by Black, Regan
What kind of bad luck was it that she'd somehow interrupted a real robbery? Rough hands parted her from her purse. She opened her eyes, but making any identification was impossible through the tears and darkness. Still, she scrambled to her knees, fighting back, but it was futile.
Oh, God, she'd failed.
Galloway would be furious and even if she survived, she knew Renata would not. She thought of Tom. Of Uncle Torry. There was no doubt in her mind Galloway would make good on his threats to kill.
In that bleak moment, her senses reeling and despair gripping her heart, she expected to be the first to die.
Chapter Four
From his position near the service elevator on the fourth floor, Adam heard the flash-bang grenade go off, followed shortly by the smell of thick smoke. Clearly the woman had resources he hadn't anticipated, or a third party had entered the picture.
He didn't like either scenario, primarily because a third party meant he'd missed something critical. Not good news for a man of his particular skill set.
Messenger's intel said the woman was the key. The photo of her with Galloway left no doubt she was tied to the traitorous bastard and his attempt to corral the dangerous new nano-technology that was up for sale. Adam had followed her for a week, watching and assessing… and somehow missed someone else doing the same thing.
That was more than cause for worry – it piqued his curiosity. Adam knew he had not seen anyone watching the woman. Suddenly a predictable situation slid sideways. There would be time to figure it out later.
The noise and smoke would bring security and the fire department to the scene in minutes. The logical egress was right here at the service elevator, but Adam sensed something more devious at work. A patient thief would have another plan, might even wait it out and leave during the confusion of emergency responders.
Smoke rolled into the hall, setting off fire alarms. Clearly that was the plan the thief intended to go with.
A normal man would be blinded, but Adam merely dropped to a crouch to avoid the worst of the smoke. He transitioned into his alternate vision and viewed the scene in thermal images.
A body moved swiftly away from his position, something cooler clutched between warm arm and warmer ribcage. Other shapes made of various shades ranging from bright yellows to deep orange moved closer to the doors that opened onto the hall to see what was going on.
"Stay inside," he shouted, hoping he sounded like one of the security guards on staff.
Staying low, he followed the shape that had to be the woman toward the front of the building. He needed the nano-tech for Messenger, but even more he needed to unload seven years of frustration into the spy who'd ruined his career by pinning a CIA intelligence leak on him that resulted in five deaths.
The shape shifted and a blast of heat flared. A bullet. Adam dropped to the floor as the sound of the gunshot ripped through the air. Not the woman, she hadn't carried a weapon at all since he'd been following her.
Step right up and meet Player Three.
His mind sorted the odds and probabilities in less than two seconds as he reached a conclusion. The mission was the recovery, but his revenge rested with the woman. To hell with the intel on her, he didn't believe she had any real interest in the nano-tech or a buyer in the wings. No connection at all beyond her friendship with the woman whose name was on the lease.
But she was the one person who had Galloway's personal attention.
Which meant Player Three thought he had the intel and had set up Vaccaro as the patsy for robbery. That new twist increased her value to Adam – if only out of sympathy.
Tension and temper gripped him, threatened to overwhelm logic. He'd seen this sort of double cross in action before.
Anyone who knew he was here, and that number shouldn't be greater than two – himself and Messenger – would expect him to follow the man who'd just shot at him.
But doing the expected had landed him in this mess. His clean record had been a clear disadvantage in that critical moment when his career was hanging in the balance, judged by those who'd been out of the field too long. 'No one was that clean,' they'd said.
Adam didn't take anything at face value anymore, didn't trust anyone other than himself and occasionally Messenger.
The mission was securing the data. The revenge was gravy.
The only mission he'd officially failed was the one where Galloway had double crossed him. Adam wasn't about to call this failure 2.0, but he couldn't ignore his instincts. Official records aside, his instincts had never let him down – before or after he'd given the program free rein with his body and his future.
He moved toward the back door of the apartment where Vaccaro was supposedly taking in the mail to rescue her. This wasn't the season for dodging bullets and she couldn't be nearly as helpful to him from the wrong side of a jail cell.
With his thermal vision active, he saw her as a blob of bright colors crawling away from him toward the front door. Sirens wailed outside, growing closer as the emergency crews answered the calls of building security and residents.
If they didn't get out quickly, they'd be caught and detained. Or worse.
Suddenly another flash-bang grenade went off. On a pained cry, the woman crumpled against a wall in the fetal position.
His ears were ringing from the noise but his thermal vision wasn't affected. He moved unerringly toward her through the smoke-filled hall hoping she wouldn't fight him. Unable to see or hear in the wake of the disorienting grenade, she'd surely be terrified.
With no way of controlling the volume of his voice or hers, he didn't dare speak and give away their position. Instead he knelt at her side and gently shook her shoulder.
She screamed, striking out with fists, elbows, and feet.
Anticipating her reactions, he dodged the wild blows until he was behind her. They didn't have time for a prolonged fight. He caught her, pinning her arms to her sides.
Her entire body went rigid in his arms, then she launched another round of twisting and kicking. Admiring her fortitude, he dragged her backward toward the service elevator. Feeling her gulp in the smoky air, he hoped it was enough to quell the intensity of the scream that surely followed.
The last thing he wanted was to cause her more pain, but she wasn't leaving him much choice. The thick heel of her boot came down on his foot and he swore at the pain radiating up his leg.
Grudgingly, he awarded a point to whoever taught her self-defense.
He turned them, aiming her toward the back door, and let her go with a little shove.
She lurched forward, stumbling blindly, fear propelling her away from him. If they were lucky, her probable reactions might save them both. He gave her a few yards of breathing room, hoping the space and a sense of relief would help her recover from the assault to her senses.
Clearly some part of her brain was working because she didn't bolt for the service elevator. Instead, she headed for the stairs, a safer choice in the event of a fire. Except there wasn't a fire and emergency crews would be making their way up this very route any time now to confirm.
For a man with enhanced vision, he didn't realize how much he relied on his hearing. Sounds were vague and muffled as if someone had plunged him under water. He had no way of assessing how close the first responders were. It had to be the same for her.
Which gave him only one real option.
As Vaccaro rushed down the stairs, he paused to lean over the railing. More bodies were filing in: firefighters.
Two victims were better for the rescue squad stats than one. Adam trailed after Vaccaro, ready to play the Good Samaritan.
The firefighters caught her at the second floor landing and ushered her outside into the cool night air, as other members of the team charged on, eager clear the building.
"One apartment," he said, hoping he wasn't shouting. "Tried to help."
Helmets bobbed as the firefighters guided him out to join Vaccaro at the ambulance.
For a mome
nt, he simply enjoyed the dazzling display of color and light before shutting down his thermal vision.
Without the enhancement, the world for him was a colorless monochrome existence. He'd long ago grieved the loss of real color as an unexpected side effect of his thermal vision enrichment. What a high-dollar phrase for making him a guinea pig. In some ways the colorless world was a relief and there was no doubt in his mind the lack of visual stimulation sharpened his inherent analytic skills.
The paramedics were trying to communicate with Vaccaro, but her hearing wasn't improving. Getting slapped with two flash-bangs would do that. They finally gave up, put an oxygen mask to her face and handed her a form to fill out. Then they turned to him.
"I'm fine," he said, assuming that was the first question. "Heard the noise," he added, hoping he wasn't shouting. "Saw smoke and tried to help." He coughed for effect.
They offered him oxygen, and he played along while he watched the first responders do their thing. The building doorman who'd greeted her earlier, hurried over to hug Vaccaro.
From his role observing her the past few days it seemed to Adam that everyone liked the woman. That was convenient right up to the point when it furthered her usefulness to Galloway.
Adam left the oxygen mask on the gurney and inched closer to Vaccaro. Between his hearing returning and her shouting loud enough to hear herself, he caught the explanation she gave about interrupting a robbery. Maybe people liked her because she was smart. Her quick thinking in the face of fear was growing on him.
She gestured that her purse was gone and the doorman, Perry he remembered, patted her on the shoulder. They were buying her line about checking the mail and plants.
"Who are you?" Perry demanded when Adam came too close. "Is this the guy who took your purse?" he asked Vaccaro.
She shook her head. "I don't think so, but I can't be sure."
The doorman shifted, putting himself between Adam and Vaccaro. "How'd you get in the building?"
He looked down and shuffled his feet. "I was delivering pizzas to the party up in 4B," he said, thinking about all the thermal images in that apartment. "Went in the side entrance and up the service stairs."
"But –" Vaccaro began.
"It takes more than one job these days, y'know?" he added before she pointed out he wasn't wearing the tie she'd chosen for his party. Or that his day job was working a food cart for the past week on her block. He pulled out his wallet to offer his ID for their inspection. "Adam Maxwell, just in from Kansas City."
Vaccaro and the doorman sent him matching skeptical frowns. The doorman turned to Vaccaro with a shrug. "I can verify that quick enough."
Not more quickly than Adam could flee the scene. But he didn't want to leave Vaccaro here alone. No telling what Galloway might do next.
Vaccaro shook her head, looking more than a little defeated. "Don't bother. He's not the guy who stole my purse." She'd given up the oxygen, but her voice trembled.
"Thanks for vouching for me."
"Yeah, well, don't read too much into it. You're in jeans. The other guy had something more like gym pants on. It's just common sense."
"Got it." He smiled, careful not to go overboard, but enough to show the dimple in his left cheek. In his experience women found that small feature trustworthy if he didn't abuse it. "I didn't mean to scare you up there."
She studied him for a long moment before her gaze dropped to the oxygen mask in her hands. "Sorry. I couldn't hear or see. I was overwhelmed."
"Perfectly understandable," he said, taking a half step closer.
"If you're all right here," the doorman shot Adam another frown, "I need to get back and give a statement."
"I'll be fine, thanks," she said.
"You're sure?"
"I'll keep an eye on her," Adam offered.
"Sure," Perry replied. "Let me know and I can get a cab to take you home," he said, giving Adam another assessing look before striding away.
"He likes you a lot," Adam said.
"He's a good guy with a big brother streak a mile wide." She stared up at the building, then took a long look at the people gathered around on the street.
Adam realized she was trying to identify the man he considered Player Three. Too bad the man was long gone by now.
"What an awful night," she said, her gaze scanning the bystanders again.
He cleared his throat. "Seems like things are settling down." The firefighters were packing away their gear. "Can I help you get someplace safe to stay tonight?"
She stared at him blankly. He watched as it dawned on her why he was asking. The strangest sensation washed over him and he found himself wondering about the true color of her eyes. Her hair was blond based on the contrast with her black jacket. Her irises were pale, and if the blond hair was real, then he could safely deduce the eyes were probably a soft blue. But he wanted to know.
"Oh. Don't worry about me. It's not a problem. I don't live in the building," she said, still a bit too loudly. "I was just checking on my friend's place."
Her gaze drifted as she rambled on. Any halfway decent investigator – or spy – would recognize the signs of a lie delivered poorly.
"Well, let me walk you home at least."
"No, thanks. I'll just take a cab when the police have my statement."
He really didn't want that to happen. For her sake, he assured himself.
"You have cash?"
Her eyes went wide as she patted her pockets. "Crap. The police will give me a ride home."
He laughed, unable to stop himself.
She planted her fists on her hips. "What's it to you?"
"Chivalry?" She didn't look convinced. "Come on. It's the right thing to do. Just let me help you get home or wherever you want to go."
"Forget it. I've had enough trouble for one night. You could be a serial killer. Maybe you're the guy who took my purse."
"Wrong on both counts." He held up his empty hands. "But call a cop if you want."
Still the woman dug in her heels. "The cabbie will wait while I grab cash from my apartment."
He laughed again. "I heard the city girls were tough, but you don't have to prove it for all of them on this one point." He tucked his hands into his pockets, going for the non-threatening, nice-guy effect. "Blame it on my Midwestern genes." That sounded like a valid excuse. She had no way of knowing that between being an orphan and signing on with the Unknown Identities program his genetics weren't much more than a vague rumor at this point.
It was tough not to push harder. He wanted to get her someplace safe enough to discuss why she was in the middle of his mission. He felt like a sitting duck out here, on display for whoever might be watching her.
And him.
Like Player Three.
As if the thought summoned trouble, he heard someone call out her name.
The man jogged over with an easy lope, his detective shield reflecting the glare of the emergency lights from the vehicles still on the scene. He had a few inches on Adam and based on his impeccable attire he took his assignment in the Garment District seriously. The tie, knotted perfectly in a full Windsor style, the razor-sharp crease on the slacks, and the mirror-like polish on the shoes made a striking first impression designers probably appreciated. Adam figured it was a toss-up if the detective was smart, gay, or blessed with a style-savvy wife.
He tried to ignore his inner-analyst in favor of getting out of the street and back on task.
"Miss Vaccaro, I'm Detective Butcher." He handed her a card. "If you could just walk me through what happened up there."
"This can't wait until tomorrow?" Adam asked. "She's had a tough night."
"She's our witness." Detective Butcher gave Adam a long look he'd classified as New York skepticism. "You the Good Samaritan I heard about?"
Adam shrugged. "I didn't do much." Yet.
"I resisted his help," Vaccaro explained. She clutched the blanket the paramedics had provided closer to her chest. "But I didn't see anything.
There was a blinding bright light and then too much noise and smoke. Then my purse was gone."
"Why were you in the apartment?"
"Watering the plants for a friend who is traveling."
She delivered the line with more confidence this time. Good for her.
"At midnight?"
"I run a retail space. It was a busy day in a busy season."
"Uh-huh." The detective asked her the name and address of her showroom. "You had a key?"
Adam noted the way Vaccaro's eyes narrowed.
"Yes, I have – had – a copy of all three keys," she said, "and the security code too. But the power was out in the apartment, so that wasn't an issue."
"I see." He scribbled something on his notepad. "You're familiar with the apartment then?"
"Yes."
Adam didn't need any extra skill to see where this was leading, but it was too late to derail the situation.
"Could you come upstairs and tell us if anything is missing?"
"Is the power back on?" Adam asked in unison with Vaccaro.
He glanced her way but she was waiting for the detective's reply. Silently, Adam cheered her fortitude. Most people wouldn't be thinking so clearly after this kind of ordeal.
"No," Butcher admitted. "They're working on finding the source of the power problem."
Good luck with that, Adam thought. The source of the problem had to be Player Three and Adam held no hope of New York City's finest getting a lead on that twist in this crime.
"What exactly did you see, Mr. Maxwell?"
Adam tried not to laugh. If he answered that question truthfully they'd send him to a psych ward. "I think it might have been some sort of smoke machine. The hallway was clogged, but it wasn't like smoke from a fire."
"Been in a lot of fires?"