Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) (26 page)

“Huh?”

“Yeah,
that’s what I said. Apparently they put him in a conference room, yelled at
him, then left him alone. He wandered out a few minutes later.”

Isabelle
chewed her cheek. “Any idea why they were kidnapped?”

“Well,
get this. The guy they found here is Christopher Jones.”

Isabelle’s
eyebrows leapt. “Seriously? The dude running for President?”

“Yup.
And between you, me and the lamppost, he’s got my vote. ’Bout time someone
stood up to the Rooskies.”

“Damned
straight,” agreed Salinger. “I’d vote for the guy too. My problem is I think
he’s too good to be true. Something’s gotta come out at some point, it always
does.”

Isabelle
looked at Salinger. “I never realized you were so cynical.”

He
shrugged. “You just gotta get to know me.”

She
looked at Labelle. “So young and already so jaded.”

The
silver-haired Labelle pushed his lips out, nodding. “You should hear my teenage
son. The entire world is run by some secret organization of one-percenters that
controls the government, police and courts for their own benefit.” He grunted.
“In my day one-percenters were bikers, not Wall Street.”

“Now
that’s a rumble I’d pay to see,” grinned Isabelle, the three of them laughing.

One of
the Secret Service Agents stepped forward and she held up a hand, stopping him.
He didn’t look pleased. She turned her back on him. “Anything else I need to
know?”

Labelle
shook his head. “We’re still canvasing both areas. We haven’t turned up
anything here but are pulling the security camera footage. We’ve got lots of
cellphone footage of the shootout, but I think that’s pretty clear cut. These
guys did it, and were probably in their rights to do it.”

“Agreed.
I think the question now is who were the perps and why did they do what they
did.” She lowered her voice. “Is he still behind me?”

“Yup.”

“Pissed?”

“Oh
yeah.”

She
grinned. “And I wonder why nobody likes me.” She turned and walked toward the
man, tapping the shield on her belt. “I’m Detective Laprise. You are?”

“Agent
White, Secret Service.”

“What
can you tell me?”

“Not
much. Just that there was a non-lethal attack at the hotel, Mr. Jones and Mr.
Quaid were taken here. Mr. Quaid said nothing was asked of him, but Mr. Jones
said he was yelled at a lot about Russian sanctions, then left alone. Mr. Quaid
was taken with them when they left which is when we intervened. We eliminated
the hostiles, took Mr. Quaid into our custody, returned here based on intel
from him, and found Mr. Jones in the lobby. We took him into custody and were
about to return to a secure location when your people stopped us.”

“I’m
going to need to talk to them.”

“Of
course, but not here. The hotel is secure—”

“It
wasn’t before. And come to think of it, why am I hearing about this for the
first time? We had no reports of an assault at the Marriott.”

“They
left a note indicating Mr. Jones would be killed if the police were brought
in.”

“Then
how did you find them?”

“We
traced the vehicles.”

“How?”

“That’s
classified.”

“Uh
huh.”

“Am I
free to secure these men?”

Isabelle
looked through the tinted windows, the faint shadows of two men inside. “Like I
said, I’ll need access to them.”

“Absolutely.”
Agent White handed her a business card. “That’s a switchboard. Ask for the
security detail at the Marriott, they’ll put you through.”

Isabelle
looked at the man then the others, their manner of dress suggesting the entire
detail had been caught with their pants literally down. Her eyes rested on an
Asian man with a lime green visor. “You guys don’t look like Secret Service.”

White
chuckled, the Asian man whipping the cap off and giving her a toothy grin. “We
were off duty.”

“Uh huh.
We were supposed to be too. Shit happens.”

The man
smiled, his head bobbing. “Indeed it does.”

She
tapped her watch. “I’ll be by later. Don’t leave the hotel.”

White
nodded and the four men climbed into their SUV as she waved for the cruiser
blocking them to be moved. She turned back to Salinger. “So, where do
you
think we should start?”

“Primary
crime scene?”

“You
read my mind.”

Outside Acton & Palmer Residence, St. Paul, Maryland

CIA Agent Sherrie White parked down the street, turning off her
lights but leaving the engine running as she carefully observed the
neighborhood. She had received the call from Kane only minutes after Chris had
left for work and jumped at the opportunity to do something, even if it was off
the books.

She
chewed her lip as she surveyed the area, finding it hard to believe anything
sinister could possibly happen here.

Peaceful.

It was
the type of neighborhood she hoped to live in one day with Chris, perhaps have a
couple of kids, though if they did, it would effectively kill her budding spy
career. There wasn’t officially any policy against deploying women with
children to the field, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about actually putting
her life on the line when she had a kid back at home.

Then
again, thousands upon thousands of women did that every day in the military and
police, so why should she be any different?

Because
with the CIA you expect to die, then are happy when you don’t.

Her
boyfriend’s best friend—and possibly only friend—Dylan Kane, had talked to her
about what it was like to be deep undercover. His philosophy, one she hoped she
never would adopt, was to assume you were already dead, then party hard when
you found out you weren’t. She didn’t think it was any way to live, but Kane
was different. Different than anyone she had ever met.

A polar
opposite to the man she loved.

She
never really understood how they were friends until she had learned over the
past couple of years about how horrible Chris’ school years were until Kane
came into the picture. She understood how Chris worshipped the slightly older
Kane like an older brother, and she could see how Kane felt like that older
sibling, having looked out for him for several years, and now again helping him
out.

Especially
with this Assembly business.

I’m
so sick of them!

And she
had no idea who ‘them’ were. Chris was the one in real danger and he had been
assigned an escort since the first attempt on his life, though now that they
were a couple, too much of her life was spent being watched.

I
guess I know who watches the watchers.

It was
sort of ironic that she was a spy, and hated being spied upon.

Or
was that hypocritical?

Either
way she didn’t like it, but she loved Chris and didn’t want anything to happen
to him. She just hoped that someday they’d figure out who The Assembly were and
put an end to them once and for all so they could dump the security detail and
move on with their lives.

I
wonder if Chris will ask me to marry him.

Probably
not. Not that he wouldn’t want to someday, but he was too painfully shy to ever
put himself out there like that.

I’ll
have to drop some serious hints so he knows what the answer is in advance.

She
smiled at the thought.

Mrs.
Sherrie Leroux.

She
frowned. She had lost both parents in a car accident when she was sixteen, and
wasn’t sure if she wanted to drop the name, keeping it honoring their memory in
a way.

Mrs.
Sherrie Leroux-White?

She
turned the engine off, spotting what she had feared she might find.

A car, farther
down the street, two people sitting inside, water from the air conditioning
system draining toward the curb.

Rookie
mistake.

It was a
hot, muggy evening, it threatening to rain at any moment. She could understand
why they were running the air conditioner for some relief. It made the stakeout
more comfortable, and also kept the windows from fogging up.

Now,
how to get rid of them?

She
smiled.

Easy
peasy!

She
pulled out her phone, dialing 9-1-1 to report two suspicious men with guns.

Then
hung up as the two people leaned together and kissed.

Wrong
car.

She
shook her head, chuckling as she killed the call. She opened her door, stepping
out into the thick heat, window rumblers and central air units groaning away as
the buttoned up houses of modern America denied reality.

A shoe
scraped behind her and she could almost sense something about to hit her.

She
ducked, spinning around as she reached for her shoulder holster.

But it
wasn’t enough.

The
impact was shocking, excruciating, the thud audible as whatever it was smacked
her squarely on the back, the force all the indication she needed that she was
now in a fight for her life.

She
dropped to the pavement, rolling twice as her hand gripped her Glock, the sight
of two men advancing on her, one with a crowbar, the other with a gun, sending
her heart racing even faster. The gun was their backup should the silent
crowbar not do the job.

Kane
was right. They are in danger.

Her only
hope to save them was to warn them. She tried to pull her weapon but they were
on her before she could draw it completely.

I
have to warn them.

She
squeezed the trigger.

“Did you hear that?” asked Acton as he leapt for the basement window
facing the street, moving the curtain aside slightly. He looked outside but
could see nothing out of the ordinary.

Laura
joined him. “Sounded like a gunshot to me.”

“Me
too.” He looked at the others, all perched on various seats of his future man
cave, the basement reno a project that never seemed to gain any traction. “I’m
going to check it out. Whoever Kane is sending might be in trouble.”

“I’m
coming with you.”

Acton
shook his head at Laura. “No, you stay here with them.” He motioned toward the
Glock in her hand. “And don’t be afraid to use that. When I come back, I’ll
knock on the basement door a two-one-two pattern, got it?”

She
frowned. “You need backup.”

“She’s
right,” said Milton, wincing as he stood, his back starting to act up, it way
past his bedtime. They had been holed up here since Kane’s warning, help
apparently an hour away.

And an
hour had passed.

He could
see it in the eyes of his houseguests that they were all terrified. The guns he
and Laura were gripping made them even more so, especially the fact they
actually knew how to use them, holding them properly, loading them properly,
Laura’s former SAS security team training them well.

If there
was to be gunplay tonight, it wouldn’t be the first time.

For
either of them.

Acton
frowned. “Okay.” He nodded toward the phone. “If you hear anything, you call
9-1-1. And don’t let anybody down the stairs.” He pointed at the spare Glock
sitting on the table. “Anyone know how to use that?”

Nobody
said anything, then Mai rose, picking it up. “I do.”

Acton
smiled. “You’re just full of surprises.”

“My
brother was a criminal. You pick up a few things.”

Tommy’s
eyebrows leapt. “You never told me that.”

Mai
blushed. “It’s embarrassing.”

Acton
headed for the stairs then stopped, looking at his friends. “Be careful.”

Milton
smiled. “That’s what we should be saying to you.” His lips pressed tight
together. “Take care of yourselves.”

Acton nodded
then rushed up the stairs, Laura on his heels. “Back door,” he said as they
emerged into the hallway. “They might be watching the front.”

Another
shot rang out.

Laura
pushed him from behind, urging him toward the patio door. “Let’s go!”

The first shot had ricocheted off the pavement, causing both men to
pause, though only for a moment. The man with the gun raised it, taking aim as
Sherrie leapt to her feet then over the hood of a parked car. He held his fire
as she hit the pavement hard, her ribs cracking as she smacked into the
concrete curb.

She
gasped.

Pain
is just weakness leaving the body!

Her
instructor’s voice barked at her, memories of Quantico flooding back as she
pushed herself to her feet, looking for her opponents. The gunman was rounding the
vehicle to the left.

But
where’s crowbar boy?

A
reflection in the car window caught her eye and she dove backward, firing her
weapon where she guessed he might be.