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“Pack your bag. We’ll roll out on short notice. Wheels could be up in…” Will glanced at Miranda to answer the unspoken question.
“Ninety minutes,” she replied without missing a beat. No one even knew where they were headed yet, but once they did, things would move quickly.
Jackson left, and Miranda turned fully toward him, pulling her long, dark hair up into a ponytail. It was a telltale sign that she was ready to dive into focus work mode. “So, what do you need?”
“Not entirely sure. I’m guessing Florida, near Orlando. Somewhere to operate out of. Standard gear, but fairly incognito. We’re not looking to catch attention.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Mission goal?”
“Apprehension. Target is likely a professional, and federal law enforcement will be in the vicinity.”
Miranda nodded, unfazed by the news. Will would bet a year’s salary that she could guess exactly why they were headed to Florida. She might not technically be in the loop, but nothing got by Miranda. “All right. Who is going and when?”
“Jackson, Tank, Ryder, and myself. Whenever we get intel that tells us where this guy is—”
A voice from the doorway interrupted. “Actually, change of plans. Jackson and Ryder are staying here to assist whenever Joey needs them for Zia. For now, you’ll take Tank and Pierce.”
“Got it. I’ll call the pilots, and the plane will be ready. Let me know when you’ve got orders, and I’ll handle everything else by the time you land. Anything else I should know?” He could see the gears already turning in her head.
“That’ll do it. Thanks, Miranda.”
She ignored him and turned back to her computer. Will exhaled a deep breath. Once they had intel on the shooter, his team could swoop in and apprehend him and deliver him safely to Acting President Coulter. Easy-peasy.
CHAPTERFIVE
She watchedwith horror as a few of the Secret Service agents ushered the injured president into the back of an SUV and tore out of the area. The remaining agents exchanged shots with someone shooting from the opposite end of the basement, leaving her unattended long enough to attempt crawling out from behind her boxes and dashing up the stairs toward the nearest exit.
A few tense moments later, she was safely in her car, driving away from the hotel as dozens of police cars descended upon the Orlando suburb. She checked her rearview mirror for the hundredth time, expecting to see flashing lights behind her.
Maybe she was being paranoid, but she drove in circles for a while, just to be sure she wasn’t being followed. The radio in her car had been stolen the other week, so she couldn’t even listen to the news to see what was going on. Finally, she made it back to her apartment and scurried inside, clutching her phone to her chest.
Her phone rang, and she dismissed the unknown number. Another collector, harassing her to pay the debt her mother had taken in her name. Over a hundred thousand dollars in student loans that she never saw. Her scholarship had covered most of her schooling, but Mom and Jeremiah had seen dollar signs as the student loan offers started arriving in the mail.
On the drive, she’d considered a thousand different options for what to do with the footage she’d captured of the assassination. The most practical thing to do would be to sell it. It was no secret she could use the money. One glance around the crummy apartment was a testament to that, even without the collection notices piled on her dresser. Splitting the rent and living in the cheapest place she could find, she wasn’t making ends meet as she desperately tried to dig her way through a mountain with a pickaxe. Out of desperation, she’d even started writing mindless clickbait articles. Not exactly the hard-hitting journalism she’d dreamed of doing.
She could reach out to the news stations, offer the footage to the highest bidder.
Even better, she could sell to the company willing to give her a real job and leave her name on the credits. As much as she hated that President Walters had been shot, the fact that she had it on video was an unbelievable turn of good luck for a journalist in her position.
It was enough to make a career.
She changed out of the catering uniform and opened her laptop, scanning the major news sources for updates on the president. She was in critical condition and they’d sworn in the vice president. Wow. Talk about historical days.
Grabbing her phone, she rewatched the footage she had captured, wincing when she saw the president go down. She could delete the video right now. One click and she would go on with her life and find another way to become a real journalist. That EPA story wasn’t going away. There was no doubt in her mind that the president had been coming to that meeting in the Seminole room.
Breaking that story was journalism. This video? It was mostly luck.
Heavy banging on the door made her jump. She tiptoed toward it and peered through the peephole. Her heart sank at the sight of her landlord, with his thin, greasy hair and dingy tank top. It was tucked in, barely constraining his girth.
“Open up, Hannah! I saw your car. I know you’re there. You owe me two months’ rent.”
She stepped back, leaning against the wall, and held her breath, hoping he would go away.
“I’m sure we can makeother arrangementsif you’re strapped for cash, sweetheart.”
Hannah felt herself start to gag at his lewd suggestion. She silently pleaded with him to go away.
He knocked again. “You’ve got one more week. Then I’m evicting you and your worthless roommate!”
