Well, I guess that answers one question.
Oh, yeah? Whats that?
He smiled, liking that hed shaken her with his kiss. Youve never been married. So youre not married now.
Turning her back to him, she said, What does it matter?
I would think it would matter a little since we just kissed.
All part of our cover. It didnt mean anything.
If you were married, wouldnt you hope that your husband would be a little jealous of the man kissing his wife?
I would hope hed understand its part of the job. Not that Im getting married anytime soon.
Why not?
Im not convinced marriage is all that great.
Having been a SEAL for seven years, Rip had much the same perspective, though hed never voiced his opinion on the institution. Tracie made him reconsider his own stand on matrimony. I think marriage is okay for some.
Tracies lips twisted as she glanced up at him. But not you?
He countered with raised brows. Or you?
Marriage is hard enough when the two parties involved live under the same roof all year long. My jobs in the FBI and now on Hanks team have kept me moving. I dont have the time or the inclination to set down roots.
The door opened on the seventh floor. Rip took the lead, turning toward the stairwell instead of the room the hotel manager had assigned them. Tracie was right behind him.
He hurried down the stairs checking for security cameras. Hed seen one in the hallway on the seventh floor, but not in the stairwell. One floor down, he opened the door.
Movement captured his attention. Two men were entering the stairwell at the opposite end of the long corridor. The last one through looked over his shoulder at Rip and Tracie before shoving the guy in front of him the rest of the way through the door and crowding in behind him.
Damn. Tracie ducked past Rip and ran for room 627. The doorjamb was splintered and the door stood ajar. Tracie pulled a pistol from her purse and shouldered her way inside, gun pointed.
Rip dragged the HK .40 from the holster beneath his shirt and rushed in after Tracie.
Franks is dead. Tracie turned toward him. Whoever did it got away.
The two in the stairwell. Rip ran back to the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, jumping over the railing as the staircase made a turn. He landed and repeated the process until he hit the ground floor where he burst through the doorway. As dark sedan rushed by, one of its windows lowered and the barrel of a pistol jutted out.
Rip threw himself to the ground as the sharp report of gunfire blasted the air. He rolled beneath a truck and out the other side, jumping to his feet. Another shot shattered the trucks passenger window.
Hunkered low with the body of the truck between him and the fleeing vehicle, Rip sucked in a breath and dared to poke his head over the top of the hood, praying hed have enough time to get a fix on the license plate of the sedan. Already, it was too far away and getting farther.
Rip ran across the grass, cut through a stand of trees and made it to the street as the getaway vehicle turned onto the main road.
He hammered his pistols grip into the drivers side window, cracking the glass.
The driver cursed, and the vehicle slowed for a second. Tires squealing, it leaped across the crowded roadway, and three other vehicles crashed into each other as the drivers slammed on their brakes.
With the pileup blocking Rip, the killers got away.
Farther away from Tracie and the scene of the crime than he felt comfortable with, Rip jogged back to the hotel, and raced up the six flights of stairs.
Tracie was still in room 627 with the dead DEA supervisor.
Rip nudged the door open with his foot, breathing hard, his shirt torn and dirty.
What happened? Tracie asked.
They got away. Rip kicked the door closed behind him, careful not to touch anything. Have you called the police?
She shook her head and held up gloved hands. No. And Ive been careful not to leave prints on anything. We cant blow our cover. Theres still a lot of work to do.
What about the surveillance video for this floor?
Ill get Hank to work on that. Right now, we need to find any information that Greer might have left for us. She slapped a pair of latex gloves in his hands.
Rip pulled on the gloves and glanced around the hotel room. Drawers littered the floor, a small suitcase lay upside down beside the drawers, clothes were strewn around the room as if someone had gone through them in a hurry. Pillows had been tossed off the bed and the mattress lay at an awkward angle, the sheets in a rumpled heap beside the dead man.
The rooms been tossed. If there was anything to be found, dont you think the killers would have gotten to it first? Rip asked.
He glanced at the door. Not only had the killers splintered the frame, the chain lock had been ripped out of the door itself.
The chain on the door was torn off. The agent knew someone might try to get to him. Tracie checked the closet, the empty room safe and behind the dresser. Nothing.
Rip found a set of keys beneath the corner of the bed. Think he might have left something in his vehicle?
We can check, but we better make it quick. It wont be long before someone sees the broken door and discovers the body. We dont want to be around when the police get here.
Rip nodded. They couldnt afford to be tied up answering questions for the police. Their fake documents would only hold up until authorities tracked down their real identities. Did Hank have the access to erase our fingerprints from the FBI and military databases?
As far as I know, he removed us from all grids.
A sense of loss washed over Rip. His identity had been erased from the military system. Hed always been proud of his connection with the SEALs. Having been removed from the system made him feel even more disconnected than his fake death.
Rip squared his shoulders. He didnt have time to grieve his own death. Palming the car keys, he jerked his head toward the door. Lets go.
Chapter Three
Leading the way, Rip took the staircase down to the ground level.
Tracie followed more slowly in her high heels, listening for others entering the stairwell or raising the alarm about a killing in the hotel.
So far, nothing had gone according to plan, which was right on par for the life of an FBI agent, or a Covert Cowboys, Inc. operative for that matter. Rarely did she have complete control over what happened, but shed rather be in the position of giving the orders than taking them. She frowned at Rips back.
The massive breadth of Rips shoulders gave her a modicum of confidence. At least he was capable of defending himself and possibly her, if hand-to-hand combat became necessary.
Outside in the parking lot, Rip hit the unlock button on the key fob. A nondescript gray economy cars lights blinked and the vehicle let out a mechanical beep.
Thankfully, the car was parked at the side of the building, not in clear view of the lobby or the hotel manager, and hopefully out of range of security cameras.
Without wasting time, Rip dove into the car and thoroughly searched the interior before he gave up and popped the lock on the trunk. It was empty.