by Rebecca York
“Light Street. That’s where you used to work. You would trust them with this?”
“Yes.”
When she relaxed a little, he put a hand to her chin, tipping her head up so that his lips could meet hers.
At first, she went very still, then she responded to him, and he felt a surge of unexpected emotions. Not so long ago, he had been sure she was playing him for a fool. Now his protective instincts surged. He wanted to keep her safe. To…
He couldn’t allow himself to go any further. Not when this was all so new. But he could show her with his kiss how much he cared.
He granted himself that pleasure for several moments, and when she matched his passion, he felt his heart leap. He wanted to make love to her. To prove that her being a clone had nothing to do with his view of her. He saw her as a warm, loving, courageous woman. Nothing more or less. And he wanted her to believe that. But it wasn’t safe to focus on the two of them. Not yet.
Lifting his head, he asked, “From what you’ve said, I gather you think the Paladin’s men are the ones after us?”
She nodded.
“We need to contact Light Street right away, but I can’t risk using my cell again.” He found a phone on the wall in the kitchen and picked up the receiver. The line was disconnected, probably because the people who owned the cabin didn’t want to pay for service when they weren’t here.
“We’ll have to find a store where I can buy a prepaid phone. Get dressed,” he told Grace.
“We borrowed a bed from the homeowners. We should wash the sheets.”
He laughed. “We’re running late. We’ll send them new sheets when we have the time.”
They both hurried back to the bedroom.
“Do we have time to take a shower?”
“A quick one.”
They each ducked into a separate bathroom, where they showered, then used the toothbrushes he’d bought and pulled on the clothing from the same discount department store. After they were dressed, he rummaged in the closet and found hats for both of them.
“Put this on,” he said, handing her a baseball cap with the logo of a local team.
She winced. “You think the Paladin’s goons can find us?”
“No. But I don’t want to take any chances.”
A KNOCK AT THE office door made Ian Wickers glance up. “Come in.”
Phil Yarborough stepped into the room looking as if he’d been up all night, tracking down leads. Which he had been. A few hours ago he’d reported that Karen Hilliard had died in an explosion in a house in Frederick. Now she wasn’t going to be telling anyone what she’d done to John Ridgeway. And who was helping her. Or whom she was working for. Ian didn’t know the answer to either. And now he never would.
“Have you found out what happened to Brady Lockwood?” the Ridgeway chief of security asked.
“No. But it turns out he was probably seen at a hospital in Frederick—near where that house exploded. After that, he’s disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“What was he being treated for?”
“He left before they got his personal information. But the guy we think is him came in with smoke inhalation.”
“Which makes me think he’s in this up to his eyeballs. He was part of a conspiracy to kill his brother. Then he knocked off one of the witnesses. But I’m still wondering, did he have the resources to get Hilliard out of custody?”
Yarborough shrugged. “You want to alert the FBI to Lockwood’s possible involvement?”
“Let me think about that.” Wickers shifted in his seat. “What about the other woman—Grace Cunningham?”
“A woman who fits her description was seen with Lockwood at the hospital. I think we can assume they’re together. Which makes it pretty damn certain that they were in it together.”
“Keep looking for both of them.”
BRADY HURRIED Grace out of the house.
“Where are we going?” she asked when they were back in the car.
“There ought to be a shopping center close by where we can get a phone.”
“Okay.”
He headed for Martinsburg, thinking that they were taking a chance sticking with the same stolen car, but he was willing to risk it because they could ditch the vehicle as soon as the Light Street men picked them up.
Of course, it was still a little inconvenient that he had to cross a couple of wires every time he wanted to start the engine.
Beside him, Grace cleared her throat. “You’ve heard of nature versus nurture?”
“Yeah.”
“Environment is part of what makes a person who he or she is.”
“What’s your point?”
“I know John Ridgeway was ruthless. But Kevin is more balanced. Because of the Parsons, the people who raised him.”
He sighed. “And Karen?”
“She had a good home, too. But she was pretty angry when she discovered what Cortez had done to her. It made her start contacting the rest of us. And then when she found out about what your brother was planning for Kevin, she was determined not to let it happen.”
“Yeah, John was great at righteous indignation. She got that from him.”
“Enough so that in this case, she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to survive. I mean, she never said that to me, but we both knew it.”
“You were in a pretty shaky position, too.”
“Yes. But I told myself I could get away. I couldn’t have done it without you.” She reached over and laid her hand over his. “But you’re free to get out—while the getting’s good.”
He turned his hand up so he could press his fingers against hers. “In the first place, I’m in too deeply to quit. In the second place, I’m not leaving you.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
He found a drugstore and pulled into a space near the door but left the engine running.
“You stay here. I’ll be right back as soon as I can.”
It took only a few minutes to buy the phone. While he was still inside, he called the familiar Light Street number.
Max Dakota answered.
“Hey, long time no see,” he said as soon as he heard Brady’s voice. He paused for a moment. “I heard about your brother. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” he answered. He didn’t want to say too much over the phone, but he needed to let them know that the situation was urgent. “I’ve been investigating his death, and I’ve gotten into a situation. I’m going to need some help.”
Max didn’t ask any questions besides, “What do you need?”
Brady hesitated for a moment, then added a bit more information. “His people are covering something up. Something big that I stumbled on to. I’m in Martinsburg, West Virginia, and I need you to pick up me and a woman.”
“You’re hiding out?”
“At the moment, I’m at a shopping center.” He gave the location.
“Sit tight. We’ll get there as soon as we can. Let me have your number.”
After giving the number, he returned to the car and saw relief wash over Grace’s face. “I was starting to worry.”
“Sorry. I wanted to call the Light Street guys as soon as possible.”
She nodded and swiped a hand through her hair. “I’m going to meet your friends, and I feel like a mess.”
“You’re fine.”
Ignoring him, she pointed to a cheap department store like the one where he’d bought the clothes they were wearing. “Would you mind if I bought some fresh underwear?”
“Sounds like a good plan. Get me a package, too.”
“What size?”
He gave her the specs as he drove to the other end of the parking lot where they would be close to the store entrance. “This time, I’ll wait for you.”
“I’ll be quick.”
He slouched down in the seat, watching her disappear into the long, low building.
Moments after she stepped inside, a black car pulled up in the parking lot. He felt a zing of alarm g
o through him as soon as he saw the vehicle. It looked like one of the ones from Frederick. But how could that be? No, it had to be a coincidence.
Still he kept his gaze fixed on the vehicle as it pulled into a parking space. And his breath caught when two of the men who had kidnapped him and Grace got out. Both of them were wearing jackets, but he could see the bulk of pistols underneath them.
One of them was holding something in his hand. It could have been a cell phone, but he was staring down at it as if he was watching the screen.
They headed straight into the building without even glancing at the cars in the parking lot—as if they knew exactly where to find what they were looking for.
But how?
A jolt of insight almost cut off his breath. That thing under Grace’s skin. It must be more than a serial number. It was a transmitter.
Cursing under his breath, he cut off the engine and got out of the car, ducking low in case there was still someone in the car watching the parking lot. Pulling his cap down over his eyes, he hunched his shoulders and hurried toward the door.
Grace had said she was going to buy underwear. That meant she was in the women’s department. Hell! He’d asked for underwear, too. And she could be there instead.
Still cursing under his breath, he stepped into the building, which wasn’t crowded.
Too bad it wasn’t empty because innocent people could get hurt. Or were these guys smart enough not to start shooting in a public area?
Brady wanted to rush down the nearest aisle. Instead he studied the overhead signs as he tried to get his bearings. The men’s and women’s departments were both on the same side of the building, which made his job a little easier.
But he needed to make a stop in the drugstore section, too.
He was wondering which route to take when he saw the two men heading purposefully toward the women’s department.
Yeah, that was the way to do it. Let them find Grace.
And then what?
He didn’t know, but he picked up a heavy saucepan as he walked through the housewares department. Too bad his gun was long gone.
A woman pushing a shopping cart eyed him, then gave him a wide berth. He didn’t blame her. He probably looked like a guy out to commit assault.
He stayed behind the thugs, hoping they wouldn’t turn around. When they all rounded a corner, he spotted Grace, who stopped in her tracks when she saw the goons bearing down on her.
Brady dashed forward and slammed the pot down on one of the guy’s heads. He dropped like a stone in a pond.
But the other one whirled, reaching for the gun under his jacket.
Before he could draw it, Grace gave the shopping cart she was wheeling a hard push, slamming it into the guy’s back and knocking him off his feet.
“Go down the left cross aisle, and I’ll meet you,” Brady yelled, glancing around. Lucky for them, nobody had come upon the melee. But the guy who’d gone down from the blow to his head had gotten up again. The guy was unsteady on his feet. When he lunged forward, Brady grabbed the device from his hand, smashed the screen against a metal shelf, then pushed the guy into a pantyhose display before catching up with Grace at the next corner.
“How did they find us?” she panted.
“That thing under your arm must be sending out a signal.”
She gasped.
“I smashed the locator, but they could have another one in the car. We’ve got to get the thing out from under your skin.” Sparing a glance behind them, he led her toward the medicine aisle and grabbed a bottle of alcohol off of a shelf, then a bag of cotton balls and some tape and sterile pads.
Next he sprinted into the cosmetics section where he snatched up cuticle scissors.
When he heard footsteps approaching rapidly, he looked up to see that one of the thugs was on his feet and sprinting toward them.
“I’ll hold him off. You dig that thing out of your arm, and break it,” he shouted as he thrust the supplies toward her.
She made a moaning sound but took the scissors, alcohol and cotton balls and disappeared around the next corner.
With nobody else in the aisle, the man pulled his gun. “Hold it right there.”
Brady ducked and began pulling items off the shelf—anything that came to hand—and started throwing them at the gunman.
A bullet whizzed past him, but when he scored a hit to the guy’s temple with a metal box, the thug made a grunting sound and raised his hand to his head. It came away covered with blood.
“You bastard.”
IN THE NEXT AISLE, Grace frantically dug at the plastic wrapper enclosing the scissors. When she couldn’t make a dent in the packing material, she used her teeth to tear through the thick packaging.
Slipping her fingers into the handles of the instrument, she worked the blades.
Was she really going to try and cut the thing out of her arm with cuticle scissors? Was Brady right that the bad guys had found her because she was carrying around some kind of signal beacon?
That made sense, in a kind of horrible way, yet it would require some very sophisticated technology. Cortez couldn’t have done it by himself, but he’d probably had a whole range of experts that he could tap for various assignments.
Her inner debate was cut short when she heard a shot ring out from the next aisle. It helped ground her to reality. Brady was fighting for her, and she’d better do her part to make sure the bad guys couldn’t follow them out of this store.
If they got out. She couldn’t even be sure of that.
She cut off that awful thought.
With her heart pounding, she unbuttoned her shirt and pulled her arm out of the sleeve. After swabbing the area over the disk with alcohol, she poured more alcohol onto the scissors.
Before she could chicken out, she plunged the point of one blade into her arm.
The pain shot along her nerve endings, but she knew she had to keep going. Teeth clenched, she worked to get the metal tip of a scissors blade under the thing that was embedded in her body.
She had to pause to fight a wave of dizziness.
“Stop it,” she ordered herself as she got back to work.
When the thing moved under her skin, she used her free hand to keep it in place while she dug with the blade, amazed that she could hold her hands steady.
SNARLING, THE assailant raised the gun again, just as a store employee came around the corner in back of the thug.
“Watch out,” Brady shouted.
The thug whirled, and the clerk gasped.
Brady sprang forward, tackling the man with the gun and pulling him to the floor.
“What the hell?” the employee shouted.
“Call the police,” Brady answered. “This guy is trying to kidnap my wife.”
The clerk backed away, and Brady slammed the thug’s face against the tile floor, then did it again for good measure.
When the guy went limp, Brady got up, dodged around the corner and found Grace sitting on the floor, one arm out of the sleeve of her shirt. She was taping a bandage to her arm.
He winced. “You got it out?”
Wordlessly, she held up a small disk that she’d dug from under her skin.
He would have liked to examine the damn thing, but it was too dangerous to keep around. So he held out his hand, and she laid it in his palm. It was light. Probably plastic, but it had to have some circuitry inside.
“Give me the scissors.”
When she handed over the instrument, he slipped the disk between the blades and cut it in half. Then he cut it again. Was it safe to keep it, now that it was destroyed? Taking a chance, he slipped the pieces into his pocket.
Grace stood up, wavering on her feet.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she answered, but her voice was thin.
“You put alcohol on it?”
“Yes.”
He was about to lead her back to the car when he heard a police siren in the distance and knew they had to get out of
the store before the cops arrived and started asking questions. Like why John Ridgeway’s brother was on the run.
Which meant they’d better not go back to the stolen car sitting in the parking lot.
“Come on. We can’t let the police find us here.”
“Why not?”
“That trip down the mountain was designed to set us up as conspirators fleeing from the law. We don’t know if they’ve already put out the story that we’re guilty of killing John. Or Karen, for that matter.”
Grace nodded, then followed him down the aisle, toward a different door from the one where they’d come in.
Since they’d been in the store, they hadn’t seen many customers. But now the people who’d been shopping were streaming toward the exits, along with many of the employees.
Peeking out from behind a rack of men’s shirts, Brady watched two cops enter the store by the door they’d originally come in.
“Stay back,” he warned Grace.
When the officers had disappeared down an aisle leading to the drugstore area, he grabbed a couple of shirts and handed one to Grace. They huddled between two racks of clothing as he pulled the tabs off the merchandise and dragged his T-shirt off and over his head. Moments later, he was wearing the new shirt.
“Put on that shirt,” he told her. “We both have to look different.”
While she quickly complied, he reached behind a counter and pulled out a plastic bag.
After thrusting the old shirts and his hat inside, he took Grace’s hand as they walked to the exit. Once outside, he pulled her into the crowd of customers milling on the sidewalk.
As they tried to blend with the shoppers, one of the bad guys came running out of the other door, heading for the black car that had appeared after Grace had entered the store. Before the thug reached it, a cop caught up with him and pulled him to a stop. The other guy was just closing the door as the car that had brought him roared away.
“So much for loyalty among kidnappers,” Grace murmured.
He sighed.
“What?”
“The car we stole is still here. And my fingerprints are all over the interior.”
