“Think like the enemy” was almost a motto. So Matthew had been spending a lot of time thinking like Isaac Kemmerling. The man was obviously desperate to capitalize on Hummingbird’s bad fortune—or screw-up, depending on how you looked at it—and he’d be looking for any and every in he could get. Now that Matthew knew about her connection to Isaac, Ella was a fairly obvious asset for his opponent.
His examination of the cellar exhausted, he approached the intercom stuck in the wall. It was the kind of unit you’d find on the outside of an old apartment building. Most of the buttons were missing, which made it obvious which one would signal his captors that he was awake. Or fry him, if it was rigged or malfunctioning. He crossed the dirt floor to the stand holding the pitcher and basin. The pitcher was half full of water. Matt emptied it into the basin and carried the pitcher back to the intercom, where he used the handle to depress the button. There was a faint hiss, but no evidence the unit had been wired to electrocute him. He returned the pitcher and crossed back to the speaker just as a voice crackled through it.
“What?”
Matthew used his thumbnail to press the button. “You’re friendly.”
No response.
“Just thought I’d let you know I’m awake.”
“Fine. You’re awake.” The voice still sounded at peak grumpiness. Matthew wondered how sparse the accommodations upstairs were. He was betting there was no plasma-screen TV.
“Let’s do whatever I’m here to do.”
He swore the silence hissed with confusion, and suppressed a grin. “How about some food?” he suggested. “Maybe a soda? The water down here is gross.”
Again no response, but a few moments later heavy boots thudded on the floor above him. Dust filtered down through the cracks. Matthew stayed where he was while metal scraped on metal, followed by a heavy thud before the trap door creaked open, the door tilting upward. Nothing else happened.
Then Grumpy said, “Come over here where I can see you.”
Matthew nodded approvingly. Enemy or not, Isaac had been trained by Hummingbird, and he’d trained his men the same way. You didn’t stick your head into a hole in the ground without being able to see what might be coming.
Of course, by the same token, you didn’t expose yourself to attack from a shielded enemy, either. Matthew stepped forward just enough for Grumpy to see him.
And jolted slightly when he recognized his guard.
“Hello, John.”
John grunted.
“I thought you quit Hummingbird to go live with your mother in California. How’s she doing?” He tried to keep his voice mild. Anger wouldn’t serve him well here in any capacity.
“I did,” John grunted again, but with words, at least. “She died early this year.”
“I’m sorry.” He waited. The guy wasn’t very talkative today. Tonight? He had no idea what time it was, how many hours or even days had passed. “Why didn’t you come back to Hummingbird? We’d have been happy to have you.”
“Kemmerling was newer. Figured he’d have more opportunities.”
Matthew nodded. John was a good agent. He did what he was trained to do, but he wasn’t leadership material by Hummingbird’s standards. Standards he might not meet at all now. John had put on a significant number of pounds. The semi-automatic rifle in his hands balanced the equation, though.
“Okay, well, it’s good to see you again anyway. Isaac around?”
“No.”
“Will he be?”
“Probably.”
“When?”
“Eventually.”
Matthew fought back a sigh and kept his hands at his sides. “Okay, then, how about food?”
A plastic-wrapped sub, the kind you buy from neighborhood kids for school fundraisers, dropped to the floor at his feet. “Ah, thanks. Drink?”
A diet root beer landed beside the sub. Matthew hated root beer. He guessed Isaac was trying to send him a message. But he didn’t care how much Isaac thought he knew about his former boss. He didn’t know enough.
“What time is it?” He didn’t bend to retrieve the food. It would wait until the door was closed.
“‘Bout two.”
“P.M.?”
“Yep.”
“Saturday?”
“Yep.”
Good. He hadn’t been out too long. Jason and Lark had surely found his message by now. If they’d decoded it properly, they would have also acted to secure the data from any Hummingbird staff who could have been compromised. They were probably also working to find him. As he had no way to tell them to stop, to ferret out the traitors instead, he’d just have to work on his own plans.
“That all?” John asked.
“Yeah, for now. Thanks for the food. Let me know when Isaac gets here, will ya?”
John gave one final grunt and dropped the trap door into place. There was more metal scraping, then John’s heavy footsteps retreating. Matthew held still and listened hard. The door that creaked open and clicked closed was probably wooden, hollow, typical of any old house. There was no additional sound of a lock being engaged. Isaac—or maybe just John—was pretty confident he had Matthew secure.
Good.
* * *
Jason handed his phone to Lark as they neared the coffee shop he had in mind. “Find Gabby’s number for me, please, and then I’ll call her.”
Lark scrolled through and found it, then handed the phone back. “Want me to call?”
“No, she’ll be expecting to hear from me.” He put it up to his ear. Gabby answered almost immediately.
“Dr. Berwell.” Her tension came through, even though she was clearly trying to sound normal, professional.
“Gabby, it’s me.”
“Jason, thank God. I can’t reach Matthew. I—”
“I know. Don’t say more. I need you to come to me.” He pulled the truck over to the curb half a block from the coffee shop. Lark climbed out and stuck some quarters in the meter. Jason watched her, noting steady hands, no tears or sniffling, her movements purposeful but not exaggerated or sharp. His respect for her rose.
“Where are you?” Gabby’s voice shook a little, but had calmed.
“You know the historic hotel downtown? The one with the great Brandy Alexanders?”
“Of course I know.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, give me half an hour. I need to make up a reason to leave here.”
“How about it’s Saturday, and you have plans?” he offered sarcastically.
She giggled. Good. She’d be safer, and less obvious, if she wasn’t so tense. “Yeah, they’d believe that. I wouldn’t even believe it.”
He smiled a little. “Okay, then. Half an hour.”
Lark leaned back through her open door. “I thought we were going to the coffee shop.”
“We are.” He climbed out of the truck and locked it, setting the alarm and detection unit. He let Lark go ahead, keeping her in sight while he scanned the small town square. Besides the hotel and café, there was an insurance agency, a pharmacy, a Laundromat, and a large boardinghouse. Residences lined the streets in three directions, and a bridge over the creek, leading out of town, was a few hundred yards down the fourth. Visibility was good, with all the cars parked in angled spaces on two sides of the square. The street was empty in the center except for a flower-covered median.
Jason didn’t notice anything bothersome and opened the door to the café, pleased to see Lark had chosen a table centered at the window. Not only could they see clearly in all directions, the large business name scrolled across much of the window would make it difficult for anyone peering in to recognize them.
Lark glanced at him as he came over. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. What do you want?” He reached for his wallet in his back pocket.
She stood. “I’ll get it.”
Jason gave her his order and sat, allowing himself a moment to watch her walk up to the counter. Her arms swayed, loose, her gait smooth. Th
eir banter had taken the edge off. But as she stood waiting, it sharpened again. He could tell by the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot and nibbled on the cuticle of her thumb. When the steamer went off, she jumped, then made a “disgusted with herself” face. Jason turned to look out the window. Urgency churned in his gut.
The back of his hand brushed the edge of the tabletop, sending tiny bursts of electric shock across his skin. He gritted his teeth against the pain and held his breath until it subsided. He needed to get used to these little agonies. Otherwise, they’d tank his career, as well as his sex life. He smiled a little, equating an attacker’s glee at discovering the vulnerability with a woman’s exasperation over trying to deal with it.
Lark wouldn’t get exasperated.
Now he scowled. How the hell did he know what her reaction would be long term? And why the hell was he thinking the words “long term,” anyway?
He was grateful when Lark appeared with the coffee and resumed her seat. “You see anything?”
Jason kept his attention outside. “No movement on the square since we got here, except Mrs. Beagle’s dog got out again. What did you see?”
Lark sipped her coffee. “Not much. The windows of the hotel have a glare. We’d never be able to see in until after dark, even with binocs.”
“Binocs?” he queried, amused.
She ignored him. “The pharmacy has three cars in front of it. This is the kind of town with old people hanging out in one of the businesses, and since independent pharmacies are rare nowadays, I’m guessing that’s what those are. Plus, they’re old-people-big-car makes. Olds and Buick, about fifteen years old.”
“And you know Fran and Dennis from when you worked there during high school,” Jason noted wryly.
“Wow, you’re good.” Lark’s impish grin didn’t go away. “My observations are valid, though.”
“Since you can fit them into what you already know, sure. Stop trying to impress me and tell me what you really see.”
For half a second she looked shocked and sheepish. Then she locked her gaze on the Laundromat. “There’s no one in the Laundromat, but the dryers are going. Someone will probably be coming back soon.”
“Not bad. Relevance?”
She sighed. “Come on, Jason, Dad does this to me every time I see him. Can’t we just do the job?”
He relented. “Sure. I just want you to be prepared. You’re not a field agent.”
“I’m not an agent at all.”
“Matt trained you to be.”
Her jaw flexed briefly before she answered. “It was years ago. He stopped when I declared my major.”
Jason grimaced. “That’s comforting.”
She didn’t smile. “I’m not trying to comfort you now.” Which meant she had been trying to earlier, in the car. His heart rolled. Matt’s your best mate, he reminded himself sternly, and missing to boot. Forget it.
A silver sedan came down the road and pulled into a space in front of the hotel.
“She’s here,” he said.
Chapter Nine
Jason watched Gabby open her car door and put her foot out, then pause as she gathered her things.
Lark ducked her head a little to peer between a letter and a flourish on the café’s window. “That’s Dr. Berwell?”
“Yes.”
“She’s young!”
“She’s older than me.” Jason shrugged. He didn’t consider age an indicator of ability.
But that apparently wasn’t what Lark was thinking about. “But younger than my dad,” she pointed out.
Jason chuckled. “Can we talk to her about the mess we’re in before you start interrogating her about her intentions?”
Lark thought a second. “Okay, but I don’t like her.”
He didn’t believe her. Maybe she thought she shouldn’t, to protect her father’s tender heart. Or maybe she wanted a target, someone to go after for his abduction. Whatever—Jason didn’t think Lark was the kind of woman to judge at first sight.
As Gabby entered the hotel, a man wearing a black leather jacket—in June—followed, glancing over his shoulder and scanning the street as he did. Jason tensed and focused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man’s gait and profile. He didn’t know him.
“She was followed from work,” Lark guessed, her nose practically pressed against the glass.
“Maybe. Or he could be with her. Or have nothing to do with any of us.”
“What do we do?”
“One of us goes over and sees what’s happening over there.”
Lark’s eyes widened at him. “One of us? Like maybe me?”
The last thing Jason wanted to do was send Lark out of his sight. But he needed her. They had to determine the situation before they moved forward. “Gabby would spot me immediately. I’m kind of big, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Lark had noticed, of course. Since her father was about six-two and Jason stood taller, she figured him at six-four. His shoulders looked as wide as the table, and his chest the perfect resting place for her whole body. The snug clothes made him impossible to overlook. And his golden hair and chiseled features were pretty memorable, too.
Crap. Think about Dad, think about the job, think about…anything but Jason and his big sexy body.
She cleared her throat. “Okay, Gabby doesn’t know me,” she agreed, “but if that guy is with Isaac, he might. Wouldn’t Isaac make sure he would?”
“Not if you disguise yourself.”
“With what?” she scoffed. “A mustache and porkpie hat?”
Jason got up and went to the counter. He spoke briefly to the barista and then lifted a green apron from a hook near the end of the counter. He handed it to Lark.
“That’s it?”
“It’s all you’ll need. Go in and ask the bartender if he can spare a few napkins. He’ll think you’re nuts but no one else will look at you twice.”
Lark shrugged and put the loop over her head and tied the apron in the back. “You don’t have a com on ya, do you?”
Jason leaned back, the front legs of his chair lifting, and grinned a wide, cocky grin. “Just one. Keep it in my wallet.”
She rolled her eyes and smacked him on the shoulder. His hiss of breath registered, but Lark was past him and at the door before she realized what it might mean. Making a note to ask him about it later, she pushed to the outside, inhaled deeply and strode purposefully across the street.
The inside of the hotel was very dim after the sunshine outside. She took a second to adjust, then found the entrance to the bar/restaurant to her right. She headed over, blinking hard, trying to banish the light spots in her vision.
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