Mullins understood why she’d frowned at his proposal that her nephew go with Kayli. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience your security team.”
She shrugged. “I feel safe here.” She smiled. “I’m with the man who saved my life.”
“I couldn’t protect you from a ninety-year-old grandmother now.”
“I think my biggest danger is being mobbed by the press. We had to sneak out through the loading dock to avoid them.”
The loading dock near where the getaway van had been parked, Mullins thought. “Has any attempt on your life been made before?”
“No. But I work in a high-security lab and live in a high-rise with doormen. I think I just happened to be in the wrong place last night. Brecht and Ahmad were much more well known than I am.”
“Anyone trying to recruit you away from your employer?”
“I’m in a hot field. I’m always getting inquiries.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “But I’m here at the pleasure of my government and an arrangement made with Jué Dé. I’m not what the sports people call a free agent.”
Mullins hesitated to probe further, but her answer reinforced his line of questioning.
“When the man grabbed you outside the kitchen last night, did he say anything?”
She shuddered. “No. You came back almost as he grabbed me.”
To use as a shield, Mullins thought. Kill me first, then her. Or there was another possibility.
Li sensed something was bothering him. “What?”
Mullins leaned forward in the bed, bringing his face close to hers. “It’s just a little odd that he grabbed you. Why not just shoot you?”
Li’s face went even paler. “A hostage?”
“Or a source of information.”
The neuroscientist shook her head as if being murdered were more understandable. “That sounds farfetched.”
“I hope so. But tell Jué Dé and your government that kidnapping was a possibility.”
“Maybe my company should hire you.”
“I’m afraid that would be a tough commute.”
Her eyes softened. “Family?”
“Kayli and my grandson. My wife died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Do you live with someone who can be an extra pair of eyes and ears?”
“No,” she whispered. “My husband died eight years ago. My work in Beijing kept me too busy to do anything else.”
Like date, Mullins thought. He wondered if her research had been scrutinized by the communist government and long working hours weren’t a choice.
“Just be extra vigilant,” he advised. “And if you’re ever back in the area, let me know. And if Peter’s with you, we’ll go to a game.”
“He’d like that.” Her face reddened slightly. “So would I.” She stood. “I’d better go get him. We’re supposed to fly back this evening.”
“Can I tell him goodbye?”
“Yes. Peter would throw a fit otherwise.” She stared at Mullins. “Thank you again.”
Mullins started to say he was only doing his duty when she bent over and ran her cool palm across his forehead like a mother soothing a feverish child.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
Five minutes later, Peter burst in the room and ran to the bedside. “Mr. Mullins, Miss Kayli said you’re not just a bodyguard. You’re like a detective.”
Mullins chuckled. “Well, I used to be kinda like one.”
“Would you take my case?”
Mullins looked at Lisa Li but she appeared to have no clue as to what her nephew meant.
“What case is that?” he asked.
“Someone stole my Nats hat?”
“In the cafeteria?”
“No. From our room. Last night while we were downstairs.”
Mullins rubbed his chin like he was thinking about possible solutions. “Well, your aunt said you changed rooms. That’s probably when it got lost.”
“No. I looked for it before then.” He turned to his aunt. “Tell him about your makeup.”
Mullins was suddenly interested. “Was something else missing?”
Li shook her head dismissively. “My makeup case and our toiletries. We didn’t actually move them. The hotel staff brought our things to the new room.”
“But you went back first to your original room?”
“Yes. A policeman entered first to make sure no one waited inside. Then we were only there five minutes before the decision was made to change rooms. His hat could have fallen under the bed.”
“Did you notice if your toiletries were gone?”
“None of us went in the bathroom,” Li said. “Things were so chaotic I’m just grateful our luggage made it.”
“Will you take the case?” Peter asked. “I can pay. I get an allowance.”
“Oh, really?” Mullins made a great show of being impressed. “Well, I couldn’t possibly take your money until I recover. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
Peter nodded solemnly.
“But I’ll make a few calls to some detective friends. If it’s not solved by the time I’m better, I’ll work on your case personally. How’s that sound?”
Peter thrust out his little hand. “You’ve got a deal, Mr. Mullins.”
Chapter Six
Nearly two weeks after the assassinations, Mullins had yet to hear any update on the investigation. His own inactivity created growing frustration and restlessness, but he had few options.
His surgeon had urged him not to drive until he was further along in healing. Unfortunately, the doctor gave those post-operative instructions in front of Kayli, and his daughter had had the audacity to remove the Prius from the JW Marriott and park it on the street in front of her condo in Arlington. She kept the keys safely stowed in her purse. He felt like a teenager who’d been grounded.
Mullins lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a high-rise building called Shirlington House. He’d moved there a few years after his wife died of ovarian cancer because it was located midway between Kayli’s condo and the convenience of the upscale shops and restaurants that made up the Shirlington neighborhood. His walk was less than a mile to either destination.
Kayli lived in Fairlington Villages, a neighborhood constructed during World War Two to house Pentagon officers and their families. Her husband, Lieutenant Commander Allen Woodson, was a naval intelligence officer on a ship somewhere off the east coast of Africa. Kayli was essentially a single mom juggling her part-time job at the Shirlington Library with the demanding responsibilities of raising a three-year-old. When Mullins wasn’t working, he became the chief backup babysitter for his grandson, Josh, a title he relished.
Convenience to his grandson offered another advantage. Kayli brought him dinner every night until he felt well enough to join her and Josh around her dining room table. That had been the extent of his outings when he’d received a call from Elizabeth Lewison. The widow of his boss and friend wanted to meet and discuss something personal.
On the second Thursday after his release from the hospital, Mullins strolled along the sidewalk, glad to be out on the sunny April morning, but anxious about seeing Elizabeth. They’d spoken briefly at Ted’s memorial service. She was still in shock and swamped by numerous friends offering condolences; he was still weak and unsteady, forced to lean on Kayli as they processed along the receiving line.
His real anxiety lay in the second thoughts plaguing him every time he closed his eyes. Should he have seen the killers approaching sooner? Surveyed the room before running to evacuate his charge? Would his warning to Ted have made a difference if it had come a second or two earlier? His professional brain said no; his personal loyalty to a friend and colleague argued otherwise.
So, with mixed feelings, he entered Peet’s Coffee a few minutes ahead of their t
en o’clock rendezvous. Elizabeth Lewison was waiting in the back. Two cups of coffee were already on the table.
She smiled and gestured to the seat opposite her. “Medium roast, black. Correct?”
“Perfect.” He sat.
She reached out with her fingers curled halfway open and he cupped his hand over hers, latching onto her, digit for digit, as if what they shared was too important to be bound by a common handshake.
“How are you, Rusty?” She eyed his left arm immobilized by a sling.
“I have no complaints. I’ll mend.”
“How’s the PT?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “A home health therapist comes every day.”
“I didn’t know the company’s insurance was that good.”
“It’s not. I mean…” he stammered at what he was afraid sounded like criticism “…I mean our coverage is fine. I was told Jué Dé’s providing the therapist.”
“Who?”
“The Chinese company that employs Dr. Li, the woman I was guarding.”
“Good. You earned it.”
Mullins took a deep, slow sip of his coffee. He wanted to buy some time and let her lead the conversation. It was strange seeing her without Ted. They’d been married twenty-four years. While Ted had been posted around the world, Elizabeth had put herself through Howard University and passed her CPA examination. When Ted gave his final salute, Elizabeth created the business plan that would become Prime Protection. She wasn’t only his friend’s wife, she was the person who signed his paycheck.
He took a second sip and thought how much the couple looked alike. She was tall, nearly six feet, and she carried herself with Ted’s military bearing. Although she was physically striking, it was her aura of self confidence that defined her. She was a woman comfortable in her own skin and gifted with the ability to put others at ease.
Except she wasn’t at ease this morning.
“What have you heard?” Her eyes searched his face for any sign of duplicity.
“Nothing. And I’m supposed to,” he admitted. “From sources high in the investigation.”
“Do they not know anything, or are they not telling anything?”
Mullins had been asking himself the same questions. “My guess is that they know precious little and are guarding that scant data hoping they can work it without alerting their suspects. But the press is baffled and in a town that leaks like a sieve, I’d say that means the investigation is going nowhere.”
She nodded. “I’ve got my own connections and I’m hearing the same silence. It’s like this Double H appeared at the hotel and then vanished from the face of the earth.” She rotated her cup on the table, staring at the black liquid for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were moist. “When are you back?”
It was the question he’d been dreading. He took a deep breath. “I don’t think I will be. Prime Protection deserves someone in their prime. It’s time I came off the front line.”
Disappointment covered her face. “Is that you or Kayli talking?”
“Does it matter?” He couldn’t tell her the one speaking to him was his dead wife. But, then, maybe Elizabeth would understand.
“No. I guess it doesn’t. But, Rusty, would you work for me?”
The request confused him. “What do you mean? Some sort of office job?”
“Work for me personally. Someone murdered my husband. That’s what it was. Cold-blooded murder. I don’t want you on the front lines as a protector. I need an investigator.” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “Someone needs to speak for Ted. You’re not only his friend, you’re the best damned investigator in this city. Please.”
Her desperate face was replaced by others—Kayli pleading for him to retire, President Brighton requesting that he stay out of the line of fire, and finally his wife, Laurie, whispering, “She’s in pain, Rusty. Help her.”
He made one final protest. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Who does?” she asked. “But I’ll give you whatever resources I can, and at least I’ll take comfort in knowing we’re trying to do something.”
“All right, Elizabeth.”
They parted with a hug. He declined her offer for a ride to his apartment, claiming he had to pick up a few grocery items. When she was gone, he went back for a second cup of coffee and returned to the back table. He scanned through the contact files on his cell phone, not sure if he still had the number. It was there, a relic of the old days.
Just when he thought he was headed for voicemail, a voice snapped, “Dawkins.”
“Sam. It’s Nails. Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m on duty. But I had a good three hours sleep.”
“I’m sorry. When are you rotating off?”
“I’m not back in the city for seventy-two hours. We’re headed to Camp David. Orca’s spending a long weekend.”
Sam Dawkins just assumed Mullins knew Brighton’s code name. He was correct.
“Will you give Orca a message?”
A pause as the question forced Dawkins to consider his response carefully. Then he asked, “Is he going to shoot the messenger?”
“Not if you tell him you’ve no idea what it means. Just say I called and asked you to relay that I’m coming off the sidelines.”
“You’re coming off the sidelines. That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you expecting him to give me some sort of reply for you?”
“No. And tell him so. It’s a heads-up, nothing more.”
“Nothing more, my ass,” Dawkins grumbled.
“Trust me. It’s not your ass he’s worried about.”
Dawkins laughed. “You nailed that right, Nails. Stay safe.”
“Always, my friend.” And he hoped his message to Brighton increased the odds of just that.
Mullins got up from the table, grabbed his coffee, and began walking back to his apartment, unaware of the black limousine trailing half a block behind him.
Chapter Seven
Mullins carried his coffee and his thoughts up the hill toward Shirlington House. Once he made the decision to help Elizabeth Lewison, his mind began searching for viable pathways to penetrate the secrets of his own government. Someone had to know something.
He was so deep in concentration that the world around him disappeared. Only when he heard his name did he realize a black limo was cruising along the curb, matching his pace.
He stopped and the car braked beside him. A man of about fifty with clear blue eyes and steely-gray hair looked out over a half-lowered, tinted rear window.
“Mr. Mullins, might I have a word with you?”
Mullins quickly scanned the area, alert for any coordinated assault. Late morning traffic was light and there were no other pedestrians. Mullins realized if this man wanted him dead, he would have shot rather than spoken.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Robert Brentwood. But that’s not important.”
Robert Brentwood. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place the context.
“It’s about Dr. Lisa Li. Just a few moments is all, and then you can be on your way.”
Mullins shook his head. “A few answers first.”
“All right.” Brentwood smiled. “Ask away.”
“Have I been under surveillance?”
“Yes. By my security team. Nothing sinister, I promise. I wanted to know how to reach you when the time came.”
The man’s open admission signaled this wasn’t going to be a conversation of game-playing. At least not initially.
“Why are you interested in me?”
“Because I’m interested in her.” Brentwood pushed open his door. “Hear my proposal. That’s all I ask. Then we’ll return to your building and I’ll be on my way.”
Mullins clicked the name in
to place. “You head some computer company, don’t you?”
“Yes. Cumulus Cognitive Connections. Actually we’re high-level information systems and data management. I was alarmed and sickened by the murders at that conference, and I have reason to fear for Dr. Li’s safety.”
Perhaps more than the door to the car might be opening. “All right. Mind if I bring my coffee?”
Brentwood laughed and slid over. “Not at all. There’s Blanton’s single-barrel bourbon in the bar if you need to add something a little more bracing than cream.”
Said the spider to the fly, Mullins thought. He got in, opted not to trap himself in the seatbelt, and closed the door. “Save the bourbon for another time. You’ve got my attention.”
Brentwood pressed an intercom button. “Drive us around the area,” he told the driver. “But no farther out than ten minutes from Mr. Mullins’ apartment.” He released the switch. “Is that satisfactory, sir?”
“Your wheels, your gas,” Mullins answered. “Now what’s up?”
The limo pulled away from the curb and Brentwood leaned against the door to face Mullins.
“I want to hire you to protect Dr. Li.”
“We can stop right now, Mr. Brentwood. I’m not going to California.”
“Of course you’re not. Kayli and Josh are here.”
Brentwood’s use of his daughter’s and grandson’s names showed Mullins the man had done at least a preliminary background check.
“You’ll stay on the East Coast,” Brentwood continued. “There will be some travel by private jet, but for only a few days at a time.”
“Is Jué Dé transferring Dr. Li?”
“Jué Dé is out of the picture. Dr. Li will be working for me.”
“I understand she’s here through the approval of the Chinese government.”
Brentwood waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll handle the politics. They’ll make a stink but nothing that won’t blow over.”
“She’ll be based in D.C.?”
“Part of the time. Part of the time she’ll be at one of our centers where we can implement her research.”
“When would I start?”
The Singularity Race Page 4