Chapter Twenty-seven

Washington, D.C.

Friday morning

He said, "How are you feeling this morning? Any bruises, sore places, pulled muscles?"

"A bit sore here and there, nothing aspirin couldn't handle. How about you?"

He shot her a grin. "Nothing a shot of whiskey couldn't handle. How'd you sleep? Any nightmares?"

Rome said, "Nah, no nightmares. I slept okay, thanks to that finger of whiskey I drank down before I went to bed." He put on his blinker, smoothly passed a Tesla. "Here's an update on the two guys out to do bad things to us last evening: I checked an hour ago and none of the local ERs, clinics, physician's offices, or pharmacies have reported a man paying them a visit with a gunshot wound. The SUV is still missing. As for the guy's rifle that went flying out the window, it was an SR-47. We'll know soon about fingerprints and DNA."

"Do you think the man I shot could be dead?"

"It's possible. If not, it's likely his partner patched him up. He could have been wounded himself."

"Yes, that's right. I figured the weight and the power wouldn't hurt. How'd you know about the Rubicon name?"

"Hurley was talking about it. He was considering buying one. How did you get it so fast?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Well, that's the same everywhere, isn't it?"

"Maybe. Just wait, Palmer, all will be revealed."

"What are you doing?"

"And that's what you want?"

"Yep. We're hoping to use it against them."

"But—"

"Patience, Palmer, patience."

She came down beside him. "It doesn't look like the tracker Hurley showed me. This one's bigger and more obvious."

"So they came and put a tracker on your car, but they didn't break into your house and try to kill you?"

"Come on, Rome. What are you guys planning?"

Elizabeth looked over at three agents exiting their cars and headed for the elevators. She waited until they were out of hearing. "I already told everyone who'd listen I was perfectly ready to be bait, to be the tethered goat. Let them track us, let them take another chance at me. I assume the next time you guys will have me covered."

"Yes, of course." Rome studied her face a moment. "You're sure? You're that confident we can keep you safe?"

"I'm sure."

"Yeah, that's what I do, moron." She clipped his muscular arm with her fist and took another sugar cookie.

Elizabeth laughed. "Royce it is." He was tall, with a poster-square jaw, and buff as a lifeguard even though he had to be in his mid-forties. He'd probably demolish her in a minute in the ring. Elizabeth realized Agent Royce King couldn't seem to look away from her mouth, but it wasn't about kissing her. He was watching her talk. Funny how fascinated some Americans were with her accent. She grinned at him. "I suppose we could give it a try in the ring when this is over. Hurley did teach me Krav Maga."

Elizabeth said, "Alas, my family doesn't own half of London, and you're right, it doesn't make sense. But I'm told terrorists don't give up on revenge."

King snorted out a laugh.

"There are lots of cars, weaving in and out, like a deck of cards getting shuffled."

King called out, "Elizabeth, if you're bored and want to talk out loud again—you can say anything, doesn't matter—I just want to hear you talk. Hey, I might let you beat me at Krav Maga."

The noise was deafening, scattering the cows beneath it.

Rome said, "The helicopter isn't like any I've ever seen before. Three rotors, looks ancient. It's slewing left and right, looks clumsy, like the pilot's having trouble controlling it. A man's leaning out the open passenger side, holding what looks like an AK-47. He's going to use it. Get ready, guys. Elizabeth, stay down."