by Ana Barrons
The car pulled up under a portico, for which Hannah was absurdly grateful. It meant she wouldn’t have to deal with her umbrella after all. She picked at the adhesive with her thumb while she waited for the guard to open her door. To her chagrin, he reached for her right hand—the hand that was fumbling inside her pocket—to help her out. She twisted in the seat so that it was easier for him to take her left hand, and slid out of the car. She climbed the dozen or so steps to the front door, praying she wouldn’t trip and have to use both hands to catch herself. Just as she got to the top, the door opened and Thornton came forward to greet her. He was smiling, but clearly puzzled.
“Well, this is certainly a surprise.” He stepped aside and motioned her into the foyer. “What brings you here on a night like this?”
This is it.
“I needed to talk to you,” she said.
Too stiff.
She had finally gotten the adhesive off the bug, and now she pressed it between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. It stuck to both. She reached for his lapels, moving her thumb sideways so the bug would stick to her finger, but her hand was damp and the bug slid down into her palm. She gasped—and covered it in the only way she could think to—by kissing him.
Thornton’s expression was somewhere between surprised and amused. He lifted one side of his mouth in a cocky grin. “You’re just full of surprises tonight.” Then he wrapped both hands around the back of her head and kissed her. When his tongue was in her mouth, Hannah realized that he had been drinking as well. She closed her eyes and forced herself to go with it, let him think it was what she wanted too. Meanwhile, she kept her fist tightly closed.
He looked positively smug when he pulled his head back. “Let’s get that coat off you,” he said, and she could see in his eyes that he wanted to get more than her coat off her. Shit. Now what the hell was she supposed to do?
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything.” Thornton had come around and pulled her soaked trench coat off her shoulders. At Rita Santini’s urging, Hannah had worn a clingy black wool sweater with a low bodice that was more tantalizing than revealing, over a short black skirt and sheer black stockings with high heels. At her own insistence, she’d also worn an eggplant-colored silk blouse, unbuttoned, over the thin sweater. Thornton draped her coat over the dark wood banister that ran up the elegant center staircase. He turned to her, grasped her shoulders and held her away from him while he looked her over.
“You look good enough to eat,” he said.
She’d managed to extricate the bug from her palm and stick it to the inside of her own sweater. She was still nervous, but she wasn’t panicked any longer. She would just have to play it out without fumbling again. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind a drink.”
Thornton still had his hands on her shoulders, and now he moved closer. “Tell you what. I’m in an important meeting with some clients, but as soon as—”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she cut in. “I knew I should have called first, but I was afraid if I did I’d chicken out, so I just called a cab and rushed over.” She slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him close enough so she could ease the bug off the cuff of her sweater with her other hand. When it was stuck on her finger she kissed him again with a passion she didn’t feel, but which she felt was necessary to keep him distracted. Just as she was reaching for his lapels his hand went to her breast, startling her. Her automatic response was to elbow it away. The bug stuck to his suit.
“I thought you wanted me to touch you,” he said in a husky voice that made her cringe.
She had to get the bug off the arm of his jacket without giving herself away. “Not in the middle of your foyer, I don’t.” Rita hadn’t told her the damn bug would be so difficult to handle. God, she was making a mess of this. She stepped back, but kept her hand on his arm. “I wasn’t ready for that. I mean, that’s why we need to talk. I don’t know where this relationship is going, and, well, I’m confused.” She stroked up his arm until she reached the bug and then lifted the edge of it with her fingernail. To her horror, it fell to the floor.
They both looked down.
John tried Hannah’s cell phone again, but there was still no answer. No answer at the cottage, no answer in her office. So where the hell was she? He ran his hand over his head and thought again about having a beer instead of more coffee, but rejected it. He would need his wits about him with Walter, if he ever decided to show up, and if there was something wrong with Hannah and he needed to get back to her. But damn it, how was he going to know? She’d told him she was looking forward to having a relaxing evening, soaking in the tub and doing some reading. Granted, she could be in the tub, but for this long? And she’d promised to keep her cell phone with her at all times just in case the stalker showed up.
What if the stalker already had shown up?
“Christ,” he muttered. What was taking Walter so damn long? He glanced at his watch—seven thirty-six. They had agreed to meet at five. If it were anyone besides Walter, he would’ve blown this joint an hour ago. What if Hannah needed him?
“Dare I join you?”
John looked up at the sound of Walter’s voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you were actually coming.”
Walter shucked off his trench coat, hung it on a peg and slid into the leatherette booth across from John. “Sorry about that.” John didn’t think he looked the least bit sorry. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”
“Just coffee.”
Walter got the waitress’s attention and ordered a coffee for himself. She handed him a menu, and he proceeded to study it as though he hadn’t shown up two and half hours late. John waited. Eventually Walter wouldn’t be able to stand the silence and he’d start talking. They always did.
“I’ll give you a few more minutes,” the young blonde waitress said. She smiled at John, as she’d been doing since he’d walked into Ernesto’s almost three hours ago. He winked at her, and her smile broadened. A minute later, Walter closed his menu and looked up. He was having some trouble making eye contact. Not a good sign. Still, John waited him out.
“So, how’s it going with Hannah?” Walter asked.
The waitress reappeared with a basket of bread and Walter’s coffee. They ordered sandwiches and she went off to put in their order.
“I never kiss and tell,” John said.
Walter nodded. “Does Bradshaw know she’s screwing around with you?”
“I don’t see how he would,” he said, trying for a smile. It was a struggle to hold his temper, but he knew how to fake it. “It’s only been a couple of weeks and we’re very discreet.”
Walter took a sip of his coffee, added a packet of sugar, stirred it and took another sip before he met John’s eyes again. This was definitely not good. “Hannah didn’t mention Santini’s visit?”
“Not a word. So what is it exactly that you want her to do?”
“Drop in unannounced during a meeting he’s having with some persons of interest and place a bug on him.”
John froze. “A bug?” He knew how hard it was to get a judge to agree to let them bug a residence or a person. They had some serious shit on Bradshaw, then.
“It’s a nanotech device. Tiny. Won’t activate until she leaves, so there’s very little risk.”
Like hell. “I’ve never heard of a device like that.”
Walter shrugged. “It’s brand new.” He sipped his coffee. “So, what would you have done if she’d told you about it? Would you have played the protective boyfriend?”
“If you’re asking if I would stand in the way of a bureau investigation the answer is of—” Suddenly Walter’s words sank in. “What did you say?”
“I said—” Walter hesitated for a fraction of a second, and John knew. “What would you do if she told you about Santini’s visit?”
Son of a bitch.
“No,” John said. “That’s not what you said. You said, ‘What would you have done if she had told you.’” He leaned forward, careful to keep hi
s hands under the table so he wouldn’t be tempted to put them around Walter’s neck. “That means it’s a done deal. She agreed to do it, didn’t she? Is that what you wanted to tell me? Are you ordering me to back off?”
Walter laid his forearms on the table and leaned toward John. “You still haven’t answered my question. I think I know the answer, though. I think you would have tried to talk her out of it because you’re involved with her and you’ve lost your objectivity.” He stared hard at John. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I haven’t lost my objectivity,” John said in the calmest voice he could muster. “But maybe the FBI has. What if she succeeds? You don’t think Bradshaw’s going to realize it was Hannah who brought the bug in?”
Walter sat back. “Bradshaw cares about her. He wouldn’t hurt her.”
John was incredulous. “You don’t know that. And what about all the other guys in that meeting? Organized crime doesn’t like witnesses, Walter. They hunt down witnesses and kill them. Sometimes they torture them first. You think it’s objective, not to mention ethical, to put an innocent woman in that position?”
“Santini explained it to her. She went in with her eyes open. If there’s a problem, we can put her in the witness-protection program.”
John nearly lost it then. “Oh, that’s just great. She gets to give up her life, her family, all her friends, and start over somewhere else. And you—” He stopped and gripped the edge of the table. “What do you mean, ‘She went in with her eyes open’? Went in? Are you saying—”
It all fell into place in that instant.
“Holy fuck. You kept me here waiting for you so I’d be out of her way. Jesus Christ. She’s there right now, isn’t she?” When Walter didn’t answer, John stood and leaned all the way across the table so he was in the SAC’s face. “Isn’t she?”
“It was the best way,” Walter said.
Chapter Eighteen
Hannah bent down quickly and picked up the bug.
“Stupid button fell off,” she said when she stood. Thornton was looking at her closed fist. She slipped the bug into the breast pocket of her blouse, letting it fall open to keep his eyes busy. Good Lord, she was acting so totally out of character it was a miracle he hadn’t picked up on it yet. Either he was half-drunk or he figured she was.
Thornton put his hands on her hips and gazed down at her. “Let’s go get you that drink.” He took her hand and led her down a hallway lined with photos of him with various dignitaries, and into a sitting room with a wet bar in the corner. Bookshelves covered the walls and sheer curtains covered the bottom half of the windows. There was an airy feel to the room that made her feel a little less trapped.
“I’ll get someone to come in and light a fire for you, and you can relax in here until I’m done. Wine or something stronger?”
“White wine would be perfect.” Somehow she had to get the damn bug out of her pocket and onto his suit. It was a small room, but there was a lot to look at, including several photographs of Ty at different ages. She turned her back on Thornton and bent down to study one of the photos. Should she get the bug out now or take the wine first? If he went into the meeting without the bug, she would have come for nothing. Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned to see a youngish man with slicked-back, very black hair enter the room. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bradshaw,” the young man said. “I was sent to find out when you were coming back.” He glanced at Hannah—then did a double take.
Damn it! Hannah felt her heart sink. She couldn’t very well keep her back turned long enough to get the bug out now.
Thornton carried a glass of wine over to where she was standing. “Nicky, I’d like you to build a fire in here so Miss Duncan can relax while she waits for me. And then come back into the meeting.” He handed her the glass with an intimate smile. “I’ll be out of there as quickly as I can.” He kissed her lightly on the lips and strode to the door without another word.
As soon as he was out the door, Hannah glanced over at Nicky—and nearly spilled her wine.
He gave her a slow smile.
John was bent low over his bike as he flew down I-95. It all made sense now—Hannah not wanting to go away for the weekend, her unwillingness to talk. She had agreed to help the FBI, and she was afraid he’d try to talk her out of it. He had to get to Bradshaw’s house—to do what, he didn’t really know, but he needed to be there.
He veered off onto the exit and cursed the SUV crawling along in front of him. The rain had turned to snow showers, and it felt like the temperature had dropped thirty degrees since he’d come down this road earlier. Walter had refused to tell him any more details about what was going down tonight, but John knew the FBI would be listening in from a van somewhere near the house where they wouldn’t be noticed, most likely in a stand of trees. All he had to do was drive around until he found it and wait until Hannah came out, if she hadn’t already. He’d tried to reach her on her cell phone and at the cottage before he left the restaurant, but there was no answer.
Twenty minutes later he passed a lawn-service van parked off the road about a hundred yards from a wooded corner of Bradshaw’s estate. He continued down the road and ditched his bike in the woods, then walked toward the van as casually as he could to alleviate suspicion. By now Walter would have called to let them know John was on his way. He wondered if they’d try to turn him away. It would be an exercise in futility, of course, because there was no way he wasn’t getting inside that van. He wondered if Walter had told them that too.
He walked up to the back door of the van and knocked. At first there was no answer, so he knocked again and waited. Thirty seconds later Rita Santini stuck her head out and grimaced.
“We’re not supposed to let you in,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I’m sure Walter also told you I wouldn’t go away, so you may as well move aside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”
“Don’t get in our way, John.” She pushed the door open. He climbed in and locked it behind him. There were two young guys inside the van, both wearing headphones. They glanced at him and turned back to their control boards.
“What’s happening?” John said.
“Shut up so we can listen,” Rita said. She placed her headphones over her ears.
“Got some extra headphones?”
She shook her head.
“Are you picking up Bradshaw?”
“Not yet.”
“Whoa! She knows the guy!” A young black guy who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five smiled at John like he was listening to a friggin’ book on tape and had just gotten to the good part.
“What guy?” John asked.
“Nicky,” the kid said.
“Who’s Nicky?”
The kid shrugged. John pulled the headphones off the kid’s head and put them on. The kid must have seen the look on his face, because he opened his mouth to protest and immediately closed it.
John could hear Hannah, clear as a bell. And he didn’t like it. “Is she wearing a wire?”
“No.” Then she added reluctantly, “She’s delivering a nanotech listening device.”
“Then why can I hear her?” He turned to Rita. The agent didn’t meet his gaze. John spoke louder. “I thought the bug didn’t activate until she was out of the house.” He could see the blush creep up Rita’s cheeks, even as she shot him an annoyed look. The bastards had pulled a fast one on Hannah. “Son of a bitch. She’s walking around in there with an active listening device.”
Rita yanked off her headphones. “What were we supposed to do? She could end up spilling her guts to Bradshaw, and then where would we be? At least now we’ll know.”
“You lied to her,” John said between his teeth. “She’s a sitting duck in that house. What if they detect the bug, Santini? You going to sit out here and listen to her scream while they break her fingers?”
Rita narrowed her eyes. “Do I really need to answer that?” Then she turned away and stuck he
r headphones back on. John did the same.
When this was over, there was going to be hell to pay.
“We meet again,” Nick said. He stood in front of the fireplace with his hands on his hips, looking Hannah up and down. “You grew up nice, Hannah. Beautiful. Classy. Very nice piece of work.”
Hannah took a sip of her wine and pretended to be calm. “Do I know you?”
Nick threw his head back and barked out a laugh. “Oh, please. You know damn well who I am, so don’t play dumb, okay?”
Of course she remembered him, but she never imagined she would see him again. She glanced at the door Thornton had just closed behind him. “You know, I have a feeling Mr. Bradshaw wouldn’t like you talking to me like this. Aren’t you supposed to be building a fire?”
Nick kept his smile in place. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, maybe five-eleven, muscular, wearing an expensive charcoal-gray suit. He loosened his tie and shrugged out of his jacket, laid it carefully over the back of the couch and started rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.
The plan formed instantly in her mind. She’d wait until he was busy with the fire and then slip the bug into the breast pocket of his jacket. He was going back into the same meeting, so it wouldn’t matter that the bug was on him instead of Thornton.
Thank you, God.
She smiled.
“So, you and Bradshaw, huh?” Nick reached for some newspaper and started rolling it up, only turning away long enough to stuff it into the grate. “Some guys got all the luck.”
Hannah moved closer to the couch. It would look strange to be digging into her pocket. She set the glass down on a lamp table and pulled off the silk blouse. Nick was laying tiny sticks of kindling on top of the newspaper. He turned back and stared blatantly at her chest.