Shattered Lies (Web of Lies #3)(37)

Valeria gripped his shoulder for balance as she took off each shoe. Grant attracted women who wanted to be rescued. Women with the girl-next-door looks and shy voices. Women who felt safe with him and women he felt safe with since they never asked for anything from him. Certainly never a woman who would shoot someone between the eyes. A woman who would demand everything from him because, while Valeria would deny it, she wanted love. He knew that because it was what he wanted deep down, too.

“Here you go,” Valeria said, handing him the shoes. No batting eye lashes, no simpering, so fawning over being rescued. That wasn’t Valeria’s style. For the first time, Grant felt as though he’d found his equal in every way.

Grant reached for the knife on his belt and set the shoe on a rock. He bent over and with a strong swing he chopped off the heel to one shoe, then the second. “Not the most comfortable but better than trying to walk on stilts.”

Valeria slipped them on and tried them out. “Thanks, Grant.”

Grant felt as if he’d been handed the world. He had a feeling she didn’t say that word often. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go.”



* * *



“Where are they?” Lizzy asked as she scanned the sky from their stolen helicopter.

“They’re flying southwest toward Mexico. They’re south of the small town of Ocotillo,” Dalton replied as they flew across the western base of the Peninsular Range near Palm Grove.

“I see it,” Lizzy said, scanning the map of the area and looking closely at the GPS coordinates from the tracker on Sebastian. “They’re about twenty-five miles ahead of us. They’re over someplace called Jacumba Wilderness Area near the border.”

“If they get over the border, we’ll never be able to get to them. Manuel has protection everywhere.”

“Wait,” Lizzy said, keeping her eyes on the GPS signal. “They’ve stopped.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” Lizzy said, pulling up an image of the area. “It’s nothing. It’s a small mountain range about a mile from the border. Okay, he’s on the move. They’re moving into the mountains. They’re going slowly, so they must be on foot.”

“They’re trying to sneak across the border. We might be able to catch them.”

Agonizing minutes passed as Dalton flew closer to the targets. They ate up the miles as Lizzy readied a parachute. If they were in the middle of the hills, the helicopter may not be able to land and there was no way she would let that stop her.

“Lizzy!” Dalton yelled into the headset. “Where’d they go?”

Lizzy looked at the map on the phone. They were gone. There wasn’t even a blip of a signal anywhere on the map. “They were just there,” Lizzy said, pointing at their last location. “They can’t be gone.”

“Do you think they found the tracker?”

“They could have. Let’s find out.”

Dalton nodded his head as he headed for the last location.





16





Birch grimaced as he was moved to the wheelchair. It was the first time he’d been allowed out of the hospital bed, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the White House. The hospital was quiet this late at night—or this early in the morning, depending on how you wanted to think of it.

The cleaning crew had just left, leaving the halls smelling of antiseptic. The white floors and walls glowed under the artificial light as the staff lined up to say goodbye. The staff was minimal with only two nurses and a couple doctors that had been treating him. However, the army of Secret Service agents ruined the calm of the moment. Six agents flanked him as Dr. Wilson, his personal White House physician, pushed his wheelchair to each person. Birch held out his hand and shook the doctors’ hands and then the nurses’. “Thank you for such excellent care.” Birch wasn’t given long to say goodbye as his agents kept him moving.

Ahead of them, Humphrey pushed Tate, but Birch couldn’t see them through the wall of agents there to take them home. He knew Humphrey was there because of his constant history lessons on different presidents being admitted to the base hospital.

What a pair he and Tate made. Both banged up and in wheelchairs, although Tate would be moved to crutches soon since her shoulder injury was healing faster than expected. They would have to talk to the media soon. Her undersecretary had been handling all the press since the bombing, but the people would need to see the president to know he was capable of governing the country. While work had been handled, he was isolated at the hospital. Meetings were delayed and instead of a steady flow of people coming and going, it was just he and Humphrey getting things done. He’d need to meet with members of Congress, his cabinet, and the world leaders he’d had to reschedule. This was the last calm before the storm.

The sterile white was broken up by silver doors of the elevators at the end of the hall and the few posters of smiling soldiers and doctors that hung on the walls. The elevators were on lockdown, but two of the four were open for him by the time they reached them. Tate went into one, while he and his wall of agents went into the other.

It was strange to ride down the elevator in complete deafening silence. He’d grown accustomed to Humphrey’s lectures. Birch found them soothing, especially when the situation was as tense as it was now—moving a president someone had attempted to assassinate. But now it was all business. The agents had hands on their guns as two kept an eye on the ceiling and the others formed a barricade between him and the door. Birch didn’t think anyone breathed as they rode down to the garage.