Page 39 of Nothing to Fear

She pulled out the light blond dye box.

“Oh, sweetie,” Ken said, grimacing, “that’ll make you look like a fried pumpkin if you don’t bleach carefully first. You’ve got great hair. Don’t ruin it.” He reached out and felt the strands that’d fallen loose from her bun.

She stiffened and jerked away. “Don’t touch me.” Based on their expressions—she’d seen them many times on others—her reaction made them uncomfortable, even though she’d been the one touched without consent. “I’m sorry.”

“My bad. I’m too friendly for my own good.” Ken smiled. “Any other options?”

She showed him the ghastly red.

“Perfect. That’ll turn you from brunette into a bright auburn and make my bathroom look like a crime scene, but I’m willing to sacrifice for Gideon. And since you’re a friend, I’ll hook you up with the best conditioner for silky smooth locks. Let’s get cracking.”

15

Wolf Trap, Virginia

Friday, July 5, 11:31 a.m. EDT

Cobalt parked down the street from Willow Harper’s home.

The Gray Box quick response force had surely hit the airports and Stone’s place by now, in the hopes he’d try to retrieve his go bag. Personnel could be here any minute.

Cobalt switched on the portable multiband jammer and slipped it inside the messenger bag. There was no way to be certain, but it was safe to assume the black ops team had wireless surveillance in every suspect’s home. The Wi-Fi jammer would block all signals, video and audio, within a seventy-meter radius.

After pulling on clear vinyl gloves, Cobalt ensured the syringe—filled with a mixture of methyl iodide and sodium chloride—was within quick reach in the bag, then got out of the car.

Six months after recruitment, Daedalus arranged for Cobalt to spend a week in Montana. The cover story had been a romantic trip with a significant other, fishing and horseback riding.

Turned out to be a week-long course in learning how to do evil shit. Detonating and disarming explosive devices. How to administer various poisons and what easy-to-get materials to use in a pinch. The essentials of beating a polygraph. Tampering with a car to make it look like an accident.

The job on Stone’s truck had been precise, the brake line set to trickle slowly, requiring the brakes to be pumped numerous times before complete failure.

Rigging Harper’s car at the Gray Box had been rushed, spurred on by the arrival of the forensic accountants. Cobalt hadn’t expected them so quickly and especially not to pop up on a holiday. It was tidier for Harper to have an accident before the offshore account was discovered.

Fear of getting caught red-handed sabotaging Harper’s car had kept Cobalt on edge. A good thing too, since someone had come out into the parking lot.

A detail Daedalus didn’t need to know. Not if Cobalt wanted to keep breathing.

Cobalt rang the bell with a heavy heart. A moment later, the front door opened.

“Yes.” Mr. Harper rolled to the side in his wheelchair, repositioning his chair inside the doorway. An IV bag dangled from a metal pole attached to the chair. This would be easier than expected. Distract the old man and inject the solution into the IV.

This composition should put him in a coma, based on an approximation of his weight. Then things needed to be taken to the next level to ensure this hit the news, where Willow Harper would see it and feel compelled to rush to her father’s side.

Once the team took her out, Cobalt would take care of her dad, tying up the loose end.

“Hello, sir,” Cobalt said, keeping gloved hands out of sight. “I work with your daughter. There’s been a troubling incident. Do you mind if I come in? It’s urgent I speak with you.”

16

Springfield, Virginia

Friday, July 5, 12:13 p.m. EDT

In the third room at the far end of the hall, Gideon set down the clippers he’d borrowed from Ken on the bed next to a trash bag and roll of paper towels. The rustle of plastic drew his attention to the bathroom. The door was cracked open. Based on the moving shadow, Willow was hunched over the tub, probably working dye into her hair.

He’d rubbed petroleum jelly that Ken had given him over the tub before Willow got started to make clean up as painless as possible. Every inch of him hurt during the small task. He slipped out of his holster, peeled off his shirt, and unstrapped the bulletproof vest. His muscles screamed, his torso aching like he’d been hit by a pile driver. Two bright red spots from the impact of the bullets, each about the size of an orange, would turn purple by tomorrow.

Stretching through the pain, he stood and traipsed to the window. He scanned the back alley running along the rear of the stores and lined with dumpsters and focused on the next step.