Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

“Do you know where he went after that?”

“Nah, we didn’t stay in touch.” He was blinking so fast Shield was surprised he could see her.

“Do you mind if I come in?”

“What for?” Brinker asked. “He’s not here.”

“I’d like to check that for myself.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No, but I can get one. All I want is to make sure he’s not in there.”

The big guy took a quick look behind him and turned back to her. “I don’t think so. If you want to come in, I’m gonna have to see a warrant.”

These were the times Shield regretted working under her own name instead of a cover. Under other circumstances, the door would be hanging on its hinges and the fat guy would be sweating on the couch with her gun in his face. Shield took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not here to make any trouble for you. I just need to talk to Dennis.”

“What about?”

“I want to ask him some questions about a past employer.”

Brinker looked away briefly again. Shield was sure he was checking with Weitman about whether to let her in.

“I’d help, lady, but I don’t kow where he is.”

“Very well then, you don’t leave me a choice. I’ll be back in an hour.” Shield returned to her rental sedan, certain that it wouldn’t take long for Weitman to come running out, looking for a place to hide. She drove away and parked around the corner where her car would be concealed but positioned so she had a view of the front porch through the shrubbery.

The door opened five minutes later and Brinker emerged to scan the area. His mouth moved; he said something aloud and then Weitman came out, small duffel bag and car keys in hand. He hurried to an older Plymouth and took off. Shield waited a few seconds to follow him.

Weitman pulled onto the freeway and headed north at the speed limit, with Shield pacing him several cars behind. As they followed the signs toward Salem, rapidly eating up miles, she realized that the car directly behind the Plymouth—a silver Ford sedan—wasn’t following the natural flow of traffic, but was altering its speed to keep its position. Someone else was also following Weitman.

Shield called Reno and asked him to trace the plates on the Ford. He reported back that it had been reported stolen an hour earlier.

Weitman exited the freeway and turned into a deserted parking lot behind an after-hours strip joint. The silver sedan kept pace until he did, then continued down the road past the club.

Shield grabbed her gun from the dash as she stepped on the gas and stopped right behind the Plymouth, trapping Weitman between her car and the wall of the building. She jumped out and pointed the gun at him. “Secret Service. Show me your hands.”

“I’m unarmed,” he shouted, and put his hands on his head.

“Get out of the car.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“I have nothing to say.”

Shield opened the door for him and grabbed him by the collar.

“Chill,” he said, “I’m coming out.”

“Keep your hands where they are.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He slid out of the driver’s seat with his hands still on his head.

“I want to talk about Thomas.”

He leaned against the car. “I don’t know any Tho—”

Weitman’s eyes went blank as blood oozed from a small hole that suddenly appeared above his left eyebrow. Almost simultaneously, Shield heard the muffled discharge of a weapon. As Weitman dropped to his knees in front of her, Shield immediately ducked and fired over the car in the direction where the gunshot had come from. No more shots came her way, but she heard a car take off in the distance.

Weitman lay limp on his side in front of the open door of the Plymouth, his eyes wide open and a growing puddle of blood under his head. So, the ex-girlfriend hadn’t been angry enough with him to not warn him. Too bad Weitman had to alarm whoever had hired him.

Shield wasn’t exactly heartbroken by his demise, but she did regret not getting the chance to make him talk. She dialed 911 from the pay phone outside the club and told the operator a man was down and gave them the address. She wasn’t about to get involved or offer any information that would wake any sleeping dogs to her suspicions concerning Jeffrey Thomas’s death. So far, she had little to no proof, and any media and fed attention would lead to a wild goose chase that would only alarm those behind Thomas’s death and hamper her search.

Whoever killed Weitman hadn’t stuck around to kill her as well. Either they hadn’t been ordered to or they didn’t want to stir up trouble by killing White House security—something that would certainly trigger an extensive investigation. Shield pulled out of the parking lot and took off in the direction she’d heard the car speed away. She was sure it was the silver sedan that had been following Weitman.

She drove around for an hour before deciding to give up. Whoever had shot Weitman had probably ditched the stolen car.

“Weitman’s dead,” she told Reno as she headed slowly toward Logan Airport, still watching out for the Ford.

“You okay?” He sounded concerned.

“I’m fine. They dropped him right in front of me just as he was getting out of the car.”

“Before or after he gave you a name?”

“Before.”

“Did you see who shot him?”

“They snipered him. I’m sure it was the guy from the stolen car. I tried to find him, but no luck.”

“Crap. What do we do now?”

“You’re going to book me on the next flight out of Logan. I have to get back to Washington.”

“The president awaits.”

“Yeah.” She heard Reno typing away at his computer in the background.

“How is she to be around?”

“She’s hard to read. High-strung most of the time.”

“She’s pretty attractive for a president,” he said.

“She’s even better in person.”

“Is she any fun?”

“She can be when she’s not nervous or irritated with me,” Shield replied.

“Why you?”

“It’s complicated.” She thought back to the night she almost kissed Thomas.

“What did you do?”

“My job.”

“I guess she doesn’t like being babysat.”

“Frankly I don’t know what she likes,” she said distractedly. “She’s…not what I expected.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s very sensitive and almost innocent, in a way a woman her age shouldn’t be. Like she doesn’t fit the role.”

“She sounds too good to be a president.”

Shield sighed. “She is. She’s unpretentiously charming, almost disarming.”

“We are talking about the U.S. president, right?”

“Hey, I’ll catch you later.”

“Shield?”

“Yeah?” She was still scanning the streets for the silver sedan.

“Are you all right?”

“You mean conspiracy and Jeffrey Thomas’s assassin getting killed in front of me, aside?”

“That, too, but are you all right with Thomas?”

“Sure.”

“Sounds to me like you like her. A lot.”

“Later, Reno. Text me the ticket info.” Shield hung up.

Chapter Twenty-two

The White House

Ryden had managed to get through her closed-door session with the Argentine president, and several important meetings that followed, to Ratman’s satisfaction. But she still had three more to go before she was done for the day, and she wondered how she’d manage. She felt pushed to the very limit of her patience. After running a brush through her hair, she glanced at her schedule and wearily pushed herself up from the vanity. The next item on her agenda, a briefing from Homeland Security in the Roosevelt Room, would likely involve an elaborate multimedia presentation of some sort.