Countdown by Heather Woodhaven Page A

it’s best this conversation not have an audience.” His eyes moved to the rearview mirror to check on the boys.
    Rachel found the accessory on top of a small storage container. James hit the turn signal to merge onto the freeway.
    â€œKeep your hands on the wheel,” she said. She leaned over and slipped the earpiece over his ear. Her fingertips brushed against light stubble and electricity shot up her arm. She jerked her hands back.
    â€œJames?” A deep voice came through the speaker.
    James, seemingly unaware of Rachel’s response to touching him, reached up and pressed a button on the earpiece. The static sound disappeared from the car speakers. “Derrick,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”
    Rachel stared at the earpiece, wishing she could hear the other side of the conversation.
    â€œDaddy, can I have a snack?” Ethan asked. Caleb echoed his brother.
    Rachel put a finger over her mouth as James tried to catch Derrick up to speed. She remembered the lollipops she kept in her purse for after-lunch treats. Admitting she had an addiction to sugar was something she’d yet to do, but she’d found that indulging in one sweet thing after lunch kept her from snacking the rest of the day until dinner.
    Normally she’d seek their dad’s permission as it was probably past their normal dinnertime, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If James didn’t want them to hear Derrick’s side of the conversation, he probably didn’t want them to focus on the heated words on his end, either.
    Their eyes widened and focused on the candy she passed back. “Don’t let it spoil your supper, okay?”
    They grinned at each other and settled back into their seats to enjoy. Children are resilient. She’d heard that so much. But she hated the sentiment. They shouldn’t have to be. It was yet another reason she could never be a mother. She didn’t ever want children to have to be resilient because of her mistakes, which she felt certain she would make.
    How could someone who grew up with such a horrible upbringing ever be a good mother? They couldn’t, she told herself for the millionth time. She’d seen plenty of examples, and she refused to become another case study of evidence.
    * * *
    James finished explaining what had happened in the past few hours.
    Derrick was silent for a moment. “No, you’re right. I don’t think this was random.”
    â€œI agreed to help, Derrick, under the assumption we’d be taken care of. Now my family and my neighbor are in a...compromising position.” His jaw clenched. They weren’t the words he’d normally choose, but he floundered to find something suitable, with the boys as an audience, instead of words like kidnap , danger , guns and kill . “What do we do now?”
    Derrick’s sigh on the other side of the line sounded more like a muzzled growl. “You know this wasn’t part of the plan, James. I either have a mole inside the agency or someone impersonating an agent. Either way, we need to find out who is calling the shots.”
    James glanced in the rearview mirror. His gut lurched. A black sedan three cars back changed lanes. Another one six cars back stayed in his lane.
    He hadn’t taken the time to figure out what the model was when he’d looked out his home window, especially since it had been growing dark. The Charger’s automatic headlights flipped on as if in reply. “Derrick, straight up, I’m not interested in how you handle the case on your end. I’m calling because I want to know my neighbor and my kids are going to sleep safe and sound tonight. Is it safe for me to take Rachel to a friend’s house? I can get the boys to my brother’s tonight. Once I know they’re away from any threat, I’ll come back and do whatever you need.”
    â€œWhich brother?”
    â€œThe one in