by Lyn Stone
“I need to stay, Jack,” Will declared. He had a feeling, a compelling urge he had to follow. “Something’s telling me to stay.”
Chapter 11
Jack gave in. Holly couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or not, but she felt she owed it to Will to side with him in this. They had come this far.
He had taken up Arbin’s shirt again, a grim look on his face as he clutched the wrinkled fabric in his hands. She could feel his desperation to make some kind of contact.
Suddenly he stood up, still holding it in one hand. “Let’s take a ride.”
“You got something?” she asked.
“No. Just a vague feeling that I need to get outside for a while. To do something,” he added. “It can’t hurt to run with it, right?”
Holly grabbed her purse and the keys to Eric’s Jeep. “Let’s go.”
She stopped long enough to shoot a questioning look at Jack, to see if he had any instructions or ideas.
He frowned, obviously doubtful that this would lead anywhere. Though she knew he was a staunch believer in psychic abilities, he probably thought Will was now grasping at straws. “Clay and I will be here when you get back, unless something breaks in the meantime. We have reservations at the Marriot downtown for tonight, but we can hang around for a few hours. Call if you need us.”
In the car, Will seemed preoccupied, maybe a little despondent. He gave her no directions, so she headed for the loop that encircled the city, hoping against hope that something would occur to him as they rode around it.
“Tonight’s the night,” Will muttered.
“What?”
“Tonight,” Will repeated. “Something will happen. He’s excited.”
Will put the shirt in his lap and reached up to rub his temples. “Where is he?”
Holly remained quiet, navigating through the traffic with practiced ease. She made no comment when Will laid his palms flat on his thighs, where the shirt lay crumpled.
He leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed.
“Columns,” Will growled, as if furious. “A house with columns. He’s watching it. Can hardly wait to kill.”
“What else does he see?” Holly asked, her voice soft, as unintrusive as she could make it. Will seemed in some kind of hypnotic state, so she tried to work it. “He sees the house and…”
“Trees. A van. He’s inside the van. Gun on the seat. An AK-47. His hand is on it.”
Suddenly, Will straightened and shook his head as if the spell had broken. Holly almost cursed out loud.
“Back to the safe house,” he ordered, his tone urgent.
She didn’t question it. At the next exit, she veered to the right, crossed under the highway and reversed their direction.
Her cellphone buzzed and she activated the speaker. “Amberson.”
“Arbin just called the local Bureau and they routed him to us,” Jack said. “He thinks he’s located Odin.”
After Holly hung up, she knew she had better question Will while his vision was fresh and before parts of it faded the way dreams did.
“Go over it now, Will. I need you to tell me everything you saw.”
“Everything he saw. It’s as if I’m looking at things through his eyes.” He shook his head again. “Damn! It gives me a headache.” But he dutifully detailed everything, including the swells of emotion that had gone along with it.
Nothing new emerged, but toward the end, there was serious frustration in his tone. “His voice at the river—I keep thinking about it.” Will pounded a fist on his thigh. “It sounded so…familiar. I can’t place it, but that voice…”
“Maybe if I describe him to you again it would spark something.” She recounted the features in the photo, and also how the man had looked in the hospital, with the wig, mustache and heavy jowls.
She was pretty sure they were the same guy. Similar height of about five-ten, sloped shoulders and wiry eyebrows.
Going over it all now, she realized that in both guises, he was a fairly average looking guy.
“Doesn’t help,” Will said after thinking for a minute. “Could be just about anyone.”
“Try not to dwell on it so much, and recognition might come to you if he is someone you know,” she advised. “Think about something else that’s totally unrelated.”
“Not too difficult,” he muttered with a dark scowl.
“Don’t think about that, either,” she warned.
He grunted, a half chuckle. “You’re the mind reader now? How do you know what I was talking about?”
She clicked her tongue and shifted uncomfortably. “Because even with everything else going on around us, it’s all I can do to keep my own mind off of it. We agreed only once, and then we’d forget it happened, right?”
“Easier said than done, but I’m working on it,” he answered.
Holly couldn’t let it go like this. If they let that single episode of intimacy affect their work in a negative way, Jack would drop one or both of them from the team. He would never tolerate less than their undivided efforts no matter what, especially right now.
“Look, Will, don’t be mad. I’m not saying you weren’t great in bed. Spectacular, in fact, but—”
“Spare me the buts. My ego’s not the problem.”
“Then what is, for heaven’s sake? What are you so angry about?”
He released a gusty sigh. “I don’t know. That’s no lie, either. I really don’t.”
She believed him. He looked about as confused as she felt.
He had been through hell these past few days. Finding out about Matt’s death, his faulty vision, the mad scramble and slam dunk in the river. The shootout when he could barely see the target… And now dealing with this newfound mind link with a killer.
Add unwise and unexpected sex to that cocktail and it was small wonder he was ready to snap at her, or anyone else who was handy.
She reached over and gently squeezed his arm. “Well, just try to keep a lid on it, whatever it is. At least until this is over. Then we’ll have this out and settle it once and for all, okay?”
He covered her hand with his. “I’m not angry with you,” he said, his voice gravelly and quiet. “And I’m still not sorry it happened.”
She smiled to herself, trying not to, but his words were reassuring, settling comfortably around her heart like a warm blanket. The smile faded as quickly as it had formed. Those words and that tone of his also migrated to other regions and made her deliciously uncomfortable.
Jack, Clay and Eric were waiting for them when they arrived at the safe house. She led Will by the hand as they entered. “What’s happened?”
“Arbin called again,” Jack announced. “Georgia Bureau of Investigation agents found the site where he first said he thought Turkel was located, but it’s been abandoned. They did get some good prints to work with in identifying Turkel and the others, if they’re in the databases, but that’s probably going to be too little too late.”
“So it’s confirmed that Arbin’s on our side? He’s been working this from the beginning?” Holly asked.
“Apparently he took it upon himself to go undercover when the opportunity presented itself. That’s what he’s claiming. He’s not trying to avoid questioning, he says, but he can’t come in yet and won’t reveal where he is.”
“No trace possible on his phone?” Will asked.
“It’s a cellular, but not top of the line. If we can get him to call here directly and he’s not moving around, we can trace it.”
“He wants full credit for the capture,” Holly surmised.
“Maybe,” Jack said. “But he would get credit, even with full backup from everybody on the op. Something’s hinky about this whole thing.”
Holly explained Will’s vision in the car as quickly and concisely as possible, then added, “So we need to concentrate on the outlying areas. Get a fix on any isolated houses with columns.”
Eric laughed. “Holly, you do know where we are, don’t you? Are there any
houses measuring over a thousand square feet in this county without columns?”
It seemed hopeless. Holly gave up for the moment and went to make a fresh pot of coffee. In situations like this, a shot of caffeine sometimes helped stimulate ideas.
“Where are you dragging me now?” Will asked.
She realized she was still holding his hand. With everyone on the team standing there watching. And after Will had proved earlier that he could get around inside the house perfectly well without being led.
She disentangled their fingers and tried to laugh it off. “Sorry. Force of habit.”
The day crawled by. Will felt he should be doing something, but he also knew there was little that even the other members of Sextant could do at the moment.
Holly had ordered him to rest. He lay propped against the headboard of his bed on several pillows, but found he was unable to turn off the worries and sleep.
The team’s main job lay in prevention of terrorist activities, and usually involved infiltration into the organization. They’d gotten in on this too late. Will figured he was the one doing the closest thing to infiltrating with this mind reading of his. It was not enough.
Agents from all the major organizations were running down leads, combing the area around the airport. SWAT teams were alerted and standing by. Snipers, too.
Things could break at any minute. Or maybe they would break too late, with a planeful of passengers already down. That could happen tonight or tomorrow if the attack was planned for Thanksgiving.
He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension, the ache caused by concentrating too hard too long. A cold drink was what he needed.
Barefoot, taking it slowly, Will headed for the kitchen. As he walked down the hall, he could hear Clay talking—unusually verbal for him, though he was speaking too quietly to be understood.
Will had just reached the end of the hallway when he heard his name mentioned.
“Will’s in no condition to be making decisions,” Clay was saying.
So they were planning to keep him out of things altogether. He stopped where he was, leaned back against the wall and listened, gaining some time to formulate his arguments before going in.
“What happened was not exactly a carefully considered decision,” Holly announced. “And even if we had thought it out and made a wrong one, this is between Will and me. Our business, you got that?”
They weren’t talking about the job, Will realized.
Clay persevered as only Clay could. “You need to think about what would be involved here. There are not only potential complications at work, but imagine all the cultural differences you would have to resolve. Even you and I have more in common than the two of you do.”
Holly laughed at that. “You from the res, me from the projects? I don’t think that’s solid ground for compatibility, Clay. Will might have been born gumming a silver spoon, but he and I manage to get along okay.”
“Now, maybe,” he said, a warning in his tone for what the future could bring.
“You’re assuming way too much about how far this has gone.”
“I would never say anything if I didn’t care about you, Holly,” Clay said quietly.
Will grimaced. So that’s how it was. That’s why Clay had advised him to remain a loner, huh? So much for friendship and loyalty. Screw Clay Senate.
A swift wave of jealousy engulfed Will, almost prompting him to stalk into the kitchen and punch Clay out. But he didn’t.
In the first place, he’d probably swing and miss. In the second, Holly would take him down before he made contact, and embarrass the hell out of him. In the third, Clay was right that Holly should think twice.
To hell with the social differences he had mentioned—that was nothing. But Holly did deserve someone who was all there and functioning fully.
Will knew his days with Sextant were numbered if he didn’t recover completely. If he were forced into medical retirement, the only logical place for him to go was back to upstate New York. He owned a cabin and some property on Shroon Lake, near the family estate.
Quietly, he backtracked to the bedroom, not wanting to stay and hear Holly’s response, or more of Clay’s avowals. And that surprising jolt of jealousy didn’t diminish one little bit.
It was then Will realized that Holly meant more to him than he had thought. More than like. More than admiration. More than lust. He refused to give what he felt a name. Banishing it would be easier if he didn’t admit it.
She joined him before he reached the bed. “Will? Was that you in the hall? Did you need something?”
Did he need anything? Yeah, but he wouldn’t take it even if she offered. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, turning his face to her as if he could see clearly. Blurred as it was, he could still visualize her worry.
“You overheard us,” she guessed. “Clay’s concerned, that’s all.”
No, that was not all, by a long shot. But Will didn’t want to argue, not in his present state of mind. What could he say? Yes, Holly, you and I would be a match made in heaven? Not hardly.
“It’s okay,” he said instead, forcing a smile. “He gave me the lecture, too.”
She plopped down on the bed next to him, her leg resting solidly against his. He had the urge to pull her down and stake a claim, as stupid as that would be.
“Clay’s talked more today than in all the time I’ve known him,” she said with a little laugh. “Surprising to find out he’s such a big buttinsky.”
“That’s not all he is. He’s hot for you himself.”
Her snort was inelegant. “What? You’re crazy! Clay’s a good friend, Will, and he’s worried, that’s all. He’s warning us off each other as if he thinks we’re hooking up permanently or something. I told him it was just temporary insanity and over.” She stressed the last word, drawing it out.
“You’d have the same issues with him,” Will announced in spite of himself. He sounded surly, like a kid denied a treat and having to watch it given to someone else. He shook his head and tried to temper his tone a little. “All I’m saying is that Clay’s great, but he’s wrong for you.”
She shoved herself off the bed. “Not you, too! I’m getting really sick of people telling me what’s good for me and what’s not, y’know? You and Clay and Jack can just go…eat dirt!”
Will smiled briefly. Holly very seldom lost her temper, but when it flared, her invective skills suffered. When she kept her cool and employed her sharp, sarcastic wit, she could skin the hide off an opponent before he knew he’d been flayed.
At least she had lumped Clay in with the doghouse crowd. That was something. However, Will feared that when she stopped to think about it, she might seriously reconsider all their teammate had said.
Even if he did get his vision straightened out maybe he should think about leaving Sextant, Will mused. As much as he loved the job, Holly had seniority, so he should be the one to go. He could return to ATF. If he did, Holly might see him as something more desirable than temporary insanity.
He heard the phone ringing, but tried to ignore it. If he began distancing himself now, both from the job and from Holly, it might eventually be easier to come to terms with losing one or probably both.
The prospect of the effort left an empty place inside him that he knew would take time to fill.
“Will!” Holly cried as she hurried back into the room. “Arbin called again. Jack says we’ve got a trace! He’s over near Decatur.”
Will was already on his feet, sliding them into the shoes he had left by the nightstand. “Let’s go.”
Her palm flattened against his chest. “Wait. Uh, you and I are supposed to stay here and…answer the phones.”
Will bit off a curse and moved around her, breaking contact. He was wound so tight he was grinding his teeth. He needed in on this op so bad he could taste it, but what could he do?
“You’ll follow orders and provide support,” Holly
told him, following right behind him as he strode toward the kitchen, where Jack and Clay would be preparing to leave. “Team players, remember?”
Everyone in the new organization had had to take lessons in teamwork. Several dangerous ops had taught them the value of that. They had all been loners of sorts when hired by Sextant. All but Will. He’d had Matt.
Will realized that leaving ATF and taking the job with Sextant had been his bid for independence from his twin. They had reached age thirty and had rarely been apart more than a week at a time. Even Matt had agreed he sometimes felt like a bookend.
They had teamed up again to represent their two agencies at the beginning of this mission, Matt’s last. Dammit, Will needed to see this through to the bitter end. And he did not want to do it sitting in this cozy little kitchen waiting for the phone to ring and let him know it was over.
They had hauled in the bin Will knew Jack would have shipped with the weapons and gear. He recognized the familiar rip of opening and fastening Velcro straps. Clay and Jack were donning their Kevlar vests.
The ejection and replacement of clips in the nine millimeters came next. Then the loading of their backups.
Will mentally ran through all the steps of preparation himself, his fingers clenching at the unaccustomed inactivity. God, he needed to do something.
Holly slid a hand through the crook of his elbow, her long nails biting gently through his shirtsleeve. A gesture of comfort, pity or restraint? Whatever, he had to stifle the urge to pull away.
Jack spoke then, above the rustle of packs being shouldered. “I sincerely hope this won’t turn into the circus I’m afraid it might.”
“There’ll be a bunch of trigger-happy glory seekers out there, I bet,” Holly said.
“More badges than you can shake a stick at,” Clay muttered.
“Pancakes for breakfast, so don’t dawdle,” Holly declared brightly.
She squeezed Will’s arm, prompting him to say something, he guessed, but he couldn’t. Not when he wanted more than anything to be going out that door himself.