Page 77 of On the Chase
Instead, aware of the video camera hanging around her neck and the mic attached to her bra, she pressed her palms to her closed eyes and mentally counted to five. Taking a deep breath, she calmed, and the tears receded. The FBI—and Hugh—were waiting. With a final shaky exhale, Grace dropped her hands and opened her eyes.
Just in time to see a fist flying toward her face.
* * *
He’d never been so tempted to punch a fed, and that was saying something. As a rule, FBI agents could be almost as aggravating as firefighters.
“Let me listen. Just for a minute.”
Agent Shankle didn’t look up from his old-school notebook where he was busy scribbling notes on the conversation that Grace—Hugh’sgirlfriend—was having with her felonious ass of an ex-boyfriend. Shankle was acting like he couldn’t hear Hugh, thanks to the headphones the agent was wearing, but Hugh knew he could hear the other people in the van just fine. In fact, he’d responded several times to Contares, the woman who appeared to be responsible for the tech equipment, all while not missing a beat in his eavesdropping and note-taking.
“So…” Hugh tried again. “What are they saying? Anything? How close are they sitting?”
Contares’s cough sounded suspiciously laugh-like, but Shankle didn’t even twitch. It was like he was Hugh annoyance–proof, and that wasn’t a good thing. Hugh wished they were watching the video feed, but the necklace camera just recorded; it didn’t transmit. The wire, on the other hand, was streaming in real time, right into Shankle’s ears. Pretending to stretch, Hugh moved so he could look over the agent’s shoulder to read what he’d written. Shankle shifted, hunching his shoulder so that his body hid the contents of his notebook.
Scowling, Hugh sat back and absently rubbed his thigh. Being stuffed in the van for the hour-plus drive to Denver, plus hanging out in the back of their spy mobile while Grace and the ass talked about who knew what…Oh wait! Shankle knows what. Too bad he’s a greedy bastard and doesn’t share his toys.Hugh glared at the agent’s back, but it didn’t slow the man’s continuous scribbling. At one point, he underlined something several times, and Hugh nearly went out of his mind with his need to know what had been said, as well as the need to punch Shankle in the back of the head.
Suddenly, the agent paused. Even his constantly moving hand went still.
“What?” On high alert, Hugh straightened from his slouch. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Finally,finally, Shankle turned to look at him. He was smirking a little, and Hugh relaxed. If something bad had been happening to Grace, the agent wouldn’t be smiling like that—at least, Hugh hoped he wouldn’t. “Grace left the table without Jovanovic. Now, according to Swanson, she’s in the ladies’ room.”
“Oh.” Hugh slumped back in his seat, relieved. “So, it’s done? Does she sound like she’s okay? Did you get anything useful?”
To Hugh’s surprise, Shankle actually answered. “She’s fine. We’re…”
After a silent moment, Hugh prompted, “You’re…?”
Instead of responding, Shankle appeared to be listening to something, either from Grace’s wire or one of the other agents. He frowned, lines forming between his eyebrows, and Hugh immediately went back on full alert.
“What’s the situation?”
“We lost our eyes on Jovanovic,” Shankle said, before he started barking orders to his agents. “Li and Novak, keep searching for him. Kandeski, head to the mall security office. See if you can find footage of him, and keep Li and Novak in the loop. Swanson, get in that bathroom and stay with Grace. Murdoch, where are you going? Get back in here. She’s fine. We have this under control.”
It was Hugh’s turn to ignore the FBI agent. Jumping out of the van, he hit the ground running, mentally cursing himself the whole time. He’d known the meeting was a bad idea. He should’ve convinced Grace not to go. Hell, he should’ve locked her in his bedroom for the next fifty years. She would’ve been pissed, but at least she would’ve been safe.
He weaved his way through the grid of parked cars and sprinted for the mall entrance. Tires screeched against the pavement as someone braked hard, and an SUV came to a stop just a few feet away from him. Ignoring it and the insults the driver was shouting, Hugh ran for the doors.
Once inside, he slowed, dodging mall shoppers and looking around to get his bearings. Before Grace had gone inside, they’d studied a map of the mall, but Hugh hadn’t paid too much attention to where the women’s bathroom was located. He spotted a sign for restrooms and took off in that direction, barely avoiding crashing into a stroller.
“Hey!” the woman pushing the child called after him. “Slow down! Someone’s going to get hurt!”
Not Grace. Not if I can help it, Hugh thought grimly, running faster through the food court. The tables and chairs seemed to be arranged in the most obstructive way possible, forcing him to pivot and dodge. Vaguely, Hugh was aware of people staring, of a mall security officer yelling something at him, but he was focused on one thing—the bathroom door.
A woman stood by the door, tugging at it. She turned as he approached, and, by her concerned expression, he guessed that she was Agent Swanson. “It’s locked,” she said. “I heard what sounded like a struggle.”
Without answering, Hugh dug in his pocket, pulling out his lockpick set. As he opened it, his hands shook from adrenaline and stark fear. He fumbled the torque and pick, almost dropping them. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. He needed to calm down. Losing it would not help Grace.
“Stop!” the security guard called as he jogged toward them. “What are you doing?”
Swanson stepped forward so she stood between Hugh and the guard. Hugh felt a moment of gratitude for the block as he eased the torque and then the pick into the lock. The familiar feel of the motion calmed him slightly, steadying his hands. “FBI,” she said. “Do you have a key for this door?”
“A key for the bathroom?” The guard sounded uncertain now that Swanson had identified herself as a fed. “I think so?” There was a jangle of keys, but Hugh ignored it, focusing on pressing the pins into place. The dead bolt turned, and Hugh ripped open the door.
Noah Jovanovic was dragging a limp Grace by her ankles across the bathroom floor toward an open supply closet. He looked up, startled, and then released her. His right hand moved behind him, toward his lower back. Grace’s legs flopped to the floor, and Hugh felt a tearing pain in his heart at how limply she lay there. She looked like a lifeless rag doll. Her hair tumbled over her face, hiding most of it, but what he could see was covered in blood. With a roar, he charged.
The move startled Noah into taking a backward step, but he didn’t hesitate in raising the gun he’d drawn. Time seemed to slow, and Hugh knew he wouldn’t make it before Noah could shoot him, especially with Grace’s limp body lying between them. It didn’t matter. He’d take the bastard down or die trying.
