Page 68 of Shadow of Death
She laughed. “Hunter, the carrying thing over a threshold is after a wedding.”
“Still—”
“And they might have thought you knocked me out or something and called the police. I really can’t do any more paperwork tonight!”
He grinned and took her hand. She crawled out of the car and slid into his arms for a quick kiss before he closed and locked the door.
“Long day,” she murmured.
“And exhausting.”
“Um,” she murmured.
The lobby was quiet when they walked through. Not even the night clerk was at the desk.
“See, I could have pulled it off,” Hunter said.
“Sure. Maybe.” Amy laughed “Okay. You’re right, but it’s been a long, long exhausting day,” Amy said. Yet when they were in the room, she shrugged and turned to him. “At least I had a nap,” she reminded him, grinning.
“And I may not need a nap,” he replied, pulling her into his arms.
They laughed together, fell on the bed, wound up tangled in the sheets and their clothing, laughed more, and then became passionately embroiled.
When he slept, Hunter slept well and deeply, somehow aware in his dreams he held her, knowing it was unlikely he’d have ever found anyone like her in all the years of his life if they hadn’t come together even under these deadly circumstances.
Even sleep was good. Maybe amazing.
Except then he woke with a jump from the strident ringing of their phones—almost simultaneously.
“Mickey,” Amy murmured, glancing at her caller I.D. and referring to Mickey Hampton, her supervising director at the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.
His call was from Assistant Director Charles Garza—his supervisor from the home office.
“There’s been another development,” Garza said.
“Has there been another call or text to someone from Hayden Harper’s phone?” Hunter asked. “We’re beginning to question whether Hayden Harper is a victim—or part of this.”
“The Denver office’s artist no doubt did a sketch similar to Amy’s,” Garza said. “Andy Mason sent a copy. But this has nothing to do with Hayden Harper directly. No, something different. Touching close to home,” Garza added, his tone hard. “I’ve already spoken with Andy Mason. He’ll keep his people working on the protection details, but you’re going to be heading out.”
“Now? Why? And where are we heading?”
Hunter was pretty sure he already knew where they were going, but it seemed like there was a new “why.”
“It all has to do with Special Agent Gleason,” Garza told him.
“Gleason? The agent who had been guarding Carey and was taken away in a van? Did they find his body?”
“Parts of it, Hunter,” Garza said. “Last night, a family was driving along the turnpike and pulled into a rest stop. They like to travel by night so the kids can sleep. But their eight-year-old was awake and wanted to go to the restroom. As her mom was taking her, she suddenly stopped by one of the trash cans and started screaming. The mother looked—thought her daughter was seeing a theatrical prop or something similar at first and picked it up to show the kid. But it wasn’t a prop. It was a hand, Hunter, a human hand. Of course, the mother freaked and they called local police. They ran the fingerprints. And as a federal agent, Gleason’s were on file.”
“So, they kidnapped him, got him down to Florida, and... “
“We can only assume he’s dead,” Garza said. “Maybe even hope he’s dead and that he died fast.” He hesitated just a beat. “They found the hand. Then, there was an accident on Route 27 just on the north side of the Miami-Dade/Broward County line. Idiot passing—common enough. But he crashed into a tree—and a human foot fell down on his windshield.” Garza was quiet. “I met Gleason briefly, years ago after he graduated from Quantico. Andy Mason told me he was a fine agent. Wife and two kids. I want you and Amy to get down there and find out who the hell did this. Damn it, Hunter, this is beyond sick, and we have to get this stopped now, whatever it takes.”
“I agree,” Hunter murmured. Garza was right. But he had to wonder if he and Amy were targeted in this—if the puppet master had a plan for them to return to Florida.
Then again, there was no publicity on any of this. Would the puppet master even know who they were?
Then again, if they discovered the key player here, the last of the horsemen might still raise his head...ready when all else failed.
