by Rebecca York
He led her to the car he’d selected.
“Get in the back—and lie on the seat—so it looks like there’s just one person in the car.”
“Okay.”
When she was settled, he reached into the carry bag he’d brought, took out a baseball cap and pulled it low over his face before heading for the automatic garage door. The gears ground, and he waited an eternity for the door to open. Finally, he drove into the night, a fugitive from the law. Or would the two security men report what had happened to the cops?
He drove for about twenty minutes before he looked over his shoulder to see Grace lying on her side on the backseat, hugging her knees against her middle.
“I think it’s safe for you to get in the front now.”
“Thanks.”
He pulled onto a side street and stopped.
As she climbed into the front seat, she asked, “Do you think those men are really from the Ridgeway Consortium?”
“Why do you ask?”
“They don’t seem much like the guards I’ve seen there. What if they work for someone else?”
“Who?”
She shrugged, but he wondered if she might have an idea about their identity.
“No idea?” he pressed.
“No.”
“What happened in the bedroom before I got there?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.
She swallowed hard. “That guy came in and started looking around. I was in the closet. I knew he was going to find me there, so I waited until his back was turned and jumped him.”
“Risky.”
“What would you have done?”
“The same.”
She laughed. “At least I feel better about my decision.”
“Don’t use me as a shining example of anything.”
“Don’t run yourself down,” she shot back.
When he didn’t come back with a rejoinder, she looked out the window into the darkness. “Where are we going?”
“Hell if I know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“I thought you didn’t have any plans when you escaped from your apartment.”
“I didn’t have a car. But now that we do, I know of an unoccupied cabin in the Catoctin Mountains.”
“Up by Camp David?”
She nodded.
“Perfect. There’s a lot of security up there.”
“A good reason to assume you won’t go in that direction.”
“Who owns the cabin?”
“Friends,” she answered quickly. “But they don’t use it at this time of year.”
“Some of your young DC professionals?”
Again she paused. “Yes.”
“Are you leading me into a trap?”
“No.”
He waited a beat before bringing up another touchy subject. “You realize we can’t just leave two wounded men in my apartment.”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
IT WAS EARLY in the morning, but Washington was a city where traffic never stopped.
Phil Yarborough sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked white van as it traveled along the toll road to Reston, Virginia. When he felt the driver’s foot bounce on the accelerator, he looked over inquiringly.
“What?”
“Two patrol cars are closing in on us with their lights flashing. What do I do now?”
“You’re not exceeding the speed limit?”
“Of course not!” the driver snapped.
“And you don’t think you have a taillight out—or anything like that?”
“This vehicle was checked before we left the Ridgeway Consortium.”
“Better pull over.”
The van slowed, then swung onto the shoulder. One patrol car stopped in back of the vehicle. The other boxed them in front.
Yarborough watched as two uniformed officers got out of each vehicle. Lord, now what?
As they walked toward the driver’s door, he rolled down his window.
One of the officers pulled some papers from his jacket pocket. “This is authorization to transfer your prisoner.”
“What authorization?” Yarborough snapped. Reaching across the driver, he held out his hand.
The officer gave him the papers and he found he was reading a federal court order transferring custody of Karen Hilliard to the Justice Department.
“The orders comes from the Department of Homeland Security, under the Patriot Act,” the officer clarified.
Yarborough cursed under his breath. Somehow that Middle Eastern terrorist story had gotten out.
“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” he asked.
“I guess the authorization just came through.”
“I need to call my boss.” Yarborough wasn’t happy.
Chapter Six
The officer gave Yarborough a look that he himself had used on many occasions. It said that the cop held all the cards in this game.
“You can talk to him later. Right now, we want the prisoner,” he said, his hand on his hip, dangling inches from his sidearm.
The voice and the gesture weren’t lost on Yarborough. “Why is the Justice Department using local cops?”
“We were in the area.”
Yarborough didn’t like it. But he didn’t see himself getting into a gun battle on the highway shoulder—with the cops. That would be a little tough to explain.
He climbed out, then walked around to the back of the van and unlocked the door. Karen Hilliard sat on a bench seat, her hands cuffed to a ring on the metal bar beside her seat, her legs shackled to keep her steps slow and labored.
She looked from him to the uniforms.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Change of custody. It sounds like the Department of Homeland Security is getting into the act.”
“How?”
“Damned if I know.”
She look frightened as he detached her cuffs.
“Don’t let them take me,” she whispered.
“I don’t have any choice.”
“Please.”
He’d been pretty tough on her, and she wanted to stay with him? That was almost enough to make him protest. But he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere.
One of the uniforms grabbed her arm and helped her up, then escorted her from the van toward a patrol car.
Yarborough followed, and the cop whirled. “Can I do something for you?”
“Sign a receipt for the prisoner.”
“Certainly.”
Yarborough wrote out a note saying that the officer had removed Karen Hilliard from Ridgeway Security custody.
The man signed his name—Burton Temple.
When he turned and climbed back into the patrol car, there was nothing Yarborough could do besides watch him drive away.
BRADY WAITED UNTIL he’d driven into Maryland and was heading up Route 270, against the traffic flowing into town. Taking one hand from the wheel, he pulled his cell phone from the clip on his belt. “I’m going to call Ridgeway Security.”
Grace made a gulping sound. “You have to?”
“You know I do.”
She sighed, and he took that for agreement.
He brought up his phone directory, then scrolled to the “R” section.
When a male voice answered, he identified himself. “This is Brady Lockwood. Do you have two men named Mosley and Kessler in that office?”
“Yes.”
Feeling his breath turn shallow, he asked, “May I speak to one of them?”
“Just a moment.”
His hand tightened on the phone as he waited. Beside him, he could see Grace’s rigid profile.
Then a voice came on the line. “Mosley.”
“You’re with the Ridgeway Consortium Security detail?”
“Yes.”
“This is Brady Lockwood. Did you show up at my apartment in La Fontana this evening?”
“Negative.”
Brady turned his
head toward Grace and saw that she had heard the man’s answer.
“Well, two guys impersonating you and Agent Kessler are at my place.”
“Where are you now?”
“Not at home.”
“I’d like your location.”
“Sorry. Maybe if you hustle over to my place, you can catch the impostors and ask what they were up to.”
Before Mosley could ask any more questions, Brady ended the call and turned off the phone.
Grace breathed out a sigh, then turned her head toward him. “I guess we have confirmation that they weren’t legit.”
“Unless Wickers is running some kind of scam.”
“Why would he?”
Brady shrugged. “Because nothing’s making a whole lot of sense.”
Grace nodded. “What made you suspect them?”
“They were too pushy.”
“So I shot some sort of impostor—not somebody official.”
“Right.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment. “That’s something, anyway.”
“Who were they?” he asked.
Her head whipped toward him. “You expect me to know?”
“They were looking for you. And a few hours ago, men showed up at your house. Are these the same guys?”
She considered for a moment. “I…don’t think so. And maybe they weren’t really after me. Maybe they were using me as an excuse to get into your apartment.” Even as she proposed the theory, she didn’t sound entirely confident.
“You don’t have any clues about who they are?” he pressed.
“No!” She put force behind the denial. But he watched her take her lower lip between her teeth.
“Maybe you should trust me,” he said.
“I want to.”
He studied her tight expression, knowing that statement only went so far. She had accepted his bodyguard role, but she still hadn’t come clean with him.
He was almost sure that even if she wasn’t the woman with his brother when he died, she knew more than she was admitting.
“But you’re not giving me all the facts,” he said and watched her look down at her hands, hiding her expression from him.
PHIL YARBOROUGH pressed the speed dial on his phone.
Wickers answered on the second ring. “You’ve got her stashed at the safe house?”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“A couple of cop cars stopped us and then hustled her away.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?”
“Stop armed police officers?”
“What jurisdiction?”
“Fairfax County.”
“Okay. Stay in your car. I’ll find out what’s going on.”
GRACE STARED THROUGH the windshield, thinking that she’d gotten herself and Brady Lockwood into a hell of a mess. He’d asked if she had any idea why two guys posing as Ridgeway Security men would come after her. She suspected they worked for a man who called himself the Paladin. But she couldn’t tell that to Brady—because then she’d have a lot more to explain.
“So your friends don’t mind your using their cabin?” Brady asked.
She knit her fingers together in her lap. Although she’d said she was from Chicago, that had been a lie. She was from this area, and the cabin belonged to her parents, but they were never there around this time of the year—except on weekends. Now she wished she’d just kept her mouth shut and let him suggest something.
Mom and Dad. Ellen and Stan Cutler. Not Cunningham. That was the name she’d taken after she’d known she had to disappear.
They’d been so good to her, so grateful to have a baby, and she couldn’t imagine a more loving childhood. They’d given her every opportunity—from gymnastics classes to piano lessons. She’d gone to a private school and then to one of the country’s top colleges. And how had she repaid them? By breaking their hearts.
She turned her head toward the side window, letting Brady know that she didn’t want to be drawn into a conversation. But he didn’t take the hint.
“How did you get the job working for my brother? I mean, how did he find you?”
“I was introduced to him at a party, and he asked about my background.”
“Which is?”
“I have a B.A. in history from Barnard and a Masters from the George Washington University,” she answered, giving him her fake background.
“He doesn’t usually hire women he meets at parties.”
“Well, a week after your brother and I met, I got a call from someone at the Ridgeway Consortium asking if I’d like a part-time job. Naturally, I was flattered.”
“Naturally.”
“It didn’t take me long to figure out that he was using our meetings as an excuse to slip away and see Karen Hilliard.”
“Why didn’t you quit?”
Grace raised her chin. “You don’t just quit a job with a powerful man in Washington. I have the feeling you understand that pretty well. You didn’t like everything your brother asked you to do for him, did you?”
“No.”
She saw his hands tighten on the wheel.
She was about to make the point by asking what kind of jobs he’d taken for his brother when a tinny rendition of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” interrupted her.
“My phone,” she exclaimed and scrambled in her purse.
“Who is it?” Brady asked.
She flipped the phone open and peered at the screen. “Not a number I recognize. It’s in Maryland.”
“Answer it.”
A shiver traveled over her skin. “What if it’s those guys?”
“Ask them how they got your number—before we pitch the phone out the window.”
She pressed the talk button. “Hello?”
“Thank God,” a woman’s voice said.
“Karen?” She threw a quick glance at Brady, who raised an eyebrow, then turned his head back toward the highway.
The voice on the other end of the line hitched. “Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“I got away.”
“How?”
“Some people helped me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t want to get into anything over the phone.”
“Where are you?”
“At a house I own in Frederick. Can you meet me there?”
When she hesitated, Karen went on quickly. “I know you don’t like me.”
“Not you. What you’re doing.”
“Put that aside. I need to talk to you.”
“I—”
Before Grace could respond, Brady lifted the phone out of her hand. “This is Brady Lockwood,” he said in a hard voice. “Who is this?”
The volume was loud, and he assumed Grace could hear both sides of the conversation, the way he’d been able to.
“You’re with Grace?” Karen asked.
“Yes. Who is this?” he demanded again. “Karen Hilliard.”
He glanced at Grace, then back at the road. “How did you get this number?”
“I know that Ridgeway was using Grace. We…talked, and exchanged numbers. I need her help now. I think Wickers is trying make it look like I killed your brother.”
“You know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“You’re saying you’re not involved in my brother’s death?”
“Yes.”
“But you were having an affair with him.”
He heard her swallow hard. “Yes.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“I’ll answer any question you ask, but not on the phone. Please meet me in Frederick. I’m at a house out on Snyder Road.” She went on to give an address. He repeated it to make sure Grace got it as she pulled out a pen and paper.
“Please hurry.” Before Brady could reply, the phone clicked off.
He slowed the car and pulled to the shoulder of the road, where he turned to face Grace, feeling his features stiffen.
>
“All right, tell me what the hell is going on? Was that really Karen Hilliard?”
“I think so.”
“And how did the two of you get to be pals? I mean— really.”
“We’re not pals! When I found out what she was up to, I confronted her.”
He kept the conversation going. “You said you knew her.”
“She told me if she got into trouble, I could, too.”
He closed his hand over her shoulder. “Even though you were an innocent bystander?”
“Yes. And it looks like she was right. Guys have been coming after me since this happened.”
His hand tightened on her shoulder. “I think you have a better idea about what’s going on than I do.”
“I wish I did.”
He studied her face. “And why did Hilliard call you now?”
“She said she wants my help.”
“Why should you give it to her?”
Grace swallowed. “Because I got the feeling she’d been trapped into something she didn’t like—that she was in over her head.”
“You think she murdered my brother?”
“We can ask her.”
Brady snorted. “Oh sure. Why should she tell me anything? Or have the two of you cooked up some story you’re planning to feed me?”
In the face of the accusation, Grace’s face turned ashen. “I haven’t talked to her since I escaped from the Ridgeway Consortium. How could I have cooked something up with her?”
“You tell me.”
Chapter Seven
Brady watched Grace swallow hard. “I’m not lying. I don’t approve of what she did.”
“Which was what—exactly?”
“Having an affair with a married man. A powerful man who could maybe…help her.”
“That’s all?”
She pressed her lips together.
“You think she’s involved in some kind of conspiracy? That she caused his death?”
She gave one of her maddening little shrugs. “Maybe she’s desperate enough to play it straight with us.”
“Us,” he said, clipping out the syllable. “Yeah, sure. Us. I could drop you in Frederick, and you could take a cab to her place.”
Panic leaped in her eyes. “What about the…bodyguard thing?”
“What about it?”
“I thought I could go it alone. But we both know I’m already in over my head,” she said in a low voice. “Somebody wants to make sure I don’t talk about what I’ve seen and heard.”
