The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  “I got a tip,” Bryn said, with obvious reluctance.

  “Reliable source?”

  “Has been up til now.” Bryn looked at Jake, not at Luke, warning him to keep his mouth shut.

  As if Luke sensed the holding back, his face turned grim. He opened his mouth, but before he could ask, they heard Matt’s voice on Luke’s radio. “Get in here. You gotta see this.”

  Back inside TelTech, they stood back until the last bagged body was rolled out, then entered the security office. The row of televisions that had been monitoring activity in the various hallways and offices were all playing the same picture, so they didn’t have to crowd around one monitor to see.

  The time/date stamp in the upper right-hand corner of the picture showed it was taken at two a.m. The silent alarm had gone off at 2:08 AM, according to the security company. On the monitor, Jake saw the guards watching the Broncos game on the television in the corner, putting the angle it was shot from in the opposite upper corner.

  Jake looked up and saw a tech working on the A/C grill from that area and returned his attention to the last few moments of the guards’ lives. When it was over, he inhaled shakily. It had been a nasty little scene.

  He looked at Bryn. Maybe it was just the lighting that took all the color from her face. “How does it feel to be right?”

  “Not as good as you’d think,” she said, managing a wan smile. “How come I keep thinking this was an inside job?”

  “And who captured the feed?” This from Matt. “And how? Why are they sending it to us now?”

  “Yeah, and where’s it coming from?” Luke asked.

  “Probably some kind of satellite uplink that’s been planted in the computer. We’ll need to open it up,” Bryn said. She stopped, then asked, “Are we capturing this?”

  There was a concerted leap to get a tape into the machine before a new loop began. Jake stepped back from the group, his thoughts turning in a new direction. He looked up as the tech pulled the grill away, revealing the camera secreted there.

  Without stopping to think about it, Jake stepped around the tech until he was in full view of the camera and stared into it, as certain Phoebe was looking at him as he was that his chest had just gone too tight to breathe.

  “Let me help you,” he mouthed.

  * * * *

  Phoebe stared at Jake like a deer caught in the headlights. He knew she was there and watching him. Dang. He was good. Too good.

  “Let me help you,” he was saying. Willing her with his eyes to listen and respond.

  Damn it, she wanted to, more than she wanted to destroy Peter Harding. She stared at him, unable and unwilling to look away until the busy tech cut her connection with the room. She sat back with a sigh, reaching out to cut her uplink. They were bound to look for it next. It wouldn’t be easy, because Ollie did good work, but they would find it and attempt to track it back to them. That would take them on a trip around the world, but they say travel is broadening. She would have grinned but for the feeling Jake was still watching her.

  Let me help you.

  This was pathetic. She’d now joined Phagan in feeding the Feds leads. This was beyond pathetic. It was dangerous. She hadn’t even planned it, just acted on an impulse she couldn’t explain. Well, maybe she could. It would put more pressure on Harding, even if he hadn’t been the one to send in the thieves. The whole thing screamed inside job, so somebody on the inside was dirty, and it might as well be him.

  That crime scene had to be confusing as hell. She couldn’t resist a slight grin at the thought. Lucky for her she’d accidentally recorded the shooting. She had no desire to be the object of a murder manhunt. Okay, so maybe she also didn’t want Jake to think she was a killer or involved with killers.

  Of course, he should know that. They all should. How long had Phagan been operating without a whiff of violence?

  No one at TelTech would be able to hang the deaths around their shoulders either, since she had RABBIT and the tape recording. If nothing else, that would seriously muddy the waters.

  She pushed her chair back and paid a visit to the well-stocked mini-bar. Dewey had moved them from dirtiest dive to the honeymoon suite of Denver’s finest hotel, thank goodness. The amusing part? TelTech was picking up the tab. Dewey had found a corporate credit card in the safe with the chip.

  She popped the top of a Coke and drank. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand while her thoughts did lazy circles inside her head, eventually bringing her around to the question of who inside TelTech had been trying to steal RABBIT. Or was that why?

  She went around the heart-shaped bed, walking across a carpet of palest pink, and picked up the chip Dewey had removed from the safe. She lifted it to the light. It looked ordinary. Innocuous. Unremarkable.

  What exactly was RABBIT? Ollie had died before he could tell them what it was. What precisely was it supposed to do that made it so valuable to Harding?

  She tossed it up in the air, caught it neatly. Maybe it was time she found out.

  * * * *

  Peter Harding closed his office door with a sigh of relief. Talk about the hounds of hell. The press wasn’t going to go easy on him. Stern went straight for the bar and poured them both scotch, straight up. He handed Peter his and drank deeply from the glass he kept. Then he strolled over to the window and looked out.

  Peter knew he would survive it. He had to. No, he was meant to. The storm would pass, and his troubles would be over, because RABBIT was gone. He tossed back half the glass, feeling the warm liquor rush into his bloodstream. “So far so good. When will your guys contact you?” Harding dropped into a chair, put his feet up on the desk, and held the glass up in a silent toast.

  “I told them not to contact me for twenty-four hours, unless something went wrong. Just in case.” Stern turned from the window. “We may have a problem.”

  “What?” He didn’t want to hear about problems, not when it was almost over.

  “My guys weren’t planning to bail off the roof. There are other indications that someone else was here.”

  “What indications?” Stern just couldn’t admit Harding’s plan had worked. How like him to try to rain on his parade.

  “Who set off the silent alarm?”

  “I thought your guys were planning to do that when they were done.”

  “The alarm was tripped just after two. The timetable didn’t allow for it until nearly two-thirty. They would have been in the elevator when it tripped. And, no, they weren’t early. They couldn’t have been. I was with them until one forty-five.” He frowned. “That’s why it took me so long to get here.”

  Peter got up and joined him at the window. Far below, officials swarmed in and out of his building. Soon he’d have to talk to General Hadley about his lost RABBIT. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it would get less so if RABBIT turned up on the foreign market. “If our guys don’t have it, then where is it?”

  There was a knock at the door, then that FBI bitch—Bailey or something like that—stuck her head in.

  “If you have time, there’s something we’d like you to look at, sir.”

  Harding didn’t look at Stern; he just nodded and followed her out and down, down, down to the security office with Stern on his heels. He entered the room and found himself facing three men waiting for him, something oddly similar in the way they all looked at him.

  “Gentlemen?” Dealing with low level functionaries was familiar ground for him. He could feel his balance return as he returned their gazes with a practiced, worried one.

  “This is Deputy US Marshal Jake Kirby,” the woman said, pointing to a lanky man sprawled in a chair in front of the row of consoles. Kirby nodded at him. “And this is his brother, also a US Marshal, Matt Kirby.”

  Peter shook hands with him, tested his grip and found it as formidable as his hard gaze. “Marshal.”

  “And this is their brother, Detective Luke Kirby of the Denver Police Department.”

  “Quite the family affair, ge
ntlemen,” Peter said, allowing himself a slight smile. “This is my director of security, Barrett Stern. Have you found who stole my chip?”

  “Well”—Jake turned to the console and punched some buttons— “we’ve made a good start.”

  Peter turned to the console, watched it flicker, then come alive. Saw the office, saw the guards. Saw them die.

  He didn’t have to pretend to be shocked. “I need—”

  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get the words out. Stern pulled a chair forward and shoved him down. “Put your head between your knees.”

  Peter didn’t argue. He needed a few moments out of sight of the barrage of eyes. Needed time to think. He didn’t get it. Above him, he heard one of the men ask, “Who do you think put that camera in that vent, sir?”

  FOURTEEN

  The rattle of a key in the lock gave Jake and his brothers a short heads up that their mother was home. Jake felt a rush of relief. Mom was home. He’d missed her more than he realized since his transfer to DC.

  “Well.”

  Jake looked up from the bowl of her soup he’d been dozing over and waited for her scrutiny to make its way to him. He looked like his mother, he’d been told, while his brothers were near carbon copies of their dad. Jake didn’t see it himself, except maybe in the eyebrows; hers tended to run amok, too, and he had her blue eyes.

  She was tall and thin, almost as tall as Jake, with a narrow, clever face and hair that had turned gray when their father died. She’d been sad for a long time, but that had given way to acceptance and a serenity that became her sons’ anchor in the years that followed. Lately, she’d also acquired a sparkle that Jake had attributed to Matt’s marriage, until Luke burst his bubble with the news she was dating again. A buddy of Dad’s.

  It wasn’t exactly an elephant in the room, but it was something Jake was still getting used to. He didn’t begrudge her happiness. She’d worn black for Dad long enough. It was just hard to think of your mom in the dating zone. Which, judging by the flush in her cheeks and the softened line of her lips that tipped up in a slight smile, she’d just returned from.

  The vestiges of her smile didn’t survive her scrutiny of her sons. The three of them did, Jake had to concede, look pretty hashed. No sleep last night, followed by a long, hellish day, had put new lines in all their faces and deepened the ones already there.

  “Dani must be out of town. Or you’re afraid to wake her.” Debra Kirby’s gaze summoned Matt from the counter supporting him up. He gave her a kiss and a hug. Luke didn’t wait for her gaze to find him. He planted a kiss on her opposing cheek the same time as Matt, then dropped into a chair and gave her his I’m-the-good son smile. The slight lift of her brow erased it.

  Jake felt her high beams find him but was too tired to protect or defend his secrets. Limbs heavy, he pushed back his chair, rounded the table and lifted her into a hearty, desperately needed hug. If Mom couldn’t make it better, then no one could.

  “About time you showed up here,” she scolded. Her arms and clean scent enfolded him in a wave of comfort. Before she let him go she patted him down for injuries, then framed his face with her hands.

  Jake set her down. “Sorry, Mom. Been—”

  “—working. I know.” Their gazes met and he saw hers widen slightly, then narrow into two X-rays. “Just like I know you’ll find time to tell me what’s been happening with you.”

  “Cross my heart.” He knew he’d gotten off lightly, mostly because his brothers were there. She’d dig out his secret, but not in front of his brothers, not until she was sure it was common knowledge. If he had his way, this particular secret never would be common knowledge. He dropped back into his chair, exhaustion a dead weight dragging him down. “After I’ve had some shut-eye.”

  A shower came on over their heads, and her eyebrows shot up.

  “It’s Jake’s FBI agent,” Luke explained. “We made up the bed in the guest room for her.”

  “How domestic of you.” Jake felt his mom’s gaze swing his way again, question marks like neon signs in her eyes. Was this who’d put the sad in my baby boy’s eyes, they asked him.

  Jake gave her a silent no, then let his upper lids go back to ground zero against his lowers. More than anything, he wanted to fall onto his old bed upstairs. But he wasn’t sure he could make it up the stairs, let alone down the hall to his boyhood bedroom, one that now did double duty as a sewing room. His mom didn’t leave shrines to the past in her house.

  “Want me to drop you off, Luke?” he heard Matt say, his voice wavering in and out as tired began to win the battle of Jake’s body.

  “Thanks.” Jake heard the scrape of chairs being pushed back. “But let’s get our baby brother up to his room. Doesn’t look like he’s gonna make it.”

  His brothers’ voices got farther and farther away. The sensation of being manhandled barely registered before tired took him down into a deep, dark well.

  * * * *

  Phoebe woke face down on a pink rug amid scattered sheets of computer paper. She rolled onto her back and saw Dewey kneeling next to her. He smelled, she noted groggily, like roses.

  It wasn’t a great way to wake up. To make matters worse, she’d stiffened, first from her collision with the tree, and then from falling asleep on the floor. She could see herself in the mirror over the heart-shaped bed. She’d managed to ice away the shiner but now had a strange looking rose pattern creased into her cheek from the carpet.

  Dewey, wise man that he was, moved back a safe distance before he grinned at her. “What happened here?”

  Phoebe managed to sit up, though it felt as if she was breaking bones to do it. She looked around because she had no idea what he was talking about.

  Coke cans, chip and candy wrappers, mingled with the print outs of RABBIT research data. The television screen was giving off a white-noise buzz, and a tape protruded from the video player. Pieces of memory drifted to the front of her mind, then whole chunks, until she remembered it all.

  “Oh, yeah.” Not remembering had been so much better. “I’ve been finding out about RABBIT. What it does. What it doesn’t do. Like…work.”

  She leaned against the bed and rubbed her imprinted cheek, hoping to speed its return to normal.

  Dewey dropped down beside her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Harding’s little chip is a piece of crap.”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t work. That’s why those guys were there. To steal it before other people found out it doesn’t work.”

  He stared at her, his jaw slack, but there were indications in his eyes that he was attempting to assimilate what she was saying. He held up the morning newspaper.

  “He wouldn’t. Not when he’s running for governor.”

  “Apparently he had no choice. Losing it being preferable to, say, jail?”

  “No way. He wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?”

  “Maybe the billions of dollars he took from the government to develop RABBIT gave him a false sense of security. Thanks to Ollie, I’ve got the real tests and the falsified ones Harding used to keep the money flowing his way. But it was all going to come out when he turned it over if RABBIT didn’t disappear into the night.”

  “Billions, huh? Well, that could make a man stupid. What tipped you off?”

  She crawled through the debris to the video player, pushed in the tape and started it. The television screen cleared, turned black, then filled with the scene outside TelTech the night before. “Look at this.”

  The tape she’d shot of Harding appeared on the screen. She froze the frame on the close-up. “Look at him.”

  Dewey looked. “What?”

  “Look at his eyes.” Phoebe sank back on her heels, fighting off the feeling of being sucked back in time. That was the way he’d looked when he beat them. Sorrow on the surface, pleasure underneath.

  Dewey leaned in, then looked at her. “I see what you mean.”

  “He’s why those guys were there. He neede
d RABBIT to disappear.” She rubbed her face. “And, clever little thieves that we are, we did the bastard a favor by grabbing it. If we give it back, turn this stuff over to the Feds, he can claim we faked the data and ruined his chip. Who’s going to believe the nasty little thieves?”

  Dewey processed this and sighed. “Well, that’s ironic.”

  Phoebe chuckled, then leaned her head on his shoulder. “That, my friend, is a serious understatement.”

  * * * *

  Despite the early hour, Harding poured drinks for them both. He left Stern’s on the bar and carried his to the window. Stern left the drink where it was and walked over next to him. This wasn’t the time to cloud his wits with liquor, especially if Harding was inclined to play the fool.

  Outside the window, Harding’s landscaping was tidy and controlled. The shrubs and flowers lined up like soldiers on review. Even the fountain spouted water in regimented bursts. Just the way Harding liked it. The view and the liquor smoothed the stress from Harding’s face, blurring the façade and giving a brief glimpse of the evil lurking beneath. He craved control, fed on it; like a junkie, he had to have his fix at regular intervals or he spun out of control.

  In the years since their mutual darkness had drawn them together, Stern had made sure Harding had his fixes, had fed his addiction judiciously, kept him in control. Looking at him now, he wondered why he’d bothered. It was obvious the addiction would never really be under control, just sometimes forced into remission.

  Harding was happy now because he thought the threat was over. Whoever was gas-lighting him was good. And knew him well, knew where and when to apply the pressure. It was hard to believe a terrorized fifteen-year-old girl had managed to grow into someone clever enough for this kind of game. At first she’d mildly interested Stern, then she’d begun to annoy him. Now, well, even he could appreciate a job well done.

  She’d reminded him of something he’d forgotten. Drive, don’t be driven.

  He’d let himself be distracted putting out fires. Reacting instead of acting. He’d gotten lazy, almost sloppy. He should know better. His perfect, middle-class father had taught him to keep an eye on the details, but never lose the long view. He’d kept track of everything but his only son. By the time he’d realized it, Stern had already chosen his long view.