by Lauren Bach
Lyle frowned. "Hers? I'd rather wait."
"Me too, but we can't stay here another two hours. Tell Nevin we'll meet him somewhere. In the meantime, I'm going to see if I can hide our old car better."
"Fine. Leave me a gun."
Adam shook his head. After the shootout with the deputy, there was no way Adam would let Lyle have another weapon. He hoped Lyle didn't press it; he didn't want to debate the issue in front of Renata.
"Tied up she won't give you any trouble. And I'll be right back."
Lyle shrugged and closed his eyes, but his tone didn't match his cool response: "Whatever."
Adam turned back to Renata. He didn't like leaving her. He didn't trust her. He recalled her pulling the scalpel. It had been a surprise, but it let him know what she was made of. She had plenty of grit. He checked her bindings, then took off.
Outside, Adam checked her car. It had less than a quarter tank of gas. Christ, what was it with women and gas tanks?
He grabbed the dry cleaning she had hanging in the back and popped the trunk. Jumper cables were coiled next to a gray canvas car cover that was still in the box. He dumped the clothes and removed the cover.
Stopping just long enough to scan the street, he jogged back to where they'd left the stolen car and drove it to the run-down service station at the corner. He parked the car beside several others before throwing the cover he'd found in Renata's trunk over it. The station owner would eventually find the car and report it, but by then they'd be long gone.
Next, he circled the building, checking for a pay phone. He needed to make a call where it couldn't be overheard.
Unfortunately, the phone on the side wall had been vandalized: the cord cut, the receiver gone. He considered using Renata's cell phone for one quick call—except it would leave a record of whom he called. And he knew from experience the smallest slip could bring down the mountain. Adam had a lot riding on this job, professionally and personally.
Before taking this assignment, he had worked undercover in Central America, trailing arms dealers through Mexico to the U.S. border. The FBI's investigation had begun at the request of the foreign government and had taken over a year to establish. A single phone call by a rookie agent—to his girlfriend—had blown the operation. Worse, it had nearly cost Adam and another FBI Special Agent their lives.
Adam was still dealing with the career-damaging fallout. Even though he hadn't done anything wrong, he suffered guilt through association: The rookie had been his partner.
On the heels of that professional snafu, came another: His brother—who Adam had thought was dead—turned up alive and well in the Caribbean, as a person of interest in an Interpol investigation.
At that time, he hadn't seen his brother in twenty- seven years. And while everyone at the Bureau agreed Adam had done nothing wrong—hell, they weren't even sure what his brother was accused of—it was another strike against him. He'd been relegated to a back office, forgotten.
Headlights flashed on the street. Taking cover, he watched as a beat-up station wagon, its muffler dragging, ran a stop sign and sped off, an empty beer can flung out the window in its wake.
He waited until it disappeared, then sprinted across the street to the closed convenience store. When the car's lights had swept the store's parking lot, he'd spotted two pay phones. The first one worked.
Adam quickly punched in numbers. His partner, Stan Beckwith, answered on the second ring.
Stan sounded half asleep until he heard Adam's voice. "Halle-fucking-lu-jah!"
"I don't have long," Adam began. "I'm at a pay phone. And everything that can go wrong has."
"No shit. I've seen the news. How much of it's true?"
"Probably too much." He updated Stan on the shooting, Lyle's injury and Renata's involvement. "If I have to, I'll fold my hand. I don't want to endanger the woman and I won't be responsible for Lyle dying."
"I'm with you. But what's Ethan's take on it?"
Adam snorted. "I haven't talked with him yet."
"I'm not surprised. He's had more pressing matters. But then you probably haven't heard the latest political scuttlebutt. Ethan's name has been tossed in the ring as a potential running mate for presidential candidate Richard Barrington."
Now Adam swore. Ethan Falco, a former CIA and FBI honcho, was the man in charge of the top-secret task force assigned to capture Willy McEdwin and sons.
A high-level security advisor to the White House, Falco had handpicked the task force players from the ranks of FBI, CIA, and other federal agencies. The task force operated outside normal channels, which gave Ethan almost limitless authority. Most important, though, it avoided the leaks that plagued the system and helped Willy to evade arrest and continue his killing crusade.
In fact, part of the task force's agenda was to flush out those moles and spies that aided the McEdwins. At any cost.
Adam had discovered the hard way what that meant. When he'd first been approached for the assignment, he'd jumped at the chance to get back in action; back on track career-wise. Until he heard the job involved going undercover in prison.
His first instinct had been to refuse. Except Ethan had been persuasive, promising the job would only run a week or two, max. And more, he'd offered Adam a personal favor: information that would clear his brother's name.
Then Ethan had shown his true colors and left Adam inside the prison for three months. Was that because he'd been too busy glad-handing? Or had he been purposely delaying the bust to maximize publicity? While Falco was well known in political circles, he was unknown in the private sectors. Bringing the McEdwin clan to justice would make him a household name. The type of hero a presidential campaign needed.
"Well, when you talk with Ethan," Stan continued, "find out what the hell I'm supposed to do with all this intel I'm gathering. He gives me free access to every system in the world then won't return my phone calls."
Adam knew Stan wasn't exaggerating by much. A computer genius and former CIA contract agent, Stan had helped Ethan create an extensive criminal background for Adam. If anyone checked he looked like a genuine felon right down to the fingerprints. And Willy McEdwin would have him thoroughly checked.
If they ever connected with Willy, that is. Lyle's contact thus far had been only with Nevin.
"Does any of this intelligence hint at the McEdwins' whereabouts?" "Mmm, maybe." Stan's voice dropped. "I'm trailing a large shipment of plastic explosives I think is destined for the McEdwins."
"How large?"
"Fifty kilos."
"That's over a hundred pounds." Adam gripped the phone tighter.
As part of his inducement to convince Adam to take the job, Ethan Falco had claimed to have inside knowledge that Willy McEdwin was planning another bombing. A big one to mark the twentieth anniversary of his wife's death. A hundred pounds of C-4 would more than fill the bill.
"How sure are you it's for McEdwin?" Adam asked.
"Right now, I'm not. The supplier is waiting on payment. I'm hoping to trace it and confirm."
"How the hell did you find this out?"
"Got lucky."
Lucky? Right. More likely Stan had been snooping in somebody's computer files. Adam knew the other man's background included a stint as a hacker. Stan was damn good at what he did because he had an insatiable appetite for boldly going where he wasn't supposed to.
"Listen, I've got a much tamer request for your abilities." Adam pulled Renata's cell phone from his pocket and gave Stan the number. "Can you reroute service so I have my own phone to use? And mask it so it can't be traced to her cell phone?"
"That's not exactly legal."
"Has that ever stopped you?"
"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, keep the C-4 info under your hat. If I'm right and the shipment is for Willy, I want all the credit. If it's for someone else, I can still leverage the information with my other connections and get reassigned."
"Just don't jump ship until I'm clear." Outside of Ethan, Stan w
as his only contact on the task force.
Adam hung up, but just as he lifted the receiver a second time, he heard footsteps. Swearing, he turned and found two men had crept up close enough to grab him.
Renata watched the door, wishing Adam would return. She didn't like him; didn't like the situation she was in. But being left tied and helpless, with Lyle, was worse.
Once Adam left, Lyle's demeanor shifted Hyde-like. He'd made several crude remarks and hinted his strength was greater than he'd let on.
She glanced back, found him still staring at her. She couldn't hide her shudder of revulsion.
He tried for a smile and failed. "You want to know how long it's been since I was alone with a woman? Nine months, fourteen days. Before I left, my girlfriend gave me a helluva blow job. But I bet you could do better."
Renata ignored him, turning her head.
"You do know what a blow job is, don't you? I drop my pants, you hit your knees and suck till I say stop. Really no blowing to it. 'Course you being a fancy- schmancy doctor, you probably never heard it called that before."
When she didn't respond Lyle coughed. "Am I scaring you, Doc?"
She met his stare. That was the last thing she wanted him to think. Yes, she was quaking inside, but she didn't want him to know.
"Scaring me? No. Disgusting me? Yes. But then you don't sound any different from most of the other street punks we see in here."
"Punk?" Grimacing, Lyle rolled onto his side and slowly started to ease his good leg off the table. "Let me show you just how different I am. Do you have another scalpel?"
Adam nailed the first man squarely in the jaw. He went down. His partner leaped back and drew a handgun.
Adam didn't move. The men were cops. Feds, he guessed, but not FBI. He had two choices. Rush the guy with the gun and risk getting shot, or surrender and explain the situation before they radioed the collar in. Except what could he tell them? He was sworn to the highest level of secrecy. On paper, it appeared that Adam—under his real name—had resigned from the FBI. Stan was the only person besides Ethan who could even verify his story.
The man on the ground groaned and rolled onto his feet, holding his jaw. Adam noticed neither man made an attempt to call for backup.
"Ethan Falco sent us," the man with the gun said. He seemed in charge.
Adam felt a momentary relief. He should have known Ethan would keep his own men close. There would have been multiple tracking devices on the first car, which they'd been forced to abandon along with most of their supplies. Which meant there had to be a tracking device on the cell phone he'd left with Lyle. These men must have been watching the clinic and followed Adam to the pay phone.
Adam held up his palms. "I was just getting ready to call, but I'm out of change."
"Tell him that." The man thrust a cell phone forward. It was already ringing when Adam pressed it to his ear.
A man answered. "Falco here."
"I just nailed one of your men. Too bad it wasn't you."
"Look, I know you're pissed—"
"Pissed doesn't begin to cover three months in prison."
"Hey. Whatever it takes, remember? Now tell me what the hell's going on down there. Why haven't you called in before?"
"I haven't exactly had a lot of privacy. And I've had my hands full trying to make certain Lyle didn't die from the bullet he took."
Ethan let loose with a string of curses. "If that kid dies ... we lose our shot at nailing Willy."
"I have no intention of letting Lyle die. And neither does his brother."
"You've made contact with the family already?"
Adam relayed his conversation with Nevin, including his insistence that they bring Renata along. "I don't want to involve the woman any further."
"Never thought I'd hear myself say it, but I have to agree with McEdwin on this one. Keeping Lyle alive is our top priority. Do what you have to and make the woman cooperate."
"Including abducting her at gun point?"
"With the right spin, no one will hold that against you."
I'll hold it against myself, Adam thought. "Spoken like a true politician."
Headlights flashed as a car approached.
"Someone's coming." The other man snatched his cell phone back. "Gotta go."
The men ducked to the side of the building. Adam dove behind them just as a car rolled up to the corner stop sign.
It was a patrol car. The black and white unit cruised slowly down the street then turned and disappeared from sight. A second unit followed.
"They're probably getting ready to search the area," Adam said. "I've got to go back."
"We'll be in touch."
Adam raced back to the clinic. Ethan's men being this close bothered him. If the McEdwins were nearby, too, and spotted Ethan's men, it would blow everything.
On the other hand, Ethan's men would be someone Adam could safely entrust Renata to when the time came to get her to safety.
Inside the clinic, he found Lyle struggling to sit up on the exam table.
"What the hell?" Adam snapped. "Are you trying to make your wound start bleeding again?"
Sweat beaded on Lyle's upper lip. "I was trying to make myself comfortable."
Adam looked briefly at Renata, noted her distress. Something had passed between these two while he was gone, but there was no time to pursue it.
"I just spotted two patrol cars. We need to get out of here fast."
"Damn!" Lyle made a phone call, left a message.
When the cell phone rang a few seconds later, he grabbed it, relief and panic evident in his voice. "Nevin! This place is crawling with cops. Adam wants to leave the clinic, using the doctor's car."
There was silence, then, "Got it. A white Buick LeSabre. Jessup's Truck Stop, Yanceyville. Don't forget clothes and painkillers. Can't wait to see you, too."
Lyle ended the call. "He's leaving a car north of here."
"Where are we headed from there?"
"He won't say over the phone. Instructions will be in the car. He'll call again after a short black-out."
"A what?"
"Black-out," Lyle repeated. "It's a trick the old man taught us. He won't use the same phone number more than two or three times, then he waits twenty-four hours before activating a new one."
Which makes him hard to trace, Adam thought. And difficult to get in touch with on short notice. "Somebody must have hellacious connections at the phone company."
"He only does it..." Lyle's voice dropped, his eyes shifting to Renata, as if worried he'd said too much in front of her.
Adam was curious about what he left unsaid. He only does it... When? When they have a big job coming up? Adam thought back to his conversation with Stan and the shipment of plastic explosives he was tracking. Did Lyle know about his father's plans?
Grabbing scissors, Adam cut Renata's restraints. "Finish dressing his wound and get him ready for travel."
"But—"
"Now!"
Moving to the exam table, she disconnected the IV tube and put a med lock over the port. Then she covered it with gauze.
"Just yank the damn IV thing out," Lyle said.
She shook her head. "You will need more fluid and antibiotics. And I had a hard enough time getting this one started."
While she helped Lyle into a scrub suit, Adam grabbed the trashcan and dumped as much as he could inside before pulling the liner out. Destroying every shred of evidence would take too much time. And would ultimately prove moot. However, not making an attempt to disguise their presence seemed too sloppy.
When he finished, he yanked Renata's cell phone from his pocket. He knew Stan hadn't had time to change it over yet, which was okay. "Does the hospital have a clinic in Fayetteville?"
Fayetteville was about seventy miles southeast of Durham. She nodded. "But this late, they're closed."
"Call Fayetteville police. Tell them your name is Nelly Bright and you work for the cleaning service. You just left that clinic and noticed
two men who may have matched the mug shots you saw on TV Tell them they were driving a brown Chevrolet Impala, with tag number 020936L. Then complain you're losing your signal."
"I won't help you create a diversion."
He pulled his gun. "You will."
Renata stared at the large handgun. She knew from a gun safety course it was a nine-millimeter. The clip easily held fifteen rounds, maybe more. She also knew from working the ER the gun was deadly even with one bullet. But only if the safety was off.
Her eyes flared. Did Adam realize the safety was on?
Did she want to test him?
"No tricks this time." Adam got the telephone number from directory assistance, then held the phone while she talked his finger over the power button.
As soon as she said, "My signal is breaking up—" he switched it off.
"Let's go." He moved toward her, held out a hand.
Renata hung back. Leaving with them—not knowing if she'd ever return—was too terrifying to contemplate.
"Can't you just leave me here?"
Adam wished he could. He didn't want someone else to worry about. But he did need her for Lyle's sake. For now he had to play hard-ass.
He motioned toward the door. "Grab the box of supplies."
Keeping his gun on her, Adam helped Lyle outside. Lyle pulled out a cigarette. "I know we're in a hurry. Just let me get two quick puffs."
"Make it fast." Adam pulled Renata to the rear of the car.
She resisted. "Are you going to lock me in the trunk?"
Lyle groaned. "Right! If I need help what are we gonna do? Pull over and pop you out of the trunk? With cops looking for us?"
Ignoring Lyle, Adam stowed the supplies and slammed the trunk closed. Then he tucked his gun behind him into his pants and caught her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.
She flinched, her gaze a mixture of wariness and revulsion. He knew it was more than the horror of being forced to give medical care to someone she loathed. Two escaped convicts were abducting her. Men who'd been in prison, locked up without social contact—without female contact. He could imagine the direction of her fears.
"You're riding in the front, but you do have to keep down," he said. "You also have to stay tied."