Close Your Eyes

by Iris Johansen

  “Not nice. I won’t wish the same for you.” Sienna whirled with a lightning movement and dropped to the floor of the loading dock as she lifted her gun. “Though I’ll be the one to send you there.”

  A bullet plowed into the door next to Kendra as she dodged to the left behind a post.

  Remember what Jeff taught you. Make every movement, every bullet count.

  But Sienna was moving, rolling, and it was almost impossible to get a bead on her. She was a trained agent and had the advantage.

  Another bullet splintered the wooden dock only inches from Kendra’s face.

  Help me, Jeff.

  What had he told her?

  Don’t think about what’s happening now. Think about what’s happening next.

  Sienna was rolling to the left. Aim at the spot where she’d be in another second.

  Now!

  The bullet tore through the air and blasted into Sienna’s neck as she rolled into the shot.

  Sienna screamed. She dropped her gun and clutched her throat. Blood was gushing, pouring, through her fingers.

  Kendra got to her feet and walked over to where Sienna lay.

  Sienna was gasping, gurgling, her gaze fixed desperately, pleadingly, on Kendra.

  Pleading for what? Mercy? Life? After what she’d done?

  Kendra stared down at her, feeling nothing but cold antipathy. “It seems you were wrong about sending me to the nether regions. You’d know better than I do, but I believe my bullet blasted your jugular. You probably have a minute or two before you bleed out. But you’re not worth my staying around to bid you farewell.” She picked up Sienna’s gun and shoved it in her pocket. “You’ll have to find your way to hell alone.”

  She turned and ran down the ramp and out on the tarmac.

  The next minute, she was running across the runway toward Lynch.

  CHAPTER

  17

  THE AIR WAS SUDDENLY HEAVY with a low rumble, accompanied by the high-pitched whine of a jet engine.

  Lynch’s head lifted at the sound.

  The hangar’s tall doors were opening, and the Gulfstream 550 jet rolled toward the airstrip.

  Schuyler.

  Another few seconds, and the man and his deadly Pegasus cargo would be gone. Minutes after that, his plane would be over the airspace of a foreign country and out of reach of U.S authorities.

  No way, Lynch thought.

  He’d be damned if he was just going to stand on the runway openmouthed as the plane disappeared into the sky.

  He looked around and assessed his options. Not many. And certainly nothing that would do the job of the shoulder-mounted missile launcher he needed. Nothing there but a few cars, a pair of tumbleweeds, and—

  His eyes narrowed as he saw a group of large canisters toward the end of the runway. There, on a flatbed loading cart, were twenty black-and-gold fifty-five-gallon drums.

  Water? Or could it be …

  Lynch sprinted toward the runway.

  * * *

  SCHUYLER MOVED THROUGH THE jet’s narrow single aisle and thrust his head into the cockpit. “What’s taking so long?”

  The pilot didn’t look up from the instrument panel. “In case you hadn’t noticed, those were real bullets back there. I didn’t bargain for this.”

  “Sure you did. You quoted me four times your normal rate. You knew you were taking a risk.”

  “Risking my license, maybe. Not my life.”

  “Stop whining and get us in the air.”

  “I want double.”

  “We’ll discuss it later.”

  “Now. Or I stop this plane and tell anyone who inquires that I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I want double our agreed-upon amount.”

  Schuyler cursed, but he knew this was no time for a negotiation. He—or more likely, his new friends—would take care of this opportunist later. “Fine! Just get us out of here.”

  The pilot flipped an illuminated switch on the panel above him. “Buckle yourself in. Next stop, Tehran.”

  JP-8 JET FUEL 220 LITERS

  It was exactly what Lynch had hoped to see stenciled on each of the twenty drums stacked on the tarmac, probably readied for transport to an oil rig or to a remote ranch. He pulled out his pocketknife and cut the nylon cargo straps on several of the drums.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Kendra was running toward him.

  Lynch glanced at the jet turning onto the runway and turning its nose toward him. “I’m asking myself the same question. I’m hoping this will be an answer.” He handed Kendra the knife. “Cut the rest of these straps.”

  She sawed at a nylon strap as he swiveled one of the drums onto its side and kicked it onto the runway.

  Then another. Then another.

  The jet drew closer and picked up speed.

  Kendra hacked through another strap.

  Lynch hurled the remaining barrels into the runway, grabbed Kendra’s hand, and pulled her back toward the warehouses.

  He kneeled, pulled out his gun, and took aim at the barrels as the plane approached them.

  BLAM!

  BLAM!

  BLAM!

  Nothing.

  “You missed?” Kendra was incredulous.

  “No way. Either those barrels are impenetrable, or that fuel isn’t as combustible as I thought it was.” He fired again.

  BLAM!

  BLAM!

  Lynch cursed. He had been aiming for the drums’ midsections, but maybe if he tried the ends … He kicked more barrels toward the runway.

  The plane picked up even more speed as it took off. It struck the barrels and scattered them as if they were no more than Wiffle balls in the path of a Mack truck.

  Kendra stiffened and pointed to the plane as it lifted into the sky. “Look!”

  One of the cargo straps, still attached to a barrel by a holding clasp, had caught the jet’s landing gear. The barrel dangled below the plane, knocking against its underside.

  “Yes.” Lynch raised his gun, bracing his wrist over his left forearm. This time he aimed for the barrel’s top rim. “Make it count,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t blow it. For God’s sake, don’t blow it.”

  He squeezed the trigger.

  BOOM!

  Get Kendra down and away from that exploding plane.

  Lynch whirled around and knocked her flat against the tarmac. They lay facedown as the roar filled their ears, and the heat blazed from the sky above. Debris rained down around them for what seemed like a full minute though it could only have been a matter of seconds.

  * * *

  KENDRA COULD SCARCELY BREATHE under Lynch’s weight. He was protecting her with his body.

  She could feel the heat from the burning plane, but she couldn’t see it.

  She had to see it. She had to know that Schuyler and that foul substance he was peddling were destroyed. She had to know that Jeff’s suffering and death had not been for nothing. She pushed against Lynch. “Get off me.”

  “In just a minute. I have to make sure that the debris—”

  “Get off me,” she repeated fiercely. “I won’t have this. What makes my life so important? One man has already died to save me today. A good man who was probably worth a hell of a lot more than I’ll ever be. You’re not going to be the second.” She shoved him aside and sat up.

  The plane was a flaming ruin. It had crashed into the warehouse complex, and the entire area was a blazing inferno. The smell of jet fuel and acrid smoke was overwhelming.

  “No one could live through that, right?” Her hands clenched into fists. “Schuyler’s dead? That damn Pegasus Project is dead?”

  “Nothing could survive that fire,” Lynch said quietly. “That heat is so intense that there’s no question. It’s destroyed, Kendra.” He sat up, and his hand gently brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “You look … very fragile. Tell me you’re okay.”

  She wasn’t okay. She didn’t know how or when she would be okay. There had been too much pai
n and death and an ugliness that had seemed to take over the world.

  “Kendra?”

  She saw a car screech to a halt some distance away and Santini and Brockman jump out of the vehicle. They were staring at the burning plane, and Santini was already on the phone. “You’d better call Griffin,” she said dully. “Or he’ll be calling you, Lynch.”

  “Screw Griffin,” he said roughly. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” She got slowly to her feet. “But there’s no way I’m going to let this break me. It won’t happen. They didn’t break Jeff. He didn’t survive them, but he wasn’t broken.” She started across the tarmac toward Santini. “But I’m not going to let them look back from hell and have even a minor victory. I’m going to survive, Lynch.”

  EPILOGUE

  St. Anthony’s Hospital

  Four Days Later

  “YOU’VE BEEN HERE ALL MORNING. You didn’t have to come to visit me today, you know,” Olivia said quietly. “What made you think that I’d want you here on the day of Jeff’s funeral? There are priorities, Kendra.”

  “And you’re alive and my best friend and therefore high on my list. I’m not cheating Jeff of his good-bye. The service isn’t until two. I think he’d like the idea of sharing this day with you.”

  “I liked him, you know,” Olivia said. “I was scared to death after you almost had that breakdown. And I was worried that he wasn’t good for you, but I did respect him. He was that rare specimen—an honorable man.”

  “Yes, he was. And you shouldn’t have blamed Jeff. I was responsible for my own decisions.” She gave her the ghost of a smile. “You’ve always told me that I take things too much to heart.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Olivia’s hand reached out and grasped Kendra’s “It’s a gift I value. I wouldn’t want you any other way.” She paused. “And I’m not worried about your having a breakdown any longer. You’ve gone beyond that and come out on the other side.”

  Kendra chuckled. “You mean I’m getting callous?”

  “No, I mean that you have scar tissue now that will help you get through the pain. You’ll need it.”

  “No more than any other teacher with special kids.” Her smile had faded. “What are you trying to say, Olivia?”

  “I’m saying that once you get over this trauma, you’ll start thinking and making decisions about what’s important to you.”

  “I’ve made those decisions a long time ago.”

  “But we all change, don’t we? I changed when I ended up here in this hospital. I had to reevaluate my life and my safety and how I wanted to live my life. You’ll do the same.”

  Kendra shook her head. “All I want to do is go back to my old life and heal.” She squeezed Olivia’s hand. “And see my friend and my mother very often and remember that there’s kindness and people in this world who only want to do good.”

  “That won’t last,” Olivia said softly. “Because you’ll know you can change some of that bad to good. Not many people can say that. You won’t be able to resist doing it.”

  “You’re wrong.” She stood up and kissed Olivia’s forehead. “Watch me.” She headed for the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I have to stop at FBI headquarters before I go to the funeral.”

  “Why?”

  “Not because you’re right about anything you’ve been saying.” She smiled crookedly. “I only have to tie up the last loose end.”

  * * *

  SHE MET GRIFFIN AS she got off the elevator.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Griffin’s voice was awkward. “I meant to call you, but somehow I didn’t get around to it. I thought I’d talk to you at the funeral.”

  “And now you don’t have to bother.” She gazed beyond him at the empty office. “Where is everyone?”

  “I gave them the day off, so they could all go to the funeral.” His voice was low and sincere. “They would have gone anyway. They all liked Jeff. I liked Jeff. He was a great guy and the finest agent I’ve ever run across. You may think I’m a son of a bitch, but I don’t lie.”

  She stared him in the eye. “I don’t think you’re a son of a bitch. You just have your own code, and it’s not mine.” She changed the subject. “Have they cleared Jeff’s desk yet?”

  He shook his head. “I thought I’d do it myself after the funeral. He has a sister, doesn’t he?”

  She nodded. “Nicole. She’ll be at the funeral. I’ll pack his stuff up and bring it to her. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. If you’re positive that’s the way you want it.”

  “That’s the way I want it.” She started making her way across the office toward Jeff’s desk. “I’ll see you at the funeral.”

  She could feel his gaze on her back, then heard the sound of the elevator.

  She stopped in front of Jeff’s desk, bracing herself for the pain as she looked at all the familiar things that had made Jeff who he was. The photo of his sister, Nicole. The replica of the Sammy Sosa autographed baseball. His parents’ photo, faded by time …

  The pain came, then became bearable.

  Scar tissue, Olivia?

  She went to the copy room and got a box and began to pack away the mementos. She had to stop a few times, but she made it through.

  “Was this necessary?” Lynch asked roughly from behind her. “I’d say this was cruel and unusual punishment.”

  She turned to look at him. “I didn’t hear the elevator.”

  “You were occupied.” He came closer to the desk. “Someone else should have done this. I would have done it if you’d asked me. But you didn’t ask me. You’ve been ignoring my existence since Ocotillo Wells.”

  “It was over. I needed time to myself.” She studied him. “You look very formal and conventional in that dark suit. Not like you at all.”

  “I can put up with it. I’m going to the funeral of an exceptional man, and I wanted to honor him.”

  “That’s nice.” She rubbed her temple. “Why are you here?”

  “I stopped by the hospital, and Olivia told me where you’d gone. I was going to take you to the funeral. Are you through? May we go now?”

  “You don’t have to take me anywhere.”

  “May we go now?”

  Stubborn. Always stubborn. She was too delicately balanced on the edge to fight him.

  “I’m almost finished. There are only a few more things.” She put the picture of Jeff’s parents in the box and reached for the baseball on its stand. She opened her handbag and took out a small knife that she’d taken from the condo kitchen that morning.

  She took the baseball and began carefully slicing the threading.

  “What are you doing?” Lynch’s gaze was narrowed on her face. “You said that Stedler worshipped that ball.”

  “He worshipped the one he kept in the safety-deposit box. This copy wasn’t as important to him. It just brought back memories.”

  “So you’re chopping it up?” he asked warily.

  “You think I’ve gone off the deep end?”

  “It occurred to me that you might need a little rest.”

  She put down the knife and began pulling the hide of the baseball apart. “Maybe you’re right. But while I was lying in bed last night, I began to think of Jeff and those last moments with him.”

  “And that made you tear up his baseball?”

  “He was talking about a home run. He said life with me was like being the MVP at a World Series and hitting the winning home run.” Her voice was unsteady. “He said, ‘Remember that, Kendra. A home run.’”

  “That meant something to you besides a personal tribute?”

  “Not at the time.” Her eyes were stinging. “But later it did. Jeff wouldn’t have told me where that disc was because it would have been a danger to me in the position we were in at the time. But he wouldn’t have wanted it to fall into anyone else’s hands after all he’d gone through. He knew me. He knew it would eventually occur to me what he meant.” She carefully separated the fol
ds of leather of the baseball.

  She began gently to probe the interior.

  Did I understand, Jeff? Is this what you wanted?

  Yes.

  The next moment, she drew out the two-inch disc.

  “I’ll be damned,” Lynch murmured.

  “That’s all I needed to do.” She put the disc in an envelope and put it in her handbag. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it yet. I’m leaning toward burning it ceremonially in my fireplace over drinks with Olivia when she gets out of the hospital.”

  “Am I invited?”

  “Maybe.” She studied him. “You’re not tempted to grab it and turn it over to Jamerson?”

  “Not even a little bit.” He took the torn baseball from her. “I know a shop where we can have this repaired. I’ll get it back to you in a few days.” He closed the box of mementoes. “It’s time we left for the funeral. I’ll carry this. Are you going to keep that ball yourself or give it to his sister?”

  “I’ll keep it. She’ll have the original.” She stood up and moved toward the elevator. “I think he’d want me to have it.”

  “I think he would, too.” He pressed the elevator button. “Besides his personal feelings, you were his partner. Even in that final moment, he trusted you. He knew you’d come through for him.” He smiled, then said softly, “As you’ll always come through for me, Kendra.”

  She stiffened, and her eyes flew to his face. “What are you talking about? I’m done, Lynch.”

  “For the moment. You’re hurting, and you want to heal. We have time.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. I’ve watched you, studied you, seen your excitement and the adrenaline flowing.” He added, “And I’m afraid that I’d miss you far too much if I walked away. So I believe that I’ll have to bring to bear all my powers of persuasion to keep you from drifting too far from me.”

  And those powers of persuasion were very strong indeed. She could feel the waves of magnetism that always surrounded him flow toward her, threatening to pull her in the direction he wanted her to go even in this moment. “No way, Lynch.”

  “I’ll be very gentle. No force, no pushing.” He took her elbow and nudged her into the elevator. “But I’ll always be there offering you the chance to expand your horizons. And someday you’ll say to me, ‘Okay, Lynch. Pick me up at the condo. But just for this one case.’”