Читать книгу Better Off Dead - Meryl Sawyer - Страница 13

Provo, Turks and Caicos Islands

THE THATCHED ROOF BAR sloped downward, supported at the four corners by bamboo poles. The open-air bar had no walls and overlooked the beach a few feet away.

Chad wished he were with a babe. There were plenty of them around, wearing skimpy suits that would have given a statue an erection, but there you go. He was spending his time with a nerd and the sophisticated piece of equipment Danson wanted him to test.

Chad accessed the Department of Defense satellite, inputting his SAP/SAR code into a device that reminded him of a handheld GPS.

Scan Retina appeared on the screen.

“What in hell am I supposed to do?” he asked Danson.

“Hold it up to your eye,” Danson replied. “The satellite will receive an image of your retina and relay it to the scanner in the DOD database.”

“Won’t work. I had my iris scanned when I was testing for you guys but not my retina.”

Danson chuckled, obviously pleased with himself. “A scan of your iris photographs your retina, as well.”

Chad held up the device to his right eye. He knew only too well that biometric sensors like fingerprint scans, voice recognition, and iris scans were popular at high-security facilities.

“What was wrong with an iris scan?” he asked.

“Too many guys work with saws or welding equipment. One tiny piece of sawdust you don’t even feel gets embedded in the iris. Next thing you know that guy’s scan comes up invalid. You’ll only have to do this iris thing once to put yourself into the system to do the testing. In the field, it’s too tricky.”

“Gotcha.” Too-sensitive equipment was a nuisance, especially in the field. The device now read Access Granted.

“Zoom down on us.”

Chad punched in their lat/long coordinates. The satellite camera rotated, moving from central Africa to Turks and Caicos. He pressed the zoom button and two small splashes of infrared appeared on the blue screen. It was impossible to tell what the blotches were but the screen read Humans.

“I’ll be damned. Seems to work.” He tapped in new coordinates so the satellite’s camera focused on the dog sleeping near a beach cabana.

A second later the screen read Canine.

“This will revolutionize satellite surveillance,” Danson whispered.

“If it doesn’t have any bugs.”

“True, true. We thought the iris scan was the answer until we discovered that one tiny flaw. Test this in every situation. Let’s make sure it’s perfect before we go into production.”

The refrigerator behind the talapa bar was now on the screen. Small Machinery.

“Okay, so where’s the leak?” asked Chad.

“I might have known you’d figure it out.” Danson shrugged. “If we knew, I wouldn’t be here.”

Honolulu

Three months later.

CHAD LANGSTON pulled a chair up beside Eddie Kukana’s desk. “Any luck replacing Lori?”

“Aole.” No. Eddie shook his dark head. “Every woman thinks she would make a good wedding coordinator. I’ve interviewed dozens. None have enough experience.”

“Shelby can’t handle it?”

“No way.”

They were in Eddie’s office in the Crockett Building overlooking the Ala Wai Boat Harbor. Chad had his office just across from Eddie’s. A stately banyan tree in the center of the courtyard blocked their view of each other’s offices. They were in the habit of dropping in to chat at least once a day, when Chad was in town.

They had grown up together in Turtle Bay on the North Shore of Oahu where they’d surfed the Banzai Pipeline every chance they had. Best friends since the third grade, they were what islanders called calabash cousins. They were so close they should have been related. Each had chosen very unusual professions, but both of their careers evolved from their love of the water.

After Chad left the military, he bought a scuba diving company whose main base was in Honolulu but had locations on the other islands, as well. His managers were so good that Chad devoted much of his time to his real passion, underwater forensics.

Eddie had begun his business by taking tourists on sunset catamaran cruises. He’d saved his money and bought “party” boats that were usually rented for conventions held on the island. Several years ago, he’d branched out and began having weddings onboard his boats.

It quickly became the most lucrative part of his business. Thanks to a flashy Web site, many mainlanders contacted him. They expected him to coordinate everything. Knowing little about wedding planning, Eddie had hired Lori, but she’d recently moved to Kauai. Apparently her assistant Shelby didn’t have enough skills to take over.

Eddie glanced at his watch. “I have another gal coming for an interview in a few minutes. A haole from Chicago. She has experience.”

“Sounds good.”

Eddie arched one dark busy eyebrow the way he often did when he was upset. His almond eyes narrowed. “You know malihini. They always think they want to live in paradise. Mainlanders head home in six months.”

Chad nodded. His managers were all from the islands. He encouraged them to hire divers who had been raised in Hawaii. Too many mainlanders came to the islands and took jobs away from the locals. No sooner were the malihinis trained than they went home.

“Look at it this way,” Chad told his friend. “If this woman stays a few months, maybe Shelby will be able to take over.”

Eddie snorted and slapped his thigh. “Yeah, right.”

Shelby was Eddie’s niece. To say the girl was a flake would be a gross understatement, but the woman who’d previously held Shelby’s position had managed to embezzle a ton of money before an auditor caught her. At least Shelby was family. While she was a few beans shy of a full burrito, she could be trusted.

Trust was a real issue with Eddie, Chad realized and not for the first time. His friend trusted everyone and kept sloppy records. Anyone could take advantage of him without half trying. Aloha Yachts and Weddings would be a lot more profitable if everyone from the vendors to the deckhands didn’t exploit Eddie’s generosity.

Chad had offered to take care of Eddie’s books in his office, but Eddie’s pride wouldn’t permit him to admit he needed help. In time, Eddie’s son, Andy would come into the business. The kid seemed to have a knack for finance even though right now Andy was obsessed with computers and was responsible for the Web site.

BEFORE DEVON ARRIVED for her interview, she’d already checked out Aloha Yachts and Weddings. The offices were on the ground floor and had a back exit—just in case. The rear door led to two different streets, depending on which way you turned. She’d been offered dozens of jobs, but none of them suited her requirements.

The setup was as near perfect as she was going to find. The firm was small and low-profile, the type of place her new handler, Warren Martin, had told her to work. It was in the part of town that saw only a few tourists—not that WITSEC expected anyone to recognize her.

She’d escaped Santa Fe by taking the cash out of Romero’s wallet and the keys to his SUV. She drove the back roads north until she and Zach were in Denver. Once there, she contacted the FBI field office.

Within the hour WITSEC had her on Con Air, the private federal airline that usually shuttled prisoners. They flew her back to the WITSEC safe site and orientation center in a secret Washington suburb. She’d arrived there with Zach in an armored vehicle with blackout windows.

This time she had been prepared for what was going to happen. Movement within the center was as controlled as it is in prison. Doors automatically bolted and could only be opened by the Federal Marshals on duty. Hallways were monitored by motion detectors and video cameras.

The compound, she’d been informed the first time she was there, could hold six families without any of them seeing each other. The typical orientation lasted two weeks, including a formal risk assessment of each witness. Her cover blown meant her risk assessment this time was sky high.

They’d spent an entire day debriefing her and trying to find out how she’d been compromised. Even Curt Masterson, head of WITSEC couldn’t decide what had happened. They had wiretaps on Rutherford’s and Ames’s telephones, and they were under surveillance. As far as the FBI could tell neither of the men had contacted a hit team.

She suspected there was an internal leak within WITSEC. After all, Derek had warned her that someone had tried to access her file. Federal Marshals had their price, and no doubt, the ruthless executives would pay any amount of money to have her killed rather than to allow her to testify.

She had a dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs, but she had managed to outsmart the hit team. Masterson decided she needed some minor cosmetic surgery to change her appearance and green contacts to conceal her blue eyes before he was willing to relocate her.

Curt Masterson had listened to how the WITSEC 800 number and the Santa Fe FBI Field office both had busy signals. He decided whoever Rutherford and Ames had hired wasn’t an ordinary hit team. They could be checking various states’ DMV databanks. With sophisticated high definition computer imaging, they could compare recent drivers’ license photographs to pictures of Devon when she’d been Samantha Robbins.

Armed with a new face, another name, a new birth certificate and a Social Security card, she was flown to Honolulu. Witnesses were rarely relocated in paradise, Masterson reasoned. This would be the last place her enemies would think to look for her.

It had taken a lot to convince Masterson to allow her to keep Zach. Her new handler, Warren Martin, certainly hadn’t wanted to help her find accommodations that would accept a dog.

CHAD AND EDDIE were discussing how to set up an Exel spreadsheet. Chad couldn’t help think that part of the reason his friend had been bilked by an employee was that Eddie didn’t have a good grasp of his income and expenses. Spreadsheets were easy enough, but Eddie was resisting the change.

“Hello,” called a willowy blonde from the door to the office, her figure silhouetted by the sunlight from the courtyard. She stepped forward into the office, and they could see her better. “I’m looking for Eddie Kukana.”

Chad’s eyes roved over her slowly. Her high full breasts flared above a narrow waist and long showgirl legs. She turned her head slightly and shoulder-length blond hair rippled seductively across her shoulders. He clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t be staring at her slack-jawed.

Devon gazed at both men, but it was the taller, powerfully-built man who caught her attention. Glossy chestnut hair hung across his forehead, a little longer than was currently stylish. Blue eyes filled with sparkling humor stared at her with undisguised sexual interest.

The man had a commanding presence, a way of holding himself. She instantly knew he would not be easy to manipulate. He continued to gaze at her, taking in her entire body with assessing eyes that missed nothing.

Her throat constricted and for a moment it felt as if someone were strangling her. The feeling passed—thankfully—and she drew in a deep hitching breath.

What was wrong with her? The man hadn’t said a word, yet her pulse was thundering in her temples, and she suddenly felt light-headed. She must have the jitters over this interview. She pulled her eyes away from his.

For a second neither of the men said anything. Chad wasn’t sure who they were expecting to arrive for the interview, but it wasn’t a knockout with a mane of tawny blond hair, cat-green eyes and a killer bod. She could stop a guy’s heart from a block away.

“I’m Devon Summers. I have an interview for the wedding coordinator position.”

Chad found his voice first. “This is Edward. Everyone calls him Eddie.”

She walked toward them, not smiling, her eyes intent. “I hope the position hasn’t been filled.”

“It hasn’t,” Eddie said, his tone gruff, a sure sign he was nervous.

Chad stood up. “You have experience as a wedding planner?”

“Coordinator,” she corrected him.

Unusual green eyes, he thought. Hypnotic. Seductive.

“Ms. Summers e-mailed me her résumé.” Eddie picked up a piece of paper from the top of a desk littered with brochures for his various party boat services, faxes and letters. “Impressive. Five years at the Cress Creek Country Club in Chicago.”

“Napierville, actually. It’s one of the more upscale suburbs.” Devon wondered if her voice reflected her nervousness.

“Right. Napierville.” The other man responded, grinning boyishly, his arresting blue eyes sparkling with humor.

Uh-oh, Devon thought. This man is way too sure of his own charm. Like Tyler, she thought with a pang. He’s accustomed to women falling all over him. Well, not this woman.

Chad decided Devon was a total babe, but not in the way Chad might have expected had he merely seen her from afar. When she spoke she had the glint of intelligence in her eyes and a very direct manner.

What would she be like in bed?

He’d bet the ranch that she liked physical sex. She probably would insist on being on top. Worked for him. He imagined her tawny hair brushing his face, her nipples tight and swaying slightly as she rode him hard.

“Before that I worked three years at the Four Seasons in Philadelphia as the assistant coordinator.”

“But you have no experience with weddings on the water,” Eddie said.

Chad knew Eddie was thinking of an excuse not to hire Devon. When Eddie’s wife Malaea saw this babe, she would pitch a fit. Not that Eddie was a player. Far from it, but Malaea was extremely protective.

Chad was protective, too, but for another reason. A hottie like this could easily take advantage of Eddie financially.

Devon recited the cover story she’d concocted for this interview. “I did one wedding on Lake Michigan. The club catered the event on a member’s yacht. I coordinated everything.”

Eddie nodded thoughtfully.

“Sounds like she’s perfect for the job,” Chad said. No way would he let this woman not be hired even though he’d already decided he would have to keep his eye on her so she didn’t use Eddie.

Okay, so keeping his eye on her wouldn’t be any problem. Keeping his eyes off her would be another matter. She chose that second to turn those cat-green eyes on him.

Their gazes locked and for a long suspended moment they gazed at each other. Seconds ticked by. Devon refused to look away and let him know how much he unnerved her.

Chad experienced an erotic charge, but quickly realized it was one-sided. The intensity of her gaze and the tight set of her full lips, confirmed her mind was not on sex. Her look was almost a challenge, almost as if she were daring him…to what? In that tiny suspended moment, he felt the full impact of her undeniable sex appeal.

Eddie broke the tension. “When can you start?”

Devon weighed her options. Her instincts told her this was a dangerous situation. She was unaccountably attracted to the taller man even though he reminded her of Tyler.

“Before I take the job, I need to know if I can bring my golden retriever with me. He’s well-trained and won’t be a problem.”

“Goldens are great dogs,” Chad said.

Eddie hesitated a moment before saying, “Bring him.”

“So when can you begin?” Chad asked. Not soon enough.

“Next week.”

“Tomorrow,” Chad said. “A big wedding is coming up this weekend.”

“All right,” she agreed, but Chad heard a note of reluctance in her voice. “What time do you open?”

“Nine,” Eddie replied. “Since we work weekends, you have Monday and Tuesday off.”

Chad watched the knockout blonde as she filled out the employment forms Eddie had given her. He was standing close enough to get a whiff of some faint lemony scent. Perfume or perhaps shampoo.

What was her story? No wedding ring, but she was a heartbreaker. Chad could spot one a mile off.

Why had she come to Hawaii? In his experience people who relocated to Hawaii were looking for something or wanted to get away from something. They usually went home within the year.

Watching Devon Summers, Chad wondered why she hadn’t applied to one of the big resort hotels or one of the larger wedding coordinators. With her credentials and looks, Devon could land a job anywhere. Why was she applying for a job with a small firm that wouldn’t pay as well as one of the upscale companies?

A thought niggled at the back of his mind. Something about this woman seemed…off. What? Okay, okay, maybe it was visceral warning signals or simply his protective instincts where Eddie was concerned.

“How long have you been in Honolulu?” Chad asked.

“Less than a month.” Devon didn’t dare look up from the form she was filling out, fearing this man would see she was lying.

“Why did you move here?” Eddie asked.

“I’ve always wanted to live here.” She handed Eddie the forms. “Tomorrow, I’ll come a little before nine.”

“Maikai.”

“That means good,” Chad told her.

She gazed at him for a moment, her eyes as unreadable as stone. Man, oh, man. She was one sexy lady and didn’t even seem to realize it.

“What do you do here?” she asked.

“I’m Chad Langston. I don’t work for Eddie.” He offered his hand.

Devon’s instincts told her physical contact with this man was out of the question. She mustered a businesslike smile, but didn’t shake his hand.

“My office is across the courtyard. I—”

“See you tomorrow,” she abruptly told Eddie and headed for the door.

Chad was right behind her. “Later,” he said to Eddie.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked Devon.

“No.” She wanted to get away from his disturbing presence. That’s what she needed.

“I’ll drop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”

Devon didn’t dare reply. She walked through the courtyard to the entrance of the building. A shiver of anticipation coursed through her. Why? It must be a reaction to Tyler’s betrayal, she decided. Her subconscious wanted to know if men still found her attractive.

An ice queen, Chad thought. Just his luck. At one point anything in panties had captured his attention.

Must be getting old.

The first woman who’d interested him in a long time was frigid. Give Devon a break. Maybe she’d moved here to put a bad relationship behind her. She could be temporarily off men—or have a boyfriend.

Thanks to three sisters, Chad had a good understanding of how a woman’s mind worked. He got along with women and enjoyed them. He was even willing to go shopping, although that was a stretch.

He watched Devon disappear. He wanted to kiss her until she was breathless and begging for more. Hell, what he really wanted was to whisk her away to his place and peel that sundress off her.

Heat pooled in his groin. Chad silently cursed himself for thinking with his dick. Like a siren, Devon called to him, urging him to come closer…and be destroyed.

DEVON RUSHED OUT of the building, anxious to escape Chad Langston, but she paused to check the street. There were a few people, but none of them looked familiar. She hadn’t been followed.

She should have turned down the job because she found Chad attractive, but she quite literally couldn’t afford to. She’d been offered lots of jobs, but none of them met her requirements should she need to escape.

Chad Langston. Quite a hunk. Tall, sun-streaked chestnut-brown hair, blue eyes and a body to die for. No man had the right to possess so much masculine virility. He seemed to know it, she decided, remembering the aggressive boldness in his gaze.

She would just have to give him the deep freeze until he got the message. No matter how sexy the ripped bod or how adorable his smile, Devon did not need a man in her life. But she had to admit his long sensual look, as close to a caress as you could get without touching, had triggered a bittersweet sensation.

She hadn’t experienced anything like it for well over a year, when she’d been forced to leave Tyler behind in Houston. She’d immediately recognized the telltale gleam in Chad’s eyes for what it was—lust.

What had stunned her was her own reaction. She had been too long without a man, but she couldn’t afford to get too close to anyone. The last man to help her had paid with his life.

Over and over at odd, unexpected times, she kept seeing herself closing Romero’s eyes. Until we meet again, may God keep you in the palm of His hand.

The weight of the loss, realizing she would never see Romero again swept through her. Where would she be if not for him? Even more lost and lonely than she’d been.

Guilt had a stranglehold on her emotions. The hit team had killed something vital inside her when they’d murdered Romero. Problem was, she hadn’t died yet.

Death was terrifyingly final. Knowing she’d caused his murder brought the blur of unfallen tears to her eyes. No more star-filled nights for Romero, no more artists to discover, no more walks through the historic plaza. No more anything.

She forced herself to hit the speed dial on her cell phone and called Warren. “I got the job. I don’t think they checked my references.”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re backstopped.”

From her first relocation, she knew phony credentials and references were fixed so that if they were checked, they would appear to be legitimate.

“Problem is I need to become an expert at planning a wedding by tomorrow morning.”

“Try the Internet.”

“I plan to.” She hesitated a moment before asking, “Has Masterson given the okay to call my sister yet?”

“No. I’ll let you know when he does.”

“Any word on selling my condo or the gallery?”

“Like I’ve told you before, Lindsey Wallace is wanted for murder. WITSEC can’t just quietly sell your assets without attracting attention.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

Warren was not a warm fuzzy guy. When Derek had been her handler, he had been much more helpful. She supposed Warren thought she knew the ropes since she’d already been relocated once.

This time she had to take the WITSEC stipend until her assets in Santa Fe could be sold and the money transferred. Meanwhile, like most other WITSEC witnesses, she had to live on the cash her handler doled out and establish credit on her own. Until she had an income stream, she had to live in an apartment the size of a broom closet.

The need for cash and the office’s setup with a back door and two escape routes made Devon take the job at Aloha. Otherwise, she told herself, she would have steered clear of pushy Chad Langston. For a moment she wondered if she should have told her handler about him. No way, she decided. Warren would have made her look for another job. Except for Chad, this office was perfect.

She climbed into the temperamental Toyota that Warren had helped her buy. The rattletrap car was rusted, a common occurrence in Hawaii, and probably wouldn’t last another year, but for now it was all she could afford.

Chad Langston drifted into her mind. His office was just across the courtyard. I’ll drop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.

Oh, no, you won’t.

BROCK HARDESTY STARED at the special map on the wall that he had created for Samantha Robbins/Lindsey Wallace. He’d marked every state where she had attended school or had relatives or friends. He’d tagged the spots where she had vacationed. WITSEC wouldn’t relocate her in any of those places.

“She’s probably in the Pacific Northwest or California,” he muttered. She hadn’t traveled to those places and had no friends there. But exactly where was she?

The bitch was smart. He would grant her that. Not only had she evaded his hit team, but Lindsey had been clever enough to change the license plates on Romero Zamora’s car. When the APB went out, the police were looking for the blue Suburban, but they never spotted it because it had different plates.

He later learned, through a source at FBI headquarters, that she’d driven north to Denver. WITSEC had immediately evacuated her.

He’d caught hell from Kilmer Cassidy because his agents had muffed it. He reminded the scumbag CEO that he had advised him to have the bitch terminated the first time they had visited PowerTec.

He had been running checks on new licenses issued by DMVs in the Western states. Hacking into the DMV was a no-brainer. It took a badge number to get into the local police computer. No problem since badge numbers were stored with employment files.

Once Brock was into the local police computer, it was easy to springboard into the State Police computer. From there, it was a few keystrokes and you were in the DMV database. So far, nothing. He’d run hundreds of pictures of new applicants against an imaging software program with Samantha Robbins/Lindsey Wallace’s photograph on it, but none of them matched the picture of the woman he was after.

His operatives—the dumb shits who’d let Lindsey Wallace get away—had a contact at the Bank of Santa Fe. The minute her condo or gallery sold and the funds were being transferred, he would know about it.

It might take years. Romero Zamora had been a popular man with a lot of influential friends. His murder was getting more attention than Brock would have thought. With the media hovering, WITSEC wouldn’t dare sell her assets.

In the meantime, he would wait. And when no one at Obelisk was paying attention to Number 111 and 32, Brock would arrange for an accident. He hadn’t come this far to suffer fools. He was already grooming another top-notch hit man.

Man. Like Number 32, women were too emotional. Slitting Zamora’s throat was an unbelievable fuckup. Something only a woman would do.

One of his telephones rang. The caller ID said it was one of the secret sources he’d developed for Obelisk.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got some interesting info on a new device the DoD is testing.”

“The Defense Department is always testing something.”

The source chuckled. “How many times do they test it outside the department?”

“Never.”

“Never say never. Remember the Predator.”

“Right,” Brock reluctantly agreed. The Predator drone had been developed in astonishing secrecy.

“Archer Danson himself gave this prototype to some ex-military officer to test.”

“No shit! What is it?”

“I’m trying to find out.”

“Get back to me the minute you do.”

Obelisk had an unending need for military equipment. Something phenomenal would remind them how brilliant he was.