“I just never pictured Matthew Dawson going all domestic. You should have seen him when we were working a case. Very intense and always completely focused on the job.”
I could believe it. I had caught glimpses of the intensity that lurked just below the calm exterior. It was a little scary and very, very hot.
Matt shrugged, seeming a little self-conscious. Then he looked at me and smiled. “Well, it’s nice having someone to worry about besides myself.”
They all smiled, and it was my turn to feel a bit uncomfortable, but Nash said, “It suits you, Matt. The truth is you look happier and more relaxed than I’ve ever seen you, despite all this trouble you’ve gotten involved in.”
“Well, I’m disappointed,” said McAlister. “Does this mean no more Friday nights out for Jamie? The guys down at the club are really going to miss him.”
I glared at him. “You’re just mad because you’re too late! I’m already taken.”
They laughed at that, and Matt looked pleased.
I barely managed half my sandwich, despite Matt’s disapproving stare. I just wanted to be finished with the whole mess so my life could return to some semblance of normalcy.
Nash picked up the laptop, and the four of us got into the elevator to head down to the parking garage. We had started toward Nash’s car when McAlister turned casually toward Nash, and suddenly his gun was against Nash’s head. Nash reacted instantly, dodging and reaching for his own gun, but McAlister cursed and knocked him on the head with the butt of his gun. I started to yell, but at the same time, a big man stepped from behind one of the garage support poles to grab me and press his forearm tightly across my throat.
Matt started toward me, but the man lifted a gun and held it against my head, and Matt froze. “That’s right,” the man said in low, cold voice. “We heard about how you took down Rastin and John so easy, but you won’t do anything to risk hurting your boy here, will you? Because I will hurt him. Don’t doubt that. I won’t kill him yet, but I can make him wish he were dead.”
Matt turned pale and held his hands out as a sign he wasn’t going to start anything.
The man continued, “On the ground, spread-eagle, now.”
Matt started to kneel, saying, “Listen, you don’t have to hurt him. Just tell us what you want.”
The man’s arm tightened around my throat, and I couldn’t breathe. The pressure increased, and I struggled, starting to feel dizzy. Dimly I heard Matt yelling in a panicky voice I had never heard before, “Stop, please, just tell me what you want. Stop it!”
The pressure eased, and I gasped for breath.
“What I want,” the man said in his cold voice, “is for you to do what you’re told instantly and without talking. Is that understood?”
Matt nodded, then stretched out on the floor and held still.
Nash seemed unsteady on his feet but had recovered enough to say angrily, “What the hell is this, McAlister? What do you think you’re doing?”
McAlister already had Nash handcuffed and divested of laptop, gun, and cell phone. “Sorry, Adam, but I’m doing pretty much just what you think I’m doing. Retiring early to a little beach house someplace far, far away.” He shoved Nash into the backseat of a large gray SUV that must have been driven here by the guy holding the gun to my head. He used another set of handcuffs to fasten Nash to the inside of the car door. Nash pulled at the cuffs, cursing, and McAlister raised his gun. “Keep that up, buddy, and I’ll do you now instead of waiting for orders.” Nash glared but held still, probably having figured out that he couldn’t get free anyway.
McAlister moved to Matt, pulling several sets of plastic restraints out of his jacket pocket. “I hear you’re a black belt and an ex-cop, Mr. Tough Guy. Hard to believe after watching you go all goo-goo-eyed at your slutty little boyfriend there.” McAlister pulled Matt’s wrists behind his back and fastened the restraints. “I did his background check. I guess you know what he gets up to every weekend, don’t you? Oh, wait—that’s how you met him. So do you really think he’s going to stop just because you make him a sandwich?”
Matt started to say something, then looked at the arm tightening around my neck and fell silent. McAlister moved down to fasten Matt’s legs and added, “Guess that’s how you turn out when your mother’s a whore.” Matt stared at him, shocked, and I felt my stomach sink to the floor. “Oh, you didn’t know? She’s got arrests for prostitution in several states.”
I closed my eyes briefly, feeling dizzy. This was the one thing I had never told him, had no intention of ever telling him, just as I had never told my grandmother.
McAlister seemed to be enjoying himself. Definitely something of a sadist under that jovial exterior. He backed off and pointed his gun at Matt. “Get up. I know you can get up, even tied, so get your ass in the car, now.” Matt rolled over and got to his knees, and with a grunt of effort, jumped to his feet. He hopped over to the car and almost fell into the backseat beside Nash. He didn’t turn to look at me at all, and I felt my stomach tie up in knots, wondering what he was thinking right now and if he would ever look at me again with that warm smile in his eyes.
Still holding the gun, McAlister got in next to them. The man with the cold voice shoved me into the front passenger seat and used the plastic ties to fasten my wrists together and then to the inside handle of the car door. He got into the driver’s side and started the car. Now that I could see him, I realized that I did know him. George Martinez, the big black-haired man I had almost run into in the hall outside Ethan Brooks’s office. I had identified him at the FBI building along with Rastin. I knew Nash must recognize him too.
I wanted to ask where we were going, but my throat still hurt as a reminder that Martinez did not like people talking out of turn. I could feel the bruises coming up on my neck, but I figured that was the least of my worries. I didn’t understand why we weren’t already dead and the laptop destroyed, if these guys worked for Rastin.
Leaning my head against the window, I closed my eyes. Then I immediately opened them again. We might be helpless to do anything right now, but at least I could try to keep track of our direction. Although the fact that they hadn’t seen the need to blindfold us seemed to indicate that they didn’t expect we would ever have the opportunity share that knowledge.
I sneaked a look behind me. Resting his head against the window, Nash had his eyes closed. He looked pale and had a little blood trickling down under his ear, but his breathing seemed regular, and I thought he might just be trying to conserve his strength.
Matt and McAlister were in a staring contest, McAlister pointing the gun straight at Matt’s head. I thought Matt was just looking for any moment of inattention, but McAlister wouldn’t give it to him.
Nash opened his eyes and tried to talk to McAlister, perhaps hoping to distract him. In a calm, reasonable tone of voice, he said, “Toby, I’m wondering if you’ve thought this all the way through. Stealing evidence, kidnapping a federal agent and federal witnesses? Why don’t you let me help you get out of this mess?”
McAlister never took his eyes off Matt. “I went to the Academy just like you did, Adam. I’m pretty sure I know the consequences of getting caught. Which is why I won’t get caught.”
Nash said, “They’ll be looking for us; you know that. Swenson is expecting us back soon.”
“Swenson has a new lead on Keith Brooks’s red convertible. She’ll be busy chasing it down for hours before she realizes it’s bogus. And yes, I disabled the security camera in the parking garage so when someone does figure out you’re missing, they won’t know where to even begin the search.”
Nash got quiet, leaning his head against the window once more. Turning to look outside again, I realized with astonishment that I didn’t need to pay attention to our destination. I recognized the lovely old neighborhood overlooking the park. We were headed to Ethan Brooks’s home.
Martinez and McAlister marched us inside through a back entrance to which they had a key, our wrists still bou
nd by the plastic restraints. They kept the gun tight to my head as a deterrent to Matt, as they had decided to untie his feet so they wouldn’t have to wait for him.
Once in the large living room, they shoved Nash and Matt to the floor and replaced the plastic restraints on Matt’s legs. I only had a moment to take in the room before McAlister grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a small man with a pockmarked face and startling blue eyes. But that moment was a shock.
Ethan Brooks sat on a chair, looking just like he had that day Rastin left his office, so pale and sweaty I feared he was having a heart attack. But Keith Brooks, sitting beside him, looked almost as bad. So much for his car being spotted on the interstate. Both he and Rastin were tied. Rastin appeared bloody and beaten. Still in one piece, Keith had a strip of duct tape over his mouth and was staring at me with huge, frightened eyes.
Then I spotted John. On the floor and half hidden by the couch, he lay in a pool of blood, and I realized he was dead. I felt the blood drain from my own face, and my knees start to buckle.
McAlister grabbed me then and shoved me forward. “Here he is, Mr. Napier, and I brought his laptop. It should have all the information you need on it. And according to the FBI, it is the only other copy.”
Napier glared at him. “What the hell is this? I told you to bring me the fag accountant and his computer, not the whole damn Bureau. Who the hell are these guys?”
McAlister winced. “No choice, Mr. Napier. This is Nash, the agent who went with me to pick up Morgan, and that’s Matt Dawson, Morgan’s boyfriend.”
“His boyfriend!” Napier snorted. “How sweet. Might prove handy, though, if we need this one’s cooperation.” He looked at me considerately. “I don’t know whether to thank you or kill you now.”
I stared at him. “I know which one I prefer,” I answered faintly.
He laughed, a big loud laugh, and smacked me hard on the arm. “I hear you’re good at your job, Morgan. You found some evidence that my former and soon to be dead employee Rastin and this slime, Keith Brooks, were skimming from me.”
I opened my mouth to deny it. I had only found an account irregularity, nothing more, but Nash caught my eye and gave a slight nod. I looked down at the floor uneasily. He wanted me to play along, I thought, maybe buy some time. I didn’t know if I could do that. I looked at Matt, afraid to see the anger and disgust in his eyes, but I couldn’t stop myself. He gazed back at me with such a look of warmth and devotion that I almost cried. He was scared too—I could see it—but he wanted me to know how much he loved me. The look steadied me, gave me strength I hadn’t thought possible.
Just then Ethan Brooks spoke up. “James, I am so sorry you got involved in this, my boy. I was trying to protect everyone, and now I’ve failed completely.” He looked paler than ever. He added as if talking to himself, “At least my Samantha is safe away.”
“You think so, old man?” Napier said in a threatening tone. “You think I can’t find your wife if I want to? And your kids and grandkids? I’ve already told you what’s going to happen if you don’t keep your mouth shut.”
I took a deep breath. “Mr. Brooks doesn’t look so good,” I said, nodding at Ethan. “He has heart problems. Don’t you think he needs a doctor?”
McAlister said impatiently, “He’s going to need an undertaker in a minute. Let’s get going.”
Napier pushed me into a chair, and McAlister set my laptop on a little table. “I want to see what’s on this thing,” Napier said. “Show me.”
I hesitated, and McAlister went to Matt, twisted a hand in his hair, and pulled his head back. He held the gun to Matt’s neck. “No!” I cried out. “Leave him alone. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“He does now,” Napier said calmly. “Don’t make me ask again.”
I held up my bound hands. “Can we untie these so I can work? I don’t think I’m much threat to a bunch of guys with guns.”
“No, I don’t suppose you are.” Napier nodded at Martinez, and he cut off the plastic restraints. I rubbed my wrists, trying to get the circulation going again. Then I opened the laptop and booted it up. I tried to take my time. I didn’t know what Nash had in mind, or if it was just wishful thinking on his part, but I did know I wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible. I looked at Matt again. He seemed so calm, but I knew he was watching for any opening, any moment of distraction. I didn’t see how he could do anything, tied hand and foot and confronted by three armed men. But I did admire how he never gave up looking for that opening, and that gave me the courage not to throw myself to the floor sobbing in terror.
I started hunting for files, taking my time and looking through them. I said, “I’m not sure this information will mean much on its own. But maybe you or your accountants will be able to interpret it. I assume you have your own accountants for this kind of operation?”
Napier didn’t like that. “Well, it damned well better mean something. I need to prove it was Rastin and Keith Brooks skimming from us.”
“So your bosses think it was you stealing the money?”
McAlister knocked me over the head. “Quit stalling, Morgan. Bring up the damn file.” I’m sure he thought it was a light knock, but I felt light-headed for a second.
I heard Matt yell, “He’s not going to be any use to you if he’s unconscious, you idiot.”
McAlister turned on him and raised his gun. “You shut up. I’m not sure we need you at all anymore.”
“No!” I said, “I’m fine. It’s okay, Matt. I’m fine. And you, McAlister, if you hurt him, I swear I won’t lift another finger. I don’t care if you kill me.” I meant what I said, and I guess they saw that, because he backed off.
I retrieved one of the files. Napier stared at the numbers on the spreadsheet and looked frustrated. “What the hell does that mean?” he said angrily.
Nash said, “Did you think it would have their signatures on it? It doesn’t mean much on its own. It’s like a puzzle piece that our investigators want to fit in with their own information.”
I turned to Napier. “This is what I was trying to tell you. I can show you this data, but you need someone who knows what they’re looking at to interpret it in the context of other account information.”
My head throbbed, and I was making it up as I went along, but Napier was listening. In fact, he seemed amused. “And that someone would be you?”
“A deal, Napier. I’m damned good at my job; you said so yourself.” I took a deep breath. “Let those two go.” I nodded at Matt and Nash. “I’ll go with you and work with your people to figure out this mess. I’ll tell you exactly what Keith and Rastin have been doing. I just need a little time and access to the rest of the accounts.”
“You’ve got some balls, for a little fag accountant. I’m almost tempted.” He actually sounded regretful. “But it’s too risky, leaving all these witnesses. Anyway”—he walked over to Keith and twisted his hand in his hair until Keith moaned in pain—“I’m going to take this one with me. I don’t think I’ll have any problem getting the full story out of him. Will I, pretty boy?”
Keith made another little moaning noise through the tape. I almost—not quite, but almost—felt sorry for him.
Napier stepped back. “It’s time to clean up this mess.” He turned to Ethan. “You’ve been useful, Brooks, but I don’t think even a threat against your family is going to keep you quiet about what you’ve seen today. Afraid you’re going to have to go too. Although I suppose if I wait long enough, your heart might do it for me.”
Despite all I had seen so far, I was still shocked. “You can’t just kill everyone. Matt, Nash, me, Ethan… Who else? Rastin, what about him? It’s…it’s…mass murder. It’s…”
Napier said, “It’s eliminating witnesses, and we’ll be long gone before anyone finds the bodies.” He turned toward Rastin. “Yes, definitely this rat bastard traitor too. I’ll have the pleasure of doing him myself.” And with that Napier pulled out his own gun, and in one quick, smoot
h motion, put it to Rastin’s head and pulled the trigger. Blood spattered everywhere.
I cried out and jumped up from the chair. I had seen a lot of violence when in my youth—bums fighting over a pair of shoes, drunks snarling over a few dollars. But never anything so quick and so cold-blooded.
McAlister shoved me back down into the chair and started to put his gun to my head. Just then another shot rang out. I thought Napier had fired again, but suddenly Matt started yelling, “Get down, Jamie. Get on the floor!” I threw myself to the floor, doing what he said automatically without understanding what was happening.
Matt rolled toward me and swept his legs under McAlister’s, knocking him to the floor. McAlister landed hard, his gun flying out of his hand, but he recovered quickly and put an elbow into Matt’s stomach. Matt lost his breath with a grunt. Suddenly furious, I grabbed the gun where it had fallen near me. But then Martinez appeared, his hand striking my wrist hard. I screamed in pain and dropped the gun. Matt tried to sweep his feet from under him as he had McAlister’s, but Martinez was quicker, putting a boot hard into Matt’s side. I heard the loud crunch and screamed out Matt’s name.
Another shot rang out, and I saw Martinez look down at his chest as if puzzled. A red blossom appeared, and he slowly toppled over.
Then we were surrounded by SWAT and even more chaos as they wrestled Napier and the others into handcuffs. I crawled over to Matt, frantically touching him with my one good hand. “Baby, Matt, my God. You’re hurt.” I babbled incoherently.
His eyes were closed in pain, but when I stroked his face, he opened them and tried to smile and reassure me. “I think it’s a couple of cracked ribs. Nothing I haven’t had before.” But his face had turned white, and speaking seemed to cause him pain. I looked around frantically for help.
Swenson appeared out of the mass of uniforms. She started to help Matt sit up so she could cut his hands free, but I stopped her. “Wait, wait, that asshole kicked him in the ribs. I heard the crunch.”
She sat back on her heels and said, “Shit. Well, paramedics will be here any second.”
Friday Night Jamie Page 18
