FORTY-FOUR

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As Paul was racing up to the pair, Carter was grabbing at Mark's forearm, yanking on it in vain. "Colonel," he croaked.

Thinking Carter deserved to sweat a little, Paul stood silent at Mark's side, watching the agent's body jerk about with its failed attempts to disengage the hold. Sixth Dan, huh? he gloated. Doesn't look all that deadly to—

Without warning, a hand sliced into Mark's throat. With his opponent's slight recoil, Carter managed to twist to the left, lift a leg, and ram a heel into Mark's knee. He was fast, nimble, amazingly so given his suspended position.

Mark held tight, his grunts the only sign he'd been hit. But Paul had been around martial arts long enough to know these were warning shots. And judging by the red face Carter was sporting, that was all about to change as his body's natural instinct for air took over and panic set in.

Things were about to get broken. Mark things.

Paul gave Mark's arm a few hard yanks, which were about as productive as tugging on a parked car—for every bit of give, there was an equal and opposite bounce back. After banging Carter's head against the wall a couple of times, Paul decided to use his words instead. "Let him go," he demanded.

Nada.

Paul stepped back and lunged at Mark's waist, taking him into the wall. Carter's feet hit the ground, but the iron grip stayed locked on his throat. "Listen to your own advice, goddamn it," Paul shouted, keeping his shoulder pressed into Mark's rib cage.

"Okay," Mark exhaled.

Paul looked up in time to catch the man's nod.

"Okay," Mark repeated, releasing his grip as Paul eased off him.

Carter massaged the raw-looking handprint circling his neck. "Sorry, about the comment, Colonel. It was stupid and desperate."

Now you had to admire the little guy for that. Being dangled like a carrot in front of the staff would have had most men launching into a tirade of macho self-posturing. Maybe he isn't all that bad after all.

"You were a little slow on the assistance, Captain," Carter grouched with a scowl. "Colonel Spinelli could have been seriously hurt."

Nope, still an ass. "Well, I couldn't decide which I would enjoy more, watching you choke to death or letting my sister deal with you."

Mark bent to rub his knee and assess the damage. When he straightened, he turned to leave.

With Carter about to go on the offensive again, Paul stepped between them. "I'll go too. I'll make sure they don't see him."

Carter cursed as he looked from one to the other. "Okay, but keep your distance, Colonel. We haven't worked this hard to screw it up now."

The agent headed back to his subordinates still at a standstill across the room, rousing them with a yelled, "Get a team down to that courthouse for Christ's sake! Lieutenant Robins is an easy target down there." As they scurried into action, Carter shook his head with a muttered, "Women have a knack of picking the worst times to show up."

A fiery glare from the gum chewer had Carter eating his words. "Sorry, Westcott," he mumbled as he walked by her.

Bruce hadn't moved, seemingly transfixed by the screen in front of him, a fat grin plastered on his mug. To Paul, he looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

"You're not going anywhere, Major," Carter snapped, pointing at the guy's chest.

"Never said I was," Bruce shot back.

A heavy hand clamped onto Paul's bicep, fingers digging in, and he was yanked toward the exit so fast he almost tripped over his own two feet. "Take it easy," he said, ripping his arm free and falling into step behind the man in a rush.

Mark ignored him, pulling open the door with such force it created wind. He headed to the elevators, his pace hurried, his gait . . . back to uneven.

)l(

"He's here," Captain Beal spoke in her ear.

Virginia turned from the conversation she was having with a deputy from the County Sheriff's Department to see Augustus at the bottom of the courthouse steps. Police barricades held back the gawkers and reporters that had arrived in full force, lured by the mystery of this powerful man who seldom showed his face in public. He had his own entourage, most of them wearing FBI jackets, with Anderson and a few other suits added to the mix. But Augustus stood out like the business magnate he was, impeccably dressed from the crisp pocket square right down to the freshly shined shoes. Managing all of that from inside a holding cell had a lot to say about Anderson's reputation and influence.

"You sure about this?" Cap asked.

"Yes."

Her boss lifted his hat to scrub a hand across the dark bald head.

Poor Cap. His blood pressure must have gone through the roof when she'd shown up at his office unannounced, pregnant, and relentless in her demand to be brought up to speed on Mark's case. So far, there had been no ransom call, no lead on the van, and not so much as a murmur on the streets. She knew as well as he did that, in the world of law enforcement, no news was rarely good news. If Mark were indeed the source for the FBI investigation and the Chilvatis had gotten wind of it? Shit. No telling what they would do to him.

She'd practically had to force Cap to bring her along to the courthouse. Despite the outward gruffness, he possessed a deep-seated gallantry that was a little archaic at times, including the belief that all pregnant women should be pampered, at home, in bed, surrounded by an exorbitant number of fluffy pillows. Although, with all this standing around having caused her ankles to swell up, Virginia had to admit there was something to be said for outdated ideals.

He hadn't moved.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"Okay," Cap said, recovering the chrome dome. "Wait right here."

He walked down and across the steps, intercepting the group's ascent. There was a lot of talking between handshakes, but she knew the exact moment her name was mentioned when Augustus's head shot up.

He looked right. Then left. Searching for her.

He found her.

Grey eyes were cold and gleaming, not in the least bit dulled by the traumatic events of the last few days. But she knew better—the calm exterior was all an act. With his aversion to media hype, this public spectacle had to be eating at him.

Anderson spoke in his client's ear and got an answering nod. As the group made their way over, Augustus's eyes stayed glued on her. The man carried himself with a presence that was hard to define, a kind of charismatic threat that left her wondering which he would prefer, to kiss her hand, or to break her neck. Ignoring the chill that floated over her skin, she forced her body to remain still, refusing to be flustered by his approach.

"Lieutenant Robins," he said, his voice strong and confident, making her doubt her earlier assessment. "Did you come to gloat?"

"Where is he?" she demanded, catching a flicker of surprise in that icy stare.

Augustus pushed his shoulders back while his eyes scanned the horizon. As if he were enjoying the scenery around him. As if this day were just like any other. When he spoke again, there was harshness to his tone. "You know I loved him like a son. That makes two of my boys you have taken from me."

She lifted her chin, tensing up with the painful reminder of Simon. "Mark always spoke of you with great respect. I had hoped you were worthy of such admiration."

"Ahhhh, my dear . . . you live in a fantasy world. Where I come from, self-preservation supersedes loyalty."

"If you harm him, I'll use every resource I have to make your life a living hell."

For a moment, Augustus's eyes seemed to twinkle with the challenge, but then his gaze shifted to the top of the stairs. "Unfortunately, I've already arrived in hell," he muttered.

"We should go," Anderson prompted.

Augustus glanced over his shoulder at the attorney to say, "One moment."

He wasn't finished with her yet. "Lieutenant, if I had to do it all over again, I would do many things differently. Will you think the same thing when you are my age, I wonder?"

"I try to live by standards I won't regret."

His eyes drifted down. "No regrets?"

"None."

He smiled a little, but it carried more sadness than anything else. "That is good to hear."

With that being said, he resumed the climb to the courthouse, his escorts doing the same. Anderson was the last to follow, mouthing a, "Good luck," before joining the procession.

She frowned, watching the head of the Chilvati family walk away from her, puzzled by his comment, frustrated by the dead end, and no closer to finding Mark.

Now what?

Two hours later, dark clouds and the possibility of a spring storm were building in the distance when Virginia walked out of the courthouse. It matched her mood perfectly. After all that time invested in listening to lawyers bicker, she'd come away empty handed. The judge had ruled; Augustus was to be held without bail due to the likelihood he would flee. And as the man had been escorted out, pinning her with his glare, all hopes of getting anything more out of him had vanished.

"When is Gus supposed to arrive?"

Cap looked down at his watch. "Not until—"

"Lieutenant Robins," a male voice called out behind them.

Captain Beal spun around, bringing a hand up to the butt of his gun.

Jesus. They were all a little too jumpy.

"It's okay," Virginia whispered before turning her attention to the dark-haired man five steps above them. "Yes?" She didn't need to read the badge held in the air. The dark suit, clear coil of wire hanging below his ear, and passport-photo expression gave him away. He had to be either FBI or Secret Service, and she doubted very much that the President was here to see her.

The man kept his eyes on her twitchy boss even though his head was turned to her. "I'm Agent Baldwin. You need to come with us."

"Us?" She looked around and frowned. "What is this about?"

"It's for your own protection, Lieutenant. We have reason to believe you might be in danger." From out of the crowd, three more pokerfaced men converged on them, coming from different directions. Their feet may have come to a halt behind the one in charge, but their heads kept up a constant swivel.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Agent Baldwin gestured down the stairs. "You can follow us in your car."

Virginia moved up a step. "Do you know where he is?"

"If you would just follow us, Lieutenant," he repeated.

Captain Beal didn't like it. With his hand on her arm to thwart any further advancing, he reminded her, "The Chilvatis' pockets run pretty deep."

The agent was trained well, ignoring the insult and keeping the cool exterior while his molars ground out the brunt of his frustration. "Lieutenant, we need to—"

Abruptly, the deadpan stare shifted out to the road, making Virginia glance over her shoulder. The feeling of being watched was back with a vengeance, but there was nobody.

Nobody she could see anyway.

She crossed her arms and waited, assuming Agent Baldwin was being given a directive through his earpiece based on the far-off look, the nod to nobody, and the sudden shift of one eyebrow that proved he did, in fact, have facial muscles.

"Would it help if I said, 'Giraffe'?" he asked dryly.

The rush of relief nearly brought Virginia to her knees. Giraffe. It was a secret shared with her daughter, a code word to tell her it was safe to go with someone else in unexpected situations, the same word she had entrusted Mark with the day he'd hunted down Tom and brought Janine home.

Virginia wanted to hug the man in front of her, but there was no time. "What are we waiting for?" She turned and sprinted down the stairs, leaving five stupefied men in her wake.

"Is she supposed to be running?" she heard one of them say.

"How the hell would I know," Cap rasped, scrambling to catch up to her.

The agents led the way in their car with Virginia following and Cap taking up the rear. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel as she followed the non-descript grey sedan onto the highway. Going five miles below the speed limit. "Hurry up," she muttered.

Her cell phone rang.

Before she'd had a chance to say anything, Cap blurted, "We have a tail."

Her eyes flashed to the rearview. She'd been so preoccupied with where they were going, she hadn't been paying attention to where they'd been. "I see that," she said, spotting the black Lincoln Navigator weaving through traffic to keep up. "How long?"

"Since leaving the courthouse."

"Damn it." She accelerated, planning to move up beside the sedan and let the agents know she was being followed.

"Shit!" Cap yelled in her ear.

Her eyes snapped to her mirror again just as a dull thud told her he had thrown the phone. He was weaving back and forth between lanes in an attempt to block the Navigator that was now at his back bumper and doing its damndest to get around him.

The motorcycle appeared out of nowhere, managing to skirt past the dueling cars and race up beside hers. The rider wore black head-to-toe, any chance at identification hidden behind the reflective visor. But she recognized the bike.

Her heart started racing. "Mark," she yelled to him.

He looked over and made a hasty gesture with his hand that she read as, You stay, I'll go, before leaning forward and turning his concentration back to the road. With a sudden burst of speed, he left just as quickly as he'd arrived.

All focus went back to her rearview, just in time to see the Navigator bearing down on her and the captain's Tahoe stuck at a strange angle in the ditch at the side of the road. She glared at its occupants as the SUV roared past, but they ignored her. With sickening clarity she realized she hadn't been their target at all.

She'd been the bait.

END OF CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Oh, no. That doesn't sound good.😳He was supposed to keep his distance. Fat chance of that happening though, right?

I'm taking a poll. Does everyone remember Giraffe? The secret code? The stuffed toy Louis bought Janine?

Dedicated to @DarkHeartedGirl3 , for staying up until the wee hours one morning back in April to read and comment on my creation, and for all your support since! Thank you, my dear ❤️

Thank you all for reading and voting ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 🙏 🙏 🙏 I am blessed to have such dedicated readers!

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