Under the Gun

by Lyn Stone

  “You want me, too. I don’t need psychology degrees or a raging ego to determine that.” He knew what the problem was and might as well say it. “But you know I’d want more from you than you’re willing to give. You don’t want to get involved with me. I mean really involved, am I right?”

  “Guilty as charged,” she admitted. “And you’ve got the same problem, whether you know it or not.”

  When he didn’t remark on that, she hummed that little hum again, the one that always accompanied her internal meanderings. After a minute, she presented her conclusion. “We have too much going between us already to add intimacy to the mix, Will. It’s better if we just let it lie.”

  She was right, but that didn’t make it easier to accept. “Fine. Consider me kissed off,” he said evenly.

  “Don’t be mean, and don’t be mad. I admire you more than anybody else I know. I’ve just decided it’s not wise to sleep with you.”

  Will started to plead his case, then thought better of it. A one-night stand with Holly wouldn’t be enough, and what else could they hope to have?

  What did he know about successful relationships? He didn’t know any that were working where the couple had no commitment on paper. Aside from his grandparents, he had never seen any good marriages in operation up close. Jack and Solange Mercier were doing okay for now, as were Joe Corda and his wife, Martine. However, those marriages were new and had not been exposed to the test of time yet.

  His parents were a prime example of a match made in hell. Those two had all the advantages a couple could expect, not a single reason for their marriage not to work. Except that whatever they might have once felt for each other had melted away shortly after making twins for the hired help to raise.

  Now his mom and dad spent their lives jetting around the world, playing at being ambassadors, spending recklessly and desperately looking for what they had lost. Together, but not really; straying discreetly; carefully avoiding any emotional entanglements. Not with each other and certainly not with their children.

  Maybe Will had too little to offer Holly, who definitely deserved a man’s full-time, long-term devotion if anybody ever did. He wasn’t sure he knew how to give that, even if she would let him. However, deep down he had discovered he wanted to try.

  “My parents destroyed one another with their little affair,” she said, her voice brisk, her mind running right along the track with his. He was getting used to that, but it was still disconcerting.

  “The junior politician and the Jamaican singer,” he said, recalling what little he knew of her background. “They did make a beautiful baby.”

  “Flatterer. I came along after his destruction,” she said. “He brought her home with him, determined to make it permanent. Their affair and the mere notion of a mixed marriage wrecked my father’s career. I’m sure you know what it was like back then.”

  Will nodded. “It wouldn’t be any big thing now.”

  “For some people it would,” she argued. “It cost him his family and worse. My father took a curve too fast after one of their arguments, and that was that.”

  “So you never knew him. What happened then?”

  “My mother was stuck in the States, pregnant, and had no money to return home where she might have resumed her job singing at that club where he met her.”

  “What about your father’s people?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “They are your grandparents. Have you given them a chance to know you?” he asked gently, remembering how his father’s parents had been his greatest comfort growing up.

  “Have you made peace with your mom and dad?” she countered.

  He winced. “Point taken. Then what did your mother do?”

  “Took whatever menial jobs she could find. The competition proved too stiff for her to get singing gigs, and that’s all she knew. We lived on her minimum wage earnings until I was old enough to help out.”

  “I’m sorry it was so hard for you both,” Will said sincerely, thinking about the young Holly braving that kind of life with only her mother. “I wish I had known you then.”

  “Well, we ran in different circles, didn’t we? So there we have it. You and I are not a good idea as a couple, even temporarily. We are way too different. My parents learned that the hard way and learned it too late.”

  “You’re citing color as an issue for us, Holly? Unless my tan’s faded to hospital pallor, I’m darker skinned than you are.”

  “Get real, Will. The intensity of the hue is the least of it.” Her laugh sounded sad.

  “Prejudice exists and I’m as aware of that as you are, but you know it’s not one of my faults. Race would never be a problem for us.”

  “Tell me you never thought about it,” she challenged, sounding amused.

  He smiled. “I’ve never considered it at all. Not once.”

  She didn’t respond. Will didn’t expand on it, either. What he’d said was perfectly true and she knew it.

  Interesting that she related this present situation to that of her parents. Was she considering what might happen to him and herself if they pursued something more than their original plan to heat the sheets for a night? Sure sounded as if it had crossed her mind.

  Was he considering it?

  Yeah, he was. The idea had already wriggled its way into his mind and was holding on with the tenacity of a pit bull. Will couldn’t seem to dislodge it no matter how hard he tried.

  Chapter 9

  Holly spent the next couple of hours worrying about their conversation and the direction it had taken. This was no time for them to be dealing with the topic. There were just too many other plates in the air right now.

  She wearily navigated her way through rush hour traffic on the rain-slick freeway as they reached the outskirts of Atlanta. Her next move should be to stop, call Eric and map out their specific destination. She took the next exit and found a gas station.

  Will woke with a start as she braked and cut the engine. “Where are we?” he asked, brushing a hand over his face and through his hair.

  “North side of Atlanta. Time to fill up and call in. You want something cold to drink?”

  “Bourbon over ice,” he quipped, unfastening his seat belt. “But soda will have to do.”

  A quarter hour later, with the Jeep’s GPS set for the address Eric had provided, they were traversing the loop around the city past the cutoff for Hartsfield International Airport.

  By mutual, unspoken agreement, neither approached the topic they had discussed earlier. They both knew they would be spared any waffling on their decision by Eric’s presence at the safe house he had selected.

  It proved to be a thirties-vintage frame house set in a neighborhood lined with others very much like it. Holly knew the dwelling was different in some respects. By now it would have a security system installed to rival that of Fort Knox, and would be equipped with state-of-the-art communications gear.

  “Home sweet home,” she said as she pulled into the blacktop driveway. She proceeded to describe the place briefly for Will’s benefit.

  Eric came out to meet them. “Good news,” he said by way of greeting. “Joe got an ID on the hit man. He’s out of D.C.”

  Holly rounded the Jeep. Eric grinned at her and stepped aside with a flourish of his hand to indicate she should be the one to guide Will inside. Trying to disguise her impatience, she placed Will’s hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  Will’s grasp was light, impersonal, as if they were strangers. “So can we deduce that’s probably also Odin’s base of operations?” he guessed.

  “Can’t be certain of it, but it stands to reason, especially since we know he’s got to have contacts within the intel community,” Eric said. “You need to freshen up?” he added, looking from one to the other. He held out the bag he had retrieved from the Jeep’s back seat.

  “I need a quick shower and a long nap,” Holly admitted.

  “There are three bedrooms,” Eric informed them. �
�Will you, uh, be sharing?”

  “No!” they said in unison.

  He laughed. “Hey, no need to sound so horrified by the prospect. Just thought I’d ask.”

  Holly snatched the bag from his outstretched hand and stalked off toward the hallway, assuming that was where the bathroom would be located.

  She refused to stick around and let Eric bait her any further. He seemed to know exactly what she and Will were planning to avoid, and found it funny.

  It didn’t surprise her that he knew about their little conundrum. It was unlikely that he’d had to use any of his mind-reading tricks to figure it out, though it would be just like him to have done that just to get the particulars.

  Even after she closed the bathroom door, she could hear him in there taunting Will, who seemed to be ignoring him.

  That was the smartest way to deal with Eric, and about the only way. His pesky kid-brother mentality could be as aggravating as a dripping faucet at times.

  Holly quickly turned on the shower, stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tub.

  The hot water felt heavenly on her skin. Heat seeped into her muscles, dispelling the part of her tension due to exhaustion, racheting up the rest, which was due to prolonged frustration.

  All they needed was a chaperon playing match-maker. Eric could prove relentless with his innuendos and teasing. He possessed no shame whatsoever when it came to stirring up situations just to watch the results.

  There was a madman to apprehend and missiles to locate. Lives depended on that, and distractions could not be tolerated.

  Eric’s curious fascination with errant libidos would just have to take a number and wait.

  Will plundered the small box of objects Eric had given him, trying to find one that stirred something in the way of psychic connection. They were sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for Holly to finish her shower so he could have a turn at cleanup.

  “Nothing,” he muttered, tossing a shell casing back with its mates. “This is no good.”

  “You’re trying too hard. You have to relax and clear your mind.”

  “Then you do it!” Will snapped, shoving the container away.

  “Don’t get so testy. I couldn’t get anything from them, either. I figure he only touched these in passing, anyway, most likely wearing gloves. No energy in ’em that I can tell. For me it should be something the subject wore, or at least had some attachment to, however brief. The bigger their emotional investment in it, the better it works. You know, like a kid’s teddy bear or—”

  “Give it a rest,” Will pleaded. “The last thing I want is a lesson in parapsychology, okay?”

  He had just about had it with Eric. And his unfounded assumptions about what he called Holly and Will’s “newly extended partnership.”

  They were not even partners, as such, to begin with, though they had joined forces on a couple of missions.

  The land line rang. Vinland answered. “Yes?”

  Will waited, feeling the excitement build. News from the head shed.

  There were no questions on Eric’s end. Just a thanks and a click that signaled the conversation was over. Will heard Eric clear his throat and push back his chair. “I better call Holly in here. She’ll want to hear this.”

  “I’m here,” she said from the direction of the doorway. Will could smell the peach-scented shampoo, hear the breathless quality of her voice that echoed his own apprehension. Something had broken with the case.

  Eric wasted no time. “There’s been a hit. A private plane down around Macon, two miles from the airport. Three dead. No survivors. Missile trail and explosion were spotted by a farmer early this morning. He called the Bureau instead of the cops. They investigated and notified Homeland Security immediately. It was a SAM, a Stinger.”

  “Damn,” Will muttered. “Any officials on the plane?”

  “No. Two local guys and the pilot, who was from here. Jack figures it for a test run.”

  “The next strike will be out of Hartsfield,” Will said. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. “Find out who in the government is scheduled to fly in or out of Atlanta on Thanksgiving. The plan is probably to pick a target at random, but…I don’t know…it could be they’re aiming at someone specific this time.”

  “We’re checking the lists,” Vinland said. “You picking up vibes now, Will?”

  He shook his head. “No. Well, maybe. But it’s not the same as before.” He rubbed his skull just below the healing scar. “I somehow sense more than one motive behind all this. Sheer terrorism at its worst, but something else is in play here. I feel it, but it’s vague.”

  “Okay, we’ll keep that in mind and see what we can find out. I’m calling Jack back. Anything I need to add?”

  Without thinking, Will said, “Find out who called.”

  “To report it?” Eric asked. “I told you, a farmer, then someone from the Bureau. You need names?”

  “No, I meant before. When Matt and I were detailed to check out that airfield. I want the names of the informant and who was running him.”

  “That second individual is on record,” Holly told him. “I checked his file myself. It was Lieutenant Colonel Lex Arbin, recently retired from active duty at Fort Meade. He was with Intelligence most of his career. They passed him over a couple of times for promotion to full bird. His son was critically injured when the plane hit the Pentagon.”

  “Interesting,” Will remarked. “But you never interviewed him?”

  “Nope. Jack did that himself.” Holly continued, “In Arbin’s call to report Odin’s plan, he stated that he got the information from a source who was repaying him for taking care of some incident in Afghanistan. This Odin he mentioned is supposed to be the brains behind the weapons theft, the one running the whole show. Arbin insisted his informant has to remain anonymous for his own protection.”

  “The hell with that,” Will argued, his hunch escalating to full-blown theory. “Let me talk to Jack.”

  Eric was already making the call. He handed Will the phone.

  When he spoke with Mercier, accepting the reprimand for being in Atlanta and possibly jeopardizing his safety, Will stated his argument for staying on the mission. He might be able to make further contact with Odin if he stayed close enough. And so far, he was the only one who had been successful at that, despite Eric’s attempts.

  That gained Jack’s reluctant and conditional approval. Will could stay in Atlanta, but he had to remain at the safe house.

  When he cut the connection and laid down the handset, Will drummed his fingertips on the table for a few seconds. “Jack and Clay are flying down tomorrow morning.”

  “Glad they’re not waiting until Thanksgiving,” Eric said with a mirthless chuckle. “So you think this guy Arbin is the insider?”

  Holly answered, stating the obvious. “That would be my guess. He might have gained access to the weapons at Picatinny. Certainly would have known where they were. Shoulda been child’s play to lift that supply of fully automatics the police had confiscated in the D.C. raids if somebody knew where they were stored.

  “And get this,” she added. “It was his suggestion to have Sextant, Military Intelligence, ATF and the Bureau participate in the joint investigation. He’s used to giving orders, I guess.”

  “And the director agreed to this?” Will asked.

  “It was the logical thing to do, what he would have done anyway, most likely. No one was really sure Arbin’s information was legitimate, but they couldn’t afford to ignore it. So the agents were paired off, as you and Matt were, and sent to investigate. He said it was not a big op, just a splinter group planning to cause a lot of havoc if they got away with the weapons.”

  “Havoc is right,” Will agreed with a huff and a shake of his head. “It’s something we’ve feared would happen at one of our airports sooner or later. There are plenty of shoulder-fired heat-seekers out there unaccounted for besides these.”

  “Yeah, they’re probably a status symbol f
or every extremist group around the country. Scary as hell. Anyway, out of the two possible locations Arbin named for the transfer to happen, your airfield was the least feasible. You’ll note the MI and Bureau guys were elsewhere at the time of the confrontation.”

  “Convenient, splitting up the forces. But it makes no sense that Arbin himself would go to all that trouble to steal the missiles and guns, then blow the entire operation by revealing where the weapons were, and arranging for the bust. If he was bent on revenge or playing out a power trip, why not take the whole load and go ahead and use them instead of keeping only three?” Eric argued. “What’s the point? D’you think you and Matt were set up as the actual targets that night, Will?”

  “We took the bullet, but I doubt it’s anything personal. At least not on his part.” He drummed his fingers faster, an effort to control his hand so he wouldn’t make a fist and slam it down on the table.

  Control was key here, especially when you wanted to stay in the game, though he couldn’t resist adding, “But you can damn well bet it’s personal as far as I’m concerned.”

  Holly was already at the computer set up in the adjacent dining room. He could hear her tapping the keys. She would be doing a search on Arbin, pulling up his photo to see whether he was the guy in the hospital.

  In less than five minutes, she returned. He heard the crinkle of paper as she shuffled printouts. “He was obviously disguised, if that was him in the hospital, but I suppose this could be our man. The height and weight look right.”

  Even if they were correct, Will assumed from the conversation they had overheard at the river that Arbin no longer had sole possession of the weapons. The plan was to sell them, and one had already been used. That meant the deal was done.

  The most critical thing now was to find Turkel and the two unused missiles. Arbin was the only one who might help do that.

  Holly rejoined Will at the kitchen table and placed his hand around a cup of coffee. “I think Arbin might be the guy, Will. You did good.”