That took Carter by surprise. Oh, he knew the old man liked his scotch. Hell, half of Washington knew of Jack’s passion for the stuff, but this early morning bracer was likely carrying the appreciation to the extreme. His demeanor must have betrayed his disapproving thoughts.
Jack laughed and tossed off a belligerent so-what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it sneer as he lifted his glass in a silent toast to his guest. “You know what they say—it’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“So I’ve heard,” Carter remarked as he gave Jack a tight-lipped obligatory smile.
Jackson topped off his drink before situating himself in the chair across the table from Riggs. “Are you aware that Jordan isn’t your girl’s real name?”
Carter frowned. Jackson was apparently digging up every scrap of evidence to add to her alleged deceptions. “Yes, I’m aware that her birth name is Nelson.” He was decidedly pleased at how his knowledge of that little-known fact let the air out of Jack’s smugness.
“How’d you know that?” Jackson’s question was more of a demand than curious inquiry.
“It’s my job to know these things,” Carter answered as quickly and simply as possible without sounding evasive. The last thing he wanted was for Jack to start suspecting him of being Piper’s confidant, or worse, coconspirator.
“That’s bullshit.” Jackson was obviously not easily buying in to his all-purpose reply. “She’s used the alias Jordan since she joined us.”
“It’s not an alias,” Carter stated. “She legally changed her name when her mother remarried. She was thirteen years old, for God’s sake. Even you can’t find anything remotely subversive about a kid wanting the same last name as her mother.”
“I still find it damn strange.”
Jack was behaving like a bulldog with a favorite chew toy; he wasn’t going to let it go easily, Carter realized. “I don’t understand why you’re approaching this case with such bloodthirsty tenacity.”
“And I don’t understand why you just can’t accept the fact that she’s nothing but trouble and needs to be taken care of by the most expedient means possible.”
Carter was fully aware that the term expedient in this case didn’t necessarily mean fair or impartial, or even legal. “I’m not convinced she’s capable, let alone guilty of the things you say she is, that’s all.”
“Take my word for it; she’s both capable and guilty.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to need a little more than just your word this time, Jack.” Carter rubbed a place on his temple where more than just his scar nagged annoyingly. There were too many questions left dangling and too many holes in Jackson’s accusations. “And, just to let you know, I have every intention of conducting my own investigation into these allegations, starting today with Piper. I’d like to try and deal with this no differently than any other personnel issue.”
“Personnel issue,” Jackson harrumphed. “You make it sound like she’s been taking too many coffee breaks.” He plunked his glass on the table. The ice danced and clinked against the cut-crystal tumbler, and the amber liquid sloshed over the side and onto his hand.
In what had to be one of the most peculiar gestures Riggs had ever witnessed, Jackson brought his hand to his mouth and sucked the scotch from his fingers with the most pleasure-filled expression. Although Carter was willing to admit that he might have worn that same expression on occasion, it sure as hell wasn’t scotch he was licking at the time and the other person in the room was always a member of the opposite sex.
He dragged his gaze away from the disturbing scene and said, “This isn’t like you, Jack. Who’s putting the pressure on you? Who in Washington needs a scapegoat so badly that you’re willing to put InPro in a bad light?”
Jackson waved his hand against Carter’s purely speculative allegations. “Postulate all you want, it’s not going to change the fact that there will be two U.S. marshals ready to take her into custody when we dock in Miami.”
That bit of news hit Carter with the force of a couple hundred thousand volts and nearly catapulted him out of his seat until he realized how intently Jackson was watching his reaction. Pretending he only wanted to reposition his legs more comfortably, he forced himself to sit back and relax. “I thought we decided to deal with this internally first before we handed her over to the Feds.”
“I changed my mind. I want her where she can’t do any more harm while we get some answers out of her. Now, if there’s nothing else—” Jackson started to stand but Carter motioned for him to sit back down.
“How willing do you think she’s going be to tell us anything if we stick her in federal lockup?”
“It doesn’t matter. A subject’s unwillingness has never stopped us from getting answers before. She cooperates or she alone suffers the consequences.”
Carter’s mind reeled at the implication. He had less than twenty-four hours to formulate a plan, and the particular legalities on how he should approach the situation never entered into the equation. No rules or regulations were going to stop him from getting Piper out of this mess. “I’ll start questioning her immediately to help expedite your interrogation process.”
Pritchard leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, and stared at Carter, his pale gaze narrowed with penetrating curiosity. “She’s really gotten to you, hasn’t she?” He picked up his glass and tossed back what was left in the tumbler. A ring of scotch formed a puddle where the glass had been standing, and Riggs would not have been the least bit astonished if the man had leaned down and licked the table clean in the same perverse manner as he had his hand.
“Yes, Jack, she has,” Carter stated, returning the gaze with an equally hard intensity that caused Jackson’s spine to stiffen, if only for a split second, and take notice. “Piper Jordan got to me a long time ago when she was still a recruit. She was an exceptionally hardworking, talented, forthright individual then and I’m not convinced she isn’t still one now. I plan on standing behind her, supporting her in this as I would any other agent under my command. It would be remiss of me to do otherwise.”
“Damn it, Carter.” Jackson clenched his fist and shook it in Carter’s direction. “Why can’t you see her for what she really is?”
“And what is that, precisely?” Carter was amazed at how detached he sounded, when he felt anything but.
“She’s nothing but a fucking cunt with a gun,” Jackson replied.
Carter’s hands curled into angry fists against his thighs. It took every ounce of control he possessed to keep from slamming one or both into Jackson’s face.
“You know,” Jackson said, lifting the smoldering stogie from the heavy glass ashtray on the table. “This blind devotion of yours is beginning to make me wonder if there isn’t more going on between the two of you than meets the eye.” He motioned with a jerk of his cigar-bearing hand toward the general direction of where Piper was incarcerated. Carter watched fuzzy clumps of gray ash break apart and flutter to the floor like dirty snowflakes.
Carter barked a short laugh. “You know me better than that, Jack.”
In reaction to what was obviously a common occurrence, Jackson ground the cigar residue into the short-napped carpet with the sole of his spit-polished black loafer, and replied, “I thought I did.”
Carter didn’t care if the man was a decorated war hero and major Washington player, Jackson Pritchard was behaving like a five-star asshole, and the stark realization made Carter wonder why he hadn’t seen it before now. The answer came in part from them not having had much one-on-one contact with each other on a daily basis. He and Jackson might both have offices on the same top floor of a D.C. office building, but they were rarely there at the same time. Jackson was the noted figurehead who spent his time schmoozing and boozing with all the right politicos to keep the funds flowing, and Carter kept everything running so smoothly that Jack never had to concern himself
with the day-to-day administration. When they did have an occasional touch base get-together it was usually over a couple of double bourbons and thick porterhouses at a local bar and grill. It made Carter wonder what else he hadn’t noticed about Jackson Pritchard, but it sure as hell made him eager to start looking.
As if what Carter had just said to him about Piper never transpired, Jackson questioned, “Will you be joining me for breakfast?” The man was obviously convinced he was right about her and he wasn’t about to argue the point with someone who didn’t share his opinion.
“Thank you, no. I’ve already had quite enough this morning.” In truth, all he’d had was coffee in his cabin earlier, but the thought of breaking bread with Jackson Pritchard was not a pleasant one.
They left the stateroom together, Jackson heading toward the forward dining room and Riggs turning in the opposite direction to find the corridor that would lead him to the lower deck. He was eager to find out how Piper had fared her first night’s incarceration.
Chapter Eleven
“I’ll take that,” Carter said, relieving the steward of the breakfast tray he carried down the companionway leading to the little cubicle Jackson had laughingly referred to as the brig. Just as Carter had suspected, he’d been informed by an overly chatty crew member the night before that it was nothing more than a hastily converted storage room positioned between the galley and engine room. It was hot and noisy and there was always constant commotion. He wondered if Piper managed to get any sleep at all, or if the confined space combined with her chronic insomnia had left her miserable and sleepless.
He’d tried to talk to her shortly after they’d gotten under way, but she’d turned her back to him and refused to even acknowledge his presence in the little room.
He tried again later that same evening and still she wouldn’t even look at him, much less speak. He wasn’t blaming her for her uncommunicative behavior, but he needed her to realize he didn’t have a choice in the way he had treated her. If Jackson had so much as caught a whiff of impropriety or sensed an inkling of there being something personal between them, he would have severed any and all contact Carter had with her. And that was just one of the things he couldn’t risk happening.
He acknowledged the guard with a terse nod and stood aside while the armed sentry unlocked the door. He gripped the covered tray in both hands, stepped inside and glanced around the dimly lit room. The moment the door shut behind him, the walls in the windowless cell closed in around him. He couldn’t imagine how this confining space was affecting Piper’s already fragile state of mind.
Once his eyes adjusted, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed with feet flat on the floor and hands lying loosely cupped in her lap. Her head was bowed and her breathing was slow and deep. He switched on the overhead light and studied her more closely. Her facial bruises and those he could see on her arms were beginning to fade from deep purple to a ghastly greenish yellow, and the gunshot wound was forming a thick reddish-brown scab that only emphasized the notch of flesh gouged from her otherwise perfectly muscled arm.
“Meditating or praying?” he finally questioned, keeping his tone light as he balanced the tray across the small square metal nightstand.
“A little of both, I guess,” she said as she opened her eyes, stretched and took a deep, cleansing breath. “Inner peace seems to be all I have left.”
Her usual tawny-toned complexion had already taken on what was often referred to as prison pallor, and there were dark half moons shading the underside of her eyes. If this was how she looked after only a few hours of confinement, he didn’t want to imagine how a term in a federal prison would affect her. He was afraid she wouldn’t survive.
“Did you get any sleep at all?”
She shook her head and swung her feet up, curling into her usual fetal position facing the wall.
“P.J., please, don’t turn your back on me.”
“Why? You’ve turned yours on me.”
“I’ve done no such thing. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on by doing what’s expected of me. You not talking to me isn’t helping me do that.”
She sat up and drew her knees to her chest. “I’ve been giving these charges against me a lot of thought, Riggs, and I was wondering, do they still execute traitors?”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“I’ll bet this makes you regret all that trouble you went through to save my sorry ass in Colombia.”
He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth and he actually breathed a little laugh because she sounded a little like the rough-around-the-edges Piper he knew. “Not for a single second,” he replied, knowing he’d save her lovely ass again and again if possible. He hoped he’d have the chance.
“I understand the attempted murder charge, although I’ll face a dozen firing squads believing that he was pulling a weapon from his jacket, but what treasonous act have I supposedly committed? That’s the one that really has me stumped.”
“According to Jackson, he has evidence proving you’re a double agent. He claims you were working with Escobedo, not against him, and he suspects you’ve been playing both ends for a very long time.”
“You don’t believe that nonsense, do you?”
“No, but his evidence is pretty solid. Remember I told you Jack had sent another agent into Colombia. Well, he’s been found—killed from a shotgun blast to the back of the head.”
“Miguel,” she breathed.
“That’s right, your Colombian lover. Jack thinks you set him up. He’s convinced you intentionally lured Miguel to the cabin that night to kill him, then set the place on fire to cover your crime.”
“I swear I never knew there was another agent in country with me, let alone it being Miguel Sanchez.” Piper clutched her head in her hands. The more she heard, the more she realized she could never tell Riggs about Miguel. Her accusations would only make her sound self-serving, desperate and grasping at ways to throw suspicion elsewhere. Since there was nothing to substantiate her claims, why bother making them?
Piper rubbed the dull throbbing in her skull and groaned, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Wait, there’s more. The most damning piece of evidence is a substantial savings account in your name.”
She raised her head slowly. “The only savings account with my name on it is at Bank of America, and last time I checked there was a fairly decent amount but hardly what I’d call substantial. There’s probably a little more from the interest that accumulated during the time I was gone, but not that much more with today’s measly interest rates. I’d sure as hell expect a lot more zeroes in that account for turning traitor.”
“It seems the interest compounded quite nicely in your absence. Your account now shows a somewhat healthier balance of a little over three million.”
Her eyes grew enormous. “Did you say three million?” The astounding amount barely found its way out of her mouth. “Just how many zeros is that?”
“More than you obviously thought you had.”
“Next thing you’re going to tell me is that’s right around the going rate for selling out.”
“Give or take a couple grand. The money had been slowly transferred into your account over the last eight months through an untraceable offshore account in the Caymans. The deposits were bounced around so many foreign intermediaries they haven’t been able to track from where they originated.”
“Well, what a surprise,” she said with more animation than he’d seen her exhibit in days. She scooted off the cot and paced from one end of the narrow room to the other, stopping her frantic steps only long enough to spout her thoughts aloud. “You really didn’t expect the money to come from the corner ATM, now did you? Jay-zus!—nothing says anonymous banking like the Caymans. Everybody who’s anybody trying to hide their assets
keeps their money there.”
There was nothing he could add; she’d pretty much summed it up, so he tried to turn her attention to a less volatile subject.
After he’d insisted she eat something, he attached one handcuff to her wrist and the other to his. It was the best he could manage to be close to her when he took her on deck without raising Jackson’s suspicion. He relished every little accidental and not-so-accidental touch of their fingers as he led her up and down the deck.
“Nothing’s going to keep you from making sure I get my daily exercise, eh, Riggs?” She chuckled. “I’m surprised we’re not running laps.”
“You’re used to being active, Piper,” he offered distractedly as his attention was drawn to the expanse of windows where he knew Jackson’s stateroom was located. Just as he suspected, the man himself was watching them.
He couldn’t say with absolute certainty, but when he’d first glanced upward he could have sworn that someone was standing behind Pritchard. Carter squinted against the sun’s glare bouncing off the glass and hastily withdrew the polarized sunglasses from his shirt pocket. All he found when he looked again was Jackson puffing on a fat cigar, his bulky silhouette diffused by a thick cloud of smoke.
Returning his attention to Piper, Carter looked to her for some answers. “Tell me about the extent of your relationship with Miguel.” His voice remained detached and sucked dry of any traceable emotion.
Piper was quiet for a moment, as if weighing her options or at the very least her words, before finally answering. “What do you want to know?”
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