Page 75 of Insidious Threats
“I don’t have to do a blasted thing, and if you don’t let go of my arm right now, I’m going to scream.”
He could see from her expression that she meant it, so he removed his hand from her forearm and raised both of his hands up near his face, palms forward to show her that he meant her no harm. Unfortunately, the motion also caused his sweater to ride up, exposing the butt of his holstered gun.
“Oh my God, you have a gun?!”
Her voice cut through the coffeehouse noise and drew several curious glances.
“It’s government-issued,” he told her. “I’m licensed to carry.”
“I don’t freaking care, dude. Anyway, I thought you said this wasn’t about your work? You’re a liar. I’m leaving. Do not follow me. If I see you anywhere, I’m going to cause a scene like you wouldn’t believe.”
She wheeled around and ran smack into a very small woman who was clutching a very large coffee. “Oh, sorry.”
“No worries. Are you okay?”
The hacker gestured toward Leo. “This guy was just bothering me. I’m fine. Thanks.” She smiled tightly.
“Connelly?”
Leo dragged a hand over his tired eyes. “Sasha? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
39
For a moment, Sasha was certain she was hallucinating. After all, she’d been awake for nearly thirty hours. She’d been traveling all night. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so desperate for coffee. In what was surely a violation of international human rights laws, the flight from O’Hare to Denver had had no beverage service, and then the Denver to Sun Valley leg had served decaf only. Decaf. She could only imagine that the FAA was testing some new torture regime at the request of the government.
So when she’d finally made her way to Sun Valley’s cute little business district, she’d had one singular objective: to find the biggest cup of coffee she could. Now, she stood, gripping said enormous coffee tightly and staring at her husband, who absolutely should not be in Idaho. More than that, he shouldn’t be in Idaho manhandling a goth-looking woman in her early twenties. Sasha had so many questions that her exhausted brain couldn’t even process them all. So she settled for the most important one:
“Where are the kids?”
The woman with the cut arms and black dye job widened her eyes. “Kids?”
Connelly raked his fingers through his hair and gave her a tired look. “They’re safe. Jordana stayed with them. Hank has a team sitting on the house, and he’s going to take them to school today. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in New York.”
“And you’re supposed to be in Pittsburgh,” she hissed. “Do you ever check your messages?”
A guilty expression splashed over his entire face.
His victim—or whatever she was—cackled. “Busted.”
“Okay, let’s all just sit down and talk this through. Please?” He turned to the woman. “Rock, this is my wife, Sasha McCandless-Connelly. Sasha this is, um, Rock.”
Sasha twisted her lips into a skeptical bow but transferred her coffee from her right hand to her left and offered a handshake. “Hi, Rock.”
The woman slid her eyes over Connelly and then settled her gaze on Sasha’s face. She seemed to make up her mind about something. She gave Sasha a genuine smile and took her outstretched hand. “It’s Petra, actually.”
“Oh, so she gets to know your name?” Connelly pouted.
“She’s not a dirty pig. Are you?” Petra directed the question to Sasha.
“If by dirty pig, you mean federal law enforcement officer, no. I’m not. I’m an extremely tired civil litigation attorney, mother of eight-year-old twins, and, um, wife of a dirty pig. But, I’m not kidding about being exhausted. I’ve been traveling all night, and I’m dead on my feet. Can we please sit down?”
She stared pitifully at Petra, who must have realized how close she was to falling over. She led them back to the two-top where she and Connelly had been sitting when Sasha spotted them.
Connelly grabbed a third chair. “Thanks,” Sasha said as she dropped into the seat.
“So … whatareyou doing here?” Connelly probed.
