by Debra Webb
All the little inconsistencies she’d noted in Justin’s behavior suddenly whirled inside her head. His passionate lovemaking. Her unexpected attraction to him from the moment he returned from the dead, when those feelings toward him had long ago died.
This couldn’t be happening.
She needed help.
She started to get up but hesitated. She reached for the phone and then stilled. Her every move, her every word was being monitored for the sake of national security…for posterity.
She had to get out of here.
Had to call someone…Dennis.
He would know what to do.
Caroline grabbed her purse and rushed to the executive washroom. She closed herself in one of the stalls, knowing her privacy would not be invaded there, and entered Dennis’s private number.
He picked up on the third ring.
“Are you in the middle of a session?” She swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. Dammit. She did so hate to cry. Presidents weren’t supposed to cry unless national tragedy struck. A mere marital problem didn’t count. But this…this was so much more than that. With every fiber of her being she understood that.
She heard the muffled sound of her friend’s voice as he asked that whoever was in the room excuse him for a moment. She heard him get up and then a few seconds later a door closed.
“What’s up, Caroline?”
“I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the day,” she said, her voice quavering. In less than an hour she had a luncheon engagement. A Secret Service agent likely waited outside the door. She was supposed to meet with Winslow again. But she had to know what this meant…the recording…the murders…
“Don’t worry about it. Tell me what’s going on. Has something else happened? You haven’t been shot at again, have you?” He chuckled in an attempt to inject some humor into the moment. “You sound like you’re in a well.”
She huddled her free hand around her mouth as she spoke, not wanting anyone else to hear. “The calls…it was Justin.”
Silence.
“Quantico did a voice analysis. It’s him. No question. And there have been all these other little changes like—”
“Like his sudden about-face where his sexuality was concerned,” Dennis guessed.
Caroline nodded, a sob tearing at her chest. “I don’t know what to do. Last night I even found him looking at some of my reports. He’s never done anything like that before. I’m not afraid of him,” she hastened to add. “But something is wrong and he refuses to seek additional medical care.”
She started to shake. First her arms and legs and then her torso.
“Okay. We need an intervention here, babe. He’s—”
“Oh, God.” Nausea roiled. “The hospital. They’re all dead,” she told him, hysteria rising. “The doctor, the nurse, the administrator. Anyone who had anything to do with his care in that Mexican hospital is dead. And his file is missing.”
“Holy cow.” The words were a hiss of breath. “Caroline, I’ll tell you straight up that I noticed a few differences myself, but I rationalized them away. It was so easy. With the crash and the coma. But something’s wrong here. Very wrong. You’ve got to get him confined until you can get to the bottom of the situation.”
“Confined?” She clutched the phone in an effort to still her shaking hands. “What do you mean? Like committed?”
“No, no. Nothing nearly so dramatic as that. The press would have a field day with it. Tell your security supervisor that you suspect something is out of sync. Have them hold Justin in your suite of rooms until you can have him evaluated. Hell, I’ll come over there and do the mental evaluation myself. Get one of those generals over at Walter Reed who has nothing else to do to pop over there pronto and do the physical. Meanwhile get the CIA and FBI or one of those three-letter agencies down to Mexico. This is all wrong. Hell, babe, you know what to do.”
Caroline moistened her lips. He was right. She did know what to do. “The temporary administrator said someone had already been there.” How could that be? Surely she would know about it? The CIA briefed her every morning. And what the hell was she doing cowering in a bathroom stall with this insanity going down around her? Determination seared through her and she pushed out of the stall.
Some part of her realized that this new vulnerability was associated with the intensity of her physical relationship with Justin—she was still finding her balance there—as well as with his sudden resurrection from the dead.
But she had to be strong now, had to do what she did best. Take charge.
“How soon can you get here, Dennis?”
She dampened a paper towel and cleaned up her face.
“It’ll be later this evening. I’m scheduled straight through until seven. Unless you think I should come now. I can cancel—”
“No.” She shook her head in punctuation of the word. “Come when you’re finished for the day. I’ll tell the service staff you’re coming for dinner. You’ve been here before. No one will think anything of that.” The other necessary steps she would need to take ticked off one by one in her head. She would get this done. Protect Justin from himself or whoever was involved in this.
“Be careful, Caroline,” Dennis warned before disconnecting. “If he’s unstable he could hurt you.”
Her hand went instinctively to her throat…
CAIN WATCHED on the monitor as Caroline came back into her office. He’d paced the halls since walking away from her. He hadn’t been able to follow his orders. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt her. And now he had only two choices. He could call O’Riley and tell him that he should be replaced or he could take Caroline and run.
The latter was the only way to ensure her safety.
Since there was no way he could walk away and leave her to face certain death, running was the only real option.
All he had to do was get her out of this building.
Once free of these walls, no one could touch him.
He was too good at evasion. His training was far too extensive for the most highly trained security personnel even to come close.
Cain considered the items he would need. A weapon and a secure cellular phone, both of which could be gotten from any one of the agents on Caroline’s security detail. He only needed to disable one of them.
He took the corridor that would lead to their bedroom suite. He would snag an agent en route and leave him in the room to regain consciousness.
“Justin.”
The sound of Caroline’s voice made him hesitate. It startled him that he hadn’t sensed her presence. Was he so focused that he hadn’t felt her come up behind him? Or were those alien emotions controlling more than his heart?
“I’m sorry, Justin, but this is the only way.”
Before her words fully assimilated in his brain, four agents had surrounded him. He took two down in as many seconds. When he went for the third, a weapon readied for firing, the sound echoing around him.
“Don’t move, Mr. Winters,” Agent Levitt ordered.
Cain felt the cold steel pressed against the side of his skull, saw the terror in Caroline’s eyes.
“Please, Justin,” she begged, “don’t make this worse than it needs to be. We have to understand what’s going on here.”
A tear spilled down her cheek and the sight paralyzed Cain.
Cuffs bound his hands tightly behind his back, and three more agents showed up to assist Levitt with ushering him into the room.
Caroline stood watching, mute with emotion.
Seeing her that way hurt so badly Cain could scarcely think.
Even more painful was the realization that she no longer trusted him.
There was nothing he could do to protect her.
She was lost to him.
Even if he could somehow escape she would not want trust him enough to believe anything he said.
He was just as dead to her as her husband.
Chapter Thirteen
“Mr. Winters,
we want you to relax,” Agent Levitt said.
Cain didn’t look at the man who’d spoken. He had nothing to say to him. His only concern was finding a way to keep Caroline safe whether she ever trusted him again or not.
Anguish charged through him leaving a desolation he had never before experienced. Leaving him with an emptiness that overwhelmed his senses.
“This will keep you calm.”
Cain’s head snapped up.
Levitt moved toward him with a hypodermic needle in his hand.
“Where did that come from?” another of the agents asked.
“The president wanted to make sure he wouldn’t hurt himself,” Levitt told him. “A physician is on his way to examine him.”
Cain tensed. He couldn’t afford to be unconscious or calm. He had to act.
“Whoa!” The two agents on either side of him attempted to pin him to the chair.
The needle pierced his skin. Cain flinched. He felt the sting of whatever toxin the hypodermic contained flowing through his veins.
He relaxed instantly. This would work to his advantage.
His eyes closed and he focused on blocking the effect of the drug. He mentally pictured the chemical receptors in his body, closed each, numbed them to the foreign substance attempting to gain entrance.
He pictured Caroline…safe. He would keep her that way. Nothing would stop him.
Washington, D.C.
Liberty Bar & Grill
Execution
RICHARD O’RILEY sipped his soda water and waited for his guest to arrive at the less than swank Capitol Hill bar. He’d ordered his old friend his preferred drink.
It would end today.
The Collective had sanctioned this final phase of the mission.
O’Riley had only one regret. He hadn’t seen this one coming. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to. He and Winslow were the last of those who had been there from the beginning. Waylon Galen aside, that is. But that bastard didn’t count. If he lived until sundown he would be a lucky man.
But then he’d been lucky for nearly two decades now.
The man was like a cat, appeared to have nine lives.
His luck wouldn’t hold out forever. The Collective knew he was still alive now. Finding him wouldn’t be that difficult. When he was gone, the Concern would no longer exist. That, to O’Riley’s way of thinking, was top priority. The Concern represented the kind of evil America fought hard to uproot so that it would wither and die.
The evil presently coming in O’Riley’s direction would not escape that fate either.
O’Riley stood and offered his hand. “Afternoon, Congressman.” After the perfunctory handshake, he gestured to the frosty mug of beer. “I took the liberty of ordering for you.”
Winslow took a long draw from his glass as soon as he settled at the table. He licked his lips and smiled at his old friend. “It’s a scorcher out there today.”
“It may rain later,” O’Riley repeated what he’d heard on the radio on the way over from his hotel. Might as well trade a bit of small talk.
Winslow made a sound of acknowledgment before gulping another long swallow of his frothy beer.
O’Riley brought his own glass back to his lips wishing like hell the soda water would suddenly morph into bourbon. But he didn’t drink anymore. He’d learned his lesson where that habit was concerned. For the first few months after his wife had left him he’d depended far too much on the old reliable companion. He’d almost allowed it to rule him, but he’d recognized the signs and turned his back on all forms of alcohol. It took strict discipline to survive in this business. O’Riley possessed the necessary discipline that so few others did.
That lack of discipline usually cost more than they had anticipated paying.
Too bad no one seemed to realize the price until it was too late.
“So, what’s the urgency?” Winslow wanted to know. He removed his finely tailored jacket and laid it across the bench seat on his side of the booth. “I thought we had this operation under control.”
“Some compelling new evidence has come to our attention,” O’Riley explained. His cellular phone buzzed and he produced a smile for his old comrade. “Excuse me a moment.”
He opened the phone and gave his usual gruff bark of a greeting. “O’Riley.”
“Sir, Dupree here.”
“What’ve you got for me?” He’d been waiting for this call. In his opinion preparation was the biggest part of the game. No one would ever accuse him of being underprepared.
“Your suspicions were right, sir,” Dupree acknowledged. “The page from the Mattson file that Cain provided is a fake.”
“Explain.” Facts, O’Riley operated on facts more often than hunches. He needed details.
“We tested the paper and it was from a common lot manufactured early this year. No way could it be a part of a file more than ten years old. Someone created the report and placed it in Mattson’s stored files.”
So, Winslow had set Caroline up. When he couldn’t persuade her to go along with his suggestion that she reallocate Eugenics funding to Genesis, he’d created motivation. He knew how much the woman had loved and respected her father. If the late Congressman Mattson had supported Genesis, so should she. Cain had suspected a setup when he’d read the file. He’d been right.
“Well done. I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes, sir.”
O’Riley snapped his phone closed and dropped it back into his pocket.
Winslow glanced at him. “Everything all right?”
“Right on schedule,” O’Riley allowed.
“What’s this new evidence you’ve uncovered?” Winslow prodded, too damned arrogant even to suspect that it involved him. Had he really expected to get away with this?
O’Riley placed both hands on the table in plain sight and looked directly into his old friend’s eyes. “We know what you’ve been up to, Terry. My only question is why?”
Terrence Winslow laughed, the sound short and choked. “What’re you talking about, Richard?” he demanded, pretending to be amused. “You know how busy I am. I really don’t have time for games. I have a command performance in this afternoon’s session.” He took another sip of his beer. O’Riley didn’t miss the slight tremor in his hand.
“The Collective knows. We all do.”
Winslow placed his glass on the table, his gaze heavy with uncertainty as he met O’Riley’s. “Then you shouldn’t have to ask the why.”
It was O’Riley’s turn to laugh. “Tell me it wasn’t the money.” He leaned forward. “Surely your aspirations were grander than that.”
“You know better than to even suggest that money had anything to do with it,” Winslow lashed back at him. “Why should a nothing yes-boy like Redmond get to be vice president of the United States? I’ve done more for this country than he will ever think of doing.”
O’Riley shrugged. “That may be, but the bottom line is that you sold us out.”
Winslow drew in a deep breath and lifted one shoulder in an answering show of indifference. “We all have a price, Director O’Riley. What’s yours?”
A new kind of fury boiled up inside O’Riley. He didn’t have a price. That’s why he’d sacrificed everything. “Tell me where Galen is,” he demanded.
“You mean you don’t know?” Winslow grinned sheepishly. “Maybe you’re losing your touch.” He shook his head from side to side, his expression smug. “You think you’ve got this all figured out. All you have to do is get rid of Caroline now that she’s been compromised and the situation will be under control once more.” He leaned forward and whispered the rest, “That puts Redmond in charge. Don’t you know? Redmond is in it for the power. He’ll be easier to manipulate than she was. You can’t stop us, Richard. Galen is far too powerful now.”
O’Riley squeezed his fingers into fists to keep from reaching across the table and strangling the bastard. “You set her up with that file. Her father never knew anything about Genesis or Eugenics.”
/>
“I’m surprised at you, old friend,” Winslow said with utter arrogance. “Usually you’re better at this game. Did you really believe I would continue to be happy playing figurehead for the Collective? Galen has far too much more to offer. He’ll put me where I belong—in the White House. Be happy I covered for you as long as I did. I could have told him from the beginning what you’d planned with Cain, but I knew it would work to my advantage…keep Caroline Winters off balance emotionally.”
He shook his head and sighed. “You really dropped the ball this time. It’s so unlike you. Generally you learn the identity of your enemy and you act. But this time you’re still going through the motions, trying to ferret out the truth and make your move. You’re two steps behind.”
“What makes you think I haven’t acted already?”
Winslow’s expression fell. His eyes abruptly rounded then bulged with fear as realization dawned, or perhaps his insides seized with that truth he spoke of so eloquently.
“What have you done?” he wheezed.
“It’s a new designer virus,” O’Riley told him, relaxing in his seat. “Lab Three made it just for you. They took your DNA and determined what your weaknesses were. One drop of the virus in your favorite beer was all it took. It works within minutes. It’s rushing through your veins now—”
Winslow braced his hands on the table so hard it shook with the force. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.
“Don’t bother fighting the effects. It’s too late already. The virus has entered your nervous system. Loss of full control over your limbs happened in under ninety seconds. The ability to speak was gone a few seconds later. Soon you’ll simply slump forward in your chair and die of asphyxiation as your respiratory system shuts down. An autopsy will reveal nothing conclusive. Simple heart failure. They won’t even bother trying to figure out anything beyond that. And this time I’m doing you a favor. Think about it, did you really believe Galen would let you live after he’d used you this way?”
O’Riley tossed a few bills on the table and stood. “Goodbye, old friend.”
He walked away without looking back. He had to get word to Cain that the president’s status had changed. If it was too late…well, that was a bridge he’d have to cross when he came to it.
