Chapter 7

Steven Sauers snatched his suitcase out of the taxi driver's hand, waved off the porter heading toward him, and stalked into Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Both the idiocy of those he protected and the savvy of those he supervised had jeopardized his footing.

Even with a pacemaker, or perhaps because of it, his heart pounded unnaturally fast as he rolled his carry-on straight toward the international travel wing. On this Wednesday morning, the airport was crammed with holiday travelers. How I detest public transportation.

Owning his own jet, Steven normally avoided milling with ordinary people. But flying out of the country on his private jet was what Drake Ellis expected him to do, so here he was.

Oh yes, with a little probing, Steven had discovered that a mere public corruptions section chief in CID was on a mission to expose the Centurion mole. Ellis's involvement with the McKenzie Jones fiasco down in Myrtle Beach last month had told Steven who his nemesis was. He might have just killed off the man, but who else knew what Ellis knew?

He'd told his wife he was leaving on a business trip. Armed with a passport identifying him as a German American and wearing a convincing disguise, which he had donned in the bathroom of the cinema near his home, Steven was confident he could escape to Iceland. He hadn't become executive assistant director of the CCRSB by being stupid.

Arriving at the queue for international travel, Steven double-checked his false mustache. He had left his cell phone behind so no one could have followed him here. He was nearly in the clear.

The line kept him shuffling continuously closer to baggage check. Soon it was time to unlace his shoes. As he did so, Steven spared a thought for the life he was leaving behind. One thing was certain: He wouldn't miss his frigid wife. His dog, his fishing boat, and the power he'd enjoyed as The Architect—those he was loath to leave behind. Not to worry. He had enough money in his Swiss bank account to buy himself a pack of dogs and a fleet of boats, so why waste time being sentimental?

At last, it was his turn. Just one more hurdle and then he'd be home free. Iceland offered asylum to just about anyone willing to pay for it. Steven laid his carry-on atop the conveyor belt, slipped off his shoes, hauled off his belt, and laid the latter next to his suitcase. His favorite watch went inside a plastic bowl.

Following the plump woman in front of him, he shuffled forward toward the metal detector in his socks.

Perhaps he was leaving the country prematurely. None of the Centurion elite could name him, after all, not even Ashton Ravenel, who'd sent him a ridiculous sum via the dark web to avoid going down the drain with Jones. What an idiot that man was thinking The Architect would protect him indefinitely. In fact, Steven had used Ravenel to discover who in CID suspected him. How much could Drake Ellis really have by way of evidence against him?

Even so, it was best to vanish while he could.

Nudging the woman in front of him, Steven impelled her toward the metal detector before the TSA agent even waved her over.

Then he'd be next. In just seconds, he'd be on his way to Reykjavík.

A whispered conversation between the TSA agents ahead of him kept his pulse erratic. The larger of the two men studied the line of passengers while consulting a printout in his hand. Steven's skin tightened. They won't recognize me.

Sensing a commotion behind him, he looked back and gasped. It couldn't be!

But it was. Drake Ellis, in the company of five FBI agents, all in their signature blue windbreakers with the gold lettering were casing the line of passengers, moving ever nearer. Impossible! How could anyone have known he was leaving town? His wife was the only one he'd told.

Oh, that witch!

Averting his gaze, he assumed a placid expression while counting on his disguise to avoid detection.

"Next."

Steven stepped eagerly toward the metal detector. With a cold sweat beading his brow, he ducked through it. As the machine beeped, the large, dark-skinned TSA agent barred his escape. "Sir, do you have metal in your body?"

Steven cursed him silently. "Pacemaker." Just hurry. Let me out of here.

Ellis whipped his head toward the sound of Steven's voice. He gulped. Oh, no.

The TSA agent was pulling him aside. "I'll have to pat you down."

Ellis barked across the scant distance between them. "FBI. Seize that man!"

A meaty hand closed around Steven's elbow.

People screamed and ducked as the blue jackets elbowed their way through the crowd toward him.

Ellis was the first to confront him, his green eyes mocking. "Steven Sauers, you're under arrest for the deliberate concealment of evidence pertaining to the crimes of the Centurion Cohort, for conspiracy to commit murder, and for extortion."

Steven feigned bafflement along with a German accent. "You have me confused with someone else." He caught the eye of the TSA agent. "My name is Hans Steuben. May I take out my passport now?"

The TSA agent shrugged. "Go ahead."

Before he could reach for his passport, Ellis seized the corner of Steven's fake moustache and yanked. It came off, along with a patch of artificial skin. Witnesses gasped in one accord. Denial kept Steven numb.

"Like I said." Wresting him from the TSA agent, Ellis whipped him around. "You're under arrest."

Steven resisted only to find himself bent over the luggage scanner, his feet kicked apart, his arms twisted painfully behind him. His own carry-on suitcase whacked him in the back of the head before Ellis hauled him upright.

Indignation exploded in him. "I'll have you fired for this, Ellis! You'll be sleeping on the streets, living on food stamps by the time I'm done with you!"

To his chagrin, those who heard his vociferations only chuckled. He was prodded away from the crowd, surrounded by a phalanx of FBI and TSA agents.

"We'll read you your rights on the way to jail."

Meeting Ellis's confident smirk, Steven tasted dread for the first time.

Well, this might really be the end.

* * *

Miles turned into his mother's driveway after three weeks away. As he neared the garage, the beams of his Acura slid over a familiar Volvo XC90 parked in the driveway, nearly bringing him to a halt. What was he doing here? Dad hadn't stepped foot in the old family home since storming out two years earlier.

Miles parked in the garage next to his mother's reliable Honda. As the large door rumbled shut behind him, he wondered if his father had picked up Maggie from the airport and brought her over. That would only make sense if his sister flew in for Thanksgiving a day early.

Maybe his father was here for him. Maybe he had an update on the Centurion roundup. Steven Sauers, hoping for perks at his cushy federal prison, was throwing every Centurion elite he'd ever protected under the bus. Maybe McKenzie could leave Witness Protection sooner rather than later.

Reenergized by that prospect, Miles hastened into the house with his suitcase. His assignment in Freeport was finally over, thank God. Every time he saw a yacht, he thought of McKenzie's close call with Ravenel and ached for her company.

The aroma of pecan pie wafted toward him as he emerged from the mudroom into the kitchen, coming face-to-face with his parents who stood in awkward silence.

His mother, wearing an orange apron dusted in flour, lit up to see him. Petite, with short chestnut hair and brown eyes, she looked nowhere near her fifty-four years.

"Miles, I'm so glad you're back." She approached him to kiss his cheek. "How was the trip?"

All Miles heard was the forced levity in her voice. He focused on his father. "Why are you here?"

His father blinked at the rather confrontational question, then leaned back against the counter, making himself at home. "Good to see you, too, Son. Congrats on your Freeport assignment."

"Thanks." Miles glanced at his mother to gauge whether she needed him to eject his father out of the house by force—not that he could. She looked flustered but not necessarily in need of rescue. In fact, all kinds of emotions were showing in her flushed face.

He looked back at his father. "So what's the latest with the Centurion shakedown?"

Dad sent him a satisfied smile. "I'm glad you asked. Given Sauers's testimony, we've built cases against twelve former Centurions, and we've already won six of them."

Only half? "What about Ravenel?" The last Miles had heard, McKenzie's kidnapper had never gone to trial, his charges having been dismissed by the local judge who, Dad found out later, was an old fraternity brother of Ravenel's.

"His time is coming." Dad seemed to have shaken off his disappointment. "Lucky for us, his original trial never aired. With Sauers's cooperation, we've recovered the evidence he deleted in the first place, and a new trial's set to take place just before Christmas."

That was the good news? Defeat knuckled Miles, draining his energy. Abandoning his suitcase, he dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. Maybe Ravenel would go to jail by Christmas, but what about the other six Centurion elite? How long would it take to put them away?

To his surprise, his father stepped up to him. "I hate to see you like this, especially around Thanksgiving." He dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Miles didn't know what to say to that.

His mother made an exasperated sound. "Oh, just tell him already!"

Miles looked up. "Tell me what?" Possibilities jumped into his mind. "Is McKenzie okay? Did something happen to her?"

Dad shook his head. "No, Son." Then he raised his voice. "Karima, come on in here, dear."

Who the heck?

Furtive footfalls approached the kitchen from the living room. Miles took in the petite woman wearing a hijab over her black hair and holding a measuring tape. His heart skipped a beat. The outfit, the black hair, and the heavy eye makeup couldn't disguise the familiar contours of the woman's pretty face. "McKenzie!" As she grinned at him, he shot out of his chair, crossed the room in two strides, and engulfed her in a hug.

"Miles." She buried her face against his neck, unable to say more.

Glancing back at his father, Miles was surprised to see a sentimental smile on his face.

"It's Thanksgiving tomorrow." Dad shrugged. "I wanted to give you something to be thankful for."

"Oh, so…" The hope that McKenzie had left WITSEC for good shriveled and died. "This is temporary."

"That depends."

"On what?"

As his hope winged upward, McKenzie released him to wipe the tears from her face. "Just listen, Miles."

"Listen to what?" He eyed his father in earnest.

"A case crossed my desk a week ago that didn't exactly fit our criteria for investigation. An American national is smuggling exotic pets out of Africa, using a port in Morocco and his own boats."

"Morocco?" That was where Maggie worked.

"I decided CID would take the case, and I talked Higgins into going with my plan."

Miles held his breath. "And your plan is?"

"You're going to Morocco to investigate this smuggler, and McKenzie's going with you. That way you can be together while we tie up loose ends. What do you think?"

"Hah!" With an incredulous laugh, Miles met McKenzie's shining eyes before sweeping her off her feet and turning full circle with her. How ironic that he'd considered hiding with her in Morocco in the first place. And building a case against some scumbag trafficking in exotic pets was right up his alley, but…He stopped and met his mother's damp gaze. "But I'd have to leave Mom all alone here."

"Pfft." Karen Ellis gestured grandly. "Are you kidding? I'll be just fine. I couldn't be happier for you both."

Her overly bright response didn't fool him. She would be lost without him.

His father spoke up. "I'll look in on your mother, Son. You don't need to worry about her."

As Mom shot Dad a startled look, Miles scoffed at the offer. "Um…you've ignored her for two years."

His mother turned a warning glance in his direction. "Don't go there, Miles. I do not need looking after by either of you. But there is something you should do before taking off to Morocco, honey." She eyed McKenzie fondly. "You should marry McKenzie first, this weekend while Maggie's here."

Miles's head spun. Marry? This weekend?

Noting McKenzie's tentative smile, this plan had been suggested to her already. Miles's incredulity gave way to excitement. Well, why not? He'd wanted to marry her since first laying eyes on her.

But he wasn't about to let his parents deprive him of a proper proposal. Dropping to one knee, he gazed up at McKenzie's expectant expression. "What do you think, Angel? Will you marry me and not just because you want to escape to Morocco?"

Tears of joy sparkled in her light-green eyes. "Yes, Miles. I would go to Antarctica if it meant staying with you."

He grinned. "Then we'll do it."

A stifled sound wrested his attention to his mother, who'd covered her lips with her fingertips. "Sorry. I'm just overjoyed," she smiled through her tears, "and a little overwhelmed. I'd better call Reverend Miller to see if he's available this weekend. Now, where'd I put my phone?" She whirled away in search of it.

Miles pushed to his feet. "Sorry I don't have a ring for you." Holding up her hand, he noted the tape measure she still clutched. "What's that for?"

"Oh." She laughed at herself. "I'm going to paint a mural in the living room for your mother before we take off."

"You paint murals?" Gosh, there was so much about her he had yet to learn.

"I do. I studied visual arts in college."

"Well, that part I know."

"And I hope to paint murals for a living."

The determined lift of her chin made him love her even more. "You can do anything you want to, McKenzie. The world is your oyster."

"Especially after Ravenel goes to jail."

Miles frowned at his father for reminding them. But then he realized McKenzie wouldn't be here at this moment if it weren't for his section chief. Nor would Miles be marrying her and spending the next few months in Morocco with her. He would have been alone and miserable. So…

Releasing McKenzie for the moment, he stepped toward his father and offered his hand. "Thanks, Dad. Really." You're not the heartless jerk I thought you were.

Given the wry twist of his father's lips, Dad could tell what Miles was thinking. He shook his hand firmly. "Just do me a favor, Son."

"Okay." Miles braced himself.

"Don't let your work ruin your marriage. Your wife comes first. Remember that."

Out of the corner of his eye, Miles saw his mother appear at the door holding her cell phone. Her wide brown eyes were fastened on Dad. "Um, Reverend Miller says he can marry you two on Saturday evening. Does that sound good? Maggie will still be here, which is perfect. Can we invite anyone else, Drake? Close friends? Neighbors?"

"Mmm." Dad didn't seem too keen on the idea. "Let's limit it to ten people we trust implicitly."

Karen nodded. "Okay. And you'll be there, too, right?"

"Of course." He seemed offended she would even ask.

Stunned by his changing circumstances, Miles met McKenzie's expectant gaze. "You sure you want to marry me in three days? That doesn't feel rushed?"

The dimples in her cheeks flashed. "I've wanted to marry you for the past three years, Miles."

"Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't seem so spontaneous." A thought occurred to him. "Wait, do you even have a current passport?"

She flicked a glance at his father. "Yes, under my alias, Karima Anderson. Supposedly, my mother was Moroccan."

Huh. Miles glanced back at his father. He had obviously planned their exodus a while ago. "So…am I marrying Karima or McKenzie?"

"McKenzie, of course. The passport is just a safety measure. Once you're in Morocco, you can call her by her real name." Dad's gaze rested warmly on the pair of them. "Well," he seemed to recollect himself, "I'd better get going. You're safe with Miles, McKenzie."

She abandoned Miles to intercept Drake's path. "Thank you so much for everything, Mr. Ellis."

"Drake, please. Or even, Dad." He hugged her like he meant it.

Miles thought for a second McKenzie might cry. As she fought for composure, he viewed his father through her eyes. Compared to Jared Jones, Drake Ellis was a superhero. Maybe Miles had misjudged him.

"Hey, uh, Dad," he heard himself offer, "why don't you join us all for Thanksgiving tomorrow?"

In his peripheral vision, he saw his mother swing around with the phone to her ear. Her gaze locked with his, and Miles could tell his offer had freaked her out, but he wasn't about to recall it.

His father shrugged. "Sure. What time?"

"Well, I'm picking up Maggie at the airport at eleven, so let's say one o'clock? Maggie will be glad to see you." His mother had turned away to talk on her cell phone.

Dad glanced her way. "All right. If you're sure I'm not imposing."

"No, no. It's the least we can do, after all you've done for McKenzie and me. Thank you."

McKenzie echoed his words. "Yes, thank you, Dad."

His father's visage softened at the appellation. "Well. See you tomorrow, then. I'll bring a centerpiece." As he stepped out of the home's front door, Dad sent one more glance at his estranged wife before closing the door behind him.

Was that yearning in his father's eyes? Miles turned thoughtfully toward McKenzie. By the grace of God, they were finally together and would stay that way. If God could do that for them, perhaps He could heal the rift between Miles's parents.