She spared a smile for the guard.
He nodded once, stepped back and let the doors slid shut.
“You can’t keep me locked up here,” Dixon said.
She whirled on the man. “Trying to escape? Really? You’re on thin ice, buddy.”
“This place is suffocating. I have so much work to do and you’ve been no help at all.”
Kelsey spread her hands. “Not my problem. If you hadn’t chosen to be a piece of shit, you wouldn’t be here.”
Dixon sputtered, but she ignored him and stalked past, headed for the kitchen and coffee.
She could not believe that Logan had survived a freaking explosion, and she was stuck here.
It wasn’t fair.
She grabbed a mug and stared at the silver panel of the machine reflecting her face back at her.
Evan had said Logan was still in there and working. That sounded like him.
What if he’d died? What if the last meaningful conversation they had was her breaking up with him?
That wasn’t what she wanted. Not at all.
God, why did she have to be such an idiot?
Without a clear idea of what she was doing, Kelsey dialed Logan’s number. Evan had said Logan’s phone was broken, but that didn’t matter.
It didn’t even ring. Just went straight to the automated voicemail message then beeped.
“Hey, uh, it’s Kelsey. Evan told me that right now you’re under a bunch of rubble. Working. Classic you.” Her throat constricted. “I just wanted to say, you’d better be okay. I’m a hot mess and I don’t know what I’m thinking. Just, be okay so I can talk to you later.”
Fuck.
Her eyes were starting to sweat.
She pocketed her phone and swiped at her cheeks.
She did not cry.
“Something wrong?” Dixon asked.
Kelsey whirled to find the senator hovering a few feet away.
There was something odd about the man. His charismatic veneer had worn thin. Generally, he was an annoying, self-serving shit. But, something was most definitely off.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I’m just asking how you’re doing.”
“Why? Why are you hovering? Why were you trying to get some air? It looks like it’s going to snow out there.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sue me. I was trying to be a nice guy.”
“Well, you aren’t. So stop trying and tell me what’s going on.”
Dixon turned, muttering under his breath and returned to the dining table where he sat in front of the closed laptop.
Kelsey had a bad feeling. She couldn’t say why, but something was wrong. Dixon was acting like he expected something.
She walked across to the intercom and pressed the button, all while watching Dixon.
“Hey, is it possible to have someone do a walk-around of the building?” she asked.
Silence.
That was odd.
“Hello?”
Almost on cue, the elevator began to rise.
The hair on her arms stood up.
Kelsey drew her gun and aimed it at the elevator. “Dixon, what the fuck did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he whined.
“I don’t believe you.”
Kelsey had seconds to make a decision. She had no doubt that Dixon had willfully or ignorantly done something. It wasn’t like the guards to not respond.
“Get up,” she barked.
“What?”
Kelsey lunged across the room, grabbed Dixon by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. The gun she aimed at his soft middle likely motivated him more than her strength.
“Stairs,” she ordered.
She forced Dixon around the corner as the elevator dinged.
Ahead of her, the stairwell door beeped open and two armed men in black tactical gear stepped onto the floor, their guns aimed at her.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
More Everest Security come to finish the job?
She turned as another gunman rounded the corner.
Another man followed, more relaxed and without the body armor. He was older, with silver and white hair. A few dark strands still held sway. He was of average height, but didn’t possess the same frailty she’d expect of someone his age. In fact, he seemed quite fit under his blue knit long sleeve shirt and slacks.
“Kelsey Young.” His words were flavored with an accent she couldn’t place.
He knew her name.
Was this...?
“Skilton. What are you doing here?” Dixon asked the question as if he might ask someone how the weather was.
Skilton?
This was him?
Kelsey’s hands went cold.
“Bring them both. Come. We must go.” He turned.
“What? No.” She jolted out of her surprise, but it was too late.
A gunman from the stairs pressed the business end of his rifle to her side. Where the Kevlar vest wouldn’t protect her.
She might as well be dead.
TUESDAY. RONALD REAGAN Washington National Airport. Washington, DC.
Skilton could hardly believe his luck.
He eased down onto the supple leather chair of the private jet. They weren’t cleared to