John straightened and toyed with an errant strand of hair. Then his expression grew dark, his gaze narrowed. He stared past her shoulder. “Stay here.”
She recognized the awareness of a warrior, the stance. So like Patrick. Too much like Patrick. The tingling in her temple screamed in panic. “What did you see?” She followed him to the back door. “It’s probably just a stray cat—”
“Shit!” John grabbed her hand and tugged her into the yard. “Run!”
Anna didn’t hesitate. She sprinted toward the back fence. John followed her.
She reached the perimeter and looked back.
The house stood, untouched.
“I don’t understand,” she panted.
“I heard the timer,” John muttered. “I know I did.”
She put her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t a flashback?”
He glared at her.
“Patrick told me about the post-traumatic stress disorder,” she said. “He worried about you. He knew no one else had any idea.”
“We’re keeping it that way,” John muttered and gave her his cell phone. “Call nine-one-one. I want the bomb squad out here now.”
Anna dialed. John eased closer to the house.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
A blinking light flashed where the gas line entered.
“John!” she screamed.
A loud explosion rocked her body backward. Plumes of fire shot to the sky. Rain of fiery metal and wood pummeled against her body.
A huge piece of siding flew toward her.
She raised her arms over her head as the metal slammed her to the ground.
She lay there stunned. Oh God. She rolled toward the house.
John lay there. Unmoving in the darkness.
She couldn’t have lost another man she…loved?
She loved John Garrison.
She struggled to her knees and crawled to him. Her head pounded; her ears rang. She touched his forehead. Blood ran from a wound near his scalp.
Somehow she’d held on to the cell phone. She raised the receiver to her ear. No sound came from it, only a high-pitched squeal inside her head.
Another explosion erupted. Fiery heat slammed into her temple.
“Oh Patrick,” she groaned. “Help us.”
* * *
Chapter Six
* * *
ZACH STILLED ON the bed next to Jenna and studied her flat expression.
Brad Walters was an assassin.
It made sense. Those inconsistencies in Brad’s demeanor…Zach could see the man pulling a trigger—just for business. Still, he needed more. “You’re certain?”
She tucked her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “He made you believe him, didn’t he? Made you think I might be crazy.”
“It’s not that, Jenna—”
She grabbed his hand, her determined gaze capturing his. “He murders people for money, and he used me and his son to pretend to be a normal man with a normal job. He’s a professional killer and liar. He can make anyone believe anything.”
Ouch. A chill skittered down Zach’s back. Like him. An actor was a professional liar. And his job with the Company…yep, he was a killer, too. Her disgust at Brad’s life hit a target in Zach’s conscience.
“You asked why I ran.” She let out a small laugh. “This is why. Who’s going to believe a mild-mannered, very rich computer salesman is an assassin? I didn’t believe it either.” She rubbed her temple and winced. “Not for a long time. He was the perfect husband,” she whispered.
At the heartfelt truth in her words, Zach’s gut churned with mixed emotions. Jenna had clearly loved Brad, which was more than Zach had ever experienced or even witnessed, except between his parents. But he hated that she’d loved Brad, hated that her husband had betrayed her, hated that he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to be loved by her.
“He was charming and considerate after he came home from traveling.” Bitterness crept into her voice. “The first five years were great. He was attentive. Even when we fought, he simply turned cold and reserved. Then about a year and a half ago he changed. He grew even more distant, except with Sam. He was gone more often.” She swallowed. “He couldn’t control his temper any longer. Looking back, I think his façade cracked. Suddenly, I saw the man I married, a man who could kill, a man who could hurt the same person he claimed to love.”
She rubbed her forearm. Zach moved her hand away. A fading bruise in the shape of four fingers colored her pale skin. Gut-burning anger boiled in Zach’s belly. “He did this?”
She covered the offending mark. “It doesn’t hurt that much anymore.”
“He’s hurt you worse.”
She refused to meet his gaze, and bile erupted into Zach’s throat. “What about Sam?”
“You have to believe, Sam came first. I protected him. Always,” she said, clutching his arm. “But he knows his dad gets mad sometimes.”
Zach could hear the embarrassment in her voice. “Jenna—”
“I was stupid, OK? I thought it was me. Everything was so perfect for so long. I thought it was me.”
She buried her face against her knees, hiding from him.
“You know that’s not true,” he said. With gentle strokes, he caressed her ebony locks, all the while forcing his intense desire to kill Brad Walters into that cold, still place in his heart he never allowed anyone to see.
“I stayed,” she choked out. “I stayed too long. I couldn’t let Sam see any more than he’d already seen. Brad’s temper, the screams. Sam started acting out, hitting the kids at school. I had to do something. I had to know why Brad had changed.”
“So you started asking questions.”
She raised her head and swallowed. “God, no. He blew up the one time I tried to get information out of him.” She pressed her hand against her cheek. “I wasn’t risking him losing control again. I snuck into his office. I wondered if business was bad…or if he’d met someone else.”
Zach wanted to ease her pain, kiss her cheek where Brad had hurt her, but he knew he couldn’t. “You found something.”
“For the first month I denied the truth. It had to be a mistake. All the secrets; all the lies. All the strange phone calls and hang-ups.” She picked at imaginary lint on the quilt. “An affair would have made divorcing him easy.”
Zach didn’t quench the spark of hope that flickered within him. “You’re divorced?” He edged closer.
“I have the paperwork ready to be signed, but I never gave it to Brad because I found a ledger, some notes. I searched the Internet and I pieced together the truth. Brad’s trips almost always coincided with someone newsworthy being killed. Accidents, explosions, kidnappings. A few suicides.”
“It could have been coincidence.”
“Not when I discovered the bank accounts. Millions of dollars. A ledger with dates. I had proof. I went to the FBI.”
She’d made all the right moves, so how had everything gone wrong enough for her to end up terrified, stowing away in his truck with no money and no plans?
“Did they arrest him?”
“Agent Fallon listened to my story. He believed me. All I wanted was a divorce and a new identity for me and Sam. In exchange, I would give them everything I had.”
“You were like manna from heaven,” Zach said. “Fallon must have kissed your feet.”
“He wanted more. They asked me not to start divorce proceedings until I gathered more proof. Now I wonder if Brad has a spy at the FBI. Maybe the whole thing was a ruse so I could have an accident. That would take care of all his problems, wouldn’t it?”
“The feds asked you to stay?” Zach couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. “With the evidence you gave them already wrapped up in a neat, tidy bow?”
“Not complete enough, evidently. Not after a decade of trying to catch him. They wanted a sure thing. They gave me listening devices to hide in the house.”
Zach could see the cliff a mile away. She’d been set
up. “You agreed, and somehow, Brad found out.”
“I was dusting, making certain when Brad came home this time the house looked perfect and nothing was out of place so he had no reason to…”
Her voice trailed off and Zach had to fight the growl growing in his chest. He struggled to maintain control. He didn’t want to frighten her. She’d been through enough.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway, one of the bugs had been tampered with. He didn’t allow anyone else in the house. I knew he’d caught me. I had no choice but to leave.”
“Why not go to the FBI? Wouldn’t Fallon help?”
She twisted her finger, and the platinum-and-diamond wedding band glinted in the light of the bedside lamp. “I can’t trust anyone. Not the police, not the FBI.”
“Not me.”
The words shouldn’t have hurt, but they did. A lot.
“You don’t understand. Brad knows things. I wasn’t sure if he found the bug by accident or someone told him.” She swallowed. “The guy in witness protection, Joseph Romero, the one gunned down in San Francisco yesterday? That was Brad. Romero was in protective custody and Brad still killed him. How can you fight that? How can I?”
Zach folded her hands in his. “What was your plan, Jenna? When you ran from your house—when you hid in the back of my truck—what did you think you would do?”
Jenna lifted her impossibly long lashes. Her emerald eyes shone with determination. “Disappear.”
“Do you still want to vanish?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
Zach took in a deep breath. He had the means, he could help her, and it wasn’t really even a question. He would help her. He had no choice. “OK, then, listen to me. I’d made plans to start a new life if I had to. I can help you disappear. I have everything set up. Fake identification, an unidentifiable car, a house bought and paid for.”
Her eyes widened. “Why would you want to disappear? You have everything you could ever want.”
“My life is a bit more complicated than it seems. Let’s leave it at that.”
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. The point is, I can give you a new life.”
She tugged her hands from him and shook her head. “You’ve already helped us enough. I can’t let you do any more. I’ll take care of me and Sam from here.”
“Really?” he challenged. “Where are you going? How will you get there? How will you avoid Brad if he’s as wired in as you say he is?”
“I’ve survived before,” she said, tilting her chin.
“And Sam?”
She winced. And there was her soft spot. Her son. As it should be.
“I can take care of him.”
“He still loves his dad.”
“I know.” Torment laced her eyes. “He doesn’t truly understand.”
“Are you going to tell him you’re running because Brad hurts you? Or he’s a bad guy?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped. She lay back against the pillow. “Can I rest? I’m tired.”
She closed her eyes and feigned sleep. She really was a terrible liar.
Zach rose and touched her delicate cheek. “Don’t let your pride interfere with accepting my help. If not for you, for Sam.”
Her lips tightened, and Zach sighed, closing the bedroom door until the slight snick indicated the latch caught. She needed help. She’d never be able to avoid Brad on her own. But she needed more than just money. She needed skills.
Before she left, Zach would have to teach her a few things about living under the radar and protecting herself. Her and Sam’s lives were about to change. At least until Brad Walters was caught and prosecuted.
Zach would make certain that happened.
He walked down the hallway and paused at the entrance to the living room.
Sam stood in front of the television acting out the long, drawn-out action scene in the middle of the movie. The kid had every move down. Zach shook his head and walked past the living area to the basement stairs, hoping he could carve out an hour before the movie ended.
Once downstairs, he strode past the pool table and dartboard to a huge bookcase. He flicked a small switch and the bookcase swung away from the wall. Very James Bond, if he did say so himself, but a necessity to keep the classified information he accessed on a regular basis protected.
Because of the sensitive equipment and data, Zach had been forced to tell Seth about his hideaway. His brother’s black ops experience made him the obvious choice. Seth had the clearance and the knowledge. He would be able to disassemble the room if anything happened to Zach.
He stepped into the high-tech setup and sat in front of the computer terminal. He booted up the system, opened his eye for the retinal scan, and placed his thumb on the fingerprint reader.
“Zane Morgan,” he spoke into the microphone.
“Identification authenticated. Proceed,” the computer’s voice droned.
Why not begin with a simple search of police records involving Brad?
The machine whirred, connecting through the secure server. Zach drummed his fingers, his frown deepening. The search was taking way too long.
“Access denied,” the computer voice chirped.
“What the hell?”
He reentered the request.
“Access denied. Connection terminated.”
This was so not good. Someone had blocked him, and he’d alerted them to his presence. At least his Internet addresses bounced through numerous servers all over the world. Whoever had monitored his access would have to follow hundreds of false leads before finding him. It would take days, and he and Jenna would be long gone by then.
Zach switched his computer to a normal browser and typed in Brad’s name.
A ton of results popped up, but none for a computer salesman from La Jolla.
Weird.
He searched the local California television stations. Surely Brad would have reported his wife missing by now.
No news stories. The man was invisible. No business articles, no record of him in the local chamber of commerce. Everybody had some mention on the Internet. What kind of man chose to be this invisible? Answer: a man who had something to hide.
He reconfigured the search for Jenna’s name.
Several items popped up. Events for a preschool. A birth announcement for Sam. Not much else. The Walters gave a new meaning to “low-key.”
“Is this your secret hideout?” Sam’s voice piped up from the doorway.
He hovered. Zach could tell the boy was itching to enter. With a quick swivel, Zach faced the awestruck boy.
“Do you like it?”
Sam nodded and shifted from foot to foot.
“You wanna come in?”
Sam’s eyes widened. “You’d let me? My dad never lets me near his stuff. One time—”
The boy paused and looked down at his feet.
Zach leaned toward Sam. “What happened?”
“He yelled. Really mean. Then Mommy yelled back.” Sam lifted his gaze to Zach’s. “I don’t like when they yell.”
“Sometimes grown-ups yell, Sam.”
“I know. But I still don’t like it.”
Zach ruffled Sam’s hair. “Do you like video games? I’ve got some cool ones upstairs.”
Sam nodded. Zach turned off the system. If he wanted information about Brad, he’d have to find another way.
The question remained, who’d removed his access to the secure systems?
Farzam entered his cramped Kabul home after bouncing over dirt roads up the hills surrounding the city. He shouldn’t be living in this pigsty. He was a scientist. An educated man. But he’d fallen mightily over the last six months. From a well-respected member of the community to practically a beggar. And all because his brother-in-law had been stupid enough to deal with the Americans. Their CIA had promised Pendar the world.
Look what it had gotten him and his sister. A spray of bullets, and their daug
hters taken as slaves.
A loud knock sounded on the door.
Farzam’s entire body shook as he turned to the flimsy barrier. What if he didn’t answer? Would they go away?
The next pounding shook the door on its hinges. He had no choice. He swallowed and slowly opened to the outside.
A man with an AK-47 shoved two filthy girls at him. “Khalid sends his regards. They’re yours now. They’ve done their duty.”
The guerilla fighter grinned, and his nieces fell to the floor in front of him.
He lifted the chin of Aliya, the older daughter. He winced at the shamed expression in her eyes. She’d been used, fully and painfully. She would never have a husband now.
“Uncle?” the girl whispered, using one hand to cover the torn clothes. “Please, don’t turn us away.”
“Go to the kitchen. Your aunt will care for you.”
The older girl held the hand of her sister and led her out of the room. His wife let out a shocked scream.
Farzam turned so as not to reveal the sting in his eyes to the man who had delivered what was left of his sister’s family. They had been on the cusp of something wonderful. Now she was dead and he was left to clothe and feed her two daughters along with his own son. His nieces would have no life. Even if they recovered from this abuse, word would disseminate. They were ruined.
“You have a son,” the gun-wielding intruder snapped. “Bring him.”
His wife gasped from the kitchen. “No, Farzam. No.”
“Khalid wishes to be certain of your loyalty.”
Farzam bowed his head. “I am loyal.”
“You were educated in the West. Your words mean nothing. Khalid wants proof.”
Proof? What could Farzam possibly offer? He no longer had funds, or a decent job, or access to equipment and information from any of his Western contacts.
Twelve-year-old Hamed walked into the living room, his hand in his pocket, his chin held high. “I am here, Father.”
Farzam closed his eyes. He could see the beginnings of the man his son could become. If he lived that long.
“The boy has more courage than his father. Come. If your father proves his worth perhaps you will return to this hovel. Unless you find your calling with us.”
Behind the Lies (A Montgomery Justice Novel) Page 9