Next Exit, Pay Toll Page 2

  Alina Maschik sipped her scotch and watched the man behind her in the mirror behind the bar. He was sitting with his back to the wall and staring at the door. She had had ample time to study him while he talked to Danny, the friendly neighborhood bartender. Tall, with red hair cut close to his head in a military cut, he exuded confidence. He had green-hazel eyes and was built like a tank. Broad shoulders tapered into solidly muscled arms and black suit pants did nothing to hide the thickly muscled thighs. He had loosened his tie and now, as he leaned back against the back of the booth, his suit jacket hung open and she could just glimpse the edge of the holster holding his sidearm.

  Setting the glass down, she glanced at Danny under her lashes. He was shaking his head over something as he wiped down the bar with a rag, his lips curved in a grin. Alina dropped her gaze back to the glass.

  She had been coming here every weekday now for two and a half weeks. She came at the same time and always ordered a double scotch. By her third visit, Danny had started talking to her. By the fifth, he had the scotch ready when she walked through the door. She sat and nursed it for an hour and then left, tipping generously. She had been patiently waiting.

  Waiting for Michael O'Reilly.

  He looked older than the last time she had seen him. That was almost eleven years ago now. It was a lifetime away, and enough time for them both to change. He was a young gunnery sergeant then, serving in the Marine Corps. They shared a bottle of Jameson and parted company as near strangers, but it was a day that would be forever tucked away in her heart. It was the last time she had spoken to any member of her brother’s unit.

  It was also the last time she touched Jameson.

  The door to the bar suddenly swung open again, pulling her attention from the man behind her. Riding the hot sunshine, and letting in another blast of humid air, was a short, stocky man dressed in khakis and brown loafers. Alina watched as the door swung closed behind him and he sauntered down the bar toward the booth in the back, nodding to Danny as he passed.

  “How’s it going, Danny?”

  “Just living the dream, Marty,” Danny responded.

  “It’s all we can do, right?” Marty answered. He passed Alina without a glance and joined Michael in the booth behind her. “Sorry I’m late, Mikey. Business held me up.”

  “Business always holds you up,” Michael retorted good-naturedly, setting his half empty beer on the table and looking at the small Italian man who slid into the booth across from him.

  “Yeah, I know.” Marty grabbed a napkin from the chrome holder on the table and mopped his forehead. “Man, it's hot out there. Feels like a sauna.”

  “It's August in DC.” Michael reached into his inside pocket and pulled out his notebook. “What’ve you got for me?”

  “What haven’t I got, you mean?” Marty retorted. “I got nothing. I even went up to Jersey and checked with them personally.” Michael pinned him with a steady stare. “Swear to God.”

  “I don’t need you to swear to God,” Michael told him. “I need you to find out who she is.”

  “But that’s just it!” Marty leaned forward and lowered his voice. “No one knows! Look, I know I told you that Frankie knew, and in a roundabout way, he does. But he don’t know her name. He only met her once.”

  “When?”

  “Three or four months ago. She showed up looking for information,” Marty answered, sitting back in the booth. “Frankie says she did the Family a favor.”

  “If what I hear is true, she did a lot of people a favor,” Michael muttered. “But then she disappeared.”

  “Why are you so interested in her, anyway?” Marty asked. “She’s not in your usual line, is she?”

  “Do I have a usual line?” Michael put his notebook away and drained his glass. “Did you hear anything else up there? Anything at all?”

  “Just that the last anyone heard of her, she was fishing in Anchorage with the polar bears,” Marty retorted. “But they're keeping their ears open and...”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Michael stood up. “When you know, I’ll know.”

  “Don’t make it sound so lame.” Marty remained seated and reached for a bar menu that was tucked behind the napkins. “You know I’m your best source of information.”

  Michael grinned down at the little Italian man.

  “Sadly, that’s true,” he retorted. “You know how to reach me if you hear anything.”

  “You got it.” Marty turned his attention to the bar menu. “You won’t join me in a bite? I never see you eat anything.”

  “I eat on my own time,” Michael answered. “Enjoy your food.”

  He turned and walked away, past the woman at the bar and toward the door, nodding to Danny as he went.

  “Night, Danny. Hope it picks up,” he called.

  “Take it easy,” Danny answered with a wave.

  The front door opened and Michael disappeared into the sunlight. Alina glanced at the clock again. Her hour was up. She finished her scotch, laid a few bills on the bar and collected her bag. She smiled vaguely in the direction of Danny.

  “Have a good night,” he called. She blinked at him owlishly.

  “WHAT?” she yelled.

  Danny grinned and signed to her. She nodded and signed “You too” back to him. A moment later, the door opened again and she, too, was swallowed by the sweltering heat outside.

  Damon Miles watched the black hawk circle high above the tree tops through a pair of binoculars. To the casual observer, it was just another bird riding the wind current high above the trees. But Damon knew all too well that black hawks were rare this far north, and this particular one was even more so, having come all the way from South America.

  He laid the binoculars on the passenger's seat and put the Jeep in gear, turning off the main road and onto a narrow little dirt track that was partially hidden in the trees. The wind ruffled his hair as he bounced along the rough trail through the woods. It felt good to be back in the States. Summer was in full swing and the air was warm and heavy with the scent of the forest. The hawk was lost from sight now, but Damon didn't need to see the bird to know where it had gone. It was going home and, in a way, so was he.

  The dirt track narrowed until branches were screeching against both sides of the Jeep. Damon ignored the sound and continued to push through the trees. He hadn't seen Alina in over three months, not since they left New Jersey together after killing one of the world's most notorious assassins at a little, run-down farmhouse in Pennsylvania.

  Damon shifted gears as the track angled down sharply and disappeared into a wide, shallow river. He coasted into the water and drove through, splashing water up the sides of the doors.

  A few days after leaving New Jersey, he was called away on an assignment which landed him in Mexico. The last time he saw Alina, she was disappearing into the crowds at the airport. He had boarded his flight wondering if he would ever see her again, an all-too-familiar thought that he had every time he said goodbye to her.

  Reaching the bank on the other side of the river, he pressed the gas and the Jeep lurched out of the water. He bounced back onto the barely recognizable track once more and shifted gears again. They lived far from a secure existence, he and Alina. The simple fact that he was back in the States and heading through this wilderness to join his old friend was a blessing in itself. While he was thankful for that blessing, the reasons for it were far from heavenly. The time had finally come to wrap up what they started three months before. Damon's lips thinned grimly.

  The time had come to catch a traitor.

  Damon punched the Jeep through some underbrush. Three months had been spent waiting patiently while Alina had lulled them into a state of confusion. Now, it was time for her to take back her life and her freedom. It was time for them to find the person responsible for bringing a terrorist onto American soil.

  Despite the grimness of the situation, he was looking forward to seeing her again. The circumstances may be less than ideal, but they had faced
worse together: boot camp, for one and New Jersey, for another.

  Compared with those, how bad could it be?

  Chapter Two

  The black hawk dove down from heights unknown, circling lazily as he descended through the evening sky. The sunlight was fading and, as the bird reached tree level, he blended perfectly with the shadows before dropping gracefully out of the sky and landing gently on the outstretched arm of a slender redhead. She murmured to him softly and the hawk bobbed his head, his shiny black eyes locked onto her green ones.

  Alina smiled at him fondly. Raven adopted her as his own two years ago, the day she took him in to nurse him back to health. Rather than be parted from her, he followed her out of the mountains of South America, all the way to New Jersey. When she departed from Jersey a few months before, he followed her again. He was a guardian and a companion, and Alina couldn't imagine a better pet.

  Still holding her arm out like a perch, she turned and slowly walked back to the small cabin in the center of the clearing. People used to call her a witch behind her back in the military. Her uncanny knack with animals of all types had earned her the nickname, and her “sixth sense” had held it. They didn't know that she was aware of the whispers, but she had been amused by them. She certainly didn't think there was anything magical about her abilities with animals. They responded to her and seemed to understand her. It was a phenomenon that had come in extremely handy on several occasions and Alina had learned not to question it. It was just part of who she was.

  She reached the back porch of the cabin and Raven stepped off her arm onto the wooden banister that surrounded the porch. Stepping up onto the worn wood, Alina turned to look out into the trees. She had been in the cabin now for three months and was getting restless. Aside from her daily afternoon romp into the Irish bar in the city, she didn't leave the safety of the woods. Those three months had been spent carefully ensuring that she had completely vanished off the grid. Her pursuers were fed a steady diet of misdirection until they weren't sure if she was in Egypt, South America, Russia, Canada or the Alps. She could have been in Timbuktu for all they knew. They didn't have any idea where she was and they were getting nervous.

  And that was part of the plan.

  Alina smiled grimly as she gazed out into the gathering dusk. Soon she would be able to start moving again. While these months of near inactivity had served her well, Alina was ready to get on with it. She glanced at the black hawk, who was settled on the railing, staring out into the trees with his sharp eyes. Even Raven had been restless recently, sensing change in the air.

  Alina was turning to go into the house when she caught the unmistakable sound of an engine through the trees. She paused, her hand instinctively unsnapping the holster holding the .45 semi-automatic pistol at her back. Raven was still staring into the trees to the right, his shiny eyes unwavering. Alina stepped off the porch, listening to the faint sound of the engine in the distance. Only two people knew where she could be found, and both of them were out of the country.

  Alina was still, listening to the faint hum echoing through the trees. It sounded as if it was heading towards her, but it was hard to tell at this distance. She glanced at Raven. He turned his head to look at her before launching off the balustrade and disappearing into the trees to the right.

  That was the only thing she needed to see.

  Pulling the .45 out of her back holster, Alina ran swiftly toward the trees to the right of the house. It was entirely possible that it was a stranger, off-roading in the woods, but she wasn't about to stay put and wait to see. In a few seconds, she was in the trees, skillfully moving through them with the speed of someone very familiar with the territory. Her heart settled down into a steady rhythm, and every sense she had was focused on her surroundings. The trees moved past her in a blur, and Alina sensed the forest animals scurrying around her as she moved swiftly and silently through the woods.

  The engine was louder now. It was definitely on the old trail that led from the access road a few miles away. Alina paused, judging the distance by sound, before crossing to her right to cut through the trees. She emerged onto the old trail about a quarter mile ahead of the vehicle and, leaning up against the fat trunk of an old tree, she caught her breath and waited.

  A topless, black Jeep Wrangler came into view a moment later, bouncing along the trail. Alina lifted her right arm, the .45 firmly in her grasp, and brought up her left hand to steady it. Without flinching, she fired off a round at the Jeep.

  The sound was deafening in the forest. Her bullet tore into the front right tire and the Jeep came to an abrupt stop. The forest fell silent around them as the driver stood up swiftly, aiming his own weapon at her. Alina's heart surged into her throat as her eyes met bright blue ones. She stared at the tall man holding a gun pointed straight at her pounding heart.

  “I thought you were in Mexico,” she finally called a little breathlessly, breaking the silence. The man studied her lazily.

  “I thought you were a brunette,” he answered.

  Alina gave a short laugh and lowered her weapon as she moved forward. As soon as she did, he lowered his and tucked it away in the back of his cargo shorts. Switching off the engine, he jumped out of the Jeep and strode forward to meet her. He was six foot, two inches of solid strength, with shoulders as broad as he was tall. Dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a black t-shirt that stretched tight across his hard chest, he moved with a jungle-cat grace that was deadly. Dark hair fell over his forehead in a careless wave and Alina thought he might very well have been the best thing she had ever seen.

  “Welcome back, Hawk,” she murmured, tucking her gun back into its holster as she met him in the middle of the trail.

  His arms wrapped around her warmly and held her tightly for a moment. Alina got a whiff of musk and woodsy scent, the smell that was unmistakably him, and a rush of warmth surged through her. Damon pulled away slightly and looked down at her, his cobalt eyes dancing warmly.

  “Not quite the welcome I was expecting,” he retorted.

  Alina grinned and they both turned to look at the Jeep. The hissing that came from the front passenger tire was unmistakable.

  “Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly and Damon glanced down at her again.

  “Nice shot.”

  “I've been known to make a few,” she answered with a wink.

  He chuckled and looked around.

  “How far are we from your lair?”

  “About half mile along this track.”

  “Get in.” Damon headed back to the driver’s door. “The tire just might make it there.”

  Alina glanced at the deflating tire dubiously as she passed it and climbed into the Jeep.

  “What are you doing back already?” she asked as he started the engine and put the Jeep in gear.

  “I finished sooner than I expected,” Damon answered shortly, pressing the gas. The Jeep moved forward. “Harry told me how to get here. You couldn't have found a better spot. This place is the land of nowhere.”

  “Have you heard any chatter?” Alina asked and Damon glanced at her.

  “I heard that you were sighted in China last week, and last night I heard that you were in Brazil,” he told her. “Apparently, you're everywhere.”

  Alina's lips curved into a smile.

  “Except here,” she said softly and Damon nodded, turning his attention back to the trail.

  “Except here,” he agreed. “You've done a great job of keeping them spinning their wheels,” he admitted. “I was half-tempted to start some rumors about Mexico, but then I thought better of it.”

  “Thank you!” Alina said with heartfelt sincerity, grabbing the roll bar as the Jeep bounced over a deep rut. “I don't want to have to worry about the Cartels on top of everything else.”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about,” Damon murmured and Alina glanced at him, her eyes alight with laughter.

  “Oh, don't you?” she demanded.

  “Not the faintest,”
he retorted. Alina grinned.

  “Ok, Hawk,” she murmured. “Have it your way.”

  Damon glanced at her swiftly.

  “If I could have it my way, we wouldn't be here,” he said. The smile faded from Alina's face and she ducked instinctively as a tree branch smacked the roll bar. “This is insanity. You know that.”

  Alina was silent as they bounced the last few yards towards the edge of the trees that surrounded the cabin clearing.

  “You know I couldn't just run away,” she said finally as they broke through the trees and into the clearing behind the house. Two square buildings were set apart from the cabin at the back. One acted as a garage and the other was a makeshift workshop. Alina pointed to the building on the right.

  “You can pull up there,” she said.

  Damon guided the limping Jeep to the right and stopped outside the garage, cutting the engine. They were both silent for a minute.

  “I've been thinking a lot about this whole mess,” Damon said slowly, breaking the silence. “This might be the one time when you should have run.”

  “I could never have stopped. You know that,” Alina replied softly. She looked at him and her eyes met his. “I can't live any kind of life hiding from my own government. This has to end now.”

  Damon stared at her in silence for a long moment before nodding.

  “Then we'll end it,” he finally said.

  Alina wasn't aware that she was holding her breath. With his words, however, she exhaled a long, silent sigh of relief. She couldn't do this without Hawk. Even with the two of them working together, the odds were heavily against them.

  And heavily in favor of someone hidden deep within Washington, DC.

  Michael O'Reilly poured himself a drink and carried it over to his dining room table, staring down at the papers spread out before him. Time tables jostled with the latest intelligence reports on the missing government agent known only as Viper. The mysterious agent had disappeared three months ago and just about every agency in Washington was looking for her. The problem was that no one knew anything about her, or even what she looked like. She was a phantom, and a very well-trained phantom at that.