“Sounds good to me.” Annie McKade winced as she rubbed her stomach, full and rounded in her eighth month of pregnancy. “I’d enjoy getting off my feet for a few minutes.”
Instantly Sam had an arm around her waist, steadying her. “Is your back bothering you again? Should I call the doctor?”
“I’ll be fine, Sam. I need a little break, not a wheelchair to the delivery room. I’ve got a month to go, remember?”
“You’re sure? Really sure?”
“Relax, big guy.” Annie gave her husband a loving pat on the cheek. “I won’t go into labor while your back is turned, okay?”
Sam McKade took a deep breath and managed to smile. “You just keep promising, honey, and I’ll keep trying to believe it.” He smoothed her hair, then shot a glance at Taylor. “She insisted on coming. It’s her volunteer day.”
“Don’t tell me. The Butterfly Sanctuary.”
“Hey, it’s an important job,” Annie protested. “Somebody’s got to see that those beautiful creatures have a safe refuge after flying two thousand miles in four weeks. There are only a few microclimates in North America that will support them. If those habitats are lost, we’ll lose their beauty forever.”
“Whoa,” Taylor cut in. “Nobody’s going to attack your monarchs, Annie. We just want to be sure you’re in good shape, too.”
“I’m fine,” Annie said firmly, smiling at Jack as he held open the door to the restaurant. “I’d love some hot and sour soup. Maybe some sesame noodles. One or two fried dumplings, too.” Before the men could sit down, she took Taylor’s arm. “But first things first.” The two headed off toward the bathroom, leaving Jack and Sam to stare warily at each other.
“So, have you known Taylor long, Mr. Broussard?”
“About a week. And call me Jack.”
“Fair enough. The name’s Sam. Are you a writer, too?”
“Not me. You’d have to shoot me to squeeze out a page of text. I do investigations in the Bay area.”
“Private work?”
Jack nodded, glad to be interrupted by the arrival of a waiter with tea. Where were the women anyway? Couldn’t they gossip some other time?
“What kind of investigations do you handle?”
“You name it,” Jack lied. “Asset searches, missing persons, background checks. Also a little corporate work now and again because the pay is good.”
Sam leaned back and gave him a hard stare. “We both know that’s a crock. You’re the man Izzy told me about.”
“That’s right.” Jack decided it was time to take the offensive. “Is there a problem with that?”
Sam met his gaze squarely. “There could be if you make one.”
“This is strictly a friendly outing. We’re not reenacting Romeo and Juliet as far as I know.”
For long moments, Sam McKade didn’t answer. He turned his teacup thoughtfully. “Taylor’s had some trouble recently. Did you know about that?”
“I know she had a climbing fall and was damned lucky to escape with stitches.”
Sam met him with a cool stare. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”
“Neither do I.” Jack looked up, relieved to feel a hand on his shoulder.
Taylor was frowning at him. “Why are you two glaring at each other like hungry pit bulls?”
“Just having a little chat, weren’t we, Jack?” Sam’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
No wonder the man had a reputation as a tough operator.
Jack smiled back. “That’s right. Nothing special. What do you want to eat, Taylor?”
She glanced from one man to the other, then sighed. “Gee, I could have sworn I smelled testosterone burning over here. Must have been my imagination.” She glanced at the menu. “I’ll go with Annie. Soup and noodles.” The waiter had returned, and Taylor smiled at him. “No, wait, let me see if I can do this.” She delivered a phrase of halting Cantonese, then waited for a response from the astonished waiter.
Jack cleared his throat, and murmured a few phrases that made the waiter laugh and trot toward the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” Taylor demanded. “I told him it was a special occasion and I wanted to celebrate with my sister.”
“Actually, you just told the waiter that he was a drunken pig and his children’s children would be born without noses.”
Taylor winced. “I studied some Cantonese while I was in Hong Kong researching a book. Funny, I never could get the tones right.”
“It’s okay. I told him you picked up your Cantonese in Shanghai. Everyone knows they can’t speak Cantonese worth a damn up there.”
“Spent some time in Asia, have you?” The wariness was back in Sam McKade’s face.
“Off and on. My father was stationed in Asia in the Navy. I get back for an occasional visit.” Calmly, Jack poured tea for Taylor. “I ordered a few other things, in case you want to be a little adventurous.”
Annie studied him as she sipped her tea. “Let’s definitely be adventurous. Don’t you agree, Sam?”
“You bet.” But his voice was stiff.
The meal was fraught with tension. Only Annie seemed to enjoy her food, grilling Jack about how long he’d known Taylor and whether he liked her books, then complimenting his choice of dishes, including prawns dipped in sugar and a vegetarian wonder with black bean sauce.
Finally, Annie sat back with a sigh, put down her napkin, and eyed the two men. “If you two are done playing cat and mouse, maybe we can show Jack the butterfly trees. But I’m going nowhere if you’re at his throat, my love.”
So she hadn’t missed a thing. Smart lady, Jack thought. He realized that Taylor was laughing behind her napkin. Eventually even Sam joined in.
“Okay, no more interrogation. Let’s go take that walk, as long as you really feel up to it.”
Annie gave him a slow, tender kiss. “I’m pregnant, not housebound, remember?”
Sam followed her outside, grinning ruefully, leaving Taylor to study Jack with cool curiosity. “Were you in Asia long?”
“Off and on, just the way I told McKade.”
“Right.” Taylor stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Next you’ll be trying to sell me some nice, quiet property near Groom Lake, Nevada.”
Jack frowned. “Groom Lake, as in Area 51? You don’t believe those lunatic stories, do you?”
“Don’t get me started, ace.” Taylor took Jack’s arm. “By the way, I apologize for Sam. He can be a little overprotective.”
Before or after he tore my head off? Jack thought irritably. Though the prospect of a hike down to the Monarch Sanctuary near the beach left him uneasy, he had no plausible reason to object, so he followed Taylor outside, scanning people, traffic, and any construction barriers that could pose hazards. Annie was obviously in excellent shape and kept a brisk pace despite her advanced pregnancy, running through a string of different topics with Taylor. Jack listened idly, tensing when he heard a familiar name.
“Any news from Izzy?” Taylor asked. “Or is he still in the middle of some hush-hush project?”
“He must be, because we haven’t heard a word.” Annie frowned. “I hope nothing’s wrong.”
“Don’t worry about Izzy. The man has got to be the king of survivors. We’ll hear from him when he’s ready, not a second before,” Sam said dryly.
Suddenly Annie gripped her husband’s arm. “Look—there they are.”
They stood unmoving, arrested by the sight of thousands of orange-and-black wings fluttering on the trees. It was almost impossible to imagine that these fragile creatures covered a hundred miles a day, reaching heights of ten thousand feet. Jack could see why Annie called them small miracles.
Annie called out to a docent shepherding a group of European visitors along a shady path. When she and Sam wandered over for a chat, Jack took the opportunity for another covert surveillance of the grove and its surrounding walkways.
Down the street, a garbage truck took on a load. Two bicyclists stopped to enjoy the view.
Mothers strolled with children, while teenagers maneuvered skateboards along the adjacent sidewalk. There were too many ways in and out, Jack thought tensely.
The garbage truck lumbered away and silence returned, sunlight filtering rich and green through the canopy. He tried to relax, but the little warning prickle was back, sharper than ever.
Taylor walked over to Sam and gestured at a cloud of butterflies drifting over the flowering bushes. Jack edged in closer, one eye on the German tourists scattered along the path. When a new group of tourists headed up the sidewalk, he decided it was time to pull Taylor away. The place was too crowded. Once they were in the car, he’d make up some story about a forgotten appointment and apologize.
Sam and Taylor turned to stare at a butterfly that fluttered down and settled on Annie’s shoulder, vivid in a bar of afternoon sunlight. The image was so arresting that neither one heard the low whirring from a shadowed walkway as a riderless skateboard rumbled over the sidewalk, heading straight toward Annie.
With a shout, Jack sprinted forward, jumping a wrought-iron fence. He heard Sam shout a belated warning to his wife, but in the next second the big board struck Annie hard at the ankles and she cried out, swaying sideways with arms outstretched.
Jack kicked hard and dove.
Chapter Fourteen
In an instant the grove was a blur of movement.
One moment a butterfly had fluttered down in orange splendor, settling on Annie’s shoulder, and then the peace was shattered by noise—Jack’s shout, Sam’s instant reaction, the hammering of metal wheels on concrete as an out-of-control skateboard raced out of the shadows.
Taylor heard her own cry, but she couldn’t move fast enough. There was more shouting and she raced after Sam as Annie fell sideways toward the sidewalk, her hands instinctively cradling her stomach.
At the same moment Jack dove through a bar of sunlight, arms outstretched like a first baseman. When his shoulder bumped Annie’s shoulder, he twisted, putting his body beneath hers. They landed in a sprawl on the cement.
Annie blinked as Taylor and Sam knelt, gripping her hands.
“Hey, I’m fine, you two,” she said shakily. “It was just a tumble, nothing serious—thanks to Jack. Sorry I weigh as much as a horse these days.”
Jack eased back to make room for Sam, who cradled Annie’s face in trembling hands. “Is there any pain? Do you hurt anywhere, honey?”
“Just my elbow. Otherwise I’m—” She gasped and her body went stiff.
“Annie’s, what’s wrong?” Sam stroked her hair, his face lined with strain.
“It was just a pain. Probably nothing.” Annie’s smile was forced. “Help me stand up and—”
Her eyes closed tight and she locked her arms over her stomach.
Taylor watched anxiously, dimly aware of a group of tourists milling in the periphery.
“I called the ambulance.” The docent’s voice was unsteady. “They’re only two blocks away, so—”
The rest of her words were drowned out by a burst of noise. An ambulance angled to a halt a few feet away. Two paramedics sprinted up with a stretcher, lifted Annie in place, and carried her to the ambulance.
“Jack, I’m going. I can’t—” Taylor clutched his hand tightly, trying to make sense. “Thank you,” she gasped, “but I’ve got to be with her.”
She scrambled up onto the seat beside Sam, the doors closed, and the big ambulance swayed out into the street, lights blazing.
Jack ignored his throbbing arm. “Where’s the hospital?”
The worried docent gave quick instructions. “Young man, I don’t know if you’re a baseball player or something else entirely, but thank you for what you just did.”
Jack managed a grim smile. He was punching numbers as he sprinted back to the Wrangler.
Izzy answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“It’s Jack. I’m in Monterey, but you’re not going to like what’s happened.”
“Taylor?”
“She’s fine—except for the fact that someone’s been trailing us all day. But something has happened to Taylor’s sister, Annie McKade.”
“Annie? But how did—” Izzy bit back a curse. “Give me an update. Where are you now?”
“On the way to the hospital.” Before Jack unlocked the Wrangler, he turned to survey the street behind him. The prickling at his neck was still there, in full force. “Check on a Lincoln Town Car, California license 71 G94. Someone’s out there, Izzy. The bastard’s watching everything we do.”
Viktor Lemka was not a patient man under the best of circumstances, but today all shreds of patience were gone, overwhelmed by icy fury. The stupid American woman had eluded him again, and Viktor was not in the habit of being bested by women.
He sat on a bench across from the entrance to the butterfly sanctuary—such a singularly pathetic American concept—his face shielded by the most recent San Francisco Chronicle, cursing the ambulance that raced up the street. He had meant his little diversion to occur later, when Taylor O’Toole was separated from the others, but the whining teenager had noticed that his skateboard was gone and summoned his noisy friends from the beach. Then more tourists had arrived, blocking his way.
That left Viktor with no time for the careful planning that was his trademark, so he had been forced to improvise. As a result, the diversion had come too soon, and the wrong woman was targeted. Worse yet, the nosy tourists had pulled out their cameras and begun shooting nonstop. He couldn’t afford to have his face connected with the scene, not even on the amateur photos of a group of visiting German tourists, so he had had no choice but to pull back, melting into the crowd while the ambulance raced closer.
Yet again he cursed the stupid American woman. What had possessed Harris Rains to hide his lab samples in such a ridiculous place?
But furious as he was, Lemka realized the scientist had been clever, outmaneuvering them with his neat little plan. Now that they had Rains in a boat offshore, the scientist was talking as fast as the words could spill out. It had taken Lemka only two bouts with a knife to free the man’s speech.
Now it was up to Lemka to get the lab samples back. Unfortunately, that had been harder than he’d expected. Hidden behind his paper, he cursed the man with hard gray eyes who seemed to follow the O’Toole woman everywhere. There was little information to be found about this man Broussard, not even by Viktor’s well-paid and extensive network of contacts, which was most disturbing.
He peered over the paper, watching Broussard sprint up the street, all too aware that his employers were unforgiving men. Continued mistakes would most certainly bring lethal consequences.
Unthinkable, after fighting his way out of the slime of Albania’s worst slum. Unthinkable, with five million U.S. dollars nearly at his fingertips. The imbeciles he had hired to kidnap Rains in the convenience store would soon be silenced, suitable repayment for their bungling. With Rains in his grasp, his goal was also in sight. All he needed was the woman’s cursed purse.
Viktor watched the big American sprint toward the yellow car, an expensive cell phone at his ear. It was a conversation the Albanian would have paid dearly to overhear, but for some reason, none of his usual surveillance equipment penetrated the static of those calls.
Another disturbing factor.
Lemka smiled thinly, feeling the edge of the surgical knife hidden in his boot. There would be ample time for him to practice his craft during the days to come. First on Rains, then the woman. He knew how to sever nerves, shatter bones, and flay tendons with medical precision, courtesy of an overworked British doctor who had plucked him frightened and stinking from a rat-infested slum. Viktor had repaid his mentor with two years of uncomplaining labor, the full attention of a cunning young mind.
And a quick, relatively painless death via a scalpel implanted directly in the lower brain stem.
It had been Viktor’s first step toward greatness, but many more had followed. There was no possibility that he would fail.
He closed his paper, folded it neatly, then tossed it in the trashcan. One plan had failed.
He was already moving on to the next one.
Jack had gotten through most of his report by the time he pulled up at the hospital. He angled into a parking space as an ambulance raced by. “I’m at the hospital now. I’ll call as soon as I have any news. Better use the pager if you need me.”
“Can do.”
“One other thing. Have you gotten word on the plate number I gave you a few minutes ago?”
Izzy’s voice tightened. “The Lincoln is registered to a corporate fleet in Huntington Beach. The company is called Homeland Technologies—some kind of home-monitoring service. I’ll check it, but I’ve got a hunch the car will come up stolen.”
“Which means we’ve got nothing.” Jack studied the E.R. entrance. “What about our pals from the convenience store?”
“They’re not talking. Sounds to me like they’re more scared of their people than of us, but we’ll keep working on it.”
Jack switched off the motor, frowning. “Anything from the Feds? Like how they happened to lose Rains at the warehouse?”
“They say that the man who left Chinatown wasn’t Rains after all. Those photos you took outside the club prove it, though the hair and makeup were good enough to pass a rough inspection. And all of us took the bait—the Feds, you, even Taylor. Meanwhile, the real Rains was no doubt being hustled away.”
“By his plan or against his will?” Jack wondered out loud.
“Hard to say. The Feds are telling me nothing. Interagency competition sucks.”
“Tell me about it. See what you can find, and I’ll call in twenty minutes.”
“Copy that. Meanwhile, watch your six o’clock.”
Jack scanned the parking lot. “I always do.”
Taylor paced a crowded hospital corridor next to two homeless men, a woman with a hacking cough, and a girl with a broken arm. Annie was nowhere in sight.
“How is she?” Jack cornered her in midstride.
Hot Pursuit Page 12