Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

“ H ey, hey. She's not dead, luv.” Truman's voice sounded far away, Emma’s whole world shrinking to that. She couldn't see, couldn't hear, could only feel. “Emma, your mum is alive."

The words finally hit her brain, and she hiccupped on a cry, lifting her head from his chest. "What?"

“She's injured and in the ICU. There's a guard on her to make sure no one finishes the job.”

He helped her stand and pointed at the screen. She brushed the tears from her eyes, trying to bring the words into focus. Her vision was blurring, and she was shaking so hard that she thought she might lose her balance.

But Truman steadied her, placing his front to her back. A wall. A shield.

The details were scarce—her mother had been on laundry duty, and someone had tried to slice her neck. Had sliced her neck but missed her carotid.

She’d lost blood, but someone had gotten to her in time to save her. She was unconscious and couldn't name her assailant, but someone was in custody.

Truman scrolled through all three of them again, and she could tell he was logging details. Her brain was such a mess that she couldn't reread what little there was.

She’d dropped the soda can, and the contents dribbled onto the floor and spread across the cheap linoleum.

Reminding her of blood.

He closed out that file and touched a second. Her legs felt too weak. Even with his support, she was afraid she couldn't stand any longer. She staggered to a kitchen chair and sat.

As she tried to get her wits about her, relieved that her mother was alive but still fearing for her survival, he switched to the third and last folder, quickly reading through its information.

His body tensed. He pulled back, then leaned in and read whatever it was again.

Emma’s pulse echoed in her ears. If only she could contact her mother. Go to the hospital and see her.

That was out of the question. She couldn't even call her.

Of course, at this point, her mum was unconscious. She wouldn't know Emma was there anyway.

Who had done this and why? The Mastermind?

Truman disconnected the USB. He pocketed it without looking at her and stepped around the spilled beverage. “Time to go to the park. Are you up for it?"

She stood on wobbly legs. She had a dozen questions, but they would have to wait. "Yes."

By the time they reached the car, they were drenched. Without a word, he drove out of their hiding place and down the gravel road to the highway. She buckled her seatbelt and held on.

The small park was located in a quiet suburban neighborhood. They stopped three blocks away and ran to the entrance, splashing in puddles that gathered on the sidewalks. Truman positioned her in a tower with an attached slide, the enclosed space nearly too small for her without turning herself into a pretzel. The advantage, besides a roof over her head, was it came with a perfect line of sight of the dead drop.

He was quiet and on edge. Carrying the designated phone wrapped in plastic, he left her to hurry through the playground equipment. Swinging his head back and forth, the night vision goggles in place, he searched for unwanted visitors.

He must not have seen any. He stopped at a waste receptacle along the footpath and removed the container’s plastic bag. He chucked it behind some bushes before he placed the phone inside the can and returned the cover. He raced back to the tower and squeezed in beside her.

Adding his six-foot-plus frame meant she was pinned to the wall. He lifted her so she sat in his lap, his chin resting on her shoulder while they watched through the small portal of a window for Gani.

Their breaths mingled in the damp air, their sodden clothes smelling of rain and earth. Pressed against him, she felt herself unravel from the earlier news, her brain shaking off the shock to process what had happened.

“Is it the Mastermind?” she whispered. “Is he the one behind Marco and Rena’s deaths?”

“Probably.” His lips pressed to her ear, sending a delicious shiver down her neck. “But let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.”

Mum is still alive . She kept repeating it in her head. “He’s going to try again. My mother isn’t safe.”

“She’s safer where she is right now than where she was. Brigit and her team are looking out for her.”

“Brigit and her team ? I thought you were her team.”

“I used to be. Now, she has the power of the CIA behind her.”

She couldn’t wrap her head around it. “Why would they help us?”

He was about to answer when movement caught his attention. “We’ve got company.”

A figure in dark clothes neared the public waste can. They wore a navy blue slicker with the hood up. Hunched over from the rain, they moved quickly.

The solar lights along the path reflected off tan skin, turning it sallow. The tip of a nose and thick lips were barely visible above a turned-up collar.

“That’s her,” she whispered. Gani had a distinctive duck walk and ‘bedroom lips,’ as Marco had always called them.

The woman dipped a hand in and brought out the wrapped phone. She jogged a few feet down the path and disappeared behind a row of young trees.

Truman was instantly up and shifting Emma. He sent her down the slick, wet metal of the slide, and her feet hit the ground a second before he rammed into her back.

She left out an “oof,” but he had her up and running before she could catch her breath.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. She was certain more than once that they’d lost her. The first time in the park on foot. The next, in the car, weaving through suburbia.

Because of the storm, traffic was light, but there was enough that Truman could follow closely without giving them away. Half an hour later, while they were still keeping pace a few cars back, Emma's phone rang. She looked at him, and he gave her a nod.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her nerves, putting the call on speakerphone. “Hello?”

A familiar voice came after a long pause. "Sorry to hear about your mum, kid," Gani said. The sounds of her car engine and the rain filtered through her end. “Now I know why she wanted me to look after you. I assumed she was worried that you were in danger, but I think she knew that she was."

Truman had given her a script to use, but Emma squeezed her eyes shut, the pressure building behind them at the thought of her mum all alone in the ICU. The suppressed tears clogged her throat, making her next words come out choked. “Are you all right? Are you safe?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm legit now. I'm not involved with that stuff anymore."

Truman continued to trail the woman, but his gaze slid to Emma, willing her to get back on script. She focused on the phone and steadied herself. “I went legit, too, but… Things didn't go the way I expected."

"They never do, do they? It's hard to leave that life behind."

"But I did. Honest. Someone planted the royal ring on me, and now they’ve got my dad mixed up in the Bradshaw diamond theft. I had nothing to do with either. I'm afraid”—her voice wavered and she cleared her throat—“I’m afraid of what they’ll do to him.” She waited half a beat, hoping Gani might offer an opinion. When she didn't, Emma continued. "Do you think it's the Mastermind? That he's behind all of this?”

Gani hissed and then didn’t respond for so long that Emma worried the connection had broken. Had she hung up on her?

The storm raged, the rain pelting the windows and reducing visibility to nothing. Emma peeked at Truman, who gripped the steering wheel so hard she feared it might break.

“Gani?” she finally ventured. “Are you there?”

“Look, kid, I want to help, but this is hairy business. Don’t stir things up, or you’ll make it worse for your mum and the others.”

Emma’s stomach dropped. Was she the cause of the attacks? Had her escapade with Truman caused the Mastermind to panic and sentence Marco and Rena to death? “Why?”

“You’re playing with fire. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up burned, just like they are.”

“I need to find my dad,” Emma protested. “And my mum is vulnerable—she can’t even defend herself right now. I have to find a way to help them both.”

“The only way to do that is to drop it. Disappear. There’s nothing you can do for them, Loren.”

Hearing her true first name, she wanted to throw the phone. Loren Emma Owens Grant. Who was she anymore?

She was no shrinking violet, that’s who. “Tell me who’s behind it. I know you know.”

“I can’t.”

“Not even for Catherine?”

The woman’s sigh was loud enough to drown out the other noises. “You don’t understand.”

“So you don’t know who the Mastermind is, or you’re turning your back on me after everything my mother did to save your ass from prison?”

Another tense silence. Emma glanced at Truman but he was stoic, giving nothing away.

“I saw him once, okay? The Mastermind. But I don’t know who he is. That’s how your mother wanted it.”

“To protect you.” Emma grasped for the only straw left. “Could you ID him if you saw him again?”

She didn’t answer. Truman made a turn and Emma lost sight of Gani's car. He pulled next to a curb, where the block opened to a wider one. She spotted Gani’s vehicle go past. Truman picked her up once more, keeping one street over.

“Gani, I swear, do this for me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“I want to help you, kid, but I can’t.”

The vehicle pulled into a parking lot next to a deserted retail building. She cut the engine. Truman parked down the street behind a minivan.

Emma hated being the bad guy. Always had. But this was her family, and whatever loyalty she’d felt for Gani evaporated when she thought about her missing father and her unconscious mother lying in that hospital bed. “ID the Mastermind for me, or I’ll turn you in.”

“Kid,” Gani said in a chastising voice. “You’ll be sealing your own death warrant if you do that.”

“That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.” She threw in an extra threat that was a total lie to top it off. “I have the paperwork Mum kept on every job. I can hand it over to the Feds tonight.”

The following pause dripped with disappointment. “You’ve changed,” Gani said.

“Jail time does that to you,” she replied.

“I don’t know his name,” Gani insisted. “But I can give you a description: He had short, dark hair and was about five foot ten. He wore dirty, soiled clothes like a street person.”

Truman rolled his eyes. That could describe half of DC and the surrounding suburbs.

“That’s not much to go on,” Emma said, defeated.

“He was in a wheelchair, and he had this knitted scarf with Britain’s colors. I heard him whistling when he went to pick up the drop—it was an Adele song.”

Truman’s gaze snapped to the phone.

“Wheelchair?” Emma asked. “The Mastermind has no use of his legs and likes Adele? That’s still not enough, Gani.”

“Kid, that’s all I’ve got.”

Truman grabbed the phone and hit the mute button. “Ask her if she’ll meet you at the Dancing In The Moonlight Club, two a.m., to look at some photos.”

He tapped the button again. Emma nodded and repeated the request. “Please, Gani. For my mum.”

A huff and a sigh. “Fine. Two a.m. Come alone.”

Emma said goodbye and disconnected. “Think she’ll show?”

Truman ruffled her hair, but his smile lacked its usual punch. “You did good, kid .”

She smacked his hand away and smoothed her wet and now mussed hair.

“While I’d love to return to the farmhouse, get out of these disgusting clothes, and get you naked,” he said, staring out the rain-drenched windshield, “we’re going to stay put and keep an eye on her.”

The implication of why made her tired all over again. “You think she’ll run?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Was my threat too much?”

“Nah.” He flipped on the wipers, clearing the glass enough for them to watch Gani exit her car and race for a set of stairs that led to a second-floor apartment. She disappeared inside, and a light came on behind a curtained window. “It was a nice touch, actually. You got some good intel from her.”

It was obvious that he wanted to make her feel better about the exchange. “If she doesn’t run, what photos am I going to show her?”

His fake smile disappeared. “I’ll handle that when it’s time.” His fingers flew over the keypad, a crease forming between his brows.

“Are you texting someone?”

“Yep.”

“Who?” He didn’t answer. “Brigit?”

“I wish. The Feds will be monitoring her phone, probably her husband’s as well.”

“Can they do that? I mean, he’s the director or whatever of the CIA. Won’t they get in trouble?”

“Only if he catches them.” He looked up to reassure her. “Technically, the Bureau is a law enforcement organization, and they can investigate CIA employees, so they’re within their legal rights, but I doubt they want Michael Stone pissed at them.”

“Brigit will get into trouble if they discover she’s helping us.”

"We won't let that happen."

“What did those other files contain? You've been different ever since you read them."

“The Feds have already overstepped their boundaries with Stone. They bugged his house."

Her mouth hung open. "Are you kidding me? Why?"

He waggled a finger between them, then read an incoming reply to his text. "Because of us. Because of my relationship with Brigit. She was under suspicion of helping us even before she actually did. Which, knowing her, is exactly why she's helping us now.”

She laughed. "I like her better and better all the time."

He stared at his phone, pensive. The crease between his brows deepened.

“What is it? It's bad news, isn't it?" Her stomach gave a flip. "Is my mum…?"

His gaze jerked up to hers. "No. It's not about her. As far as I know, she's still in ICU.”

She blew out a relieved breath. “Something else is wrong, then."

The crease disappeared. “Dolan, that wanker, is giving me a hard time, that's all. Nothing for you to worry about."

So why did she feel even more uneasy?