her leg. That thought still left her feeling weak.

“Good.” She smiled at Conner. She did feel good. Healing.

Okay, yes, inside, she still hurt, just a little, wondering why Will had simply dropped off the planet. Then again, she had told him to go.

But she hadn't meant completely out of her life.

Homeland Security had told her exactly nil when they finally flew down to Kentucky to interrogate her. Which meant that Will Masterson was on a new assignment.

Never to be seen again.

It was that thought that salted the wounds in her heart. Especially accompanied by memories of his soft smile and the look of pain in his eyes when he'd left her. She'd run over their conversation that night he left her in the woods a hundred times. Around the sixty-seventh time she realized he'd never promised to return. Only promised to send back help. Which accounted for the last words he ever said to her:
“I'm sorry, Dani. I wanted this to turn out differently.”

She sighed, forcing away another wave of pain. Yeah, he wasn't the only one.

Conner reached for her cake. “You going to eat that?”

She grinned at him, pushed her uneaten cake toward him. “Hey, um … did you ever … you know, hear from him?”

She tried to sound casual, but Conner tipped his head, his long curls rubbing against his collar. “Uh … who?”

She threw her napkin at him.

He shook his head and laughed. “Well, yeah, actually.”

Her heart stopped. Right there. Her smile vanished. “What?”

Conner just grinned.

“Is he okay?” She leaned forward, touched his arm.

He glanced down at her grip, raised an eyebrow. “I thought he was out of your life. That you didn't care.”

She swallowed, unsure of what to say. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Micah staring at her. “Well, I … of course I care. We were friends. And he just dropped out of my life.”

“What if he were to drop back in?” Only it wasn't Conner speaking. The voice came from behind her.

She felt weak, as if her heart had stopped. She hiccupped a breath, then turned.

Will. Charming Cowboy Will, filling out a brown sport coat over a pair of jeans, and wearing, of course, cowboy boots. He smiled down at her, his eyes shining, a wide smile on his handsome face. He came around beside her.