11

by Kylie Brant

  “Did you locate the POI?” Kacee’s voice was brisk on the other end when she came on. Probably dealing with a dozen other things during the call. Her multi-tasking ability made her invaluable at keeping the operational details of his business running.

  “Finding the person of interest wasn’t the problem. Figuring out what the hell is going on is.” Briefly he filled her in on the events of the day.

  Kacee was silent for a moment. “Her kidnapping story just got a little more implausible.”

  Jude grunted. The thought had crossed his mind. “I need information, fast. I have to know what I’m dealing with. Get an interpreter in there and put Hunter on the Da Nang police scanners, or whatever they have here that’s comparable. Local radio and TV stations. I need to know if the story about the roommate checks out, and if so, what they think happened. If that doesn’t work, put out an Associated Press feeler. The fact that she’s a foreigner will make international interest believable.” The Samantha Simmons ID was British, if he recalled correctly, via the Cayman Islands. That would misdirect the Vietnamese police interest and buy them some time.

  Them. The use of the word made him uncomfortable. He owed a favor to Adam Raiker. He owed nothing to Mia Deleon. He was in this only as long as he could trust her. And right now that wasn’t very far.

  “I’ll want airline tickets bought under Mia’s first ID, and my third. You can start researching them now, but I can’t give you a departure date yet.” Vietnamese banks didn’t offer lockboxes, and there were no lockers at bus depots and train stations. He’d be willing to bet that Mia carried everything of value on her person, the same way he did. “Best route would be through Paris. Or London. Then we’ll use alternate IDs to get back to the US.”

  “Destination?”

  “DC. For both of us,” he added, thinking of his promise to Raiker. If he discovered that Mia had nothing to do with her roommate’s fate, he’d help get her out of the country. If she did…she could face the Vietnamese police alone, after he facilitated a call with Adam. Whatever the tactics he sometimes employed, Jude had his own moral code. Steering clients toward high quality phony IDs and hacking government databases were acceptable. Helping a killer avoid justice was not.

  “Departure city?”

  He had to think about that one for a moment. Hong Kong would be closer, but the Philippines would be a safer bet. “Manila,” he told her, then thought of one more thing. “See if Logan can get the incoming airline manifests for Vietnam this last week. Looking for a woman, likely American, mid to late twenties.” The driver of the blue car would undoubtedly be using an alias, but even a false name would be useful when tracking her passport. “Call me when you have something.”

  “You got it.”

  Jude disconnected, certain he wouldn’t have to wait long for results. He employed people he trusted and they maintained that trust by producing outcomes.

  A river of sweat snaked down his back. Slipping his phone back in his jeans pocket he turned and retraced his steps, heading to the nearest tavern. He’d order a Vietnamese beer and if he couldn’t find someone there who spoke at least a little English, he’d continue to the next bar, and then the next until he found one. Sometimes the most casual of conversations could yield the most interesting details.

  He stepped back up on the curb swiftly, narrowly avoiding having his foot run over by a driver on a scooter who’d maybe already imbibed a few too many. Jude wasn’t sure the food could be trusted around here, but eventually he’d find something to take back to Mia.

  The only question was whether she’d still be where he’d left her. He couldn’t assume that the last five years had made her any less unpredictable.

  The first bar he tried was the sort of dive that he was all too familiar with. It was a type to be found the world over, with shifty-eyed occupants and questionable sanitation. The beer was warm, the flies thick, and if any of the customers spoke more than a word of English, they were keeping their linguistic skills to themselves. After forcing down half a beer, Jude made a point of looking at his watch and hastily took his leave. No one seemed any more interested in his departure than they had his arrival.

  The next one was across the street and boasted a neon Coors sign in front that was half burned out. The inside was almost a twin for the establishment he’d just left, with wobbly wooden tables ringed with equally unsteady chairs. Backless barstools faced a marred counter top overseen by a pudgy woman with a grim expression and guarded eyes.

  “English?” Her expression never changed. “Coors Light.” She turned and snatched a glass off a rack next to the sink and went to pour him a draft. Turning to set it in front of him, she said, “Five dollars.”

  “So you do speak English.” He peeled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her, gesturing for her to keep the change.

  She didn’t answer directly. “American?”

  “Yes. Vacationing with my wife. She went back to the hotel to get out of the heat.” He lifted a shoulder. “It doesn’t bother me.” The bartender appeared impervious to it, as well. If there was air conditioning in the place, it was turned down low enough to be barely noticeable.

  Another customer three seats away raised his mug and said something in Vietnamese. The woman moved away. Jude was content to drink in silence for a few minutes. A barely dressed young female who looked like she was still in her teens got up from a table where she’d been fanning herself desultorily and made her way toward Jude. He waited until she got close enough to catch his eye, and shook his head, stopping her in her tracks.

  Or maybe she’d halted midstride only because she’d drawn near enough to see his scars. Either worked, because she did an about face and sauntered over to the man who had just ordered a fresh beer, straddling a stool beside him.

  When the woman behind the bar glanced his way, he crooked a finger at her. He still had a half full glass in front of him, but she ambled toward him. No one seemed to want to expend more energy than they had to in this heat.

  “Whiskey? Rum?”

  “Maybe later.” He leaned forward. “My wife likes boats. I’d thought maybe I could surprise her with a midnight cruise. Boating. After dark.” His lips quirked. “Romantic.”

  She looked unimpressed. “Try boats. Hotel will know. Many tours.”

  “Yeah, that’s where she got the idea. But they’re expensive. I thought you’d know someone. A fisherman maybe. A guy who’d like to make extra money for a couple hours tonight.”

  The woman made a derogatory sound. “Big spender? Boats smell like fish. Your wife no like.”

  “She’ll like,” he assured her. Slipping another bill out of his pocket he slid it across the bar. The bartender palmed it a smooth movement that spoke of practice. “Do Hong Minh. Or Nguyen Thanh Hung. Lazy man. Drink much. But boat nice. Your wife like.”

  “What time do the boats dock?”

  The woman shrugged, moving away. “All times. Before dark. When time to eat.”

  Although he’d gotten what he’d come for, he forced himself to take some time to drink more of the beer before leaving. He’d collect several more names before heading back to the room, because he was a cautious man. And one of his cardinal rules was to always have multiple exit plans. Whether or not he’d need them in the end depended on what Kacee had to share with him when she called back.

  What she revealed would determine whether Mia would be accompanying him out of the country.

  It took another couple hours of making his way through the neighborhood bars, dodging the occasional prostitute and causing a would-be pickpocket a sprained arm and some degree of pain. When he was satisfied he had all he needed, Jude walked over several blocks, back to the more touristy area of the waterfront, with its restaurants and souvenir shops. It was while he was choosing some take out from a small dining establishment that he glanced out the front window.

  And saw a small blue car driving much too slowly down the street.

  * * * *


  Holding the bags of food in one hand, Jude rapped at the door of their rented room. Silence. The knob turned in his hand. Caution rearing, he stepped aside and pushed the door open. There was nothing to stop its swing inside.

  The scooter was parked in the corner of the room. Had Mia left? On the heels of that thought, came another. That perhaps she’d opened the door for someone who hadn’t given her a choice about leaving. Silently he set the bags on the floor and in a burst of motion, went in low and fast, prepared for anyone who might be waiting for him around the corner. But the room was empty. He glanced under the bed. Nothing. The bathroom door was half open, light spilling from it.

  “Mia?” He pushed open the door, took a step inside the small space. The flimsy shower stall’s curtain was closed. His hand rose midway in the air to open it, he heard a slight sound behind him and immediately realized his mistake. Cool steel kissed the side of his throat.

  “I had a little time to think while you were gone. And I decided that you owe me some answers.”

  3

  “Not bad.” Jude’s tone, damn him, held a tinge of amusement. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were that fast. You opened the window, and hid inside it, right? Behind the shade?”

  “I’m the one with the questions, remember?” Mia increased the pressure against his throat. He wasn’t taking her seriously, but he should. There had been a few others in recent years that had underestimated her, to their regret. Right now she was half convinced he’d sold her information to Four and the demon that had enslaved them both. Paranoia was running high, warring with reason.

  “I’m not fond of knives.” The humor had vanished from his voice. “Normal enough reaction, after someone tried to peel my face off with one.” With the speed of a striking snake his hand came up to clamp her wrist, while he pivoted toward her. Anticipating his move she pulled away, kicking his half bent knee while he was turning and danced out of reach.

  “Nice move.” The compliment was delivered with almost clinical detachment. “You shouldn’t attempt to use a knife in close proximity with someone so much taller. It’s too easy to be overpowered, and you’re limited by your shorter reach.”

  “Am I?” Her tone was derisive, her gazed fixed on his. “And yet here I am, still armed.”

  “Only because I’m more interested in eating than in hurting you.” He started for the door. Stopped when she deliberately stepped in his way.

  “As I said, you have some explaining to do.”

  He spread his arms. “You want to slice me up? Go ahead. Aim for a major artery. Any other place and you risk the chance that I just take it away and use it on you.” A moment ticked by. She didn’t move. “No? Then I’m going back into the hall to get the food I left out there. We can eat while we talk.”

  She let him go because she didn’t doubt that he’d return. Either because he didn’t take her seriously, or because he was that confident of his own defensive abilities. Probably both. Still wary, Mia lowered the knife to her side but didn’t put it away. She wasn’t without defensive moves of her own.

  He reentered the room, stopping to relock it before striding to the bed, paper bags in his hands. She watched as he removed boxes from the bags, spreading them across the bed before he rummaged for plates, chopsticks, napkins and plastic silverware. “I had to do some fast talking to get her to include plates. Picnic must be a universally understood word.” He knelt in front of the bed and nonchalantly filled a plate, as if used to having an armed woman standing near him, only degrees away from doing him harm. Given his personality, maybe it was a common occurrence.

  “There’s no way Four found me without help.” Her stomach growled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But she made no move toward the food. “I was too careful.”

  Bishop sat on his haunches, plate balanced in one hand while he expertly wielded chopsticks with the other. “Yet here she is. You must have screwed up. Left a trail.”

  The accusation had her fingers curling more tightly around the hilt of the knife. “Or you sold my information to her.”

  He paused, the chopsticks midway to his lips. “Why would I do that?”

  Mia jerked a shoulder. “The same reason people do anything. Money. Greed. Sex. Power. Pick one.”

  “None of the above.” He continued eating, working around the different dishes he’d served on the plate. “You got complacent. It happens when people are on the run for too long. You must have let something slip to the wrong person. Made a phone call that could be traced. Left a cyber trail. It doesn’t take much for someone with the right motivation and resources to pick up on.”

  She could have told him that complacency and carelessness set in only when people began feeling safe. Mia doubted she’d ever experience that particular emotion again. “Seems a lot of work when all she’d have to do is go to you. If you didn’t sell the information outright—and I’m not convinced you didn’t—maybe she hacked your computer files.”

  He laughed at that, seeming genuinely amused. “Not a chance. And if she had she wouldn’t have found the information she was looking for there. You think I leave evidence that I provide services that some narrowly focused on the law might consider illegal?”

  It was one of those loose ends that didn’t fit. And yet she knew she hadn’t left a trace either. Paranoia tended to keep a person hyper-vigilant. “Then the only other possibility is that you sold her the information. That you’d arranged for my disappearance. The names on the false passports. It wouldn’t have been difficult to guess that I’d retain security. Or to discover I’d hired your company.”

  “Technically I was hired by your father.”

  She smiled thinly. “My father’s not that altruistic. He forwarded the billing to me.”

  Having devoured everything on his plate, he moved to the bed to serve up more. “Just a tip—a security business doesn’t last long if word gets out they sell privileged information about their clients. But if I were interested in scoring some big bucks I’d have leaked your info to a paparazzi rag. Their owners have deeper pockets than the ordinary citizen.”

  Her suspicions began to fray under his logic. “Then why are you here? It’s a bit too coincidental that both of you appeared at the same time.”

  “Coincidental.” He had resumed eating. “And fortunate for you. I didn’t give your information to anyone, but I was asked to find you.”

  Something flickered inside her. Something she’d thought long buried. “My… father?”

  His headshake doused the tiny flicker. Of course. She should have known better. Had known better. As far as Russell Deleon III was concerned, he didn’t have a daughter. He’d told her as much before she left the US. It hadn’t been news. The only times he’d ever remembered her existence was when her outrageous behavior had forced him to deal with her.

  “Have you heard of Adam Raiker?”

  He looked surprised when she nodded. “He’s one of the leading forensic profilers in the States.” She didn’t bother to say how she recognized the name. Mia had known exactly how crippled she was from her trauma. She’d barely been able to make the most mundane decisions once she’d escaped. Could scarcely function in a crowd. Her physical prison had been behind her, but she’d remained caged in an emotional one. She’d realized that she required professional help to deal with her trauma. So meticulously she’d gathered information on the people with the expertise to help her. And then, when she’d felt secure enough, she’d contacted one of them. Dr. Erich Halston.

  The slight smile he gave only lifted one side of his mouth. She wondered if the wounds on his face had caused paralysis on the left. “Raiker would object to part of that descriptor, but close enough. He’s working on a case and found a small detail that reminded him of your story. He wants to speak to you about it.”

  Mia didn’t harbor hope. It was too fragile an emotion, and much too devastating when it was squashed. But something very close to the emotion was blossoming in her chest with a strength th
at strangled the oxygen in her lungs. She sought to rein it in. Bishop would know exactly what to say to her to allay her fears.

  He set his plate on the floor and reached into his jeans pocket to withdraw a phone that vibrated in his hand. “Let me guess.” Her words were caustic. “Raiker conveniently picked this moment to call.”

  “Nope. My office.” He tossed the cell across the bed to her. “Go ahead and answer it. I’m sure you’re already suspecting that the woman chasing you is on the other end, waiting to hear a progress report.”

  She picked it up. Pressed the Talk button. “Yes.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then, “Who is this?”

  “An…acquaintance of Bishop’s.”

  “Put him on.”

  The woman’s voice was imperious, with an edge Mia recognized. It didn’t belong to Four. It was one of Bishop’s employees. The one who’d given her a hard time when she’d called with her third request to switch bodyguards. Kacee something.

  “Who hired him to look for me?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I did.” Seemingly unconcerned with the conversation, Jude continued eating. “Now I’m asking you.”

  “Adam Raiker. He runs the Mindhunters agency. He has a question…”

  Mia tossed the phone back to Jude. “She’s well-trained.”

  Setting down his chopsticks, he picked up the cell. “I’m certain she’ll be pleased to hear you say so.” His side of the conversation didn’t prove illuminating. He listened more than talked, glancing once at Mia, but otherwise ignoring her. She crossed to the bed and set the knife on the floor near her foot, then pulled the stained coverlet toward her until she could reach the remaining plastic plate and food. Discovering the call was from his employee didn’t prove he wasn’t working with Four. It didn’t prove anything at all. Which is why she kept her weapon nearby as she filled the plate and began eating mechanically. Food was fuel. And whatever the rest of the day brought, she needed to preserve her energy.