The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,72
and federal medical center never offered a decision. They needed financial support details. A confirmation of care.”
“He would’ve been.” Quiet tears fell from her cheeks.
“Mom,” Amanda whispered, “how do you know?”
“That boy tried to kill my child.” The evening breeze carried through opened windows as the wind chimes sang. A tear slipped down Mom’s cheek. “I made it my job to stay informed.”
“I’m bringing him home,” Halle snapped as she hardened into the stony friend who Amanda had always known. “I’m going to work on that now.” She removed the gun from her side holster and jammed the barrel into Amanda’s chest. “Get on the couch.”
Amanda hadn’t come up with a magical escape plan, so she and Mom followed orders. Dust plumed when they sat down. Halle bound their hands and feet, then tied them to a hook on the wall.
“Go to sleep,” she demanded, then disappeared the way they’d come in.
The muffled sound of a phone call filtered through the wind. She and Mom couldn’t distinguish a single word. Two phone calls came in after that.
“Don’t worry, sweet pea,” Mom said.
“Give me a single reason why we shouldn’t worry.”
“No matter who she’s called or what she’s planning, your father will be one of the first to know.”
That offered some solace, but Halle’s betrayal and haunted thoughts of murdered agents kept her spirits down.
What seemed like hours later, Halle returned with a blanket and pillow. She set up camp on the dirty floor and tucked herself into bed with Billy’s picture and a shotgun by her side.
CHAPTER FORTY
Hagan woke to Roxana shaking his shoulder and tearing the covers off. “What the hell?” He covered his face with a pillow. “Go away.”
“Get out of bed,” Roxanna demanded.
“Now,” Jason added.
He ripped the pillow away, glare bouncing between them. The hard edge in Jason’s voice had sent shivers down Hagan’s back. Their looks brought him to his feet. Hagan ran a hand over his face and realized he’d fallen asleep in his clothes. “What?”
Jason stepped aside, and Hagan followed his sister into the living room, feeling as though they’d roughed it for miles. The television’s volume played on low. Like his nightmare years ago, the on-screen banner served a sucker punch.
First Family Under Attack
He snatched the remote and turned it up. Hagan collapsed on the couch. Roxana sat by his side.
“—only just now learning that FBI negotiators are already on the scene.”
Grainy surveillance still shots showed Amanda, Halle, and her mother. A timestamp clocked the date and time as last night.
“What’s happening?” Hagan didn’t recognize the sound of his voice.
“Something about Mandy—” Roxana winced. “Amanda and her mother. The business partner was never who she said. I’m not sure.” She rested her hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry. About this—and yesterday.”
His mind spun to catch up. The news cut to a mugshot. Acid churned in Hagan’s stomach.
“Authorities have confirmed that this may be related to the explosion at Washington College five years ago. William Taylor Morris was convicted to life in prison for his role in the terrorist organization that injured Amanda Hearst and killed US Secret Service special agent Dylan Carter.”
“Confirmed that it may be related,” Roxana snapped. “What kind of reporting is that?”
The news continued, “Morris is reportedly in a medically-induced coma as his late-stage cancer requires the use of a ventilator.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?” Hagan couldn’t watch anymore; he needed to talk to Boss Man. “Where’s my phone?”
As if on cue, he heard it vibrate on the kitchen table. Hagan hustled down the hall and grabbed it. The caller ID said War Room.
Hagan answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Are you ready to move out?” Jared demanded.
Questions flooded his mind, but he managed the only words that mattered. “Yes, sir.”
***
Their orders were clear. Get in. Eliminate the possibility of a catastrophe like Ruby Ridge. Get out. No one would be able to tie the ACES team to the scene—except for the First Lady and Amanda. But they wouldn’t.
The helicopter blades silently sliced through the night. Hagan didn’t need to see his teammates’ faces to know they had concerns. They still watched him under their night-vision goggles, wary and reticent about what to say since they’d rendezvoused. The lead-lined tension promised that Jared had offered a colorful explanation of how Hagan was to blame.
The full force of the federal government, an alphabet soup of labor from the Secret Service to the National Guard to FBI negotiators, had coalesced as one unit on the side of a Shenandoah Mountain, ready to assist