by Leigh, Jo
“I figured Emerson would like to know what you’re up to.”
“Emerson told me to relax. Get laid. I’m just following his advice.”
“Bullshit, Yarrow. I know who she is.”
“You don’t know—” Vince stopped at the sound of the engine, and turned just in time to see Kate take off like a bat out of hell. Damn it.
“Oh, I like her,” Baker said. “Feisty.”
“Shut up, you asshole.”
“See you in the funny papers.” The reporter walked away, whistling, just to be a jerk.
Vince jogged to his car, cursing the reporter and cursing Kate. He had no idea where she’d gone, but he had to find her. If the gangbangers saw her picture in the paper, they’d make sure she’d never testify.
Chapter 4
She came back at seven. Vince was sitting on the floor next to her motel door, a cold cup of coffee in his hand, a smile hiding his frustration at a day that had knocked the wind out of him. His informant Eddie, a junkie too long without a fix, had given him nothing at all, and it was only a matter of time until the Captain had his ass in a permanent sling.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
Kate didn’t look like her day had been much better. She stood in front of him, scowling. On her, it looked pretty good. “Nothing’s changed. You’re still making my life miserable. Who was that guy, and why did he take my picture?”
Vince got to his feet, his knees cracking like split kindling. “I’ve missed you. Any luck on the new job?”
“I’m not interested in chatting with you. I want you gone. Out of my life.”
“No can do. Especially now.”
She closed her eyes. “Why?”
“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but that wasn’t a guy. It was a reporter.”
She cursed, and, oddly, that looked good on her, too. “What have you done to me?”
“Me? I didn’t do a thing. The minute you give me your statement, I’m all about protection. You wouldn’t have a thing to worry about.”
“Except for gangbangers coming to kill me.”
“We should talk about that.”
She gazed at him for a long moment. He needed a shower, a shave, some sleep. She wished he didn’t.
Then she opened her door and walked silently into the motel room, leaving him to follow. She put her coat and bag away, ran a hand through that silky hair, then nodded toward the little table. “I’ve got tea and instant coffee.”
“Coffee would be great.”
“I hope you take it black.”
“Yep.” He took a wobbly seat and watched her move about the small, tidy room. Her clothes matched what he knew about her, that she’d gone from one low-level job to another, from one crummy apartment to the next. He still didn’t quite believe the stalker story. Not because it couldn’t have happened—that kind of crap was more prevalent than anyone wanted to believe—but because he’d found nothing about it in the records. No restraining orders, no complaints at all.
More than her plain sweater and beige pants, the thing that didn’t fit her was her presence. She was a woman to be reckoned with. Nothing about her was timid or weak. He wanted, more than he should, to figure out this mystery.
She brought out a heating coil and plugged it in the wall, then took two foam cups and put in instant coffee for him, a tea bag for her. The whole process took about five minutes. He continued to watch. Mostly her hands, which were strong and lean, her nails short but neat, and her face, which showed no expression other than a quiet determination.
When she handed him the coffee, she took her tea and sat on the edge of the bed. “So talk.”
Damn, he liked her. Straightforward, no games, not in the least coy. Other than lying through her teeth, she was all right. “The reporter’s name is Baker, and he’s a prick of the first order. I don’t know how he found out about you. Maybe the same way I did.”
“The videotape.”
“Right.”
“What paper does he work for?”
“The Times.”
She looked away for a moment. When she looked back, she seemed infinitely tired. “Is there any way you can stop him from running the picture?”
“No.”
“So these murderers are going to think I can ID them.”
“Yes.”
“And they’ll come after me.”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Would it do any good for you to tell this reporter that I didn’t see them?”
“I doubt it, but I can try.”
She sipped her tea. “Are you telling me the truth? That you didn’t tell Baker to force me into testifying?”
“I am. Although I still want you to do that.”
“Why is it so hard for you to believe me?”
He put his cup down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’d like to. Honest. But I was there. I crouched down, just where you’d have been, and I looked in that mirror. There’s no way you would have known it was killers coming into the room. Tim heard a knock. He went to the door. You could see the door. It’s human nature to look. You’d want to know. It’s as simple as that.”
“I was doing my job.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’d have looked. Anyone would have. And even if you saw them for a few seconds, that would have been enough. You would have seen if they were black, Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian. You’d have seen clothing. Weapons. Maybe tattoos.”
“It makes a lot of sense, what you just said. But I didn’t see. I would tell you if I did. I didn’t.”
He sat back up. “Sorry. Not buying it.”
“When I was a kid,” she said, “I had this phobia. I had nightmares about it, even though I have no recollection of where the fear started. I used to dream that I was being held prisoner and that I was being tortured. The guard wanted me to tell him something, but I had no clue what he was talking about. I wanted, more than anything, to tell him what he wanted to know, but I couldn’t. So I just kept getting tortured. Sound familiar?”
“Wow,” he said. “You’re good.”
“You’re making this very difficult.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Harassment? Endangering my life? Nice job you’ve got there.”
He stood, and walked over to the bed. Kate didn’t seem alarmed, not even when he sat down next to her. “If you don’t want to testify, I suppose there’s not much I can do to force you. But I’d bet good money that Baker’s gonna run that picture, and when he does, you’re going to need help.”
“Now it’s blackmail? Nice.”
He studied her eyes. They were brown, a café au lait, and they were intelligent. Observant. And very attractive. He shifted his gaze down to her lips, and, once again, they were surprising. Not terribly lush, not like what was so popular right now, but they were smooth and perfect with her face. Altogether a remarkable looking woman who was working very hard to be as unremarkable as possible. “I can keep you safe.”
“How?”
“Let me make some phone calls.”
“Gonna call the cops?”
“Yeah.”
She put her cup down on the rickety nightstand. “Tell me something. How do you have so much time to devote to little old me? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I know your friend’s death isn’t the only crime this city has seen for two days.”
“It’s the only one I care about.”
“So they just let you pick your cases?”
He smiled. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“I think I could follow along.”
“I’ll bet you could. If I could tell you.”
“Detective Yarrow, I think you’re full of crap. I have things to do. Coffee hour is over.”
“This isn’t a joke, Kate. These gangbangers’ll kill you without a second thought.”
She sighed. “Make your phone calls. Then let me know what you’re offering.”
“Good enough.” He we
nt to her door, but before he left he turned once again. “I’m curious. This guy that’s stalking you. How come you never reported him to the police.”
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t. I looked.”
“You looked in the wrong place. Now I really do have things to do.”
Damn, he really did like her. He sincerely hoped she’d get out of this alive.
* * * * *
NATE AND SETH WERE QUIET in the elevator as they rode up to the roof of the downtown Los Angeles office of Omicron. It was just past seven, and most of the employees had gone home.
Nate went over the plan once more. He’d done everything possible to make sure this went off without a hitch, but he wouldn’t relax until the job was finished.
They were walking into the lion’s den. They had their fake work orders, he knew exactly where they were going to thread the fiber optic cable, just where to position the cameras and the microphones, but, still, anything could happen. The wrong person could ask the wrong questions, and that would be that. Operation over.
Not to mention they’d both end up dead.
But, just like every mission he’d taken on for the military, he wouldn’t think about what could go wrong. Seth knew more about surveillance equipment than anyone Nate knew, and that was saying a lot.
He trusted the plan, and he trusted Seth. When they were finished they’d be able to see all of Leland Ingram’s office and hear every word spoken. And, Nate was sure, Leland Ingram would lead them to the real prize. To the man who was the power behind Omicron.
It had to be someone high up the food chain. Someone who could get the millions of dollars necessary to run a covert operation of this magnitude. Someone who had the President’s trust.
All the planning Nate had done over the past year would pay off, starting tonight. Nothing would go wrong. There was too much riding on success.
The elevator door opened. No one was on the roof. He looked at Seth. “Let’s lock and load.”
Seth grinned. “Roger that.”
* * * * *
Kate got up at 6:10 a.m., feeling worse than she had when she went to bed. She’d slept with her gun under her pillow, although that’s not what had kept her up.
She’d seriously considered every aspect of telling Yarrow what he wanted to know. But, in the end, she’d come to the conclusion that she had to keep her secret. Because if she told him any part of what she’d seen that day in the hotel, she’d have to testify eventually. And that would make her a sitting duck.
The picture in the paper, which she felt sure was going to happen, was bad enough. She had to disappear. This time, though, she wouldn’t even dare stay in Los Angeles. She’d ask Nate to send her to Colorado, where she could work with Cade. Nate had told her Cade had a cabin no one would ever find. Or maybe she’d just go off on her own. Hell, she could be a waitress anywhere, right?
But she had to decide fast. At the very least, she had to leave this place. Ditch Yarrow and disappear. She’d call Nate at seven, and find out what intel he’d gathered. Last night, he’d calmed her down somewhat, but they’d all agreed that her only recourse was to go where no one could find her.
She stepped into the shower, trying to recall one thing she’d read last night about her new history. Other than the fact that she had an older brother and a younger sister, which she’d had in her real life, nothing else had stuck.
The thought made her throat tighten. She tried so hard not to think of her family, but it was hardest when she was learning to be a new Kate. She adored her family and missed them so desperately that sometimes it felt as if it would kill her.
They all lived in Washington, D.C., so the odds of them seeing her picture were slim, but God, what if…She couldn’t imagine what they’d think, how hurt they’d be if they realized she’d been alive all this time and never contacted them. Her father had a heart condition, and her biggest nightmare was that news of her covert life since Kosovo would kill him.
She forced herself to stop. Just stop. Thoughts of her family sent her into a deadly spiral of pain and regret, and there was too much at stake to go there. She turned off the shower and instantly went still when she heard banging on the front door.
Her stomach clenched as she grabbed a towel and got herself dry as quickly as she could. The banging got louder, and she wondered what new horror was about to enter her life.
She pulled her jeans up over still-damp thighs, which was a real treat. With her hair still wrapped in a towel and her T-shirt sticking to her skin, she tucked her gun into her ankle holster, then went to the door and looked through the peephole.
Yarrow. He was beating on the door like a madman, and when she opened the door, he almost fell inside the room.
“What?”
“Get your stuff together. Now.”
“What? Why?”
“Do it. Don’t argue.”
He crossed the room and looked outside, down into the parking lot. His curse brought her next to him, and when she looked down she saw her car, totally engulfed in flames. Only then did she hear the distant sirens.
“Oh, my God.” The car burned fast, as if it had been doused with an accelerant. A crowd was gathering and she wanted to shout at them to get away, that the gas tank could explode any minute. For a moment, she thought Omicron had found her, but that couldn’t be. They’d never bother with burning her car unless she was in it. This was a warning from the gang that had killed Tim Purchase. “How did they find me?”
“It doesn’t matter now. Pack,” Yarrow said, shutting the drapes only to pull his cell out of his pocket.
Kate got her ass in gear. No matter what, she couldn’t stay here. And now, she had no car. So she’d go with Yarrow until she could get in touch with Nate. At this rate, he wasn’t going to ever get his work done. Not while he had to deal with one crisis after another on her behalf.
Of course, the box was the most important thing, but she focused first on her clothes. Good thing she didn’t have many. As she emptied the closet, she heard Yarrow ask if the coast was clear. She wondered how good his men were. If it had been Nate or Seth, she wouldn’t have worried; they would have checked every shadow. But the police? Sadly, she didn’t have much faith there, but she also didn’t have many options.
“What else?” he asked, his impatience making her more nervous.
She put the rest of her clothes in her suitcase, then went into the bathroom and collected her few belongings there. She dropped her towel and ran a quick brush through her wet hair, then went back to the bed. There, she saw her new papers sitting on the bedside table. She quickly put them back in the envelope and put them in her tote. “That’s it. You get the suitcase.”
He took it to the door, while she put on her coat, grabbed her tote and the box.
Yarrow called down once more, making sure everything was ready, then he hurried her into the dank hallway. At the bottom of the stairs, his car waited, running, the trunk open. She debated holding the box, but he’d have too many questions about it, so she put it in the trunk next to her suitcase. He slammed it shut, then she rushed to the passenger door, keeping her head low.
A man she didn’t know shut her door, then pounded twice on the roof. Just then, the fire truck arrived, and Yarrow took off like a shot. She hunkered down, afraid someone with a camera phone would take her picture, take a picture of his car. They dodged a couple of black-and-whites, then they were on the street.
Three turns later, he slowed the car and Kate sat up straighter. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.”
She turned to face the window so he wouldn’t see her incredulity. There was nowhere safe.
Yarrow got out his cell once more. This time, he asked for Captain Emerson.
She listened carefully to his conversation and gathered that Yarrow was in trouble, not just for taking her from the motel, but for getting her picture in the paper in the first place.
She looked into the back seat, and th
ere it was. The Los Angeles Times. She grabbed it, expecting her photo to be on page one, but she wasn’t that important. In fact, she was on page three, and, lucky for her, the photo wasn’t that big. You couldn’t make out any of the details of her face, unless you knew what you were looking for.
The article itself said that she had been an employee at the hotel, and that she was a material witness. Great. Marvelous. There was no doubt at all that somehow Omicron would know it hadn’t been Kate Rydell, but Katherine Ashman, the woman who had worked in the stuffy accounting office in Kosovo, dutifully adding up numbers and detailing her notes so that the U.N. could supervise the change of regimes. The woman, so young and inexperienced, who had first discovered a rogue CIA operation that involved selling illegal chemical weapons to other nations.
“All right,” Yarrow said, putting his phone back in his jacket pocket.
“All right, what?”
“We’ve got a place to go.”
“Where?”
He looked at her, then back at the road while he got onto the freeway. “A safe house.”
“A safe house where?”
He sighed. “What difference does it make? It’s safe. They won’t find you there.”
“It matters to me.”
“Tujunga, okay?”
She looked at the paper on her lap and she had no energy to finish the article, so she stared out the window as the car slowed for traffic. She needed to call Nate, to make sure he knew where she was so he could get her. But there wasn’t a thing she could do until she got the address.
“You okay?”
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think this whole thing would go a lot easier if you told me who torched your car.”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. They’re the same people who killed Tim.”
She turned to him again. He was all rumpled, as if he’d run out of his house without bothering to check a mirror. His shirt was a pale blue, clean and ironed; the only thing on him that didn’t look worn. His pants were as wrinkled as his jacket. It occurred to her that he hadn’t come from home at all. He’d done as he’d promised and stuck to her twenty-four-seven. “You just don’t give up, do you?”
