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the east side of Denver distracted him. The reporter announced a hit-and-run combined with unconfirmed reports of gunfire.
    Jason didn’t know the city well enough to attribute that event to his assignment or more localized violence. The roads were treacherous and even driving cautiously he could feel the tires sliding over patches of ice. Using the voice control on his phone, he contacted the analyst again to ask about the traffic report.
    He heard the soft tap of fingers on a keyboard before the voice filled the car. “Traffic cameras confirm the report of a collision and it looks to me like there’s a muzzle flash.”
    He asked for, and received an accurate description of the vehicles involved. “Did the police take anyone into custody?”
    “Negative. Cameras show the SUV leaving the scene and two men exiting the disabled sedan.”
    “Anything odd reported?”
    “The two men in the sedan left the weapons behind. I can check with the lab about fingerprints, but it won’t be the priority with no victims.”
    “Any chance of facial recognition on anyone from the traffic cams? License plates or registrations?”
    “Possibly the driver of the SUV.” The soft sound of fingers on the keyboard was all he heard for a moment. “The rest were camera-shy and I don’t have enough to go on. Both vehicles are rentals and I can call you back when the records come through.”
    “Do that. Please,” he added. “Is the SUV driver a man or woman?”
    “Woman.”
    DeRossi. “Any GPS signal on the SUV?”
    “No.”
    Jason stifled his exasperation. “The director didn’t happen to call in about this same accident, did he?”
    “No word from him since he landed safely in Denver.”
    Jason muttered an oath and thanked the analyst. “Let me know when you get a match on the driver.”
    “Will do.”
    “One more thing.” Jason gave the temporary tag on the Jeep. “I don’t expect the information to be accurate, so dig deeper than the first name that shows up.”
    “You got it.”
    When the call disconnected, he pounded his palm against the steering wheel. Of all the times to slip up. Losing DeRossi was the biggest mistake he’d made since becoming a Specialist.
    He urged his car closer to the battered Jeep, determined to confirm how the sexy redhead fit in with DeRossi and the director, or if his instincts were all wrong and he was out here chasing wild geese through a blizzard.

Chapter Five
    Clutching the steering wheel, Jo’s knuckles were as white as the snow outside and, despite the heat blasting from the vents, probably as cold.
    She merged with the westbound traffic, praying they would make it to the cabin she’d rented before the police caught up with them. Living in a wired society made it difficult to operate under the radar. Training helped, as did the ultimate clearance level she’d earned by working oversight for the most covert government agencies.
    After driving for a few miles encountering nothing more exciting than a snow plow, she tried to relax a fraction and sort out their options. When she trusted her voice again, she asked Thomas who and what he’d seen in the other car.
    “A silencer.”
    “Really?” Not much reason for a silencer in a car chase.
    “It doesn’t make sense to me either.”
    “Unless they planned to take you down at the airport.”
    “I thought that was your job.”
    She flexed her hands on the wheel, anything to ease the tension. “Is the wedding important to you?”
    “You know it is.”
    “Think what a crushing blow it would be for the bride if her uncle couldn’t make it because he was dead.”
    She felt his hard stare. “When did Initiative launch an assassination division?”
    “It’s not like we don’t have the resources,” she said, completely irritated with the bitterness she heard in his voice.
    “I’m holding a gun and a sedative, Johara.”
    “And I’m in the driver’s seat of a perfectly effective weapon, too, Thomas.” She jumped at his sudden