Man Undercover

by Alana Matthews

  But when Matt tried the lever, it turned easily, and a moment later he slid the window open, gesturing for Tara to climb out.

  She ducked and went through the opening, saw the familiar aluminum gutter pipe to her left. It looked solid enough, but she’d been a scrawny kid and had to wonder if it could handle the weight of a grown-up. The muffins she inhaled with her coffee every morning didn’t seem like such a good idea right now.

  Grabbing the pipe, she hoisted herself onto it and shimmied down, doing her best not to make any noise in the process. A moment later her shoes touched grass, then Matt was through the window and onto the pipe—anything but scrawny himself—and Tara had to wonder if the aluminum could handle the strain of his hard body.

  It groaned in protest, a sound just loud enough to worry Tara. But despite the wound in his arm, Matt moved quickly and gracefully and, seconds later, was standing beside her.

  Turning toward the rear of the house, they hustled into the backyard, vaulted a row of low bushes onto the neighbor’s property, then headed for the street.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once they were clear of Cop Country, they caught a cab to Tara’s condo, and Matt waited with him as Tara ran upstairs to get some cash.

  The ride over had been gloriously uneventful. The cabbie, a middle-aged guy wearing a Colorado Rockies cap, seemed more interested in his sports talk radio than he did in a couple of exhausted, disheveled passengers. He had barely glanced at them in his rearview mirror when they climbed in.

  Even so, Matt had made sure to keep his head low. His face was plastered all over the news, and he could only hope that the cabbie hadn’t been near a television set recently.

  During the ride, Matt and Tara had barely said a word to each other. She had simply leaned into him and rested her head against his good shoulder, and he thought he could feel the tension in her body being released like a toxin, a slow but steady draining of the poisons.

  His entire body felt tight, and he found himself wishing he could release his own tension. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until Jimmy Zane and his band of malcontents were put away.

  His months behind bars, sharing a cell with Rusty Zane, lifting weights in the prison yard with Carl Maddox, would not be time spent in vain. He had worked too hard to get them to accept him. Had sacrificed a life of freedom, had done things inside that he wasn’t particularly proud of, in order to get them to trust him.

  And it had all been destroyed by Everhardt’s betrayal.

  The sight of him slumped in that chair had been like a knife to the gut.

  But, in the end, Everhardt was no better than Carl or Rusty or Zane himself.

  Without meaning to, Matt was suddenly thinking of the men who had shot and killed Becky and Jennifer.

  Strangers. Even to this day.

  A witness in the grocery store’s parking lot had seen them enter just before the robbery and had described them to a police sketch artist.

  The night manager, who had just come on duty, forgot to put a fresh tape into the store’s antiquated video surveillance system, so the incident wasn’t recorded, and the drawings were all the police had to go on.

  Those drawings had been broadcast all over the local and state television news for a week straight, but nobody came forward to identify the two men.

  Maybe that was a good thing. Because if Matt had been able to find out who they were, he would have personally hunted them down and put an end to their time on Earth without shedding a single tear for either one of them.

  He was pretty sure the families of the other victims would have cheered him on.

  But that was a long time ago. And the perpetrators had never been caught. Probably never would be. Not for that particular crime, at least.

  Matt realized that the tension he felt right now was a tension he had carried with him for seven years. Unlike Tara, he couldn’t let it go. It had seeped so far and so deep into his system that he had to wonder if it would stay with him forever.

  He had learned to manage it. To keep it buried. But it was always there inside him, coiled and ready, and there was very little he could do about that but learn to live with it.

  At moments like this, these moments of somber reflection, Matt would normally see Becky’s and Jennifer’s faces in his mind’s eye.

  But not this time.

  For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he saw the face of the angel who had stared down at him in his dream. The face he had pressed his palm against as he lay in Imogene’s shack. Tara’s face.

  He wasn’t sure why she had this effect on him. Couldn’t put his feelings into words that were adequate enough to describe them. But when he thought of her face, when he thought of her body leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, the tension didn’t quite disappear, but it did retreat for a moment.

  Just long enough to give him hope.

  Just long enough.

  IT WAS A NIGHT FOR time warps.

  The moment Tara stepped alone through her apartment doorway, she felt as if she’d been transported to a part of her life that no longer existed. One much less complicated. Less violent.

  The post-modern furniture that dominated her living room with all of its hard angles and perfect lines, stood in sharp contrast to the ramshackle shack that she and Matt had been hiding in only hours ago.

  Her keys were still in her car at The Brotherhood compound, so she got the night security man to let her in. Fortunately, he’d been working in her building for years and knew her by name.

  Her condo was on the twenty-first floor, a large one-bedroom with bay windows and a panoramic view of the city. She wasn’t a rich woman, but she’d managed to get a great deal on the place, and felt a certain pride of ownership every time she stepped foot inside.

  Leaving the door open behind her, she crossed straight to the kitchen sideboard, pulled open one of the upper drawers and took out a small canister in which she had stored extra cash for emergencies. Removing several bills, she closed the drawer, then started back to the door, only to be stopped by the blinking of her message machine.

  She punched a button and a mechanical voice announced she had one message waiting. When she pressed it again, she heard Susan’s voice.

  “Hey, sis, we tried calling you on your cell, but the reception up at the cabin is as terrible as always. Hope you’re getting some rest. In the meantime, I’ve got a couple of monkeys here who want to say hello.”

  Tara smiled as the phone was handed off and two giggly, high-pitched voices came on the line, trying to speak in unison:

  “Hi, Aunt Tara! Don’t forget to come see us tomorrow! We love you!”

  As they broke into squeals of laughter, Tara’s heart swelled. If she ever had kids of her own, she could only hope that they’d be half as cute as those two.

  Susan came back on the line:

  “Hope you get this message, kiddo. Nine o’clock sharp. We’re assembling in the lobby.”

  As the line clicked off, Tara felt a stab of guilt.

  Nine o’clock sharp.

  At nine o’clock tomorrow she’d likely be halfway across town at the federal courthouse, watching Matt and the FBI take down The Brotherhood.

  Assuming all went well, that is.

  No guarantees at this point. If Matt didn’t reach Abernathy soon, they might have to go straight to the police, and that could prove to be extremely problematic.

  Matt had said it himself. Without confirmation that he was working undercover, the police weren’t likely to take his warning of a homegrown terrorist attack too seriously.

  And despite what Matt had said, Tara doubted they’d give her much credence, either. The police mistrusted anyone connected to television news. Especially in a time when that news was more about sensationalism than actual hard, fact-based reporting.

  Besides, she was a hostage. One who was sympathetic to her captor, an escaped convict.

  There were psychological terms for people like that.

/>   They had considered going to the FBI itself, but Matt knew from experience that, at well past midnight on a Friday night, they’d have to wade through more layers of bureaucracy than time would afford.

  So everything hinged on contacting Abernathy.

  Tara had suggested that they try his house, too, but Matt explained that Abernathy had moved recently and he had no idea where to find the guy.

  It occurred to them that maybe Everhardt had done more than betray Matt to The Brotherhood. Maybe he had taken Abernathy out of the equation, as well.

  And if that was the case, they were in deep trouble.

  But as Tara grabbed her spare house key from a hook beside the door and headed toward the elevators, an idea struck her. One that might not convince the cops that Matt was who he claimed to be, but might embarrass them enough to at least check out his story.

  At worst, it would alert the public that the possibility of danger existed.

  And that, sometimes, was all you needed to prevent a disaster.

  ONCE TARA HAD PAID the cabbie and joined Matt again, they decided to reenter her building through the underground parking lot. No point in letting the security man see Matt’s face and decide to dial the police.

  “What about surveillance cameras?” Matt asked.

  Tara shook her head. “I’ve been complaining to the association for months that we need to upgrade the system to include the parking lot, but nobody seems to want to pay the additional fees.”

  Tara couldn’t understand how people could put money before safety, but she saw it happen every day. Most of the tenants thought that locks and card keys were enough of a security precaution, and who was Tara to complain? At this particular point in time, their lack of concern was making life easier for her and Matt.

  Moving down the ramp to the roll-away door, Tara inserted her key into a box mounted atop a pedestal in the center divider.

  A moment later they were inside and headed to the elevator, the door rolling shut behind them.

  WHEN THEY GOT INTO HER condo, Matt didn’t waste time with any formalities. Spotting her landline, he went straight to it, picked it up and dialed a number.

  Tara heard the line ringing again, but still no answer.

  In a burst of anger, Matt clicked off and slammed the phone back into its cradle.

  “Easy,” Tara said, grabbing his forearm.

  It took him a moment to get control of himself. She could see that he was wound tight and couldn’t blame him for it. He had every right to be frustrated. And scared. The thought that the lives of innocent bystanders might hinge on a single phone call would scare and frustrate anyone.

  “One more hour,” Matt said.

  “Before what?”

  “If I haven’t made contact by then, we’ll have to go to the police. I don’t see any other way. We’ll just have to take our chances and hope they believe us.”

  “Maybe we can give them a little nudge first.”

  Matt’s brow furrowed. “Meaning what?”

  “Don’t forget what I do for a living,” she said. “I’d have to wake up some people, but I could have a news crew here in less than an hour.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “That we tell our story to the cameras. Your assignment, The Brotherhood, what happened to us and what they’re planning. There’s nothing more motivating to the police than the potential for bad publicity.”

  “It’s past midnight,” Matt said. “Who would be watching?”

  “You’d be surprised. But it doesn’t matter. As long as we’re on record, the police are unlikely to ignore the warning. If they do, and something happens, then they look like fools. So the least they’ll do is contact the FBI and hand us off to them.”

  “And the Bureau would be just as inclined to avoid the bad publicity. God knows we’ve had our share of it over the years.”

  “Exactly,” Tara said. “I don’t really see a downside to this.”

  Matt nodded. “Let’s not wait for Abernathy, then. Do it. Make the call.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ron the Newscaster’s cell phone rang and a woman picked up, groggy with sleep. “Hello?”

  Tara was surprised. Candi the Weather Girl’s voice was instantly recognizable, and for a moment she wondered if she’d dialed the wrong number.

  But that didn’t make sense. She’d used speed dial.

  “Hey, Candi, this is Tara. Is Ron there?”

  The grogginess instantly disappeared, replaced by a hint of embarrassment. “Oh, uh, yeah. Hi, Tara. I thought this was my phone. Hold on a sec.”

  Candi was a cute little redhead with a particular set of body attributes, top and bottom, that rendered most men helpless, turning them into blithering idiots who had only one thing on their minds. From the janitor all the way up to the station owner, just about every guy at KWEST was falling all over himself to get a date with her, and it looked as if Ron had snatched the prize.

  And then some.

  Tara figured she should probably be appalled with the way Candi had been so unapologetically objectified, but she couldn’t help being amused by it.

  Political correctness had never been her strong suit, anyway.

  Ron came on the line a moment later, sounding alert. In the news business you never know when you’ll have to be instantly awake, and Ron had trained himself well.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But don’t say a word.”

  “I stopped caring about who you sleep with a long time ago, Ron. But I need you to get that butt of yours out of bed and over to my place as fast as humanly possible.”

  “Your place? I thought you were up at the cabin tonight.”

  “Long story,” Tara said. “I’ll tell you all about it when you get here. And bring a crew with you.”

  There was a pause. “Tara, what’s going on?”

  “Let’s just say I’m about to make your career,” she told him, then hung up.

  When she turned, she discovered that Matt had moved to the sofa and was sitting down. He looked a bit pale, and a glance at his left arm told her why.

  He was bleeding again. The makeshift bandage was soaked through.

  “They should be here within the hour,” she said.

  “Good.”

  “Come into the bathroom. We need to get you properly patched up.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “You already know the answer to that. In fact, you know everything there is to know about me, remember? I’m a cop.”

  He was smiling, thought he was being funny, but Tara wasn’t amused. She still felt ashamed for her comments earlier. It was true that she couldn’t have known about Matt’s past, but that didn’t make her any less of an insensitive idiot.

  “Look, I’m sorry I said what I did back at Imogene’s place. Unfortunately, I have a fairly unique point of view on the matter. I’m a product of my environment.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Matt said, then finally got to his feet. “So where’s this bathroom? You lead, I follow.”

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  SHE WAS USING SOAP and water and a damp washcloth to clean Matt’s wound when she realized he was staring at her.

  “What?” she said, suddenly feeling defensive.

  “Nothing.”

  He was perched on the sink with the mirror behind him, and she immediately looked at her reflection. “The bruise?”

  It had gotten worse, no doubt about it, a purplish blue-black monstrosity that seemed to have taken on a life of its own. Tara was reminded of a movie she’d once seen as a kid, about an amorphous blob that kept growing and growing, consuming everything in its path.

  She wasn’t big on makeup, but if she was going to be standing next to Matt in front of a camera crew, she might want to use a little cover-up.

  But then she reconsidered. Always the producer, she decided it was better to leave the thing alone. T
he battered look would give them just the right touch of authenticity they needed.

  “Not the bruise,” Matt said. “Your eyes.”

  “What about them?”

  He thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “Never mind. You’ll just think I’m crazy.”

  She dropped the washcloth on the counter and frowned at him. “You start something like that, buster, you’d better be ready to finish. I’m already feeling self-conscious enough as it is. I don’t need you adding fuel to the fire.”

  “All right,” he said. “Just remember I warned you.”

  “How could I possibly forget?”

  He shifted uncomfortably on the countertop. “I don’t normally say stuff like this. I’m one of those kind of guys where what you see is what you get. I don’t write poetry, I don’t sing love songs, I tell the truth as I see it and sometimes I’m blunt to a fault.”

  “You also take forever to get to the point.”

  “It’s just that, ever since I met you, whenever I look into your eyes, when I take a moment like this to really see what’s behind them, I…” He paused, as if wanting to get the words just right. “I guess you could say I see myself. All the fears, all the vulnerabilities, but all the strengths, too. It’s like you’re part of me. In a way I don’t quite understand. There’s a connection between us that seems to go back beyond our years. If I believed in such things, I’d say we knew each other in a previous life.”

  Tara’s brow furrowed. Everything he’d said had tugged at her heart, until that last part. She suddenly wasn’t sure what he was trying to tell her.

  “Previous life?” she said. “What exactly does that mean? You think I’m Becky?”

  Matt closed his eyes, shook his head. “No. God, no. Becky and I… I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete jerk, but what Becky and I had was never exactly earth-shattering. I loved her, and I miss her, and I wish to God she were still alive, but…we were friends more than anything else. And the glue that held us together was Jennifer. Without her, I don’t know how long we would have lasted.”