Deadly Secrets: Double Down, #2

1

Four weeks ago. Richmond, Virginia.

Emma clutched the envelope. She sucked in a deep breath and pulled the side door open. Senator Sadler’s house was huge, and in the four months since she’d come to work for him she’d never gotten used to it. She’d grown up in a historic Virginia house, but this was a modern mansion. Keep thinking about the house. Anything to distract her from what she had in the envelope.

And what it meant.

The house was quiet. No cars parked out front, but the Senator used the garage anyway. His staff had gone home for the night. It was the perfect time to have this talk. Ambush is more like it. She pushed the thought away. This was the most important talk of her life. The reason she had come to work for him.

Emma squared her shoulders and strode forward on her pumps. The watch her mother had given her slid down her forearm, the gold cool against her skin. She didn’t like it, but her mother had insisted. And when her mother had posted about the gift on social media, her mother’s fans had thought it was wonderful, inspiring, and beautiful. So she hadn’t exactly been able to argue—or stuff it in a drawer.

Another lie, on top of a life of lies. Duty. Doing what was expected of her.

She was only blowing the lid off her entire life now because she’d been forced into an even smaller corner. By an anonymous blackmailer who knew more about her than she did.

The light was on in the study where the Senator did most of his work, and the door was slightly ajar. A muffled noise came from inside. The Senator had tried to hide his grief since his son had been killed by federal agents just days ago. She didn’t want to add to his distress, but she had to know the truth.

He wasn’t a nice man. Hadn’t been a good father to his son. The son had followed in his father’s steps, making selfish decisions that hurt people.

Emma stepped up to the door of the study. She had to know the truth.

A whimper drifted to her. Emma peered around the door, trying to assess what she was getting herself into. A second man stood in the study, beside the Senator’s chair.

Holding a gun.

She must have made a noise, because the man’s head whipped around to her. Aaron Jones. The aide to a senator who had been kidnapped recently. It was all connected. Aaron Jones. Rachel Harris’s kidnapping. Senator Sadler, and his son’s death.

The senator moaned. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his head lolled, his chin touching his chest. Emma gasped. What are you doing?

She reached for her phone, then remembered she’d left it in the car. She hadn’t wanted any distractions when they talked. Aaron, what’s going on? Was the man crazy?

He turned the gun to her. Get in here.

She took a step back. But… He fired a shot at her. It hit the door frame. Emma screamed and ducked into the room. Okay, okay. She tried to think. Put the gun down, or something.

It was a ridiculous thing to say, but in the moment she couldn’t focus enough to think this through. She had an accounting degree. She handled the Senator’s personal and business finances. Money. I can get you money. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge giving up what was left of his wealth in order to save both their lives.

No. The word dribbled from the senator’s mouth. You’ll have to kill me.

If that happened, Aaron wouldn’t get anything. Emma was the only one who knew how to access those funds. I can give you whatever you want, just put the gun down.

Aaron sneered. Come and take it from me.

She stared at him. It wasn’t a challenge. He was actually asking her to get the gun from him? Emma wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but she went anyway.

Hand outstretched for the gun, Aaron grabbed her arm. Then around her waist. What..? His arm pressed against her diaphragm and she tried to suck in a breath.

Shut up. Aaron’s hand wrapped around hers. His finger crushed hers against the trigger.

Ow. What are you..?

He moved their aim so the gun was pointed at the Senator. It’s easy, he said. Just a simple murder/suicide to explain everything nicely.

No. She struggled against him. You can’t—

I can. He pulled her finger against the trigger.

Emma shifted her arm. The shot went wide in the struggle, blowing a hole in the chair beside the senator’s head. He cried out in that gruff voice of his. Not a nice man, and he certainly had some hinky business practices, but that was what made him a great politician. Just not the best father to Lincoln, or uncle to Bradley and Alexis. At least, as far as she’d been able to tell since coming to work there. He’d been gruff with her since she was hired.

Had he known her secret already?

She wanted to understand what the reason for his attitude was but hadn’t managed to break through. That didn’t mean she wanted him to be killed, though. And certainly not by her own hand.

Stop! She struggled with Aaron, trying to get her finger off the trigger. The gun went off again. She cried out at the pain, the pinch of skin between his finger and the gun. Her ears rang. It was like standing beside a firework when it went off. The room filled with the smell of gunpowder.

She stomped on Aaron’s foot. He cried out. She did it again, using her heel. When she lifted her foot a third time, she scraped the pencil heel on his shin. He shifted against her and she elbowed him as best she could with her other arm.

The gun went off again. Another shot. This time it hit the senator in the chest. He grunted. She dropped the envelope. It landed on her left foot as everything dulled to single sensations. Trapped. Can’t breathe. She’d just shot him. The senator. Her boss. He was more than that, but she couldn’t think about that right now.

She struggled against Aaron’s hold, forcing him to step back. She tried to move quicker, to slam him against the wall. Her foot caught the rug and she stumbled. They hit the credenza. Glass shattered. Aaron cried out.

His hold on her loosened.

Emma ran to the senator.

Aaron fired the gun. It hit the desk beside her, in front of the now dying man. The senator’s eyes pleaded with her to help. But she couldn’t. She grabbed the closest thing—a plastic file tray filled with a stack of papers.

She flung them at Aaron. Pages and pages floating through the air. She needed to get to her phone.

Not waiting around for him to recover from all that flying at his face, she dashed for her envelope and then the door. The gun went off. Before she even registered the sound, pain tore through the top of her arm. Emma cried out, slamming against the opposite wall in the hallway. She raced away, down the hall, gripping the envelope for dear life. As though it might protect her. Save her.

Another gunshot blasted.

She flinched and cried out, but no more pain came. Just the ice cold fire in her arm. She clutched at it, getting blood on the envelope. Tears tracked down her face. She could hear his footsteps behind her. She hurried to the side door, where she glanced back over her shoulder. He was coming!

She raced to her car and dived in, turning the key while she shifted her hips to get out of the awkward position she’d landed in.

Aaron appeared at the door.

She screamed and hit the gas by mistake. The car jerked forward and slammed into the house. He dived back inside. She shifted to reverse and hit the gas again, peeling out in a cloud of burned rubber and the sound of screaming tires.

Emma’s bumper scraped the fountain in the center of the circular drive, and she roared down the driveway.

Two streets away she lifted her phone, and the blackmailer’s email flashed on screen.

No one could help her now.

2

Present day—somewhere in central Colorado

The inside of the diner smelled like bacon and cinnamon rolls. Mint’s stomach rumbled, and a guy sitting in the first booth snorted as he walked by. Everyone else gave him some kind of reaction. They all saw him walk in. He sighed. Anonymity wasn’t something he could count on. He stuck out, even with the wool cap and glasses.

Mint was dressed like most of the guys in here—jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. Dirty work boots. He pushed his glasses up his nose and settled into an empty booth, far too used to drawing attention by his sheer size. It wasn’t like it bothered him. He needed the edge that made people give him a wide birth. They assumed he wasn’t smart, that he was a dumb jock—also necessary. He cultivated the image because it played in his favor so often.

Don’t come near. Don’t underestimate.

It didn’t take long for her to come over. Lime green waitress uniform, strawberry blond hair pulled back in a ponytail that made her look a few years younger than she actually was. The kind of subterfuge he used every day. A shift in appearance that played in her favor. She was a girl on the run trying to blend in and stay unnoticed.

Kind of like him.

She smiled, though her dark blue eyes remained guarded. Coffee? Her name tag read, Ellie. Close enough she wouldn’t trip over it too much, but nondescript enough she was able to hide here. But for how long? He’d found her. How long before the FBI did?

Yeah. His voice sounded like a rusty door. He cleared his throat while she poured. Thanks.

Something to eat?

He nodded. I’ll take the Lumberjack Breakfast.

She softened a fraction. Good choice. I’ll get that right out. She took his menu.

Mint watched Emma Burroughs, former senator’s chief financial officer—now murder suspect on the run—walk away. Spine straight. Shoulders square. Chin up. Determined not to break.

Mint pulled out his phone and sent a text.

It’s her.

Okay, so he’d been sent here to find out what she knew and to make sure she was protected—in the interest of the team’s goals. Double Down wanted this blackmailer taken down. But he hadn’t thought to find this affinity with her. A kindred spirit.

They were nothing alike.

And yet…

No, that wasn’t why he was here.

Mint caught the gaze of the older man behind the counter. He might be wiping the surface, but all his attention was on Mint. Watching Mint watch Emma. Mint glanced at the salt shaker, and the plastic dessert menu perched between the ketchup and the hot sauce.

The man’s handlebar mustache was mostly gray. His forearms corded. Hair was cut close to his scalp. Not a man unaccustomed to hard work. And it seemed Emma’s newest boss cared enough about her to keep an eye on who in the diner took notice of her.

Good.

Mint scratched at the edge of his knit cap, wishing he could pull the thing off. If he did, the scar behind his ear would be in plain view when Emma came back over with his plate. He should’ve sat facing the other direction if he wanted that.

She carried the dish with her right arm. Intel said her left had taken the bullet. The sleeve went almost to her elbow, loose enough to cover what scar remained. Did it still hurt?

It’s hot, she said. So be careful.

He glanced up at her and smiled. Thanks again.

She blinked. Emma Burroughs, Ivy League degree and a high paying job. Impressive pedigree. Poise. Style. Her eyes lost some of that guardedness he’d seen before, and she smiled back. Well, you’re welcome. Again.

He held her gaze for as long as she let him and then reached for the salt. He paused right before he shook, then replaced the salt back on the table. He didn’t need vices. Even if using the salt shaker wasn’t exactly an addictive habit, he couldn’t risk any of that. Strength had no foundation if the tiniest thing caused it to waver.

He rolled his shoulders, holding back the wince. His own recent injury had been more of an annoyance than anything else. Alexis had been saved, and even though she’d driven him crazy—causing him to jump on this assignment—he was glad they’d found her. All was well in the world of Bradley and Alexis. Mint was happy for them and had toasted their new life together along with everyone else.

And now he was here. A nice break, an engaging hunt for a missing woman who just might be able to tell them who the blackmailer was. The team at Double Down had their eyes on Senator Francis Sadler, until he’d been killed. Maybe Emma knew the real name of the person who had terrorized several people in various levels of government and private companies. Blackmail was a low game.

Mint was all in on the hunt for who was behind this.

Especially if it meant getting Emma Burroughs out from under FBI suspicion. She hadn’t killed Senator Sadler. Though he figured it was likely he’d been killed because of his involvement with the blackmailer—there was no way his death was coincidental. From the look in her eyes he’d figure the FBI was right that she’d been there. She’d been hurt. She’d seen something she’d never in her life be able to unsee.

Mint had met murderers. He knew what evil looked like. He knew deception. Emma might be scared, but there was no way she was a killer.

He would bet both their lives on it.

Mint downed four cups of coffee and polished off the plate, but not the toast that came with it. He’d eaten so much toast when he was a kid, the only thing his perpetually drunk father had actually stocked the cupboard with. If he didn’t see another slice of bread in his life it was too soon.

A sheriff’s car pulled up outside, three spaces down from the truck he’d bought in Nebraska. Mint left cash on the table and hit the bathroom before he used the back hall to head out the side exit. He didn’t need the sheriff noticing him as well, pegging him as exactly what he was—though he might not know why Mint was there—and asking way too many questions.

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the motel parking lot and headed to his room. Two doors down from Emma’s.

The pool was dated, but clean. The owners were an older couple. Efficient and friendly, the kind of motel owners you’d find in a small town, fly-over state. Mint watched the parking lot through the blinds. The front desk didn’t have an angle on these doors. The cameras weren’t worth his worry. Only the one on the main entrance was even plugged in. The rest were just for show. He clocked the progress of the housekeeper, and when the timing was right, moved down to Emma’s door.

He used his lock-pick kit and jimmied the door open in three seconds.

She was neat. Everything had been put away. Clothes folded. A small duffel lay at the bottom of the closet. He checked the safe, but found nothing. Whatever secrets Emma Burroughs held, she kept them well-hidden.

Between the mattress and box spring, he found two thousand dollars