“Why didn’t you pull the trigger, Jack?”
“I have anger-management issues,” she replied. “The contractor insulted and threatened me with her organization.”
“Since when do you care about contractors?”
“Since they almost killed me during a job.”
“Why is it you’re not concerned about me executing you instead?” TQ asked.
“I know—”
“Do you think I need you enough to overlook your failures, Jack?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I know you want to keep me alive for as long as it takes to get over yourself, which could be never.”
“Myself?” TQ sounded intrigued. “How interesting. Do explain.”
“You didn’t come after me because I killed your brother. I doubt you care enough about anyone to seek revenge on their behalf.” She had to remind TQ why she’d wanted Jack in the first place; she had to put TQ’s anger back into perspective if she wanted to keep Cass alive. “I’m just here because you can’t cope with someone else deciding destiny or calling the shots. I put a glitch in your plans, in your perfectly choreographed life, when I killed your brother and rubbed it in your face. If anyone should have decided about his miserable life and reveled in the choice of his death, it should have been you.”
TQ clapped slowly. “Brava. Not bad for a lowlife assassin.”
“You’re not that complicated. Pretty transparent, actually.”
TQ laughed. “Am I, now?”
“Just another statistic, really.”
“How precious. Kitchen psychology.” She approached Jack.
“Probably a case of a messed-up childhood,” Jack replied. “Parents didn’t love you, think you were good enough. For some reason, gave more love or saw more potential in your paraplegic brother. Maybe they never wanted a daughter in the first place and treated you like an afterthought. But you proved them wrong. You got even by becoming powerful and rich. You showed them who really calls the shots when it comes to rejection and pain—”
“Shut up.” TQ shouted, completely out of character.
“How am I doing so far?”
“I said, shut up,” TQ repeated, quietly this time.
“The truth’s a remorseless bitch, isn’t she?”
“Undoubtedly.” TQ traced the scar on Jack’s cheek with her index finger. “Yet nothing, compared to me.” She went to the door but turned back, her hand on the knob. “I can end your life with the wave of my hand.”
“But you won’t.”
TQ smiled. “My game, my terms, remember? You get to live for as long as I deem necessary. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take care of your failure.”
She addressed the short goon standing there and his friend Hulk on the opposite corner. “You two…I want you to demonstrate just how remorseless I am, until I say otherwise.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Burke, Virginia
Shield drove slowly past the safe house. The cracker-box home was dark, and the overgrown yard, if it could even be called a yard, told her it hadn’t been used in a while.
The isolated safe house was near the northern edge of Lake Accotink Park, an enormous wooded area big enough to get lost in. She skirted the edge of the park for nearly three miles before she began looking seriously for a good dump site.
She’d hoped to hide the van among the trees, but every possible avenue she explored had problems or carried too much risk of immediate discovery. She spotted the solution in an enormous car dealership coming up on the right. Shield followed the signs to the service department around back and parked in a lot filled with older vehicles waiting to be repaired or picked up by their owners. “Let’s go,” she told Wagner as she slid the keys under the front mat. “Follow me closely, keep quiet, and don’t draw attention to yourself.”
After a two-block jog they were inside the tree line at the edge of the park. They’d made it there unobserved, fortunately, because the bloodstain on Wagner’s light-blue hoodie was getting too large to ignore. Since it was still much too early for park visitors, Shield kept to the main path that led north through the woods, confident they wouldn’t be seen. Still, she remained quiet, alert to any noise or sign of movement ahead or behind them. Though it was black as pitch out, they could move quickly because the pathway was wide and had been paved for bicycles. Wagner did a good job of keeping up, though she was breathing heavily.
The one-story safe house, set a good distance from any neighboring homes, was sadly neglected, with peeling paint, an iffy roof, and a driveway of cracked concrete and tall weeds. All the curtains were drawn, and every window was opaque with filth. From the look of it, it might have been years since anyone had last used the residence for any significant amount of time.
Shield hoped they’d at least find a working phone.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Wagner bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. The sleeve where she’d been shot was saturated with blood.
“There’s nothing else around.”
“What’s this house supposed to be?”
“A safe house is a place where ops or agents can find refuge until further notice or a place to hide witnesses.”
Wagner straightened and stared at the sagging porch. “It looks…spooky.”
“As long as we find a phone, I don’t care what the house looks like.” Shield tried the front door, the Walther at the ready. Locked. Wagner stayed close behind her as she made her way around to the back. The back exit was locked as well, but the wood was so warped there was a gap between the door and frame, enough to pop it open with the security keycard from her wallet. The Russian goons who’d overpowered them in the tunnel had taken only her Glock.
“Wait here,” she told Wagner. She slipped inside and slid her hand along the wall until she found a light switch. She flipped it on, relieved when a dim bulb came to life, illuminating a small, sparsely furnished kitchen.
She turned on more lights and looked around, giving the half dozen rooms a thorough check in the space of a couple of minutes. Two small bedrooms, one bath, a living room, dining room, and kitchen. Although everything was dusty and worn, the place did indeed conform to the usual safe-house standards: it was isolated, with a good view of the surrounding area, and had multiple exits and basic, functional furniture. Little else, except for a few kitchenware items and minimal bedding and towels. The less clutter in a place like this, the better. It was easier to tell immediately if anyone had been there and changed anything, and it was tougher to conceal cameras or listening devices.
Many safe houses also had a place to hide things—weapons, documents, even people. Did this one? For the moment, her priority was the phone she spotted on the end table beside the couch. “You can come in,” she called out to Wagner.
Wagner, hugging herself, came in from the kitchen and looked around. “At least we’re safe for now,” she said with evident dismay.
“Have the White House luxuries spoiled the florist?” Shield knew she was out of line, but she didn’t care. Wagner had proved to be a liar working for a dangerous woman named TQ, a woman she’d turned a blind eye to knowing anything about, and Shield was fed up with her lies and games. She didn’t even know why she’d helped Wagner escape.
“My name is Ryden,” Wagner replied angrily. “And no, the White House and everything about it is a nightmare I hope to one day forget.”
“Then get comfortable. I don’t know how long we’ll have to stay here.”