He got the distinct impression that hadn’t been what she had meant to say, but it was too similar to the way his own mind was going for him to ignore it.
“No, that doesn’t make sense. They don’t want me dead. If they did, I would be dead by now, no need to involve you, no need for this whole charade.”
“Then … what?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But we are going to find out.”
“We are?”
“Damn straight. I’ve had enough of dancing to their tune. It’s time to change the beat.”
He hadn’t even known he’d said it, Jenny thought, dully. He’d called her “love,” said it with all the emotion she could ever have wished for, but it had only been a slip of the tongue after all. He hadn’t meant it.
She did. Every time she said it in her head, shouted it silently in the throes of pleasure, she meant it. But he wasn’t thinking of love, he was thinking about why they were being chased, what Kendrick wanted with them, why she was involved.
She got the impression they were nearing the answers to their questions. And what then?
That, what then, was becoming the whole focus of her existence.
Chapter
THIRTEEN
I’ve got news for you,” said Bradley.
Kier tucked the phone against his shoulder, and tugged the living room curtains closed. On the sofa, Jenny sat wrapped in the duvet, wide-eyed and anxious.
They’d gone to bed early, after all. He’d just managed to catch Bradley at the office. “Good. Spill.”
“No, let’s start with you. For a start, why are you convinced this is about you and not her?”
Kier hesitated, glancing towards Jenny again.
“McAllister?”
“I was just thinking things through. You see, I can’t quite get my head clear about how this thing must have been put together—”
“You what? You’re the most clear-thinking person I know. What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said, irritated. He was here to put two professional brains together, not suffer a character assassination. “The tip-off for me was that information about her marksmanship. I distinctly remember pinning most of my suspicion of Jenny on the fact that she had no reasonable links whatsoever with firearms. It made the ease with which she handled them even more unlikely. I made a point of remarking on that to the Dawson guy.”
“The profiler? John Dawson?”
“That’s him. Then it turns out she has all this experience, holds a firearms licence, shoots skeets,” he broke off and sketched a frustrated curve in the air with one hand while Jenny watched in silence, “her brother even called it the ‘Waring aim,’ for God’s sake. It even runs in the family!”
“And you think they deliberately withheld that from you.”
Kier snorted. “You think they just happened to overlook it?”
“Nope,” said Bradley. “As it happens, Kier, you were right.”
“Of course.”
“And wrong.”
Kier paused, running possibilities through his mind. “Okay,” he said, quietly, “give.”
“It wasn’t about you, actually. Neither was it about Miss Jenny Waring. Although I don’t think they went as far as to set up the situation any, beyond hiding that initial information.
“As I see it, they latched onto that scenario at Jenny’s office exactly for the reason they told you when they pulled you in. And when they got the British Intelligence report, they would have gotten the firearms information you were looking for. Normally, the whole thing would have been discarded then.”
“Of course.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“What are you getting at, Bradley?”
“Two people. Two people I have placed at the Agency headquarters at the time the report of Jenny’s incident would have come in. Those two, combined with the situation, were like air, fuel, and spark. No particular problem on their own, but combined …” he paused. “Flammable.”
Kier cursed. “Stop playing games.”
“I’m sorry, I just find this whole thing fascinating. Person one: Jeremy Groven—you know he was there, right? Person two: Matthew Christopher Kendrick.”
“Kendrick was there? At the Agency? I thought he was in the UK.”
“When I said this wasn’t about you, either? That’s because it’s about Kendrick.”
Kier blinked, and then wondered if he was catching Jenny’s habit. “Kendrick? What the hell do you mean?” Jenny was watching him, trying, he knew, to decipher something from the half conversation she could hear.
“I’m not one hundred percent certain just yet. But it has a lot to do with industry links he’s been forging lately, and it reminded me of a setup I’ve seen done a few times before.”
“Wait. What about Groven?”
“Groven’s been put in charge of the whole organisation’s strategic development. They’re—Groven, Davids, and Kendrick—anticipating change, Kier, and they’re looking for ways to capitalise on it.”
“Go on.”
“What if you have someone freelancing with some very special skills? So special, that in fact he’s at the top of his profession, the first man you call, he’s the best.”
“You’re talking about me.”
“No. I’m talking about Kendrick.”
Kier gripped the phone harder.
“Breathe, McAllister. Let me finish. I would have been talking about you, right up to, oh, I don’t know, the time you went on the run with your subject, ran Kendrick off the road, and had a couple of arrest warrants slapped on you. Now I’m talking about Kendrick.”
Kier swore softly.
“Now what happens if that first-man-you-call is not, in actual fact, freelance, but is secretly employed by one of those organisations that might, from time to time, employ him.”
“You have a very interesting little information flow.”
“You have a spy.”
“Hmmmmm,” said Kier, frowning at the carpet.
“Right. Stretch your imagination a little farther. Your potential spy isn’t, in matter of fact, the top dog. The top dog is still leader of the pack and in top growling form. How do you get rid of the top dog, Kier?”
“Kill him.”
Bradley said, with patience and just a touch of patronage, “No. How do we get rid of the top dog without a breath of suspicion attached to our nefarious purposes?”
“Get him to retire or discredit him.”
“Hell, both, who cares.”
“But why Jenny?”
“You’ll have to ask Kendrick that, but it’s my guess she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He half-turned away from Jenny’s stare. “But they couldn’t predict I was going to … going to give a damn about the way they treated her! They couldn’t predict the way I was going to act!”
“Couldn’t they?” Bradley said with a wry twist to his voice. “If you’d reported back on any subject and they’d told you to ditch your usual routine under strange circumstances and deliver the subject up, then turned up at your secret location with armed goons, what would you have done, even if it wasn’t Jenny?”
He’d have been furious, and as obstructive as he knew how. And he very probably would have absconded with the subject. “I see your point. But they couldn’t know I was going to take it this far!”
“No, but they had good reason to suppose you would resist, and a good chance of provoking you to do something stu—something different.”
“Something stupid is about right.”
“Well, yeah.”
“All this is just supposition, Bradley, we have no proof.”
“No, we don’t.”
Kier thought hard. About Kendrick and his motivations, about what made him useful to the Agency, about what made him, Kier, a danger to them.
About what he needed to do to get them all out of this tangle.
There was a key out there, he knew it. He could feel it at
the back of his brain, itching. He needed something to get them clean out of this, clear his name, make it impossible for them to incarcerate Jenny again.
He needed a Get Out Of Jail Free Card.
“It might be enough, though.” He met Jenny’s eyes. “I’ve had enough of being pushed around. Time to do some pushing of my own. Oh, and Bradley?”
“Yeah?”
“You were wrong when you said Kendrick was the best.”
He could hear the smile in the other man’s voice. “Oh? How so?”
“Because I am.”
They slept late, unbelievably. But then, they’d had a lot of catching up to do. Jenny washed and dressed without looking at Kier too much, feeling almost as if she was still dreaming. Half of what Kier had told her the night before didn’t make any sense to her. The other half she wished she didn’t believe.
And Kier’s grand plan? Well, she really wished she’d dreamed that.
“I understand you want to talk to Kendrick. But, Kier, how can you be sure he’ll find us?”
“He’ll find us.”
“How?”
“Because I’m going to call him.”
She shivered, tugging the robe tighter. The argument that had followed had been a waste of time. In the end, he’d just bullied her in true McAllister fashion, all looming bulk and blazing eyes.
She went into the kitchen to make them both some toast. When she came back into the living room with the plate, Kier was holding the phone.
He dialed. “This is McAllister speaking. I have a message for Kendrick. Yes, I know you’re night cover, I know he’s not there. But you will get this message to him.”
He listened for a moment, and Jenny watched him, the toast cooling on the plate, wishing fiercely that she’d been able to come up with a better idea. But she hadn’t, and so they were sending their enemy an invitation.
“The message is this. Come and talk.” And he gave their address.
“Sir?”
John clutched his cell phone tighter, and looked around him nervously. But the good people of the city of York were going about their business, snatching a late lunch, ignoring another foreign tourist. He cupped his hand about the mouthpiece and spoke to the Agency caller.
“Dawson speaking. What is it?”
“I have a call transfer for you. You wanted this caller forwarded.”
“Who is it?” he said, to be sure.
“Kendrick, sir.”
He glanced about him again, and backed into the doorway of an empty shop, its windows washed over with white paint and peeling “closing down sale” stickers. “Okay. Put him through.”
“Dawson? Where the hell are you?”
John looked up at several hundred feet of medieval Minster, towering over the city, ornate and magnificent. Jet lag sapped his mind. “Uh … out of the office.”
“Christ. Well, get back there. I need you to arrange things.”
“Sir,” he said. “What do you need?”
“McAllister’s been in touch. He wants to meet, he’s told me where to find him. I’m guessing he thinks he’s just going to hand over the girl and it’ll all go away.” Kendrick gave a gasp of laughter, sharp and ugly. “As if.”
“What do you need?” John repeated, working to keep the edge from his voice.
“I want you to arrange local police attendance. I’m planning to be there about five, but I don’t want any interference until I’ve had a chance to act.”
To act. John swallowed.
“Call them at about six, local time.”
He covered the mouthpiece and cleared his throat. Uncovering it again, he said, “Yes, sir. What’s the location?” His hand sweated on the cell.
Kendrick told him, then John got him to repeat it. Gotcha, he thought.
“I want you to leave.”
“No,” Jenny said, on general principles.
McAllister braced his hands on his hips, scowling at her. “I’ve no guarantees how this is going to go. I think I’ve got enough to play him like a fool, but I can’t be sure. If this goes wrong, I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
She didn’t bother to hide the anger in her voice. “Where, exactly, were you planning on sending me, Kier? I can’t go home. I can’t go to Alan’s. I have no money, no transport, and I’m a witness to everything that’s happened. Or would you like me to take the stolen vehicle outside and just drive around until the petrol runs out?”
He swore.
“Yeah. Looks like you’re stuck with me, huh?”
Several hours later, someone knocked on the door.
Jenny started to her feet, and Kier moved to let them in. But it wasn’t Kendrick, it was another man, slim and dark-haired, neat and tidy. And familiar.
Kier swore and dragged him inside, slamming the door behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The other man’s eyes flicked between them, obviously uneasy. “Miss Waring? Do you—”
“Hey.” Kier thumped him in the arm. Not hard, but shocking to her, to see him aggressive and violent again. “Talk to me,” he snarled.
The familiar face paled, but he ignored Kier, steadfastly facing her with an expression of anxious sincerity. “Miss Waring. My name’s John Dawson—”
And she got it. The technician or whatever from the facility in the US. The guy who’d drugged her, and handed her to Kier. And Kier was watching her now, not Dawson.
She backed up, got herself on the other side of the armchair, blinking hard. What was this? She shot a look at Kier and he answered it, fast enough to give her an idea of how her face looked just now.
“No. I didn’t call him. I didn’t want them, Jenny, only Kendrick.” He turned on Dawson. “Why are you here?”
Dawson stood stiffly. “I came to speak to Miss Waring. To … to offer her my protection, to explain—”
Kier gave a shout of laughter. “Your protection?”
Dawson’s mouth set a thin line, but he turned to face her again. “You don’t have to stay here. I don’t have time to explain, but this is between Kendrick and McAllister. It needn’t concern you at all.”
“I was right, then? This is a setup?”
Dawson flicked Kier a look, but he didn’t seem concerned at all. “That’s right.”
“Why the hell,” she said, “should I go with you? You work for them!”
“Not anymore. I quit. I have absolutely nothing to do with what they’re trying to achieve here, and I want nothing to do with any of them. When I … when I realised exactly what they planned, how far they would go, I quit. I came here.” He turned back to Kier. “McAllister, I suggest you leave, too. I have information that will lead to the arrest and extradition of Kendrick, and will cancel the warrants out for your arrest, too. You have no further reason to hold this woman.”
There was silence. Dawson looked between them uneasily. Kier levelled a hard stare back at him. And she … she closed her mouth with a snap, hardly knowing where to begin.
She cleared her throat. “He’s not holding me, John,” she said. “He’s been protecting me. We’re …” In spite of herself, she felt her cheeks heat. “We’re together.”
And the look Dawson sent her was pure horror, silencing her, setting a cold feeling in her stomach. “Look,” he said, eventually, “are you sure you—”
“Dawson,” Kier warned. He really didn’t seem to want Dawson to finish his sentences. Any other time, Jenny might have been amused. “If you say you can call Kendrick off, then call him off.”
Dawson shook his head. “It’s not that simple. He’s … off the leash, out of control.”
Kier swore again, probably fondly believing that if he muttered it that low, she wouldn’t hear. “Then we should leave now,” she said. “We don’t have to face him now, do we?” she appealed to Kier. “John can tell us what we need to know, can’t he?”
“Yes,” said Dawson quickly, “anything you need.”
Kier looked between them, hesitating. She understood.
It wasn’t as if she had any reason to trust this John Dawson, either. Except… except she remembered begging him, back at the facility. She couldn’t recall what she asked for, or why, she just remembered the plea itself. And the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he was going to help.
Well. He’d taken his time, that was for sure.
“Look,” said Dawson, a shade of desperation in his measured, oddly clear-cut voice. “Groven’s gone, disappeared. I think he’s skipped the country. Davids has lost his nerve, is expecting the FBI at the door any day.” The names meant nothing to her, but she could tell they were significant to Kier.
“They’re not a problem anymore,” Dawson continued. “Only Kendrick. And we can outrun him just long enough for the law to catch up with him. Look, I have proof—” he reached into his jacket.
She cried out at about the same time Kier went for his gun. But this Dawson wasn’t a fool, after all. He froze, white-faced but calm, with one hand stuck inside his jacket and the other extended in a placatory gesture. “It’s a file,” he said, and she was impressed his voice didn’t shake. “Just papers.”
Kier didn’t relax, and she didn’t want to look at him, so hard-faced and rigid, the man she didn’t know. Or maybe she did know him. And feared him.
She remembered John’s look of horror, and bit her lip.
“Take them out slowly,” Kier said, and John complied, but it was only a file, after all, buff-coloured card covering a sheaf of white printouts.
“It’s everything I’ve gleaned from the network, everything I’ve patched together. I’ve even transcribed a conversation I had with Davids, although there are no witnesses to that. And here, look”—he extracted a sheet of paper from the rest, waved it in front of Kier—”they made him sign. You said you never signed anything, but Kendrick’s not that clever. They made him sign a contract.”
Kier lowered the gun, and took the paper in his left hand. He scanned it, dark brows pulled together, and then glanced sharply back up at John. “This is for real?”
Run Among Thorns Page 22