“She’s with her aunt. They’re fine.”
“Tatro—”
“Under arrest.”
“The other guy, the one with the shaved head?”
“Don’t know.”
“That’s not good.”
Ethan quickly cut the ropes, first on Ham’s hands, then on his feet. The rope had dug into his wrists and ankles, opening up insect bites still healing from his Colombian ordeal. “Ham. Jesus.” Ethan felt his throat constrict. “You’re skin and bones. You’ve got to learn to pick better friends.”
“Me?” Clutching Ethan’s shoulder, Ham got to his feet. “Mia—we need to help her. She’s in a bad way.”
Hell.
With energy that surprised Ethan, Ham darted back into the barn. Ethan glanced out at the pretty, idyllic landscape. There was no way he could cover his tracks with the broken padlock. He tried closing the door, but it popped back open. Well, he thought, he could use the light. He followed Ham inside.
Mia O’Farrell’s situation wasn’t just bad. It was dire.
She was blindfolded, gagged and tied to a chair, and even in the semidarkness, Ethan could see she was deathly pale, barely conscious. But, worse, she was sitting on a bomb. He could see the wires wrapped around the legs of the chair.
“It’s a tumbler switch,” Ham said.
Ethan nodded. The switch was suspended by the wires, a single line attaching it to her.
Ham brushed his mouth with the back of his hand. “If she moves—”
“I know.” And from her stillness, so did Mia. She didn’t need reminding. If she moved, she’d set off the device. Ethan moved toward her. “Mia? It’s Ethan Brooker. Ham Carhill’s here, too. We’re going to get you out of this contraption, okay?”
She let out a sound, too weak to be a groan, but an acknowledgment of her understanding, nonetheless.
“The tumbler’s a plastic pipe,” Ham said. “There’s a lantern battery under the chair. You’ve got wires running from the positive lead into the tumbler. The negative runs into the igniter—”
“Ham.”
The igniter was inserted into a roll of detonator cord. The cord was wrapped around a thick metal pipe, undoubtedly filled with some kind of shrapnel—nails, BBs, metal shavings. Any of them would prove lethal.
A plastic ball inside the pipe, if rolled to either end by any movement, would set off the bomb.
Ham squatted next to Ethan, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark and puffy. “I could disarm it, but I don’t trust myself.” He opened and shut his hands, working his stiff fingers. “I’m shaking.”
“Mia,” Ethan said, “Ham’s not touching you. I’m going to disarm the bomb. I’ve done it before.” He turned to Ham. “I want you out of here. Understood?”
From his expression, Ham definitely understood. If Ethan had miscalculated, or the bomb was improperly constructed and went off, he didn’t want Ham to get blown up, too. But Ham shook his head. “I’ll stay. I can talk you through what to do if—you know, if it gets complicated.”
Ethan’s mind flashed back to a quail hunt with his brother, Ham tagging along, chattering about the migrating habits of quail, the geology of the area, trying not so much to impress them as to fit in.
“All right. Thanks.” Ethan wanted to comfort Mia with a touch, take her gag off, but he didn’t want to risk startling her. He took Tatro’s knife, isolated one of the wires and glanced back at Ham. “Don’t move, don’t say a word.”
The trick was to disarm the bomb without tripping the tumbler.
“Here goes.” Carefully, but using just enough strength, he cut the wire. Then he breathed. “Got it. We’re good, Mia. You’re safe.”
Her shoulders slumped. Ethan quickly pulled off her blindfold and gag, but she didn’t react. He cut the ropes binding her hands and feet, speaking to her softly.
“He’s coming back,” Ham said. “That shaved-head nut. He hates all three of us. Thinks we’re traitors.”
“I’m not—” Mia’s voice was very weak, but her eyes fluttered open. “I’m not a traitor.”
Ham was staring at her. “Man, Dr. O’Farrell. I didn’t expect you to be so beautiful.”
She gave him a faltering smile, then shifted to Ethan. She still hadn’t moved. “He believes we conspired to get a multimillion-dollar ransom for ourselves. He’s—he’s interrogating me. Ethan, I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
Ham frowned. “Multimillion? The emeralds are worth a half million, tops.”
Her eyes managed to focus on him. “Where did they come from?”
“They’re the ransom my parents paid. I switched them at the last minute, and Tatro ended up with worthless rocks. That’s why he’s so pissed. He thought I paid off Brooker for rescuing me, and that Brooker gave them to Juliet—”
Ethan got Mia to her feet, holding her up, and said, “We’ll sort out the whys and wherefores later. Let’s get out of here.”
Ham went to one of the apple crates.
“Ham, what are you doing?”
“Seeing what’s in this crate. No wonder he trussed us up.” He rummaged in the crate and turned around, awkwardly holding an MP5. “We could have shot our way out of here.”
Ethan frowned. “What else is there?”
“Ammo. Want me to load this thing?”
“That’s okay. I’ll do it. Bring me a gun and a clip, okay?”
Mia tried to clutch his sleeve, but her fingers couldn’t hold on. He continued to hold her up. She said, “He’s my source. He gave me the tips—about the marshal, about you being able to recognize Ham. He wants you. Because of Afghanistan.”
“He wants to kill me—”
“Or convert you to the cause.”
Ethan helped her, half carrying her as they moved toward the door.
Ham joined them. He had two guns and two clips. “Ethan, you need to go after this guy. Now, before he has a chance to strap someone else to a booby-trapped chair.”
“I know.” Ethan took one of the guns, an MP5, and jammed in a clip. He handed it to Ham. “This place will be filling up with cops any minute. Kelleher is the name of your shaved-head wingnut. Matt Kelleher. If he shows up, shoot him.”
“Okay.”
But he was pale, and Ethan took the other MP5. “Don’t you two get into some big long analytical discussion. Just point the gun at his chest and pull the trigger. Go for body mass. Don’t try to shoot him in the head.”
Mia sank onto the floor next to the door, clearly too far gone even to hold a weapon. Ham was in only marginally better shape. But he took the MP5, nodding. “I’ve got it, Ethan. Don’t worry.”
“Be sure it’s Kelleher. Don’t just start shooting—”
“Just go,” Ham said. “Get this bastard.”
Mia dug her fingers into Ethan’s hand. “Don’t—don’t shut the door. Please.”
He nodded. “I won’t.”
He shoved a clip into the second MP5 and, without another word, ducked out of the barn and into the woods.
Mia sat in the sunlight, her back against an apple crate Ham had dragged over to the door. She could smell water on the breeze. “There’s a lake nearby?” But Ham didn’t hear her, or was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to respond. She felt weak, listless, the drugs and the bruises and the fear—the awful fear—having merged into a kind of numbness. And she was thirsty. But if she asked Ham for water, she was afraid he’d start digging through more crates and forget about Kelleher. “A nice, smart, rich guy like you. I’ll bet if you’d cut your hair, you’d get all the girls.”
He heard that. “Really?”
She smiled. “Yes, really. I wished we’d met under better circumstances.”
“Me, too.” His brow furrowed as he stared down at the submachine gun in his lap, but Mia didn’t think that was what he was seeing. He looked up again, his eyes almost vacant. “The emeralds actually came from Kelleher. He used them to manipulate Tatro. I should have known. I thought my folks made a deal with
him. He—I was on to him. Kelleher. Remember I told you I was on to an emerald-smuggling ring?”
“Ham…” But he had her interest, and she nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Yes. I remember.”
“Kelleher was smuggling emeralds and using the profits to support his vigilante mercenary work. I figured my folks gave him the emeralds because that’s what he wanted.”
“He’d know what to do with them.”
Ham didn’t seem to hear her. “Kelleher put us in touch with each other. Indirectly, because I never met him face-to-face. He knew I was friends with Ethan. He’d been watching me. And you—” Ham thought a moment. “He liked playing the white knight with you.”
“He did provide some useful information. Obviously he turned on me.”
“It’s my fault. I got scared,” Ham said without embarrassment. “I went to New York to find Ethan—I think Kelleher wanted me scared, wanted me to go to Ethan for help. I was in over my head.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I knew for sure I could trust Ethan.”
Kelleher had manipulated Ham, confused him to the point he’d go to the one person he knew he could trust—Ethan Brooker. Which was exactly what Kelleher wanted. Why? Mia shut her eyes a moment, but she still felt the blindfold and opened them again quickly, relieved at the sunlight. “What about Tatro?”
But Ham bolted to his feet, and then she heard it, too, understood why. A rustling sound outside. He got his MP5 into a ready position that looked authentic to her. Then he grinned at her, and relaxed. “It’s the Longstreets.”
Juliet Longstreet entered the barn first, followed by a tall, handsome, fair-haired man, both of them armed. Ham was yapping at them a mile a minute, but Mia couldn’t focus on what he was saying. She tried to stand. The fair-haired man caught her around the waist. She’d always been so self-sufficient, so confident and determined. But she sank into his strong arms and started to cry.
Juliet knew she wouldn’t find Brooker unless he wanted her to find him.
She ran up the road, using trees as cover, having nixed the idea of Paul’s police cruiser. Let Kelleher wonder if they were on to him.
Paul had stayed with Wendy and called for backup. Wendy hadn’t wanted her father to stay. It wasn’t rejection—it was, Juliet realized, a necessity. An assertion of identity more than independence. And an acceptance of him, the man he was. Now he was at the barn with Ham Carhill and Mia O’Farrell, both in tough shape, physically and emotionally. Joshua would protect them, and he would protect the crime scene.
Kelleher had constructed his own personal torture chamber and vigilante minibase in the days he’d been here.
Juliet’s only regret was that she hadn’t thought to take an MP5 for herself. She had her snub-nosed revolver. But it would do, and her primary goal was to isolate Kelleher and contain the situation until the cavalry arrived.
Ham Carhill had looked at her with a clear, calm gaze. “He wasn’t sure about your role. Kelleher. He came to Vermont to learn more about you and your role in the conspiracy he had us all in. He positioned himself to get Ethan, through you, and to expose us as traitors, get money.” The young Texan had frowned then, his certainty faltering. “I thought it was just the emeralds he was after. I don’t understand the multimillions.”
Juliet hadn’t taken the time to sort out what he was saying with him. But she would, later, when Kelleher and Tatro were behind bars, when her family was safe.
Twenty yards before reaching the cabin’s driveway, she started up the steep hill, moving at a diagonal, staying out of sight, even if she wasn’t as stealthy as Brooker. Every crunch made her wince, but the bed of pine needles and freshly fallen leaves helped soften her approach.
She ducked under a monstrous rhododendron on the edge of the driveway and peered through its oversize branches. The hood to Kelleher’s truck was up. He stepped down out of his camper, an MP5 cradled in his right arm.
And Ethan, coming into Juliet’s line of sight, shut the truck’s hood. She was within earshot.
What the hell was he up to?
He had an MP5 in his right hand. Kelleher got his weapon in ready position and said, “Keep your weapon lowered. Raise it an inch without my permission, and I’ll shoot you.”
“No problem. It’s cool.” Ethan nodded to the truck. “Ignition wire’s been cut.”
“Longstreet?”
“She’s not with me. I’ve seen your setup in the barn. Good deal, Kelleher. I never trusted O’Farrell. And Ham Carhill—a means to an end.”
Kelleher seemed satisfied with Ethan’s remarks. “What happened in Afghanistan? I’ve wanted to believe you were with us. Then, well, because of you, we lost valuable contacts and information that would have helped this country.”
“I did what I could to help. How do you think you and most of your team escaped?”
Staying within cover of the rhododendron, Juliet crept closer to the driveway. She knew Ethan would keep Kelleher talking this nonsense as long as possible.
“I heard you were operating in Colombia.” Ethan went on, his tone and stance casual, as if he had nothing more serious on his mind than a hike in the woods. “I encouraged Ham to go there. I made an opportunity for you.”
“O’Farrell—were you on to her?”
“Not for a long time.”
“Me, neither.” Kelleher sighed, deeply disappointed. “I provided her with solid intel. A White House adviser. A smart woman with the president’s ear. And she turns out to be a traitor. I was worried you were in on her scheme.”
“No. I missed it. Carhill’s in on it?”
“Definitely. People in my business sometimes have to work with unsavory characters, do unsavory things. I was involved in a complicated moneymaking operation.”
“Emerald smuggling.”
He nodded. “Carhill was on to me. I was that close to getting tossed in a Colombian or U.S. prison. He knew he was in over his head and went to find you—”
“In New York. I’m sorry I missed him. I could have helped you unravel this thing sooner.”
Kelleher gave a sad laugh. “Instead, I had to work with the likes of Bobby Tatro.”
“You paid him to kidnap Carhill and hold him?”
“Then I told O’Farrell the truth, that you were one of the few who’d recognize Carhill on sight.” Kelleher, alert, scanned left, then right. But he seemed to relish talking about his accomplishments. “I gave her the tip that would lead her to Tatro—not his name. I didn’t want to raise her suspicions by giving her too much.”
“You manipulated Tatro with the promise of his blond marshal. The picture—”
“He loved it. I got it to him, and he did his little drawings. He knew the doorman—Vincente—was my guy, but the stupid bastard killed him, anyway. He was out of control, breaking into Longstreet’s apartment. He was convinced you’d given her the emeralds. Vincente had already been through the place and searched the niece’s bags, but Tatro had to see for himself.” Kelleher gave a hiss of pure contempt. “There was no need to terrorize that girl.”
This from a man, Juliet thought, who had just tied Mia O’Farrell to a bomb.
“You called the Carhills with a ransom demand. Five million. The money’s supposed to fund—”
“A training facility. I’m working with good people, Major. You’d be impressed. But we’re all scattered right now.” He nodded down toward the road. “We need to get this done.”
“What’s your plan?”
Kelleher didn’t answer, and Juliet saw his expression—and so did Ethan. Kelleher didn’t believe his camaraderie pretense. With lightning speed, Ethan dove behind the truck, and she fired at the same time he did.
Kelleher fell, his weapon clattering onto the driveway.
Juliet launched herself out from under the rhododendron and charged over to Kelleher, her gun on him as she picked up his MP5.
Ethan, right behind her, dropped down and checked Kelleher for a pulse. “Names, Ke
lleher. Who are you working with? Who broke Tatro out of jail? Who—” He stopped, looking up at Juliet. “He’s gone.”
“Damn. You’re quick with a gun.”
“An MP5’s better than that thing you have.”
She didn’t want to admit that her knees were soft, and that she hadn’t been at all sure her revolver had the accuracy at that range. She didn’t know if her shot had struck him. She cleared her throat. “You had the drop on him, didn’t you? When you got here—”
“I wanted information.”
“You should leave that sort of thing to civilian law enforcement.”
“I knew you’d end up under a rhodie. Monster, isn’t it? You Longstreets are like the cleaning lady who doesn’t clean her own house.”
“Ethan—”
He brushed the back of his hand on her cheek. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, letting the breath go out of her. “You?”
“Just keep your brothers from arresting me.”
But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Twenty-One
Wendy used her grandmother’s old hand-cranked can opener to open three cans of organic red kidney beans, one after another, aware of Ham Carhill pacing behind her. She’d kicked everyone else out of the kitchen. The Longstreets had descended. Uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents. And town cops, state troopers. Juliet and Ethan were at the hospital with Mia O’Farrell. Ham had been taken by ambulance to the emergency room, but he refused to stay—he had little round bandages over some of his cuts, and he was in obvious pain when he moved. Wendy couldn’t kick him out of the kitchen, because that would be rude. But she just wanted to make chili.
She dumped the cans of beans into a colander in the sink and rinsed them. He looked over her shoulder and made a face. “I don’t think I can do beans. I had enough of them in Colombia to last me.”
“Was it awful?”
“Pretty bad. I knew I was worth more alive than dead. That helped.”
She switched off the faucet. “Matt…”
“Never saw him. Didn’t have a clue. The thing about him I realize now—” He thought a moment as Wendy carried the colander of beans over to the stove and dumped them into her pan of sautéed onions, peppers, garlic and carrots; she didn’t think anyone would notice the carrots when the chili was finished. Ham sighed and said, “He wanted it all. The glory, the violence, the money, the risk, the sneaking around. So he ended up biting off more than he could chew. It all got away from him.”
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