by Vicki Hinze
“Where are you going, Andrew?” Mrs. Renault followed him to the outer office door.
He paused. “Don’t open this door for anyone but me or Grant. Understood?”
Mrs. Renault nodded, and asked her question a second time. “Where are you going?”
Talbot sent her a level look. “To see if Dayton took the bait.”
Madison lifted a hand. “Watch out for Lieutenant Blake. He’s working with him.”
“Actually, he’s not.”
“Sir, I beg to differ.” Madison hiked her chin. “Janet Hardy would, too.”
He paused. Both he and Mrs. Renault looked at Madison as if she’d sprouted two heads. “What do you know about Janet Hardy?” Mrs. Renault asked.
“I know she’s been in a cell here for four months. Ever since Lieutenant Blake brought her here because she couldn’t produce the written order to expunge the phone records.”
“Which phone records?” Talbot asked, clearly disturbed to learn Lieutenant Blake was playing both sides of the fence.
“Oh, good grief.” Mrs. Renault motioned with her hand. “The call to the WKME station manager, Brett Lund. Right after his discussion with Ian and Maggie about his reporters, David Pace and Beth Crane, on the Nest, Lund took the call and then shot himself, remember?”
“I remember.”
She sat down in his desk chair. “Ah, of course.” Something had become clear to her. “The call was made from the installation, so it had to go. Crawford couldn’t be blamed for that one. He must have had an airtight alibi for that time.” She swiveled to look at Madison. “Was Dayton the caller?”
“I don’t know. Janet Hardy might. She couldn’t remember who had signed the expunge order—”
“Only two people could,” Talbot said. “Dayton or me, and I didn’t, so he must have.”
Madison nodded. “She might remember the number, considering it’s changed her whole life.”
“Where is she?” Talbot asked.
Madison told him.
He grabbed the doorknob. “Do not leave this office and remember, no one comes in but Grant or me.”
“We’ll remember.” Mrs. Renault stood up. “Do be careful, Andrew.”
He nodded, the look in his eyes warming, then left and locked the door.
Madison walked to the fridge and got a soda. “Want one?”
“Yes, please.”
She passed one of the cans to Mrs. Renault, then opened her own. It fizzed. After taking a drink, she asked the question most pressing in her mind. “You want to explain that gold spinner, Rumpelstiltskin thing to me?”
She gave Madison an enigmatic smile. “Something I picked up from my late husband.”
Madison sat down in the visitor’s chair and waited.
Mrs. Renault dropped her voice. “It’s a question that shouldn’t have to be asked but...” The corners of her mouth drew down. “Andrew Talbot isn’t the first commander to have a vice commander he isn’t sure he can trust.”
Madison processed that. “So if asked the question, the commander has two possible answers,” Madison guessed. “If he trusts him, he gives one, and—”
“If not, he gives the other,” Mrs. Renault said. “Andrew does not trust Jeremy Dayton.”
That Mrs. Renault knew the question and the answer, and what it meant, explained the surprised look on Talbot’s face. “He wasn’t aware you knew that,” Madison said. “I’m surprised he responded.”
“He trusts me, and I trust him.” She sipped from her soda. “I also have all the clearances required to ask. For me, it was a safety issue. It’s different for the commanders, of course.”
A secret signal. “I see.” Madison hadn’t realized that commanders’ spouses were in such positions, though on thinking about it, she should have realized it. They were rich targets.
“I’ve suspected him for some time,” Mrs. Renault admitted.
“Since when?” Why hadn’t she said something?
“Remember before Christmas when Maggie Mason fled Illinois and Andrew brought her back from Nashville on his plane?”
Her best friend, Maggie, had been trying to outrun a serial killer. Madison remembered it all too well.
“During that debacle, she said she’d seen a pair of neon-blue aquatic shoes in either Talbot’s or Dayton’s suitcase. Remember that?”
Madison did remember them discussing it in a phone conference with all the staff. “She wasn’t sure whose case it was.”
“I was nearly sure,” Mrs. Renault said. “It’s rare for a commander to drag his own bag. Typically, someone carries it for him.”
Whether or not there was validity in that observation, Mrs. Renault would know better than Madison. But it seemed plausible. “So why didn’t you mention it?”
“I did,” she said. “Just not to you. I mentioned it to Andrew.”
“So he knew Dayton was Blue Shoes all this time and he said nothing?”
“He didn’t know it any more than I knew it. He suspected. He’s been trying to gather evidence. You don’t ruin a man’s career or doubt his service to his country without indisputable proof, Madison. Once drawn into doubt, he can never recover. That’s why it was imperative that this be done very discreetly and with as few people aware as possible.” She propped an arm on his desk and tapped her fingertips against her cheek. “I expect he would have had the proof if Blake hadn’t been double-crossing him.”
“Yeah, nothing can wreck a good investigation quicker than a mole batting for the other side.”
Her expression hardened. “He’ll regret that.”
Madison was sure he would.
Someone knocked on the door. Mrs. Renault pressed a shushing fingertip against her lips.
“It’s Andrew, Renée. Let me in.”
She opened the door and Andrew all but shoved Janet Hardy into the office. “Keep her here until I get back.”
“Where’s Grant?”
“If he’s where he should be, down in your cell.” Talbot shut the door and Mrs. Renault locked it.
Fear punched the breath out of Madison. “Grant is the bait!”
SIX
“Why is it so dark down that corridor, Beecher?”
Beecher’s voice carried to Grant down the cellblock’s center isle. “Bulb burned out, sir. Maintenance put me on a list. There aren’t any spares on hand down here.”
Dayton nodded. “Is she giving you any trouble?”
“No, sir. The light has been keeping her awake. Since it blew, she’s been sleeping like a rock.”
The desk phone rang. Beecher answered it. “Cellblock D., Major Beecher.” A pause, then Beecher told Dayton, “Sir, it’s Lieutenant Blake.”
“Tell him I’ll call him back.”
Grant lay on Madison’s cot and pulled the covers up, then half covered his head with a pillow. The spillover light was dim but if Dayton caught so much as a glimpse of Grant’s brown hair rather than Madison’s silver-blond, he’d probably shoot first and ask questions later. Where was the commander? He should have been here before now.
“McKay?” Dayton raised his voice outside the bars. “Get up.”
Grant didn’t move.
“McKay.” He mumbled something about all the trouble she’d been. “On your feet.”
Grant still didn’t move. He hoped that Beecher called to see what the holdup was with Talbot—and that the man arrived before Dayton put a bullet in him.
Keys rattled. Dayton was unlocking the cell, and he’d pulled his weapon.
The jig was up.
And the last remnants of doubt fled. Dayton had not come to talk to Madison. He’d come to kill her.
* * *
The red phone rang.
Madison held out a stay
ing hand. “Don’t answer—”
Mrs. Renault lifted the receiver. “Commander Talbot’s office. May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Beecher,” the man whispered. “Dayton’s at Madison’s cell. There was no stopping him from going down there. I warned him again that we were under direct orders, but short of shooting him, I couldn’t stop him.”
“Thank you.” She dropped the receiver. “Something’s happened to Andrew,” she told Madison, her calm exterior cracking. “Let’s go.”
“Who was that?” Madison asked, one hand on the doorknob.
“Beecher. Dayton’s at your cell.”
“It’s empty.” So what was making Mrs. Renault worry?
“It’s not,” she said. “I think Grant is in it.”
The bait! Madison took off running. Mrs. Renault and Janet Hardy followed her. Oh, please let him be okay. Please, don’t let him be hurt, protecting me. Please!
“Andrew’s not there.” Mrs. Renault paused, swiped off her heels and ran faster. “You know he should be. Beecher calling is a bad, bad sign.”
Madison had to agree, but held off saying so. They took the shortest path down to the cellblock. “Elevator,” Madison said, pointing to the half-open door.
On the floor inside it lay Andrew Talbot.
Janet Hardy gasped. “Is he dead?”
Renée dropped to her knees, checked his carotid. The relief that swept over her face said all that needed saying. He was alive.
“Andrew. Andrew.” She dragged her fingertips down his face.
“Renée.” He let out a contented sigh.
“Andrew.” She lightly slapped him. “Come out of it.”
His eyes sprang open. “I told you not to leave my—”
“Where’s Grant?” Madison cut in.
“In your cell. We pulled a sting on Dayton.”
She reached to his waist and snatched his gun. “Is he armed?”
“Grant?”
“Dayton.” Madison resisted grinding her teeth.
“Always.” Talbot grabbed his head. “Renée, I think I’m going to be sick.”
“It’ll be okay, dear.” She ran her fingertips along his scalp, checking for wounds. “You’ve taken a healthy rap to the head.” She looked back. “Go, Madison. Janet, get that trash can, will you?” She pointed her chin. “There, by the vending machine.”
Janet rushed to get the can.
Madison left them in the hall.
“She can’t face Dayton alone.” Janet shoved the can at him, and he retched.
“Better now?” Renée asked.
He nodded, hauled himself to his feet. “Let’s go.” Talbot swayed. “Dayton will do his best to kill them both.”
* * *
“Madison?” Beecher’s mouth dropped open.
She lifted a shushing finger to her mouth. “Dayton is Blue Shoes.”
Beecher jumped to his feet and pulled his gun. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” She nodded down the center corridor. “Is he down at my cell?”
Beecher nodded. “I thought you were in it asleep.”
She shook her head. “It’s Grant.”
“Hang back. I’ll take the lead.”
Madison was out front and off down the corridor before he fully finished the sentence. Dayton wasn’t in the corridor. He had to be inside the cell with Grant. Fearing what that could mean, she clung to the side of the corridor, the metal bars brushing against her back, giving her maximum potential for getting close without being seen.
Beecher followed, his breaths sweeping over her right shoulder.
Voices carried down the hallway.
“Deaver?” Dayton sounded surprised. “What are you doing here? Did Madison give you the slip?”
Grant answered, “She’s with the commander.”
“Where did he take her?”
“I don’t know, sir. He didn’t say.”
A pause. Madison used it to step out and look into the cell. Dayton was holstering his gun. She motioned for Beecher to stay put.
“Hands up, Dayton.” She trained the commander’s weapon on him.
He reached for his gun. Grant blocked him. They scuffled in the deep shadows. Beecher rounded her and burst into the cell, letting out a growl that had the hair on Madison’s neck standing on end.
Bone cracked. “Grant, enough.” She rushed into the cell. “Enough!”
He grabbed Dayton’s gun and patted him down, then snagged an arm. Beecher latched on to the other.
“Let go of me, Major. That’s a direct order.”
“Sorry, Blue Shoes,” Grant said. “We don’t take orders from killers, and you’re under arrest.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Trusting you? Probably.” Beecher began reading him his rights.
The commander, Mrs. Renault and Janet Hardy hurried toward the cell and paused outside it. Lieutenant Blake came up behind them, and he seemed rattled, his eyes darting, his face splotched red.
So the commander was going to let Blake hang himself with his own rope, Madison surmised. Fine, so long as he did it. Janet Hardy hung back, planting herself between Blake and any escape route.
Talbot looked at Grant. “Lock Dayton in Madison’s cell.”
“You’d better put her in it,” Dayton said. “Or when I get through talking, you’ll both be in one.”
“No, we won’t,” Talbot said. “We’ve suspected you were Blue Shoes for some time. Mrs. Renault and Madison have been working with me to flush you out, and now we have.”
“No one will believe that.”
“We have the evidence to prove it,” Talbot said. “Mrs. Renault has been in constant touch on behalf of Lost, Inc.” He nodded at Grant. “Lock him up.”
Grant and Beecher stepped out of the cell and Grant swung the door shut, then locked it.
The click reverberated down the corridor.
Grant stepped to her side and Madison reminded him, “The vent.”
“Handled it.”
“Finally got him, sir.” Blake smiled at the commander.
“Finally got you both, Lieutenant.” Talbot nodded to Beecher. “Lock Blake up, too.”
“Sir?” Blake looked stunned but it wasn’t faked. It showed in every expression flitting over his face. “I’ve worked this with you all the way.”
“And you’ve worked it with Dayton. No matter who won or lost, you were set, right, Blake?” Talbot’s face went from stern to grim. “Get him out of my sight.”
Beecher walked him down to the other end of the cellblock and locked him inside, then read him his rights through the bars.
“I want a lawyer.”
“You waived rights to counsel when you signed on at the Nest,” Madison reminded him. “We all did.”
Mrs. Renault stepped closer to Andrew. “We should have someone look at your head. You’ve got a goose egg. Dayton knocked you out, right?”
“Caught me in the elevator.” He nodded. “Can you drive me over to the hospital?”
“Of course.” She looked at the others. “Janet, stay put with Major Beecher until we get back. Andrew is going to want to talk with you to make sure you get all you need before returning home—provided that’s the safest place for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her expression darkened. “I’m not going back into that cell.”
“Of course not.”
Madison recalled her escape in Afghanistan. She’d yearned for a shower and clean clothes, a decent meal and fresh air. Janet had been spared from those kinds of things. Her hair smelled of shampoo, her clothes were crisp and clean and the scent of soap clung to her skin. She hadn’t been a prisoner, though she’d been detained. While challenges lay a
head, they wouldn’t include the aftereffects of being deprived of necessities.
Beecher escorted Janet to the observation desk. “Can I buy you a soft drink?”
She smiled, and her eyes lit up. “Thank you.”
“Can you call in backup to help you here?” Grant asked Beecher.
“Yeah, I’ll get some of my team in. They never liked Dayton. They’ll fight for the honor of the extra duty.”
Grant smiled. “I’m going to get Madison home, then I’ll be back.”
Beecher nodded and turned back to Janet Hardy.
* * *
Madison couldn’t wait to get outside.
The first crisp breath made her heady. So heady she forgot herself and locked Grant in a fierce hug.
Surprised, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “You okay?”
“I’m on the back side of being scared to death.” She buried her face in his neck. “Finding out you’d set yourself up as bait for me, then finding Talbot coldcocked in the elevator and seeing Dayton aiming his weapon at you... I don’t ever want to be that afraid again, Grant Deaver.”
Fear for him. She more than cared. To react like this, she had to more than care. Grant stroked her jaw tenderly. “I’m fine.”
“I know that now. But it terrified me, Grant. Dayton could have shot you.” She burrowed closer, held him tighter.
He could barely draw breath...but if he had to give up breathing to keep her in his arms, open and drawing him into her tight inner circle to tell him what she was really thinking and feeling, then he’d gladly do it. This was trust. Showing him her vulnerability, letting him see her fear. A rare thing, definitely, and a privilege hard won.
A sergeant and a captain walked past them in the parking lot and saluted. His arms still wrapped around Madison, Grant lifted one to return their salutes.
All three men smiled, and Madison surely saw it. Knowing it was at her expense, she didn’t let him go. “You okay now?” Grant dropped a kiss to her head, and then added, “We should go.”
“In a minute. I’m not done yet.”
Frankly, neither was he. The adrenaline surge hadn’t worn down, and the relief that Blue Shoes was finally behind bars and she was safe was still settling in for them both.