“Well, well,” Walker drawled.
The dark figure moved into the light. Confirmed what Amy had known from that single uttered syllable.
It wasn’t her boss who had come to buy blackmail material on his firm’s biggest adversary.
It was Becca.
Chapter 35
“I confess, I didn’t expect you,” Walker drawled. He watched Becca Olson walk toward him. She was carrying a large messenger bag—full of cash as agreed?—and dressed all in black, slim slacks, turtleneck sweater, a brimmed fedora-style hat with her telltale blond hair tucked inside and fancy knee-high boots. Attire for the fashionable blackmailer, he supposed. More importantly, very high-heeled boots, he noted.
And underneath all the information he was taking in was a slow, brewing anger.
This was Amy’s friend. Her best friend at work, next to Kim. And she was over there, in the shadows, watching, seeing this. He could only imagine how she must be feeling. The sense of betrayal that filled him was stunning and spoke volumes about how he felt about Amy. He was so far down that rabbit hole he doubted he would ever get out.
He didn’t want to get out. Ever.
“Disappointed?” Becca said.
It was all he could do not to glance toward where Amy was, to try and give her some sign that this was an act. She knew that, he told himself. She had to know it.
He made himself focus. Drew on the hard lessons learned in the past five years. Nothing mattered but making this work, taking down the target.
“Now what man on earth would be disappointed to have you show up?”
“One that’s in love with somebody else?”
Yes, he thought. But he kept his tone light. “I would have pegged you for a woman who knows love is a fool’s game.”
“And Amy?”
“Nice enough. A bit naive, don’t you think?”
“She is that. An innocent. But that’s only a help to people like us, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “That’s the thing about innocent people. They don’t even think of the kind of things we do, so it’s easy to get things past them. Is that how you found out about my little moviemaking project?”
“Amy trusts me. Besides, it wasn’t hard to get a look over her shoulder at your little teaser. And I have my own technical skills. Do you want the money or not?”
She wasn’t going to be one to brag; she was too practical for that.
“How do I know it’s not fake, if you’re so technically competent?”
She spat out a word about a personal bodily function. “Do you really think I’d go to the trouble of faking used, nonsequential bills for a freaking two-minute video?”
“Depends on what you want it for.”
“So I can do what you did,” she snapped.
He got it then. She was going to try and leverage this video into a better position, maybe a senior partnership, at Armistead’s firm. Amy had said she was ambitious, but he guessed she’d underestimated how much. And how far she was willing to go.
“Not rising far enough fast enough at Caden and Rockwell, huh?” he asked, giving her a grin he hoped she’d read as understanding.
“They’re fools,” she said. “And that stiff-spined Rockwell is the worst. Man has no flexibility at all.”
For the first time Walker felt a bit of cheer. He hoped Amy had heard that. Perhaps knowing she’d been right in the first place about her boss might ease the betrayal of this woman she’d called friend.
“How’s Mr. Soren these days?” He didn’t use the new name they’d discovered, for fear it would alert her that he knew more than an average scoundrel would.
“What?” She snapped it out, clearly startled.
“I assume you had him sic his minion in the van on Amy? Nice little scam you had going there. Running his dirty money through Rockwell’s accounts so he’d take the fall if it got found out. Wish I’d thought of it.”
“How did you...?” She broke off, shook her head. A couple of strands of long, blond hair escaped the felt hat. It didn’t matter, Walker had Amy’s answer. That alone made this worth it. “You have the video?” she demanded. “The whole video, undoctored?”
“I do.”
“The entire transaction?”
“Yes. That little clip was just a highlight reel.”
“I want to see it. All of it.”
“That’s going to cost you. As agreed, half for the view, half for the video itself.”
“And for you not using it yourself. Which I guarantee would be a huge mistake.”
I’d as soon cross a rabid skunk.
Becca’s right hand moved toward the large, expensive leather bag. She had to look down to unlatch and lift the flap, and he thought he could take her down at that instant, but Quinn had said to get as much information as he could, and he thought he could push her just a bit more.
She came out with a large packet wrapped in paper.
And a small, semiautomatic handgun.
He swallowed. A .380, he thought. Kind of wimpy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to test it.
“Is that necessary?” he said, eyeing the weapon with what he hoped was civilian-style wariness.
“I’m carrying fifty grand around,” Becca snapped. “Of course it’s necessary.”
She tossed the packet at him. He kept his eyes on her—and the gun, which she thankfully slipped back into the bag—letting his peripheral vision and old baseball skills tell him where the object was. He caught it easily. Opened it, riffled the edges to make sure it was all money, then went to stuff it into his jacket pocket. He frowned when it wouldn’t go, then chuckled audibly as he reached in and pulled out a tooth-marked and grass-stained baseball.
“Friend’s dog,” he said as if she’d asked for an explanation.
He switched the ball to his right hand and reached into his left pocket and pulled out the Foxworth phone. The video was cued up and ready. He tapped the arrow, held it out and let it play. When the video ended, there was a look in her eyes that reminded him of a viper ready to strike. The mask she showed everyone was very, very good, he thought, but this was the real Becca Olson.
“Worth every penny, right?” he said cheerfully. “You’ll own him.”
“Yes,” she said. “Give me the phone.”
Power, Walker thought, not money, power. Somehow he preferred the good old greed for money over the kind of avarice that was glowing in her face right now. “I’ll send you the video.”
“I want the phone it’s on. And it better be the only full copy.”
“I need my damn phone. I’ll delete the thing once it’s sent. While I may not be the most upstanding citizen in town, I’ll stick to our deal.”
“No.” The handgun reappeared, aimed at him.
Walker scrambled back a few steps as if terrified before she ordered him to stop. He only slowed, protesting with every small step while his mind was racing. His hand tightened around the baseball, his fingertips finding the seams in an old, familiar way. Her weapon had a short barrel—might not be as easy to hit him as she expected, unless she was an expert with it. The more distance, the better.
Quinn, I hope you’ve got her in your sights. And that you don’t decide to just let her kill me first, solving two problems.
The moment he thought it he knew it wouldn’t happen. Quinn was a man of honor, and he would never let that happen if he could stop it. For Hayley, if nothing else. No matter how mad she was at him—and even that had lessened of late, although Walker suspected that was Amy’s doing—Quinn would never want to be the one who let her brother die, especially right in front of her.
But would he shoot a woman? One that Amy had considered a friend?
He had ten feet between them now, but it was still too close. And the sm
all pistol looked no less deadly.
“Just put that away,” he said, gesturing toward the weapon with the hand that held Cutter’s ball.
“Give me the damned phone.”
“Sure, sure, just put that...”
A loud, ringing bark echoed from the shadows to his right. Becca jerked around, toward the unexpected noise. Cutter burst out of the shadows. Headed toward them at a dead run. Head down and meaning business.
Becca lifted the weapon. Pointed it toward the dog.
Walker’s arm snapped back and flew forward in a quick, fluid motion.
The baseball caught Becca’s right wrist. She screamed. The pistol flew sideways. She wobbled on the high-heeled boots. Went down on one knee, clutching her wrist.
Walker sprinted forward. Becca yelled something, a name, just as he bent to pick up her pistol. In the same instant he heard a crack. Concrete chips spit up around him. Then again. For an instant, he thought Quinn really was trying to take him out. Then he realized the shots were coming from the opposite side of the garage. Cutter pelted past them.
Toward the shooter. The dog had known. Becca had brought backup. And he was a sitting duck. He grabbed the more powerful weapon from the small of his back. Turned toward the shadows where Cutter had disappeared. But he couldn’t see the dog, and he wasn’t sure anymore where Quinn was. He held his fire.
Another crack. Something tugged at the right side of his shirt. Something that stung. The sting suddenly exploded into a sunburst of pain, staggering him. He grabbed his ribs, felt the wet warmth.
“Walker!”
Amy. He turned to tell her to stay back, safe. But the movement ripped something in his side and he went down. And then Amy was there, in the line of fire. Another shot echoed. And Amy, impossibly, threw herself over him, shielding his body with her own.
Walker tried to roll, to reverse their positions so Amy would be protected. She resisted. “Stay down,” she hissed. “You’re hurt.”
Then he heard a fierce growl. A sharp yell echoed through the garage. Cutter had found his prey. Did the dog know enough to go for the hand that held the weapon, to avoid being shot himself? Somehow he thought Quinn would have handled that.
He had to trust Quinn would deal. Because he was out of it.
Hayley was there. She shouldn’t be. Too dangerous. But the shooting had stopped. And oddly, she, too, held a handgun. Looking more than competent. And she had it aimed at Becca.
“Clear!”
Quinn’s shout came from the shadows, followed by a sharp, triumphant-sounding bark. He breathed again. Amy was safe.
“Sit down. Legs crossed. Hands on your head.” His sister gave Becca the orders in a tone he’d never heard from her. He felt a burst of satisfaction when the woman who had endangered Amy let out a cry of pain as her wrist protested the movement.
“Cutter to you,” Quinn’s voice echoed from the shadows. Walker realized it must mean he had the situation over there under control. How he’d made it down there so fast he didn’t know. Then again, knowing a bit about the man, he’d probably jumped down from the upper level.
Amy eased off him. There was blood all over her shirt and jacket. He struggled to sit up. “Were you hit?” he asked sharply, fear spiking through him, giving him strength, making the pain ebb just a little.
“No. It’s yours.” She was staring at him, wide-eyed with obvious worry. She pulled off her jacket and rolled it up, then pressed it to his side. The pain jolted him, but he looked away so she wouldn’t see it. Just beyond her he could see Becca staring at Amy in shock. No doubt wondering how she had managed to misjudge her so badly.
“She’s tougher than you’ll ever be,” he said to the woman who had betrayed her. “And in the best possible ways.”
Becca, lawyer that she was, stayed quiet.
And then Cutter was there. And to Walker’s surprise, the dog came straight to him, nudged his cheek with a damp nose. And whined.
“He’ll be all right,” Amy said rather fiercely to the dog as she increased the pressure. He must still be bleeding, he thought. He was starting to feel light-headed. Odd how calm he was. Nothing seemed to matter except that Amy was here and unhurt.
“Guard,” Hayley ordered Cutter, gesturing at Becca.
The dog spun around, his entire demeanor changed. With a warning growl, he crossed the short distance between them and stood perilously close. Well within throat-ripping distance, Walker thought. That dog was...well, something.
Hayley vanished then, but seconds later she was back, a small case in her hands. She knelt beside Amy and opened it. First aid kit, he realized.
He heard Quinn’s voice as he approached.
“Locals and medics are on the way. Our shooter’s out for the count and trussed up like a holiday turkey. I think it’s Soren’s guy, matches Amy’s description.” He came into view, and looked down at Walker. “How is he?”
Approval, Walker realized. That was what was in Quinn’s expression. And it was aimed at him.
“Grateful,” Walker answered for himself, although his head was starting to spin now.
“Hurt,” Amy said.
“Good call, holding your fire,” Quinn said. “I was on him after the second shot.”
Walker nodded, surprised at how much strength it took. “Thought...so. Couldn’t see...you...or Cutter.”
He heard Amy make a tight, choking little sound. Looked at her. Something in her face scared him.
“I love you,” he said urgently, suddenly afraid he might never get the chance to say it again.
She made that sound again. Her lips were trembling, her eyes glistening with tears. But beneath it all was the one shining emotion he clung to, even before she voiced it. “And I love you. So don’t you dare die on me, Walker Cole.”
He tried to smile at her. He couldn’t die now. Not now, not when he had hope for the future for the first time in five years. He couldn’t have survived all that only to die here like this.
“I love you,” she said again. And he clung to the sound of it as darkness closed in.
Chapter 36
Amy paused to steady herself before stepping through the hospital doors. The sun already had warmed the small patio outside the hospital side doors, and at the moment Quinn and Hayley had it to themselves.
Amy was thankful for how Quinn had taken charge, not even able to imagine all the chaos that was now theirs to deal with, not the least of which was explaining a gun battle and a shooter with an arm chewed up by an impressive set of teeth, and most amazingly, a wrist shattered by a baseball.
It had taken most of the rest of the night. He’d come to the hospital just before dawn, telling them in short, sharp sentences what had happened. Including that the LA police thought Soren, who they now had in custody, had been cleaning house in an effort to go legit, and that night she’d seen him with her boss he’d been asking him to get the cops off his back. The image of the normal-looking guy with the coffee cup had run through her head at that, and she wondered how people got so twisted that murdering their associates seemed the way to go straight.
It had been a long night here, too. She remembered the moment when they’d handed Hayley a bright orange bag with Walker’s things, including his wallet. Curious and needing distraction Hayley had peeked inside. And seen that in the very front, where normally an ID would go, was an old photograph. A picture of two smiling children, a little girl and an older boy. The girl was on the boy’s lap, and his arms were holding her carefully. Walker and Hayley.
Hayley had burst into tears, and Amy had joined her. And then there had been the waiting. Waiting to hear Walker had survived, that he was in surgery, that he was going to be all right.
She had just now gone to check on him as the hospital’s shift changed at 7:00 a.m. He had been declared in fair condi
tion a couple of hours ago, still sedated. The off-going nurse had smilingly told her he’d be upgraded to good condition as soon as he woke up. It still tore at her to look at him lying there with tubes and wires attached. She tried not to let the endless loop of that horrible moment when she’d realized he’d been shot play in her head. She’d had to touch him to reassure herself, to feel that he was warm and breathing and alive.
And now she was headed out to tell his sister the good news. She pushed the door open, stepped out into the morning sun. She stopped suddenly as voices carried over to her. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but supposed it was only human nature when you found yourself being discussed. So she stayed where she was, concealed by a bush full of new spring leaves, as Quinn spoke to his wife.
“First, tell me how serious it is. Amy and your brother, I mean.”
“She looks at him like I look at you.”
Amy could almost see him smile; it echoed in his voice. “That good, huh?”
“I think—and hope—my best friend is going to end up being my sister.” Amy’s last bit of tension released at Hayley’s clearly heartfelt words. And she knew she couldn’t—and didn’t need to—eavesdrop any longer. She walked around the corner that had concealed her just as Hayley said, “What does that have to do with it?”
“Just thinking she should probably hear this.”
“Hear what? And why are you being so cryptic?”
“Yes, why are you?” Amy asked as she approached.
“We shouldn’t have been so hard on him,” Quinn said.
Amy blinked, a little taken aback, knowing what a hard sell Quinn was. Hayley looked at her husband in surprise. “I’d already gotten there, but I thought I’d have to convince you. What brought this on? What he did last night?”
“He did a great job,” Quinn admitted. “Better than I expected, at the time. As good as any of us could have done.”
“At the time?” Hayley asked.
He seemed uncomfortable, Amy realized. She’d never seen that, wondered what it would take to make a man like Quinn uncomfortable. He glanced at her, as if he’d sensed her speculation.
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