She hurried to her truck and fired it up just as her cell phone vibrated on her hip. With a sigh, she left the vehicle in park, retrieved the device, and checked the caller ID. This one she had to take. “Hello.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
In spite of herself, she smiled. “Hi, me. What’s cookin’?” Her friend, FBI special agent Dean Campbell, never spoke either of their names on the phone. Paranoia was more than in his job description—it was embedded in his DNA.
“Plenty. I’ve got those Dodgers tickets you wanted,” he said cheerfully. “Meet me for a burger, usual place?”
Her smile vanished and the blood drained from her face. Her mouth opened a couple of times before she could find her voice. “I’ll be there in half an hour. I need to go home and change first.”
“On my way. I’ll get us a table.”
Punching the OFF button, she tossed the phone in the seat next to her and peeled out. Oh, God. Finally, after months of a fruitless, agonizing search for answers and a maze of dead ends, the call she’d been praying for had come. And for a while longer, she had to bleed just a little more inside, not knowing whether this was the end or the beginning.
Not knowing if Micah really was dead, as the government claimed, or if he was alive somewhere, waiting to be rescued.
And if her brother was alive, what the fuck was going on?
The questions and possible answers whirled in her brain all the way to her apartment, and didn’t let up as she hurriedly stripped out of her uniform and changed into jean shorts, a tank top, and tennis shoes. She couldn’t stand another second of this torture now that the end was in sight. The drive to Willy’s had never seemed so long, yet she made it there in under fifteen. The bar and burger joint wasn’t crowded this time of afternoon, so she was able to get a pretty good parking spot on the side of the building.
Jogging around to the front, she pushed inside and spotted Dean sitting in a booth near the back. He waved and she went to meet him, returning his quick hug before sliding into the seat opposite his.
Mustering a smile, she crossed her arms on the table. “You look good, my friend.” He always did. Dean was in his mid-thirties, with honey blond hair, big brown eyes, and a killer smile. The whole package stopped traffic. It was a shame she felt nothing more than mild attraction for the man, and vice versa, because it had been way too long since she’d had any sort of an intimate relationship.
“Back atcha.” Sitting back, he eyed her in speculation. “I already heard through the grapevine about the shooting. How are you holding up?”
“Jeez, that was fast,” she muttered. “I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
He patted her hand, his gaze softening. “That’s normal. You’ll be all right, trust me. Especially after I give you something else to occupy your mind.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a legal-sized white envelope and slid it across the table.
Swallowing hard, she eyed it. “My tickets?”
The agent glanced around, but there was no one nearby to listen. Still, he spoke in a low voice. “Read that, memorize it, then destroy it.”
Turning the envelope over she glanced at her friend. “What’s inside?”
“Directions to a place that doesn’t officially exist.” He paused. “A compound in Wyoming, situated deep in the Shoshone National Forest. Top secret, black ops.”
“Unless you know the right people to squeeze.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Exactly.”
Taking a deep breath, she asked the one question burning in her heart. “Is my brother alive?”
“I don’t know,” he said, tapping the envelope. “But those are the ones who will.”
So close, but still no answer. Yet. She fought back the tears that would do neither herself nor Micah any good. “You risked everything to get this information for me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“By not getting yourself killed.” He wasn’t joking.
“I’ll put that on the list right after finishing with IA, taking personal leave, packing, and hitting the road.”
“Call me when you leave town, and keep in touch.”
“I will,” she promised.
“You hungry? I’m buying.”
To Rowan’s surprise, her stomach snarled. Funny how a sliver of hope could revive a person’s appetite. “I could eat, but it’s on me. And if this lead takes me to the truth about what happened to Micah, there’s a steak dinner in it for you when I return. It’s the least I can do.”
“Only if you bring Micah with you,” he said softly.
Damn it, she would not cry.
“It’s a deal.”
Understandably, their meal was quite a bit more subdued than usual. Rowan was far too preoccupied to make a good companion, but that was the beauty of true friendship; neither of them had to say a word to be comfortable. They had each other’s backs.
While they ate, her thoughts drifted to this mysterious compound and what kind of operation she would find. Not to mention the reception she’d receive, especially when they learned of her mission.
But she wouldn’t leave there without finding out, once and for all, what had happened to her brother. She and Micah had always shared a mental connection that most people would scoff at, and certainly wouldn’t understand. They weren’t twins, but she felt strongly that she would know in her heart if and when he died. He was alive. Had to be.
No, this wasn’t the end at all, but just the beginning. She’d find her brother if it was the last thing she ever did.
And then she’d make reservations for three at the finest restaurant in L.A.
With every mile that took her closer to her destination, Rowan’s anxiety grew by leaps and bounds. The gorgeous backdrop of the Shoshone National Forest, resplendent in full summer greenery, hardly registered as she steered her truck up the winding road.
Gripping the wheel, she eyed the left-hand side of the road, looking for the obscure turn outlined in the directions she’d memorized and then burned three weeks ago. Three miles later she found it. Or hoped she had.
Turning, she braked in front of a metal gate. It was simple, the kind any landowner might use, along with the black and white NO TRESPASSING sign nailed to a post next to the chain and padlock. Neither posed a deterrent to her bolt cutters or her determination.
Leaving the truck running, she grabbed the cutters and made short work of the chain, then unwrapped it, letting it hang from the gate. In for a penny. If she was in the right place, she’d soon have a lot more to worry about than a measly charge of trespassing on government property.
After swinging the gate open enough to drive the vehicle through, she returned to the truck and did just that. Then she got out and closed the gate again, wrapping the chain around it so that, hopefully, nothing would appear out of the ordinary to a casual passerby. So far, so good. She continued on her way.
A couple of miles deeper into the forest, the second barrier was an unpleasant surprise, and a formidable obstacle. She could have screamed in frustration.
The chain-link fence was about ten feet tall and topped with razor wire. This gate was much more sophisticated, at least two feet taller than the fence on either side, and automated, with a pass code box on the driver’s side. On top of the security box, a camera lens stared her in the face like an all-knowing eye.
“Shit.”
She didn’t have the code. And after several minutes of punching a green CALL button and then waiting, it became evident that no one planned to answer her summons. The operatives inside were probably having a good laugh. Maybe they thought she’d get bored and go on her merry way.