I figured...”
Tucker and Evan entered through the hatch again.
“What are you two moaning about?” Tucker asked.
“Uh...” Jamie glanced from Logan to Harper.
“I knew,” Evan said. “I told TL that if he screwed up, I’d have to kick his ass.”
Kelsey winced and glanced up at Logan. “I’m sorry—”
“Sh.” He squeezed her.
“Did you know?” Jamie asked Tucker.
Tucker nodded.
“Well, fuck,” Jamie said.
Kelsey hid her surprise a little better. Evan had obviously picked up on it. And she’d feared Harper’s assumption. How was it they’d all known? Had she been falling for him all along and missed it until she was already in it?
“Let’s clear the scene,” Logan ordered.
“Yes, sir, TL, sir,” Harper said in a mocking tone.
Some things just wouldn’t change.
Logan took her hand. She glanced back at Dixon and hoped he would be okay.
They emerged onto a set of stairs someone had brought to the plane. There were more vehicles around it. A few DC cruisers. An ambulance and fire truck.
This was going to delay flights all day.
But, they’d caught Skilton.
They’d actually caught the bastard.
The case was over. Zora and the other agents still on it would head up the investigation. But her part? That was done. As was Logan’s.
What would happen next? When he decided where he was going?
Kelsey squeezed his hand to remind herself that they were both still here right now.
They reached the tarmac and moved out of the way of other responders heading in.
“Where’s Skilton?” Logan asked.
Tucker thumbed over his shoulder. “Zora put him in a car and left. Said they were going to do x-rays or something to make sure he’s not hiding anything sub-dermally.”
Logan nodded then turned to her. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear.
“Get a room you two,” Harper snickered.
Kelsey’s cheeks burned. Instead of erecting her defenses and pushing Logan away, as would be her instinct, she stepped closer to him.
“That sounds like a great idea,” she said.
After all, she had a lot to say to him. And only him.
WEDNESDAY. UNKNOWN.
Skilton clasped his bound hands around his knee and waited.
The room was chilly and bland, giving nothing away. Most people might find the stark surroundings unsettling. He saw it as a blank canvas.
He hadn’t been in custody in quite some time. It would be interesting to find out if there were any new tricks of the trade.
The minutes dragged on.
He should have dealt with the Task Force the moment he heard about it. Ignoring them left him blind to their attacks.
His second mistake was dividing his attention once he’d come to the US. He’d been prepared to handle one thing, not two. Dividing his efforts like he had spread his resources too thin.
What could he have done better? How could he have changed actions for a better outcome?
Skilton wasn’t sure he could have. The pressure on him was immense.
He stared at the gleaming metal table.
They hadn’t read him his rights or offered him a lawyer. This must be a black site then. CIA? FBI? They all blended together as far as he was concerned.
One thing was for certain.
The final chapter of his life had begun.
Skilton had always wondered what his end might be like. He’d imagined assassination by his replacement was most likely. Men like him didn’t get to retire to a beach and drink fruity cocktails while pouring over all the books he’d wanted to read but never got the chance to. It was disappointing to realize his end would be this. Confined to a metal box, watched and prodded.
The door opened without warning.
A black woman stepped in carrying several files with her.
He wondered how much blank paper was in there?
Nadine had sent him everything she had concerning what the Take Force knew about him. It hadn’t been much. He doubted they’d had time to find more.
The woman didn’t speak. She placed her stack of paper on the desk and pulled out the chair without so much as a good morning.
This would be the assistant director, Zora Clark. She was a NSA agent of some kind. From the way Nadine talked, this woman was the one who was the real power behind the Task Force. His file on her was considerably more impressive.
She sank into the chair across from him. “Karl Weber. Or do you prefer to be called Skilton?”
He lifted his shoulders by way of a reply. They were both his name. It didn’t matter to him what she called him.
Was he supposed to be surprised they’d unearthed his identity?
Honestly, that was child’s