Page 41 of Nicole's Shelter

“I don’t know gang names or habits, we didn’t have a big gang problem in my community. It was southern California. While I know gangs exist, I’ve never had a personal encounter.”

He swore. There had to be something he was missing. “Go through your pictures of the apartment. And check my iPad for emails from Eva.”

She started working with her camera. “What are you thinking?”

“Two arsonists.” He checked the rear view mirror again. Two headlights, but it wasn’t a car. A pair of motorcyclists rode side-by-side. “Two gangs.” As they crested a hill, he saw another motorcycle in the oncoming lane. Every instinct told him it was the same bike that passed them moments ago. “One very well-connected and determined rogue DEA agent.”

The two-lane highway didn’t give him much room to maneuver and the bikers had all the advantages. “Change of plans. Stow the camera and brace yourself.”

* * *

“Sir? We’ve lost her.”

“Obviously.” Clifton stared at the burned out apartment building, wondering if his quarry had finally snapped and staged an elaborate escape.

“Sir, she’s completely in the wind. There isn’t a sign of the vehicle since it left the interstate.”

“She’ll surface.” Clifton refused to look at the agent who’d tackled a nosy photographer only to discover Nicole Livingston, fugitive, in disguise. Whoever she’d conned into helping her was good, but the poor sap had no idea who and what they were up against.

Clifton didn’t leave loose ends, but WITSEC had been particularly determined with this little girl. It didn’t matter that the prosecutors had been shut down. In his line of work, with the transparency politicians were determined to offer, that could change with the next election or appointment. He couldn’t get the official inquiry out of the system entirely and he didn’t trust fate to keep the paperwork buried.

Years ago, he’d been offered a golden goose and he meant to cash it out at peak value. Or when things got too hot and forced him out of the game. It’s why he’d kept tabs on the only witness who could tie him to a compromising event.

He’d tried everything to silence her. The repeated failure grated on his pride. When he’d managed to get a look at the limited evidence against him, he’d relaxed his search, realizing the case hinged on her word against his.

He’d kill himself before allowing the testimony of a then-thirteen-year-old to put him behind bars. Fortunately it wouldn’t come to that. She could testify, but even jurors knew eye witnesses broke down all the time. Every year that passed tipped the odds in his favor if they did drag such a cold case into a courtroom.

Still, the click and whir of her camera shutter haunted him. Assuming those pictures had been developed, where had they gone?

His badge and his scowl got him into her charred apartment. He poked through the wreckage, opened cabinets, checked for a fire safe. If she’d stored anything here, it was beyond salvation. He resented the sense of relief.

“She’ll surface,” he repeated. He knew it as clearly as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow. People in nearly every level of government owed him favors. Not even her WITSEC handlers had been able to stop his media blitz and the suspicions he’d heaped on her head. And why would they? They needed her back as much as he did or risk their perfect record of keeping witnesses safe.

Technology and time were on his side. No such thing as privacy anymore with every building wired with video and cameras in almost every hand. Of course he had other assets in play as well. He checked his phone, anticipating an update any minute.

“This woman has caused me enough problems and jeopardized an operation we’ve worked on for years.” It was the line he fed anyone on his team who dared wonder why he monitored this particular ‘upright’ citizen. “We might not find what we need here.”

He picked his way back outside, careful not to scratch his custom eel skin shoes. “But she’ll cooperate once she’s in custody.” He checked the time on his phone. “Widen the search radius another fifty miles.”

“Yes, sir.”

Let her run, he thought. Let her try to slip through his fingers again. If, by some miracle, she survived the next few hours he’d silence her personally.

* * *

Rick stomped on the accelerator, praying for a break in the trees that hugged the road. “When the car stops, get under the dash and stay there.”

If Nicole gave an answer, the sharp rattle of gunfire across the trunk drowned her out. He jerked the wheel right, then back to the left, taking his half of the road out of the middle.

The first bike was nearly on him, riding the center line and playing chicken like a champ. Having a passenger meant Rick had more to lose if he miscalculated, but he also had weight and more metal on his side.

He let those details race through his mind, let the emotions ebb and flow on their own time as he zeroed in on the primary objective: getting Nicole out of this alive.

“Down!” he shouted as the oncoming biker raised a gun. Bullets marched up the hood in a menacing rush and took terrible bites out of the windshield. He held his line, forcing the bike to swerve or become a gory hood ornament.

His mind in tactical battle mode, he checked the mirror and gunned the engine, coordinating his move as they crossed a bridge.

He slammed the brakes and purposely fishtailed, sending the first biker into the cement rail. Dust from the road and smoke from the strain on the tires blurred his view of the other bikes as he straightened the wheel.

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