That statement worried Jude. If Cain had kept in touch with his brother, did Mr. A also know his brother was dead? Jude knew for sure that Alan, Mickey, and Clyde didn’t. The FBI had done a good job suppressing the news, but the cult wasn’t far from San Francisco. Mr. A could’ve made the drive in a couple of hours. Could that be what made Boggs Mountain perfect? Location. Location. Location?
Jude wished Floyd would double-check that little detail and do it in a hurry.
“But he did.” Alan pulled Cain’s ring out of his pants pocket. “See here? The prophet sent his ring just to make sure we’d know Jude was on the level.”
Mr. A took the ring, his brows furrowed as he glared from Jude to the ring in his fingers. “Lucien would never part with this. Who are you?”
Jude shrugged. “Brother Jude Cannon, just like Alan said, and the prophet did send his ring with me. He knew no one would believe me without some kind of proof.”
“I still don’t believe you.” Mr. A scowled.
“Guess that’s your right,” Jude said calmly. “All I know is what the prophet told me to do. He wants to ramp up the schedule, and to do that we need more canisters. That’s the only reason we’re here, isn’t it guys?”
Mr. A stared at him. It would’ve been easier staring back if Jude hadn’t heard a bunch of racket in his earpiece just then. He winced, and instantly coughed to disguise his reaction. Wherever Floyd was, it had gotten way too busy.
“You gots to believe us.” Mickey was past sounding intelligent. “He’s our helper and our buddy and my friend and—”
“Shut up,” Alan barked. “Listen, Mr. A. I’m sorry if we disturbed you, but we just came from Balboa station. You had your guys deliver the last canister to our motel room this morning. Now we need to set up a new schedule. That’s all. Are you gonna help us do what the prophet wants or not?”
“You already used one more canister in New York than you were supposed to.” Mr. A’s eyes shifted from Alan and back to Jude. “You want to explain why?”
“That was Jude’s idea,” Alan said. “He and Lucien changed up the plan, and it made a lot of sense. We got Grand Central Station covered, plus the subway stop at the World Trade Center. Thought we’d get some extra bang for our buck.”
“Actually,” Jude intervened, “we chose to target the Times Square and Chambers Street Subway transfer stations, but that extra canister will impact the World Trade Center traffic as well. The prophet was adamant that we create another 9-11 scenario.”
“Yeah,” Alan nodded profusely. “What he said.”
Mr. A’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. Jude had the feeling he was coming around. He searched his brain for something else that would pass for evidence, anything to convince this unfriendly man that he was who he claimed to be. But heck, he’d already handed over his ace in the hole—Cain’s ring. All he had left was the clothes on his back and... Oh, hell. With a heavy sigh he did the only thing he could. He lied. Again.
“Mr. A, I’ll be honest. I didn’t used to believe in your brother.” Guiltily, he offered the evidence burned onto the palm of his hand. “I was a lost soul until I turned my life over. Here. You can see how evil I used to be. I deserved this.”
Even Alan looked surprised when he saw the brand. Jude gathered a bit more courage and told another lie. He tried to sound humble. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me. I can respect that. There were a few times I didn’t know if I believed myself, either.”
Mr. A’s sneer did nothing to alleviate Jude’s creeping panic, but he’d done all he could. It would’ve helped if Floyd had spoken up, but for some reason, his FBI buddy had gone silent.
A final creepy premonition whispered into Jude’s ear. You. Are. Alone.
Alan lost patience. You gonna help us or not? We ain’t got all—”
The front door burst open with the arrival of four young men with guns and a very bedraggled FBI Agent hanging limp between them. One of the men shoved Floyd to the floor at Mr. A’s feet. “We found us a Fed snooping around your place. He’s wearing a wire. Looks like your place might be bugged.”
Mr. A’s eyes stabbed Jude’s. “Well, isn’t this interesting? The same day you guys show up with a change of plans that I know nothing about, my boys find a federal agent. Hmmm.”
Jude kept his eyes off Floyd, but he felt the instant shift of allegiance in the room. Like a cool wind had just parted the haves from the have-nots, and he and Floyd were definitely the have-nots. The young guys clustered near Mr. A.
Alan stared at him accusingly. “Who the hell are you?”
Jude rolled his eyes. “Holy cow, Alan. After all we’ve been through, you’re still asking me that?”
“Knock it off, Jude Cannon, or whoever you are.” It seemed Alan had suddenly forgotten everything he’d said at the pizza place. “I never wanted your help in the first place. It was all Mickey’s idea.”
“Was not.” Mickey took a staggering step toward Alan. “It’s Clyde’s fault.”
“Is not!” Clyde stopped eating breadsticks long enough to wave the last one in Alan’s face. “I told you guys there was something wrong the minute this jerk showed up with the prophet’s ring. Cannonball’s a liar. His plan stinks.”
“And you three are fools, now shut up!” Mr. A roared. “You led a traitor and a spy straight to me.” He growled at his four-man bodyguard. “Deal with this mess. I don’t want to know how.” Storming out of his establishment, Lucien’s brother slammed the door behind him. Car tires screeched as he peeled out of the parking lot. And left. Damn. Just like that, he’d run. What the hell did he know that Jude did not?
Panic tap-danced up the back of Jude’s neck. Could things get any worse? First, the Brothers Grimm? Now four gangsters with knives on their hips and short stock rifles slung over their shoulders? Tattoos and weird, spiked hair? A bright yellow Mohawk? An unsheathed machete?
These four guys didn’t look old enough to drive, but danger surely emanated from the guy playing with his handgun, a tiny thing that looked like Tucker’s toy gun.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
Jude offered one final argument before things got uglier. “Listen, guys. I’ve been square with you from the minute I showed up. I’ve done everything you asked all week long. I carried the ricin into five different mass-transit stations, right under all those security guard’s noses. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, Mr. Cannon, I don’t like the way you look.” Alan pulled a switchblade from his pants pocket and flicked it open. “I never did. So now it’s time to put your money where your mouth is. I’ll make you a deal. You kill this Fed right here and now, and maybe I’ll believe you are who you say.”
Jude rolled his eyes, still trying to act like it was no big deal. “Can do. Toss it here.”
Alan tossed the open blade to Jude. He caught it, but it nicked his finger. “Geez thanks. You could’ve at least closed the darn thing.”
A glimmer of amusement passed over Alan’s face. For one brief second, Jude thought he had an opportunity left. He took it. With a sudden kick to his right, he knocked Mickey down while he hurled the blade back at Alan, hoping against hope he could actually hit him. After that, Jude had no plan at all except to run for his life.
Although Mickey did crumble to a drunken heap, Alan dodged the blade. Jude’s heart sank. One of Mr. A’s thugs knocked him down. He hit the floor, but not before he caught Floyd’s disgusted look. Jude had to admit, the knife looked more lethal now that it was back in Alan’s hand. Yeah. No heroes in the house tonight.
“Get on your feet,” Alan ordered, then turned to Clyde and Mickey. “Tie these guys up and stick ’em somewhere outta sight. After Mr. A gets back, we’ll dump ’em in the Bay.”
Jude endured being tied up, shoved, and kicked into the backroom. It took a minute for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark, but when they did...
Oh, shit.
“Umm, Floyd? I think I found your ricin.”
Chapter Twent
y-Nine
“But how are you?” Tucker asked the minute Judith fell asleep next to him in the corner of Jude’s white leather couch. He motioned toward the baby grand, the centerpiece of the spacious room. “This place looks like you’ve got a handle on what went down in Cali, but do you?”
“I’m fine,” Cassidy answered. “Judith needed someone, and I needed some time away. Don’t read anything into it.”
“You’re quite a gal, Dancer,” he said smoothly.
She held up an open palm to stop the bullshit. “Don’t, Tucker. Okay? Just stop. I’m not fourteen, and I’m not interested.”
“And you’re not my type.” His lips twisted into a sarcastic smirk. “Besides, I’ve got a new lady in my life.”
“And who would that be?”
“Melissa McCormack,” he replied quietly, his voice suddenly deep and low.
Cassidy had to really look at him when he said that. The guy was all male, with a cleft chin and a square jaw, and stoked with too much testosterone. Melissa was such a classy woman, and Tucker was such a... a man.
“Yeah. I’m headed to Virginia next. Thought I’d see how she’s doing now that she’s home again and getting her life back together. Poor thing sure got a raw deal the last time she married. Figured I could show her how good things could be, you know, maybe show her a better time than living at hospitals and waiting on doctors.”
“I’ll bet she doesn’t think she got a raw deal.”
Tucker blew out a breath. “That’s not what I meant. Marriage should be a helluva lot more fun than emptying bedpans and waiting for your man to die.”
“She’s a good lady,” Cassidy offered softly. Tucker got her dander up, and she didn’t know why. “You be good to her. She doesn’t need more trouble.”
He sighed, his gaze distant and his arm relaxed on the back of the sofa as if his mind was already in Virginia. “Not sure what she sees in me, but it’d be damned nice having a good woman in my life, for a change.”
Damn, he had a lot of nerve. “Have you two already dated?”
“No. Hell, no. I just called her a couple days ago, you know, I touched base with her once she got home. Wanted to make sure she was doing okay. Damned if we didn’t talk for an hour. She likes to cook.”
“Is that all you’re looking for in a good woman? One who’ll take care of you?”
He didn’t rise to the bait, just kept looking down on Judith through those thick, dark lashes of his. “My ex never wanted kids,” he said, his voice soft and low. “But she got custody of our boy. Court says he needs his mother. Assholes. They don’t think he needs his ol’ man, too?”
“Life’s not fair,” she offered quietly.
“No, it isn’t, but… ” He paused, his palm flat on the leather, still contemplating the sleeping strawberry blonde at his side. “This little gal’s just like her father. Too damned noble for her own good.”
Cassidy flat-out couldn’t speak, not with the gentle light in Tucker’s eye. Damn it. The man was not who he seemed to be. “You’re okay, Tucker, you know that? Thanks for talking with Judith. Today’s the first time she’s really smiled since we came home.”
“She’s a sweet kid.” He arched his back and stretched both hands over his head. Damned if his shirt didn’t lift up to reveal a smattering of dark hair on his athletically toned belly. “I’ll be glad when this whole business is done.”
“Is there anything else going on that I should know about?” She couldn’t shake that nagging feeling, not after his when this whole business is done comment.
“Not that I know of,” he answered, with a shake of his head. “Why? Are you having any problems? Have you seen anyone hanging around?”
“Should I be?” She studied him, still not able to put her finger on what he wasn’t telling her. Maybe she’d gotten paranoid. Maybe she was over-reacting. Heck, maybe she just didn’t need one damned more problem to deal with.
Again, he shook his head. “Of course not. Hey. Do me a favor, would you?” He reached in to his pocket and drew out a black leather case for glasses. “Give this to Judith for me. Tell her to hang onto it for her dad. I kind of broke his glasses back at the compound. Figured I owed him that much. He’d better appreciate these. They’re expensive.”
Cassidy took the peace offering. “You’d tell me if we were in any kind of danger, wouldn’t you?”
His brows furrowed. “Sure. I’ve got your number. Listen, I need to get to the airport. Lock your doors when I leave.”
Was that supposed to make her feel better? She didn’t have a choice. Cassidy settled for that smug send-off as if recovering from tragedy was as easy as he’d made it sound. At least the view of him walking away was worth watching. Tucker Chase made for a damned fine physical specimen. Broad-shoulders with rippling muscles. Trim waist. Strong, bulging calves beneath a deep bronze tan. Cassidy had no doubt that a taut ass was stowed beneath those boxy shorts. Damn… Melissa might be smart to grab him up after all.
Tucker turned at the open door of his rental car and waved before he drove off. Judith stirred on the couch, and that was all it took for Miss Fluffy to resume her place of ownership near her mistress. Even she knew where she belonged.
The only one out of place was Cassidy.
With Tucker gone and Jude’s house once again too quiet, she stepped onto the wide wooden deck that spanned the rear of the house. Darkness was falling. The quiet night noises of the riverbank fell like music on her ears at the end of a better day, and all because of a brash Navy SEAL.
She leaned against the railing, wondering where Jude was at that very minute, if he was safe, and when the FBI would send him home. Then she retraced her steps. Locked the front and back doors. Closed all the windows. Cassidy moved her pistol to her nightstand where she could easily reach it. Tucker wasn’t kidding anyone. He hadn’t come all the way to Florida just to say how ya doing? Something was up.
“So call someone,” Jude demanded from his prone and bound position alongside Floyd. “Do your thing. Call for backup.”
The look Floyd shot him could’ve withered an onion.
“You do have backup, don’t you?”
Floyd didn’t have to answer before Jude came unglued. “No one’s coming?”
“I’m your backup. Now shut up, and let me think.”
“You’re it? Just you?”
Again with the smart-assed, withering look, and Jude wanted to beat the crap out of Floyd. “Holy hell, Stuckey! No one else is coming?”
“The Bureau has taken a series of deep fiscal cuts, and—”
“Fiscal cuts! I’m risking my life, and you’re crying about your bullshit budget problems?”
“You’re not helping the situation. Now calm down. Let’s be reasonable and figure a—”
Fuck! Jude banged his head against the nearest ricin canister, sure he’d just developed a hysterical case of Tourette syndrome, he was so damned mad. He’d depended on this lone wolf from the FBI. But now? He was locked in a room with at least a dozen more canisters of ricin standing nearby and enough frustration to light the fuse—if they’d had one. “I put my whole life on hold for you guys. You wouldn’t even let me speak to Judith before we left, and you don’t have any son-of-a-bitchin’ backup?!”
Floyd stopped talking to him. Just as well. Jude had nothing nice to say. He could barely rein his rage in enough to think logically. Their situation was hopeless.
“If I’d known you guys were so underfunded, I’d have told you to take a flying leap back at the compound, and I’d be home with my little girl right now instead of stuck here with you.”
Instantly, he regretted his words. He hated everything he’d become. A liar and a thief, and now a bully. Badgering Floyd wouldn’t help. Cursing, neither. Plus, he’d lost his glasses when that kid had knocked him to the floor. Once again, he was blind and pissed off. The damned day would be complete if the Brothers Grimm came in and beat the hell out of him.
Floyd still wasn’t talking, but o
ne of the young in the other room certainly was. “It’s like this. We get to do Mr. A’s dirty work for him. It’s kinda who we are.”
Mr. A’s dirty work? Who’s he talking to?
Mickey’s drunken words were barely discernable, but the young man’s were loud and clear. He must’ve been standing just outside the supply room door. “Yeah. We like, call ourselves the prophet’s hit squad ’cause we’re so good at it. Which reminds me—”
Blam! Blam! Blam!
Holy mother of shit! Jude damned near climbed out of his skin. It sounded like that punk had just murdered Alan, Mickey, and Clyde. The kid snickered. “That’s why you’re all dead, fat man.”
The time for whining was done. Jude jumped to his knees, his hands bound behind his back. “We’ve got to work together.”
The teenaged thugs laughed. More gunshots sounded. “Ha! Good job. We got ’em all.”
“Turn around,” Floyd ordered back at him. “Hurry. Stop. That’s far enough. Hold still.”
Jude did as he was told, but seriously? Floyd had his nose and mouth at Jude’s wrists? “You’re kidding me, right? You’re going to make like a beaver and chew the rope off my hands? God, we don’t have time for this.”
“Then think of something else,” Floyd mumbled as his prehensile lips pulled the rope away from Jude’s wrists and he started chewing again.
Something heavy scraped across the floor in the outer room. One of the young men laughed. Another complained about being slugged too hard. Three more loud pops sounded and Jude could not lay still.
“They’re making sure your friends are dead,” Floyd mumbled around the rope. “We’re probably next.”
“You think?”
“Come on,” one of the boys muttered. “We gotta clean this mess before Mr. A gets back or he ain’t gonna pay us.”
“Told you to use a tarp.”
“A tarp always gives it away. I like surprises.”
“Chew faster,” Jude whispered urgently. “Come on. Hurry it up!”
“I’m kinda busy here,” Floyd growled. “Flex your hands. See if these ropes will give yet.”
Cassidy Page 26