But given that this wasn’t yet a done deal and he might need Zed’s help again, he couldn’t risk alienating him.
Clearing his throat, Frank forced a small smile. “Thanks for the tip. Pest problem, right?”
He waited for Zed’s nod, left without a backward glance, and headed straight for the pay phone he’d spotted outside the building. Shaking, he leaned against the wall, willing his hand to move toward the phone, but unable to find the courage to do it.
This was stupid. What had he been thinking?
Criminals hired assassins. Not men like him.
He should bag the whole thing. Go home and have a nice dinner with Ginger.
And if Garrett turned him in, so what? A criminal’s word versus a legitimate businessman’s was a no-brainer.
Except that the FBI had been looking into him for a while now. Waiting for him to slip up.
He couldn’t afford the exposure.
Or take the chance that someone would believe Garrett.
He had to see this through.
His hand trembled as he reached into his pocket, withdrew the napkin, and read it for the first time. The only name listed was Stevens, probably a last name, and a long distance phone number. He pulled out a handful of coins, inserted them in the machine, and punched in the number.
One ring. Two. Three. Four.
The knot in his gut slowly eased.
Looked like Stevens wouldn’t answer. That wouldn’t solve his problems, but at least he’d have more time to prepare–
“Hello?” The soft voice contained an underlying current of steel.
“I’m looking for Stevens. I have a pest problem.”
Silence roared for so long that he began to wonder if the man had hung up. What would he do if Stevens refused to help?
“What kind of pest?”
He didn’t know whether he was relieved or more nervous than before, but he couldn’t turn back now. “A prosecutor. I hear you’re the best.”
“I am.” No arrogance, just fact. “Who am I dealing with?”
Frank shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rolled his shoulders in a futile attempt to loosen his drenched shirt from his back. The phone slipped in his hand and he gripped the receiver more tightly.
What if this was an elaborate trap?
The guy on the other end of the phone might not be a hit man at all; he might be a Fed.
He forced himself to breathe. “I’d rather not say. Anonymity is a good thing sometimes.”
“Not when you’re working with me. Play by my rules or we’re done.”
What a choice. Either tell Stevens his identity or go back in and talk to Zed again.
Trying to stall, he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You’re not what I expected a hit man to sound like.”
“Really. I suppose you expected some idiot, some uneducated dude that dropped out of grade school. Probably figured I must be about as primitive as a caveman, right?” The words dripped with contempt.
“Uh, yeah, I mean, no.” Great. Now he’d made the hit man angry.
Time to make a decision.
Trust this voice on the phone, get the hit taken care of, and return to his life, or hang up now and hope that he had some of the luck Al used to have. The options weren’t great either way.
Before he could say anything else, Stevens spoke. “Level with me or I’m gone.”
“No.” Frank couldn’t stop the desperation from edging into his voice. His brother had trusted Zed and he had no other option. “I’m Rosetti.”
“Rosetti?” Stevens’ voice reflected surprise. “Well, Al’s in prison, so you must be the younger brother he mentioned.”
Al knew Stevens? Impossible!
Wasn’t it? “My brother, uh, hired you for something?”
“Several times.” Stevens paused. “But he once told me his brother was clean, so I have a hard time believing you’re a Rosetti.”
For crying out loud. Had Al told the whole criminal underworld about him? “Al always took care of things like this so I wouldn’t have to. But, uh, I’ve gotten in a little trouble and… how did you know my brother was in jail?”
Could Stevens be local?
The number was long distance, but that would make sense for a man like Stevens; it’d make him harder to track down.
Stevens chuckled. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you make contacts who keep you well informed.”
Words failed him. “Oh.”
“Fill me in,” Stevens commanded quietly.
₪ ₪ ₪ ₪ ₪
“I… I don’t think I should say too much over the phone.”
Obviously Rosetti was in way over his head. Typical for a pampered rich kid.
“Are you on a cell phone?” Stevens told himself to be patient, but couldn’t hide the irritation bleeding into his words.
“No–”
“Your home or office phone?”
“It’s a pay phone. Outside some bar.”
“Then you’re fine.”
“But…” Rosetti’s tone dropped several notches. “Can’t the FBI still listen in?”
Great. Another one of these. “You think sending the information via email is safer? Trust me, the electronic trail on email is something their most inept computer geeks could trace.”
“I was thinking I could mail–”
“You do that and you delay this thing by a week. At least. Tell me now and I can get started right away.”
“Oh.”
Silence. That stretched from one second to five, from five to ten.
Forget this.
He had better things to do than sit on the phone all afternoon. “You’re wasting my time. Good luck taking care of your problem.”
“Wait!” Rosetti’s shallow breathing came across the line. “I’ll tell you. I’ve just, uh, never done something like this before.”
Duh. “Who’s the target?”
“Reilly Tanner.”
He confirmed the spelling before writing the name down. “And you said he works for the prosecutor’s office?”
“Yeah. After Al’s trial, I sent two of my guys to, uh, teach him a lesson. They missed him and shot some intern instead.”
Amateurs. “And this Tanner guy witnessed the kill?”
A pause. “Yeah. My guy’s in prison now and said he’s going to cut a deal if I haven’t fixed this by the end of the month.”
He glanced at the date on his watch. Month end. That gave him about two and a half weeks to track down this target and complete the hit. Shouldn’t be too difficult.
Especially with a fresh trail.
“I imagine Tanner’s in protective custody.”
“The Marshals have him stashed somewhere.” Rosetti cleared his throat. “But I may have someone on the inside who can give up their location. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Rosetti had contacts inside the US Marshal’s office? Interesting.
Maybe the schmuck wasn’t totally worthless after all.
“Fifty thousand. Wired to my account. Half up front, half upon completion.”
“Fine.”
He recited the number for his account in the Caymans. “I’ll get started as soon as I see the first payment.”
He clicked off his cell phone and tossed it on the sofa next to him. If Rosetti could get him a location, it’d make his job that much simpler.
While some people in his business thrived on the challenge of the hunt, he wasn’t one of them. No, his favorite moment was when he stood behind the barrel of his rifle, knowing that he held in his hands the power of life or death.
Leaning back, he stared at the mindless program flashing across his TV. He would check out Rosetti, make sure this thing was on the level, but his gut told him it was legit.
Still, he could never be too careful.
Fame had its price, especially for the infamous.
Maybe it was time to consider retirement. He wasn’t getting an
y younger and always looking over his shoulder took a toll.
He opened his laptop. As he waited for it to boot, his mind drifted to thoughts of what he’d do if he hung up his rifle.
Maybe he’d take up sky diving. Or learn to fly. Or treasure hunting.
Sunken treasure. Yeah, that’d be fun. He could finally put that scuba certification to good use.
Retirement.
The word sounded more appealing after every job. Maybe this time he’d actually do it.
Right after he finished this hit.
Four
Longest trip ever. Lana rocked her head from side to side, trying to work the kinks out of her neck.
While she’d flown across the country before, the flight from Jacksonville to Portland, Oregon seemed longer than most. Add to that the two and a half hours spent in the car from Portland to Lincoln City and she was wiped.
Too bad it’d be hours before she could catch any sleep.
The town slipped by outside her darkly-tinted, bullet-proof window. They’d left the main roads behind and were navigating side streets, passing houses of all sizes and conditions. Ahead, off in the distance, the ocean sparkled under the early evening sun.
While she’d normally appreciate the diamonds glittering on the surface of the water, right now she was just so tired.
“We have arrived.”
Lana jerked at the sound of Chow’s voice.
Through the windshield, the road dead-ended at a small weed-covered lot. A rocky hill rose just beyond the lot, jutting down the beach and into the ocean.
They pulled into the last driveway on the right. Well-maintained older homes surrounded them. Not a single person was in sight, but at this time of day, they were probably focused on dinner.
She turned her attention to the house in which they would be staying.
Two-story, beige paint, chocolate trim. Newer than the surrounding houses. A covered porch ran the length of the front of the house, with a dark brown door set dead center.
As the vehicle eased to a stop, Alex reached for the door handle. “Okay, guys. You know the drill. Chow, Peters, you cover Reilly. Everyone else, with me.”
Well, almost everyone knew the drill.
Lana bit back the urge to ask for more details. No need to remind everyone that she had never worked witness protection before.
Chow shifted into park but didn’t kill the engine.
Okay, so at least she knew that the drill included being ready to make a quick getaway at the first sign of trouble.
Earpieces were distributed, as well as communication devices. With the microphone clipped to her collar and the earwig tucked inside her left ear, Lana listened as each person tested the gear.
Lana followed Alex toward the house, up the steps, and across the porch.
The silence seemed unnatural. Ominous.
Shouldn’t there be noise from people on the beach? Neighbors? Traffic?
Anything?
Alex paused by the door and listened for what felt like an impossibly long time, but in reality was less than thirty seconds.
The only thing Lana heard was the distant pound of the waves hitting the sand.
Alex inserted a key into the lock. The scrape seemed as loud as a gunshot.
Leading the way inside, Alex hit the switch and flooded the interior with light.
A high-ceilinged living room opened in front of them. Hardwood floors, leather furniture. Very big TV.
At least the guys would be happy.
Nestled against the wall to her right, stairs led up to a loft overlooking the living room. Beneath the stairs, a short hallway contained three closed doors. A kitchen was visible through an open doorway across the living room.
“Rodriguez, Beckman, take the main floor.” Alex jerked her head toward the stairs. “Lana, you’re with me.”
As Rodriguez crept toward the kitchen and Beckman angled for the hallway, Lana followed Alex up the stairs.
Two rooms opened off the loft. Lana slipped into the first while Alex moved toward the second. A bedroom. Two twin beds, one dresser, a closet.
An open door on the wall to her left revealed a bathroom.
Not many places for someone to hide.
Leading with her gun, Lana inched toward the closest bed. Lifted the bedspread with her foot. The mattress sat on a solid wood platform.
Good.
She checked the second bed. Same setup.
“Kitchen’s clear.”
Even though Rodriguez’s voice was barely a whisper, Lana started at the sudden sound.
“Roger that.” Peters. Sounding more civil than she could remember hearing him.
Rounding the second bed, she approached the closet. Also empty.
She edged into the bathroom, not surprised to find that it connected to the bedroom Alex was searching. A quick canvass revealed that the Jacuzzi tub, freestanding shower, and linen closet were all clear.
Jacuzzi tub? No wonder Alex liked working this job.
Actually, she suspected most of the furnishings were left over from the previous owner. After all, a drug dealer could afford the best, right?
Alex met her just inside the doorway of the other bedroom. “We good?”
“Yeah.”
Alex pushed the button on her communicator. “Second floor is clear.”
“Roger.”
As silence descended on the earwig again, Alex jerked her head toward the room behind her. “Check this out.”
Lana stepped onto the plush carpet in the master bedroom. The king-sized bed with massive headboard and matching cherry-wood furniture probably cost more than she made in a month. That mattress looked thick enough to hide a body.
Alex stepped inside the closet, turned on a light, and led the way toward the closet’s back wall.
Kneeling at the right rear corner, she lifted up the edge of the carpet to reveal a red button that sat level with the surrounding floor. With one hand, Alex pressed the button and with the other, she pushed on the back wall.
The wall swung silently inward.
Unbelievable. It looked like some kind of hidden passage. The kind she might expect to find in an old British castle, not a modern beach house.
“First floor clear.” Beckman’s voice filtered through Lana’s thoughts.
Alex stood and let the carpet fall back in place. Getting on her communicator again, she updated the team on their progress. “I think I found the entrance to the panic room. Lana and I are going to check it out, the rest of you hold your position.”
A flick of the light switch inside the passage illuminated the space in the white glow of florescent tubes.
At about three feet wide, the passageway allowed no extra space. Unfinished walls lined either side and Lana strongly suspected the walls and ceiling had been soundproofed.
They’d only gone a few feet when Alex stopped. “Looks like we’re going down.”
As Alex began her descent, Lana saw that the passageway dead-ended at a square hole. Two looped handlebars, similar to a swimming pool ladder, jutted over the edge.
A glance down revealed a ladder attached to the side of the shaft.
Lana began her descent. Halfway down, another passage intersected with the shaft. A first floor entrance, unless she missed her guess.
Looked like the drug dealer hadn’t been willing to take any chances. Lucky for them.
A few seconds later, her feet landed on solid concrete. She turned to find Alex standing in front of a solid steel door.
The digital keypad chirped to life under Alex’s fingers. After keying in a series of numbers, a dull clunk came from the door, which slid open an inch.
Alex grabbed the handle and pulled the door toward them. Stepping inside, she felt around for a few seconds before the room flooded with light.
Plush carpet covered the cement floor. The musty room contained two futons, nothing else. A thermostat was mounted on the wall next to the door and two vents, probably hooked up to a separate heatin
g and cooling system than the one that serviced the house, would ensure that anyone locked in here remained at a comfortable temperature.
Alex shook her head slowly. “I’m thinking our guy was a little eccentric.”
Eccentric was furnishing every room in your house in polka dotted furniture. This was just plain obsessive.
Once they got settled, she’d be sure to come back and put some of Reilly’s asthma medication and a spare inhaler down here.
And maybe a cell phone.
Just in case.
Turning off the light, Alex stepped from the room and shut the vault-like door behind her. “Let’s see where that other passage lets out.”
They climbed the ladder to the first floor entrance, which put them in a coat closet underneath the stairs. Rodriguez and Beckman met them in the living room.
“Steel-core doors on the exterior.” Rodriguez gestured to the large windows surrounding them. “But the glass isn’t bullet-proof, if you can believe that.”
Weird.
Lana shot a glance at the windows. At least the blinds blocked line of sight.
Alex got on her communicator. “House is clear. Let’s bring him in.”
₪ ₪ ₪ ₪ ₪
“Why don’t you turn in?”
Reilly rolled his head to look at Lana, but didn’t move from his position on the overstuffed beige leather couch. “That’d require energy.”
She understood the feeling.
All too well. The last few days had been some of the longest of her life.
Settling into a chair opposite him, she curled her legs up under her. “So what do you think of this place? Pretty cushy, huh?”
“I’m thinking this stuff cost a fortune. My tax dollars at work?”
“Actually, the house was acquired after the DEA arrested some big shot. From the looks of this stuff, I’m guessing they left the furniture.”
Reilly propped his feet up on the glass-topped, wrought-iron coffee table. “At least it’s comfortable. For a prison.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”
“Easy for you to say.”
As much as she wanted to argue, she could see why he felt the way he did. They’d just spent the last hour with Alex and the rest of the team as Alex highlighted emergency plans, escape routes, and strategies. It’d been an intense hour long orientation on what to do if a threat presented.
Deadly Alliances Page 5
