Plain Sight Read online

  I managed to keep a straight face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Drescher.” I’d actually opted for my Ruger LCRx. It was really small and while it only held six shots, I needed small in an office situation.

  “Mm hm.” He nodded. “Do you have a permit for that, ma’am?”

  I coughed. I had more than a permit. “I’m licensed.”

  “So, you are carrying.”

  Giving him the side-eye, I tossed my jacket in just the right way for him to see the holster and the butt of the gun as I made myself comfortable at my desk. “Mr. Drescher, would you please make sure that Dylan is safe?”

  “My pleasure.” He nodded, laughing and walking away from the desk.

  There’s no way Nolan didn’t suspect something was up with me. But the man was smart as a whip, and it was fun to play act that I was just some temp secretary.

  I’d looked into the security firm he worked for. None of the board had practical experience in security. There wasn’t a single one of them who had military, paramilitary, law enforcement, or government training. It was a bunch of guys who thought security would be a great field to go into.

  There was no way I was going to be working for them. So I started researching other groups.

  Company after company: Seeking tall male with military experience. And everyone I sent my resume to, with my goddamn MI6 experience on it sent back a note they weren’t currently employing females. It was getting so ridiculous that I was turning the idea of being a police officer over in my head.

  Shit. I couldn’t play by those rules. Either the law or the unspoken brotherhood shit. I scrubbed a hand down my face. I missed my life. The one I’d had for seven fucking years. I wanted to go back—and it pissed me off to no end that that utter shite had dismissed me.

  I took a deep breath as my phone pinged with a message.

  Drescher: MiniTarget has soccer. Everyone forgot.

  McInnis: Can you assist?

  Drescher: Do I get the truth about you?

  McInnis: If I told you, I’d have to kill you.

  Drescher: I’ll assist. Get Target home?

  McInnis: Can and will do.

  I had just sent a former Marine ex-con to escort my boss’s kid to soccer practice. There was no stopping the giggle at that point.

  Vaughn leaned out the door staring at the screen of his phone. “Ms. McInnis, did you just send my security to take my son to soccer?”

  “Yes, sir, I did,” I said.

  He looked up with those wonderfully soulful honey eyes, and smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad you understand.”

  “Of course.” I nodded. “Nolan and I agree you’ll be safe to drive home on your own. As long as you’re planning to go straight home?”

  “Straight home, of course.” He mock saluted me and ducked back in to finish his work for the day.

  The car, though, wasn’t working with us. He couldn’t get the damn car started as I sat in mine across from his. I could hear the engine trying to crank, and it looked like his headlights were nice and bright. Climbing out, he’d popped the hood and peered underneath.

  Shaking my head, I walked across the lot and leaned in. “Problems?”

  “Yeah, the damn thing won’t start. I just had the oil changed two weeks ago, but there was no sign of anything being wrong with it then.” He wiggled some wires and moved his phone’s flashlight around.

  Folding my arms and joining him at the front bumper, I peered into the engine area. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  He hung his head. “Not a fucking clue. But isn’t everyone supposed to open the hood and pretend they know what they’re looking at?”

  I started laughing. “Yeah, I guess we are.” I held my hand out. “Phone?”

  He handed it over and I started peering around. Ford still kept their cars pretty simple, even in the later models, and I could see most everything in there. And there it was, the busted wire. I hopped up and leaned all the way in, snagging it, very, very glad I kept my gun on the left side of my body.

  I tipped a bit too far forward reaching.

  Vaughn’s hand landed on my ass to steady me.

  Jesus shit.

  Vaughn

  Oh holy shit.

  Her ass was perfect.

  I had managed to push the idea of Bridget out of my head for the past six weeks. She was still a gorgeous fiery redhead with those hips to die for. But, as my hand sat on her backside, soaking up her warmth while I steadied her from falling into the car, there was something else there now. I’d gotten to know this woman and other parts of my body were more than interested in more information, please.

  I should have ripped my hand away.

  I didn’t.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yep,” she said, barely audible. Clearing her throat she tried again. “Yes. Thank you. Good save.”

  Nice ass. Fucking hell!

  “Find something?”

  “Yes.” She kicked back and levered herself out of the engine and back onto the fender, then slipped back on the fender to standing.

  I wanted to apologize for groping her—I was her boss and that wasn’t right, no matter what the rest of me thought.

  The look on her face dumped ice water on me.

  “What?”

  “This shouldn’t have been where I found it. This is the wire to the solenoid that cranks the car.”

  “So it’s broken…”

  She held up the end of it, and her voice was quiet. “It’s been cut.”

  “Wh—” I started to yell, but her hand landed over my mouth.

  “Stop. It’s been cut. I wouldn’t be shocked if you were missing a sparkplug as well. Don’t yell, don’t scream, don’t react. Just stay here with me a moment longer. In a minute we’re going to just casually close the hood and lock the doors, and head to my car. Don’t overreact.”

  “But this is bad…”

  “And if you overreact, they’ll know we know. Just follow my lead, please, Vaughn.”

  That was only the second time I’d ever heard her say my name. “Why are we being calm? Why aren’t we reaching for our phones to call 9-1-1?”

  “Because they know. The people who killed your wife are probably watching us right now. We have to get your son, and we have to get you somewhere safe, away from here.”

  Oh. God. Dylan.

  She grabbed my wrist again. “You have got to trust me, Vaughn. He’s at soccer practice so let’s get him and I’ll call Nolan and Garabaldi on the down low.”

  I nodded.

  A moment later she flicked the wire back into the car and laughed. “Well, that’ll make it hard to start. We’ll have to call Triple-A and get it towed. Can I drive you home, Mr. Willard?”

  “Yes, please,” I said. My voice sounded terrified. “Oh, we have to swing by and pick up my son.”

  The hood dropped on her whispered words. “Very good.” She looked at her hands and made a face. “Car grease. Yuck.”

  “It’s all over your…”

  She looked down and swore. She held the jacket open to inspect the mess on her shirt.

  She had a gun.

  What the actual fuck? Who was this woman?

  “Well, I hope you don’t mind a bit of a mess,” she said, dusting off. “Let’s go. Those soccer coaches get jerky if you’re too late getting your kid.” She pointed to the 4Runner parked across and two spots over from mine.

  Halfway there, she stopped and looked into her purse. Keys I guessed, until I heard her speaking softly.

  “When we get to the car, don’t say a thing about the cut wire or the people who are after you. Not a thing. I don’t even want to use my SUV because I won’t have time to sweep it for bugs or bombs, but we literally have no choice.”

  Bugs? Bombs?

  Oh, my God, what was going on?

  She pulled her keys out with a triumphant smile and pressed the fob to open the doors. “What field is he at?”

  “Uh,
Mt. Bethel…”

  “Hop in!” She smiled. The smile, though, said and hope they don’t blow us up.

  I was following her lead, but I didn’t know what was going on. At all. The overwhelming need to scream at these people, to choke them out for threatening me when I was on the right side of the law, to put those same bullets in their brains for threatening my son, was consuming.

  I hadn’t ever felt sheer terror and anger at the same time, and my blood was running ice cold through my veins. She made small talk on the way to the soccer fields, and I tried my best to pay attention, to answer. Just in case the car was bugged.

  Bugged. What the hell was my life turning into?

  I must not have been very good at our fake conversation, because she pulled out her phone—just like you never should when driving—and started a text message. She turned up the radio a touch and used speech to text to dictate her message. A moment later my phone buzzed.

  BMcInnis: Nolan took him to the game. He will protect the kid with his life. But you can’t stay here. If they cut the wire in the car, I’m almost afraid of what else they would do.

  She was so damn right. How was I going to manage this? I had a son, two sets of parents and a job—all of which were now in danger.

  Something deep inside me said this woman knew what she was doing. That she wasn’t unfamiliar with bugs, bombs, and guns and that if she was doing all this, there was something really bad about to go down.

  The car cruised off the interstate, and up and around the backroads to my son’s school. How she knew it was that school when all I had said was Mt. Bethel was a testament to her ability to pay attention.

  That didn’t make me feel better.

  We slid into a parking spot on the side of the field were the coach had all the kids on the ground around him. He appeared to be giving a pep talk to all the littles.

  Bridget sent off a text after grabbing my arm to hold me in the car. She shook her head slightly and fired off the message.

  A moment later Nolan climbed out of a car several spots down from us and leaned against the hood.

  “So how far do you live from here?”

  BMcInnis: Light convo. Nothing to distract me.

  “About twenty minutes,” I answered. “Usually Michelle will pick him up, but with practice, it’s going to be hard to get him on the bus and coordinate that.”

  TWillard: Distract you from what?

  BMcInnis: Keeping an eye out.

  “Did you honestly forget that your kid had soccer?” She laughed lightly.

  “Hey, I do my best here,” I answered. I hoped she was kidding. She did that a lot—but it was clear I didn’t know this woman at all.

  “I think you’re doing an excellent job at being a dad,” Bridget said, and tossed a look at me. Somehow, I knew she was utterly sincere with that statement.

  But, now I was at a point when I didn’t know what light conversation was. At work it was easy to avoid this. I just closed my door, and went back to work. This wasn’t a situation I was comfortable in.

  “So, I know nothing about you, Ms. McInnis. Where do you live?”

  “With my brother and his wife.” She shook her head slowly. Shit I wasn’t good at subterfuge. Asking her where she lived risked those people too.

  “Like it?” That seemed neutral.

  “I’m glad I like my brother and his wife.” she laughed. “They’re kinky and loud about it.”

  “That’s damn funny.”

  “It is.”

  “Planning on staying there?”

  “For a bit. I’d like to figure out what I’m doing with my life first. I was tossed off course when I was dismissed from my last job.”

  “That’s a shame.” I looked at the field where Dylan and his teammates were standing up. They were doing a little cheer to pump themselves up and it lasted a minute. Then the coach put up his hand and had them all high-five him as they left the field. I reached for the door handle, and Bridget’s hand shot out and held me in place.

  BMcInnis: Do not leave this car. Let Nolan get him and bring him over.

  I nodded.

  Nolan walked to the edge of the field where Dylan could clearly see him. Dylan waved to a few of his friends and ran for Nolan holding his soccer ball.

  The ground ahead of my son exploded, with what could be nothing other than a gun shot.

  Dylan screamed and fell. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and I reached for the door. Bridget grabbed me and pulled me into the center of the SUV.

  “Stay the fuck in here!” she snapped, shoving her own door open and pulling out her gun.

  I was too shocked to do anything. I just sat there, and watched her. Nolan had sprinted for the field and had my son under his arm, running for his own vehicle.

  “Take mine!” he screamed.

  “Vaughn, climb out of the car, and head to the back bumper.”

  “My son—”

  “Do it!” she snapped.

  I rushed to comply and I had to believe that she was doing the best thing for my son.

  Reaching the back bumper, I found Bridget opening the back gate of the SUV. “I want you to duck and run. Nolan’s truck is four down. I will be right behind you.”

  Nodding, I followed her instructions and waited behind the black SUV. The sound of several more gunshots rang out, and a moment later, Bridget was next to me, shoving a gun in her waistband and strapping a knife to her leg under her pants.

  Who was this woman?

  Why was she turning me on?

  “Drescher!” she screamed.

  “One car down. They’re firing on me.”

  “Back bumper?”

  “Moving now!”

  He appeared behind the car in a moment and I could see Dylan clinging to him, silently shaking with his full body sobs. I didn’t see any blood on him, so I had to guess that he was okay.

  Nolan threw the keys at Bridget and she used the actual physical key to unlock the back gate of the SUV. Pulling it down, she motioned me inside.

  “Dylan—”

  “Get the fuck in the back,” she snapped.

  Damn. That was hot.

  The next thing I knew I was scrambling into the back of the SUV and lifting myself over the seats in the back. Nolan was there helping Dylan crawl in, and I hauled him up and over the seat and crushed him to me.

  “Daddy…”

  “It’s okay, D. It’s okay. Can you keep quiet?”

  He nodded against me, then looked up. “I lost my ball.”

  “I’ll get you a new one.”

  A bullet ricocheted off the roof.

  “Damn it,” Nolan barked after a grunt.

  “Nolan!” Bridget snapped.

  “It’s not bad,” he answered.

  I glanced back and saw a bloody wound on his shoulder. Bridget had her hand on it, pressing against. “I need to get you to the hospital.”

  “Field dress it and get the hell out of here with him,” the man said.

  “Nolan—”

  “Get the targets gone. I’ll get to the hospital. Keys?” He held his hand out and Bridge dropped them in there. “Get them out of here. You know how this works?”

  Bridget laughed. “Probably better than you, Marine.” She grabbed his arm and with the pen knife that she had just pulled out of her purse, cut the sleeve off his shirt. Balling it up, she pressed it against the wound and slapped his hand back over it.

  “Do I finally get to know who you are, Ms. McInnis?”

  She stared at him and then back at us as another gunshot echoed through the area.

  “Bridget Katherine McInnis, former MI6.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Get the hell out of here. Keep in touch. I’ll expect your first contact in four hours.”

  “Got it,” she answered, slamming the tailgate.

  “Daddy?”

  “We’re leaving. We have to stay quiet for a little bit longer.”

  Bridget yanked the door open and j
umped in.

  “Hang on, guys. We’re going to do some fancy driving.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bridget

  There it was.

  Two men now knew exactly who I had been.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I had to get Vaughn and his son out of here and away from the men who were shooting at us.

  A shot pinged off the side of the vehicle and I was strangely happy that nearly every soccer mom in the U.S. drove a minivan. There might be a lot of pissed vehicle owners, but at least Vaughn and Dylan were safe in this truck.

  I glanced back, finding Nolan hot on my tail. The man was driving one-handed, and I suspected he had a lot more than just a few years in the Marines and four years in the joint in his training. We sped out of the parking lot back on to the winding roads, and I kept an eye on him and one on the side roads.

  I didn’t know where those shots had come from, but I could guess they were slightly elevated. maybe a house nearby or a roof. It didn’t matter at the moment, but it might later and I committed the detail to memory.

  I made a hard right onto a four-lane road and Nolan and I chased each other a bit, switching back and forth to make sure we were moving targets. There was also the hope that they didn’t know we had put Dylan and Vaughn in one car, and had Nolan take the one we weren’t sure wasn't bugged. This one was probably not.

  We’d have to change cars, clothes, phones and names as soon as we could.

  I was probably one of the last people on earth who still memorized phone numbers, like Nolan’s and my brother’s and Victor’s.

  “Vaughn, you have your phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Throw it out the window.”

  “What?”

  “It’s traceable. You have to get rid of it.”

  He looked utterly stricken. “There are pictures.”

  Taking a corner quickly and then taking another nearly as quickly, I let out a deep sigh. “You have ten minutes to sync those photos.”

  He fumbled, grabbing the phone. I saw him swiping desperately at the screen, trying to find the right apps and the right settings.