Crossing Lines by Adrienne Giordano
23
Faith staredat the screen for a solid thirty seconds, her mind reeling.
Matias Alfaro.
She’d found his email and cell number.
Call him. End it.
Her cell phone sat on the desk and she zipped a glance at it. Right there. Nearly begging for use.
The old Liz would. Without hesitation, she’d dive right in. The opportunity to stop this madness lay just in front of her.
All she had to do was dial and surrender.
Give up the fight.
Something that never came easy, but Shane’s request had been for her to be a team player.
Surrendering made her the ultimate team player.
Her logical mind took over, forming a loose plan. If Alfaro hadn’t identified Shane as the man responsible for his son’s imprisonment — perhaps he thought Shane was simply some poor schmuck she’d hooked up with — she could turn herself over to him. He’d kill her and that would be that. Revenge complete.
Ifhe hadn’t identified Shane.
No way to know. And, wow, the idea of walking straight into a death sentence filled her with . . . something.
Fear, anger, heartbreak. All of the above?
She shot from the chair, sending it wheeling backward and tipping over. Leaving it there, she strode the length of the small room, then spun back, her gaze glued to the laptop.
Ding.
Email.
She hustled back, hoping to hell it was Sully giving her something. Some kind of revelation that would derail her from current thoughts.
She tapped the tiny envelope at the bottom of her screen.
Her horoscope. Telling her to save her outrageous antics for another time.
How incredibly prophetic.
For kicks, she scrolled her emails, making sure she hadn’t missed something from Sully.
Nope. No Sully.
She paced the room again, cruising by the bed and Shane’s backpack. Because of her, his car — that sexy Challenger she’d loved driving — had been blown to bits. The cops still hadn’t caught up with them, probably never would since a dead guy owned the car. In addition, thanks to her, his backup cover was useless and, the ultimate fuck you, his business burned.
She did another lap. She could do this. End it for all of them.
Maybe, if she got really lucky, she’d surrender to Alfaro, find a way to kill him and escape.
Yes.
Kill him and run. A bold plan for sure. She even had a man inside with Rey.
A revised plan took shape.
She’d contact Alfaro. Insist on a meeting. If he wanted her dead, he’d have to do it himself.
Sadist that he was, he’d love it.
Then she’d kill him.
How?
She paced another lap. Knife? Gun?
No idea. And she’d have to get by his security. She’d figure that out later. Queen of the Pivot, that was her.
Finally, they’d all be free.
What if she failed?
That option couldn’t be ignored. If she confronted Alfaro and he killed her first, Shane would never know if he, Dusty and Trevor were safe to continue their lives as normal. If what they were doing could be considered normal.
She walked back to the desk where her laptop snoozed. Another sign from the universe to take a break and think it all through. Not be so impulsive.
Ignoring her mental bedlam, she smacked the space bar, tapped in her password. Alfaro’s contact card sat open, nearly taunting her.
She could do this. She had to do this. For Shane.
Failure was definitely not an option.
Nearly three hoursafter leaving Faith and dealing with the arson investigator’s endless questions to confirm that, no, Shane did not burn down his own goddamn business to commit insurance fraud, Shane made his way back to the hotel.
Apparently, Faith hadn’t secured a new room yet because she’d gone silent on him. And what the hell had she been doing while he was getting filleted by an investigator?
Worse, the guy probably wasn’t done with him. A financial rectal exam would be next and he hoped to hell it didn’t trigger some kind of IRS audit.
He’d been obsessive about keeping his books, but if they dug deep enough, they’d figure out a dead guy — the original Shane Quinn, whom he’d found in a cemetery in Indiana — owned the Corner Tap.
And that, he’d have trouble explaining.
Total cluster.
He swiped his key card, waited for the lock to disengage and entered the room.
Empty. Except for his backpack on the bed. He checked the bathroom where the door sat half open.
No Faith.
He slipped his phone from his pocket, shot her a text and waited. Five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen.
No response. Okay. She could be on the phone. Maybe finding them that hotel room. Or checking into said hotel room so she could send him the location.
But hold up here. She’d said she’d take his backpack.
Either she forgot or she’d purposely left it.
Nope, nope, nope.
Not going there. He didn’t even want to consider what she might be up to.
Taking advantage of the quiet, he moved to the bed and sat. A few minutes to rest his brain. To shut down the chaos. That’s what he needed.
As soon as he hit the bed, his backpack shifted against his elbow. He peered down and nudged it a few inches. A piece of notepaper he hadn’t put there stuck out of the front pocket and that couldn’t be good. Not the way this day had been going.
He blew air through his lips, checked his phone again. No Faith.
So much for his few minutes of quiet.
“God,” he said, “please don’t let her have gone rogue.”
She’d been so damned good this last week. Total team player. He sensed, down deep, it’d been painful for her. There were times she’d started to argue, caught herself and let it go. Working as a unit, for Faith, went against everything she’d been bred for. She’d been honest about that.
No attachments. No heartache.
Her own twisted theory that had zero chance of succeeding.
He slipped the paper from the backpack, noted the handwriting on both sides.
He skimmed it, his eyes darting over her neat script.
Leaving.
I have a plan.
Let Alfaro think he has what he wants.
Time to end it.
Give you your life back.
Sorry.
Yep. She’d gone rogue.
“Well, shit,” he muttered.
He poked at his phone. No response yet.
Fine. He swiped the screen, locating his tracking app showing aliases for phones belonging to Dusty, Trevor, Faith and the burner he’d given her. He tapped the burner and a map with a blinking red dot appeared.
He zoomed in. O’Hare Airport.
Wherever she was going, she intended to fly. Terrific.
He grabbed the backpack and headed for the door. Hopefully, whatever flight she booked wouldn’t leave for a while. He’d buy a ticket at the airport going anywhere that would get him through security. Then he’d track her and see what the hell she was up to.
Before he got to the door, he stopped. Sullivan. As much as he wondered about that guy, she hadn’t been making a move without checking in.
He dialed the number Faith had given him for Sully’s burner. Maybe she’d reached out.
“Hey,” Sully said.
“Where’s Faith going?”
“What now?”
Shane closed his eyes, forced his brain to first gear rather than fourth. “She’s at O’Hare. She left a note about letting Alfaro think he has what he wants.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Shane laughed. Had to. “I was hoping you knew. Dollars to doughnuts she’s gone rogue.”
“Come on? Seriously?”
“Yeah. My bar got torched this morning. She thinks it’s her fault. I got back from a rectal exam with a fire investigator and found the note. The tracking app says she’s at O’Hare.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you need my help with the investigator?”
Of all the things he expected Jonathan Sullivan to ask, that wasn’t on the list. He took a second. Let the shock sink in.
“Look,” Sully said, “whatever you’re feeling about me, I’m being straight with you. If there’s something I can do, I’ll try. You’ve all gotten raw deals. Plus, you did me a favor by helping Faith. I owe you one.”
Too much. All of this. It was like a demolition derby in his brain. He moved back to the bed and sat. “The investigator. He’s probably gonna look into my financials. They’re clean, but if they dig hard, I don’t know.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Shane let his shoulders droop. Let the tension leave him. Help, he decided, sometimes came from the strangest places. “Thank you.”
“No prob. Now, what about Faith?”
“We gotta figure out what she’s doing.”
“I’ll call her,” Sully said. “She texted me this morning wanting an update. Maybe she’ll respond.”
“If she does, tell her not to get on whatever plane she’s intending to. Keep me posted.”
He clicked off and checked his texts and emails. Nothing from Faith.
He flicked his finger against the phone, tried to think like a rogue CIA agent with abandonment issues. Talk about going against the grain.
The day they’d met, she’d walked right up to him on the street. She’d used her contacts to find him.
She’d problem-solved.
Let Alfaro think he has what he wants.
He dropped his phone on the bed beside him and lay back, staring at the ceiling while he noodled Faith’s note.
What Alfaro wanted was her. Specifically, her head. Something she wouldn’t give him without trying to kick some ass first.
Let Alfaro think he has what he wants.
Could she be planning on flying back to Venezuela? Putting herself in Alfaro’s sights to try and kill him?
“Ah, shit!”
He bolted upright, shot a text off to Sully. She might be going to Venezuela. Can you find flight reservations for her?
Without bothering to wait for a response, he scrolled his contacts for Reynaldo’s number.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Of all the half-baked and completely brave ideas.”
Part of him, the part that appreciated her willingness to put herself in danger, admired her. The other part of him?
That part might kill her.
He shot off a text to Rey, who’d immediately responded that he hadn’t spoken to her since earlier that morning. Presumably, when he warned her about the fire.
Maddening as it was, it was exactly what Shane would do. He’d wait until he arrived at the target location and then call. It accomplished two things: It gave her a head start plus it surprised Reynaldo, eliminating the chance to formulate a plan to double-cross her.
As he walked toward the parking garage, he dialed Dusty.
“You good?” his friend asked.
Hardly. “Yeah. Faith’s on the move.”
“Where to?”
“If my guess is right, Venezuela.”
A few seconds of silence stood between them. “Wow,” Dusty said. “Just . . . wow. How do you know?”
Shane gave him the summation of her note and tracking her to the airport. “I’m heading to O’Hare. I texted Sully. Hoping he’ll find her flight reservations before I get there. If not, I’ll fly to New York or Miami and be that much closer.”
“Dude, you’re killing me. You don’t even know where she’s going.”
“Yeah, well, she’s killing me.”
“You’re not going alone.”
Jesus. This again? “You’re out of it.”
“My ass. If she’s going up against Al — who we think she is — you’ll need backup. I’ll call Trevor and we’ll meet you at the airport.”
Trevor. Who’d just warned him about getting involved with Faith.
“I promised him I’d keep you both out of this. I’m sticking to it. This is my fight.”
“Blah, blah. If the situation were reversed, there’s no way, no fucking way, you’d let us do it alone. Whatever flight you book, get us on it. See you at the airport.”
As soon asthe plane touched down, Faith turned her phone — the burner Shane had given her — on. More than likely, he was tracking her. All she could do was try and stay ahead of him. A flurry of dings sounded. Voicemails, texts, missed calls. All of them bombarding her.
And all Sully and Shane. She tapped on a few of the texts, each escalating in tone due to her lack of contact.
Sorry, boys.Business to transact.
Getting into Venezuela turned out to be infinitely easier than Faith’s earlier escape. The various credentials she’d brought from DC assisted her in getting a connection through Miami to Bogotá, Colombia. A three-hour layover led her to a flight to Caracas. Now, after one heck of a long day, Faith stepped off the plane, scanning the terminal for anyone who might be ready to pounce.
Even if Shane and Sully had figured out she’d flown as Barbara Alman, a pediatrician entering the country on a humanitarian aid mission, chances were she’d gotten the jump on them.
Sooner or later, they’d catch up to her, but she only needed a few more hours.
Seeing nothing suspicious, she strolled into the ladies’ room and swapped out the business clothes she’d bought on her way to the airport for jeans and a T-shirt. While in the stall, she donned her blond wig, checked it with a compact mirror and deemed it passable. Then she got seriously lucky at the sink and slipped out of the ladies’ room behind three women traveling together.
Easy.
Peasy.
Now that she’d arrived, she’d alert Reynaldo and hopefully secure his help in escaping after she assassinated the president of Venezuela.
No one would ever call her an underachiever.
Given the hour — nearly 10:30 local time — she’d find a room at one of the airport hotels and start making calls. First to Reynaldo, then to Alfaro.
She made a not-so-quick stop at baggage claim to retrieve her Rollaboard. Even she wasn’t crazy enough to attempt this mission without a weapon and had been forced to check luggage due to the nine-millimeter she’d packed. It helped that Barbara Alman had a license to carry said weapon.
Luggage secured, she stepped out of the airport, breathing in the balmy night air that somehow left her peaceful.
Maybe it was having a plan, a potential end to weeks of stress. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that soon, this would be over.
She hailed a cab, directed him to a Marriott and settled in for the short ride.
Her phone dinged again.
Shane.
She’d been ignoring him all day. Was it fair? Absolutely not. Nothing she could do about it, but let him know that yes, she was indeed still alive.
Within seconds, he responded, asking for the location of the first dead drop he’d arranged prior to their ride on the Ferris wheel. Something only she’d know.
Shane, in his infinite wisdom, didn’t trust anything or anyone.
When she responded correctly, he hit her with a barrage of texts she couldn’t — wouldn’t — answer. The man’s hero complex ran too deep. He’d swoop in and that was the last damned thing she wanted when trying to keep his cover safe.
She tucked the phone into her backpack until she reached the hotel and checked into a single room that looked like a thousand other rooms she’d been in over the years. Bed, television, desk and chair.
She tossed her backpack on the bed, slid the phone out and checked it. Nothing. Good. She set it beside her and lay back, closing her eyes for a brief few seconds.
So damned tired.
Her phone rang.
No doubt who this was. She lifted it — yep — and rolled her eyes. The man was impossible. She tapped the screen.
“Please stop,” she said. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Faith?”
“It’s me and I need you to stop calling.”
“Not a chance. I know where you are. I’m in Bogota. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“How’d you catch up so fast?”
He snorted. “I pretended I was you and thought like a rogue agent. I saw you were at the airport, pieced together your note and figured you were about to do something bold.”
“Ha. Bold. You mean stupid?”
“You said that. Not me. We caught the last flight out of New York when Sully confirmed you had a reservation as one of your former aliases.”
Well, shoot. “That didn’t take long.”
“I was impressed. Considering I hate him, that’s saying something.”
True that. “Who’s with you?”
“Dusty and Trev.”
She closed her eyes. Not just him, but all three of them. Putting themselves at risk for her.
She opened her eyes. “Shane, I’m begging you. Please. Stay away. I have a plan. If it works, we’ll both be free. You being here complicates things. Alone, I can pivot.”
“You can also die.”
“Shane — ”
“We’re boarding, I have to go. Promise me you’ll wait for us.”
Something she’d never do. She’d already compromised him. If anything, he’d simply moved up her timeline.
“Faith,” he said, filling the silence. “I’ll be there in two hours. It’s late and you’re tired. Wait for us and we’ll figure this out together.”
The line went dead and she tossed the phone beside her. Forget resting.
She needed to make contact with Alfaro before Shane and crew landed in Caracas.
Damned Shane.
She’d had a plan and he was in the midst of completely screwing it up.
Well, not happening.
With flying time and transport from the airport, it would take Shane and crew — at the very least — two hours to catch up.
A lot could happen in two hours.
Sully. She’d start with him. She shot off a text sharing the decoded contact information for Alfaro.
If she disappeared, if Alfaro took her hostage somewhere and interrogated her, Sully could track the phone to her location. Assuming the number she had was indeed Alfaro’s cell.
Would he do the dirty work himself?
Given that she’d taken out his son, she sure hoped so.
Ten seconds after sending the text, she received a response.
Whatever you’re doing, stop.
Sorry, friend. No can do. Time to end this.
Ignoring the text, she hit the bathroom, freed her hair from the wig and washed up with cold water to energize her tired body.
Options were plentiful. Call Rey first? Then Alfaro?
Or wait and call both later.
She’d cab it over to the presidential palace in Caracas. Maybe have the driver drop her off two blocks away and walk the rest, calling from whatever street got her closest to the entrance.
Hey, Alfaro. You want me? I’m at your front gate.
She patted her face dry with a fluffy white towel, breathing in the fresh scent of detergent. Suicide mission. That’s what this was.
But if it saved Shane. And Dusty and Trevor?
Worth it.
Plus, she might get lucky. Wasn’t she the badass who’d escaped from that hellhole basement?
She lowered the towel, stared at it in her hands. Part of winning a battle meant identifying the enemy’s weakness. Alfaro’s weakness? His sons.
Once in his presence, she’d torture him with the nasty details of his son’s death. At the hands of a much smaller woman no less. That alone would enrage him. Add to that the emotional baggage over losing his child and his focus would be gone.
She’d challenge him. Exasperate him. Force him to show his ever-present minions how much of a tough guy he was.
She’d own him.
How she’d kill him with his minions present and escape the palace, she had no idea. As soon as she stepped inside the gate they’d take her gun from her.
Total suicide mission.
No.
She’d make it work. She had to get him alone. That was the only way to succeed.
But how?
She dropped the towel, slapped the light switch and walked back to the bed for her backpack.
As usual, she’d figure it out on the way.
The cab driverdropped her off near a nightclub with a blinking, blue neon sign. Given the warnings about Caracas being one of the most dangerous cities in the world, parking on the street was plentiful. Faith strode by the club, where large windows were thrown open and a live band entertained a gaggle of people on the dance floor.
Faith had never been one for the nightclub scene. Too many creeps. Too many people to converse with.
Who needed that monotony when she could be alone with her thoughts and her career and her lack of familial responsibilities.
At least until now. Now, she had Shane — and Dusty and Trevor — to free from this mess.
A man wandered from the club, giving her the once-over in her jeans and loose T-shirt that covered the gun holstered at her waist. If she actually made contact with Alfaro, she’d be searched and relieved of her weapon.
At which point, she’d improvise. Hand-to-hand combat might be her only option. Word had it Alfaro enjoyed a roaring fire — in the heat of Venezuela — so a fireplace poker would make a dandy tool.
First, she needed access.
“Pretty lady,” the man said, his English heavily tinged with a Spanish accent. “Come inside. Enjoy the music.”
Faith kept walking, giving the man a backhanded wave. “No thanks.”
Hopefully, that would be the end of it. Shooting a man — this man anyway — wasn’t necessarily on her task list.
The guy sidled up to her, walking alongside. Why should any of this be easy?
She stopped and faced him. “Not interested. And believe me, you’re not either.”
He lifted a hand, possibly to touch her but she wasn’t waiting to find out. Been there, done that.
She grabbed his wrist, managed to catch him off-guard and whipped him around, wrenching the arm behind his back.
“Whoa!” he said, letting a stream of Spanish fly.
“Go back inside,” she said, giving an extra tug on his arm, “or I’ll snap this arm off. Understood?”
When he didn’t respond, she increased the pressure.
He let out a grunt and bobbed his head.
She let go. “Get back inside before you get hurt.”
He hit her with a round of Spanish swearing and stalked off, massaging his arm.
Men.
At least this one knew when to quit.
She picked up her pace, checking over her shoulder at the slightest sound. At the next corner, she peered up and saw that a glow lit the evening sky.
Alfaro’s palace. At night, it stayed lit up like Disney World. Typically, she hated setups like this. Made breaching so much harder.
Today? She wanted to be seen. Wanted Alfaro to know she was at his door, right there for him to pluck off the street.
She kept moving, drawing the humid night air into her lungs. A sense of calm knocked the edge from her fatigue. Warm climates did that. If she survived this and managed to win Shane’s freedom, she’d move south. Florida Keys maybe. Beach. Salt air.
Paradise.
A future with Shane was too much to hope for. But perhaps, after a few months, if things calmed down, maybe.
Using the glow of the palace against the night sky as a guide, she made a left at the next corner. Another block or two and she’d be there.
She envisioned the palace’s four-block square in the middle of the downtown area. Guards manned each corner, constantly patrolling the ten-foot cement wall. Razor wire topped off the wall just in case someone actually got close enough to scale it.
Main entrance.
That’s what she’d go with. For no other reason than, based on her walking route, she’d reach it first. Still, there’d be a bit of honey-I’m-home! drama with her entering via the front.
She checked the time on her phone: 11:56.
Shane would be landing any time now and would call. He’d said as much. She silenced the phone and tucked it into her pocket.
Go time.
Before the flightattendant even gave passengers the post-landing blessing to use their phones, Shane tapped Faith’s number on his screen. In his mind, wheels were on the ground. He could make the call.
No answer.
Of course.
He didn’t bother leaving a voice mail and dropped the phone in his lap. Across the aisle, Dusty peered over at him. “She ghosting you?”
“Yep.” He shook his head, stared down at his phone willing the damned thing to ring.
Dusty leaned into the aisle, prompting Shane to meet him halfway. “Seriously,” Dusty whispered. “She wouldn’t be crazy enough to confront Al — uh, him — alone. Even for her, that’s nuts.”
After sitting on planes all day and having way too much time to think, Shane wasn’t too sure. Assuming they had the plan right, considering she hadn’t told them a goddamned thing, it might not be all that kooky.
“Nuts or brilliant? When it comes to his sons and revenge, this asshole loses all composure. She’ll play him.”
He glanced around at the half-full plane. Trevor sat in the seat in front of Dusty and turned back, his gaze direct.
No more talking.
Even whispering, the guy in front of Shane probably heard them.
Shane waited as the plane damn near crawled to the jetway. Could this pilot not hit the gas?
He picked up his phone. No texts from Faith. One from Sullivan telling him to call when he landed. It’d be one in the morning in DC, but Sully worked for the CIA where 24/7 activity never shocked anyone.
As soon as the plane’s door opened, Shane was out of his seat, popping open the overhead and grabbing his backpack. This time of night, folks wasted no time deplaning.
Once in the terminal, he tapped Sully’s number and followed the signs to ground transportation.
“Shane,” Sully said, his voice surprisingly sharp, “what the hell’s going on?”
“Did she tell you her plan?”
“No. Between her flying to Venezuela and sending me a cryptic text with a number for Alfaro she’d decoded, I’m guessing she’s about to call him. Please tell me she’s not doing that.”
Ha. The man had better be sitting down. “If my theory is right, she’s doing more than that.”
Shane gave Sully the shortened version of his theory that Faith intended to either surrender to Alfaro or possibly kill him. Or both. All to draw attention from him, Dusty and Trevor.
A long sigh came from Sully’s end of the phone line. “If I wasn’t so pissed at her, I’d admire her courage. Hell, I admire her courage anyway. Damned fool.”
Shane knew the feeling. “She sent you his number?”
The idea of Faith sharing intel with Sully before him? It stung. And he was too friggin’ tired to hide it.
“Don’t get your shorts in a wad,” Sully said. “She sent it to me assuming the agency could use it.”
The agency. Right. “Send me that number.”
“Why?”
“If I can’t find her, I’m gonna assume she made contact with Alfaro.”
“And what? You’ll call him?”
“Yes.”
“Idiot, why would you do that? We don’t even know if he’s aware you’re involved.”
“Even better. Element of surprise and all that. You know what he’ll do to her. I can’t let her go through that. Not for me. Send me the number.”
Faith stoodon a sidewalk under a swaying palm tree across the street from the palace. She stared straight ahead through the iron gates where expertly placed spotlights enhanced the glow of bright white paint. Between the gates and lights, the palace conveyed exactly what Alfaro wanted. Opulence and power.
Two armed guards stood on either side of the entrance. Behind them another manned a guardhouse with a red tile roof that matched the palace’s.
Guards, guards and more guards. Everything about the place screamed untouchable.
They’d see about that.
The guard waved her on, telling her in Spanish not to loiter.
Blah, blah. She stepped off the curb, moving toward him, but leaving ten feet between them. The guard’s shoulders flew back. Already, he’d gone to high alert. His buddy on the other side took one step closer and halted. His head was on a swivel, searching all around for another potential threat.
“My name is Elizabeth Aiken.”
Just saying the words brought a sense of control. Of reclaiming her life.
“Keep moving,” the guard told her, his English broken but clear.
“President Alfaro is looking for me. Tell him I’m here.”
The second guard looked over at the first guard, the two of them exchanging a WTF look that, at any other time, would have made Faith laugh.
The guard directly in front of her hollered through the gate, calling two more men to the rails.
This was turning into quite the gathering. Time to get right to the point.
“I’m the woman who killed Luca Alfaro. Tell the president I’m here.”