Page 75 of Long Past Deadly

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In the back seat of the SUV, Alanna rubbed her stomach. Her gut was on fire, churning with acid and nausea from anxiety, anger, and frantic worries. He’d been so close this whole time.

Our Lady of the Open Gate. She knew the exact address of the location. Had sought shelter there many times in her youth. Whit was so tuned in to the streets. The padre there had been, too. There was no way the old man didn’t know she was searching for him. There was at least a dozen people who would have passed information along. Enough people went through Our Lady, the whispers would have reached him. So he was either hurt bad, told himself some fantasy about this didn’t involve her, or had a bug up his ass about her safety.

Quaid sat next to her in the SUV. There was a perfectly good seat in the front, but he wouldn’t use it. “Keep an eye out for a tail, Tane. Last thing we need is a compromised scene with civilians in the midst of a confrontation.”

“Copy, boss.”

Alanna couldn’t help it. She turned and checked behind them. She was FBI and preferred facts to intuition. Mercer would have to go out of his way to be obvious, and he wasn’t that far gone. Unless he was in sniper mode, and he wouldn’t gain the personal satisfaction he craved from his rifle.

She caught Quaid’s eye on swinging forward again, but his flat, neutral expression told her nothing.

She squashed the unpredictable emotional wave, straightened the tuck of her striped shirt, and checked her gun was hidden by her jacket. “Is he hiding out there because he thinks he’s safe? Or has he heard I was combing the neighborhood, and he’s trying to protect me?”

“Questions to ask him.”

“Would Mackey have questioned him?”

“Doubt it. He has Drucker with him.” Quaid lifted his phone and pointed at the screen. “Text message. He’s making a medical assessment. They’re calling Cait.”

“That means he’s bad.”

“That means Dr. Cait has very specific guidelines.”

She knew those guidelines from her own injury. She had more of her hearing back because Cait stayed on top of it. She turned toward him and lowered her voice. “I’m a wreck. I didn’t anticipate getting this far even though it was what I wanted.”

“Has he ever gone off the grid before?”

“Yes, but I could always find him. He hated the intrusion, and every time I got a lecture. After college, I moved to the East Coast to go to Quantico, and I wasn’t here much. My first assignment put me in Florida. But when I moved back to LA six months ago, I noted he wasn’t as open with me as he used to be. I thought it was the timespan without seeing each other or the FBI badge.” She stopped right there because anything more was speculation. She had to deal in facts. It was a line she’d repeated to herself many times in the last six months.

“My take?”

She bit her lip.

He took her hand. “You grew up, became a professional, took care of yourself. You didn’t need him anymore. He’s reacting to the passage of time. Sounds like my mother.” Quaid checked his phone again.

“Your mother was worried about you?” She lowered her voice. Tane exited from the freeway. The mid-morning traffic on the side street calmed the road noise.

“My mother didn’t understand the Marines or the CIA or any of what I did in Afghanistan and didn’t want to. They loved jetting around the world and wanted me with them. She had no frame of reference for my desire to have a greater purpose or the…” Quaid cleared his throat. “…trauma that came with being in those dark, violent places. Probably similarities with Whit. He kept you in school, right?”

“Yes, and did what he could to keep me in college for the first couple years.”

“The thing rubbing my parents wrong was I grew up, too, and didn’t need them anymore.” Quaid closed his eyes for a second.

“When did you last see them?”

“Wylie’s funeral. I was still with the CIA, and we were burying Elizabeth’s Marine son. The whole time was a mess of arguments and hysteria.”

“Elizabeth?”

“Went silent. Much like Baxter’s mom has. My mother loudly expressed her grief and her cynicism of everything. Elizabeth hasn’t talked to them since.”

She knew what he was doing. Trying to keep her mind occupied so she didn’t spin out of control. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For cutting through the crap. Not the FBI agent right now.”