Morgan looked through the edge of the glass.
Taylor Lee’s car was ablaze.
CHAPTER 13
“No!” Jackson grabbed Morgan’s hand, kept her from running out the door. “G.R.I.D.”
Morgan broke loose, retrieved her weapon, and headed back toward the door. “We’ve got to get Taylor Lee out of there!”
“Back door. Back door.” Jackson moved through the house. He opened the back door, looked out, and then motioned Morgan to go left, down the driveway. “Give me a twenty-second lead.”
He took off to the opposite side of the house, taking the long way around.
Odds were good that if the G.R.I.D. assassins were still there, they were on that side of the house. It had the best protection vantage points. Morgan ticked off twenty seconds, the glare from the flames making her sick. There was no way Taylor Lee could have survived that fire. No way.
Tears filming her eyes, her throat tight, Morgan hugged her back to the brick wall, slid down it all the way to the edge of the front porch. The rain was so heavy, it was nearly impossible to see anything but the fire. She still scanned the yard, the neighbor’s lot, and stepped away from the house long enough to check her own roof.
The rain was nearly horizontal. Morgan was hot and cold and angry and sad and shocked. Totally shocked.
She moved farther out, into the yard, bowed her head to protect her eyes. The rain pelted her, stung her skin, and the wind whistled in her ears, slicked back her clothes, tugged at her eyelids. It took all she had to keep herself upright.
Something moved to her right.
Recognizing Stick in her peripheral vision, she fired, turned toward him, and fired again.
He fell to the ground.
A shot rang out behind her. Jackson!
She dropped, rolled, and took cover behind a fat, spiny bush. A second shot sounded. She saw its flash and then heard another shot fired. A shadowy figure in black crumpled to the ground next to a magnolia. Merk. That had to be Merk.
Where was Payton?
Where was Jackson?
Morgan inched forward to see around the bush. Jackson was standing under the old oak, his back to its trunk, his elbows bent, prepared to fire. He was waiting …
Morgan heard a click. Looked up onto her front porch and saw Payton, leaning over the railing looking down at her, his Glock pointed at her head. “Drop your weapon, Stern,” Payton shouted.
Morgan was on all fours, one hand braced in the dirt holding her gun. She lifted the other hand into the air. “Okay. You’ve got me. Okay.”
He ignored her, shouted to Jackson. “I’m not bluffing, Stern. Two seconds, and she dies.”
Morgan tipped up the barrel of her gun and squeezed the trigger.
Payton dropped, thudding on the porch. A millisecond later, he fired at Jackson.
Jackson rolled around the trunk to the far side of the tree, drew down on Payton, and then fired.
Nearby, wounded but not down, Merk ran to a van parked at the curb across the street. Morgan aimed for its tires but missed. He sped down the street and then out of sight.
Payton fired another shot at Morgan. It raised mud that splattered, but missed her.
Where was Jackson? The wind blew the flames, set them to dancing, and Morgan used them to scan the yard but couldn’t locate him. Suddenly, he appeared at the far end of the porch and squeezed off a shot.
Payton howled and crumpled, injured but not dead.
“Morgan?” Jackson called out.
“I’m fine.” Fine? She was rattled to the bone.
“Come watch this bastard.”
She crawled out from behind the bush and then stood up, muddy from the neck down. Payton was in a heap on her front porch, his leg bleeding profusely. Jackson had popped him just above the knee.
He retrieved Payton’s gun, patted him down, and pulled a spare from his boot, then backed off and told Morgan, “If he moves, kill him.”
“My pleasure.” She nodded.
Jackson ran to Taylor Lee’s car. The rain was dousing the flames, but the vehicle had burned so hot the paint had blistered. Intense heat radiated from it, far too hot to touch. Jackson got as close as he could and looked in through gaping holes where the windows had been. “She’s not here!” he shouted back to Morgan. “She’s not in the car.”
Where the hell was she, then? Morgan looked down at Payton. “What were your orders?”
He glared at her.
“You’re picking the wrong time to mess with me. Answer my question, or I’ll make you believe Thomas Kunz is a rank amateur at torture. You have my word on that.”
Horror flooded his eyes.
It was justified. Everyone knew Kunz loved to torture. It was a game to him. Sick, despicable bastard.
“We thought she was you,” Payton said. “We were supposed to grab you.”
“And do what with me?” Morgan pushed.
He didn’t want to answer. “I can’t. He—”
“Is the least of your worries, buddy. He’s on a freaking island. I’m right here.”
Surprise raced over his face, tightened his jaw.
“I’m looking for a reason not to kill you.” The van. She was in the van. Morgan picked up on that clearly, but insisted on verifying. “Where the hell did Merk take her?”
“I don’t know. I swear. He didn’t tell me.”
Jackson came back to the porch. “Morgan.”
She heard him but couldn’t force herself to look away from Payton, couldn’t stop herself from getting closer to him with the gun. “If I find out you’re lying to me, you will regret it.”
“Morgan,” Jackson stepped between them, tipped the barrel of her gun away. “Go call this in and bring me some rope,” he said. “Will you do that for me?”
The anger overtaking her cooled to a roiling boil, and she tamped it down, down, down until she felt more in control. “All right. Yes. Yes, I can do that for you.”
“She lost it,” Payton said. “That woman was out of her mind.”
Jackson kicked Payton in the face. “She’s mine, and you just tried to kill her. Say nothing, and you might just live. Another word about her, and I’ll drop your ass right here. I swear to God, I will.”
Vindicated, Morgan rushed inside and left the front door open. Taylor Lee. Guilt swamped and crushed Morgan. It should have been me. They were trying to abduct me. It should have been me … Rope.
Right. Jackson needed rope.
She got some from the garage and tossed it to him from the front door. “Do not bring that garbage into my house.”
“I won’t,” Jackson promised.
“I want him off my porch,” she said. “Tie him to the tree. Maybe lightning will strike his sorry ass and spare me the cost of a bullet.”
Payton mumbled something, and Jackson said, “You’re stupid, man. Telling a smart woman carrying a gun you meant to kidnap her—after you tried to shoot her—and you expected … what?” Jackson laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’d better pray like hell the OSI gets here to pick you up before she has time to think on it much. Otherwise, she’s really going to be pissed. Even if she doesn’t kill you, she’ll blow out your knees for pure spite.”
She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to—but she wouldn’t drag herself into his cold-blooded ditch. She’d take the high road, even if she cussed being on it every step of the way. Still, Payton didn’t know what she would or wouldn’t do, and believing she would blow holes in his kneecaps could make him more cooperative.
Phone. She had to get to the phone, notify the commander.
How the hell was she going to explain this? Ignoring a direct order to stay away from the house. Taylor Lee abducted … G.R.I.D.—G.R.I.D.—had Taylor Lee!
“Morgan! Morgan!” Taylor Lee!
Morgan slammed down the phone, ran through the dark house, and collided with a drenched Taylor Lee near the white leather sofa in the living room. “Oh, my God!” Morgan caught her in a hug. She wa
s shaking. They both were. “I thought Merk had you!”
“He did.” Her chest heaved; she was winded, and trying to talk was difficult. “He knocked the hell out of me right after I shut the front door. I came to tied up in the back of their van.”
“Where is he now?”
Taylor Lee’s dark eyes glinted pure hatred. “Somewhere between Magnolia and Hickory.” She pulled away and went to the kitchen sink, turned on the water, and splashed her face. “Sorry bastard.”
“What do you mean, somewhere between Magnolia and Hickory?” Was he dead? Alive? Still fleeing in the van?
“I kicked his sorry ass out on the street.” Taylor Lee cupped her hands, splashed her face again, and then reached out for a paper towel.
Morgan grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer and passed it to her. “You just left him there on the street?” Damn it, now he was loose again.
“He’s dead, Morgan.” Taylor Lee blotted her face. “We were going about eighty when I shoved him out, and he hit the pavement.” She frowned. “Did you see my Saab? If the son of a bitch wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him again.”
Morgan picked up on Taylor Lee’s furious thought, Vintage. Vintage!
“You’re absolutely sure he’s dead?” Morgan asked.
“If he wasn’t when he hit the ground, he was after the truck coming at us hit him. He got caught by at least six tires.” She finished drying her face and started on her arms. “I worked a long time for that car.”
“I’m sorry about your Saab.” Morgan reached for the phone. “Could you go tell Jackson you’re okay?”
“Where is he?”
“Um, on the front porch.” Morgan grabbed her arm. “Don’t touch his prisoner.”
“What prisoner?” Taylor Lee frowned, her expression turning as dark as the night. “Were the other two here, too?”
“Stick is dead,” Morgan said with a nod. “Payton was shot, but he’s still alive.”
“We can fix that easy enough.” Taylor Lee clamped her jaw down tight enough to crack and started out.
Morgan grabbed her arm. “Do not kill the man. I need to know what he knows.”
“Okay.” She pursed her lips, her chin trembling with pure rage. “I’ll wait.”
She wasn’t overstating or exaggerating. She intended to kill him. “Taylor Lee.”
She glared at Morgan. “All right, damn it.” Frustrated, she fought to control the anger shimmering through her entire body. Tough battle, but finally she won. “I’m not going to kill him, okay? I’m just going to see what’s on his devious mind.”
“Okay.” Morgan watched her go and hoped she hadn’t just made a mistake, cutting Taylor Lee semi-loose in her current frame of mind. “But don’t disappoint me on this. I’m trusting you.”
Seconds later, Taylor Lee’s outraged voice carried back to Morgan from the porch. “Did you do that to my car, you sorry sack of shit?”
Something thudded.
Payton howled.
“Taylor Lee, ease up.”
Only a dead man would miss the warning in Jackson’s voice.
“Ease up? This asshole tried to barbeque me, Jackson.”
He said something Morgan couldn’t hear, but Taylor Lee’s response came through all too clearly. “You could just take a walk and let me interrogate him. It’d save us a lot of time and trouble. I guarantee you, it’ll be productive.”
“No,” Payton said, sufficiently terrified. “Don’t do that.”
“I won’t,” Jackson said. “Not yet. Men get the job done, but women … You cross a woman, and she gets mean.”
“Don’t leave me with her,” Payton said. Clearly, he was a believer. “Please.”
“You want me here, then you start talking,” Jackson told him. “The minute you stop, I’m gone and you can deal with her.”
Morgan bit back a smile. Taylor Lee was plenty angry; she wasn’t faking it. But she’d also promised Morgan she wouldn’t kill him. She wouldn’t, but she might make him wish he were dead. Jackson would rein her in if she got too close to the line.
Relieved, Morgan called Home Base and filed her report.
“I can verify Merk’s death,” Darcy said. “I heard the truck driver’s 911 call. We’ve got an OSI agent on the way to the scene now.” She paused and then went on. “Kate and Maggie will pick up Payton. They’re about ten minutes out.”
“All right.” Morgan hoped she and Jackson could keep Taylor Lee leashed that long. The Saab had been her pride and joy, and she was going to have a wicked bruise on her face. Two offenses, and that didn’t count her joyride in the van. “I expect the coroner will come pick up Stick’s body?”
“It’ll be a while, but yes.”
“Should I pull him out of the yard and put him in the garage or something?”
“No. Don’t move the body.”
“Okay.” Morgan was glad about that. She didn’t want the men anywhere around her and certainly not in her house.
“About Laura’s photos,” Darcy said. “Kate is pretty sure she’s pegged the island. The coin is from the Cook Island chain, but she thinks, and Nathan agrees, the skyline on that picture with the thatch-roofed building—do you know the photo I mean?”
Morgan recalled it perfectly. “Yes, I do.”
“I’ve now verified it’s Tavanipupu, a resort in the Solomon Island chain,” Darcy said. “CIA counterparts tell us Kunz is not there, but a lot of the surrounding islands are remote and uninhabited. They’re working to check them out and get a fix on him. Hopefully we will have an update by the time you arrive.”
Uninhabited. Remote. He probably traveled directly to his own island and never set foot on anything around it. That was Thomas Kunz’s way.
Morgan had expected it, but hearing it confirmed still rattled her to the core. “Perfect location for Kunz and G.R.I.D.” A flash went through her, and she relayed it to Darcy. “Look for a private airstrip.”
“Will do,” Darcy said. “Like I said, we’re having field agents in the area try to pinpoint a more precise location. Commander Drake elevated the classification to a priority one, hoping we can get our hands on Kunz before he bugs out. She wants you on scene as soon as possible. Transportation is on standby, so be ready to fly out of here as soon as the storm passes. Weather office expects that will be in four hours, thirty-seven minutes, 4:32 A.M. And Jackson is cleared to go with you.”
Morgan rolled her shoulders, working out some stiffness. “We’ll be ready.”
Sleep-deprived and storm weary, Morgan and Jackson flew to New Zealand, sleeping on and off through the twenty-five-hour flight—more on, than off—and then connected to a flight that would take them to Honiara in the Solomon Island chain. From there, a flight to Tavanipupu wasn’t possible—flights ran only on Mondays and Fridays. However, Darcy had assured them that a CIA agent named Gaston would meet them and handle transport when they left the plane.
When not sleeping, Morgan and Jackson talked quietly about any and everything except the mission, and the more they talked, the more certain Morgan was that she’d finally found a man she wanted to be with as much as she wanted to be at all. Would that hold after the mission was over? She believed it would, but time would tell. For now, the possibility was enough. “I was beginning to think you didn’t exist, Jackson.”
He gave her a soft smile that crinkled the skin near his eyes, clasped her hands, and squeezed. “I know what you mean.”
“Have you thought about what happens to us when this is all over?” It had taken most of the travel time for her to work up the courage to ask a question she might not want answered, but in the last few hours, she had reached the point that not knowing what was on his mind ate at her. Possible responses had spun through her brain like a lump of clay on a potter’s wheel, taking different shapes and forms, but in all of them—and there had been many—she hadn’t anticipated the answer he would give her, which wasn’t an answer at all, but a question:
“What do you want to happen, Morga
n?”
Everything. Absolutely everything. I think we’re right. I think this thing between us will work. I want you to be the one. But I also want time to know you are—time when we’re not in a crisis with Kunz.
She felt all of that and more in every atom and cell of her entire body, intuitively and emotionally. Yet while Jackson was perceptive, he wasn’t functioning in that way at her level. He needed more time to discover what came to her instantly, through her gift, and it wouldn’t hurt her to experience the practical side of a relationship with him, either.
“Don’t think, honey,” he said. “Just be honest with me. Tell me what you want.”
She looked from the buttons on his shirt back into his eyes and saw a gentleness in them she’d never seen him share with anyone else, and though she was inspired to be blunt, she couldn’t be—not without first explaining her gift to him. Unfortunately, history had proven repeatedly that the cost of honesty might be their relationship. It was a price she wasn’t willing to pay. Not with him. Not yet. “I want … more,” she finally said.
“You want … all,” he amended without heat. “You want everything.”
She blinked and forced herself not to look away, though she was terrified he’d see the truth in her eyes. “I want not to be wrong, too, Jackson. We’ve both been hurt, and we don’t want to do that to each other. I don’t know about your track record with women, but mine with men has been abysmal. Two serious attempts, two serious failures, and I don’t want you to be a third.”
“Because …”
She shrugged. “For all the obvious reasons.” “I meant, what made the two attempts fail?”
“The usual.”
“Quit talking around it and get specific, Morgan.”
“The job, the secrets, the crazy hours, the unexplained, short-notice and long-lasting absences.”
“But we don’t have those problems.”
They didn’t. His clearance was higher than hers. “There were other reasons, too,” she said, treading lightly. How did she tell him the one reason that dwarfed all the others?
Vicki Hinze - [War Games 04] Page 24