Max slept the deep, motionless sleep of satiation. He didn’t stir when she said his name. In fact, he barely appeared to be breathing.
It was foolish and feminine to be pleased by how thoroughly she’d undone him, but Raine felt both foolish and feminine, so that was okay.
Still, it was time for them to get up and out before their shot-up truck attracted attention.
Thinking to get a head start while he slept a bit longer, Raine levered herself away from him. Sitting cross-legged on the bed with one of the blankets draped over her shoulders against the morning chill, she watched him for a few seconds, memorizing the moment.
Though he slept deeply, his features weren’t soft or any less forbidding in repose. He remained formidable, as though chiseled in stone.
But she knew the gentle warrior within.
She touched his shoulder, knowing there were demons yet for them to face. “Max. Time to get up.”
He mumbled something and grabbed her hand, but didn’t wake.
Her heart tugged at the pressure of his fingers on hers, and she bent and kissed him. “Fine. You sleep. I’ll pack and check out.”
As she mentally reviewed the smaller highways they could use on their trip back to Boston, she realized they would pass very near the burned-out wreck of her rental house in New Bridge. Max’s truck should still be parked in the driveway. Did they dare switch out?
“Probably not,” she murmured. “If The Nine aren’t watching the house, you can bet Detective Marcus is.”
And if anyone had told her a week earlier that she’d be avoiding the police with relative calm by the weekend, she would’ve called them a liar.
There was no doubt about it. She’d changed.
Maybe she’d finally grown up in her mid-thirties.
She clicked on the light in the bathroom and got herself dressed, figuring Max would wake with the commotion. She left his clothes and weapon out, along with the food and drinks they hadn’t gotten to the night before, and packed everything else away in his duffel.
When there were still no signs of life from the bed, she shook his shoulder. “Come on, Max, wake up! What’s the matter, did I wear you out?”
She flipped the clock radio on, cranked the volume, and said in a loud voice, “I’m going to check out and load the truck. If you’re not up when I get back…” She let the threat hang, having no idea what she’d do.
He muttered and rolled over onto his back. Reassured that he’d soon be fully conscious, she pulled on his furry jacket liner, shouldered the heavy duffel, unchained the door and let herself out.
The hallway was several degrees cooler than the room. Raine shivered and huddled deeper in her borrowed coat. As the single elevator descended to the ground floor, she realized it felt strange to be alone. But there was no way for the shooters in the silver car to know where they were.
The outside air was ice cold and gloomy with the deadness of predawn. The parking lot was plowed and salted, but still slippery. Raine was shivering in earnest by the time she reached the truck, way in the back of the parking lot. She let the duffel slide off her shoulder and reached to stick the key in the driver’s side door lock.
A footstep scraped on the sandy pavement behind her.
“That was quick,” she said, her voice gaining a lilt at the thought Max had followed her out. “I thought you’d still be in bed when-”
She broke off at the click of a weapon and the feel of cold metal at her temple.
Her heart lunged into her throat and her guts dissolved to jelly. A whimper backed up in her throat.
Caught. She was caught.
“That’s right, boss,” a familiar voice said. “Behave, and neither of you will be hurt. Turn around, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
She did as instructed, winding up with her back pressed against the side of the truck. “Jeff.” Her voice broke at the sight of him. “How could you?”
Her once-trusted employee lifted one shoulder in his trademark half shrug, but there was no remorse in his blue eyes. “I’ve always been smart enough to find the shortcuts.”
Behind him, a black limousine rolled to a stop. One dark tinted window buzzed down, and silver hair flashed within. The man Ike had identified as Dr. Frederic Forsythe stared out at Raine.
“Where are the disks?” Jeff said.
Though her gut churned with sick, greasy fear, she lifted her chin and glared at him. “How did you find us? We tossed the phone near where your boys crashed last night.”
Jeff’s chest expanded with pride. He nodded to the truck, with its shattered window and damaged dashboard. “A little something I’ve been working on for a while now. I did some of the initial work in your lab, come to think of it. I’ve created a homing device small enough to be easily implanted beneath the skin. Or, in this case, inside a bullet. But that doesn’t answer my question.” His voice dropped. “Where are the disks? The computer disk with the database information on it, and the video disk the lawyer stole. Tell us where they are. Now.”
He raised his weapon and leveled it at her right eye. The opening of the barrel was very, very black in the dawn light. It was Sunday morning. The realization brought a flash of stained glass and the quiet grace of a dead woman’s memorial.
Too many people had died. This needed to end, now. But Raine was alone.
If you were planning on rescuing me, now would be a good time, Max, she thought with growing desperation.
Impatience kindled in Forsythe’s eyes. “Go find out what room they were in,” the plastic surgeon finally snapped from the limo. “Bring Vasek out here. Maybe she’ll be more cooperative once we put a bullet in him. There’s no way we’re leaving him alive. He’s too damned dangerous.”
“They both are,” Jeff said. He glanced back over his shoulder at his boss. “We can’t leave her alive to-”
“Shut up!” Forsythe said quickly, but not before she saw the truth in his eyes.
She and Max were both dead, regardless of whether they cooperated or not.
“Wait,” she said, thinking fast. “What about a deal?”
Forsythe smirked. “You don’t have anything I want.”
“I have Thriller. I have the patents and the development rights.”
“We’ve already taken care of your little drug.” He lifted one shoulder, allowing her to see that he was elegantly and expensively clad even this early in the morning. Or else he’d been waiting all night. He continued, “A pity. It would’ve made you a fair bit of money, but there was one major problem. It made women feel better about themselves. Sexier. More self-confident. Do you have any idea what that would do to the cosmetic surgery industry?” He shook his head. “No. It couldn’t be allowed. So I dispensed poisoned samples to a few trusted associates and maneuvered things so suspicion would fall on you. Nothing personal-just an effort to confuse matters.” His voice dropped. “Then that computer tech gave you a data disk that had the ghosts on it. Ghosts that could potentially be tracked back to me. That information could not be allowed to surface.”
“So you decided to kill me.” As the final missing pieces of their theory clicked into place, Raine forced herself not to react, instead putting herself back into the suddenly ill-fitting role of a woman who put career first, business first, success first. “That’s not the only answer, you know.” She jerked her chin at Jeff. “He’ll tell you I’m a career-minded woman. Let me go back to work on the formula. Tone it down a little. Tweak a benzene ring here and there until it works well enough to sell, but not so well that it’s impacting your business. We can change the name, announce that we’ve fixed the problems we had with Thriller, and split the take. We’re talking hundreds of millions of dollars here, and I’ve already done the hard part.”
That got Forsythe’s attention. He narrowed his eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I’d rather be rich than dead,” she snapped. “And because I’m a practical woman. An ambitious one. I want in. I want access to
The Nine. Power. Success. All of it.”
He stared at her as though judging her sincerity. As he did, the seconds ticked past beneath her skin.
Was Max coming out? Had Forsythe already sent other men in after him? How could she protect him? She had to think faster! What could she say to convince Forsythe?
Finally, the surgeon said, “How do I know you’re serious?”
“I’ll take you to the disks.” She shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “You can have them.”
“Are they here?”
“No, they’re someplace safe, up in Boston. I’ll take you to where they’re hidden-we’ve got it set up so only Max or I can retrieve them.” She was lying through her teeth on that one, but brazened it out. “I’ll hand them over as a gesture of good faith, but you’ve got to give me something in return. Otherwise, no deal.”
“If you want me to leave the other woman alone, too late. We’ve already taken care of her. There was a tragic ferry accident on the crossing from the Cape to Nantucket.” He tsked. “Such a shame.”
Raine’s heart constricted at Ike’s fate, at the emphasis of just what a dangerous game she was playing. But she feigned a shrug. “She would’ve been a complication either way. No, I want you to let Vasek go free, unharmed.”
Forsythe snorted. “Not a chance. If you know about our little group, then so does lover boy. And he’ll follow you, guaranteed. There’s no way you can keep him from interfering.”
“There is one way I can do exactly that,” Raine said, pulse pounding with sick dread at what she was about to propose.
“How’s that?”
“I’ll break his heart.”
Chapter Thirteen
Max awoke slowly when the lights came on, aware of the whole-body lassitude that came from good loving. His brain echoed with the words I love you. Had she said them, or had he merely thought them?
Either way, they were true.
He smiled and opened his eyes, then frowned when he realized the light wasn’t coming from the hotel room lights, as he’d assumed. It was coming from the window. It was daylight, and the clock radio was blaring.
And Raine wasn’t there.
She’s in the bathroom, he told himself on a sudden spurt of panic. He craned his neck to see her, but the adjoining room was dark, the door ajar. No sounds came from within, no signs of life.
She went downstairs for coffee, he tried instead. But logic told him it was well past sunrise, well past the time they’d agreed to leave the hotel for Boston. She’s-
Then he saw that his clothes were laid out beside the sodas and snacks.
And his duffel was gone.
“She didn’t, did she?” He sat up in the bed, sick incredulity echoing in his head. “I didn’t, did I?” He hadn’t fallen for it again, hadn’t trusted it again, had he?
He cursed, very much afraid that he had.
But where had she gone? Why? She still needed him to help build the case against The Nine.
Didn’t she?
An awful suspicion struggled to form in Max’s gut. He shoved it aside and climbed to his feet, cursing himself for having been exhausted, for having slept too deeply for far too long.
He dragged his clothes on and felt in the pockets of his jacket. “At least she left me the gun and the cash.” The truck keys were gone, though, along with the duffel. He tried to find humor in the irony. “Cheaper to replace the bag than five rooms worth of furniture, at any rate.”
But there was no humor to be had.
Fool me thrice and I’m an idiot, he thought on a burst of anger. He skipped the elevator, thundered down the stairs and shoved through a side door that dumped him straight into the parking lot.
The sight of the truck still parked in the far corner brought him up short. “What the heck?”
She’d taken the keys and left the truck? That didn’t make any sense.
Instinct prickled along the back of his neck as he approached the vehicle. The morning sun had melted the snow to water, which held no tracks. There were a few fresh-looking scuffs in the salt scum that covered the side of the truck. Maybe a sign of a struggle. Maybe a sign that she’d tossed the duffel onto the hood and it had slid off.
When he reached the truck and looked inside, he nearly sagged back at the gut-punch of emotion. Of anger.
The keys were in the ignition.
And a note lay on the seat.
He yanked the door open and grabbed the single sheet of paper. He was tempted to wad it up and throw it away unread, but some optimistic part of him wouldn’t allow the gesture, just in case it was an explanation that meant something other than gotcha.
Dear Max, it began, wringing a snort from deep within his chest.
Go back to New York, the job is over. I’ll wire payment from wherever Frederic and I wind up. You were right the first time-the plane tickets were mine. It was my idea in the beginning, everything except the dead women. I didn’t sign up for that, which is why I ran, and why my so-called partners tried to kill me. There’s no such thing as The Nine, that was all in poor Charlie’s mind, though Frederic was one of my partners. When it came down to the wire, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let the others hurt you. I love you-believe that if you believe anything. So I’m leaving. Let them have the drug. Tell Detective Marcus everything-it doesn’t matter anymore. Regardless, we’ll always have that night in Philadelphia.
She had signed it with her first initial.
I love you. The words danced on the page, mocking him. He cursed bitterly, wadded the paper and tossed it in a puddle of slushy water before he threw himself into the truck cab and cranked the engine. Then he cursed again, retrieved the note and flung the dripping mess into the foot well.
He drove to New Bridge, to her house, which was now nothing more than a deserted pile of blackened, charred rubble.
He left the ruined rental truck parked crosswise in the driveway and climbed into his own vehicle, figuring he and Detective Marcus would settle up later. Then he headed for the highway and took the westbound ramp, headed for New York City.
Headed for home.
DURING THE THREE-HOUR RIDE into Boston, there was only silence in the limo passenger compartment. Raine stared out the window, unable to look at Jeff, unwilling to converse with Forsythe. The men worked on cell phone-connected laptops instead of talking to each other, maybe because she was there, or maybe because there was nothing to say until they reached Logan Airport.
Once they were on the circular, convoluted network of airport roadways, an intercom clicked on and the driver’s voice said, “Which terminal, ma’am?”
“I don’t know.” Without conscious thought, she turned to Jeff. “Find out which terminal has a Thursday’s Restaurant, will you?”
“Sure thing.” He opened a new window on the laptop and tapped in a quick search. “Terminal B. Arrivals.”
Forsythe chuckled. “Seems like she trained you well, Jeffrey. You’re still wired to jump at her command.”
Jeff’s face flushed a dull red and he glanced at Raine. She couldn’t read his expression, but what ever was there, it didn’t seem to be remorse. More like self-satisfaction.
“So, we’re going to Thursday’s, are we?” Forsythe glanced out the window, where jersey barriers signaled the edge of yet another construction zone. “Crummy little place. I hope for your sake the disks are there.”
“They’ll be there,” she assured him, fingers crossed that Ike’s care package included the database copy.
“And Vasek better not be there.”
“No way. He’s back in Manhattan by now, cursing my name.” She forced a laugh, but worry was a sick coil in her stomach. What if he’d believed the note? What if the love she’d felt, the love she’d thought they’d shared, had all been on her side?
No, she told herself, he’d be there.
If he loved her, he’d trust her. If he trusted her, he’d read the note carefully and grasp the buried clue. He’d come for her.
&nbs
p; But what if he didn’t come?
What if he didn’t love her?
Forsythe sent her a long, measured look, but didn’t press.
Moments later, the intercom went live and the driver’s voice said, “Terminal B, Arrivals.”
“Wait for us here,” Forsythe ordered. “We won’t be long.” He waited for the driver to open the passenger doors, then gestured Jeff out first, followed by Raine. As she passed, Forsythe made a show of tucking a small handgun into the pocket of his wool coat. “For insurance purposes only, of course.”
Too bad we don’t have to go through security to get to Thursday’s, Raine thought as she climbed out of the limo and stood shivering in the cutting wind coming off the ocean. With both Jeff and Forsythe carrying concealed weapons, they wouldn’t make it three feet past the checkpoint.
Which was probably why Ike had chosen Thursday’s. No doubt she walked around with a pistol strapped to her ankle on a daily basis.
Rather than bringing her down, the thought buoyed Raine. Ike was tough enough to survive, and she was as tough as Ike, damn it. She might not be wearing all black or packing heat, but she could pull this off.
Provided her backup, her partner, came through for her.
Come on, Max, she thought, the words nearly a prayer. Give me the benefit of the doubt. Really read that note. Think about it with your heart, then with your head.
And get your butt to the restaurant, or I’m in big trouble.
But there was no sign of him as Forsythe, Jeff and Raine entered Terminal B through baggage claim on the lower level and took an escalator up to the arrivals deck.
Sure enough, there was Thursday’s Restaurant, in all its green-and-white striped glory.
A yawning pit opened up in the center of Raine’s stomach. She didn’t have a backup plan. What would she do if Max didn’t show, or came too late? If she gave the disks to Forsythe, that would be the end of their efforts to gather evidence against The Nine, and it wasn’t as if she would actually go through with her supposed alliance.
If they didn’t kill her outright, they’d no doubt find a way to get her charged and convicted on the outstanding warrant.
Under the Microscope Page 15