Tactical Force. Elle James

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      Instead of answering the previous text, she shoved her phone into her purse and left her office. Her heart hammered against her ribs and her breathing came in shallow pants. She was overreacting. That was all there was to it.

      But who had given out her phone number? And how did they know she’d once been involved with Halverson? She’d kept that part of her life as clandestine as possible. Trying to ensure her trysts with Halverson were in as out-of-the-way a venue as she could, she’d usually met him in a public library, where running into people she worked with was highly unlikely. It wasn’t a bar, and it wasn’t a coffee shop. She’d thought it was the best cover of all. How many terrorists did she know who made good use of a public library?

      She’d never been to Halverson’s mansion, and she’d always worn a disguise when she’d met with him at the library, never driving her own car, but taking public transportation.

      Once out in the open, she inhaled fresh night air. Anne had been so busy working she hadn’t realized it had rained earlier. The ground was still wet, and light reflected off the standing puddles. Her phone vibrated inside her purse, causing her heart to skip a beat. She ignored it and strode toward the Metro station, wishing she’d left while there was still some daylight chasing away the shadows. Though night had settled in, people still moved around the city. Men and women dressed in business suits, dress shoes and trench coats hurried home from office buildings, after a long day at work. Still, the number of people headed toward the train station was significantly less than during the regular rush hours.

      Anne wished she’d worn her tennis shoes to work rather than the tight, medium-heeled pumps that had been pinching her feet since five o’clock that morning.

      Again, the phone vibrated in her purse. She could feel the movement where her purse rested against her side. Ignoring the insistent pulsation, she moved quickly, determined to make the next Metro train headed toward Arlington, where she lived in a modest apartment.

      Footsteps sounded behind her.

      Anne shot a glance over her shoulder. A man wearing a black jacket and jeans strode behind her, less than half a block away. He also wore a dark baseball cap, shading his face and eyes from the streetlights he passed beneath.

      Alarm bells rang in Anne’s head. She increased her pace.

      The man behind her sped up, as well.

      Still a couple of blocks away from the train station, Anne realized the streets had become deserted. The people she’d passed earlier must have hopped into taxis or found their cars in the paid parking lots.

      Alone and on the street with a man following too closely behind her, Anne couldn’t move fast enough. Then she remembered there was a restaurant at the corner of the next street, which now became her new, short-range goal. Clutching her purse to her side, she sprinted for the door, her feet moving as fast as they could in heels. She didn’t slow to see if the man following her was running, too. She only knew she had to get to that restaurant.

      When she reached the restaurant door, she almost sobbed. It was closed—the lights were turned out and no one moved inside.

      A quick glance behind her assured her the man had kept up. Whether he’d had to run or not wasn’t important. He was still there. Striding toward her, his feet eating the distance between them.

      Anne’s gaze darted around her, searching for a pub, a convenience store or pharmacy. Anything that stayed open late and had people inside. The block consisted of still more office buildings, closed for the night. She had no choice but to continue on toward the train station and pray she reached it before him.

      Starting out with a purposeful stride, she walked fast toward the Metro stop, watching the reflections in the glass windows of the office buildings beside her for the image of the man tailing her. When he appeared in the reflection, Anne shot forward, running all out.

      Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her pulse pounded so hard against her eardrums she could barely hear. Rounding a corner, she spied a pub, its sign lit up over the door. With the Metro station still too far to make, she set her sights on the pub and raced toward the door.

      Just as she was reaching out, a hand descended on her shoulder and jerked her back. Oh, sweet heaven, he’d caught her. She braced herself for the fight of her life.

      At that moment, the pub door opened, and a group of men exited, laughing and talking to each other.

      The hand on Anne’s shoulder fell away.

      With renewed hope, Anne dove through the men and into the pub. Once inside, she went straight to the bar.

      “What can I get you?”

      “Someone tried to grab me outside the bar,” she gushed, her breathing catching in her throat.

      The bartender leaned toward her. “You okay?” He glanced past her to a large man standing near the exit.

      The man, probably a bouncer, came forward.

      “This lady said a man tried to grab her,” the bartender told him.

      “What was he wearing?” the bouncer asked.

      She shook her head. “Dark clothes and a baseball cap, I think. I don’t know. I was running too fast to notice.”

      The bouncer nodded and left the pub. He was back a minute later, shaking his head. “No one out there fitting your description. In fact, there was no one out there at all. I walked a block in both directions.”

      Anne let go of the breath she’d been holding. Even if the man wasn’t within a block either direction, he might be lying in wait for her to continue her progress to the Metro stop. Anne couldn’t bring herself to step outside the pub.

      “We’re closing early tonight for kitchen renovations, lady. You got about thirty minutes until we lock up. Is there anyone I could call for you?” the bartender asked, his expression worried.

      Anne shook her head. She didn’t have any close friends. She had acquaintances from work. That was it. They had their own lives and she had her solitary existence. Then she remembered John Halverson giving her his phone number and telling her if ever she needed anything, she should call that number.

      But he was dead.

      Would anyone answer at the number? Did he still have a staff of people working for the same things he had?

      Anne pulled her phone out of her purse and stared down at the icon for her text messages. She didn’t want to look at them. Everything had been fine until she’d started receiving the texts.

      She pulled up her contacts list and dialed the number Halverson had given her, not knowing if anyone would actually answer.

      The line rang several times.

      Anne was about to give up when the ringing stopped and a woman answered, “Hello?”

      Not knowing what to say, Anne blurted, “I know John Halverson is dead, but I need help. He gave me this number and said to call if I ever needed anything. Please tell me you can help.” She stopped and waited for a response, her heart thudding, her gut clenched.

      “This is John’s wife. Are you in a safe place?”

      Anne СКАЧАТЬ