Her hands still shaking, she frantically searched Cody’s pockets for car keys. But there were none. Damn. She shoved the spent Colt into her coat pocket, picked up Cody’s loaded Smith & Wesson, and ran out of the cabin across the snow to her right, toward a blue, two-door sedan. It looked like the beat up 1970s Plymouth Barracuda a friend of her mother’s had owned. This one appeared to be in similar condition.
She tried the driver’s door, which creaked loudly as it opened. But no key was inside. She slammed her hands down on the steering wheel, then noticed the small, two-story home off to her right. As she approached the door, she pulled up and realized that more of Hung Jin’s men could be inside. But she was out of options.
Hung Jin could return any minute—or, if Cody missed some predetermined check-in time, others could be on their way to scout out the scene. Lauren did not plan on being here when or if that occurred.
That she had gotten this far was more than she could reasonably have expected. But this was the beginning, not the ending. Holding the gun out in front of her, she opened the front door to the house and waited. Listened.
Slowly, she edged inward, eyes combing the living room chairs, sofa... the small bedroom to her left... and the kitchen. She stopped and listened again. There were no noises other than her rapid breathing. Reasoning that anyone else in the cabin would already have responded to the gunshots, she let her guard down long enough to begin searching through the kitchen for the keys. She scanned the countertops, pulled open cabinets, and yanked open drawers.
Just then, her eyes caught a glimmer of gold across the room on the round kitchen table. Lying there partially obscured by a splayed-open copy of Guns & Ammo was her necklace, the small key still attached. She pushed aside the magazine, scooped up her keepsake and saw a ring of keys. She snatched them up, then grabbed a bag of pretzels and a can of Barq’s root beer that were sitting on the counter. She knotted her broken necklace and put it back on, where it belonged.
Hung Jin’s heart was pounding something fierce. He was light-headed and jittery. Years ago, during his first couple of contract hits, he’d had this same sensation. Too much adrenaline. He had been taught that the hormone sharpens the senses, makes one more aware of his surroundings. But he had once made the mistake of being so focused that he lost the ability to see peripheral issues crucial to the success of his mission—and it had almost gotten him killed. Like an animal that survives in the wild, he had adapted and learned how to control his aggression.
But that was before he spent six years in prison. Before it got personal.
He turned right onto Summit Ridge and accelerated.
Five minutes to the bungalow...and truth. Or consequences.
Lauren ran to the car, cranked the engine, and drove past the open cabin door, where Cody’s body lay sprawled across the floor in an unmistakable death pose. She followed the sloping ice-covered dirt road until it widened a bit, hoping it would lead to a main artery. Out in the mountains, on an overcast day, she had no way of getting her bearings. Was she headed north or west? For that matter, was she in California? Arizona or Nevada? The disorientation was overwhelming. She grabbed for the radio and turned it up loud.
She continued driving for another half mile, at which point the road forked. She skidded to a stop and swiveled her head in both directions. To the left was a narrow roadway named Summit Ridge. To the right was Auburn Hills Pass. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Which way? The wrong road could take her in circles or send her deeper into the middle of nowhere. As the seconds passed, she realized that putting distance between herself and the cabin—and Hung Jin—was most important. Her instinct told her to go right. She turned the wheel and accelerated.
Ten minutes later, after nearly sliding into the embankment several times because of the icy conditions, Lauren finally found signs of civilization: a two-lane road labeled Highway 88. She continued on for a couple of miles before seeing a large grouping of a dozen motorcycles parked outside an aged white building on the corner of Centerville Lane.
She parked the Barracuda and walked into the Valley Bar. Loud music was blaring from a jukebox in the corner, where a gathering of locals was laughing and hooting. The bartender looked up and caught sight of Lauren, then put down her sink rag and moved out from behind the counter.
“You okay?” she asked, appraising the bruises and cuts on Lauren’s face.
“I’m fine. I had... an accident. I just need to make a call.”
“Come on over here.” The woman led Lauren to the bar and showed her the telephone. “Can I get you something?”
“No, I don’t have much time. I’ve got to get going.”
“I can wrap it to go.”
“I lost my wallet in the accident. I don’t have any money.”
“Not a problem. I’ll put something together. Meantime, go ahead and make your call.”
“One thing.” Lauren hesitated a second, then asked, “Where am I?”
“I know, there aren’t any signs around here. You’re in Gardnerville. Blink twice and you’ve missed us.”
“No, I mean what state?”
The woman eyed her cautiously. “Nevada.”
Lauren thanked her and lifted the telephone. When the woman stepped away, Lauren called Nick Bradley collect. She told him her location and gave him a brief rundown of what had happened to her. Not until she mentioned the name Hung Jin did he interrupt her story.
“Lauren, I want you to call the sheriff and wait there till they get to you. I’ll make some calls myself—”
“No, Nick, no sheriff.” A burst of raucous laughing in the background made it difficult for her to hear. She plugged her other ear and tried to make out what he was saying.
“Lauren, this is not something to fool around with.”
“We’ll call Deputy Vork from the airplane. That way he won’t be able to detain me to take a statement.”
“Detain you—for what?”
“That’s assuming he wouldn’t arrest me first and ask questions later.”
“Arrest you? Lauren—”
“Right now, I need to get to Michael, and nothing is going to stop me from doing that.”
She promised to give him a full accounting of what had happened to her, then asked him to book another flight for them to Virginia. As she hung up the phone, she turned to see the bartender standing beside her with a can of Coke and a cellophane-wrapped sandwich.
“Hope you like turkey.”
“Oh, I can’t—”
“Sure you can. You look like you could use some help. Anything else I can get you?”
Lauren took the food and shook her head. “You’ve been great, thanks so much.”
She got back in the car and headed down Service Route 88, which, according to the bartender, would lead her to U.S. 50 and take her all the way to Placerville. She reached for the radio, turned it up loud, then sighed deeply.
Michael, what have you gotten me into?
28
Hung Jin brought the Navigator to a stop ten feet from the cabin. His heart was banging so hard that he felt as if it would rise up through his throat.
But as he slammed his car door shut and approached the cabin, he realized that something was wrong. Blood spatter in the snow, stretching a few feet across the threshold...
He stepped closer and saw Cody’s body. The dumbstruck look on his face, the bare feet. The broken chair.
The empty cabin.
His howl rattled the woods. Though muffled slightly by the snow-covered mountains, the shrill noise numbed his ears.
He stepped into the cabin, howled again, then threw himself down and pounded his fists into the floor until pain shot up to his elbows. He was on all fours, his knees beside his fallen colleague’s bare feet.
He grabbed a broken chair slat off the floor and began beating Cody’s torso, the dead thumping sound drowned out by his fury.
“No!” he screamed. “No, no, no!”
&n
bsp; It was a plaintive wail of great pain. Deep emotional pain. Not because his colleague was dead, but because he had been looking forward to the challenge, to the intense satisfaction Lauren Chambers’s death was going to bring him.
His hunger raged; he felt cheated.
Again.
He jumped to his feet, grabbed the door, and tore it off its hinges. Then he strode to his car and set off in search of his prey.
29
Lauren brought the Barracuda to a stop in the driveway leading to the carport behind her house, where a late-eighties, brown Ford Tempo was parked. She strained to see the car’s interior, but no one was inside. At least, no one she could see. Her hand immediately closed around Cody’s Smith & Wesson.
She thought of driving to the sheriff’s department and telling them a strange car was parked in her driveway. But dressed in torn pajamas and looking as if she’d just spent a couple of days being beaten would invite questions, questions she could not answer just yet. Particularly with Cody’s blood spattered all over her clothing.
Her other option, going to the nearest phone booth and calling Nick Bradley, made the most sense. Yet she found herself moving across the carport, weapon steadied in front of her, ready to fire... prepared to take down the man who had caused her so much pain. Truth was, if it was Hung Jin, she did not know what impulse would drive her at the moment their eyes met.
She crunched along the gravel, making more noise than she would have liked, her movements clumsy because of the oversize shoes. Just then, she heard Tucker barking—and footsteps coming from the far side of her house. Whoever it was did not seem to be in too much of a hurry. In the gravel, the steps sounded slow, deliberate. She held the gun out, lined up the sights—and saw Nick Bradley turn the corner.
Bradley’s eyes first found the gun, then Lauren’s pained expression. He moved toward her, arms outstretched. “Lauren!”
She met him halfway, near the back door. “Oh, Nick...” Fighting back tears, she crumpled into his arms.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. But I thought it’d be better if I came early, before you got here, just to make sure no one paid you a visit.” Bradley held her tight for a moment, then gently moved her back to scrutinize the bruises that covered her face. “Christ, it looks like you were worked over.”
“And over and over.”
“Hung Jin.”
Lauren nodded, then dislodged herself from Bradley’s grip and moved into the house. She sat down heavily at the kitchen table. He took the seat beside her and again examined her face. “I really think we should have you looked at. You could have some broken—”
“I’m fine.” She stood up and moved over to the refrigerator.
“I’m serious, Lauren. No offense, but you look awful.”
She pulled an apple from the produce drawer and closed the refrigerator. “Thanks for the assessment. And your concern. But right now, all I care about is finding Michael. Did you book us flights?”
“Like you asked. We leave Sacramento in about three hours.”
“Then we’d better get going. I’m gonna grab a quick shower, change into some real clothes, and pack a suitcase. We can be out the door in twenty minutes.”
Lauren headed into her bedroom and saw the container of Xanax on the night table. She picked up the bottle, placed it on the bed to take with her when she packed, then stopped. “No,” she said, tossing the pills into the drawer. She walked into the bathroom and started the shower.
After throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweater top, she packed her suitcase and gave Bradley a condensed version of what had transpired at the cabin, then suggested the plan of action she had devised during her two-hour drive home. With Bradley’s assistance, they would drop Tucker at Carla Mae’s house, then leave the Barracuda in the parking lot of the sheriff’s department. Once airborne, Bradley would call Deputy Vork and recount the details of the kidnapping, escape, and self-defense shooting of the man Lauren knew only as Cody.
Although there would be a furor over her departure from the state until she could be questioned and cleared of all wrongdoing, Lauren felt it would be best to take care of business first and not take a chance on a lengthy detention by the sheriff. Although he had reservations, Bradley reluctantly agreed with her assessment. Due to the secluded location of the house and cabin where she had been held, it could take days before anyone found the dead body. By then, hopefully, she would be back in town.
Once they were on U.S. 50 and headed for the airport, Bradley directed Lauren to his glove compartment. “Pull out the fax. Take a good, hard look at the photo.”
Lauren unfolded the paper and looked at the dark, grainy picture in the late-afternoon light. “Who is this?”
“You mean who was it. Special Agent Harper Payne.”
Eyebrows furrowed, she turned to Bradley. “My God, he does look like Michael.”
“Your husband is a hero of sorts in FBI circles. He made headlines all over the country. Hell, all over the world. Seven years ago Payne went undercover to gather evidence against Anthony Scarponi—or Hung Jin, as he called himself. Scarponi was one of the most violent and dangerous assassins in history. And one of the most successful. After testifying against him, Payne had to go into witness protection.”
Lauren felt the blood drain from her face. “He was telling the truth.”
“Who was?”
“Hung Jin, he said Michael was a killer, that he worked for him.” She turned to Bradley. “Is this true, Nick? Was Michael a—a hit man?”
Bradley glanced at Lauren, then turned his attention back to the road. “After you called me I checked in with a buddy of mine at the FBI. The trial transcript is sealed, as is the case file. But he did tell me that Michael got some plastic surgery and went into hiding after the trial.”
“But I’d know, wouldn’t I? I mean, I’d know if he was in witness protection.”
Bradley shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. Unless he didn’t stay in the program.”
Lauren was silent, trying to think it all through. She looked down at the picture, then shook her head. The faxed photo was of poor quality, but the resemblance was obvious.
“You said his name was Anthony Scarponi.”
Bradley nodded. “Hung Jin is the name he used when he was captured. He claimed to be of Asian lineage. They all thought it was an attempt at an insanity defense.”
“That wouldn’t be too far from the truth.” She sighed and rested her head against the window. She felt fatigued, and the strain of the car ride drained her further. The confirmation that her husband may have killed people—whether while undercover or not—made her feel even worse. “So how does all this work into Michael’s disappearance?”
“The government wanted Michael to testify again in a new trial against Scarponi. I’m guessing Scarponi figured that his way out of this mess was to eliminate Michael, prevent him from testifying. Michael must have discovered that Scarponi was close to finding him, and he fled... the cross-country ski trip was a cover, a fabrication so he could get away. If that’s the case, he did it to protect you.”
“Michael would’ve told me. He wouldn’t have just left me.”
“If he thought your life was in danger? I think he would have. Look at it this way. If you knew the truth and he told you he was leaving, you’d either try to stop him, or you’d want to go with him.”
Lauren closed her eyes. Although she did not want it to be true, she could not argue with Bradley’s reasoning. In fact, she knew he was correct on all counts. If so, the only thing that might have saved her from never seeing Michael again was a chance car accident that left him without his memory. Ironically, his amnesia may have served to bring them back together. With that thought, exhaustion took over, and she drifted off to sleep.
Lauren awoke groggy and fatigued exactly an hour later, as Bradley was parking the car in the long-term lot at Sacramento International. Even though she was still in a partial daze and moving slowly, they managed to check the Colt th
rough and make it onto the plane with twenty minutes to spare.
After fastening her seat belt, Lauren rested her head back and sighed deeply. As she lay there, she remembered what Bradley had told her about Michael’s association with Scarponi. How could he have killed? Even if it was part of his job to infiltrate Scarponi’s organization... how could he have done that? Michael was such a gentle man, such a good soul. Or so she thought. That he was not the man she thought she had fallen in love with weighed heavily on her. Though the physical pain of Scarponi’s torture sessions was now past her, an end to the emotional pain seemed out of reach.
The prospect of finding Michael, of once again lying in his arms, was what she had been longing for. It was what had kept her alive when others might have given up. Now, she was unsure if that was what she really wanted. After all she had just learned, she did not know what to do, what to feel... even what to say when she did finally find him.
As their plane roared into the air, daylight was giving way to dusk under intense cloud cover. Fifteen minutes later, the Boeing 737 had leveled off. Lauren pulled out a Walkman to help get her through the flight. “Agoraphobia,” she said to Bradley. “Loud music helps.”
“Anything I can do?”
“It’s a lot better than it used to be. Most of the time I can manage. But the last couple of days have been quite a test for me.” A smile broke out across her lips. “In more ways than one.” She reclined her seat back as far as it would go, then let out a pained groan.
“You okay?”
“Everything hurts.”
“You want some aspirin? I’m sure they’ve got something on board.”
The Hunted Page 17