Dead Aim

by Iris Johansen

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She chuckled. “Which time? Isn't it a little late to worry about damaging me?”

  “No. Did I hurt you?”

  She pretended to solemnly consider the question. “I think I felt a twinge in my shoulder the third time, but it went away quickly. Or maybe I was just distracted.” Her teeth sank playfully into his shoulder. “Gee, did I hurt you?”

  “No, you aroused me. Want to go again?”

  “Soon.” She nestled closer. “Lord, you have stamina. I need a little break.”

  “Okay.” He sat up in bed. “I'll go get my sketch pad.”

  “Don't you dare.” She jerked him back down. “I'm not about to pose nude.”

  “Just your face,” he whispered. He kissed her. “I want to remember your face like this. You . . . glow.”

  She swallowed to ease the sudden tightness of her throat. “Yeah, sure, and someday when I least expect it, I'll find myself in a gallery window.”

  “No. If I did a nude of you it would be just for me. I'm feeling very possessive.” He kissed the hollow of her throat. “Just your face . . .”

  “Maybe later.” She pulled his head down to her breasts. “Suddenly, I'm not feeling tired anymore. . . .”

  8

  Fairfax, Texas

  If he was supposed to look for something unusual at this factory, then the trip was a washout.

  Scott moved quietly down the hall, pausing for a moment to glance into the labs as he passed. No chemicals. Lots of electronic gadgetry. Charts . . .

  He went into one of the labs and checked a chart. Nothing definitive. No names or places, just numbers, graphs, and percentages. No wonder they had been left behind when the plant had been closed down. They told absolutely nothing. Galen was going to be disappointed.

  He dialed Galen's number. “No luck. No chemicals. A lot of electronic gadgets, a few graphs that tell nada.”

  “Have you covered the entire factory?”

  “First and second floors.” He opened the door and started down the stairs. “I'm going down to the basement now.”

  “What about the night watchman?”

  “No sign of him. I'm keeping a lookout, but so far I can't see why they'd need one.” He reached the landing and started down the second flight. “Long flights of stairs. Deep basement . . .”

  “Were there any notes or papers in the desks?”

  “Clean as a whistle. The drawers looked like they'd been cleaned by a Shop-Vac.” He'd reached the door and tried it. “Hold on. The basement door's locked. I've got to open it.”

  He got out his skeleton keys and patiently tried a dozen before one opened the door. “Got it.” He swung the door open. “Now, let's see—dammit.” He jumped back into the stairwell. “I almost fell in.”

  “Fell in where?”

  “I don't know. I just felt myself going.” He shone the flashlight into the darkness of the basement. “Holy shit.”

  “Talk.”

  “It's weird. There's no floor. The basement is huge. It probably runs under the plant and the grounds around it. It's just dirt and holes, deep holes that seem to go clear to China.” He shone the light around the walls. “That's all there is here. Just dirt and those holes. I'd say this qualifies as unusual. I'll take a couple pictures and you can see for your—”

  Hot pain exploded inside him. “Christ!”

  He should have watched his back. Only amateurs . . . He should have . . .

  Alex rubbed her cheek back and forth in the hollow of his shoulder. “Who's Runne?”

  Morgan went tense. “What?”

  “He must be someone pretty important to you to make you talk in your sleep.”

  His muscles relaxed. “Is that where you heard the name?”

  “Where else?”

  “Runne sometimes seems to be omnipresent.” He kissed the top of her head. “He's just someone I used to know.”

  “Which means you're not going to tell me.”

  “Maybe someday. It's an ugly story and I'm not about to spoil a good thing when I've got it.” His hand covered her breast. “And it's a very good thing.”

  Yes, it was. She had never had it this strong or hot or sweet. Full of stormy power and tension . . . and tenderness. She had never imagined Morgan as tender, but she had learned gossamer gentleness always followed the storm. “I . . . liked it.”

  He chuckled. “You loved it. You just want to keep me in my place.”

  “And what is your place? Every time I turn around you keep moving and expanding the territory.”

  “But it's such intriguing territory.” He brushed his lips over her nipple. “And you certainly didn't object to my moving a little while—” His phone rang on the bedside table. “Shit. Galen better not just be telling us he has nothing to tell us.” He flipped on the phone. “What is it, Galen?”

  “I think Scott's dead.”

  He froze. “How do you know?”

  “I don't know. I was talking to him on the phone. I heard a shot.”

  “Get rid of your phone. They may be able to trace you.”

  “I doubt it. But I ditched it anyway. I'm talking on another unit. Scott said there was all kinds of electronic gadgetry at the factory, but all the paperwork was cleaned out. The machines probably wouldn't tell us anything if they left them here. But he went down to the basement and found something interesting. The dirt basement wasn't only under the building but extended under the entire grounds. And it was full of big holes. Scott said it looked like they were digging to China.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing else. If he saw anything more, he didn't get a chance to tell me. Bastards.”

  “Sorry about Scott. Was he a friend?”

  “No, but I sent him there. So he was one of mine. This is getting very personal.”

  “Holes . . .”

  “Very deep. Any ideas?”

  “Not about the basement. But we need to find someone who can talk to us. Any news on Powers's credit card?”

  “No, I'll call you when I have something. I'm catching the next plane to Brownsville. I have to make sure I'm right about Scott.” He hung up.

  “What is it?” Alex asked.

  “Scott's probably dead. Shot.” He got out of bed. “I'm going to shower and make some coffee. I don't think either of us is going to sleep any more tonight.”

  “Talk to me. What did he find?”

  “Holes. Deep, deep holes.”

  “It's crazy.” Alex took a sip of her coffee. “What were they doing down there in the basement?”

  “Some kind of experiment, judging by all the lab facilities.” He leaned back in his chair. “One that required electricity, not chemicals.”

  “That's pretty scanty.”

  “It's going to take some research even into the possibilities. How good are you at digging and compiling?”

  “Pretty good. I'm a journalist. What are you getting at?”

  “Something brought down the dam and started the landslides. Not explosives. Unless the story they put out was a big lie. I don't think so. They had too many scientists out there looking for the cause.”

  “Then what am I searching for?”

  “Something different in technology . . . maybe new . . . could be old but discounted. An acorn that might grow a tree. I don't know.”

  “Neither do I.” Her lips tightened. “But if it's there, I'll find it.”

  “What do you need?”

  “A computer with a password that will get me into Lexis-Nexis programs. Time and luck.”

  “The computer and programs are no problem. We'll have to make the time and luck ourselves.”

  “And what are you going to be doing?”

  “As soon as I hear from Galen, I'm going after Powers. If we have Powers, we won't need anything else. He'll tell us everything we need to know.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “He'll tell us. I promise you.”

  Her cup stopped mi
dway to her lips as a chill went through her. Forty minutes ago she had been in bed with Morgan, warm, aroused, content. Now it was a different, intimidating man who was sitting across the table.

  “Do you want me to pretend to be something I'm not?” Morgan was searching her face. “Powers can open the doors. He will open them, Alex.”

  “Or?”

  “I'll break him, slowly, and with a great deal of pain. I don't think he'll find it worthwhile to keep his mouth shut for more than an hour or so.”

  “My God.”

  “Should I be soft and let him and his buddies cause another Arapahoe Junction? Perhaps you'd like to climb among the rubble and dig bodies from beneath—”

  “No!”

  “I didn't think so.” His lips twisted. “But you're having trouble with my image again. Funny. Some women find the smell of death an aphrodisiac.”

  “What?”

  He held up his hand. “What do you see?”

  “You know what I see.”

  “Do you see death? It's there, waiting. A finger on the trigger, a steady hand, a keen eye.”

  “Stop talking like this. You're making me—”

  “Come too close? No one wants to come too close. If it's done for them, they accept it, even while they condemn it. Why not? But no one wants to know what it's like. Turn a blind eye. Maybe it will go away.”

  But it never went away for Morgan, she realized as she studied him. His expression was hard, with a hint of recklessness, but beneath that facade was . . . what? She didn't know, and she was too uneasy right now to explore the intricacies of what made Morgan tick. They said no one knew a man as well as a woman who slept with him. She had slept with Morgan and found him passionate, gentle, and considerate. Undoubtedly the best lover she had ever had. Yet now he was revealing a side of his character that had nothing to do with the man who had made love to her.

  “Jack the Ripper?” Morgan's tone was mocking as he watched her face. “Attila the Hun?”

  “Don't be ridiculous.”

  “I'm relieved.” He stood up and took his cup to the sink. “But you're still not eager to jump back in bed with me.”

  “What do you expect? You may not be Jack the Ripper, but you sure do a good imitation of Jekyll and Hyde.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or was that intentional? It's a great way to distance me. Isn't that your modus operandi? Distance?” She stood up. “Well, you're going to get it. I can't deal with split personalities at the moment. Get me my computer and let me get to work.”

  “I'll call Galen and have him send it right away.” He headed for the front door. “But it can't happen in the next few hours. He's on his way to Brownsville. Let's get out of here and take a walk. We both need to blow off steam.”

  “You go. I'll stay here.”

  “No way. Nothing has changed as far as security goes. We're joined at the hip.”

  That's not how they'd been joined last night. Dammit, why had the memory popped into her head when she was trying to maintain her cool? Because she was confused and hurt and her body was still aching and sexually attuned to Morgan. Just shut it off as he had done. “You're right. Nothing has changed. I'll get my coat.”

  They had been outside for only a little over an hour when Morgan's phone rang. “I didn't expect to hear from you this—Shit.” He listened for a moment. “Okay, I'm on it. No, don't send anyone else. I'm on it.” He hung up. “Galen called from the Houston airport. He was between flights when he heard about the explosion.”

  “Explosion?”

  “The Fairfax Textile factory. The fire department probably won't be able to tell what caused it for weeks. They can't get the fire out.”

  “A cover-up.”

  “And an excellent way to dispose of an awkward corpse.”

  Corpse. She had never met Scott, but it seemed callous to refer to him in that impersonal manner. “You think they left him to burn up in the fire.”

  “Probably. If they heard him on the phone with Galen, then they'd know it was too risky not to destroy the plant. Now there's no plant and no Scott.” He turned and headed back toward the house. “And by the time that plant collapses, there won't be any basement sporting holes to China.”

  She hurried to keep up with him. “You told Galen you were on it. Are you going to Houston?”

  “No, he found an address on one of Powers's credit-card receipts. I'm going to Indiana. First I'm taking you to your friend Sarah's house on the coast. Logan will be able to deal with the security, and the devil with keeping you away from her. None of us ever thought we'd be in this situation.”

  “You're not taking me anywhere I don't want to go. I'm not going to be dumped like so much garbage. And if you think I'm going to risk landing all this mess on Sarah's doorstep, you're nuts. Where in Indiana?”

  “Terre Haute.”

  “Do you think there's any chance of the credit-card info being legitimate?”

  “A small one. If it's not, I may be able to trace it. Or there's always the goat for the tiger.”

  “And that means?”

  “If he finds someone is trying to trace it, he may come hunting.”

  “And that's why you're the one who has to go. Because you want to catch the hunter.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Has it occurred to you that he may not be the only one waiting at the trap?”

  “In which case I get out and try again another day.” His pace quickened as they neared the house. “But I'll have a bead on him. I'll be that much nearer.”

  “We'll be that much nearer.”

  He paused before climbing the steps. “I can't talk you out of going with me?”

  “Don't try. Just tell me how the devil we're going to wander around Terre Haute without being recognized?”

  “We can handle that problem.” He paused. “Let me take you to Logan, Alex. Please.”

  She moved past him up the steps. “What about false ID, credit cards?”

  He nodded his head resignedly. “Galen.”

  “Always Galen.” She waited until he unlocked the door. “Then tell him I'll need him to supply me with a laptop and those programs by the time we get to Terre Haute.”

  “Fairfax is gone?” Powers repeated. “But you thought we might need it for more backup experiments after Arapahoe. I could have blown it for you. All you had to do was say the word.”

  “It was more risk than it was worth after Kimble found Scott in the basement. He was on the phone, and there's no telling who else knows about Fairfax.” Betworth paused. “And you. He was making inquiries at the hotel. I understand you used a credit card. I believe I told you to use cash.”

  “I only used my Visa twice. I ran out of cash and I needed—”

  “I'm not asking for excuses,” Betworth said quietly. “If everything had gone well, there would have been no problem with a minor slip like that. But now we have to make sure it doesn't hurt us.”

  “Have you checked on Scott's background?”

  “Jurgens ran a check on him. We tried to find out who he was talking to on the phone but drew a blank. He's a hired investigator, freelance, very good, very discreet. No records in his office that indicate who he was working for.” Betworth idly doodled a hangman's gallows on the pad in front of him. “I'd bet on Morgan. He was the only one who had inside information about Fairfax. What do you think?”

  “It makes sense.”

  “Scott had a sketch of you. Alex Graham knew what you looked like. So Graham is probably still with Morgan.” He drew in a stick figure to the gallows. “What address will that credit card lead Morgan to?”

  “Terre Haute. But it won't do him any good. I haven't lived there for five years. I took the credit card out when I was still married to my ex-wife. I arranged with her not to cancel it and to forward the bills to a post-office box. It kept anyone from pinning down my current address.” He added quickly, “But I can cover my tracks. I'll send Mae on a nice pricy vacation. She'll eat it up.”

  “Why do that? It o
ffers us an opportunity. Why don't you go back to the dear old Hoosier state and snap the trap on Morgan? We might catch Graham at the same time.”

  “If that's what you want me to do.”

  “That's definitely what I want you to do. Call me when Morgan surfaces. Naturally, I'll have Jurgens there on standby to come in if anything goes wrong.”

  “Nothing will go wrong.”

  “I have complete trust in you.” He drew a noose around the stick figure's neck. “Keep me informed.” He hung up.

  He quickly dialed again. To his surprise the call was answered immediately. “Where are you, Runne?”

  “Fort Collins. This is too slow. I need more information.”

  “That's why I called. I may be able to help you. I've just sent a gentleman named Thomas Powers to a city in the Midwest. Judd Morgan is going there to find Powers, and Powers thinks he's going there to catch Judd Morgan.”

  “No!”

  “I thought that would be your reaction. Don't worry, I wouldn't think of cheating you. Powers has become a handicap to the operation, but he may be able to draw Morgan out into the open. But you have to do me two favors if I give you Powers's address.”

  “What?”

  “I want your word that you'll do the work on Z-3.”

  He didn't answer.

  “I've been very patient with you. Now you have to commit, Runne. You've told me you didn't care about anything but getting Morgan. Prove it.”

  “The job may get in the way.”

  “Commit. After all, it's a job your father would be proud to send you to do.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then do enjoy Colorado.”

  Silence. “I'll do it.”

  “Your promise.”

  “I promise. Where's Morgan?”

  “One more thing. I want Powers erased as well as Morgan.”

  “Done.” There was no hesitation. “Tell me where he is.”

  “At 1372 Oak Place, Terre Haute, Indiana.”

  The disconnect buzz sounded in Betworth's ear.

  For once Runne's rudeness didn't bother him. He was feeling too satisfied. It was pure joy to be able to pull the strings and watch the puppets jump.

  Set the wolf to go after the tiger and then set loose the cobra to dispose of the wolf.