Page 12 of Shadow of the Moon

6

Amberly woke in the most pain she could remember having for a long time, and the smell of cheap motel coffee in her nose.

The sun was up, but it seemed foggy outside. A result of being near the Illinois River, perhaps?

She blinked, trying to decide what had woken her. Must have been Devlin, stuffing items in his bag. “We need to get out of here soon,” he murmured, voice raspy from disuse. “There’s a Charger down the way I’ll snag us.”

“Okay,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let me go pee and get dressed.”

And take a buttload of ibuprofen.

Within about ten minutes, they were ready to go. Amberly slung her bags over her good shoulder and made sure her gun was secure in her shoulder harness. There was no telling what the owners would do when Devlin broke into the car. “Are you sure you can hotwire it?”

Incredibly, he grinned at her over his shoulder and held up a key fob. “No need.”

“How the fuck did you do that?” she hissed, but he kept walking.

There was a small chirp as he unlocked a dark grey vehicle, then slid into the driver’s seat. Amberly tossed her own bags into the back seat and slid in, pulling the seat belt across her chest. Her arm throbbed as she tried to fasten the belt. Devlin finally took the clasp from her and snapped it in.

“We haven’t even talked about where we’re going,” she groused.

Devlin spun the wheel and pulled out of the motel parking lot, merging into traffic. Within a mile, he was on a westbound on ramp. “Well,” he said eventually, “I know Regent is partial to his Montana roots. It’s where all his paramilitary friends are. It’s what he’s used to.”

His reasoning was sound, and it was probably the same deduction she would have made. “Actually, we need to go to Fort Collins, Colorado.”

Devlin glanced at her, obviously waiting for details, and she realized she was at a crossroads. Either she trusted him and filled him in on what she’d gotten from Necco, or she tried to keep him in the dark. One way led to cooperation, and the other a long fight. She didn’t feel like fighting. And unfortunately, Devlin was going to be the only backup she could call.

Did she dare message Frank, her former partner? Or did she now need to look at him as possibly one of the dirty officers at the CIA? Frank Callypso had been on the job for more than twenty years, and he knew more about the CIA than probably anyone else at the agency. It seemed like over that time he’d been through every division of the CIA, and had landed in counterintelligence and analysis. Frank thrived on gossip, he said thanks to his five sisters and growing up in Jersey. Just the thought of his heavy-featured mug made her smile. He’d been one of the few people who had stood by her when her life had fallen apart, and he had one of the most intelligent brains she’d ever met. If there was dirt in the CIA, he probably knew about it. Whether he would talk about it or not was another story.

Frank had also been one of the men tasked with escorting Regent to the airport that night. The thought made her pause in thought. It would be an incredible disappointment if he turned out to be dirty.

Brown was probably clean, even though she didn’t like him. She thought about the other people in her group. Madelyn Chan was also in the cold case department, but she was older and content with where she was. She had no aspirations of moving up or out.

Jake Dawson had been one of the most vicious in attacking her after Devlin had been implicated. She wouldn’t put it past him to volunteer to come after her. Oh, man… she would love an excuse to shoot him. His buddy Brent had also been a thorn in her side. Just because they didn’t like her, though, it didn’t mean they were after her.

Who had the power to order teams out on hits? Her boss, obviously, and anyone above him. Was there something in the file Brown had given her that was telling? Would he have given it to her if he was the dirty one?

There were so many options to choose from.

She turned her head to look at Devlin. “I don’t trust you. I just want to put that out there. If it turns out you’re playing me, I will absolutely shoot you in the balls and not think twice.”

He blinked his golden brown eyes, one side of his mouth cocked up. “I know that. I realize what a fucked up situation this is, but we have to work together. At this moment in time, we have no one else to rely on. Someone at the agency is trying to kill you. I think because you’ve come across a piece of information that will connect them to Regent. What were you doing in Chicago?”

Amberly sighed and reached back into her bag, retrieving the photo envelope. There was a smudge of brown blood on the front, hopefully hers, but the pictures themselves were fine. “Necco gave me these before someone shot him. That wasn’t your bullet decorating his forehead?”

Devlin immediately shook his head. “I got there after.”

She held up the stack of pictures. “This is what Necco brought me. He was with Regent up until a week ago, and he managed to get pictures of what he was working on. He’s planning something for 9-11. They’re not great pictures, but there are a few landmarks. One is this school, in Fort Collins, Colorado.” She held up the pertinent photo. “If, by chance, he’s testing out a new recipe, as Necco said, this may be a prime target.”

Devlin scowled as he glanced at the picture. “At what point should we contact the FBI? Isn’t domestic terrorism more their wheelhouse?”

Amberly sighed. “Yes, it is, and I’m sure the FBI is working on their own Cole Regent case. Regent is working with someone international, though. He’s getting backing from somewhere. Necco hinted that he’s working with the Russians again, like he did the first time. If we investigate and don’t find anything right off, maybe we’ll call in an anonymous tip or something. Not that they’d know what the fuck to do with it.”

Devlin snorted. “Come on, the FBI is doing good right now. They’ve only had seven news articles in the Post this week…”

She snorted, shaking her head. Seven was probably an underestimation. The FBI were idiots. She could hand them Regent on a silver platter and they would still fuck it up.

Well, so had we, she admitted.

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