The fucker was going to pay. Rhy picked up the phone and dialed his DOJ contact.
The call was answered on the second ring. “I expected your call last night. I figured the Somalia file would get your attention.”
Rhy grunted. “I was out of town on a job. I just got back.” Fury flared, and he ground his teeth. He had only one question. “Where did the disk come from?”
“Senator Hawley delivered it personally. From what I hear, he’s going public with the story.”
“Shit.”
“There’s something else, Rhy. Everson has disappeared.”
Fuck. Rhy squeezed his eyes shut briefly and didn’t volunteer that he’d spoken to the man less than nine hours earlier. The disconnected phone suddenly made sense. “How long has he been gone?”
“His housekeeper said he left the house around five this morning.”
Rhy checked his watch. One p.m. With access to a private plane, if Everson was on his way to Flagstaff, he’d be there soon. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
“You got it.”
Rhy disconnected the call. He jerked open the bottom desk drawer and retrieved the top file, opening the cover on his desk. The grainy photo of Nicole Guimond Everson stared back at him. Had she discovered her ex-husband’s calling card, or was she still unaware her hidey-hole had been discovered? If she had, chances were she’d already bolted. If not… It didn’t matter to Rhy if Everson caught up with her after so many years—as far as he was concerned they deserved each other—but if there was a chance Everson would head for her, Rhy couldn’t afford to miss his opportunity to avenge Brian’s death.
Another phone call assured him several trusted men would be sitting on the cabin in less than ten minutes. In the meantime, a few minutes with Senator Hawley would give Rhy the answers he needed.
Nicky climbed from the taxi a block shy of her destination. Dazed and numb with fear, she gripped Alex’s hand. They’d walked half a block before she realized the press of media vans and satellite trucks, snarling both pedestrian and street traffic, were parked in front of Paul and Joyce Hawley’s penthouse building overlooking the Potomac. She stared at the milling crush of journalists, and renewed fear nearly made her gag. Her father’s death, Jonathan finding them, and the media camped outside her father’s friends’ home—the three events were connected. She’d bet her life on it.
Ducking her head, she hurried Alex across the street. With a baseball cap pulled low on her forehead, she passed by the Hawleys’ building. Too far away to make out the exact words being transmitted, the sheer number of local, national, network, and cable outlets working the story told her whatever had happened was big.
A chill shivered down Nicky’s spine as they dipped into the trendy coffeehouse at the end of the block. With evening approaching, the shop was nearly empty and toasty warm after the biting winter wind outside. Only a handful of patrons inhabited the dozen tables. The rich scents stirred the nausea in her belly. She swallowed. Ordering a small coffee she couldn’t possibly drink and a hot chocolate for Alex, she settled them at a table in the corner with no one close by and punched the number she’d committed to memory into her disposable cell phone.
After several minutes, she convinced the senator’s service to relay the message that she was in town and needed to see him immediately. Tossing the phone into the shop’s trash can, along with their cups, she took Alex’s hand. Ten minutes later, she knocked on a locked, unmarked door at the back of the Hawleys’ well-watched building. Greeted by a no-nonsense woman in her mid-thirties, who introduced herself as the senator’s aide, they were ushered into a service elevator leading directly to the Hawleys’ residence.
Gripping her son’s small hand, Nicky paused in the library doorway. Across the room, perched on a brocade couch with a phone at her ear, Joyce Hawley lifted her head. A surprised smile lit her face. Grief hit Nicky like a tidal wave, nearly knocking her from her feet.
“That’s fine.” Joyce spoke into the phone. “Get back to me as soon as you can.” She disconnected the call and rose to her feet.
The older woman appeared not to have aged a bit during Nicky’s five-year absence. Ever the senator’s wife, the willowy blonde looked both fresh and sophisticated in the exquisitely tailored suit of soft cinnamon. She crossed the room, her arms extended. Her soft hazel eyes held a warm welcome, and Nicky fought back a sob.
Slender arms surrounded Nicky and hugged her close. The loving embrace brought the sting of tears dangerously close to the surface. She fought them back, but the effort cost her. Her head swam, and dark spots appeared in her vision. She gulped air through clenched teeth.
From the time she could remember, Joyce and Paul Hawley had been more like family than friends to both Nicky’s parents and her. When Nicky’s mother died, the friendship had intensified, with Joyce stepping in to perform those duties Nicky’s mother would have. Joyce had been the one to take Nicky shopping for a special dress for prom and then again to search for the perfect wedding gown.
She shuddered and thrust aside the memory. Breathing through her nose, she savored both the comfort of the embrace and the familiar scent of Joyce’s favorite lilac perfume. Alex fidgeted at her side, and Nicky forced herself to step back.
Joyce bent at the waist, and her smile softened. “You must be Alex.”
He nodded, and Nicky squeezed his hand. “This is Mrs. Hawley, baby. She and Mr. Hawley were Poppa’s best friends.”
Joyce straightened. “Why, you’re such a big boy.”
“I’m four.” Alex held up the correct number of fingers, and his chest puffed with pride.
“He’s beautiful, Nicky.” Sadness swam in Joyce’s eyes. “Thomas often said Alex was a carbon copy of you when you were his age. He was right.”
At the mention of her father, Nicky pushed aside the brutal pang of grief banding her chest and uttered the most hateful words she’d ever spoken. “Jonathan found us.”
Joyce jerked visibly and lost all color beneath her perfectly applied makeup. Before she could comment, a richly masculine voice drew their attention to the doorway.
“Nicky.”
The painfully familiar sight of Paul Hawley tightened Nicky’s throat. In his late sixties, her father’s oldest friend was still a striking man. Those in the know had long speculated on when he’d make his bid for the top political position in the world. Popular opinion argued that bid was imminent, but all agreed should Paul Hawley’s campaign succeed, he and Joyce would go down in history as one of the most attractive couples ever to take up residence in the famous Pennsylvania Avenue address.
The sprinkling of silver at his temples did nothing to detract from the image of a man in complete charge of the world around him. The tension on his face, however, was anything but reassuring.
“You’ve been in contact with Everson?” Paul crossed the room toward Nicky.
“Not exactly.” Nicky glanced down at Alex and back up again. There would come a day when her son would have questions about the father he’d never known, but the coming conversation was something he didn’t need to hear.
As if he understood her concerns, Paul introduced himself to Alex and turned to Joyce. “I bet there are some great cartoons on the big-screen in the den, don’t you?”
“I’m sure there are.” Joyce smiled and arched a brow at Alex. “What do you say to some cartoons and popcorn?”
Alex cast a hopeful glance at Nicky. She smiled and nodded. He took the hand Joyce held out, and they left the room.
Paul turned to Nicky the moment they were alone. “Tell me what’s happened.” His expression grew grim as she detailed the events at the cabin and their frantic flight from Flagstaff.
“He found me, Paul. He or someone in his employ was in my house. He knows about Alex.” Tears burned the back of Nicky’s throat. “I need your help. Moving to the next random town isn’t good enough. I need a safe place where no one will ever find us again.”
Paul remained silent for a long momen
t, his gaze running over her face as if searching for the correct words. Frustrated anger flared in his eyes. “You know I’ll help any way I can, but running is no longer an option.” He wrapped his fingers around her elbow. “I believe Everson killed your father, Nicky.”
Terror, cold and piercing, stole her breath. Her legs refused to hold her, and she staggered.
Paul wrapped an arm around her waist and led her over to sit on the couch. He squatted before her and lifted her numb hands in his. “Everson needs to be found and prosecuted, or you’ll never be completely safe, no matter where you go. Unfortunately, I can’t prove his guilt in your father’s murder, but I can prove his illegal activities.”
Dread tightened Nicky’s chest. “Wait. What did you mean, Jonathan needs to be found?”
He glanced up when Joyce reappeared through the doorway. Concern tightened the older woman’s face, and with a coo of sympathy, she sat at Nicky’s side and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.
Paul squeezed Nicky’s hands. “I’m sorry. Everson was about to be indicted, but he somehow found out and has disappeared.”
A loud buzzing filled Nicky’s ears like swarming bees. Jonathan didn’t adhere to society’s rules under normal conditions. A desperate, on-the-run Jonathan was too frightening to consider. She clamped down on the urge to scream.
“I don’t understand.” Nicky shook her head to clear the bees. Drawing on every ounce of strength she’d discovered within herself over the years of self-inflicted exile, she stiffened her spine. “How could he have found out?”
Paul rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “You know the kind of connections he has. When the authorities went to serve the warrant this morning, his housekeeper said he received a call in the middle of the night. He was gone before the sun was up.”
Gone where? With his resources, Jonathan could be anywhere in the world, waiting to pounce when the moment was right. For a moment, Nicky gave in to the hopelessness pressing in on her. Bending at the waist, she rested her forehead on their joined hands.
Paul’s fingers tightened on hers. “We’ll find him. I swear it. He’s being hunted, even as we speak.”
Nicky straightened and clung to the determination in his tightly controlled face.
Paul’s aide spoke from the doorway. “Senator, WBC just called. They’re willing to make room for you on tonight’s broadcast, if you’re interested.”
“Are they indeed?” Joyce drawled her disapproval.
“I’m sorry.” Nicky pulled her hands from Paul’s and offered a weak smile. “The crowd downstairs…you’re obviously in the middle of something. I’ll just go.” To where, she hadn’t a clue.
“You’ll sit right here.” Paul patted her hands before rising to his full height.
Paul’s authoritative tone arrested Nicky’s plan of a quiet departure. He was right. Without knowing where Jonathan was, it would be impossible to keep tabs on him. Even if she were to find somewhere safe, she’d never know if or when he was going to show up. Jonathan had to be found.
“Hold them off as long as you can.” Paul checked his watch. “I’ll let them know if I’m interested within the hour.”
With a curt nod, the aide left them alone once more.
Paul’s gaze met Joyce’s, and his eyes held an appeal, a plea for understanding. A sheen of tears shimmered in Joyce’s eyes, but there was a measure of pride there as well. She nodded, and a pang of jealousy tugged at Nicky’s heart, witnessing the silent communication between two people who had lived with and loved each other for nearly half a century.
Angry determination gleamed in Paul’s eyes when they met Nicky’s. “The crowd downstairs is here because I’ve released the disk.”
He had no need to clarify his meaning. They all knew to which disk he referred and what its files contained. Much of the information her father had compiled detailing Jonathan’s illegal activities had come from Nicky, gathered during the nightmare of her short marriage.
Her father’s threat, that he’d release the information if Jonathan attempted to contact her, had kept her ex-husband at bay for the past five years. But to Nicky’s knowledge, Jonathan hadn’t been aware of her father’s continued quest to put together an extensive dossier on him and his associates. Likewise, Jonathan had never understood the true reason the General maintained his silence.
“I’m going public with my part in the Cambodian situation.”
Nicky jerked beneath Joyce’s arm. “What? What do you mean, you’re going public? Why would you do that?”
“Your father and I did what we believed in our hearts was the right thing to do at the time. That’s what I’m doing now.”
“But why involve your name?” Nicky straightened away from Joyce’s embrace. “The information on the disk can’t hurt you. Jonathan doesn’t know you were involved in Cambodia.”
“He knew about Thomas’s involvement. No secret is safe forever.” Paul raised one hand. “I can’t let Everson get away with what he’s done. He killed Thomas. If I had even a flicker of doubt, his knowledge of your whereabouts extinguished it.”
In her heart Nicky had wondered if her father’s death had come at the hands of her ex-husband. Hearing the words spoken aloud sent a shiver of fury through her.
Paul’s chest rose on a ragged sigh. “We all know how skilled you are at remaining invisible. It’s clear Everson finally tired of waiting and made his move.”
“I’m not so sure about that. He may have killed Dad.” Nicky’s voice broke on an agonized sob. She squeezed the bridge of her nose in an attempt to regain her slipping control. “He’s a big enough bastard. I wouldn’t put anything past him, but as for his finding us…that’s my fault.”
“Oh, sugar.”
“I was there, Joyce.” Nicky met the older woman’s sympathetic gaze. “I was at Dad’s funeral.” Unable to remain still, she stood and began to pace. “It was stupid.” Lowering her head, she knocked her raised fist against her forehead in time with her tightly uttered words. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!” Air escaped her lungs in a sigh sounding more like a hiss. She held out one hand, palm up, beseechingly. “How could I have been so careless?”
Tears coursed down Joyce’s cheeks, but Nicky’s eyes remained dry.
“I led him straight back to my son.”
“You don’t know that for certain, young lady.” Censure simmered in Paul’s harsh tone. “Blaming yourself for Everson’s evil is a slap in the face to all Thomas, and you, sacrificed these past five years.”
Paul’s words hit Nicky like a physical blow. She flinched and stilled her pacing. Anger replaced the guilt threatening to strangle her, the desired effect he was shooting for considering the challenge in his eyes. She opened her mouth to argue.
Paul cut her off. “For all we know Everson found out where you were and decided to eliminate Thomas in order to get to you.”
The soft clearing of a throat cut through the bitter tension that crackled between them like arced lightning.
“What is it, Janet?” Joyce acknowledged the aide’s presence in the doorway.
“Pardon me, but there’s a man downstairs in the lobby who insists on speaking with Senator Hawley right away. Security demanded he leave, but he’s insisting the senator will want to speak with him. It’s concerning Jonathan Everson, sir.”
“Did he give his name?” Paul didn’t release Nicky’s belligerent glare.
“A Mr. Rhyder McLean. He says he’s with—”
“Global Shield.” Paul spoke the name of the well-known security firm before Janet could finish. His gaze turned speculative as he studied Nicky. “Have him shown up, and please ask Temmy to bring in a tray of coffee, if you would.”
“What did you mean, you released the disk?” Nicky asked as soon as the woman was gone. There was no point arguing. Regardless of the how or even the why, Jonathan had found them. Discovering her wedding ring on her night table was as effective as if her ex-husband had taken out a full-page ad announc
ing he or one of his goons had been in her room while she slept, peacefully unaware. “I thought the disk was to have been released automatically in the event of Dad’s death. How did you get involved?”
“My copy was the one released, not your father’s. His copy has vanished. Its disappearance is what made me suspicious of Everson in the first place.” The soft chime of the doorbell drew his attention. “That will be McLean.”
“This discussion isn’t finished, Paul. I’m entitled to some answers.”
“And you’ll have them,” Paul said over his shoulder. “In the meantime, let’s hear what Mr. McLean has to say.”
Chapter Four
Frustration swelled in her chest as Nicky moved to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the room. The sun had set and darkness had fallen over the nation’s capital. More than twelve hours had passed since the relative safety of her life had been shattered. Like a stealthy thief, overwhelming fear threatened to steal her sanity. She stiffened, curling her hands into fists, and slammed her mind’s door closed. That kind of thinking would reduce her to a useless, quivering mass. For Alex’s sake, it was essential she remain focused and rational.
Joyce’s southern drawl drew her attention. Across the room, she remained seated on the end of the couch. His back to the room, a large man, six-foot-two at least, since he topped the senator by several inches, held Joyce’s slim hand in his. He turned to face Paul, and the blood froze in Nicky’s veins.
Colonel Cutie stood six feet away.
“Thank you for seeing me, Senator Hawley.” The man’s tone was gracious, but there was no gratitude in his expression, only determination.
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