The Transporter

by Maverick, Liz

  “Why don’t you say no?” Cecily asked.

  Ally affected a look of uncaring. “A week after you move in, I get a check for rent.”

  Cecily studied her face. “But it’s not just the money.”

  Different emotions warred across Allison’s face. “I don’t know why I don’t say no,” she finally whispered. “Maybe just to keep that connection, just in case, like I said.”

  “That was the first time you’ve seen one of the guys in years? Why did they come now?”

  “They still fancy that I’m Hudson Kings property. Probably will until I die. This is either just them making the rounds or . . .”

  “Or what?” Cecily asked.

  A smile blossomed across Allison’s face. “Or Shane Sullivan’s finally found the one thing he’d be willing to trade in his BMW for, and he wants to keep it safe.”

  Cecily pressed her hand against her heart. Did I do the right thing? Did I just blow my last chance? But . . . we just couldn’t make it work. She looked down at her nearly empty beer. “I wish . . .”

  “Me too,” Ally said cryptically, before downing the last of her bottle. “I really, really wish.”

  CHAPTER 33

  After the drop-in from Shane and Flynn, things got pretty quiet. Cecily focused on her classes, although she found herself more interested in designing fake driver’s licenses and packaging for surveillance devices than in the glossy corporate brochures and shampoo bottle designs created by her classmates.

  She and Allison fell into the sort of pattern Cecily wished she’d had right out of college, before things started to go off the rails with James. Ally was a great roommate and was turning out to be a great friend. They never, ever talked about the Hudson Kings, and the only thing Cecily noticed was that Ally liked to listen in on Cecily’s phone calls with Dex.

  Cecily was really proud of pulling herself together—if only the constant nagging of her heart calling out for Shane would leave her alone. But it was a tough road, and as she pushed through her school’s doors, she wasn’t thinking about the color wheel; she was replaying her last conversation with Shane in her head for the thousandth time in the week since she’d last seen him.

  In this version of the fantasy conversation, the answer she gave him was “Yes, let’s try again,” which was why she had an enormous smile on her face even as she exited the building and stepped out into a blast of the summer season’s first really unpleasant humidity.

  That smile didn’t last.

  James Peterson stood in the central square next to a massive mirrored sculpture that made it look like he was carrying a thousand bouquets of flowers instead of just the one. He was working at a smile that flickered on and off like a faulty fuse, and his eyes said he didn’t know how she was going to take this.

  She took it worse on the inside, where he couldn’t see, and automatically touched her jeans’ back pocket, confirming her phone was there.

  “Hi, Cece,” he said quietly, coming toward her. “I know your brother doesn’t like me, but I had to explain myself.”

  She blinked, a silent scream going off in her head. A scream full of anger and embarrassment and confusion and fear. “Hi,” she managed. “I think it was made pretty clear what would happen if you came around again. And my brother’s supposed to pick me up again. He’ll be here any second.” She looked desperately around for Shane, but he wasn’t there. He’ll come. He always comes.

  Neither of them moved closer, but James awkwardly thrust out the mixed bouquet. Cecily eyed the flowers and forced a smile back on her face, trying not to panic as her pulse began to race. She wished to god her voice didn’t shake when she said, “It’s really not necessary. Thanks, but I’d rather not. How did you know I’d be here now?”

  James shrugged. “Figured I’d just wait.”

  Oh, god.

  “It was made pretty clear what would happen if you talked to me again,” she said, forcing herself to stay calm, be smart. “It’s not going to be just words.”

  “Look, Cece, I messed up. I messed up big-time. But you should know that I thought about what I did, how I acted.”

  James’s reminder of all that helped steel her spine even more. You’re a liar. You don’t care about me at all. You only “messed up” because it was too hard pretending to be a decent guy for so long. You were never my boyfriend. You were acting. But if I say it, I’ll give everything away.

  Cecily stared at James’s pretty-boy looks, his slender frame, his pricey banker clothes. So different from Shane in every way. “I had to run away from you, James. I literally had to take a suitcase and run to get away from your head games and your moods and your threats. You hit me, remember?” The details were snowballing back. The memory of James faking everything, isolating her in a Minneapolis suburb while he asked her a curious number of questions about what her brother said on the phone and wrote in e-mails, and becoming obsessive about what she did and how she spent her time, suddenly made her want to be sick. Once upon a time he seemed and looked like such a nice person, a golden boy—“You’re not a nice person,” she blurted.

  James blanched. “I want you to know that I’m in counseling. I was taking pills—you didn’t know that. I stopped drinking, I stopped the drugs. I’m in counseling.” His voice was low, careful, his eyes never leaving her face. “I know how I treated you was wrong, and I’m sorrier than I could ever say. I want to make it up to you . . .”

  He went on and on, but all Cecily could think was that he probably had a gun on him, just like Shane. Maybe something else too. Cecily didn’t know what she was going to do if she couldn’t shake him.

  “Stop,” Cecily said softly. “Stop right there. I can imagine accepting your apology, but I need more time to decide what I want, if I can ever imagine being with you again.”

  Biggest lie ever. She never wanted to see him again; she was terrified of him, because she knew that everything she went through was him acting with restraint. James without restraint must be off-the-charts scary, and she could see he was getting desperate now. She could see it. Oh, man, her cell phone felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket; she had to get a message to the Hudson Kings. “Will you please just . . . leave. Leave me . . .” Alone. “To think?” she asked, hearing the strain in her own voice.

  Something flickered in James’s eyes before leveling out again. Something not sorry. Something not nice.

  Cecily gripped her laptop hard to keep her hands from shaking. She hadn’t seen this particular act, this level of contrition, but she’d been on the receiving end of his apologies before, enough to recognize the whiplash that played inside his brain, making him contrite and then rebuilding the flame of bitter anger if she didn’t accept his humility with gushing smiles and hugs. There was definitely going to be anger, and she sure as hell didn’t want to be around when it struck.

  God, there was more she’d like to say to James, but she was too afraid. Too much of a show of strength, and his instinct would be to prove he had more. Anything that sounded even vaguely like a threat, and his instinct would be to prove he could get around it.

  Did he really think they would ever get back together? Did he think he still had a chance to get information about Dex and the Hudson Kings from her? Did he truly not know his cover was so blown it wasn’t even funny?

  I wish Shane were here. But he was gone, back to his regular-scheduled programming, his real life, with Cecily not more than a pixel in his rearview mirror. “I have to go,” Cecily said, turning away from James and starting across the courtyard toward her subway stop.

  “Cece!” James was right on her tail.

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “I—I’ll think about it. Okay?”

  James stood there with an expression that was more grim than sorry, a trail of petals in his wake, the flowers forgotten but still gripped in his hand. Cecily fought the urge to panic. “Please don’t follow me, James. Really, don’t.”

  “Cecily, I love you!”

  Th
ose three words weren’t supposed to sound scary. Cecily ran down the subway steps and swiped in, ran toward the closing doors of a 2 train, jammed her purse inside to make the doors open again, and sandwiched herself into the standing crowd. Sweat plastered her clothes to her body, and she could scarcely breathe watching James jump the turnstile.

  The subway doors were still open.

  He saw her. And he came for her.

  CHAPTER 34

  For the first time in a long time, Shane was in a good rhythm with work. He loved this feeling, this dance the Hudson Kings were so good at. Each man knew the choreography, and it was a thing of beauty to do your part to perfection knowing the guys on the other end were doing theirs too. And they were. The men of the Hudson Kings were the best.

  Shane couldn’t help thinking, though, about what might have been. He could have laughed. He could have loved. Things were going well with the Hudson Kings, but he could have had so much more.

  Cecily.

  God. The feelings he had for her should have started to fade by now. He should’ve been back in his shell. He wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

  “Moving,” Nick murmured into Shane’s ear.

  “Go” time.

  Blanking all other thoughts, Shane made a calculation about Nick’s time and distance. He pulled away from the curb at Spring and Sullivan, where he’d kept a low profile behind a bunch of tourists lining up for Cronuts at a famous French bakery. Both windows were rolled down, his steering elbow resting on the sill, eyes ahead.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Nick in motion. Nick crossed the street and headed directly for him, an anonymous businessman hurrying, crumpling an empty pastry bag while he juggled a cup of coffee.

  Nick stepped into the street to cross again, appearing to head for the subway; Shane cut him off—typical New York driver asshole turning in front of a pedestrian.

  As he passed, Nick looked pissed and flung his garbage toward the trash; at least that’s what it looked like on one side of the street; on the other side, anyone watching would see an annoyed businessman tossing a white piece of trash at the jerk who couldn’t respect a pair of newly polished wing tips.

  The crumpled bag landed in the passenger-side foot well. Shane flipped him the bird and kept driving. Nick, you fucker. Nice touch with the trash in my car.

  A subtle glance in the rearview mirror showed Nick drinking the dregs of his coffee before vanishing from sight.

  Shane headed home, on high alert with the goods in his vehicle. He’d just called in the drop to Roth when a hell of a surprising name popped up on his phone.

  “Shane? It’s Ally.” It was loud, with lots of ambient noise in the background, but the tension in her voice was unmistakable.

  Shane tightened his hand around the phone. “Don’t hang up.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” Ally said.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the bathroom at Grand Central Station. Food court level. I don’t know where to go. I tried to get into that safe room in Midtown. Did all the usual stuff to get there in secret. But I—I don’t have the combination anymore.”

  “We’ll fix that. What do you need?”

  “It’s about Cecily’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. His name is James. He came to my work.”

  Fury. Just red-hot fury. Shouldn’t have waited to finish this job to teach that bastard a lesson. Now the lesson is going to be a world of hurt like he’s never seen. He kept his voice even when he answered Ally: “Are you in danger right now?”

  “I don’t think . . . I don’t know.”

  But you’re scared shitless. “Are you in a stall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you sense anybody watching, following? Anyone see you go into the bathroom? Into the station?”

  “I don’t think so. But I don’t know.”

  “I want you to leave the bathroom and go hang out by the main clock in the terminal, be around people while you tell me what happened.”

  The sound of a door swinging open and some crackling while Ally maneuvered and her voice came back on the line. “He came to my work, Shane. He was waiting, hanging around outside when I went to pick up lunch. He wanted to talk to me about Cecily. Asked me how to get her back.”

  “Did he have a weapon?” Shane asked.

  “No.”

  “Did he threaten you in any way?”

  “No. He was sweet. Really nice. Explained how he’d messed up. Sounded like the real thing. Wanted advice. Asked if jewelry would work or spa certificates.”

  “What scared you, Ally?”

  “He was smiling when he asked me to get in touch if I thought of anything. Gave me his business card and smiled. Really sweet and soft-spoken. I said I’d take it, you know, just to make him go away, but I think he knew I was lying. He said thank you all sugarlike, you know, but then I heard him. He whispered something really low I’m sure he didn’t think I’d hear or understand.”

  Ally’s breath was coming in fits and starts now.

  “But you did,” he confirmed.

  “Good all-American boy. Wall Street banker type.”

  “Yeah?” Shane prompted.

  “Perfect accent.” She sounded like she was about to cry.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perfect accent.” She was really trying not to cry now.

  “Talk to me, Ally. I’m headed your way.”

  “He called me a cunt, Shane. In Russian. He’s not who he’s pretending to be. I don’t know what you’re working on over there, but I’m scared for Cecily. She’s not at the apartment.”

  Shane’s stomach just fucking dropped.

  “I went over there after he left my office,” Ally was saying, “And I was waiting for a really long time at home, and then I saw this car waiting out front. A guy, he had, like, chicken pox scars all over his face. I took a picture of him. A tough-looking guy. Like I told you and Flynn, there’s been nothing for years, nobody on me. And now this. Something’s off. So I went out the back . . . just . . . went. And I called you. And I don’t know . . . I don’t know, Shane, but if I were you, I’d be really worried about Cecily.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “Got anything new?” was the first thing Shane uttered when he walked into the war room with Ally at his side.

  The roar of activity dulled. Shane handed Ally’s camera over to Chase, who blurted, “Man, she looks just like Graham.”

  “Cece’s not answering her phone,” Dex said from behind him.

  Shane whirled around and stared at Dex for a minute. The guy looked wrecked. So wrecked Shane couldn’t go there. He steeled his heart, absolutely steeled himself. “Ally, keep trying her. Maybe she’s screening.”

  Ally nodded and pulled out her phone.

  Nick reached past her to hand Shane some papers. “Made copies of James Peterson’s file. Hey, Ally, girl.” He held out his hand; she stared at it for a minute and gave him a shake, her eyes not meeting his.

  Shane dropped the folder on the desk next to Chase and opened it to reveal a series of pictures of James and Cecily dressed up on the town somewhere, probably in Minneapolis. Under that “happy times” picture were pictures of James solo, James with a gun, James in clothes looking decidedly un-bankerlike with a decidedly un-bankerlike attitude, and more. “Cecily’s in trouble.”

  “Roth’s all over it. Nice piece of glue, Ally,” Flynn said, pointing to the photos of James now open on Chase’s screen. Ally backed up to the wall, phone to her ear, free hand pressed against her chest. She managed a flick of the corner of her mouth and then looked away.

  One by one, the rest of the guys entered the room. Nobody took a seat.

  Rothgar entered with a copy of the same folder, and his eyes immediately found Ally against the wall. She stared defiantly back at him. “Glad to have you safe,” Roth said. Ally’s stony expression didn’t change.

  Time was standing way too still. “Roth,�
� Shane said. “He’s got my woman.”

  “She answering, Ally?” Dex asked, even though the answer was obvious.

  Ally shook her head.

  Shane let out a breath. “Gonna find her, Dex. You know this. You fucking know this.”

  Dex looked gratefully at him and then reached out with his fist. Shane tapped it with his own, and they looked back to Rothgar.

  The boss leaned against the edge of the table and pulled a photo from the printer.

  Details and data from different jobs covered different parts of the walls in the room; he moved to the wall they kept for the sleeper agent mission. It was already covered with photographs, clippings, and notes. Roth added the pockmarked henchman to the wall next to James. “Freelancer. Russian-born. Been in this country for years. Same guy who chased Shane earlier this month. Same guy who tried to muscle Chase and Flynn as well.”

  He then walked to the wall covered with data from the sleeper agent job they’d been working on earlier in the day and stuck two more pictures up: the one Shane had taken of James and Anya in the restaurant, and a different one of James in a bar doing shots of vodka with a younger, blonde Anya Gorchakov and another couple, unknown.

  Shane remembered the memory stick he’d picked up from Nick and handed it to Roth. “From this morning,” he murmured.

  Rothgar nodded and pocketed the stick. “Talked to my contact in the government. Asked for more color on James. We already know James is a handler for Russian agents. Contact confirmed he’s also a climber looking to move up with his Russian bosses. His sleeper agents get outed, he’s fucked. So, he finds out the Hudson Kings have a contract to go after his stable. If we’re successful, he looks bad. He’s got to cut us off at the knees, find out what we know, and change the game. Figures he can do this when he finds out our newest team member has a cute little sister. James puts on a show for Cecily, hoping to get intel on the Hudson Kings. Pillow talk and all that. Keeps her in Minnesota to isolate and dominate, while he pretends to be going back and forth to New York for an investment banking job.”