Thoughts of Richard brought the present crashing in on her. She didn't think of him in the past tense, she realized. Tears flooded her eyes, and she shut them tightly. She couldn't. Not yet. It hurt too much.
Tears squeezed from the corners of her closed eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She missed him. Not the man he had become in the past few months, the one whose frailties and flaws had surfaced to overshadow his many fine and admirable traits. She missed the Richard who had carried her over the threshold, the man who had made her laugh, who had encouraged her to open her own business; the man who had taught her about love.
She didn't have time for this, she thought, brushing the tears away. She couldn't give her energy to grieving for Richard. She had a daughter to protect; a madman to outrun.
The events of the day before and the gravity of her situation thundered down on her, in an avalanche of fear and helplessness. She glanced at the bedside clock, noted it was after ten, then dragged herself into a sitting position. She brought her hands to her face, working to center herself. She had to stay strong and focused. She, Julianna and Emma would be on the road again in a matter of hours. Between now and then, she had to come up with a plan.
Suddenly, the lateness of the hour sank in, the quiet of the room. Kate twisted to face the bed she and Luke had created for her daughter.
It was empty.
It took a split second for the realization to register, then with a sound of terror, Kate leaped out of the bed and raced for the door. She yanked it open and darted into the hall, stumbling slightly. "Luke!" she cried. "Luke! Where are you?"
He called that he was in the kitchen, and she ran in that direction, heart thundering, hysteria rising up inside her. John had found them. He had slipped into the house during the night and had stole Emma away. She brought a hand to her mouth, a horror of images unfolding in her head.
She stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. Stunned. Speechless. Luke sat at the kitchen table, cradling Emma in his arms while he fed her a bottle.
He looked up and smiled. "Morning, Kate."
"What are you doing?"
He looked down at Emma, then back up at Kate. "Giving Emma her bottle. She woke up hungry, and you needed to sleep. That was about six-thirty, by the way. This is her second bottle."
He had slipped into her room and out with Emma, and she hadn't heard a thing. Unsettled, Kate moved fully into the kitchen, legs shaking. "But how…how did you know what to do?"
He smiled, the small lopsided smile that had always made her heart go pit-a-pat. "It's not all that technical, Kate. Take bottle, fill, warm and offer to baby. Simple."
She laughed then, a high, nervous sound. He moved his gaze over her, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I-" She brought a hand to her chest and let out a long breath. "I woke up and she was…gone."
She crossed to the table, legs shaking so badly she must have looked like an epileptic having a seizure. She sank onto a chair. "I thought…I thought the worst."
His smile faded. "I'm sorry, Kate. I didn't think about that. Considering the circumstances, I should-"
She held up a hand, stopping him. "No, don't apologize. I appreciate you letting me sleep. Richard never-" She bit the words back, forced a smile and held out her arms. "Now that I'm up, I can take her."
"Actually, I'm rather enjoying myself. Do you mind?"
She said she didn't, swallowing hard. "Coffee?" she asked.
"In the carafe. Cups are in the cabinet right above."
"Thanks." She crossed to the cabinet and selected a mug. Obviously a promotional item for Dead Drop, the mug's handle was shaped like a gun grip. Luke's name, the book title and release date were printed in red on the gunmetal gray exterior of the mug.
"Nice cup."
"Thanks. Publisher premiums."
She filled it with coffee, added cream, then sipped, murmuring a sound of pleasure. "This is Kona, isn't it?"
"It is." He grinned. "I got hooked on it while I was in Hawaii researching Last Dance. There's bacon under the paper towel. And a loaf of homemade raisin bread on the cutting board. Help yourself."
She did, suddenly famished. "When did you become Mr. Betty Crocker?" She carried her plate and mug to the table and sat down.
"Live alone long enough and you get pretty sick of Big Macs and Domino's pizza." The lopsided grin made another appearance. "My repertoire's pretty limited, but I figured you'd be hungry."
"Starving." Kate ripped off a hunk of her bread and took a bite. "I love homemade bread. You have a machine?"
"Mmm-hmm." Emma squirmed in his arms. He popped out the bottle, eyeballed what was left, then popped it back in. She began to suck voraciously. "My kid sister gave it to me for Christmas last year."
Kate couldn't believe they were sitting here talking about such mundane things as bread machines and coffee beans. Only minutes ago she had been sure John Powers had stolen Emma away.
"Sleep well?" he asked.
"Surprisingly well." Sometime during the night her nightmares had retreated and she had been left with a feeling of peace. Of being safe and protected. "And you?"
"Great. Like a baby."
Emma noisily slurped down the last of her bottle, the now empty liner making a wheezing sound as she continued to suck on it. Luke popped out the bottle, brought the infant to his shoulder and began patting her on the back.
Kate watched his movements, astounded by how assuredly he handled the child. She told him so. "I have five younger siblings. And now three of them have children of their own. I've spent a good part of my life burping babies."
"I'd forgotten you come from such a big family."
Emma let out a deep, wet burp, one a sailor would be proud of. Luke and Kate looked at each other and laughed. "Nice burp, sport," he said. "Very ladylike."
Kate laughed again and held out her arms. "Spend a bit of time around her, that's nothing. And she has absolutely no shame about where-or how-she breaks wind. Speaking of which, I'd better change her diaper. She must be soaked by now."
"Done," he said, settling the child in her arms.
"Done," she repeated, astounded.
"Mmm-hmm. Changed her right before you got up." He went to the carafe and refilled his mug. That done, he met her eyes, the expression in his serious. "We need to talk, Kate. I've been thinking about your situation, and I've come to the conclusion that you and Julianna are going about this all wrong."
"You do?"
"Mmm." He brought the coffee mug to his lips and sipped, as if using the time to collect his thoughts. Kate waited, heart pounding, hoping against hope that during the night he had come up with a miracle.
"Seems to me," he said, "if you start running, you'll never stop. There has to be another way."
"And what is it?"
"I don't know. Yet." He returned to the table and sat down, his gaze never leaving hers. "I know this guy who's after you, Kate. Not personally, but from research for my books. He's a hunter, above the law because of skills that keep him there. He has no compunction about taking a human life, to him death is merely an extension of life, the act of killing no different than that of taking out the trash. Necessary. Warranted."
"Thanks for cheering me up," she whispered. "I needed that."
"There's more," he said grimly. "And it's worse, so hold on. What you're contemplating's not a hiatus until things cool down, it's not disappearing for a month or two or a year, then returning to your regular life. It'll never cool down, Kate. This guy's on a personal mission. He'll hunt you down. Even if it takes years, he'll find you. And when he does-"
"He'll kill us."
"Yes." He went to her and squatted in front of her, forcing her to look him dead in the eyes. "We have to find a way to stop him. It's the only way you'll be safe."
"We, Luke?" She shook her head. "I've already put your life in danger by involving you this much. I can't-"
"Yes, you can. I'm not going to abandon you to this monste
r, Kate. Not you or Emma."
Kate struggled for an even breath, fought to control the fear that had her in a death grip. Fighting, too, the urge to lean on him and to completely fall apart. It wasn't fair or right. It could get him killed.
"I can't let you do this, Luke. You don't understand what you're getting yourself into."
"Yes, I do." He brought a hand to her face and cupped her cheek. "You don't have a choice in this, Katie-girl, you've involved me, now you're stuck with me."
He'd used her father's pet name for her. Tears flooded her eyes and she covered his hand with her own. "What do you think we should do?"
"I have a couple of contacts with the Agency. Let me get in touch with them, ask their advice. In the meantime, you and Julianna crash here. Rest, get healthy-"
"No."
They looked up to find Julianna standing in the kitchen doorway, her expression panicked. "Julianna-"
"No!" She shook her head. "You don't know what he's capable of! You didn't see-"
"I do know, Julianna." Luke stood. "That's why I'm convinced running is futile."
"He's right. We have to have a plan. We have to find a way to stop him." Kate glanced at Emma, asleep in her arms, then back up at Julianna. "You can do what you think's best for you, but I'm staying with Luke."
The younger woman stared silently at them a moment, as if considering her options, then turned and left the kitchen. She returned a moment later with her purse, a backpack-style tote. She set it on the table, opened it and rummaged inside for a moment. She pulled out a Ziploc plastic bag that appeared to contain three items.
She handed it to Luke. "Maybe this will help."
He opened the bag and retrieved the items, a small, black leather binder, like an address book; a used envelope and an airplane ticket stub. "What are these?" Luke asked.
"They're John's. I took them after I talked to my mother, when I left D.C." Luke flipped through the black book. "It's in some sort of code," she offered. "John never spoke of what he did for a living. I was never to question him about it. I got curious."
"And you began to snoop?"
"Yes." She pulled out a chair and sank onto it, her expression at once defiant and defeated. "The black binder was hidden in the freezer, sandwiched between two packages of frozen meat. So I figured it must be really important."
"This is good," Luke murmured. "It could be very good."
Kate came up behind Luke and peered at the items. "What do they mean?"
"See this ticket stub?" He held it up. "The ticket was issued to a Wendell White." He held up the envelope. "This was sent to David Snow. But both were in our man's possession. Why? Because they're both aliases of John Powers'. And this address is to one of his dead drops."
Julianna drew her eyebrows together. "How do you know?"
"Don't. But I'd bet money I'm right."
"Dead drop?" Kate asked, amazed that Luke knew this stuff. "Like your book."
"Yeah, that's right." His lips lifted slightly. "A dead drop's a dummy address. Used for correspondence and deliveries but untraceable back to a real person, in this case John Powers. At any time an agent might have a dozen- or more-of them scattered throughout the country. Or countries."
"So they can conduct business without fear of being discovered," Kate murmured.
"Exactly. I know a private investigator, a good one. He helped me with some research a couple years back. I'll give him a call, see what he can dig up on these names."
"What about the other?" Kate asked. "That…book?"
"He wants it back," Julianna offered. "He told me he did. He was really angry that I'd taken it."
"That's good."
"Good? That he's angry?" Kate drew her eyebrows together. "Why am I not reassured by that?"
Luke smiled. "That means it's important. It means we're going to be able to use it to get this asshole."
"But how?" Kate asked, heart thundering, afraid of the relief flowing over her-she feared if she relaxed, even just a bit, that would be the moment that John Powers struck.
Luke rubbed the side of his jaw, rough with morning stubble. "I don't know that yet. I'll meet with my contacts, ask their advice. They'll be able to give us some direction. I know they will."
"Thank you, Luke," Kate said, voice quavering. "I don't know what we would have done without you."
"Not so fast." He flashed her a quick grin. "Wait until we've gotten this bozo taken care of. Then you can thank me."
65
Condor responded to Luke's message within forty-eight hours. The man agreed to meet him, choosing an all-night diner near the Hobby Airport.
Luke arrived early. He made his way to the rear of the diner, taking a booth against the far wall. He slid onto the vinyl seat, the upholstery cracked and peeling, held together in places by clear packing tape.
A waitress of no less than sixty took his order of a cup of coffee. The fluorescent lights tinted her gray cap of curls a vague, disturbing green and turned her skin sallow.
She brought the coffee immediately, plunking it onto the table, then without saying a word, walked away. A burned, bitter odor wafted up from the cup, and Luke wondered how long the brew had been sitting on the burner. An hour or two? Three, even?
Possibly, he decided, perusing the room. The diner's only other patrons were a burly man in overalls and two twenty-something girls who were wolfing down patty melts, French fries and colas.
Condor arrived, walking through the door exactly at the arranged time. He made his way to the booth and slid into the seat across from Luke, angling his back to the wall.
They exchanged pleasantries; the waitress brought another cup of the bitter brew, then Luke cut straight to the matter at hand. "A friend of mine's in trouble. I need your help."
"You know the business I'm in, Luke. Exactly what form do you wish this help to take?"
"The form of advice."
The barest of smiles touched the mechanic's mouth. "Go on."
Luke laid out the entire story for him. "The man's name is John Powers," Luke finished. "Do you recognize the name?"
For long moments, Condor remained silent, his steady gaze giving away nothing of his thoughts.
Finally, he nodded. "I know of him."
"But you've never met him?"
"No." He took a sip of the coffee, not seeming to notice its taste. "They try to keep us guys away from each other." Again, that small smile touched his mouth. "The last thing they'd want is us sitting around the clubhouse swapping stories. But I have heard of him."
"What have you heard?"
"That he was one of the Agency's best and most lethal mechanics. Specialized in the most, shall we say, delicate wet work."
"Delicate," Luke repeated. "You mean sensitive, politically charged?"
"Yes. The man is an expert in the use of all manner of weapons, as well as in hand-to-hand combat, poisons and explosives. An outstanding career until he went solo a few years back."
"Solo? What do you mean?"
"He's a renegade. Went out on his own. Hits for hire, no matter the government or cause."
"And the Agency allows that?"
"Up to a point."
"And what point is that?"
Condor ignored the question and continued. "Code name was Ice. For obvious reasons. Rumor has it he killed a Colombian drug czar's six children, disemboweled them while their mother watched."
"Holy shit." Luke felt sick. "And our government sanctioned that?"
"Let's just say that Ice was sent in to negotiate. He was told to use whatever means necessary to get our point across." Condor steepled his fingers. "Of course, that story's only a rumor."
Rumor, his ass. It was true, Condor knew it. And Luke did, too.
Up until that moment Luke had hoped that Kate and Julianna had been exaggerating John Powers' abilities. The threat he posed. He saw now that they had not.
The two drunken girls stood and started for the door. Condor watched them until they had exited the
diner, then returned his attention to Luke. "Your friend is in a very bad situation. And now, so are you. I suggest you bow out of this."
"I can't do that."
"That's your choice, of course."
"There must be a way to beat him? A way out of this. If we went to the police, laid it all out for them-"
Condor shook his head, confirming what Luke already knew. "Going to the police will do nothing but make you sitting ducks. You'll be dead before the local boys get their heads out of their asses."
Condor leaned slightly forward, his gaze intent. "The police couldn't find him, let alone pin a murder on him. You know how it works, Luke. No weapon, no witnesses, no arrest."
He was right. Luke knew he was. What would he tell Kate? She had been so hopeful when he'd left. So positive.
"There may be a way, however. But it won't be easy."
"Go on." Luke waited, pulse hammering. He didn't care how difficult, a slim chance was better than none at all.
"It sounds to me like Powers is losing it," Condor said softly. "Making killing personal. That's dangerous. It crosses the line." He looked away, then back. "It'll make him sloppy. Because it's personal, because it matters so much to him, he'll take chances he never would otherwise. He might have already."
"It'll also make him go to lengths he normally wouldn't to succeed," Luke muttered.
"True. But therein lies your chance." Condor lowered his voice. "The Agency won't get involved unless they believe Powers is a danger to them, their operations or national security. He's one of their own, after all. They can't have him running around the country indiscriminately killing people. Not publicly, anyway."
Condor spoke carefully, his tone even, words measured. Luke tried to read between the words, certain the man was telling him something beyond their literal meaning.
Luke took a stab. "They wouldn't want their handiwork exposed, would they?"
Condor acted as if Luke hadn't spoken. "If you could prove Powers is out of control, if you could prove he's a threat to the United States government or the CIA, the Agency would bring him down."
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