Jake Vanderpol didn't like surprises, especially nasty
ones that came via his secure phone line in the middle of
the night courtesy of the MIDNIGHT Agency.
"We've got a Code Red. All available agents report to duty
ASAP. All unavailable agents are on standby. I repeat,
Code Red..."
That was only the first in a series of bad news events. At
5:00 a.m. he was on the road and heading toward the
MIDNIGHT Agency headquarters located in a small,
nondescript building just west of Washington, D.C. A news
junkie, he'd heard about the escape of Ian Rasmussen on
the radio and just about ran his Hummer off the road.
By the time he swung the vehicle into the underground
parking lot and jammed it into a reserved spot, he was on
edge. He couldn't stop thinking about the young woman who,
six years ago, had helped him nail the international arms
dealer. It was the one and only time Jake had ever gotten
personally involved with a witness. The one and only time
he'd ever crossed that line. A line that in the end had
nearly cost him his job.
Even after all this time, he still saw her face when he
closed his eyes. He still smelled her perfume mingling
with the sweet scent of her skin. He still dreamed of her β
hot, sweaty dreams that left him hard and aching and full
of regret. Worse, he still wanted her with a ferocity that
shook him to his core.
He'd chalked up more mistakes in the one week he'd known
her than in his entire career. She made him crazy, and
he'd nearly thrown it all away. But in the end, when it
had come time for her to walk away and start her new life,
she hadn't looked back....
Shoving thoughts of the past away with the resolve of a
man who did it far too often, Jake shut down the engine
and hit the ground running. The MIDNIGHT Agency
headquarters was lit up like a football stadium. At the
front entrance two armed security officers nodded curtly
when he flashed his badge. Rather than wait for the
elevator, Jake ducked into the stairwell and took the
steps two at a time to the third floor.
The instant he entered the hall he could hear voices
coming from the "war" room. It was a large conference room
that was transformed into a command center whenever there
was a crisis. Jake figured the escape of a violent
international arms dealer qualified as a crisis and then
some.
He entered the room without knocking. All eyes swept to
Jake. Four MIDNIGHT operatives sat around an oval
conference table covered with paper. Two laptops were
connected to a printer that was spitting out more paper.
Fellow operative Mike Madrid looked as if he'd been
dragged from his bed, flogged and hastily dressed. A
computer software hacker by trade, he was working on a
laptop with one hand, gripping a cup of coffee with the
other.
The two other agents in the room, Zack Devlin and Rick
Monteith, didn't meet his gaze, and Jake realized there
was a reason he'd been the last team member called. That
reason ticked him off.
"Looks like I missed the party," Jake said to no one in
particular.
The room went silent and tense, as if someone had tossed
in a grenade and the agents could do nothing but wait for
the explosion. Jake wasn't sure if the impending
confrontation would qualify as an explosion, but it was
definitely going to be loud.
They shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, averting their
eyes. Coffee was sipped, fingers drummed, pencils tapped.
The agency chief, Sean Cutter, sat at the head of the
table, his blue eyes cold when they fastened on
Jake. "This briefing is over," he said.
Jake ignored his fellow operatives as they filed from the
room. "Rasmussen is out and you didn't bother calling me,
damn it."
"I've assigned other agents. They're capable and β"
"This is my case."
Cutter's eyes flashed. "This is whomever's case I see fit
to assign it to."
"I built it from the ground up β"
"You slept with your witness!" Cutter snapped.
"You screwed it up and I have no intention of letting you
do it again."
"You know I'm the best man for the job," Jake ground out.
"I know you're too personally involved to be effective."
Jake's heart was pounding. He wanted to believe it was
anger ricocheting through his body. But he could feel the
fear pumping through him with every frenzied beat of his
heart. He didn't want to ask about Kelsey. He didn't want
to think about her or feel anything for her. But he did,
and those emotions were tearing him up. He had to know if
she was okay. Every agent who'd been in that room knew
Rasmussen was going to go after her. He couldn't bring
himself to think about what would happen if he found her.
"Is she all right?" he asked.
"As far as we know."
"What the hell do you mean as far as you know?" The other
man's jaw flexed and Jake got a sick feeling in the pit of
his stomach. "This is bigger than just Kelsey James,"
Cutter said.
"What are you talking about?"
"Someone hacked into the Witness Security Program
database."
Disbelief and a deeper, darker fear reared inside him. "No
way."
"This hacker has names and addresses. Every agent I've got
is scrambling. Every witness who's ever gone into the
Witness Security Program is in danger. We're trying to
prioritize, but how the hell do you prioritize when you
have more witnesses than agents?"
Jake felt as if he'd been punched. "Rasmussen?"
"I don't know, but the timing of it points to him. He
certainly has the resources."
He stared at his superior, his mind reeling as the
repercussions of what he was being told hit home. "Where's
Kelsey James?"
Cutter looked away. "For God's sake, you don't know, do
you?"
"I had an agent check her apartment as soon as we heard.
CNN just broke the news. She must have heard about
Rasmussen and left before we could make contact."
Jake swore. That sounded like Kelsey. Head-strong.
Stubborn. Willing to take on the world all by herself if
she had to. But she had to be running scared, and with
good reason. If Rasmussen got his hands on her...
The thought made Jake break into a cold sweat. His
protective instincts kicked in with a vengeance. "At this
point it's probably safe to assume he has her name and
address."
"This is not your case, Jake. I need you here. There are
administrative β"
"Screw administrative!" Another curse burned through the
air. "I'm not going to let him get her, Sean."
"I've got another agent en route."
"Come on! You've got two hundred federal witnesses to
protect and twenty agents! Do the math!"
"We're working with the U.S. Marshals Service to contain
all the witnesses."
Jake cursed. "I need you here, Jake. But I need your head
screwed on straight. If you can't keep it together you
need to walk away."
"I'm not going to let him kill that young woman," Jake
ground out.
"She knew what she was getting into six years ago."
"She knew. But so did we, didn't we, Sean?"
"Don't go there, Jake. You did your job, and so did I."
"Yeah. Maybe a little too well." Jake scrubbed a hand over
his face, a harsh sound breaking from his throat. "Where
is she?"
Cutter stared at him, his face as hard as a piece of
granite. "Don't make the wrong decision, Vanderpol. I
covered for you last time this woman got under your skin.
I won't do it again."
"Is that the way this is going to go down?" Jake asked.
"That's the only way this can go down."
Never taking his eyes from the other man's, Jake removed
his MIDNIGHT identification from his wallet and laid it on
the conference table. Reaching beneath his jacket, he
withdrew his government-issue service revolver and laid it
next to the badge.
"Now you don't have to cover for me," he said, and then
walked out the door.
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