by Julie Kenner
“Wow,” she said as she came up for air. “You’ve got a great voice to go along with great kissing.”
“I would say get a room,” Brian said, “but maybe you guys should stay and I should go.”
Jenn pulled back and rolled her eyes. “Mind out of the gutter,” she said.
“On the contrary,” Devlin said. “I think it sounds like a fabulous idea.”
She stamped on the stage, the sole of her sneaker making a dull thwack, thwack! “Nah. Floor’s too hard.”
He couldn’t stand not touching her, so he pulled her close again. “We’ll find someplace with a Serta.”
“Just not your apartment. Not until it’s fumigated.”
“I think I can afford a hotel now. How does the penthouse at the Waldorf sound?”
She made a skeptical face, then nodded. “Yeah, well, if that’s the best you can do…”
He laughed, then kissed the top of her head. She’d been brightening his world since the first moment she’d pulled open his drapes. “Come on,” he said, and they started across the stage once more.
After a few steps, she pulled him to a halt. “Wait. I can’t just leave.” And then, while Devlin looked at her curiously, she made puppy-dog eyes at Brian.
He shook his head. “Come on, kid. I’ll get in trouble.”
She dropped to her knees, her hands clasped. “Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeeze?”
Apparently Brian found her as irresistible as Devlin did because he crossed his arms, put on a stern face, but nodded anyway. “Okay. Fine. Let me go turn it on and get the harness.” He moved off into the wings, Jenn’s delighted squeal echoing behind him.
As Jenn got up and started jumping around the stage making happy noises, Devlin watched, amused. She really was alive on stage, and he wondered how much more energy a full house would pump into her. From what he could tell, so far, she hadn’t tried nearly hard enough to get her theater career off the ground. But if she focused, if she really put that wonderful mind to it, he was certain she could manage anything. It was just a question of how she wanted to look at her life.
He moved upstage and leaned against one of the fiberglass trees, watching her from several yards away. At first, Devlin had been clueless about what she’d wanted so much to do here on stage. But as soon as she’d headed for Puck’s house, he’d realized. Jenn wanted to fly.
Well, he couldn’t fault her for that. Hell, if Brian got the gadget working, he just might take flight up to the catwalk, too. After all, it had been a while since he’d had fun on a stage. The theater used to be his playground. Now it was the streets and courthouses of New York. Big change, that.
A few days ago, he’d been so lost in guilt and grief that he hadn’t had the energy to push through the administrative muck and get his badge back. He wanted it now, though. Hell, he needed it. Because how else was he going to take Birdie down?
She may have said that he was off the hook, but she wasn’t. Not after killing Fifi. Not after poisoning Jenn.
And, frankly, he didn’t believe her claim that she was through with him. Why should she let him go? Birdie wasn’t the type to lose gracefully, although he did have to admit that she always played by her own personal code of conduct, her own set of rules. So her declaration that she was playing by the rules now shouldn’t surprise him.
Still, something about her message to him bothered Devlin. Not so much in what she said, but in what she didn’t say.
He was missing something.
He reached a hand back and stroked his sore neck. Damn, his muscles were tight. He needed a long, hot shower, preferably with Jenn right there with him. An image of them together whipped through his head, and he fought the urge to tell her to screw fun and games with Brian’s prop. He had some other fun and games in mind.
But they could spare some time. Now that the game was over and they weren’t worried about Birdie finding them, they could lounge in bed for days if they wanted. And he definitely wanted. Wanted to purge this game from his system. Wanted her warm and naked under him. Wanted to forget the horror their lives had been and remember just the good part, the part where they’d found each other.
Most of all, he wanted to forget the depression he’d been in before Jenn had walked through his door. And he really wanted to forget that he’d actually slept with Birdie.
The bitch had been bold, he’d have to give her credit for that.
She’d had no way of knowing that he’d never seen her. He could have seen pictures from the file, the trial. Hell, he could have watched through one-way glass at various interviews prior to her prosecution so many years ago. He hadn’t, of course. But how had Birdie been sure? Or, if she wasn’t sure, why had she taken the risk? Why get that close? Why needlessly put herself in a position where he might recognize her?
Unless it wasn’t needless at all…
If she needed to get close to him in order to—
Oh, shit!
He started to lunge down to retrieve his gun, was halted by the cold, controlled voice.
“Don’t move another muscle, Ace. Not if you want the girl to live.”
He froze. On the stage, just inches away from Brian’s bird, Jenn froze too, her eyes wide. Terrified.
“Now stand up, slowly, and put your hands behind your head.”
He did as she said, and as he did, Birdie circled around, appearing first in his peripheral vision, leading with her gun. She turned her head just enough to smile at him, then activated the laser sight. A pinpoint of red suddenly stained Jenn’s shirt, right above her heart.
Jenn looked at him, her hands above her head in the classic pose of a victim. Her eyes, however, were bold and fearless. Good girl, he thought. Don’t let the bitch see she’s gotten to you.
“Now grab your pants leg above the knee and pull up the material. I want to see the gun.”
He did as he was told, calculating whether he could grab it and fire. He could, but the odds of Birdie emptying a round into Jenn’s chest were too high.
“Little finger. Pull the gun out. Drop it on the floor.”
He hesitated, frozen, calculating all his options, and running through all scenarios. All of them bad.
“Do it!”
He did.
“Good man. Now kick it aside.”
He kicked, anger burning away the raw edges. He was sharp. He was primed. And he was waiting for an opportunity that wasn’t there yet.
Bluff and stall. It was the best he could do right then, and it was damn little at that.
“Clever,” he said. “The tracking device, I mean. The one you implanted in the back of my neck.”
The pinpoint of red never wavered from Jenn’s heart. “You knew? I’m so disappointed.”
He rubbed at his neck. “I figured it out.”
“Well, aren’t you the clever one…”
He shifted his weight, planning on taking a step forward, but—
“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He stopped, dead in his tracks, and wondered if she could hear the beating of his heart. If she could see the hate in his eyes. He cast a quick glance toward Jenn, saw her stony expression and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was terrified, but she was holding it together. Playing the stoic victim. The survivor. Good girl. Stick with that part.
He wondered where Brian was. Had he encountered Birdie? Had he called for help? There wasn’t any way to find out, and Devlin had to assume that no help was coming. It was him and Birdie—and her with a bullet aimed right at Jenn’s chest.
“I thought you said you were playing by the rules. The game’s over, Birdie. Time to fly away home.”
She smiled, slow and thin. “Aren’t you witty? But not very bright. You were the target in the game. You won fair and square, which means that for the time being at least, you won your life. I meant what I said, though. Come after me and I will kill you.”
“I’m not coming after you. I don’t even have a badge.”
And any second now, she was going to pull the trigger.
Chapter
58
JENNIFER
I t’s a miracle that I didn’t pee my pants. Terrified doesn’t even begin to describe it. I was floating on fear, high on adrenaline, and at the same time totally and completely confident that Devlin would figure something out.
I just wasn’t sure how.
And since his gun was about three yards from his foot, and I had a red patch of light aimed at my chest, I figured that now was as good a time as any to be self-sufficient. That oath I’d taken to be proactive? Time to kick that plan into high gear.
But how?
I kept my eyes on Devlin, who had his eyes on Birdie.
“Dammit, Birdie,” he said, “just go. We don’t have a thing on you. I’ll lay odds there’s nothing tying you to Brian’s death.”
She lifted her brows, then looked meaningfully toward the wings. “You mean Cousin Felix’s death?”
A wave of nausea crashed over me, and it took every ounce of strength in my body not to scream and run into the wings to search for Brian. Devlin shifted, just long enough for his eyes to meet mine, and I swear I could hear his thoughts: Don’t panic, stay still, somehow we’ll get out of this.
I trembled a little—I couldn’t help it—and as I did, I looked up. I was still standing underneath Brian’s bird. Underneath, and a tiny bit to the left.
And that’s when I had the idea.
A terrible, scary, potentially disastrous idea. But an idea nonetheless.
I turned my head, just slightly, and looked back at the catwalk.
“Look at me, you bitch!”
I looked at her, licked my lips, and prayed I hadn’t just shortened my time here on earth. But I had learned what I’d aimed for. The catwalk was as high as I remembered. The angle of ascent was steep, and shifted upstage. If the thing was operational—a big if, since I had no idea if Brian had managed to flip the switch—and if I could grab hold before she managed to kill me, then maybe, just maybe, I could get away. She might expect me to try to dive out of the way, but I doubted she expected me to fly.
She was a smart girl, though. And she’d figure out pretty quickly that I hadn’t moved the direction she’d expected. So unless Devlin was clued in to my plan—unless he managed to get to his gun the split second I needed him to—then I was only buying myself a few more moments of a bullet-free lifestyle.
Under the circumstances, I decided it was worth the risk.
Now I just had to hope that Devlin and I had bonded over these last few days. At least enough so that he could read my mind.
I stared at him, willing him to understand, but he was still trying to talk her down. “I’m the one you have the grudge against,” Devlin said.
She had her eyes on me, so he was pretty much talking to the side of her head. I didn’t care. My concentration was entirely on Devlin. I kept rolling my eyes kind of backward and up, toward the catwalk. I hoped I looked terrified and spasmodic (to Birdie) and brilliantly cunning (to Devlin).
In my head I was screaming. I’ll jump! You go for the gun! Please, please, please understand me!
But the trouble with meaningful looks is that they really only seem to work in the movies. I might be casting meaningful looks back toward the catwalk, but Devlin didn’t seem to be getting it.
“You want revenge?” he said. “Take me down.”
“No!” I screamed. “She’s not going to win. She’s going to crash and burn and we’re going to fly out of here. Not you, Birdie. Us. We’re the ones who’re going to fly away home.” As coded messages went, that one was pretty crappy, but considering the stress factor, I figured it wasn’t a half-bad improv. And if Devlin caught on, well, then I’d deserve a standing ovation.
“Shut up, you bitch,” Birdie said, without even raising her voice. I swear, I think that scared me the most of all.
She turned her head just slightly, giving Devlin a tiny bit more attention. “I’m not going to kill you, Devlin. Not here, anyway. I told you. I play by the rules.”
“Birdie,” he said, his voice tight. “She’s nothing to you.”
At that, she shook her head. “Oh no,” she said. “As a matter of fact, she’s everything to me. And do you want to know why, Agent Devlin Brady?”
He just shook his head.
Her thin smile chilled me. “Because she’s important to you,” she said, then lifted her gun.
“Jump!” Devlin yelled at the same time.
But I’d already jumped even as he said it, throwing myself backwards and to the side and—thank God—managing to catch the handle hidden in the bird. In the split second it took, I prayed that Brian had turned the power on, because if he hadn’t, I was dead.
I heard the sharp crack of a gun exploding, then screamed as I felt a bullet rip through my thigh. I almost slipped, but I hung on, biting my lower lip against the pain in my leg as the device whisked me up and away toward the catwalk, my view of Devlin now blocked by the black drapes that hung in the wings. It was just me and Birdie and the hope that he was there. That he’d gotten his gun. That he’d save me.
I clung to that hope as tightly as I was hanging on to the tailfeathers. But even so, it was a tenuous grip. Birdie was already repositioning her gun, and I saw the red dot bounce over the black drapes. Only milliseconds until that dot found my chest, and I knew there was only one way out. Straight down. I had to let go and fall, probably breaking my legs—or more—in the process. Definitely passing out from the pain. The bullet in my leg already had me woozy, the adrenaline the only thing keeping me conscious. Add another layer, and I’d be out.
The red dot moved. Shaky, then steady. And then there it was. Right on my chest. I loosened my grip. I was out of time.
“Hang on!” Devlin called, and even as his voice cried out, the crack of a gun echoed through the empty theater, along with a scream that I was pretty sure belonged to me.
I sucked in air and glanced down. The red dot was gone and so was Birdie.
Fear poured out of me, replaced by a wash of relief so powerful it sapped my strength. I couldn’t hold on, and I let go, crying out Devlin’s name as I fell, bracing myself for the harsh pain of impact, then landing—far too quickly—with a whompf as the wind got knocked out of me.
The catwalk. The bird had delivered me to the catwalk.
With a groan, I rolled over onto my side. The world had turned a funny shade of gray, kind of like it was inside-out, and I blinked, trying to make colors come back. Nothing.
Below me, I could make out a gray Devlin blob. He stood over another blob that I assumed was Birdie.
“Jenn, don’t move,” he was saying. The words crested over me like warm water.
“Okay,” I sang. “Okay.” I scrunched up my forehead, thinking that there was something important I wanted to ask. Oh yeah. “She’s dead, right?”
“She’s dead,” Devlin confirmed.
And on that happy note, I let the gray take me away.
Epilogue
JENNIFER
W hen the gray disappeared, I found myself groggy and achy and cast in a slightly greenish light. I moaned and shifted, and felt a tug on my right arm. I looked down, saw an IV stuck in my forearm, and felt a fresh wave of nausea. I hate needles.
I shifted to the left, making a point not to look at the thing stuck in my arm, and was treated to a wonderful view: Devlin, sound asleep in what looked to be the world’s most uncomfortable chair. Beside me, a host of monitors hummed and beeped, the green LED display boosting the ambient light that slipped in through a venetian-blind-covered window.
“Devlin,” I whispered. “Devlin.”
His eyes opened, and the smile that
followed warmed me to my toes. “Welcome back, sleeping beauty.”
“How long have I been out?”
“About sixteen hours. You had surgery.” He nodded toward the end of the bed, and I realized dully that I couldn’t feel my leg. I jumped, suddenly alarmed, and Devlin was right there, holding my hand and making reassuring noises. “It’s fine. You’re fine. You came through great.”
“Brian?” I held my breath, fearing the worst.
“He’s fine. Even better off than you. She cold-cocked him. He was out by the electrical panel. Mild concussion. They admitted him for observation, but he’ll be released in the morning. I’ll bring him up to see you.”
I swallowed, so relieved I could only smile my thanks.
“Mel’s here, too,” he said. “And Matthew. She did get special dispensation and busted tail getting here. She’s pretty impressed with you.”
“Yeah? I’m impressed with me, too. Where is she now?”
“Outside Brian’s room, talking with Mark.”
“Mark?”
“Agent Bullard. He’s on the case. Birdie’s dead, but she left a trail. And with any luck, these new leads will pan out, but at least we’ve got something to work with. We’re going to find out who’s behind this. And we’re going to shut them down.”
“We?” I asked, looking at him pointedly.
“I’m not back on active status yet, but I’ve got my advocate working on pulling together my case. I’m going in tomorrow for a rescheduled admin hearing. If what we’re hearing is true, the tide’s shifted, and only a few naysayers still think I threw in with Randall.”
“So you should get your badge back.”
“That’s my plan.”
“I’m glad,” I said, which sounded really inadequate, but was totally heartfelt. “Of course,” I added in a teasing voice, “you could just blow off the agency and come back to Broadway.”