Smokescreen. Jodie Bailey

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       ONE

      “Drive faster.” Captain Ethan Kincaid slammed his palm on the dash of the crew-cab truck his partner piloted. At the rate they were going it would take two days to get to the Syracuse terminal. A glance at the clock said they had less than two minutes.

      Craig Mitchum cast him a hard look, though his blue eyes flashed with amusement slightly out of place considering the situation. “Can’t do it, bro. I scream up to an airport running a hundred and twenty, and security’s going to be all over us. You want to get tied up in some back office answering questions?”

      Ethan huffed but didn’t relax in the seat. Every second counted. That call from Sean had rattled him clear to his core. “Someone hacked my email. They know everything. Get Ashley off that plane before they find her.”

      Ashley Colson was in danger she couldn’t imagine and would never see coming. Even more so than on the day she’d nearly died in his arms. Ethan swallowed hard against the rising tide of nausea the image of her broken and bloody body brought forth. That would not happen again. Even if he needed to die to stop it.

      Ethan had warned Sean involving her was a bad idea. He should have pulled the plug on the whole thing from the start, but he’d been willing to take any risk to catch the guys who’d killed his first partner. And now Ashley might pay a steep price for it.

       Please, God. Get us there before it’s too late.

      “I’ll swing by the drop-off and let you out so you can sweep the concourse. I’ll head for the parking deck.” Mitchum tapped the photo of Ashley that was jammed into the instrument panel. “This late at night, there shouldn’t be a lot of people milling around. We’ll find her.”

      Ethan grunted, convinced he could run up the long drive faster than Mitchum was navigating. In the dark of a cool spring night, the lights of the Syracuse airport bounced off the clouds, the glow painting the surrounding area in an eerie overwash. It chilled Ethan to the core, too much like the opening shot of a horror movie where the hero’s worst nightmares came true.

      “Kincaid. You’re a ball of nerves, worse than a private in his first firefight. You’re too experienced to act like this. Do you need to...?” Mitchum exhaled loudly and eased up on the gas as they approached the low, glass-enclosed pedestrian bridges between the parking lot and the terminal.

      “Do I need to what?” Ethan whipped his head toward his new partner. Assigned to work with him just under a year ago, the younger man often spoke his mind without a lot of thought to the consequences of his words. It was something Ethan admired, that ability to call it as he saw it, but Ethan was not about to let the man question his ability to do the job. Not on this case.

      Mitchum cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “Recuse yourself.” The words hung on the air, too cold for the heat leaking from the vents to thaw.

      Not on his life. There was no one else Ethan trusted to walk with Sean through this mission and no one else he trusted to protect Ashley.

      Not that he was known for doing a stellar job. It was his fault a domestic-violence call when they were stationed as military police together had gone south and left her fighting for her life.

      He shoved the memory to the side and glanced at the clock on the dash as Mitchum slowed the truck in the drop-off lane. Ashley’s flight had touched down nearly ten minutes earlier. Their window slipped lower.

      Sean’s intel said the mission had been compromised. Their enemies had found Ashley and would be waiting. For all Ethan knew, she was already dead in some out-of-the-way corner of the airport. The thought nearly crushed his lungs. Please, God. Don’t let me be too late. Again.

      * * *

      Ashley Colson’s smartphone chimed as she fired it up and hitched her carry-on higher onto her shoulder. In all of her thirty years she’d never been so happy to exit an aircraft. When her feet hit the carpet of the terminal, she relaxed muscles that had been tense since the plane left Chicago. Between the couple arguing in front of her the entire flight and the turbulence battering the passengers from takeoff to touchdown, she felt as though all of the oxygen had been sucked out of that jet.

      She entered the exit portal at the end of the concourse, waited for the second door to open and stepped into the main terminal. Now she was free, and she couldn’t get home fast enough.

      The cell phone vibrated repeatedly in her hand, so she stepped out of the trickle of traffic. No way had she missed so many calls in a couple of hours. As word of her knack for sniffing out vulnerabilities in computer networks spread, Colson Solutions grew busier, but demand hadn’t been that high.

      Hopefully, it wasn’t her biggest client. Sam Mina had called her in Chicago and asked her to come to Albany to integrate new machines into their existing network. She’d put him off until Monday. Hopefully he hadn’t violated their contract and hired someone else. Losing Mina would be a blow her company might not recover from.

      Seven texts and four voice mails. Skipping the texts, Ashley pressed the unfamiliar number in her voice-mail queue.

      “Ash, it’s me.” Sean’s voice was low and hurried, setting her apprehension level even higher than the couple arguing on the plane. Something was wrong. “Call this number. Now.” There was a hiss and a click as the call dropped. Three more similar messages amped the adrenaline in her system. Then, “I need you to go to my post-office box. Get the package from my mailbox. Work our program. And watch your back. I’m sorry, Ash. I’ll explain as soon as—” A muffled shout. “I’ve sent—” The call cut out.

      Nausea hit her hard, almost doubling her over. Sean. Her ex-fiancé and lifelong best friend.

      Something was very wrong. In all of his deployments, he’d said there was no need for a cell phone in a war zone. One of his greatest fears was that something would happen to him, leaving his contact information vulnerable for anyone to see.

      Knees weakening, she punched the screen to see her texts. Seven from Sean, all telling her to call until the last one. I’m sorry.

      What had he done?

      A force from behind propelled her forward, sent her phone flying and caused her bag to slide to her elbow with a jolt. She nearly pitched onto her face but strong hands wrapped around her upper arms. “Are you all right, miss?”

      Watch your back. Sean’s warning rained in her head as she spun and came face-to-face with a tall, dark man in a sleek, gray business suit.

      Concern wrinkled the corners of his dark eyes. “You seem ill. Are you okay, Ms. Colson?”

      How did he know her name? Ashley scanned his face, muscles tightening in her neck as she СКАЧАТЬ