Harding liked that idea. A quick kill was no fun. Gloating was half the pleasure of a kill. Kerry Anne had taught him that. He really needed to show Stern who had the power. He’d gone too long without a fix.
Stern had taken away everything: his women, his videos, even tried to keep Nadine for himself. He’d pay for it. Oh, yes. First Stern. Then Nadine.
Nadine. He stretched out on the bed and thought about Nadine.
It was almost as good as a video. Almost.
He wasn’t sure he could give her up, even for the chip.
* * * *
Dewey hunched over the computer screen in the tiny room he’d rented on the dark side of town. It was small and austere as a sort of penance for Phoebe’s current incarceration. Until she was free, no five-star hotels for him.
He’d been typing for so many hours the tips of his fingers were numb. He gave them a shake, then rubbed his eyes. It didn’t help the blurring, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t have time to stop. The illusion had to be perfect or they were dead. Might be dead anyway, but he didn’t want it to be because of faulty work on his part.
Harding was balanced on the knife-edge of sanity. It showed in the trembling of his hands, in the twitch in one cheek and in the expression in his eyes. Dewey wasn’t sure any illusion would be enough to get them clear. There were too many variables without solutions in this last play of their rapidly unraveling game.
Harding was obsessed with Nadine. Who knew if she’d survive until Dewey could get her clear? Would Harding be able to choose his chip and his political career over his obsession with her? Dewey wasn’t sure the bastard was thinking clearly enough to choose anything. If it were his call to make, Phoebe would be long gone from this place. But it wasn’t. As she’d pointed out, it was her game, her risk. He just hoped that Harding would do what he should, not what he wanted. Though it was nice to know their gas lighting had worked so well. But what a time to be effective.
Then there was Bryn, who could throw a spanner into the works by getting Phoebe’s bail denied. It was a long shot, but Bryn was good at delivering long shots. If the authorities managed to hang on to her, he’d have to deal himself in to get her out. He was not letting Kerry’s little sister rot in jail protecting his sorry ass.
And then there was Phoebe. If Harding was balanced on the knife’s edge, well, she was balancing on top of him. Worse, she was on the hop, acting on instinct instead of brain waves. In a way he understood why. She wanted to get Harding, but she also wanted it to be over. So did he. Kerry’s death had weighed heavily a long time. Retreat wasn’t an option. They’d given too much of their lives to this moment to stop now. The cat was in the pigeons; fur and feathers were flying.
Some things you didn’t walk away from. Sometimes you could only do or die. Be nice if the odds were a little more even, but, what the hell? If they failed, their lives wouldn’t be worth living anyway.
He looked at his watch. Time to give Harding’s chain another jerk. He dialed his number, waited for Harding to answer, then said, “Tick, tock, tick, tock. What do you think Nadine’s saying to the Feds about you right now? Maybe they’re digging around in your past even as we speak? Ooh, I wonder what they’ll…dig up?”
* * * *
Stern didn’t sleep well, so he wasn’t happy when his phone rang after three AM. Even less happy to hear Harding’s voice in his ear.
“I got the call.”
Stern sat up and rubbed his face.
“You there?”
“I’m here,” Stern said. “Where?”
“My office. Five o’clock tomorrow. He wants Nadine there for the exchange.”
Stern frowned. Awfully confident of him. Of course, he thought he had a friend on the inside. It was almost too easy. “I’ll arrange security. Once the girl is out—”
“I want to be there.”
“Not smart. If the Feds are tailing her—”
“Arrange a bait and switch. I need to talk to her.”
Stern bit back what he wanted to say and gritted out, “Talk to her? About what?”
“Old times.”
He’d known killing her wouldn’t be enough for Harding. It never had been. It was stupid, but so was screwing over his right-hand man. Before tomorrow was over, Harding would be smarter. And then he’d be dead.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Stern said. It didn’t really matter in what shape the girl arrived. By then it would be too late for complaints from his new “partner.” The man had been moderately clever, but clever wasn’t enough. You had to be invulnerable, too. He was attached to Nadine. That was his weakness and it would be his downfall.
Stern looked at his Spartan surroundings with detached amusement. He didn’t care about the money. Not really. He just liked to win. Any way he could.
He lay back in the bed, his arms behind his head, reviewing the various moves planned by his opponents, planning his countermoves and looking forward to a day that promised many deaths. Maybe the death, the one that answered his question.
Do men have souls?
* * * *
After that first night at Jake’s mom’s, Bryn had opted for a hotel room. His mama’s eyes were a tad too penetrating for comfort, and this way she’d be easier for Phagan to contact. Not because she was missing his gifts, of course, she was just interested in any leads he might be inclined to share.
She hadn’t gotten either since her move to the hotel. That wasn’t the reason she was tossing and turning in her bed though. She had too much to think about. What had transpired during Jake’s off-the-record meeting with Phoebe Mentel? All Jake had said was, “She’s considering our offer,” before trotting off to his mom’s.
She’d been tempted to pay Phoebe a visit but was still licking her wounds over the “Holly the Horror” incident. Not her finest hour, she had to admit as she punched up her pillow and tried to quiet her mind. Phagan had taught her well.
Phagan. What was she going to do about him? Assuming she could do anything about him. Here, alone in the dark, she could admit she was worried about him. He’d never let this much time pass before without some kind of contact. He played a dangerous game, and no one was invincible. If he’d formed a partnership for his run on TelTech, he hadn’t chosen well. That scene of cold-blooded murder had been playing over and over in her head, along with the question, had Phagan been part of the violence?
She knew in her gut he was in this mess somewhere, unless he was dead.
She’d studied the faces in the crime-scene photos, but none of them seemed right for the man she thought she knew. Or, she didn’t want them to be right. She wanted Phagan to be the bad-boy-champion myth he’d created for himself. He’d wormed himself into her thoughts, maybe even into her heart. If the bastard was just another scummy bad guy, well, the fool was one role she hated to play. Love and hate were two sides of the same coin, and she hadn’t liked finding out she had a heart. Hadn’t liked it one bit.
She rolled onto her stomach. It was hopeless. Even if they did meet, she’d have to toss his butt in jail. She punched the pillow again. At least she’d know where he was.
She sagged into the pillow, forcing her thoughts off the maze, but they shattered when her cell phone shrilled a summons. A brief fumble across the nightstand, then she had it.
“Bailey.”
“Did I wake you?” The voice was muffled, husky.
“If this is an obscene phone call—”
“Much as I’d like to talk dirty with you, this is business, darlin’.”
“Phagan?” It was as if her thoughts had summoned him. It was a bit creepy, and yet comforting, too.
“Afraid so.”
She sank back against the pillows, clutching the phone like a lifeline. Their first, real-time contact. And she felt as uncertain as a teenager. Jeez, Louise.
Before she could check herself, she asked, “Where’ve you been?”
“Here and there. Don’t tell me you’ve been worried about my sorry ass?” He sounded
pleased.
To her own surprise she said, “Actually, I have. There were a lot of bodies at TelTech. You usually pick your partners better than that.”
Silence. She’d surprised him. She smiled, feeling the balance of power between them shift her way.
He chuckled. “You’re my only outside partner, darlin’.”
The cheeky devil. Why did he have to be on the wrong side of the law? She sighed. “I wish—”
“I know.” He got quiet, then said, “I need your help.”
Bryn sat up. “You need my help?”
“Stay online tomorrow, and be ready to move.”
“Okay.” She wanted to ask more but knew he wouldn’t give it to her.
“You’ll know what to do with it when you get it. Sleep well…”
His last words were muffled. Had he added my love at the end? Or was it only her imagination?
It was probably better not to know. Sighing, she settled back against the pillows. What was he up to now? A thousand questions without answers started trekking through her brain. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.
NINETEEN
The day began quietly. The sun rose, spilling warm light on another August day, but as the time for Phoebe’s bail hearing approached, distant thunder rumbled a storm warning. Dark clouds clung to the mountains, then were torn free, pushed by a front that seemed intent on driving them toward the city.
Jake turned his back on the window and the storm. His team, most of it on loan from Matt, who had been called away on a minor emergency, awaited the call to action. “Does everyone know what they’re supposed to do?”
Riggs and a young, pony-tailed boy named, Henry, both in black jumpsuits and SWAT-type gear, gave him a thumbs up. Because of his youth, Henry’s was a tad more enthusiastic than Riggs’. A huge tad.
Jake almost didn’t recognize Alice without her upscale suit and heels. She looked up from checking her gun clip to give him a short nod.
Sebastian, manning Bryn’s laptop with its satellite uplink, gave him an over-the-shoulder wave. He had a small-boy air of fascination as he made his screen flicker with some computer game. His guns blazing, he grabbed a swig from his Yahoo bottle.
If Matt hadn’t assured him Sebastian was good at what he did…
Jake looked at Bryn. “I wish we knew what your boy was up to.”
“You, me and a cast of thousands.” Bryn shrugged. “If he does intend to bring us in this early, I’m guessing things aren’t going exactly as planned.”
“Or this is what he planned.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck. This op was more like a maze than a chess match; he’d think he had it figured out, then go around a corner and run straight into a brick wall.
“Let’s just hope our plan works and we don’t have to rely on Phagan to stay in the game.”
Jake looked at Luke. “Your men ready?”
Luke had offered his best men to tail Phoebe, since they needed faces not already familiar to Harding or her for this part of the op.
“My guys and the transponder are standing by. They’ll tag the car’s bumper before it pulls out.” Luke was all serious cop, as if he knew the stakes on this op were more than the lives of a couple of charming thieves. “We won’t lose her.”
Jake knew they’d do their best. He just hoped their best would be good enough. There were too many variables for absolutes. “I wish we could wire her,” he muttered.
Bryn arched her eyebrows. “Only if we sedated her. And then I think she’d notice.” She got up and walked to the window, then turned to look at Jake, her voice sympathetic. “She knows the risks better than we do, Jake. If that hasn’t stopped her, we won’t.”
“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, but it didn’t help. Pain was a vise gripping his head and making inroads on his stomach. Would Phoebe fight as hard for her life as he was? Who knew what horrors lurked in her past? Further information had surfaced about her past. He knew she’d been in the emergency room because of a “tumble” down some stairs. The doctor had reported the fall to Social Services, but the report had disappeared, never to be investigated. No wonder she had trouble trusting the system. How deep were her wounds? How strong was her will to live once she’d achieved her goal?
Only time would tell. He looked at his watch. Time was passing, but too slowly. He looked out the window. Looked like the storm would arrive about the same time she was released.
* * * *
Phoebe was allowed to change into her own clothes, the black dress and heels, for the arraignment hearing. Looked as though no one wanted to get in the way of her speedy release. Nice that everyone was being so accommodating, and just when she’d decided jail wasn’t so bad. Calvin had vanished, replaced by a smarmy snake who had slithered out from under a rock near Harding. Harding was reacting as expected, which should be comforting but somehow wasn’t.
The man he’d once been had been predictable only up to a point. She remembered one occasion when she’d thought she’d had him figured out. He’d broken her arm during that beating. The only time she’d had to go to the emergency room. He’d told the ER nurse that she’d taken a tumble down the stairs. Usually he was too careful to leave such visible evidence. Though she’d denied getting beaten, the doctor had told her someone would come to investigate her injuries, but no one did. Then, like now, Harding had powerful friends.
The hearing proceeded to its expected conclusion. All she had to do was say “not guilty” at the right moment. She was escorted out of the courtroom, sent through the system and then released with her personal items in a large yellow envelope.
The lawyer kept checking his watch, as if he had somewhere else to go, but when Phoebe suggested she didn’t need him, he did a bad impression of helpful. Which meant he had orders to escort her to somewhere. No sign of Jake or Phagan’s Fibbie. She hadn’t really expected a big sendoff, but it would have been nice to see him again, just in case…
She shook off that thought. Only a fool went into battle expecting to lose. Of course, she also reminded herself that Harding’s weakness was his belief in his own infallibility. He was convinced he was destined for greatness and that gave him the right to do whatever he wanted along the way. It was time for him to get a huge dose of reality, one involving incarceration.
“It’s raining,” the lawyer said.
It was indeed, coming down in sheets, cleaning the staleness from the air. They needed the rain, she thought, then had to remind herself she wasn’t part of “they” anymore. She didn’t need anything but an end to the game.
“Afraid to get wet?” She pushed open the door. Despite the dark clouds, Phoebe felt like a mole emerging into light. The wet slap of drops against her face felt good. She turned her face skyward and laughed.
The lawyer grabbed her arm. “Your ride is over there.”
Across the street, a limo waited at the curb. The lawyer pushed her toward it, but a Moonie, or a Moonie’s first cousin, stepped into her path.
“Beware the world’s end,” he said, handing her a pamphlet and a small rose pin. His eyes suspiciously resembled Dewey’s.
“I will.” She pinned the rose to her lapel. The lawyer grabbed the pamphlet, studied it briefly, and then stuffed it into his pocket. He shoved Dewey out of their way and pushed Phoebe toward the waiting car.
As they crossed the street, she identified at least two cops in street clothes doing a great imitation of hurrying through the rain. One dropped something by the limo just as the lawyer opened the door. The cop bent out of sight, then was up and moving down the street again.
Very smooth.
The lawyer gave her a pointed nudge. “Get in. I’m getting soaked.”
She scrambled inside and the door shut. Water dripped down her face, blurring the features of the man waiting inside.
“Nadine.” His voice was smooth and cold, like a tomb waiting to be filled. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
She heard the scrape of a match, th
en saw a blurry flare as it connected with the end of a cigarette. She rubbed the water out of her eyes and saw Barrett Stern, his eyes a dead zone watching her through a haze of smoke. He had a gun, but that wasn’t what made him dangerous. It was the vacuum where his soul should be. Unlike Harding, who killed because it made him feel powerful, this man killed to fill himself. He was a ghost who kept trying to warm himself with a fire he’d never feel. His emptiness was a gray mist that crept out from him and wrapped its icy chill around Phoebe, trying to blanket her hope with despair.
The doors locked, trapping her inside with him. He tapped on the window that separated them from the driver, and the limo moved forward with an un-limo-like jerk.
The game, she realized, as her body turned to ice, was a lot different when it was played in real time.
The difference between living and dying.
* * * *
It was a relief to be moving, to be doing something. This kind of stress Jake could handle. The rain was a pain in the ass, but they’d manage. It’s what they did. All his anxieties, his fears, his worries vanished as training, and a rush of adrenaline, took point.
Luke was coordinating their movements from command central, since his men would be playing tag with the limo. He had four teams of men—code-named dogs Blue, Red, Yellow and Green—whose job it would be to keep the limo in sight.
Riggs and Henry were down on the street with a small squad from SWAT, on hold for a target to move on and probably still arguing the merits of The Grateful Dead. Four other squads were stationed in possible target sectors, to give Luke as much flexibility and speedy response time as they reasonably could.
Jake, Alice and Bryn lifted off in a chopper with radio station markings, hoping they’d look as if they were watching traffic, not bad guys. They’d be Luke’s eyes in the sky and play backup for any team that got tangled in traffic.
Sebastian was still playing shoot-the-hell-out-of-fake people on Bryn’s laptop, trying to beat her top score. Jake hoped the guy would notice if or when Phagan made contact.
The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy Page 56