Protective Measures Read online

  “I’m staying the night,” Cal announced, having come to a decision.

  “I appreciate that, but—”

  “No but. You’re my one and only goddaughter.”

  No point to try to change his mind when he was like this. And to be truthful, she didn’t mind the company. “Okay. Let me get the guest room ready.”

  His beeper buzzed and he glanced at it.

  “Any news on Danny?” Please God, let him be okay. Pain like sharp metal sliced through her heart. Hadn’t she prayed those words not so long ago for Ian? Prayed them in vain.

  “It’s something else,” Cal said. “I’m in the middle of something.” He thought for a second. “I’ll stop by the hospital and check on Danny as soon as my men arrive and take over here.”

  “You can go now, if you want to. I’ll be fine.” She was desperate for news of him.

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Then take me with you.” She didn’t feel all that comfortable in the house. She’d been attacked here twice in the last twenty-four hours.

  “It’s out of the question. Much easier to get to someone when they’re moving around.”

  “They don’t seem to have any trouble getting to me when I stay put. Can’t you get me out of here without anyone knowing?”

  He stared at her through narrowed eyes as a smile spread on her face. “That’s not a half-bad idea. Get you off the premises and stuff the place with Secret Service. If the attacker doesn’t know you’re gone, he might come back. We could set a tidy trap. You can spend some time at my place.”

  She tried not to let her face show how little that appealed to her. Cal’s space was…creepy, to say the least. On the other hand, however, it was built like a fortress. “So, how are you going to get me out of here?”

  He waved over one of the men from the crime scene team. “I’m going to need your clothes,” he said.

  “Excuse me, Colonel?”

  Cal pointed toward the downstairs powder room and gave his order. “Start stripping.”

  SHE HATED waiting, a personal disadvantage since politics was full of it. Nothing happened on time on the Hill. The same seemed to be true for hospitals.

  A secret service agent on each side of her, Kaye tapped her feet on the white vinyl floor tiles outside Danny’s room. His doctor was in there with him, and Cal. They’d only allowed one visitor in. What on earth was taking so long?

  The air conditioner was going full blast. She was freezing. She’d taken off the sweatshirt she’d stuck under the overall to disguise her figure, and now she put the old thing back on, glanced down the hallway. She wanted to stop by to visit Roger, but she didn’t want to miss the doctor, wanted to hear what he had to say about Danny. Shouldn’t be long now.

  A man came down the hallway with a clipboard. “Are you Mrs. DuCharme? I’m going to need your husband’s insurance card.”

  “I’m Kaye Miller. Daniel DuCharme works for me.”

  The man blinked and his watery green eyes went wide. A second later his thin lips stretched into a smile. “I’m sorry, Congresswoman. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.”

  She returned the smile. For the most part, she preferred not to be recognized. News coverage for the long months after Ian’s death, and the media’s fascination with her ever since had made that difficult. And that was before she had agreed to be one of the spokespersons for the Multiple Sclerosis Society. The TV commercial that resulted had made her one of the most easily recognizable faces on Capitol Hill these days.

  “Some of the tests we need to run are pretty expensive,” the man said. “I’m going to need authorization from someone.”

  She shivered suddenly, rubbed her arms with her hands as she glanced at Cal through the glass. He was deep in discussion with the doctor.

  “Whatever tests or treatments are necessary, if his insurance doesn’t cover it, I’ll be paying the bill,” she said. It was the least she could do. The poison had been meant for her.

  “In that case, could I trouble you with some paperwork, Congresswoman?”

  Something about the man seemed vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t recall meeting him before. His straight-as-nails, straw-colored hair and dark eyebrows—with the zigzag scar above them—made a strange contrast she would have remembered.

  “I was hoping to catch the doctor when he came out,” she said.

  “This shouldn’t take more than a minute. I’ll just need your signature on a few forms. The office is down the hall. If Dr. Taylor gets out before we finish we’ll see him walk right by.”

  “Of course.” She went with him, the two Secret Service agents Cal had had meet them at the hospital following close behind.

  The administrator stopped at the door of a small office that held only two chairs and a desk. The agents checked the room over then moved back to wait by the door.

  “Please, take a seat. I hope you are all right. I saw what happened to you on the news. Crazy world, this is.” The man walked around the desk and plopped down. He pulled a few sheets from his clipboard and passed them to her. “If you could fill these out—I’m just going to need credit card authorization.”

  She fished he card out and read off the numbers while he typed.

  The printer next to her spit out one page after the other, about half a dozen in total. The guy grabbed them up when he was done on the computer. “Let me make some copies.”

  He pushed aside a panel and walked through a door on the opposite wall, but didn’t go far. She could hear him moving around in there. She could hear a copy machine come to life, whirring and clicking.

  The picture on the desk caught her attention. Another man with a small child. Maybe a brother and nephew. Or life partner. On second look, the office was rather feminine, with more pictures—cats—and a small pink vase among the many knickknacks. Maybe he shared the office with someone. It wasn’t any of her business. She clicked on the pen and turned her attention to the forms she was supposed to fill out. She made quick work of them and was done by the time the man stuck out his head from behind the door.

  “If you’re finished, you can just pass those to me and you’re free to go,” he said, then disappeared again.

  “Thank you,” she said, even though he’d left the room. She grabbed her purse as she stood and then took the papers to him.

  He was fiddling with the settings on one of the copiers in a small room that opened to his office on one end and to a hallway on the other. A second copier was going full force already with some giant job he’d just started, spitting out one sheet after another, filling the small room with noise. The place looked like a supply closet, save for the gurney by the wall that held a large roll of black plastic.

  A body bag. She turned away when she realized what it was.

  The other machine caught her eye again. The pages coming out of it were blank.

  “I think you put the originals in backwards,” she said without turning.

  “I think everything is as it should be now, Congresswoman,” he said and pressed against her in the small space as he moved forward.

  And in that instant, as she felt the pressure of his body on hers and heard that voice close to her ear, low like that, she recognized it.

  The man in her attic.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but his hand was over it already. He punched her in the side with the other hand before she could twist away.

  Not punched. She looked down confused and saw the handle of a blade sticking out, felt a sudden sharp pain that took her breath away. She went down fast, the noise of her falling swallowed by the whirring of the machine next to her.

  The last thing she registered was the wet sound the knife made as it was withdrawn.

  DANNY LOOKED DOWN the empty corridor and moved forward, both his anger and his fear tightly suppressed. He was in commando mode. No room for emotions, only precise, faultless execution. He would not stop, not feel until he accomplished his mission.

  It was early
evening, the visitors gone, and the hallways of Walter Reed Hospital were deserted except for the occasional nurse coming off or going on duty.

  His knees seemed to be made of jelly. A temporary weakness, he hoped. Man, having his stomach pumped had been rough. His throat felt raw. He ignored that and the slight dizziness, courtesy of the poison his body had already absorbed by the time the ambulance had gotten him to the E.R.

  His mind was focused on a single thought: Somebody took Kaye. She’d been taken with two Secret Service agents waiting just outside the small office where she was supposed to sign paperwork. For him.

  They had made the worst possible mistake—under-estimated the enemy. She had to have been followed to the hospital from home. Then once they got here, the enemy had improvised. The man was good, whoever he was.

  Where was she? And what had they done to her?

  There had been blood on the floor of the room from which she had disappeared. Hospital security cameras had picked up an unauthorized transport of a body through the parking garage. He put the picture of the still body bag on the gurney out of his mind.

  He had promised her he would keep her safe, damn it.

  He passed the nurses’ station, walked on until he found two older women stripping sheets off a bed in an empty room and stuffing them into a laundry cart. He flashed them his most charming smile. “Hi, I’m Brady White with the Secret Service. Congressman Cole is waiting for me, but I think I got lost. It’s my first time here.”

  One of them smiled back shyly, a short stocky woman with gray hair that was cut into a boyish style. “He’s one floor up. I’m going that way anyway. You can come with me.”

  “That would be extremely helpful,” he said and followed her.

  “Bring me a coffee, too, would you?” the other woman called after them.

  “Of course.” Rosa, according to her nametag, yelled back without stopping. She moved as if she had someplace to be, her shoes clopping on the floor. “He’s just one floor up. You were close,” she told him.

  He nodded, putting on a grateful and relieved expression.

  The key in these situations was not to ask anyone in charge. A nurse would have known the security procedure. Housekeeping, whom most everyone ignored, were happy to show someone they thought important that they knew everything that went on in the building.

  He made small talk while they rode the elevator.

  “Sorry,” he said as he bumped into her when the elevator stopped and they stepped forward to get off at the same time. “Please, go ahead.” He smiled as he slipped her ID tag into his back pocket.

  “Turn left at the end. Last room.” The woman pointed down one of the hallways. “There’s another agent out front. You can’t miss it.” She paused. “I can walk with you if you’d like.”

  “That’s not necessary. You’ve been very kind. Thank you.” He smiled again and turned from her, moving down the hallway slowly, allowing her time to walk down another corridor and pass out of sight.

  When she was gone, he grabbed some soiled scrubs from another laundry cart—looked like it was housekeeping time on every floor—stepped into the nearest empty room and pulled the green garments over his clothes, clipped Rosa’s ID on his breast pocket and turned it sideways as if it’d gotten brushed aside. He grabbed a clipboard from the end of the bed, tucked it under his arm and went on to meet his target.

  No time to go through the proper channels and ask permission. Not when every minute could mean the difference between Kaye’s life and death.

  The Secret Service man by the door barely spared him a glance. He was there as a formality. The congressman hadn’t been under any kind of threat. And Danny had picked his time well, the end of the shift; the man was tired and ready to go.

  A few more steps and he was in, face to face with the congressman.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and noted his gray complexion, his sunken eyes. “I don’t work for the hospital.” He pulled the call button, which the man was about to push, from his reach with one smooth movement.

  “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you.” He lifted his hand, ready to clamp it over the congressman’s mouth if he decided to call for his guard. “I’m here about Kaye Miller,” he said.

  Cole turned even paler. “Has anything…happened to her?”

  “You tell me.” He pinned him with the same look he used to interrogate terrorists.

  Cole looked away. A few moments of silence passed. “I’m sick. Look, I don’t know who you are.” He breathed unevenly. “Leave.”

  “I don’t think you’re a murderer,” Danny said.

  “Oh, God.” Cole shrank into his pillow. “Is she dead?” He took in air in short gasps.

  “I’m really hoping that she’s not. But she is missing. Why don’t you help me find her alive?”

  Cole struggled to sit, not quite succeeding. “I didn’t do anything.” Gasp. “I don’t know anything. This is outrageous.” Gasp. “Who are you?”

  What was he trying to do, kill himself? Danny pushed him back onto the bed. “Stay still. All you have to do is talk.”

  The man wheezed. “You’re wrong. I’m seriously ill. You can’t think I had something to do with this.”

  He could have made him talk quickly, as distasteful as he would have found strong-arming a sick man like that. For Kaye, he could have done anything.

  “Who has Kaye Miller?” he held back for now.

  “I don’t feel good.” Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead. “Please. I need a doctor.”

  “How did you know that the congresswoman was in an accident?”

  The man stared at him for a few seconds. “I can’t…remember. I think she told me. No, maybe Marge told me. I don’t know.”

  The monitor he was hooked up to showed rising blood pressure and heart rate. Damn it. He wasn’t faking it. Did he have information? Was there enough suspicion to justify what Danny would have to do to make him talk?

  There wasn’t. All they had was Cole’s voting record. Not enough to risk killing the man. Danny swore.

  “I was never here,” he said and tossed the call button back to him before he walked out of the room.

  The guard at the door didn’t even look up from the magazine he was reading. Danny couldn’t blame him. He’d spent his own share of time on mind-numbing guard duty where his presence had been largely a formality. Now he loved the SDDU because their missions never lacked action.

  And action was exactly what he needed now. He had to find out who had Kaye, then he had to go and get her back.

  If Congressman Cole wasn’t involved, then who? Danny strode down the hall. They had precious few leads. The only other man who had jumped out at him from the records was Congressman Brown.

  He had bet on Cole. Who knew why he’d gone into the ladies’ room? What he would have done if that aide hadn’t shown up? His instincts bristled at the man, but even he could be wrong. Cole certainly didn’t look in good enough shape to orchestrate multiple assassination attempts. That left Brown. The Capitol Hill parking tag pointed to someone in politics and these two seemed the most obvious. Not that he would ignore the rest. Sylvia was running all background info for the whole of Congress and all Capitol Hill employees, making a list of everyone with the slightest connection to Kaye Miller. Unfortunately, getting comprehensive and usable results would take a while, and Kaye had already been missing for three hours. She could be anywhere by now.

  Danny walked outside and flipped open his cell phone. “Hello, Sylvia. Could I ask for a favor?”

  “Always, and now more than ever,” she said. “The Colonel mentioned you were working on finding Kaye. He’s out of his mind with worry, drilling her Secret Service detail right now. The agency is using all their available resources to find her.”

  “I’ll bring her back.” He would find her or die trying.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I need an exact location on Congressman Brown. Kaye mentioned that he’s in New York for his mo
ther’s funeral.”

  To her credit, Sylvia asked no questions. All she said was, “It shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”

  KAYE FELT dizzy and weak, slowly becoming aware of the darkness and the plastic that was suffocating her. She clawed against it, registering the sounds and movements of a vehicle. The scene at the hospital came back in a rush, the man who’d called her into the copy room.

  She desperately searched for an opening and found it, pushed a finger through the small hole at the top of the zipper and worked it down a few inches. She gulped a quick breath, then another as she tried to move around in the dark. She couldn’t straighten her legs. A trunk. She was locked in the trunk of a car that was taking her God knew where.

  She wiggled her fingers until the opening was wide enough to fit her hand through, then she grabbed the zipper and pulled it down as far as it went, pushed the bag off her head and shoulders.

  The trunk was small and smelled like exhaust. She felt around, looking for the release on the locking mechanism, found it and pushed against the piece of metal, but nothing opened. If she could see… Wasn’t there a light in here somewhere that activated when the trunk was open? Quick. She might not have much time.

  Blood rushed in her ears; her heart pounded. Deep, slow breaths. Don’t give in to panic.

  She dragged her hands across the top of the trunk over her head. Nothing there. Where was that light? She tried to remember her own car. Should have paid attention to these things.

  Think.

  But focusing her brain wasn’t easy, fear gripping her tighter and tighter.

  Ouch. She rubbed her thumb over the pad of her index finger. What was that? She felt the roof again, carefully, and found a small piece of sharp metal—probably the end of a screw. She had to be careful with that.

  Her side pulsed with pain at every move, but she kept going. The light had to be here somewhere. In the back corners, she remembered suddenly and moved her hands in that direction, hoping it would be the same in this car.