Compared to the dancing I’d done with the U.S. Secret Service, sidestepping some federal agents and U.S. marshals was a walk in the park.
That walk was made substantially easier by one Sam Collier, a man who vaguely fit my description, if you added in the fact that he had shaggy, reddish-blond hair and a scruffy beard to match.
Collier, effectively, would blend in and that was exactly what I needed, because the man I was after did the very same thing. He blended in as if he’d been doing it his entire life.
He was likely as at home in the posh luxury hotel as he was in a no-name motel that ran for fifty bucks a night, and I’d only have this one shot at him. If it wasn’t for Theo, I wouldn’t even have that.
Even now, she was perched in a protective position on the hotel across the street, watching.
If I didn’t update her, she’d likely move in and it would be over.
At that point, I’d be dead and it wouldn’t matter.
That was what I told myself, but I couldn’t actually believe it.
It would matter to Tia, and no matter what, whether I was here, it would matter to me. If it mattered to Tia, I’d care, even if I was dead and cold, nothing more than a memory to the few who even knew I existed.
“Thermo shows the room to be empty, Spectre,” a voice murmured in my ear. “But I’m picking up radio chatter. He’s on his way back. If he’s not here in the next thirty minutes, I’ll eat my hat.”
“If you’re that hungry, Theo, order some take-out,” I said, working my way down the hall, carrying a stack of towels as part of my disguise.
“Did you just make a joke, Spectre? I think you did, but I can’t quite believe my ears.”
“Very funny.” I stopped in front of the room and took one long, slow breath. “I’m here, Theo. I’m going in.”
I pulled the card from my pocket as her voice crackled in my ear.
“Are you sure this is the way you want to handle it, Spectre? If things go wrong...hell, I won’t be able to get there in time. We both know that.”
I swiped the card and stepped into the room, easing it closed behind me so there was no heavy thud to announce my arrival. Once I ascertained that I was alone in the room, I answered, “If things go wrong, Theo, it won’t matter. I have to do this.”
Brittle silence stretched out between us, followed by the low, angry sound of her swearing.
“Hell. This is suicide, you know that, right?” she said abruptly. “Okay. I’m watching. There’s a chair by the bed—big window, just like we thought. Make your play there. I’ve got good line of sight so if need be, I can take him out in a heartbeat.”
“Remember what I said. No matter what happens.” I put the towels away and moved around the room, taking in everything.
She swore over the line. “Damn it, man.”
“You promised,” I reminded her. Then I focused on the area around me.
It was a nice suite, a sitting area that opened into a bedroom with a sprawling view of downtown Boston. The suite, coupled with the hotel itself, went hand in hand with what I’d learned about my target. He did like life’s luxuries.
But he was by no means soft.
I couldn’t afford to be off guard, not now. Not with him.
The chair was exactly where Theo had told me it would be, beside the bed. I took care of a few more things, then settled down to wait. The chair was surprisingly comfortable but despite my lack of sleep over the past few days, I had no worries that I might get too relaxed.
My blood rushed in my veins and my heart pounded with an urgency I was unfamiliar with.
Hearing the click in the lock out in the hallway, I breathed out slowly and closed my eyes.
Make this work. Those words, in Tia’s low, sexy voice, had echoed through my mind so many times over the past week. Make this work.
It was nearly impossible.
Only one thing could be done for...this, for us to work, and in the next few seconds, I’d be making that call.
The door opened, then shut, the lock clicking as the man in the outer room turned the deadbolt. No lights were on, save for the single lamp he’d left burning earlier.
The lack of illumination, coupled with the dark night outside, turned the window into a dim mirror. I could see his reflection as he reached for the light switch and I heard him swear under his breath as nothing happened.
He moved deeper into the room and I watched as he moved out of sight. There was a faint click and he swore again. Two seconds later, he was back in my line of sight, hitting the switch for the lights in the small kitchenette area.
Nothing. He paused, then reached under the lamp shade.
He didn’t show any confusion when he failed to find a light bulb. I had to give him points for that.
I gave him even more credit when he reached inside his jacket and he pulled out a weapon. With the lack of clarity in the window, I couldn't see the make but I had no doubt he would be more than proficient with it.
I also had no doubt he’d pull out another weapon soon—his cellphone.
“I’m hoping you won’t need that weapon,” I said calmly. I held my own, but instead of having it raised toward him, it lay against my thigh and I gripped it loosely, reluctant even to consider using it.
For the first time in my life, I actually had some concern the man would turn toward me and the weapon would fire, a bullet ending my existence in the next few seconds.
I’d never feared death until I found life. Damned if I’d give in so easily.
The man disappeared from sight.
My skin prickled. Instinct shouted, Kill him.
“It takes a phenomenally stupid person to break into a hotel room registered to a cop,” Mac Bailey said, sounding remarkably steady.
“You're assuming I knew you were a cop when I let myself into your room. Why is that?”
Bailey snorted. “We’ll call it a lucky guess.”
Something shifted and I kept my focus on the door, for any flicker of movement in the shadowy depths lying beyond the door.
“We have matters to discuss, Detective Bailey. Shall we get down to business or are you going to continue creeping closer to the door so you can try to shoot me?”
There was a faint pause and I sensed his surprise, although none showed in his voice as he responded, “What sort of business do we have to discuss?”
“Put the weapon down and I’ll tell you.”
“And when are you going to put yours down?” he asked derisively.
I glanced at the Sig Sauer resting on my thigh. I could easily set it aside and found myself wanting to do just that. I didn’t want to kill this man. I wouldn’t kill this man, I told myself, resolved.
Theo was in place simply to make sure I had an escape if other officers arrived. I wasn’t going to jail. That was my line there—I wouldn’t go behind bars but I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Well?” he asked tauntingly, voice closer now.
“We could always come to a gentlemen’s agreement,” I suggested.
He made a noise low in his throat—laughter, perhaps. Or just a disgusted snort. I suspected it was somewhere in between.
“Sure,” he said with grim amusement. “Why don't you outline the terms of this gentlemen’s agreement?”
Sighing, I rose from the chair. Careful to keep out of Theo’s line of sight, I approached the door. “Detective Bailey, it’s going to be hard to strike any sort of agreement or even talk to you if you contact the police. I know when somebody is stalling. Please put your phone down.”
Sensing more movement, I shifted as well, this time pressing my back to the wall just opposite of where I believed he stood.
“See,” he said, false courtesy dripping from each word. “I’m having a hard time understanding just what kind of business I have with you. I’m pretty sure we don’t know each other. And you showing up in my room without an invite has me a little edgy, especially considering some of the shit going on in my life lately.”
“I understand your hesitation.” He’d moved again. Wily prick, wasn’t he? I hadn't even heard a sound.
Making a decision, I holstered the Sig, slipping the security strap in place so he wouldn’t be able to disarm me—not that it was likely, but he’d already proven himself to be surprisingly competent. I listened for a few more seconds, then gave a quick hand signal to the woman watching from her perch, knowing she’d seen it clearly enough through her night-vision goggles.
Make it work, Tia’s voice echoed inside my head. Focusing on that, I ducked low and moved forward, fast. Coming out of the shoulder roll, I ended in a crouch, having already spied him.
I launched myself at him.
He flung himself backward, moving with more speed than I would have expected.
Grudging admiration filled me as he twisted his body with agile dexterity and took cover behind the counter. If I was at all worried about anything but accomplishing my goal, I would have done the same thing—take cover.
But the longer I delayed, the more chance he would have to contact the local authorities and that meant I’d have to employ the last chance escape route.
The final escape.
I did have the advantage of surprise so I went with it, hurtling over the counter just as he started to peer above it. I saw him with barely enough time to pull back on my kick, but he still went stumbling back, sprawling on his ass before rolling all the way back from the momentum of my attack.
His cell phone dropped and I grabbed it. Picking it up, I checked the screen. He’d been mid-text. Fuck.
I’d deal with that in a minute.
Spying his weapon, I kicked it out of reach before he could grab it. He was still dazed so I picked it up. With a few simple movements, I ejected the magazine and shoved the ammunition into a zippered pocket of my cargo pants.
He sat up slowly, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his right hand.
Setting his Glock down on the table, I grabbed a chair and spun it around. As I straddled it, I displayed the phone. “We can discuss that business as soon as you tell me what to say to assure this gentleman...ah, Agent Horton, that everything is perfectly fine here.”
“Perfectly fine.” His teeth flashed in the dim light, a sardonic smile that didn’t look at all pleasant. “Okay. How about...suck my dick?”
“I didn’t realize you swung that way, but I doubt an invitation like that is going to settle the matter, considering you just told him something might be up.” Tapping the edge of the phone, I said, “Help me out, detective. We don’t have much time before he contacts the local boys.”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” A pained smile curled his lips but it was decidedly pleased at the same time, making me wonder what was going on in that canny mind. “I sure as hell hope you were smart enough to get a decent cut of the contract money up front. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll collect anything now.”
Curious, I cocked a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that your client is dead.” Mac laughed and it was almost manic. “Really fucking dead. So dead, they won't even be able to scrape up body parts for a funeral. He was blown to bits a couple hours ago.”
He shoved upright, then savage satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he sneered at me. His gray eyes, so like Tia’s, were hard and defiant as he spread out his arms. “So...go ahead. Do what you came for. I mean...that is why you’re here, isn’t it? Do it fast and make a run for it, then enjoy looking over your shoulder, because it’s not that fucking easy to kill a cop and get away with it.”
Understanding now, I smiled a little. “You’re quite right about that. It’s not all that easy to kill a cop and get away with it. It's much easier to...oh, say...make the top enforcer for the head of Boston’s Irish Mafia overdose on the drugs he’d planned on slipping an underage girl at the strip bar he likes to frequent. A man will do most anything when you’re holding a gun to his nuts after all. Especially if you catch him unawares in an...executive private booth and knock him out beforehand so he wakes up restrained, the same way he liked to restrain those underage girls he drugged and raped.”
Mac went rigid.
“It’s almost child’s play to do that. It might be relatively simple, in theory, to slip into the home of said enforcer’s girlfriend...the woman who helped recruit local girls for a particular group of thugs...and somehow she kept getting off.”
“You’re talking about Teddie Sessions and his girlfriend, Tammy Collins.” His face had smoothed out fast, the cop taking over once more.
“I’m not talking about anybody. It’s disturbing, theoretically, though, thinking that a woman could be engaged in such enterprises, even knowing what fate awaited such girls. Worse, don’t you think, that one might find such a distasteful affair...arousing? Even enough to keep video of girls being forced and drugged? Hope lives eternal, of course, that she’d be an unwilling accomplice but hope’s a fickle thing. Perhaps justice would be for her to share their fate. A broken neck really is too easy, and kind.”
“You crazy motherfucker,” Bailey said in a low, disbelieving voice.
“What’s your opinion, detective? Would it be easy to swap out the steroids used by the goon O’Holloran called his second-in-command? Anabolic steroids are such a foolish drug. I wonder if those who abuse them kill their brain cells over time. Imagine...” I smiled at his disbelieving expression. “Injecting yourself and never once bothering to look at the vial of drugs. Not that it would be obvious at a glance, but still, if I were going to inject something into my body, I’d look at it first.”
A harsh breath escaped him and I leaned forward. “I’ve heard that extremely high doses of strychnine can result in death within fifteen to thirty minutes...but it’s still a brutal way to go. Brutal enough that it would almost be preferred to setting bombs in the place where the man who ordered the murder of an innocent woman lives. But even that was much easier than evading capture if one were so stupid as to kill a cop, isn’t that right, Mac Bailey?”
“You...” He growled it out, the word seething and full of a venomous hatred.
Inclining my head, I said, “As I told you, we have business to discuss. Would you like to take care of notifying your agent friend...or should I just leave now? I have no desire to deal with the authorities.”
Eyes cold and hard, Bailey came off the floor. He swiped the blood off his mouth, then spat some on the floor. Although I knew the cut on his mouth had to hurt like a bitch, he didn’t flinch. “Text Horton. ‘Sorry, man. Head’s still messed up over my sister. Seeing shit that ain’t there, I think. I’ll tag you in the morning. I need food and a drink, then a few hours horizontal.’”
“If this is code for something and law enforcement moves in, I will know.” Tapping the weapon against my thigh, I added in a cold, hard voice, “I’m not dealing with the authorities.”
“It’s code for I need food, whiskey and sleep, dickhead,” Bailey said with a sneer. “And your throat under my boot, but we’ll leave that out since you don’t want to invite him to the party.”
After a cool, assessing glance, I dictated the words, exactly as Bailey had spoken, giving the screen only a peripheral look before sending it.
That done, I silenced the phone and placed it facedown on the table.
He came at me hard and fast that very second. I took the first blow to my chin. I owed him that but I blocked the next and trapped his arm, maneuvering behind him before he could try again.
Letting my momentum carry me, I knocked his legs out from under him and almost had him on the ground, my arm around his throat, but he managed to get his knees under him.
“You’re a fast son of a bitch, aren’t you, detective?”
“Suck...my...dick,” he rasped.
I smiled. He and his sister had a great deal in common. I suspected I’d like him, even if he wanted to kill me with his bare hands. “You’re also strong, and clearly you have dedicated serious time to training yourself how to fi
ght—more than just the typical scuffle, too. I have no desire to hurt you so I would appreciate it if you would stop this now so we can have that discussion.”
“Go fuck yourself.” He did stop struggling, though, his breath coming in choppier bursts. The tensing of his muscles was so slight, I barely had a second to adjust my stance. He almost threw me off and I don’t know if it was because of my amusement at the predicament I was in or my determination not to cause him harm.
Tia wouldn’t forgive that.
I squeezed harder, applying more pressure to his windpipe.
“You cannot beat me, Detective Bailey. As skilled as you are, I'm not a martial artist or anything else you've ever encountered. I’m a killer, born and bred. My father began training me for this before I was old enough even to understand what was expected of me, or why. I wasn’t even nine years old before he forced me to kill the first time, leaving me alone in a room with a drunk pervert and a loaded gun. I had to choose...get raped or kill. You can imagine what I chose.”
For a moment, he froze.
I don’t know if it was because of anything I had said or simply a lack of oxygen. Easing up on the pressure, I asked, “Shall we talk? I’m sure you want to know about your sister.”
Light flashing over the blade was the only warning.
Instinct took over.
Even as I heard the wet crack of bone breaking, I began swearing, first in German, then in English, only belatedly remembering that the language I’d first learned would be a clue to such a cunning bastard.
“You stupid son of a bitch.” I hauled him upright, not knowing if I was speaking to him or myself. The light coming in through the windows was enough to see his features. His face was white as I shook him, trying to get a gauge on his status. I wasn’t even surprised to see that he was clear-eyed—pale-faced and sweaty, but clear-eyed. “You’ve got to be one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever come across.”
He tried to wrench away but I ignored him as I dumped him in the chair I'd vacated. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yanked his head back and glared at him. I was pissed off now, something that never happened while working.
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