Rogue Defender (Gone Rogue), page 13
While she does whatever it is that requires her to type faster than anyone I have ever heard, I check my text messages.
Larissa: Where are you? Cortez got shot! He’s okay, but the police questioned all of us. They think your guy had something to do with it.
Rafael: Don’t bother coming back to work. Your boyfriend almost got Manuel killed. You’re fired.
I choke back a sob. Everything I have worked for is gone.
“Domina? What’s wrong?” Zephyr asks.
“Everyone thinks Leo is responsible for the…attack.” I cannot bring myself to say the word. Assassination.
“Fuck. I was afraid of that. Is there any way you can change your appearance? Hide your hair? Get different clothes? I booked you a room at the Hotel de Palmas under a clean alias. You just have to get there. But your face has been all over the news tonight. Some reporter caught the police handcuffing you and putting you into the back of a squad car.”
My heart hurts. Even sitting here is dangerous. “I have nothing with me. Just my wallet, my tablet, and my phone. Lipstick.”
More keystrokes, and then she whispers “yes” under her breath. “There’s a store at the end of the block to the south. See it?”
I turn, and she’s right. The little bodega is lit with colorful lights, and a man sweeps the sidewalk out front. “Yes.”
“Please tell me you at least have cash.”
Digging in my briefcase, I check my wallet. “Twenty dollars, yes.”
“Buy something to cover your hair. A t-shirt if they have one. Sunglasses. Then call a cab and get to the Hotel de Palmas. Go to Room 422. I’m sending the hotel’s keycard app to your phone. Use that to open the door. Then do not leave until reinforcements show up. When they do, they’ll identify themselves as Clark and Jimmy. If anyone else knocks, you call me immediately. Got it?”
“I…no. Zephyr, you have to find Leo…”
“Focus,” she says sharply. “I’m working on it, but if I don’t get you secured first, Leo would never forgive me. Hair. T-shirt. Sunglasses. Hotel de Palmas. Room 422. Clark and Jimmy. I need to know you understand.”
“Yes.” My hand shakes as I dry my tears. “I understand. Please…just find him.”
“I will.” The call drops, and I take a deep breath. I can do this. Rising, I stare up at the wispy clouds. “Please, God. Keep Leo safe.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Leo
The empty cup of water mocks me from the corner of the room. With my wrists shackled to the table, I can’t stand up.
Who are you kidding? Even if they took the cuffs off, you’d still be fucked.
I passed out minutes after the IPS agents muscled me into the SUV. When I came to, they were dragging me down a long hallway to God knows where.
Strip searched, beaten until I couldn’t stand on my own, and thrown in here. No shoes, no belt. They even took my fucking ear studs.
My legs are half numb. I can’t make a fist with my right hand. My eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each. Every time I put my head down, someone slams the door so loud, I jump.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. No windows. No way to mark the passage of time other than my exhaustion. They won’t let me sleep. No food. Only a few ounces of water and that was hours ago.
The door bangs open, and I jerk against the cuffs. Peña, the one who asks all the questions, holds a steaming cup of coffee, and fuck. It smells like heaven.
Reyes, his partner—whose only contribution to the party is his fists—leans against the wall to my right. Fucker must know I can’t see shit on that side.
“Mr. Basher, you do not look well,” Peña says and takes a long sip of coffee. “We can bring in a doctor if you tell us what we want to know.”
“Listen, dumbfuck—”
Reyes kicks the chair out from under me. The metal cuffs dig into my wrists. My ass hits the cement floor and sharp pain lances through my shoulders.
It takes me three tries to get to my knees. The room spins, Peña’s expression fading in and out of focus. “If you’re going to kill me,” I say, “just do it already.”
“We do not wish to kill you, Mr. Basher.” Peña smiles, takes another sip of coffee, and folds his hands on the table. Reyes rights the chair, grabs the waistband of my Dockers, and shoves me back into the seat. Before he returns to his favorite spot, he punches me in the side.
Wheezing, I grab the bar welded to the table to keep from sliding back down to the floor. “Without me,” I manage, “Manuel Cortez would be dead.”
Peña throws his paper cup against the wall, the last of the coffee dripping down to the floor. “Without you, I would be asleep in my bed right now. You brought a loaded gun through security to a presidential rally, Mr. Basher. For that alone, you will go to jail for many years. Threatening members of the International Protection Service? Attempting to assassinate the Vice President of Panama? You will never see daylight again.”
“I saved his fucking life. Your people didn’t see the sniper. I did.” My voice is fading, and the split lip Reyes gave me hours ago burns with every word.
Peña arches a brow. “If you will not talk to spare your own life, maybe you want to keep your lover out of prison.”
I sit up straighter, ignoring the throbbing pain in my back. “What have you done to Domina?”
“We have done nothing to her, Mr. Basher. But the National Police are preparing to bring charges against her. Helping a terrorist smuggle weapons into a secure location is a very serious crime.” He smiles, and if I weren’t locked to this goddamn table, I’d snap his neck.
“She’s innocent, you fucking bastard.” Desperation has me yanking on the cuffs, and blood slicks my wrists. “If you hurt her…”
“You will do what? And how? You are handcuffed to a table, in a locked room, somewhere no one will ever find you. I own you, Mr. Basher.” Peña nods to Reyes. The bigger man ambles over to the door and punches a long string of numbers into a keypad. The locks disengage, and he retrieves a bucket from the hall and hands it to his partner.
“By morning, perhaps you will be more…talkative.” Peña drops the bucket next to me, then follows Reyes from the room. “I would tell you to get some rest, but we both know that will not happen.”
The locks engage, and I scream obscenities until my voice fades away completely. The way I feel now, I’ll be completely fucked by morning. The only chance I have? Zephyr. She’ll know something’s happened to me. Maybe she’ll tell Trevor. Or Austin.
And what the hell are they going to do?
At least when Trev was taken, we knew where the fuck he was. This place is a black site. Minimal staff—I think I’ve only seen one other person besides my two interrogators—thick walls, probably several stories below ground. They’ll never find me.
But they can help Domina. As long as she’s safe, I don’t care what happens to me.
I lay my head on the table. If everyone went home, maybe I can catch an hour or two of sleep. But not more than a minute later, an ear-splitting cacophony fills the room. I jerk up so quickly, I lose my balance. The chair tips over, and so do I.
Twisting so I can peer up at the ceiling behind me, I curse—silently. I didn’t notice the speaker mounted high on the wall. No sleep. No food. No water. I’m fucked.
Domina, I’m sorry. I should have protected you.
Domina
I am so tired, but when I try to sleep, all I see is Leo fighting against three IPS agents. I do not care how dangerous it is. I want to go home. This is one of the nicer hotels in Panama City with luxurious sheets, a feather duvet, and a mini-bar—that is now empty of everything but the alcohol. The National Police did not see any reason to feed me, and as soon as I opened the small refrigerator, my stomach reminded me I had not eaten since breakfast.
I took a shower, but I still feel dirty. The new t-shirt is scratchy, my eyes are dry, and the emptiness inside me aches. I need Leo, and I’m afraid I will never see him again.
When I arrived, a little after 10:00 p.m., I sat on the bed and watched the local news coverage of the rally. I cannot bring myself to call it what it was, despite the reporters repeating the two words—assassination attempt—over and over again.
My name flashed across the screen every ten minutes. “Domina Sanchez, the Vice President’s speechwriter, was arrested only minutes after the shot was fired. She has yet to be charged with a crime, but the National Police say it is only a matter of time.”
Huddled under the duvet, I hug my knees to my chest and stare at the bedside clock. The numbers blur, and I jerk when someone knocks on the door.
“Who is it?” I ask as I check the peephole. The two men carry themselves with authority. Like Leo.
They exchange glances, either amused or annoyed, I cannot tell, and then the taller one clears his throat. “Clark and Jimmy.”
I cannot unlock the door fast enough. “Have you found Leo?”
“Inside,” the shorter one says. The look in his eyes…it’s the same one Leo had when he told me about his scars. But I think…this man carries pain with him every day of his life.
“I’m Austin,” the older, taller one says after locking the door. “That ray of sunshine is Trevor.”
I nod, backing up until my legs hit the bed. “Where is he?”
“We don’t know,” Austin says. “Yet. Zephyr hacked into Panama City’s traffic camera network, and she ID’d the SUV they put him in. But after ten minutes, it went through a dead zone. She won’t stop until she finds him, and President Garcia is getting a very unpleasant wakeup call any minute now.”
“The President? I don’t understand.” I’m so tired, nothing makes sense.
“Pritchard—Austin—used to run the United States Joint Special Operations Command,” Trevor says. “Basically, he’s a big fucking deal and knows people who know people who know your president.”
“My God. And you…know Leo? How?” I ask.
Trevor’s shoulders hunch, and he stares down at his boots. “Austin and Leo had to get me out of a jam in Venezuela a while ago.”
“One of the only men I trust in this world had some trouble last year. He and his girl had to get out of the country quick.”
Leo’s words haunt me every time I close my eyes. But I understand now. Who Trevor is. “Leo’s friend. From the CIA. That was you.”
Trevor nods. “I retired seven years ago. I work for a security company in Boston now. That’s how we got here so quickly. Without going through Customs.”
“And armed,” Austin says. “West, Inara, and Graham—they’re based in Seattle—are on standby. If we need them, they can get here in a little over eight hours.”
I stare at the two men, amazed they are even here, let alone with more help potentially on the way.
“Domina?” Austin asks, holding out his hand. “Do you want to go home?”
Tears sting my eyes. “More than anything. Or…can I go to Leo’s?”
Austin chuckles. “Zephyr was right.”
“There’s something in the water,” Trevor adds. “Everywhere.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, hands on my hips. “Leo has been missing for”—I check the bedside clock—“fifteen hours. Panama is not a place to be an American in prison. We have come a long way since the days of Noriega, but, if you do not find him…”
“Domina, we found you. Well, Zephyr did,” Austin says with a small smile. “She had to check the camera feeds for every police station in Panama City, but once we knew where you were, it only took us an hour to get you released.”
I gape at him. “You…”
“You didn’t wonder why they suddenly let you go?” Trevor pulls out his phone and checks the screen. “A couple of phone calls and the captain was shitting his pants. We’re going to find him. But right now, you probably want to change—or sleep a while—and we need to set up shop and contact Zephyr. We have a car parked by the side door. You ready?”
I grab my briefcase from the foot of the bed and clutch it to my chest. “Yes. Do I need the hat and sunglasses?”
“Not with us.” Austin opens his jacket to reveal a pistol under his left arm. “Anyone even tries to get close to you, they’re going to regret it.”
The twenty-minute ride to my apartment passes in a blur. Trevor drives, and Austin texts with Zephyr the whole way. As they find a parking spot on the street next to the building’s back door, Austin turns to me. “We know of ten separate black sites within an hour of the city. Leo’s in one of them.”
“You’re certain?”
Austin opens my door, then helps me to my feet. “The IPS doesn’t have their own interrogation facilities. They use the Ministry of Public Service sites, and those…”
The two men flank me, Austin to my left, Trevor to my right. “What?” I ask. “What are you not telling me?”
“The assholes who run them were trained by the same sadistic fucks who worked for Noriega.” Trevor punches the elevator call button, his voice taking on a rough tone. “Leo knows how to survive. But the longer he’s there, the worse shape he’ll be in when we find him.”
“I knew I should have brought Griff,” Austin mutters. “You’re a ray of fucking sunshine, Trev.”
“I’m a realist. Who’s been where Leo is right now. Remember?” he spits out. “And Griff is in San Diego. Two flights are a hell of a lot harder to hide than one.”
The elevator doors open to the fifth floor, and Austin pulls his gun from the holster. “Domina, stay between us. It should be safe, but…”
I nod, and we move as one to the end of the hall.
“Shit,” Austin says. “Leo’s door is open. Trev, take Domina next door until we know his place is clear.”
“Unlock it, then let me enter first.” Trevor holds his own gun, the barrel pointed at the floor.
My hand shakes as I slide my key into the lock. This is not my life. Worrying about someone waiting to harm me. My boyfriend—friend, protector, whatever Leo is to me—somewhere so terrible, Trevor cannot bear to think about it.
“Clear,” Trevor says when he’s checked my bedroom, bathroom, closets, and even behind the shower curtain. “If you want to stay at Leo’s, pack up whatever you think you’ll need for at least twenty-four hours. The less we have to go back and forth, the better.”
In under five minutes, I have a small suitcase with several changes of clothes, my toothbrush, makeup bag, and power cords for my phone, laptop, and tablet. “Ready.”
Trevor taps his ear. “Jimmy, we clear?” After a beat, he nods. “Okay. Let’s go. Stay behind me.”
Two steps into Leo’s apartment, I stop short and gape. All of his kitchen cabinets are open, mugs and plates broken on the floor. Deep rips mar his couch cushions, bits of stuffing strewn everywhere. The bedroom is even worse. The mattress is askew, pillows ripped open…even his yoga mat is torn.
“The safe,” I manage. “In the closet.”
“Gone.” Austin holsters his weapon, frowning. “But Leo wouldn’t keep much there. His gun, maybe his Visa paperwork. There’s another hidey-hole somewhere in this place no one would ever find. Except maybe us. That’s where he’ll have his go bag, passport, fake IDs…”
He and Trevor muscle the mattress back into place. The sheets are piled in a corner, and I pick them up and toss them onto the bed. “He cannot come back to this.”
“He won’t. Austin, get our tech set up in the main room. I’ll help Domina.”
The older man nods. “Got to get the gear first. I’ll let you know before I come back in.”
“Roger that.” Trevor grabs one corner of the fitted sheet and tucks it around the mattress. “In a few minutes, I can go back to your place and get your pillows. These are obviously FUBAR.”
“FUBAR?”
“Fucked up beyond all recognition.” He chuckles, but there’s no joy in it. “Don’t know what we’ll do about the couch cushions. My sewing skills are limited to stitches.”
I stare at him, trying to decide if he is serious or not. Until I remember what I wanted to ask him. “Why did you call Austin ‘Jimmy’ at my apartment?”
Trevor turns his head and points to his ear. “When we’re in the field and using comms, we all have codenames. I’m ‘Superman’ or ‘Clark.’ Austin’s ‘Jimmy’ or ‘Stars and Bars.’ You’re ‘Diana’ and Leo is ‘Steve.’”
“Clark and Jimmy I know. But who are Diana and Steve?” Tucking in the sheet, I reach for the duvet.
“From Wonder Woman. Lois was already taken,” he says with a small smile. “And Perry White…well, I doubt Leo would have taken too well to that one.”
Trev cocks his head, then taps his earbud. “Got it. I have to go to Diana’s. Need pillows.” Another tap, and he reaches for his weapon.
The front door opens and closes, followed by Austin’s deep, “Back. All clear.”
“You’re safe here, Domina,” Trevor says, his voice gentle. “Shower, sleep…whatever you need to do. We’ll let you know if we find anything.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Domina
Despite what the police—or the IPS—did to Leo’s apartment, his bed still smells like him. Or us. But as tired as I am, I only manage three hours before I wake up with my heart pounding. Leo could be anywhere. Hurt. Afraid. Alone.
“Call Zephyr! I need—”
He was depending on me. It doesn’t matter that Zephyr found me. Or that Austin and Trevor are in the next room. It’s been more than eighteen hours.
In the main room, I find Austin sitting at the small dining table with two laptops, a mobile phone, and more weapons than I could have imagined strewn around him. Trevor sleeps on the sofa, still wearing his shoulder harness and gun.
“There’s coffee,” Austin says quietly with a quick jerk of his head toward the kitchen.
I pour myself a cup and join him at the table. “Is there any news?”
He sits back, stretching his arms over his head with a wince. “Zephyr eliminated three of the black sites we identified. No activity within five kilometers at any time in the past twenty-four hours.”
