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Chapter Ten

He wanted to walk her to her door, but Everlee acted like she'd rather be alone. So, Shane left her at the apartment complex's secure entry instead of the Dumpster, then walked back to his truck. His ears perked up to catch anything going on around him. He scouted the fenced-in Dumpster enclosure and the back gate as he drove away. No sign of Butch. Good enough.

The next morning's meeting with Doc Fitz and Alex went smoothly. Doc Fitz approved Shane for duty, and he left Molly and Dolly with Harley. He'd packed before driving into work and was ready to travel.

The afternoon before, Mark had explained the ins and outs of TEAM employment: life and health insurance, the investment tracker all agents were automatically signed up for, as well as the on-site gym, medical clinic, the TEAM armory, range certification, and well, everything else. Shane listened, but honestly, he was on information overload by the time Mark finished. TEAM HQ was just too much.

Alex hadn't built just a couple office buildings. He'd also built what resembled an upper-class, fully staffed resort for veterans and a private retreat for handicapped kids, complete with the companionship of well-mannered service dogs and gentle therapy horses. And cats. Lots of friendly cats roamed the property. Guess Maverick's daughter Kyrie ran her own Adopt-A-Kitty program out of the same barn where he kept his horses.

It was a helluva place to work. Helluva TEAM to get to work with. Some of these former snipers were legends. Not only Alex, but Walker Judge, Jameson Tenney, Lee Hart, Adam Torrey, Hunter Christian, Connor Maher, and Eric Reynolds. And those were just some of the guys from the Virginia office who Shane had met.

Hell, there wasn't a TEAM agent he hadn't read up on or heard about at one time or another. They all had bragging rights, but the ones he'd met so far hadn't been smug nor arrogant. Well, except for Alex. But Shane didn't blame the guy. If anything, he and his boss had a scary lot in common, which was disconcerting as hell. Turned out Alex had also joined the Corps straight out of high school. He'd lost his mom early, too, and until he'd met Kelsey, he'd been alone in the world. Just like Shane was now. Yeah, scary.

At the moment, he and Everlee were in transit to DFW International Airport in Dallas/Fort Worth, Texas. A flight attendant came through with a cart of refreshments. Shane accepted a bottled water and a pack of chocolate cookies, but she winked and handed over two more packs of cookies and another water. "We don't see a lot of nice guys like you these days," she murmured. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"It was the right thing to do," he replied quietly. Shane wished she'd drop it. All he'd done was give up his seat to an Army PFC flying standby whose wife was in labor. Understandably, he'd been on pins and needles. Shane only wanted to get the poor guy to wherever he needed to be before he became a father. Being there when your kid was born seemed a lot more important than flying first-class. Staff Sergeant Schnitzler would've done the same thing.

So, now Everlee was sitting by herself in first-class while Shane sat dead last in the plane, back by the rear galley and restrooms. No big deal. He'd flown worse flights.

They were both dressed in look-alike, casual TEAMwear: black cotton-knit polos with the gold TEAM logo embroidered high on their left chests, over black jeans and work boots. Shane wore the only boots he owned, a scuffed pair of dark-brown, composite-toed Ariats he'd gotten at half-price years ago. The soles still had enough cushioning that, at the end of a hard day marching, his feet weren't flat and he wasn't crippled.

Interestingly, Alex hadn't designated either of them to be Agent-in-Charge, which made them equal partners, although Everlee was the take-charge, bossier of the two. Shane didn't mind. He was the newbie, and she wasn't that bossy. He wasn't worried.

As soon as they touched down at Dallas Fort Worth International and deplaned, she handed him her ticket and asked, or more like ordered, him to collect her luggage while she grabbed a rental car. Signage was great at DFW. Shane had both their bags at ground level and on the curb near the taxi stands when his brand-spanking new, ruggedized TEAM cell phone buzzed an incoming.

"Junior Agent Hayes," he answered crisply.

"Listen to you, all professional and everything," Everlee teased.

"Where are you parked?" he asked at the same time he spotted her waving from the sunroof of a shiny red SUV that did not say ‘covert' at all. "Yeah, I see you. Be right there, hotshot."

Shane hoofed it across the one-way shuttle and taxi lanes to the passenger pick-up zone. Leaning across the front seat, Everlee opened the passenger door for him. He loaded their bags onto the rear seat and climbed aboard. "Nice car," he said instead of ‘what the hell were you thinking when you chose this flashing neon sign?'

"I like it," she snapped.

Everlee had that defensive look in her eyes again like she expected a dig and was prepared to fight back. Maybe because that was what her bonehead ex did, criticize and dig at her? Shane had no doubt Butch was behind most of Everlee's angst. He let it go. "I take it you've been to DFW before."

"Yes. Murphy sent Leisha and me into Mexico last year to rescue Heston Contreras and Asher Downey. Man, those guys were glad to see us, but I think two women saving their asses rubbed Heston the wrong way. All that tough Spanish machismo pride, you know." A wide-open grin broke out over Everlee's pretty face. "That was a fun mission," she purred. "He was so upset he didn't talk to me for weeks after we got home."

Shane could've sat there and stared at her for hours. Once he'd gotten past her prickly side, Everlee was another woman altogether. She liked her job, the people she worked with, and it showed.

"Plus, the guys in the office won't let Ash or Hes forget who rescued them. Men." She shook her head and giggled. "Don't they know that anything they can do, us women can do better?"

"Most of the time," Shane agreed. "I don't believe in role assignment, but women shouldn't have to do what an able-bodied man can and should do for her."

Shane now knew that Murphy Finnegan had been chief of the Seattle workforce before Alex consolidated both offices into TEAM HQ in Virginia. Murphy had also hired a more diverse group of agents, fewer Marines. Counting Paige Royal, his secretary, Murphy's team included several women. Everlee was former Air Force, but Murphy was an Army vet from the Vietnam Conflict era. Asher Downey, Heston Contreras, and Leisha Warner were also former Army.

"Oh, yeah?" Everlee asked. "Like what can't I do better than you?"

"Knock a man my size out with one punch," he answered quietly. "Put your fist through rotten wooden walls. Jump from a fifty-foot-tall tree without breaking any bones or spraining your ankles. Walk thirty miles carrying a full ruck, while carrying a wounded buddy, who weighs damned near two hundred pounds. And his gear. In the pouring rain. Shit like that."

"You've done it?"

Shane shrugged. "Had to. Wasn't leaving him behind."

"Where? Afghanistan?"

"No, that time we were in the Hengduan Mountains, in the southern region of Myanmar, near China. He got hung up in his chute when we dropped in. Never accomplished our mission because it turned into rescuing him instead. No big deal."

"Hmmpf," Everlee breathed through her nose. "You might be right."

Might? She seemed determined to prove she was every bit as good as a man. Truth was, in a lot of ways, women were hands down better than most men. Any guy worth his salt knew that. But they were still the fairer, lovelier sex, and Shane hated that she might one day be in a position where some asshat knocked her down or bullied her. Or killed her.

"If Heston's smart, he'll come around. Just takes a while for some of us guys to admit you girls are damned capable." Shane tugged his gear bag over the rear seat, then put it on the floor between his feet and unstrapped it.

There wasn't much room on the floor for the bag and his size thirteen Ariats, but he didn't go anywhere without his pistols, two Smith and Wesson Bodyguards with True-Touch laser that stayed activated as long as his hands were on the grips. All four magazines were loaded with .380 ACP, the popular self-defense cartridge used by law enforcement.

Shane pulled out one pistol after the other from his bag, unlocked the cables that ran through their open slides, down and out their empty magazine wells, and slapped full mags home. While Mark had made sure Shane had the proper federal licenses to carry aboard aircraft, Shane had made certain his weapons were safe to travel. Life was easier when you were a smart gun owner.

"Are you prejudiced?" Everlee shot him a sharp glance as she pulled onto the busy interstate.

Shane shouldered into the double. "Nothing to be prejudiced about. But I do think we're all biased one way or another. Each of us only knows what we know, right? And if you're brought up in a strictly male or female, white or black or brown, or whatever color, household, how can you possibly know how differently other kids and people live or think? Older people tend to be more set in their opinions. That's not a bad thing, it's just the way life was for them when they grew up. Why fight it? Women being in combat-related jobs is a fairly new advancement. I see the pros and cons, but you've got to remember that most moms still teach their sons to be considerate and polite around women. They're raising gentlemen, not knuckle dragging heathens. Like it or not, part of that early parental training means most of us guys are gonna look out for our sisters-in-arms."

She huffed. "I'm no damsel in distress, and it's an outdated mindset."

"It might be, but I was still surprised when I faced off with an armed female recruit after I enlisted. She was a helluva lot tougher than I expected any woman would be. And she was quick as lightning with a pugil stick. Knocked me on my ass a few times."

"I didn't think male and female recruits mingled at Parris Island."

"They don't. This was an off-site competition, and Jessie Krankowski damned near cleaned my plow that night." Shane smiled, remembering Jess. "You'd like her. Jess is a red-haired dynamo and covered with freckles, least as far as I could see through all her protective gear. But I swear, she's more driven to succeed than most male recruits I worked with, probably because of her gender and her family background. She's proud as hell to be following in her father's, mother's, and her grandmother's footsteps. They were all Marines, her grandmother in World War Two. No way could she'd allow herself to fail. And she hasn't. Last I heard, Corporal Jess is now Lieutenant Krankowski, and she's graduated from IOC, Infantry Officer Course. That puts her on track to become one of damned few female USMC infantry platoon commanders. I think she'll do it."

"You sound proud of her."

"I am. Wouldn't mind serving under her, either. She's a ballbuster, but she's as honest as the day is long. You should meet her someday. Where to? Are we dropping our gear off at our hotel now or later?"

"Later. I figured we'd drive by the last known location the FBI had for Bremmer. Case the place, you know?"

"I was hoping you'd say that." Shane loaded the pistols into the leather cups under his arms and slid the extra magazines into his pockets. A six-inch Ka-Bar slipped easily into its boot sheath. The hard knuckle tactical gloves went into the passenger door's side pocket. No sense carrying them if he wasn't walking into a brawl.

Finally geared up enough to feel like himself again, he returned his bag to the rear seat and watched the streets go by. Many were lined with strip malls, Mom and Pop restaurants, gas stations, and convenience stores. In a few miles, those businesses faded into an older residential neighborhood, where elegant brick houses had been set back beyond large, well-kept lawns, trimmed privet hedges, and horseshoe-shaped driveways that took visitors right up to their front doors.

Branches of well-established live oaks bowed over the unmarked asphalt thoroughfares, creating shady tunnels to drive through. No sidewalks. No cars parked on the streets. Not much traffic. Basically, Bremmer lived in a quiet bedroom community, which seemed odd for a black widow who'd killed her husband and children. Unless she was already hunting her next target.

Everlee's glance strayed from left to right as if she too was trying to figure out why a killer would choose this little piece of domestic suburbia. "Does she have family here? Relatives?"

"None that I know of." He'd read the mission brief late last night. For some reason, Shane felt a kinship with the diabolical woman he hadn't yet met. He had no idea why. Bremmer was either a monster or a victim, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, he was the same. Still a victim of his mother's death, also a monster trained by the Corps. Neither by choice, both more through fate. Was that the only difference between Bremmer and him? Would he kill again? Absolutely. Would she? Shane wished he knew that answer.

The information in her file portrayed her as an insignificantly normal teenager until she'd turned sixteen. Tuesday Bremmer had been born Tuesday Smart. She'd been a serious straight-A student, also team captain on her high school volleyball team. But within weeks of her sixteenth birthday, her parents, Ray and Riki Smart, were killed in a one-car traffic accident. Alex had that woman named Mother check over the details of their deaths. Shortly after her parents' joint funeral, Tuesday dropped out of school and disappeared from her hometown of Duluth, Minnesota. Didn't surface again until she'd married millionaire Frederick Lamb in a lavish ceremony at The Hamptons and moved into his NYC penthouse. Where she had allegedly killed him.

"You've read her brief," Shane assumed. "How do you think a sixteen-year-old even met a man forty-two years her senior? They couldn't have traveled in the same circles, not some big shot from New York City and a kid from Minnesota."

"The brief didn't go into that much detail, but who knows how these types think? Freddie could've been a friend of the family or one of her dad's business associates. Maybe that's all their marriage was, a way for Bremmer to get out of town and get herself into the lap of luxury. I mean, what's worse, living unknown and alone in Podunk, Minnesota, for the rest of your life or whooping it up on the arm of a good-looking millionaire? Especially one so much older."

"I take it you've read the media reports included with the brief then."

"Yeah, lots of speculation, and everyone's got an opinion, but no real proof of anything, anywhere. No personal interviews with Bremmer, either. At least one would've been nice," Everlee answered. She'd slowed the arrest-me-red SUV into the curb on the opposite side of the street from where Bremmer allegedly lived. A for-sale sign marked SOLD dominated the middle of her front yard, but the place didn't look vacant, and the yard was too well-kept if it were. The home's owners were listed as Val and Sharlett Coogan; their real estate agent marketed himself as Dan-the-Man Greenberg. But the lawn had recently been trimmed, and the flowerbeds were full of pink and yellow flowers.

"Damn, this place is a little too Ozzie and Harriet for a killer like Bremmer, don't you think?" Everlee asked.

"She could be in the process of buying. She's rich enough. Let's sit and watch a while. Keep the car running and the a/c on. Springtime in Texas can make sitting in a parked vehicle uncomfortable. No sense sweating if we don't have to."

"Good call." Everlee put the SUV in PARK but kept it idling.

Shane leaned forward to look past her at the house in question. He had to admit, it was homier than he'd expected. Maybe the Addams Family mansion would have served her better?

They sat in front of the house for three hours and did nothing but make small talk and watch the grass grow. While there was little more activity from Bremmer's neighbors and their families as the hours dragged by, there was absolutely no sign of life inside her house. No one came or went. Not even the mailman. There were no Amazon or UPS deliveries, either.

"She could be in the wind," Everlee murmured. "She's smart enough, probably knew we were coming and took off."

Everlee had grown restless, and Shane didn't blame her. Most people couldn't sit still for very long. But then, most people weren't trained snipers hunting their latest high-value target. "True. Or she could be hiding in plain sight and we just haven't spotted her yet."

"She's got balls if she is," Everlee said to her side window. "But I guess a woman smart enough to kill two husbands and her kids would know how to get away with murder."

"She hasn't gotten away with anything yet."

"Hmmpf," Everlee breathed again.

Bremmer's brick home was older, built generations earlier when porches were large, wide-open places where families gathered at the end of the day, where neighbors paused for gossip or company. Two white rocking chairs made the place look inviting and lived in, although Shane suspected they might have been added for curb appeal. Bright yellow daffodils danced along the front walk, all the way from the curb to the wooden porch steps. There were no sidewalks in this neighborhood, just plenty of green between the homes.

Both Bremmer's steps and porch were built of wide wooden planks, and from where Shane sat, the lumber looked like stained redwood. No fancy gingerbread gables adorned the eaves. The window frames were modern aluminum, not old-fashioned wood. Just clean lines and minimal upkeep everywhere. He kept his eyes on the curtained, multi-paned picture windows at each side of the front entry. The sheer panels to the left of the door fluttered at the far right, lower corner. Probably a nearby vent creating the subtle disturbance in the air, but it gave him something to look at.

They'd landed at DFW at three pm. By six-thirty, the spring sun had set and the curtain was still moving. Not regularly. Just often enough to make Shane suspicious. There were no lights on inside, but there was only one way to make sure Bremmer wasn't home.

"I'm going in," he told Everlee. "I'll take the front. You take the back. Head her off if she bolts."

"You bet," Everlee replied as she tried to grab her gear bag, the black one with three gray smiling skulls across the front flap, from the rear seat.

"Here, let me get that for you."

"I can take care of myself."

"But my arm's longer, and you can't reach it."

"Well, yeah, there is that," she finally admitted when she couldn't extend her arm or fingers any farther. "Okay, all right. You're right this time, Hayes, but I'm no pansy. I pull my own weight."

"Never said you didn't." He couldn't resist the smile that tweaked his lips.

"I open my own car doors, too." She seemed determined he understood that.

"Yup, got it." Shane took firm hold of her bag, lifted it into the front, and set it on her lap, then waited while she armed herself. He was impressed. The woman carried a damned nice Sig Sauer, P365 Nitron Micro-Compact pistol, and judging by how adeptly she checked the chamber and chambered a round, she knew how to use it. A weapon that small would never fit his hand. Maybe two fingers, but it fit Everlee's palm like it'd been made for her. Pushing back into her seat, she tucked it into an inner pants holster just left of her centerline, which made it easy for her to reach with her right hand when needed, then bloused her polo over the barely noticeable bulge. No one would guess she was carrying unless they knew where to look.

"How's the ankle?"

"Fine," she snapped, her door opened and one boot already on the street. "You ready, Hayes?"

Shane took that for the shut-up-and-mind-your-business it was. "You bet. Let's go meet our suspect."

"Soft entry or hard?" Soft meant knock, approach politely with care. Hard meant break and enter with surprise, speed, and force.

"Soft," he replied. "No sense starting a war. I'll just tell her my car stalled and ask if I can use her phone to call roadside service. Only I'll call you. Sound good?"

"Yeah, let's get this done. I'd like to be on our way home by morning."

That word, home, caught in Shane's throat. He ducked his head in response but wondered if that was what Virginia truly was. It had been home once. Could it be again?

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