by T C Archer
Nielson shrugged. “It’s a guess, but we figure she’d had enough of his carousing.”
“How did she know about the operation?”
“We don’t know, yet. After Lanton left the warehouse, he went home and confronted Helen. We’ve had his house bugged for months. He accused her of using his email account to tip off Perez.” Nielson raised a brow. “She’s a cool one. She asked how he and his mistress liked their membership in Submissions.”
“Perez didn’t know the email came from Helen Lanton? And Lanton didn’t know who tipped off Perez?” Jesse looked helplessly at Cole. “She really killed him?”
He nodded. “We fished his body from the Potomac. He had a small caliber bullet hole to his head in a faked suicide. The bullet wasn’t the cause of death. Helen Lanton hit him fourteen times in the head.”
“My God,” Jesse breathed, and remembered something her mother once said, Men are violent but, let’s face it, honey, women can be downright cruel. Her stomach roiled. “I fell for it, hook, line and sinker.”
“If it’s any consolation, you are responsible for us getting him,” Nielson said.
She frowned. “You said I nearly botched it.”
“You did. And your cowboy heroics aren’t acceptable. But our timetable established a twelve to twenty-four months operation. We’re a team, Miss Evans. You are not the Lone Ranger. We work together. That way, fewer people die.”
“What about the people dying as a result of the drugs Perez ships over here?” she demanded.
Pity filled his expression. “You haven’t heard? Gilbero seized Perez’s cocoa fields.”
Jesse choked back tears. For every Perez, there were ten more waiting to take his place.
“You want the person responsible for killing Green Team?” Nielson asked.
Jesse’s vision cleared. “Yes, sir.”
He nodded.
She stood. “Wait—”
He appeared surprised.
She faced Cole. “Who are you?”
He grinned. “Cole Smith-Murphy.”
“What?”
“My mother is an independent woman. She gave me her name as well as my father’s.”
“But I found nothing in your dossiers about the name Murphy.”
“Nope,” he replied. “Smith throws ‘em off every time.”
He lifted a brow and she felt as if he’d been inside her mind when her cell phone rang in that Newark hotel and she saw the name Cole Smith. She’d laughed when she saw his caller ID pop up as Smith the phone. She wasn’t laughing now.
“If you’d bothered to ask…” Cole shrugged.
Jesse took a deep breath and looked at her boss. “Harris, how is he?
“Took a bullet to the shoulder. Lost some blood, but nothing serious. He’s a tough man.”
A trickle of relief seeped into the knot constricting her stomach. She didn’t expect it to last.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Jesse glanced down at the standard OIA Navy blue suit coat, skirt, and heels she wore, still unable to believe she rode in a Hummer with Cole on the way to arrest Helen Lanton. Jesse cast a covert glance at Cole, whose attention remained fixed straight ahead. He wore a pinstripe suit, black tie and black wingtips. Wingtips. The only similarities in their outfits were the badges hanging off their jackets’ breast pockets, his, with the name Cole Smith.
Followed by two black Crown Victoria sedans, Cole pulled into the driveway of a two million dollar, white Federal style home in Georgetown. A round front porch adorned the façade, with the same shaped balcony above supported by four columns. Green shutters and landscaped flower borders around a manicured lawn completed the picture-perfect disguise. Cole cut the engine. He flashed an encouraging smile, then reached for the door handle.
The FBI agents in the black sedans had been instructed to give Jesse and Cole the opportunity to get Helen Lanton to the door, then they would leave their cars and make the arrest. Jess followed Cole along a brickwork sidewalk to the front porch. She noticed the perfectly trimmed dwarf English Boxwoods. Just like the ones she and Amanda would have had outside their Paris chalet. Cole stepped up to the massive forest-green door with a shiny brass kick plate at the bottom and rang the bell.
A maid opened the door.
“Ma’am,” Cole said. “We’re agents Smith and Evans, here to see Helen Lanton.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to his badge. “One moment.”
She turned and, before the door shut, Jesse caught sight of an antique, colonial-period mirror and Oriental rug.
A moment later, the door reopened. A petite brunette with high cheekbones and pouty lips stood in the doorway. Tops, she weighed a hundred pounds. A chill grazed Jesse’s shoulders. And all along, she’d thought Lanton was the bad ass. Something about Helen Lanton’s yellow, short-sleeved blouse and light blue, denim Capri slacks captured Jesse’s attention, then she realized she’d seen a similar outfit in Vogue from Bergdorf Goodman department store. The outfit ran fifteen hundred dollars. Jesse glanced at the shoes. Gucci. Make that two thousand dollars.
Jesse met her gaze. “Helen Lanton?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“I’m agent Evans, this is agent Smith.” A look of recognition flickered in Helen Lanton’s eyes.
Her gaze flicked past Jesse as car doors slammed shut, then returned to Jess. “What’s this about?”
Jesse wanted to shout For murdering six men! but only moved aside for the men who stepped onto the porch. Helen Lanton’s eyes shifted to the older man, who reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a palm-sized, black leather case. He flipped open the case to reveal an FBI badge and ID card.
“Helen Lanton, I’m agent Brooks. You’re under arrest for conspiracy and the murder of your husband, Robert Lanton, a Federal Agent.”
Brooks brushed past Jesse and Cole, followed by the other three men. “Helen Lanton,” he said as he carefully spun her around and reached back to pull handcuffs from his belt, “you have the right to remain silent.” He clamped them on her wrists, then turned her to facing him. “Anything you say and do…”
Jesse’s blood cooled another notch when Helen Lanton met and held her gaze. No denial, no tears…no emotion. Brooks directed her down the sidewalk toward the waiting cars, reciting the rest of her Miranda Rights. Another agent opened the back door of their black Crown Vic and Brooks pressed her head down as they placed her in the backseat.
Jesse looked at Cole.
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded. As ready as she’d ever be.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
An hour later, Jesse stood beside Cole as they rode the elevator to the eighth floor of the Humphrey Building in Langley. The car stopped and the doors opened. Jesse led the way down the hall. Two agents emerged from the third office on the right and fell in behind them. The agents wore their FBI badges on chains around their necks. She and Cole wore their badges. Hers displayed her picture and agent number over a prominent blue letter B. Cole’s badge had a green letter C behind a far too handsome mug shot.
At Tom’s closed office door, Jesse held up a hand to the three men behind her. “I need a sec.”
She gave the door a perfunctory knock, then entered. Tom looked up from a semi-circle of monitors. He never went home before nine. Why would he, living alone in an ultramodern, sterile townhouse overlooking the Potomac?
His face lit in genuine delight, and he stood. “Jesse. Nielson finally released you. And you look none the worse for wear. I knew you’d come to your senses.” Arms outstretched, he started around his massive electronic desk toward her.
“Actually, I have come to my senses. Only, you’re not going to like the results.”
Tom stopped, confusion chiseled on his expression. His arms fell to his sides. “What do you mean?”
Jesse regarded him. “In the final hour, I was willing to chance it all for you. I couldn’t have been more wrong about everything if I’d planned it. But being wrong about you was the
biggest mistake I’ve ever made.” Maybe that wasn’t true, but she wasn’t sure about much of anything. “You never really know a person.”
She stepped aside and Cole slid into the doorway.
Tom looked at him. “What’s going on?”
“I was wearing a wire, Tom.”
He paled. “What do you mean?”
The two FBI agents brushed past Cole. “Tom Montague,” the man in the lead began, “your employment has been terminated. We are going to escort you out of the building. You will accompany us to our offices where you will answer our questions.” Tom didn’t move, and the agent said, “Now.”
Jesse watched them lead Tom from the office. She had told Blue Leader about the disc in Lanton’s possession. They hadn’t located it yet, but would. A list of OIA’s operatives was dangerous information to have floating around. Nielson was keen to learn how one of their top analysts came to be in possession of the list to begin with. Jesse hadn’t considered that. She wasn’t an analyst. She was recon. She made sure her team had a safe path. Jesse turned and headed out the door toward the elevators. A finality settled into the pit of her stomach. Strong fingers closed around her shoulder. She turned to face Cole.
He leaned close. “We’re finished with business. Are you ready to see your sister?”
“Amanda?” Jesse said, as if the name were foreign.
He gave her that gentle smile, and she wished mightily they were back in the Columbian cantina and she could do it all over again.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
City gave way to country on a Maryland road almost as quickly as the lights in Columbia had turned into jungle. Jesse had spent time in the DC/Maryland area, but this place was unfamiliar. For twenty miles, empty, rolling hills surrounded the old highway. The dormers of a house peaked above a distant hill off to the right, then fell from sight behind the next hill.
Cole had refused to tell her where they were going, and Jesse decided the ride would be less painful without an argument. Autumn sun snapped in the crisp air and streamed into the truck cab like liquid gold. She stared out the window, spirited away by the fantasy of walking alone on a quiet path through those green hills. Her heart skipped a beat. No more lying. She didn’t have to look at the man sitting beside her to know she had grown tired of being alone.
The truck slowed and Jesse jolted with the realization Cole had turned up the drive angling toward the house—not house, she corrected, three-story plantation mansion—she’d spotted earlier.
She looked at him. “This is a private residence.”
He kept his gaze straight ahead. “Uh huh.”
Jesse narrowed her eyes. “Whose residence?”
Cole remained silent.
She felt her temper mount and took a deep breath.
The truck started up the hill, and a moment later, two Australian Shepherds, one blue merle, one tri-colored, crested the hill and raced toward them. A tremor shook her belly. Something wasn’t right. The dogs neared, and Cole slowed. They leaped into the back of the truck. She shot him a questioning look, but he still ignored her. At the top of the hill, the house came into view.
“Amanda and I won’t be staying long,” Jesse said. Maybe being alone had its merits.
“Uh huh,” he grunted and brought the truck to a stop in front of a covered porch.
Jesse was out the truck before his hand touched the keys. The two Aussies smiled and panted at her from the bed as she stared at Cole through the passenger side window. He paused, hand on the key, and raised a brow.
“If you don’t get your ass out here and show me where my sister is, I’ll ransack the house,” she threatened.
He gave a slow shake of his head as he killed the ignition. “My folks might get the idea you don’t like me.”
Jesse’s stomach did a flip. His parents? She stood motionless as he exited the car, then strode around the hood toward her.
When he neared, she said under her breath, “I’ll get you for this.”
“I’m sure you will,” he replied, “but, right now, let’s go see your sister.”
Before she could stop Cole, he took her hand. Her mind jumbled. If they walked into the house holding hands, his parents would get the wrong idea. If she jerked her hand away, they would think she was a bitch.
To her surprise, Cole didn’t go up the front stairs, but led her around the side of the house with the two dogs bringing up the rear. They rounded the corner and Jesse halted. Amanda sat on the grass, slowly stroking the belly of a Bassett hound lying beside her, legs straight up, floppy ears spread, eyes closed. A young woman relaxed on a lawn chair a few feet away.
Cole tugged Jesse forward. She walked beside him, feeling like she had stepped into another woman’s shoes. When they reached Amanda, she looked up at Jesse.
Jesse smiled. “Hi, Boozie.”
Amanda’s face lit. She pointed at the dog. “Dog.”
She returned her attention to the dog, closing the door between them, and resumed the same, slow stroke along his belly. Before long, once Jesse’s attention turned elsewhere, Amanda would offer her gesture of unconditional love by approaching her, then allowing Jesse to hug her.
Cole slipped an arm slip around Jesse’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Jesse looked at him. His eyes shone, and she realized the door between them lay wide open.
THE END
Thank you for reading For His Eyes Only. We hope you enjoyed being a part of Jesse and Cole’s lives. To contact us or learn more about our books please visit our website
T. C. Archer
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Winter in Paradise
The Pickle My Little Friend
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