Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International (35 page)

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“W
HERE THE HELL
are you going?” Trace mumbled to himself as he watched Savanna struggle through the side window and plop unceremoniously into the snow. She got up, dusted herself off, looked both ways, and headed east.

He was sitting in the rear Escalade, motor idling. Someone, probably Rory, had patched him into the conversation in Beatrice’s office. Savanna had been mad and trying not to cut loose. He couldn’t blame her. Between Parker, Linc Norman, and Rock Star Security, she’d been manipulated in almost every way possible.

“She took a call from that private number,” Rory said in his comm unit. “Then she placed a call to Zebulon Riceman, owner and operator of a small-time public access television station. He’s also top dog at the local PBS station. Decides on programming and hosts his own travel segment.”

She was going public.

“Riceman gave Savanna her start back in the day,” Rory added.

The building sensors had alerted those inside that there had been a breach. Henley stuck his head out of the open restroom window and, although Trace couldn’t hear him, he knew he was swearing a blue streak.

“Your girl has the left the building,” Rory said.

She was chugging through the heavy snow at a fast clip. Trace put the Escalade in gear. “I have eyes on her.”

“Do you want us to follow?”

“Let me see what I can do first.”

Beatrice’s voice came over the comm. “You think it’s wise for you to engage her in her current emotional state?”

Wise? Hell, no. Necessary? Yes.

Only the running lights were on as he wheeled out into the street. Her bright coat bobbed in the distance. “Did you listen in on the conversation with either man?”

“We do not normally eavesdrop in the restrooms,” Beatrice said. “However, in this case, it seemed logical to keep a close eye— or in this case, ear—on her.”

“And?”

“She made a deal with the president. She asked for proof of life, and at one point, it seemed as though she were speaking to her sister.”

So Norman had finally caught up with Parker Jeffries. No wonder Savanna was sneaking off to meet him.

Brave or stupid? Maybe both. “Track her and send me the coordinates of Zeb’s public access station. I’ll be in contact when I have more information.”

“Roger that,” Rory said. “Just so you know, she’s disposed of most of her trackers. The one in her coat is still active, though.”

Thank God for that. Trace didn’t plan to lose her, but better safe than sorry.

Savanna was only a few feet off the road as he approached, the snow too deep for her. Luckily, in this area of DC, at this time of night, traffic was light to nonexistent.

When she heard the sound of the engine, she jerked her head to look over her shoulder. He flashed the lights, then killed them again.

She kept walking, chin up, eyes ahead.

Stubborn woman.

He hit a button to lower the passenger window and slowed so he was keeping pace with her. Did she really plan to walk all the way to the station? The coordinates that had just hit his GPS said it was twelve blocks. Piece of cake for him, even with the snow and ice. For her, it might be more of a challenge.

“Need a ride?” he called out.

She shot him a death glare, then went back to a half-walk, half-run. The laptop was clutched to her chest. “Not from you.”

There wasn’t much conviction in her voice. “I promise not to interfere with whatever you’re doing, even if it
is
stupid.”

That got him another death glare. She had to slow her pace to talk. “I’m doing my job and trying to save my sister at the same time.”

Her job was over. She’d been fired.

Her conviction told him she still saw herself as an investigative reporter who needed to right a wrong. Reveal the truth and blow the whistle on Norman.

“All I want to do is protect you, Savanna. I…care for you.”

“Care for me?” She lost her footing for a second, nearly tossing the laptop into the snow bank, before she righted herself. “Bullshit. I was a means to an end for you. You wanted to out President Norman about Project 24 and save your ass. You played me.”

He continued to creep forward to keep up with her. The outside temperature was in the twenties and her teeth were chattering. He gave her another two blocks. Three tops.

Turning the heat up a notch inside the car, he tried to think of a way to get through to her. “Let me at least get Henley to drive you. You’re going to have frostbite before you get to the station.”

She stopped dead. Unprepared, he had to slam on the brakes and back up half a foot to see her. She faced him. “How do you know where I’m going?”

He hesitated to tell her. Didn’t have to. Her quick brain figured it out.

“Oh, my God, you were eavesdropping on me in the restroom.”

“Not me specifically, but…yeah. For your own good. Besides, there’s a tracker in your coat. Guess Beatrice forgot to mention that.”

“Is nothing sacred to you people?” She started marching again. “And don’t
ever
tell me you did something for
my
own good.”

“Savanna, no one is going to stop you from going to the TV station and broadcasting the information in that file. Let us drive you. If you don’t want me, fine. Henley will do it. Hell, at this point, Beatrice would do it.”

“She probably would, just to get me off her ass.”

True. “You’re still under our watch. Something happens to you, Henley will get fired. You don’t want that on your conscious, do you?”

“That’s low, Trace. Even for you.”

Her words hurt, but he’d hit a nerve with her too. She stopped walking again and lowered her chin. He braked beside her, hoping she’d feel a warm blast of air from the cab and decide to get in.

“What time is it?” she asked.

He told her.

“Dammit, I’m not going to get there in time.” She dropped her head back, blew out a plume of frosty breath. Grabbing the handle, she wrenched the door open. “Fine. You can drive me, but that’s all. Got it?”

He tried not to smile. Tried not to let her see the relief on his face as she climbed in.

“I suppose you already know where I’m going,” she said.

He popped on the SUVs lights, shot off down the road. “Some broadcasting station?”

Savanna warmed her hands in front of the air vents. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to do.”

“Didn’t figure I would.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. The station’s parking lot was deserted. A plow truck had recently scraped off the worst of the snow, allowing black asphalt stripes to show through in places.

Savanna pointed north. “Go around to the back.”

“Is someone meeting you here or are you breaking in?”

“My friend is here.”

Trace didn’t see any other vehicles. “The minute you go on air, you’ll be giving away your location. Let me call in the team. We don’t have to come inside, but at least let us keep an eye out from out here.”

“No.” She hopped out of the SUV. “You have to leave now.”

“Leave?”

“You can’t be here when this goes down, so I’m officially relieving you and Rock Star Security of duty.” Her face was bland, neutral, but her eyes wouldn’t hold his. “Get lost.”

“Savanna—”

Now she met his gaze straight on. “When I go live in a few minutes, your fugitive status will become known to the world. You can’t clear your name from inside a prison cell or if you’re dead. I’m giving this to you. I care about you, too, even after you deceived me. Please don’t throw that back in my face. Take my gift and get out of here.”

With one last, long look, she closed the door and made her way to the back door. The door opened from the inside, a man who must have been waiting and seen the SUV pull up, giving Trace a steely look. He spoke to Savanna as she passed by him. Then he nodded at Trace and closed the door.

Trace banged his hand on the steering wheel.
I care about you, too, even after you deceived me.

Maybe there was still hope for them after this was all said and done.

But only if he kept her alive.

Going back to Witcher was a small price to pay in return.

He touched his comm unit, gave Rory instructions, and cut the SUV’s lights. Then he settled in to watch and wait.

S
AVANNA TOUCHED HER
hair, smoothing back the strands that had come loose from her ponytail. A week ago, she would have never considered going on the air with her hair in such a mess or without makeup. A week ago, she would have never considered sitting at the anchor desk in yoga pants and a T-shirt.

A week ago. Seemed more like a lifetime ago.

“Ready?” The earbud in her ear came to life with Zeb’s voice from the control booth. “I’ve got your computer hooked up and ready to roll. Tap the desk to cue me when you want me to switch to that from your face. Sure you don’t want that second camera moved in to do side takes?”

The public access station had three cameras total. The other two sat in the shadows, out of the way. “That won’t be necessary.” Head-on was how she had to handle this. “Remember, you’re to bug out as soon as you switch the camera back to me. No hanging around. You never saw me, didn’t know I was here. Got it?”

“Don’t you worry about me.”

She
was
worried about him, but he’d been in DC a long time and knew politics like the back of his hand. Fiddling with her phone, she called up the voice recording she had of Trace’s confession and cued it to the part she wanted to air.

“Ready,” she said.
Let’s get this over with
.

The red light on top of the camera blinked as Zeb counted her in. “We’re live in five…four…three…two…”

The camera’s light went green.

“Good morning, America,” Savanna said, falling into newscaster mode. She had no idea who or how many people were up at four in the morning watching public access television, but it didn’t matter. Even a handful of watchers who would talk about it, upload the video to the World Wide Web, start asking questions, would do the trick. “This is Savanna Bunkett coming to you from your local public access broadcasting station, CableNet1Z.

“As creator of
The Bunk Stops Here
, I’ve been on a special undercover assignment that has put my life, and the lives of many others, in great danger. Because of what I have discovered, my platform at my former news station has been stripped from me, an assassin has tried to harm me twice, and this broadcast will no doubt be shut down momentarily by government forces who don’t want the truth to be told.

“So be forewarned. What I’m about to tell you is beyond classified. Beyond top secret. And in the coming moments, they will try to shut me up in one way or another.”

She took a deep breath. The speech she had prepared in her mind was ready to go. She sent one last mental prayer to Parker.
I hope you understand
.

And then she proceeded to tell her sister’s story.

She gave the background. How she’d come across the information, where it had led. When she was ready, she tapped the desk with her finger. The green light went to a pulsing red, letting her know Zeb had switched from her camera to the computer screen, where the details about the patients and outcomes of Project 24 were listed.

Point by point, she walked the viewers through the data listed in the report. Then she got ready for the gold mine sitting at the desk with her.

The camera light once again went green. Savanna cleared her throat. “One of the survivors of Project 24 told me a harrowing tale about what he was expected to do at the order of President Linc Norman. What he discovered, and how he finally realized that the men and women he was sent after to assassinate were innocent people in the president’s game of building super soldiers, will send chills up your spine.”

She turned on the voice recording and let it play. Her voice, asking Trace about what had happened on that final mission was picked up by her mic. She closed her eyes and listened to him respond.

Halfway through the recording, a commotion erupted in the front of the building. A moment later, two men in dark suits rushed in, dodging the lights and other equipment, and heading right for her.

Savanna didn’t run, didn’t even get up. “Don’t let Linc Norman get away with this,” she pleaded at the camera to the American people. “He’s experimented on and killed American soldiers in the name of national defense, but this has nothing to do with protecting Amer—”

The first suit reached her, snatching the phone off the desk and smashing it under his feet. She’d seen him accompany the president before. Secret Service.

The second agent shot the camera,
bam, bam, bam
. Glass exploded, bullets ricocheted off metal. The reverberation caused her to cover her head and duck.

Steel hands clamped onto her arms, hauling her from the chair, then shoving her down on her stomach and knocking her forehead against the floor. Pain exploded above her eyes, her head bouncing from the impact. Her hands were jerked behind her back and handcuffed.