by Gennita Low
“So you’re both warning each other and you leave me standing around like his bodyguard. You could have discussed this with me first.”
“Is that what’s causing this?” Marlena demanded, sitting upright. “You’re mad because I didn’t tell you something I didn’t know anything about until the meeting?”
“You knew enough to decide to meet with him. This isn’t how a team works, Lena. You tell me what’s on your mind before you do anything.”
If she wasn’t so mad, she would scream at him. Coldly she said, “A team? All I’ve been hearing so far is you, you, you. I think you’ve forgotten it takes a ‘we’ to make a team.” She slapped away his hand reaching out for her and added, “Didn’t I take you along? I wasn’t hiding anything from you. There was nothing to conclude until after the meeting with Pierre, that’s all. I can’t just tell you things I’m not sure of, Stash. The only way to prove to myself Pierre isn’t our informant was to talk to him, can’t you see that?”
“No, I don’t see that,” he told her, still in that grim voice. “All I see is what I saw. You went to your ex-lover, and it sounded like you were warning him about the laptop. He said he wanted it back and you told him how you could both profit from the deal without him being involved. What do you think that looked like? I saw a conspiracy.”
Marlena shook her head, trying to clear it. His disbelief hurt more than she cared to admit, and she lashed out, “How can you be so stupid? You can’t do this job if you let emotions get in the way like this. Pierre does a better job than you can.”
The power to hurt back was a frightening thing sometimes. His face, flushed with anger before, turned into a chilling mask. “Then I had better find a job more suitable for me,” he told her, “one that lets me talk to real people with real identities, who can trust me enough to tell me the truth, who can at least make a commitment with some things.”
Marlena flinched at his cutting words, and she scooted back against the door. Steve’s expression changed as soon as he finished his accusations, and he leaned forward to touch her. She didn’t want to hear any more. His words hurt because he was right. She had no identity and couldn’t tell the truth about herself. And she couldn’t make any commitments; she feared them.
“Lena, I’m—”
“Don’t touch—”
Screech of tires. Marlena turned to look back, startled. A mere breath of a moment later, the whole car rattled like coins in a tin can as another larger vehicle slammed against Steve’s side. He had been moving toward her at that very instant, and the momentum threw him against the dashboard. His head smacked into the windshield. Her own head hit the car window on her side, hard enough to make her wince. In that split second her mind understood this was no accident. The vehicle that hit them had done so at a high speed and hadn’t tried to brake.
She groped around and pulled at her purse. “Stash! Are you all right?”
There was blood on his forehead. His eyes were closed. She tore open her purse. She’d allowed herself to be distracted from her job. Something smashed the back windshield and she slumped down to avoid all the glass. She turned, hand in her purse, pulling out her weapon.
Too late. She felt a sting in her neck and touching it, pulled out some kind of dart. And the world went black.
Chapter Twenty
Someone was pounding on what sounded like a hollow drum, over and over, determined to get his attention. The beat was insistent, becoming louder and louder until it was impossible to ignore. Steve pushed out of the darkness, grappling with the invisible tormentor, jerking up in one swift motion.
“What the—” The rest of the sentence was lost as his whole brain exploded into red and white dots and stars. He cursed, grabbed his head with both hands and found it bandaged.
A man’s voice drifted from somewhere to his right. “Man, I love the way you talk when you wake up.”
Steve turned his head very slowly. Cam was sitting on a chair, reading. At least he looked like Cam. “Are you related to Cameron Candeloro?” he asked politely. “I seem to be hallucinating him in color-coordinated designer clothes.”
“You keep that up and I’ll tell doc to give you a couple of shots, pal.”
Steve blinked, studying Cam. It was him, all right, except his friend’s hair was neatly combed back and he looked too spruced up to be true. Even his tie was straight. “What happened?” he asked, then remembered in a flash. He jerked up again, and ignored the spinning room as he tossed aside the white sheet over him. “Lena! Where’s Lena?”
“Whoa, easy, boy.” Cam was suddenly by the side of the bed, helping him to sit up. “You have a nasty bump on the head there.”
“Where’s Lena?”
“Marlena?” Cam shook his head. “There wasn’t anyone with you. Someone shot you with a tranq dart while you were driving and then hit your vehicle. You’re lucky to be alive. The whole driver’s side is crushed.”
Steve grabbed Cam’s arm. “No, the car wasn’t running and Lena was with me. Where is Lena? And what do you mean, a dart?”
He tried to get out of the bed but Cam pushed him back. “Let’s get the doc in here first, then you can tell us what happened, Steve. It’s not going to help if you fall down and get a worse bump than the one you’ve got right now.”
That calmed him down for a moment. “Get the doctor now, then,” he said.
“Okay, but I need to get hold of the O.C., too. His order was to call him as soon as you opened your eyes.”
“Sounds ominous.”
Cam nodded. “Be prepared for trouble, Steve,” he warned as he went out of the room.
Steve gingerly touched the throbbing bump on his head, counting each painful beat. He must have hit the windshield. He remembered turning and seeing a Hummer just before it crashed into them, then...nothing...They were arguing about something and weren’t paying attention. He gripped the sheet as pieces of their heated conversation crept back to him.
It was all his fault. He had allowed his jealousy to get in the line of fire. If he hadn’t stopped the car or become so engrossed with their argument, they might have seen the vehicle coming for them. A cold panic swelled up inside him. He needed to get out of this place.
He refused to think about what was happening to Marlena right then. No more emotions in the way. She was right; they were not helping him do his job. Impatiently he waited for the doctor and Cam.
Half an hour later the doctor was done examining him. No concussion. Just a big bruise and cut where he had hit the rearview mirror. That probably saved him from crashing through the windshield, the doctor said. But all Steve could think about was Marlena. He wanted to be released from the hospital immediately. That was when he found out there was a guard outside the room, and he wasn’t there to ensure his safety.
He turned to Cam. “Care to explain?”
Cam rubbed his nose. “Only if you promise you aren’t going to deck me and then try to make a run for it.”
Steve frowned as he looked around for something to wear. “I don’t think I can run far without a pair of jeans. I’m not going to walk out of this room with my ass hanging out.”
Cam grinned. “That isn’t a pretty image, buddy.” He sighed. “The thing is, they contacted the rental car company to find out who you were, and of course they contacted us. When we got to you, you were already in the hospital, out of it. The cops gave us the details and said they also found fifty thousand dollars in a briefcase by you.”
Steve raised a brow. “Fifty thou? And no one took this briefcase?”
Cam shrugged. “Hard-On wants to ask you about that, I’m sure.” When Steve opened his mouth, he interrupted quickly, “No, don’t tell me anything, man. Don’t want to know about the fifty thou. Don’t want to get you in any more trouble than you’re in. I’m sure you have a great explanation, what with you working with our assassin lady, but if you tell me anything, I’m going to have to write a long report. And I hate writing those things, okay?”
Steve
quirked his lips. “So now I am enemy number one at TIARA?”
Cam shook his head. “Not to me, but I know what you’re doing. Hard-On has told us all there’s a rat in our system and he doesn’t want any more leakage, especially to you, so everyone is thinking—”
“—that I’m the rat,” Steve finished for him.
“Yeah, something like that. I can’t say a thing, or they’ll know Patty helped you.”
“I know.”
“They even asked me where you’re staying now, so thank God you didn’t tell me, or they would be searching your and Marlena’s little nest.”
That brought on some alarm bells. Steve cocked his head. “They searched my apartment, didn’t they?”
Cam nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t know what they found there. No, no, don’t tell me anything, damn it! I don’t want to write that damn report.”
Steve sniffed. He understood Cam’s motive in trying to distance himself. “You mean you don’t want to put Patty’s name in it, if possible. You’re protecting Miss Ostler, just in case this is going to hit the fan.”
Cam’s smile was rueful. “That obvious, huh?”
“Cam, bud. You’re wearing ironed clothes, for God’s sake. There is not a smudge on those light brown pants. Your shoelaces are tied. And you don’t have food in your mouth.”
Steve almost laughed at the forlorn look Cam gave him. “I know,” Cam said mournfully. “And she doesn’t even notice.”
“I’m sure she did,” Steve assured him, then winced. “What the hell am I doing talking to you about your love life? I need to get out of here.”
“That’s not likely, man. Hard-On looked like he’s holding your balls.”
The image wasn’t very funny. “Do me just one favor, Cam? It won’t get you to make a report, promise.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to give you a number, and I want you to call a woman named Tess Montgomery for me. Tell her what happened.”
“Okay. Give me the number. And don’t tell me what or who she is, please.”
Steve took the pen from Cam and jotted down the number. He passed back the pen and paper. “Just call her ASAP, okay?”
“Yup.”
“I need to get out of here now. Where the hell is Harden?”
As if on cue, the door opened.
***
Marlena focused on the swinging light in the ceiling, then at the furnishings within sight. She had been quietly lying on her back the last fifteen minutes, remembering and listening. There was no one around her, so she’d opened her eyes. Her head swam and her mind was not very alert, but surprisingly she was free to move around.
After a few more minutes, she decided it wasn’t drugs that were making everything sway back and forth. A boat. She must be aboard some kind of boat. That low humming must be the engine.
Slowly she sat up. A quick look around told her she was indeed alone. No Stash. Her heart lurched as she recalled the sight of him against the dashboard, blood trickling down his forehead. Where was he? Was he very injured?
Except for the cobwebs in her head, she didn’t feel she was physically hurt. She touched her neck cautiously, at the spot where she remembered she’d pulled out a dart. It was slightly sore, but no swelling. She studied her hands—no trembling. She wished she had a mirror to check her eyes, to see whether they were dilated. She didn’t think anyone had interrogated her while she was out like a light; her training could block quite a lot of drugs, but it had been a while since she was tested. She sighed. Part of the disadvantage of not working in a group—very few challenges except in real situations.
Her leather jacket had been taken off, but otherwise her clothes were intact. She tried to stand up and fell back on her backside again. She frowned. How long had she been out that the drug still had this effect on her? Was Stash drugged somewhere, too? She had to get up, find out where he was.
The cabin was small but very tastefully furnished. This wasn’t any commercial fishing boat, but someone’s vacation toy. The wood was real oak. There was a mini bar in the corner of the cabin. The bed she was sitting on was the size of three bunk beds.
The door across the cabin opened with a click. She recognized the man entering as one of Pierre’s bodyguards.
She frowned. “Where am I going?” she asked. Couldn’t hurt to ask.
The man, as all bodyguards tend to be, was tall and burly. His eyes told her that he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her if she tried anything. Ignoring her question, he pointed to a large mirror and said expressionlessly, “The bathroom is behind the sliding mirror. Your purse is on the night table. We’ve taken your weapon, of course.”
“Well, nothing like makeup to make a girl feel better,” Marlena quipped. He had said ‘weapon.’ Good. “When do I get to see the big fish?”
The man kept silent, clearly waiting for her to get up. Marlena slowly did so, and was glad she was able to keep her balance this time. She hoped that meant she was feeling better. Catching sight of her purse, she reached for it, aware that the burly bodyguard was watching closely. She slung it over one shoulder and walked toward the sliding door.
She raised her eyebrows inquiringly when he opened it for her. “I hope you aren’t thinking of playing watchdog in the bathroom.”
“There isn’t any need. There’s nothing on you.”
Ugh. She looked down at his hands. At least she hadn’t been awake when those hands were patting her down. She walked through the door and he slid it shut.
She stood in front of the mirror and studied the small room. She’d already seen one electronic eye when she first entered. She found another. They were the same kind Pierre’s company produced, the same that were in her apartment. Was it Harden again? Was he the mole? No wonder there was no need for Burly Man to come in with her. Someone was watching her, and if it were the same person from the first night, he knew she would know. He was daring her to be squeamish.
She stared at her reflection. Her eyes were clear. No dilation. Her confidence level grew. She could play the bastard’s mind games without fearing she might not be alert enough. She took in a deep breath. Another challenge about working alone all the time—she didn’t get tested enough, to see how far she would go to protect herself. She wondered what T would do in this situation. However, T had worked for two years with a tough group of commandos that probably challenged her being there all the time. This would be child’s play for her.
There were white towels hanging on the rack. She stared directly at the electronic eye as she flapped them open, then deliberately smiled. She was Marlena Maxwell. They would see what she wanted them to see and nothing else.
When she was finished, she went back to the sink to wash her hands. Emptying her purse, she only found her makeup and some accessories. Missing were her small .38 and the electronic key to her hotel room. If someone tried to use that key, T would be alerted. She still had her makeup, but would T be in time to save her?
Marlena knew that her bargaining chip was that laptop. Now she wondered whether she would have it to bargain with at all.
If not, then what? If they had killed Stash, would she want to live? Something squeezed her heart painfully, and it was an effort to pretend to put on lipstick. She wasn’t totally unarmed; she owned things specifically created to be used in situations like this. She would fight until she found out where they’d put Stash. The tight fist around her heart didn’t relax as she rubbed her lips together to smudge the lipstick. She would kill them first if they had done anything to him.
***
“You’re going to be charged, McMillan. Fifty thousand dollars in cash in the car and an offshore account book detailing financial transactions in your apartment.”
“I’m not going to be your scapegoat.”
Steve looked calmly at his chief. They were alone in the hospital room after he had dismissed Cam, who was glad to be out of hearing distance. The situation looked bleak but he certainly wasn’t going to let them read him his righ
ts in a hospital gown without a fight.
He’d been thinking of a setup for a couple days now and should have followed his instincts and thought things out instead of arguing with Marlena. Now she had disappeared. There was a briefcase full of cash in the car. They’d found some kind of account book in his apartment, with the kind of money he had only dreamed about. Smelled like a setup to him.
Harden was as hard to read as ever. There was something very dead about him, as if he didn’t give a damn as long as he was doing his job. And it suddenly struck Steve when it came to his job, Rick Harden followed instructions to the letter, and wouldn’t go beyond that.
“You want a scapegoat,” Steve continued, choosing his words carefully so as not to betray the fact he’d been doing research on TIARA members, “because you don’t want another bungle like what happened in your past.”
Harden’s brow lifted. “You’ve been talking to people,” he guessed wrongly.
Steve shrugged, willing to let that assumption remain. “People talk,” he agreed.
“Don’t let a little bit of gossip make you think you know me,” Harden warned.
“Permission to speak, sir.”
“I think we’ve gone beyond that point, McMillan. Nothing you say will stop the charges. Not with the evidence against you.”
There was a satisfied note to Harden’s voice. Steve wished he had some clothes on. It was tough to defend oneself with his bare ass hanging out. He wasn’t afraid of what would happen to him. He was afraid for Marlena. He needed to think fast, to find a way out of this.
“Questions to consider, sir. Who crashed into me? And why search my apartment?”
“It doesn’t matter to me who crashed into you, or why. The fact remains you had a lot of suspicious cash on you at that point. Orders were then given to search your apartment.”
“By whom?”
Harden’s gaze was steel cold. “You’re overstepping your bounds,” he said softly.
“I’m being accused of certain crimes, sir. I think I have a right to ask some questions. Since I’m not yet charged, I can’t get a lawyer, and since I’m being guarded without charges, it’d seem fair to let me ask a few questions.”