by Rebecca York
Johnson’s face turned flinty. “I’m sorry you came all this way for Lieutenant Faulkner,” he said. “You see, since you’ve put yourself under my control, I don’t have to deliver anybody to you.
“Take the package from her, Crane.”
The man who’d searched her stepped forward and wrenched the carrying case from her left hand, stinging her flesh as the hard plastic handle whipped against her skin.
She rubbed her palm against her leg. “Bridgman was prepared for your trying to double-cross him. He told me I’d be able to force you to comply.”
Pulling her other hand from her pocket, she held up the remote control, her fingers curled around the cylinder and her thumb tightly on the button.
“I now have my fingers pressed on a trigger device that will blow the cover off the case if my hand goes limp for a second. You understand?” she demanded, her head swinging toward the two men who had drawn their guns and pointed them at her.
Johnson’s face had drained of color. “Hold your fire,” he said, his voice thick. “Do you understand? Hold your fire.”
“I tested it,” Crane growled. “She’s lying.”
“We knew you would,” Meg countered. “The helicopter pilot gave the signal for the activation. So drop the guns, unless you want to put it to the test,” Meg said, feeling a surge of power as she waved the hand with the device.
“Do it,” Johnson ordered.
Two pistols clattered to the marble floor, and she breathed out a little sigh.
“Send for my brother and the other men,” Meg commanded.
“Bridgman said—”
“I’m making the rules now,” she retorted, keeping her voice steady, half amazed that he hadn’t called her bluff.
“You don’t know the risk,” Johnson hissed. “In that case is a pure sample of the virus that infected your brother. It’s in the contagious form. If you blow the lid, we’re all dead.”
She forced a smile. “Then you’d better get the hostages before my hand gets tired.”
“How do I know you won’t blow it anyway?”
She gave him a parody of a smile. “‘And commit suicide? You just have to hope I’m not that angry at myself for trusting you.”
Johnson pulled the phone from his pocket, punched several keys, and began speaking as soon as someone came on the line. “Send the hostages to the front hall, at once,” he said, then added, “all twenty.”
“There aren’t twenty!”
“Right. My mistake,” he murmured.
She looked into his eyes, seeing a jackal’s cunning, and knew where he’d gotten his name. Was he using some kind of code? Too bad if he was, because there was nothing she could do now besides follow the course she’d set.
When her tongue flicked out to moisten her dry lips, she saw Johnson watching with satisfaction. Angling away from him, she studied Crane and his buddy. They both looked pale and damp. “Move over toward your boss,” she said.
They hurried to comply, and she backed up. The spacious entryway had become stifling, making it difficult to draw in a full breath. She longed to escape into the fresh air, but that was out of the question, since her effectiveness depended on staying close to Johnson.
On the other hand she still had to deal with the private army outside, she remembered with a sudden jolt. With her free hand, she opened the front door wide enough to give the remaining guards a view of the scene inside, then swiveled her head to address the master of the house.
“Tell them the plans have changed,” she said in a voice loud enough to carry. “Tell your security force that I’ve got my finger on the trigger of a bomb, and that when the hostages get here, they are to be allowed to go directly to the helicopter. Tell them to drop their weapons.”
The men on the lawn reacted to her sharp words by reaching for their guns, even as Johnson’s face darkened.
“No!” he shouted. “Don’t shoot! She’s telling the truth.”
His eyes bored into her, and she knew he was only waiting for his chance to get even.
“Drop your guns,” he snapped.
Meg relaxed a notch as a small arsenal hit the ground, but she knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Too much could still go wrong.
“Where will the men come from?” she asked.
Johnson jerked his shoulder behind him. She trained her eyes in that direction, then heard several sets of footsteps. Everyone was watching when a door opened and Tommy stepped through, his face pale and his expression puzzled. He and another man were leaning on each other, like two drunks staggering out of a bar.
There were more men behind them—a ragtag group who looked as if they’d been invited to a come-as-you-are party.
Relief flooded through her, and she realized with a jolt that she hadn’t expected to get this far. Not really. But now it was almost over. All she had to do was get the hostages out of here.
“Meg,” Tommy quavered. “What are you doing here?”
“‘It’s okay. We’re both leaving soon.” She wanted to hug him. All she could do was ask urgently, “Are you all right?”
He looked ready to keel over, and she wondered if he could make it as far as the helicopter—even with his comrade’s support.
When he started toward her, she held up the hand with the remote control. “Listen carefully, Tommy. I have a bomb,” she said, using the same simplified explanation she’d given the security forces.
She saw from the way his eyes widened that he got the message. “What bomb? How?”
She showed him the controller clamped between her thumb and finger, then gestured toward the carrying case. “If I ease up the pressure with my hand, that thing will go off. Which is why Johnson is going to let all of us go.”
Raising her voice, she addressed the rest of the men, making a quick explanation. Some of them looked too confused to understand. Others straightened, their faces registering the implications of the situation. A couple in the back stood hunched over and unmoving so that she couldn’t tell if they’d understood or not.
“Get the guns,” she said, addressing two men who looked relatively fit and gesturing toward the weapons on the floor.
When they’d complied, she spoke to the entire group again. “There are more weapons outside on the ground. Get them, too. Then walk directly to the helicopter. It will take you to Castle Phoenix.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Johnson edging along the wall. But there was nowhere he could go, so her main focus stayed on the prisoners.
“Go on. Get out of here while you can,” she told them.
Some of the hostages began moving eagerly toward the front door. One of the men in back stepped toward her.
When she realized who it was, her fingers froze on the controller in her hand.
Chapter Seventeen
“Glenn!” she gasped, hardly able to believe what she was seeing.
“In the flesh,” he said dryly, stepping forward as if he’d planned to take charge all along.
His words elicited a laugh from the remaining prisoners and a low sound from Johnson, who now had his shoulders pressed to the wall.
“Gotcha,” one of the hostages chortled, leering at Johnson before turning to Meg. “You like the way your brother played dumb? I guess he’s still got some smarts left,” he added, then let loose another wild laugh that teetered on the edge of hysteria.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Johnson growled at Glenn.
“Making sure everything goes according to plan.” Glenn shouldered his way through the remaining prisoners and moved to Meg’s side, gesturing toward the carrying case she’d brought from Castle Phoenix. “I’ll take over the controller for the virus canister,” he said. “When you feel my pressure on the button, slip your fingers out from under mine.”
She shook her head, struggling to comprehend what was going on. “You’re…you’re not supposed to be here,” she managed, echoing the gray-haired man’s shock.
“That’s what I wanted
you to think, so you’d play your role. But I wasn’t going to let you do this alone. Give me the controller. Go with the men. I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”
She was almost too stunned to answer, but she managed to reply. “No. I can’t leave you here.”
His eyes burned into hers, before flashing back to Johnson. “I didn’t come all this way to argue with you. Go on! I’ll follow as soon as you and the men are safe.”
The commanding tone of Glenn’s voice made her reconsider, until she got a look at the man behind him. Long scratches marred the skin of his face, and she realized with a start that she’d given them to him—when she’d leaped on his back in the guest quarters and clawed at his face. She’d forgotten about that till now.
“Glenn,” she warned. “Watch out. That’s Enders. He’s the one from the trunk of my car—the one who tried to kill me—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “He and I met up when we were both sneaking in here. He’s changed sides.”
“‘Changed sides’? Why?”
She studied the man who had shot her bathroom door full of holes. He’d been energized then; on a rampage—or a holy war. Now he reminded her of a balloon with a slow leak.
Still, when his angry gaze focused on Johnson, some of the old fire came back into his eyes. And when he spoke, it was as if he and the Jackal were the only two people in the room. “When I heard Bridgman and his men talking at the biohazards lab, I realized you didn’t give a damn about what happened to me—even though you’d been talking like you were going to make me your partner or something so we could use the money from your arms deals to set up a foundation to cure diseases. If I’d gotten in there like you wanted, I would have ended up with the same damn virus that’s just about killed Paul.”
“No,” Johnson countered. “You’ve got it wrong.”
Enders shook his head. “Cut the crap. You fooled me once. But never again. You don’t care who gets hurt working for you, just so you get what you want. You brainwashed me into thinking Bridgman had to go. And the girl.” He shot Meg a raw look, then swung his gaze back to Johnson.
Transfixed, Meg stared at Enders. Could they really trust this man who’d tried to kill her? Or was Glenn just teamed with him now because he had no choice?
She slid Glenn a questioning look. Before he could respond, Enders gave a frantic shout and dodged to the right. “No!”
Her head snapped around, and she saw that in the few seconds their attention had been focused elsewhere, the wall behind which Johnson was standing had slid noiselessly open, revealing a secret escape passage. All along, he’d been planning to get away, she realized with a surge of anger.
Enders threw himself through the doorway, grabbing at Johnson—who had slipped into the darkness.
Glenn drew his gun, but he couldn’t get off a shot without hitting Enders.
There was only one thing Meg could do. “Duck!” she shouted at Glenn as she hurled the canister after Johnson, then eased the pressure on the trigger.
With a loud report, the top blew off the carrying case, and an obscuring white cloud poured out, even as Johnson shrieked in terror and tried to scramble away.
“What are you doing? We’re all dead!” he screamed, above the sounds of kicking and clawing.
As they’d hoped, he thought he’d been doused with the deadly virus. But the small explosion and the vapor were only a special effect. Really, there was nothing in the canister besides a chemical fogging agent.
Glenn plunged into the passageway where the mist blocked Meg’s sight and muffled sound. But it didn’t hide the booming of two shots in the confined space.
“Glenn!” Meg screamed. “Glenn!”
“Stay back,” he called, and she thought she saw his head and shoulders disappearing into the mist-filled tunnel.
“Glenn, no!”
She stayed where she was, knowing that if she went into the passageway after him, she could make things worse. But when two more shots sounded in the fog, she rushed toward the opening. She slammed into Glenn, who was getting to his feet.
“Are you all right?” she breathed, starting toward him, then stopping. She ached to hold him, to touch him, but she couldn’t read his expression, so she stayed where she was.
“I’m okay,” he answered.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Blocking her entrance into the passageway he called, “Enders?”
There was no answer, no sound from the darkness.
“Stay here,” Glenn ordered. Cautiously he crept forward. When she tried to follow, he turned and glared at her. “Back up.”
She retreated to the front hall, waiting with her heart pounding while he advanced into the tunnel. Ahead of him, she could see a flashlight beam. When he made a grunting noise, she tensed.
“Enders is dead,” he called. Moments later he issued another news bulletin. “So is Johnson. It looks like he had a gun stashed in there, and they shot each other.”
He was just returning to the hallway when the front door burst open, and armed men poured inside. Meg recognized the Castle Phoenix uniforms. Each man had a canister that looked like a small fire extinguisher attached to his belt. When they saw the mist hanging heavily in the air, they began to spray the room. Under the barrage, the vapor dissolved.
Claymore, his arm strapped to his chest, stepped through the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Glenn demanded.
“The same thing you are—coming to lend Ms. Faulkner a hand. If you’d turned on your radio, you would have known I wasn’t going to throw her to the sharks, either.”
When Glenn opened his mouth, Claymore plowed ahead. “Don’t give me an argument about it. If you can play Sir Galahad, so can I.” Before Glenn could muster a comment, he turned to Meg. “I see you blew the top off our canister. Weren’t you supposed to be out of the room when you did it?”
She nodded. “Johnson was getting away. Glenn couldn’t get a clear shot at him. Pressing the trigger was the only thing I could do to slow Johnson down.”
“He’s dead,” Glenn informed Claymore. “And so is Leroy Enders. You were right. He was causing all the trouble at the castle. When he realized that Johnson was just using him, he got mad.” Wearily he gave the details to his security chief.
Claymore made a hurried inspection of the tunnel, then ushered them out of the house and toward the gate where another helicopter had set down just outside the fence. Before they reached it, Glenn pulled Meg to a halt. “Wait here.”
Still numb, she watched him take off his gun belt and hand it to Claymore. The two men had a hurried consultation before Glenn returned to her side.
“Why did you take off your gun?” she asked.
“Because I don’t need it. I hope I never need it again!”
Before she could ask another question, he announced, “You and I are leaving by car.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to talk—in private.”
She gave him a little nod, then turned to the security chief. “What about Tommy?”
“He’s on his way to the castle.”
Claymore went back inside and there was nothing Meg could do but follow Glenn to the gate.
It was over. Johnson and Enders were dead—no longer a threat to Castle Phoenix. Glenn would walk away from her now. But it seemed there were things he wanted to say first.
She was afraid to hear them. Afraid not to hear them.
On the trip down, she’d been pumped full of adrenaline—ready for anything. Now she simply felt a great weariness. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she found the wallet with her fake credit cards and money. At least she could rent a car and make it home. Or maybe one of her Light Street friends would be willing to come here and pick her up. Right now she needed her friends.
But Tommy was going to Castle Phoenix, her leaden brain suddenly remembered. Would Glenn let her see him?
After all the trouble she’d caused, she didn’t feel as
if she had the right to make any demands. At least she’d know her brother was in good hands.
Glenn had started up the road at a fast clip and was several paces ahead of her. Quickening her stride, she hurried to catch up, her breath coming in little puffs.
He stopped, turned to make sure she was still there, and she saw her own tension and uncertainty mirrored on his face.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” she asked as she drew abreast of him.
“I wanted to get the hell out of Johnson’s territory.” Slowing, he looking up and down the blacktop. “Come to the car. It’s up there.” He pointed to a stand of windblown trees. As they drew closer, she saw a dark sedan half hidden under low-hanging branches.
Reaching the side of the vehicle, he turned and faced her. His expression had gone from tense to grim, and she felt her stomach knot in anticipation of a goodbye speech she didn’t want to hear. God, why didn’t he just get this over with?
He scuffed up a spray of gravel with his booted foot. “Communication isn’t my strong suit. So let me say what I’ve got to say and get it over with.”
She swallowed painfully. “Okay.”
“When I fell for you, it was like stepping off a cliff. I had no control, no safety net, and it scared the hell out of me. Then I found out you’d come to Castle Phoenix to help Enders steal the virus—and I felt like everything that had happened between us was a lie.”
“No!” She couldn’t stand it then; couldn’t stand his thinking she had been cold and calculating about the two of them. “Glenn, I didn’t lie to you,” she gasped out. “All my feelings were real. I fell in love with the Glenn Bridgman I met when I had no memory of what I’d been told about you. And when I got my memory back, the shock of finding out that Johnson had tricked me was so terrible that I couldn’t…cope.”
When he took a step toward her, she couldn’t move; she could only whisper, “Oh, Glenn, try and forgive me for hurting you so badly.”
“I don’t have to,” he said, his voice gritty. Then his features contorted as he caught the pain in her eyes. “I didn’t say that right. I mean, there’s nothing to forgive. Johnson was slick. He knew how to press the right buttons—with you, with Leroy Enders. He set you up. Then you lost your memory, and you were left trying to cope with an impossible situation. You were as honest with me as you knew how to be. Now I owe you the same honesty.” She saw him swallow. “Meg, I don’t want to lose you.”
