Buch lesen: «The Men of Search Team Seven»

CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Special Agent Travis Steadman studied the house through military-grade field glasses. Situated on a wooded escarpment above a rushing stream, the sprawling log home afforded its occupants a sweeping view of the snow-dusted Colorado mountains and the golden valley below. Sun glaring on the expanse of glass in the front of the house prevented Travis from seeing inside, but the intel reports told him all he needed to know. The two men and one woman who had rented the house two weeks ago looked like wealthy second-home owners enjoying a quiet mountain retreat, but the FBI suspected they were part of a dangerous terrorist cell.

“One car leaving. Looks like Braeswood and Roland.” The crisp words, from fellow agent Luke Renfro, sounded clear in Travis’s earpiece.

“I see them,” he replied as a black Cadillac Escalade nosed out of the steep driveway. Through the side windows he could make out Duane Braeswood’s sharp-nosed profile and Eddie Roland’s bullet-shaped shaved head. “They’re turning left, toward the highway to Durango.”

“Here comes the woman and her driver,” Luke said. “I wonder why she didn’t go with them.”

“Maybe she’s going shopping. Or to get her hair done.” Travis tried to keep any sign of tension out of his voice, even as he raised the glasses again to focus on the Toyota sedan that halted briefly at the bottom of the drive. He could just make out the silhouettes of the male driver and the woman beside him, but he didn’t need the glasses to fill in the details about her. Leah Carlisle was twenty-seven years old, with thick dark hair that curled when she didn’t straighten it, which she usually did. Her brown eyes, the color of good coffee with cream, were wide-spaced and slightly almond-shaped, and she could convey a score of different emotions with merely a look. She had a good figure, with a narrow waist and a firm butt, and small but round and firm breasts that were wonderfully sensitive. She enjoyed sex, and the two of them had been really good together...

He lowered the glasses and pushed the thoughts away. Leah’s car also turned left, toward town. Maybe she was going to meet up with her partners in crime in Durango. He ground his teeth together, fighting the old anger. To think she had left him to be with scum like Braeswood and Roland.

“Did you say something?” Luke asked. “Transmission’s a little fuzzy on my end.”

Travis feared he had growled or made some other sound to signal his frustration. He needed to get a better grip. Only Luke, his closest friend, knew about his former relationship with Leah, and he had kept this information to himself.

Travis had admitted to their boss, Special Agent in Charge Ted Blessing, that he was acquainted with Leah. After all, they were from the same hometown, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out they had gone to school together. But no one knew he had planned to marry her. “Looks like she’s headed to Durango, too,” he said.

“Give them ten minutes, then we move in.” Blessing’s voice, deep and sonorous as a preacher’s, shifted Travis’s focus to the mission. He and Luke and Blessing and the other members of Search Team Seven were moving in for a “sneak and peek” at the interior of the cabin. They had wrangled a warrant that gave them onetime permission to go inside, look around and plant a couple of bugs that would, they hoped, provide the evidence they needed to arrest and convict Braeswood, Roland and Leah of terrorist activities.

The Bureau suspected the trio had ties to a series of bombings that had exploded at two major professional bicycle races around the world. Blessing and his team had stopped a third bombing attempt in Denver last month, but the bomber had died before he could give them any more information about his connections to these three.

Travis stowed the binoculars and prepared to move down from his lookout position in the rocks across from and above the house. When the signal came, Luke and Blessing would move inside with the rest of the team and Travis would station himself at the end of the driveway, alert for the premature return of the house’s occupants.

“Recon Three, you hear me?” The flat, Midwestern accent of Special Agent Gus Mathers came across with the question.

“You’re loud and clear,” Travis answered.

“Best-case scenario, we’ve got an hour,” Mathers said. “I don’t like the looks of that drive—too steep and narrow, and situated in the curve of the road like it is, we won’t have much warning if someone comes. You’ll have to stall them at the bottom of the drive. Tell them we’ve got an explosive fuse or something.”

“An explosive fuse?” He made a face. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds good, doesn’t it? Something you wouldn’t want to interfere with. There’s nothing in these folks’ backgrounds that shows they know anything about electricity. Just do what you can to keep them back if something comes up.”

“Nothing will come up,” Travis said. “Even if they drove to Durango and immediately turned around and came back, it would take them an hour.”

“Better to be prepared. And let us know if you see anybody else suspicious.”

“I know my job.” And like everyone else on the team, with the exception of their commander, Blessing, he knew all the players in this case—even ones who were on the periphery or merely suspected of having some tie. The Search Team Seven members were all “super recognizers”—agents who literally never forgot a face. Travis hadn’t even realized other people shared his peculiar talent until he had been recruited by the Bureau. He could see someone once, in person or on video or in a still photo, and pick them out of a crowd months later. The Bureau hoped the team would prove useful in identifying suspected criminals before they acted. So far, they had had a few successes, but this terrorist operation was their biggest operation yet.

“Okay, we’re going in now.” Special Agent in Charge Blessing gave the order.

Travis waited while a utility van with the logo of the local electric company moved slowly down the road and turned into the driveway of the log home. As soon as they reached the house, Luke, Blessing, Mathers and the three other team members inside would pile out and go to work. Mathers and Special Agent Jack Prescott, who had trained with the Bureau’s TacOps team before transferring to Search Team Seven, would replace the living room and bedroom thermostats with identical units that contained listening devices, while Luke and Special Agent Cameron Hsung swept the premises for any incriminating evidence. Luke would download the hard drives from any computers onto a portable unit, and Hsung would photograph anything else that looked suspicious.

When Travis was confident the rest of the team was in place, he slipped across the road to the front of the house. Dressed in khaki cargo pants and a long-sleeved khaki shirt with the logo of the electric utility over the breast pocket, he would appear to anyone watching to be a utility worker repairing a malfunction or inspecting equipment. He knelt in front of the electrical box at the end of the drive and pried off the cover. He pretended to study its contents, though he was really scanning the approaches to the house. One hundred yards ahead on the same side of the road, a paved drive led to a glass-and-cedar chalet, the log home’s closest neighbor. A retired couple lived there. The intel reports noted that they didn’t go out much.

A soft breeze rustled in the aspens that lined the road, sending a shower of golden leaves over him. Another month and they’d have snow here in the high country. Already the highest peaks of the San Juans showed a light dusting. Leah would be happy about that. She had grown up in Durango and liked to ski. Was that why the trio had ended up here, after abandoning the house they had rented in Denver, only a few days before their friend Danny had tried to set off a bomb at the Colorado Cycling Challenge bike race?

“Hello! Is there a problem with the electricity?”

Wrench raised like a weapon, Travis whirled to see a slender man with a head of hair like Albert Einstein step from the shrubbery beside the road and stride toward him.

“Our sensors indicated some bad wiring.” He lowered the wrench and delivered the line smoothly, though he had no idea where the words had come from. What sensors? Did electrical wiring have sensors? “We’ve got a crew up at the house checking it out.”

The man glanced up the driveway, a worried vee between his bushy eyebrows. “I saw the van from my house. Did Mr. and Mrs. Ellison give you permission to enter their home while they’re away?” he asked.

Ellison was the alias Braeswood had adopted in Denver and was sticking with here in Durango. The “Mr. and Mrs.” made Travis wince inwardly. Leah hadn’t married the guy, had she? Six months had scarcely passed since she returned Travis’s ring.

He realized the old man was waiting for an answer. “It’s less disruptive for us to do the work while they’re out of the house,” Travis said. Undercover Tactics 101: know how to bluff.

The man’s frown morphed into a glare. “I didn’t ask whether or not it was convenient for you. Did you get their permission?”

“I’m sure my supervisor spoke to them,” he said. He made a show of focusing once more on the interior of the utility box, though every nerve was attuned to the old man and his reaction. All he needed was for this guy to decide to phone the utility company and ask about the group of “workers.” Or worse, this nosy neighbor might decide to call Leah or her “husband.” Even thinking the word made his stomach churn.

“Does this have anything to do with the power outages we had last week?” the man asked. “I called twice to report them, and the woman on the phone said they would check things out, but you all are the first workers I’ve seen.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know the answer to that.” Travis tried to look friendly and humble. “I’m new on the job.”

“I thought as much,” the man said. “You’re going to electrocute yourself if you tear into that box with an uninsulated wrench like that.”

Cursing his own ignorance—and the TacOps unit for not doing a better job of briefing him—he dropped the wrench and took out a pair of pliers, the handles bound in green insulating rubber.

“I’m not sure Lisa would be happy to have you all in her house while she’s out,” the man continued.

So he knew her as Lisa. Close enough to her real name to avoid confusion. Or maybe the old man had misremembered. No, I’m sure she wouldn’t like having us in her house, Travis thought. He glanced down the road, which was empty, then sat back on his heels and looked up at the man. “I thought I heard they just moved in,” he said.

“That’s right. They’ve only been here a couple of weeks. But I made a point of going over to meet them. I think it’s always a good idea to know your neighbors.”

So he didn’t go out much, but he definitely kept tabs on everything. That might make him a useful witness in court one day. “Uh-huh.” What could he say to get rid of this guy?

“Her husband was a little standoffish, but she was sweet as could be. As beautiful inside as she is outside.”

Yeah, she fooled me into thinking that once, too. He turned back toward the electrical box. “It’s been great talking to you,” he said. “But I’d better get back to work. We should be out of your way pretty quickly.”

“All right.” The man leaned closer to peer at him. “Duke G. What does the G stand for?”

“Graham.” Travis glanced at the name embroidered into the shirt. He had no idea who Duke Graham was. It was merely the name someone in the props department for TacOps had chosen.

The old man moved back up the road and turned into his driveway. Travis stood and walked up the driveway a short way, until he was sure the neighbor was out of sight. Then he pulled out his phone.

“What is it?” Gus answered halfway through the first ring.

“The next-door neighbor was over here nosing around. I’d hurry it up if I were you.”

“We’ll wrap it up as soon as we can, but we don’t want to abort if we don’t have to. We aren’t likely to get another warrant.”

“Just thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

“Thanks.” He disconnected, and Travis pocketed his phone and returned to the end of the driveway.

Five minutes later, his knees were beginning to ache from crouching in front of the utility box when a white Toyota sedan came roaring around the curve and swept into the driveway. Travis didn’t have time to leap out of sight into the bushes or pull out his phone or weapon before the car screeched to a halt and the passenger window rolled down. Leah stared at him, but said nothing. She appeared stunned.

Her hair was longer than he remembered, and she was maybe a little thinner, but she was still as beautiful as ever. He hated the way his heart ached when her eyes met his. She had dumped him with no explanation and had never looked back. He had thought that betrayal had burned away all the love he had felt for her, but apparently there was enough feeling left that he could still hurt.

He stood and moved toward her. He had one job now, and that was to keep her away from the house until the team finished their work. “Hello, ma’am,” he said, his voice flat, betraying nothing.

She gripped the edge of the window with both hands, her knuckles white. She wore red polish on her nails to match the scarlet of her sweater, but some of the polish was chipped. Unlike her. She was usually perfectly put together. “Who are you?” The driver—a burly man who wore a knit cap pulled low over his forehead—leaned across Leah to glare at Travis.

“There’s a problem with the power,” Travis said, still watching Leah out of the corner of his eye. “We should have it repaired shortly.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Time seemed to speed up after that. The driver reached under his jacket. “Down, Leah!” Travis yelled as he drew his own weapon. She shoved open the passenger door and dropped to the ground as he and the driver exchanged fire. Travis dived for the cover of the electrical box as Leah rolled toward the ditch. The driver revved the car and veered off the driveway, crashing into the underbrush.

In the silence that followed, Travis studied the slumped figure of the driver and decided he had been wounded, or maybe killed. He needed to check on the man in a minute, but first he had to deal with Leah. She crawled to him. “Travis, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Maybe I wanted to see you,” he said. “Maybe I wanted to ask why you couldn’t even bring yourself to say goodbye to my face.”

Two bright spots of color bloomed on her pale cheeks, as if she were feverish. “I thought it would be easier if I left quietly.”

“You left me a letter. A freaking Dear John letter, like some bad movie cliché.” The diamond engagement ring he had given her only six weeks before had sat beside the letter, another bullet to his heart.

“I really don’t think we should be talking about this.” She glanced up the drive toward the wrecked car. “I have to go.”

He moved in front of her. “I think it’s past time we talked.” This really wasn’t the best place for this conversation, but he couldn’t keep the words back. “I loved you. I thought you loved me. We were going to be married, and then one day I get home and all I’ve got left of you is a note on the kitchen counter.” The note had read I’m sorry, but I’ve changed my mind. Please don’t come after me. This is for the best. Love, Leah. The “love” had trailed off at the end, as if her hand had shaken as she’d written it.

She wouldn’t look at him, staring instead at the ground. Her hair was coming undone from its ponytail, and she had a streak of dirt across her cheek. “Sometimes things aren’t meant to be,” she said.

“Are you married to Braeswood now? Or should I call him Ellison?”

She jerked her head toward him, her eyes wide. “No! Why would you think that?”

“The neighbor called you Mrs. Ellison.”

“Oh, that. That’s just...” But she didn’t say what it was. He filled in the blank. Her cover story. The lies they told to hide their terrible purpose here.

“I get that you don’t love me anymore,” he said, letting that harsh truth fuel his anger. “But I don’t understand this. Do you know what Duane Braeswood and his friend Eddie do? They’re terrorists. They kill people. It’s fine if you want to hate me, but do you hate your country, too?”

She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “I know what they do,” she said softly. “And I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand.” He leaned toward her, his face so close to hers he could smell her perfume. An image flashed in his mind of her naked, her body soft against his, his nose buried in the satiny skin of her throat, inhaling that floral, feminine scent.

He blinked to clear his head, and the blare of a horn yanked him back to the present. He looked past her, down the road, where the Escalade was barreling toward them. “I have to go,” she said, and turned as if to run.

He snagged her arm and dragged her with him into the underbrush, seconds before the Escalade screamed into the drive.

Chapter Two

Travis had a glimpse of Duane Braeswood at the wheel, his face a mask of rage, as the SUV flew by.

He retreated farther into the underbrush. One arm wrapped around Leah, holding her to his chest, he used his free hand to pull out his phone. “Abort!” he shouted as soon as Gus answered. “Braeswood and Roland are here. And two other guys. I didn’t get a look at them.” They had been only dark figures in the backseat of the SUV.

Gunfire reverberated in the trees before he had the phone back in his pocket. “Let me go!” Leah pleaded, and struggled against him.

“You’re under arrest.” He pulled a flex-cuff from his back pocket and wrestled it over her wrists.

“No!” she wailed, but he cut off the cry by pulling out his handkerchief and stuffing it in her mouth. She glared at him, her brown eyes almost black with rage.

“Don’t worry, it’s clean,” he said. “The last thing I need is you letting the others know where I am.”

He debated binding her ankles also and leaving her out here in the woods, but if the fight moved in this direction, she might get caught in cross fire. Besides, he didn’t trust her not to find a way to escape. Better to keep her with him.

He dragged her up the steep slope toward the house. The blasts of gunfire became almost constant as they neared the building, and when they reached the edge of the clearing his heart twisted at the sight of a khaki-clad figure slumped in the drive. He couldn’t tell which member of the team had been hit, but knowing they had lost one of their own was enough to make him want to get back at these guys.

He checked his weapon. The Glock wasn’t going to be of much use at this range. What he wouldn’t give for a sighted rifle right now. He would sit here and pick the bad guys off as they exited the house.

He looked at Leah again. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and he had to harden himself against the pain in her eyes. “Killing a federal agent is punishable by life in prison,” he said. “You can be convicted of felony murder even if you didn’t fire the shot, simply by your association with these killers.”

Something flickered in her eyes—regret? Fear? He once thought he knew her better than anyone, that he could always read what she was thinking. But that was obviously only one of the many things he had been wrong about when it came to her.

He turned away from her to study the house again. Several windows had been shot out. At one, long drapes fluttered in the breeze. The gunfire had ceased, but he thought he heard someone moving around in there. What was the best way for him to help the agents inside? Braeswood and his men would probably expect an attack from the front, but if he could get around back he might be able to reach his trapped fellow agents.

“Is there a back door?” he asked. “Another way inside?”

She nodded.

“How do I get to it?” He pulled the handkerchief out of her mouth so she could answer, but remained ready to stuff it back in if she started to yell.

“There’s a path through the woods, on the side,” she said softly. She nodded toward the west side of the house. “The door leads into the garage. There’s a back door, too, but it leads from an enclosed patio. You can’t get to it without being seen from the house.”

“Right. Here we go then.” He started to stuff the handkerchief back in.

“Don’t,” she said. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”

“Since when can I trust your promises?” He replaced the handkerchief in her mouth, ignoring the hurt that lanced him at her injured look.

He took her arm and led her around the house toward the back door, keeping out of sight of anyone inside. His phone vibrated and he answered it.

“Recon Three, this is Recon One. Where are you?” Blessing spoke in a whisper, but his voice carried clearly in the silence around them.

“Outside the house. West side.”

“They’ve got us pinned down on the second floor. Looks like a rec room. Did you say there’s four of them?”

He looked to Leah for confirmation. Four? he mouthed. She nodded. “That’s right. Braeswood, Roland, and two others,” he said.

“It’s too high up to jump out of the window, though it may come to that,” Blessing said.

Leah tugged on his arm. He shook her off, but she tugged harder, her expression almost frantic. “Hang on a minute,” he said, and pressed the phone against his chest to mute it.

He jerked the gag from her mouth. “What is it?”

“If they’re in the rec room, there’s a dumbwaiter,” she said. “In the interior wall, behind the panel with the dartboard. It goes down to the garage.”

He pressed the phone to his ear again. “Check the panel behind the dartboard,” he said. “There’s a dumbwaiter that goes down to the garage.”

“Won’t they know to block it off?” Blessing asked.

Leah shook her head. Travis muted the phone again. “They know about it, but I don’t think they’ll think about it,” she said. “I’m the only one who uses it, when I unload groceries.”

“I’ve got the woman with me,” Travis said. “She says she’s the only one who ever uses the dumbwaiter—Braeswood and the others won’t remember it.”

“You don’t think she’s setting a trap for us?” Blessing asked.

“I don’t think so.” Maybe that was his old image of Leah, fooling him, but he had to trust his instincts now.

“Then we’ll have to chance it.” Blessing sounded older. Bone-weary. “If you can, station yourself to lay down cover fire.”

“There’s a side door in the garage that leads outside. I’ll cover you there.”

He and Leah repositioned to conceal themselves as near to the garage as he dared, taking cover first behind a propane tank, then behind a section of lattice fencing used to block trash cans from view. He half reclined, bracing his right hand on the fence. “Get down behind me,” he ordered her.

“If you have another weapon, I can shoot it,” she said, reminding him that he hadn’t replaced her gag after his phone call with Blessing.

She knew he carried a small revolver in an ankle holster. She had certainly seen him remove it enough times when he had come home to his Adams Morgan townhome where she had spent many nights. “You may have played me for a fool before,” he said. “But I’m not a big enough idiot to give a wanted felon a gun.”

Anger flashed in her eyes and she opened her mouth, then apparently thought better of whatever she had been about to say and remained silent. “Get down,” he ordered.

She did as he asked, reclining in the dirt behind him. The warmth of her body seeped into him, along with an awareness of the jut of her hip bone and the curve of her breast. He forced his attention back on the door. “Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Long minutes passed in silence so intense he imagined he could hear the hum from the power line that connected the house with the transformer at the road. He pictured the team assembling in the garage, arriving one or two at a time via the dumbwaiter designed to carry parcels up from the garage to the living quarters. They would wait until everyone was in place before they made their exit.

“Why haven’t they come out yet?” Leah whispered, when he judged twenty minutes had passed. Too long. Braeswood and company would be wondering why things in the rec room were so quiet.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Just then, the door from the garage eased open. Blessing’s face, dark and glistening with sweat, peered out. Then the door burst all the way open and men poured out.

The first bullets thudded into the dirt around them, followed by the sickening sound of ammunition striking flesh. Heart racing, Travis scanned the area and located the source of the shots. Cursing, he fired off half a dozen quick rounds at the man stationed behind the tripod-mounted machine gun on the deck overlooking the garage. The felons must have figured out what was going on in the rec room and stationed themselves to ambush the agents as they emerged from the garage. Travis was too far away to get a good shot at them. All he succeeded in doing was attracting the shooter’s attention.

“Go!” Travis shouted, and pushed Leah ahead of him. “Run!” She started running and he took off after her. They fled the hail of bullets that bit into the trees around them and plowed the leaf litter. When she stumbled, he pulled her up and dragged her farther into the woods, running blindly, praying they wouldn’t be struck by the bullets that continued to rain around them.

He didn’t see the edge of the bluff until it was too late. One moment his booted foot struck dirt, the next the ground fell away beneath him. The last sound he remembered was Leah’s anguished scream, echoing over and over as they fell.