Читать книгу Lethal Lies - Lara Lacombe - Страница 12
ОглавлениеHe wasn’t dead.
The bastard must have been born under a lucky star, because by all rights, he should have been killed tonight. That had been the plan. That was how things should have gone.
Alexander Malcom, former golden boy of the Bureau, turned traitor and killed by the very gang he had infiltrated. Pity the Bureau hadn’t gotten to bring him to trial, but everyone knew you didn’t cross an organization like the 3 Star Killers. Street justice was bloody and swift.
Or at least it should have been.
Dan Pryde pasted on a somber expression, shaking his head over the loss of life. Yes, it was a shame that so many promising young men and women had been injured or killed tonight. Even more shameful that they had died in vain, since the primary target was still alive.
He’d checked and double-checked the identity of the bodies, called all the hospitals to make sure Alex hadn’t slipped through the cracks. There was no sign of him. While some of the casualties were still being collected, he knew in his gut that Malcom wouldn’t be among them. The man had vanished like a ghost.
Nodding to the other agents around the table, he wheeled out of the room and down to his office. Let them point fingers at each other and rant about operational security—he had bigger things to deal with.
Such as finding Malcom before the man had a chance to expose him as a double agent.
Dan paused just inside his office to shut the door behind him. He needed privacy for this call, and although it was late and the halls were empty, he couldn’t take a chance that someone walking by would hear him. He motored to his desk, the whir of his wheelchair a soft hum in the otherwise silent room. It was a nice chair, provided by the Bureau, but after all, they owed it to him to provide the best in wheelchair technology, seeing as how it was their fault he was in the damn chair in the first place.
No, he corrected silently, not their fault. Not the faceless entity that was the FBI. One man was responsible for the paralysis that had rendered his legs useless and made him a prisoner in this chair, and now, after too many years, Dan had decided to enact his revenge.
I set the wheels in motion.
Shaking his head at the awful pun, he dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved his burn phone. Time to check in with his friends on the other side; find out just what the hell had happened out there tonight.
He hesitated a brief second, debating who to call. That punk kid Tony or someone a little higher on the food chain? Tony was his eyes and ears on the ground, but he was always a little too brash, too cocky for Dan’s liking. Although he provided good intel, he was still just a seventeen-year-old kid with a big mouth and a hot head. Like all teenage boys, Tony thought he was immortal, a testament to the power of denial, since he saw his friends gunned down on a regular basis. He was on his way to a gang leadership position, but he wasn’t there yet. If he’d managed to keep himself alive during tonight’s fiasco, he’d be one step closer to the position he craved.
No, Tony wouldn’t provide him with the information he sought. If he really wanted to know what had happened tonight, he needed to go all the way to the top.
He dialed quickly, loosening his tie as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end of the line. Hopefully his contact hadn’t been killed in the shootout. He frowned at the thought, but dismissed it quickly. Despite their reputation, the leaders of the 3 Star Killers were not brainless thugs. They were too smart to get in the middle of a firefight between the government and the gangbangers. But as the phone continued to ring, cracks of doubt began to mar his conviction. Why weren’t they answering?
Finally someone picked up. They didn’t speak, but he could hear the raspy sound of their breath on the other end of the line. “What happened?” Dan didn’t bother with preliminaries, nor did he offer any kind of identification. He thought of the gang as a tame beast—under his control for now, but capable of turning on him in a heartbeat. He wasn’t stupid enough to give them the ammunition they’d need to ruin him.
There was a scratching as the phone was passed and then a familiar voice greeted him. “Mr. Hoover.”
It was the gang’s pet name for him, something he’d suggested they use. It was nice being called by the same name as the father of the FBI. He usually got a small thrill out of it, but tonight he was too wound up to notice.
“Why’d you call? We’re busy.”
Dan bit his bottom lip, refusing to give voice to his thoughts. I know you are, you little shit. And the only reason you’re busy is because I saved your ass tonight. Instead of pointing out that they should be thanking him for the fact they were still alive, he silently counted to five before he spoke again. “Did you take out Malcom?”
There was a pause, which made him grit his teeth. He started counting again. One... Two... Three...
“Haven’t seen him yet.”
“Which means he’s still alive.”
“Nah, man, it means I haven’t found him yet. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”
“You’d better hope he is, because that was the price for the information I gave you.” When there was no response, he hardened his voice. “Do I have to remind you of the terms of our deal?”
“Nah, I got it. Look, he’s probably dead. We’re out looking for him and Tony now, to make sure.”
Tony was missing, too? That was disturbing news. Although the kid couldn’t identify him, Malcom could still get information from him. Information that would have him asking questions and stirring up trouble.
Why couldn’t you just die?
“I’ll call back in an hour. You’d better have good news for me.” He hung up before the man on the other end of the line had a chance to respond. Things were even worse than he thought.
Dan tucked the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. He knew better than anyone that life didn’t always go as planned. While he hoped the gang would turn up Malcom’s body, he had to prepare for the very likely possibility they would not. It was a setback, but he wasn’t about to let Alex go that easily, not after all these years.
Not when he was so close to getting his justice.
* * *
Jillian stared up at him, her heart pounding so hard she felt as though it might beat right out of her chest. So much for her grand escape plan. She’d only managed to fill the syringe halfway before he’d barged in. She glanced down at it now, still clutched in her right hand. With a sigh, she set it on the sink. It wouldn’t do her much good, and she didn’t want to antagonize him further.
He was already intimidating enough, taking up the width of the doorway as he leaned against the jamb. He blocked her exit, but he didn’t seem threatening. His stance was casual, arms and ankles crossed, like they were having a normal conversation and he hadn’t just caught her making preparations to drug him. His expression was open and curious, and as she watched him, she could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched. She focused on his lips, caught the movement again. Was he—? He was! The jerk was laughing at her!
“This is funny to you?”
He sobered at that, his gaze sharpening as he regarded her. “Not at all. But I admire your determination. Not many people would be so resourceful.” His eyes cut to the syringe, then back to her. “Or so brave.”
“If you’d just let me go, I wouldn’t have to resort to such desperate measures.”
He shook his head before she’d even finished speaking, which had her temper flaring.
“Why not? I’ve done what you asked. I saved your friend, and now I want to go home.” Her voice broke and she bit her lip, blinking furiously. She would not cry, especially in front of him.
“Not yet.” His voice was flat, his jaw clenched. She could see that he was upset, but she pressed on, hoping she could get through to him.
“Is it money? Is that what you want?” When he didn’t respond, she took a deep breath. He needed to know the truth, even though it would probably upset him. “You should know I don’t have any money. Residents don’t make much, and most of what I do make goes to paying off my school loans. I can barely afford my apartment, much less pay you.”
“Don’t you have family?” There was a flash of something in his eyes—Interest? Calculation?—but then it was gone, making her wonder if she was imagining things.
“No.” She didn’t like to talk about her brother on the best of days, and she certainly wasn’t going to discuss him now. “So if you were hoping to use me to get rich, I’m sorry to disappoint.”
He smiled then, a brief curve of his lips. It transformed his face, making him look friendly. In other circumstances she would have found a smile like that on a man like him attractive.
“I’m not interested in money,” he told her.
“Then let me go.”
He shook his head, shifting slightly. “Can’t do that. It’s not safe.”
“What do you mean?” She felt a chill on the back of her neck and reached up to rub the sensation away. What could be worse than this?
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. “There are some bad guys after us,” he said, uncrossing his feet and scuffing the toe of his boot on the stained linoleum. “We need to lay low for a while.”
“Bad guys?”
He nodded. “Have you heard of the 3 Star Killers?”
Heard of them? Oh, yes. She saw the results of their handiwork on a daily basis, treating gunshot wounds, stabbings and overdoses with a regularity that broke her heart. They were a major presence on the streets of DC, and the news that they were after her kidnapper did nothing to alleviate the knot in her stomach.
“You have a gang after you?” She should have known—the smell of the car alone should have tipped her off. The 3 Star Killers were the major meth suppliers for the city, and the heavy, cloying stench emanating from the upholstery wasn’t due to casual drug use. She’d probably been riding around in a mobile meth lab, a thought that made her skin crawl.
Watching her captor now, she was struck again by the thought that he didn’t look like a typical user or dealer. How was he associated with the gang and what had he done to bring their wrath down on his head?
“Something like that.” He ducked his head, the gesture of a little boy in trouble. His refusal to meet her eyes made her stomach clench. He was hiding something.
“There’s more.” It wasn’t a question and he knew it.
“You don’t need to worry about the details now.”
She considered his statement, wondering if he was right. It would be easier to remain ignorant of the danger facing them, but what good would that do in the long run? Better to know, so she could be prepared for the worst. Maybe there was a chance she could slip away before the gang even realized she was with him. The 3 Star Killers weren’t known for their subtlety, and she knew that if the gang found them, they wouldn’t distinguish between the one who had wronged them and the one who was in the way.
“Please,” she said, her voice quiet. “If you’re not going to let me go, at least tell me what’s really going on.”
He looked at her then, his dark blue eyes sharp and focused, glinting like twin sapphires in the dull bathroom light. “Why should I tell you? How do I know I can trust you?”
Jillian felt her eyes grow round with the question. Trust her? He had doubts about trusting her? After everything he’d done to her? She fought down a wave of exasperation and tried to see things from his perspective. She’d probably be a little paranoid if a gang was after her, but still. Who was she going to tell?
“Seeing as how you kidnapped me, and not the other way around, I don’t know why you’d have trouble trusting me.”
He raised a brow, regarding her skeptically. “Seeing as how I just found you filling a syringe with a whopping dose of sedative I can only imagine you meant for me, you can see why I’m a little worried.”
She felt her cheeks heat with a blush, but refused to look away. “Can you blame me?”
He smiled again and she couldn’t help but return the gesture. “No, not really. I’d probably do the same thing.”
“But you’d probably be successful,” she muttered.
His smile broadened as he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Please tell me,” she whispered.
The smile faded from his face as he regarded her, his expression sad. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said softly.
How could she get him to talk? What could she say that would convince him she needed to know what was going on? She deserved to know—her life was in danger too, dammit!
She wanted so badly to yell and scream, to rail at him until he gave in. But she knew he wouldn’t respond; if anything, her temper would only cause him to shut down. No, if she wanted answers, she would have to extend some kind of olive branch. What did she have that he wanted?
When someone offers their name, it’s customary for you to offer yours in exchange.
Did he still want to know? Would that be enough?
“Jillian,” she blurted, breaking the silence between them.
He tilted his head, studying her like she was some kind of talking monkey.
“My name,” she clarified. “You asked me before. It’s Jillian.”
* * *
The name fit her, Alex thought as he watched her draw herself up, as though she was preparing for battle. He knew why she had finally told him—she was hoping he’d give her some information in exchange. Tit for tat. One of the oldest interrogation tricks in the book; a tactic he’d used with varying degrees of success throughout his career. He’d never been on the receiving end before and was surprised to realize how susceptible he was. Her confession, her peace offering, made him want to explain things, to lay it all out for her. He was sorely tempted to tell her the truth, not just about why he’d taken her, but about everything.
It was a heavy burden he carried. He wanted badly to share it with someone.
But he didn’t want to put her in any more danger.
Needing time to think, he stuck his hand out in a bid to buy a few seconds. She stared at it warily, as if he offered her a stick of dynamite. When he didn’t move, she grudgingly slid her hand into his and gave him a perfunctory shake. “Nice to meet you, Jillian,” he said.
She pulled away quickly, no doubt repulsed by his touch. He wished he could say the same, but her small, strong hand had felt nice in his own. It was so easy to think of her as fragile, because of her porcelain skin and delicate bones, but he had only to touch her to be reminded of her hidden strength.
His resolve weakened with the contact, the words building up on the tip of his tongue. Why not share the truth with her? Who could she tell? After all, he was going to keep her by his side until the mess died down. He should be able to make contact with his case handler soon, explain everything. Now that Tony was stable, he had evidence to support his claim. He’d get things straightened out with the Bureau, find the mole in the organization, and then his nightmare would be over. He’d make sure Jillian had a protective detail, so if the gang got wind of her involvement tonight, she’d still be safe.
The more he considered it, the more he realized that if he told her the truth, things could only get better. Since they were going to be stuck together, he needed her to trust him. Besides, he couldn’t stand the way she looked at him now. The combination of fear, determination and hurt that shone in her eyes just tore him up inside. The way she flinched every time he moved broke his heart. He’d never hurt a woman before, never given one cause to be afraid of him, and he didn’t like the slimy sensation he felt in his gut every time she jumped in response to his actions.
His mind made up, he straightened from the door jamb. Jillian watched him move, her stance reminding him of a feral cat, ready to run at the slightest provocation. Alex took a deep breath, gearing up to say the words. After so many years as an undercover agent, it was hard to overcome his ingrained reluctance to reveal his identity. But it had to be done.
“I’m undercover FBI. I was involved in a sting that went south tonight. A lot of government agents died because of a mole in the organization who told the 3 Star Killers about the takedown. Tony knows the identity of the double agent, which is why I needed you to save his life. I couldn’t take him to a hospital, because the FBI and the gang would know, and they would send people to either arrest or kill me. I can’t let that happen.”
She watched him, her eyes growing round as he spoke. “You’re an FBI agent?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he thought he detected a note of doubt. Not that he could blame her—he hadn’t exactly acted like an upstanding lawman tonight.
He nodded. “I infiltrated the 3 Star Killers almost three years ago. I’ve worked my way up the chain of command, passing on intel to the FBI so they could build a case against the gang. Tonight was supposed to be the big operation, the one that crippled the gang and effectively took them out. But it all went wrong.”
“I see.” She nodded mechanically, and he had the distinct impression she was humoring him. As though he was a mental patient and she was agreeing with everything he said so as not to provoke him.
Biting his lip in frustration, he thrust his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his identification. He normally didn’t carry his badge and ID, but since tonight was the big op, he’d brought it along so he could identify himself to the other agents. Jillian jumped and shrank back as he shoved it forward for her inspection, but when she realized he wasn’t going to hurt her, she reached out to take the leather case from his outstretched hand.
Her brows pulled together as she studied the badge and card. “This looks real,” she said, sounding confused. “How is that possible?”
“Because it’s the truth?”
She glanced up at him, her brown eyes shining with an emotion he couldn’t name. “But you kidnapped me.”
“I had to. I couldn’t let Tony die.”
She took a step forward, evidently growing braver in the face of his confession. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were before?”
He shook his head. “There wasn’t time. I couldn’t stand there in the middle of the parking lot and explain the situation to you. We had to move. I made a command decision, and while I’m sorry you were scared, I’d do it again.”
She stood in front of him now, a breath away. “You idiot,” she seethed. She slapped his badge against his chest and he raised his hand to keep it from falling. “I would have helped you. I could have admitted Tony as a John Doe, bought you some time. But you didn’t think of that, did you?”
Actually, no, he hadn’t considered that possibility. He’d figured the FBI and the gang would comb the area hospitals looking for him, and he’d wanted to get away as soon as possible. Besides, while the FBI would be careful not to harm any innocent bystanders in their quest to arrest him, he knew the gang wouldn’t be so circumspect.
“I couldn’t risk other people getting hurt. You know the 3 Star Killers wouldn’t hesitate to mow down everyone in the ER if they knew I was inside.”
Some of the anger in her eyes dimmed at that. “You still could have told me the truth.”
“When?” he asked, his temper flaring to life. “In the car on the way here, as you were looking through the supplies? When you were treating Tony? When you were sneaking off to drug me? When, exactly, do you think I should have had this conversation with you?”
“I don’t know!” She took a step back, throwing up her arms as she moved. “But don’t get mad at me for being upset at the fact that you kidnapped me and brought me here under false pretenses.”
Alex opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as he caught the hitch in her breathing. She was terrified, and trying hard not to show it. The knowledge doused his anger like a cold shower. “I’m not the bad guy,” he said softly.
Jillian stared up at him a long moment, considering. He watched the emotions play across her face—anger, frustration, fear, denial. And acceptance. Finally she spoke again. “I know.”
“But the bad guys are out there. And they are coming for us. So we have to decide—are we going to work together or are we going to argue over all the crap that’s happened tonight?” He reached out to rest his hand on her arm, squeezing gently. For the first time, she didn’t flinch at his touch. He felt like whooping in celebration, but kept his voice quiet. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the way things went down. I’d give anything to keep you out of this.”
The corner of her mouth hitched up in what might have been a smile. “Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” she said wryly. “You’re right about one thing—if we waste time arguing, we’re as good as dead. But don’t think I’m going to forget about the fact that you kidnapped me and shoved me into a car.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. You can punish me later. For now, let’s get some rest.”
“I need to check on Tony first.”
He leaned back so she could walk out of the bathroom. As she brushed past him, he put a hand on her arm, stopping her. She glanced up, a question in her eyes. “I was never going to hurt you,” he said softly. “I know it’s asking a lot, but please believe me—I would never deliberately hurt you.”
Her expression softened and she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder. “I know that now,” she said, giving him a reassuring pat.
He released her, the tension in his chest loosening with her words. “Good.”
He watched her walk into the bedroom, a curious sense of relief making him feel almost giddy. She knew. She knew all about him, about what had happened tonight. And now she could help, as his partner, not his hostage. He wasn’t alone any longer—he was part of a team.
Alex moved to the second bed and folded down the scratchy spread. Jillian glanced up from her examination of Tony, and he gestured to the empty bed. “You should get some sleep.”
She looped the stethoscope around her neck as she stood. “What about you?”
He nodded to the chair on the other side of the room. “I’ll take first watch.”
“Promise you’ll wake me in a few hours?” She was already stripping off her white coat and shoes. He heard a thunk as she set her pagers on the bedside table before climbing in.
“Promise,” he said, but he doubted she heard him. Her breathing was already the deep, even cadence of a person sleeping. She was probably a pro at taking advantage of the odd stolen moment; a skill he imagined came in handy in her line of work. He watched her for a moment, envying the peace she’d found and wanting nothing more than to lie next to her and rest for a few minutes. Or a few years.
Shaking off the errant thought, he flipped off the lights and settled into the chair, positioning himself in the dark corner. He had a good angle of the window and door, but was out of the direct line of fire, should anyone burst into the room with guns blazing. He checked his Glock, then his backup weapon—a snub-nosed .38 Special. Both were in good working order, loaded and ready for use. Just in case.
He’d been careful to make a clean exit tonight and knew they hadn’t been followed. The gang didn’t know about this room at the no-tell motel. Neither did the FBI. It was his personal bolt hole, a place to retreat and regroup when things went bad. In the three years he’d been with the gang, he’d never once had to use it.
Until tonight.
Sighing quietly, he reached up a hand to rub his eyes, trying to scrub away the images from tonight’s attack. The screaming. The smell of cordite and gun smoke on the wind. The blood.
Watching the attack unfold tonight had made him feel helpless. It was a sensation he hadn’t had in years, not since the day of that horrible training accident when he’d reached out a hand to help Dan make it to the top of the obstacle wall. Dan’s grasp had been solid and sure, until suddenly it wasn’t, and Dan was scrabbling for purchase as he slipped. The screams of the injured tonight were a haunting echo of Dan’s cry as he’d fallen. Even now, Alex had only to close his eyes to see the man lying at a terrible angle at the base of the wall, the image as clear and perfect as a photograph. It had been almost ten years, but he hadn’t forgotten any of the details.
Probably never would.
Jillian sighed and shifted on the bed. He focused on her, using the distraction of her presence as a lifeline to pull himself out of the sea of memories. It wouldn’t do to get bogged down in things that couldn’t be changed. He had to stay focused on the job at hand—he owed her that, after dragging her into this mess.
It was the only way to make sure they survived.
