Exposed Target, page 2
“Lucky me.” Beck started walking toward the main building. “Do you know what it’s about?”
“Nope.” A creak sounded in the background, as if Arness had shifted his weight in his chair. “Just get your ass home.”
“Lee’s tonight?” Beck asked. “I’ll even let you try to beat me at pool.”
Arness snorted. “You mean, I might let you try to beat me.”
Beck reached for the glass door handle. “See you around eight.”
“If you’re lucky, I’ll be there.”
Beck disconnected and blew out his breath. What the hell could have Claudine worked up enough to have Arness call him?
Rick Derringer’s Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo blared over speakers in the background of Lee’s Bar and Grill, a dive on Pennsylvania Avenue. Beck strode inside, trading the unusually warm D.C. evening for the moderate temperature of the packed bar. While he worked his way toward the back, he checked out the occupants out of habit and to see if he knew anyone there.
Mostly lawmakers, lawyers, and law enforcement officers frequented the down and dirty bar. No doubt a good number of lawbreakers too, many of them pulling double duty—both making and breaking laws.
Lee Dansby, the seventy-year-old proprietor, liked his 70s rock and roll, and he liked it loud. But in the corner near pool table one, it was possible to get in a word without having to yell it. Beck made his way back to the pool table, nodded to a couple of FBI agents, three police officers, and an assistant district attorney, all he’d worked with in one capacity or another over the two years he’d been stationed out of the D.C. office.
Lee’s gained more popularity by the minute. Beck figured soon he’d have to find another dive to frequent in a different part of town. But he liked Lee, liked the music, and the burgers tasted like sin.
When Beck reached the pool table, Daniel Parker grabbed a cue stick off the wall rack while Arness Dillon chalked his.
“’Bout time you got here, Beck.” Daniel nodded to Arness. “Our boy tells me you’ve been playing with the kids down at the training center.”
Beck shook his head. “A couple of those ‘kids’ kicked my ass today.”
Arness set down the chalk. “Getting old?”
“That’s what I hear,” Beck said dryly.
“When are you going out in the field again?” Daniel asked.
He shrugged. “This instructor gig is going just fine.”
Arness racked the balls. “You were never cut out for office duty.”
“It’s hardly office duty.” Beck inclined his head toward the bar. “I’m grabbing a drink. Need anything?”
Daniel raised his Heineken bottle. “I’m set.”
Arness gestured toward a glass on a nearby high-top, a thick head of foam on the draft. “Just starting mine.”
Beck headed to the bar, dying to get something to relax with.
Lee manned the bar regularly and he greeted Beck while filling a glass from a bottle of whiskey. “The usual.” Lee’s gruff voice sounded like sandpaper on wood as he slid the glass down the bar to rest directly in front of Beck.
Beck plopped a bill on the bar, enough to cover the whiskey and a generous tip. He raised the glass in a salute to the proprietor before turning around to head back to the pool table.
When Beck returned with the glass of whiskey, Arness and Daniel had started the game, and Reno McGuire stood at the foot of the table. The four of them, including Beck, worked out of the D.C. office. However, they were rarely all in town at the same time.
“When did you get in?” Reno leaned against the wall, a glass of amber liquor in his hand. Like Beck, he preferred whiskey. “Heard you’re working at FLETC.” He dragged out the pronunciation of “flet-see” in his slow, Texan drawl.
“Yep. Claudine ordered me back from Glynco earlier today.” Beck shifted his gaze and watched Daniel and Arness play pool. “She has something she wants to talk to me about in the morning.” He focused on Arness. “Any idea what this is about?”
“Two in the corner.” Arness called the shot and shifted his position at the pool table to take an angle shot. “No clue why she wants to see you.”
Beck shrugged. He’d find out soon enough.
Arness made the shot and called the next one. “Four in the side.” This time the ball hopped, and he missed the play. He cursed beneath his breath and stood back so that Daniel could take his turn.
With a shake of his head, Arness moved next to Beck. “Been up to see your folks lately?”
Beck held back a groan. He liked to keep some distance between himself and his highly dysfunctional family.
“I haven’t made it home since the holidays.” Beck rubbed the back of his neck. “Mom’s been asking me to go for Dad’s birthday later this month. Six months seems like too soon.”
Arness chuckled. “I know the feeling. I need at least that long to recover from the Christmas family gathering.”
“And then it’s damn near time to go through it all over again,” Reno said as he joined them.
“You’ve got that right,” Arness said.
Daniel made a smooth combination shot before pointing his cue stick at the pocket and calling out, “Ten in the corner.”
A touch on Beck’s forearm caused him to glance to his side. Darlene.
He shifted so his back was to his buddies. He barely kept from looking up at the ceiling and asking, “Why now? Why her? Why me?”
“Beck.” The petite blonde’s voice slid whisper-soft over him. He remembered when the sound of every syllable she made warmed him through.
Now he felt nothing but a deep irritation, like a burr beneath his skin.
“Let’s talk.” She smiled. A sad smile that almost melted him. Almost.
“We’ve got nothing to talk about.” Dream Weaver by Gary Wright played from the speakers, and Beck didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. “We crossed that bridge long ago.”
“But we didn’t burn it.” Her lips quivered. “Give me another chance, baby.”
The sight of her trembling lips brought back images of times she’d lied to him, promising nothing had ever happened with her boss. Or the promises she wouldn’t come home wasted yet again.
Promises that were nothing more than lies.
Time after time after time.
Beck removed her hand from his arm. “No.”
Her face crumpled and tears rolled down her face. “I’m so sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am.”
He wasn’t going to let her crocodile tears affect him. He turned and braced one hand against the wall as he stared down at her. “We’re not going there, Darlene. We are done, and you need to get it through that head of yours. Move on.”
Bigger tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t.”
Beck dragged his palm down his face. Jesus. Yeah, he would be looking for a new dive to haunt—one where Darlene couldn’t track him down. Although she could have given a good private investigator a run for his money, so Beck wouldn’t put it past her to locate him.
“I don’t want to discuss this.” He heaved out a sigh. “We’ve done that too many times. I’ve said all I’m going to say.”
“I’m sorry for everything I did.” Mascara streaked her cheeks like train tracks. “I didn’t mean any of it.”
“That’s your defense?” He ground his teeth. Ignore her. She was sucking him in to her drama again and he wasn’t heading down that path. “I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t leave.” Panic crept into her voice as she gripped his arm. “Please.”
He turned away from her, set his whiskey glass on a table, and called out to Arness. “I’ll see you at the office in the morning.”
Arness glanced at Darlene and frowned.
Beck nodded to Reno and Daniel. “Later.”
He shrugged off Darlene as he turned and worked his way outside the bar, where he paused on the sidewalk.
She followed him out while calling his name. He groaned even though he wasn’t surprised one damned bit.
When he turned to face Darlene, he saw Arness a few steps behind her.
“Hey buddy.” Arness spoke over Darlene’s wail. “Need to run a couple of things by you.”
“Sure.” Beck looked at the petite woman. “Make sure you get home safe, Darlene.” He turned his attention back to Arness. “What do you need?”
Arness fell in step with Beck as they left Darlene behind. “You can attempt to have better taste in women, that’s what I need from you.”
Beck shook his head. “I’ll work on it.”
“You do that.” Arness slapped Beck on the shoulder. “Where did you leave your truck?”
Beck told him and they headed to the parking garage. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“Anytime.” Arness smiled. “As long as you’d do the same for me.”
“That goes without saying.” Beck nodded. “You say the word and I’m there.”
Beck strode into Claudine’s office at eight sharp the following morning. His head ached despite the fact he hadn’t gotten drunk last night. He never over indulged. With a family like his, the last thing he needed was to join them in their insanity.
“Have a seat.” Claudine didn’t look up from reading and notating something in a file. She was of the dinosaur breed that preferred paper over the computer but used both out of necessity. “Give me a sec.”
“Take your time.” Beck settled in one of the two padded armchairs in front of her desk.
The scratch of her pen echoed in the room. He let his gaze drift over photos that included one of her with the Vice President of the United States, and another with the U.S. Marshal for their federal court district presenting her with a commendation. Beck couldn’t remember what the commendation was for. It hadn’t been at the top of his list of priorities to find out, but no doubt she’d earned it. Claudine ran the office with an iron star, but she got things done in ways he hadn’t seen others do in her position.
When Claudine raised her head, she held one corner of the folder she’d been working in. “I need you to cover for Gary Briggs. He’s pretty sick.”
Beck frowned. “Is he going to be all right?”
“It’s not likely, Beck.” Claudine sighed. “He’s been diagnosed with stage four colon cancer.”
“Shit.” Beck dragged his palm down his face. “He’s a damned good man, and he’s been a good friend.”
“Apparently no one saw him for a few days while he was in Colorado.” Claudine shook her head. “I was just about to send out the whole posse when he hadn’t been heard from by his wife, parents, or kids. Turned out he’d collapsed in his apartment and nearly died. One of our men found him when he stopped by his place to see if he was home.”
“I haven’t seen Gary in a couple of months.” Beck forced himself to settle back in his chair. “I had no idea he was ill.”
“No one did.”
Beck’s jaw tightened. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”
“I’d like you to take over a few of Gary’s cases for now,” Claudine said. “I know you’re busy down in FLETC, but you’re the only one who’s close to being available to handle his caseload.”
“I’ll get someone to cover for me at the training center.” In his mind, Beck riffled through others qualified to teach.
“Not necessary.” Claudine set the pencil on the desk. “I’ve taken care of it.”
It didn’t surprise him that Claudine had taken that step. She was a control-freak. Beck had made it a point to not let that fact get under his skin. Sometimes she tested even his patience, but she was damned good at her job.
Beck nodded. “I’ll book a flight—”
“Also taken care of.” Claudine nodded toward her assistant’s desk, just outside the open door. “Tabitha is back, and she’ll give you the flight information. You’ll leave for Colorado Springs this afternoon, and you can get started once your feet hit the ground.”
Since she’d found a substitute for his classes at the training center, nothing held him from taking the flight out of D.C.
“I’ll pack my bag.” He got to his feet. “Unless you’ve done that already, too.”
Normally she would have given him the hint of a smile, but clearly the news of Gary’s health had hit her hard. This time she simply focused on Beck with the kind of intensity he’d come to expect from her.
She dismissed him with a nod, and he walked out of her office.
“I sent your flight information to your email.” Tabitha smiled when Beck approached her desk. “Hope you’re going to have some fun while you’re in Colorado.”
“Might go waterskiing and hiking.” He kept levity in his tone. “I hear Estes Park is fine this time of year.”
She gave him a flirtatious look as she leaned forward, exposing her cleavage. He valiantly tried to keep his eyes on her face and not her chest. “I’ve never been to Colorado and I’m always up for a new adventure. If you need company, send for me. I’m dying to get out of this humidity.”
Tabitha was all tease and liked to flirt. Beck grinned and knocked on her desktop. “I’ll do just that.”
“Sure you will, big guy.” She smiled and waved him away. “Now go have fun or something.”
“Or something.” He winked. “Have a good weekend.”
“You do the same,” she said and turned back to her computer.
Beck walked away, his thoughts turning back to his friend, a sick feeling in his gut. He hoped like hell Gary would beat that fucking cancer.
2
Ciara had the mother of all headaches. Her oversized sunglasses kept what light made it through the shades from searing her eyeballs and making the pain in her head worse. She used to get migraines frequently but hadn’t had one in ages. She was right on the edge.
Thanks to last night, this one was a doozy. Damned college students had started a fight in the bar she managed, and she had encountered one hell of a right hook when she tried to break up the fight. The guy who’d hit her hadn’t intended to—he’d been swinging at someone who’d ducked out of the way.
Then she’d tripped over someone’s shoe, her face connected with the floor, and she’d ended up with a split lip.
All and all a sucky night.
Music played over speakers in the living room as she swept the kitchen. She liked to clean to upbeat tunes, but she kept the volume down so she wouldn’t bother the neighbors, not to mention her head.
The assistant at the local U.S. Marshals office had called less than an hour ago to tell her that Deputy Marshal Richardson would be at her home at 10:00 a.m. Gary couldn’t make it. Ciara thought about begging off, but she needed to touch base with someone since her handler, Deputy Gary Briggs, hadn’t made it to their last scheduled meeting.
Almost six months had passed since that day Ciara had entered WITSEC. Even if he couldn’t find her in witness protection, she was grateful her ex-fiancé, Nikolay Sokolov, hadn’t been able to get out on bail. The murdering psychopath apparently had ties to a terrorist attack of a U.S. embassy in Syria. Another thing she hadn’t known about Niko.
The former life that had been a lie.
Once she had signed away her life with the USMS—truer than not—Ciara Cruz had become Kara Cross. Cruz meant cross in Spanish—she doubted anyone in the Sokolov mob would “get” that play on her name. Not to mention the marshals service had insisted she change her first name, too, because it was uncommon.
She slid her hand into her pocket and fingered the all-important silver key she always kept with her. She’d rather have her own name and live blissfully unaware of the Russian Mafia.
Ciara grabbed a bottle of OJ out of the fridge and poured a glass. She hadn’t eaten dinner, and the cold shot straight to her thoroughly empty belly. Her lip stung from the acidic orange juice.
Her eyes ached to cry. She hurt all over, she was alone, and she had no life to speak of. She didn’t bother to make friends because after she testified at Nikolay Sokolov’s trial, she would be moved again.
At least she was still alive. The broach she’d stolen from Niko and his twin, Natalia, would be her insurance policy to keep her alive if they ever did find her.
Funny thing was, the metal and cloth pendant her mother had designed when she was a child meant far more to her than the diamond broach that had to be worth millions.
Gary had told her she’d eventually make new friends and a new life. All she had to do was believe it.
Her handler was a nice guy, and he’d made it clear he genuinely believed that for her.
She needed to talk with him. Needed to hear the voice of someone who knew her. Someone who knew her name was Ciara Cruz, not Kara Cross. Someone who knew everything about her…at least on paper. If she couldn’t have someone from her past, she’d take what she could get.
Maybe Gary would show her pictures of his kids again. He seemed to care about her. She wasn’t a criminal who would testify to get out of punishment at the hands of a jury. She’d had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Saying that sucked was an understatement to blow away all understatements.
Gary had to be away on assignment or some other marshal duty that kept him busy. She’d hear from him soon enough.
Ciara wandered into the living room of her duplex apartment, holding her half-full glass of OJ as she thought of her mother, who she’d probably never see again; and Cinderella, the black lab she’d had to leave behind. Just thinking about Ella and her mother made Ciara’s eyes ache, and she sat hard on the couch. She missed them so much.
She couldn’t call Mamá or check up on Ella. Even if she was careful and didn’t think anyone could possibly know where they were, she couldn’t, wouldn’t take the chance.
A knock on the door had her putting her hand to her aching head. Was the marshal here already? She glanced at the digital clock on the stove and saw it was only 8:15. Another light knock and she smiled.
She opened the door and Olivia’s mini dachshund charged between Ciara’s feet and straight into the living room.
Cujo spun around in circles and Ciara laughed. She looked back at the eight-year-old, who grinned up at her. “Cujo loves you.”
