Deadly Contact

by Lara Lacombe

“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” he said, flipping through the folder on the bed.

  “What makes you so sure?” the man asked skeptically.

  “I’ve got a better lead,” Caleb said, pulling out a picture. “She’s a postdoc in his lab, and by all reports, he trusts her. She may know where he is. And do you want to know the best part?” he asked, unable to resist taunting this man a little.

  “Do tell.”

  “She’s got the know-how to complete the project. So even if we never see Dr. Collins again, we can still finish what we started.” He tried to keep the satisfaction out of his voice, but it was hard. He had done a damn fine job of salvaging the operation, and he deserved a little appreciation.

  There was a pause as the man digested his words. “That’s good,” he said softly. “But make no mistake, Caleb. You will find Dr. Collins, no matter what it takes. I don’t like loose ends.”

  Caleb swallowed the last of his vodka, hating the twinge of fear that danced down his spine at the implied threat. “What if he can’t be found?”

  “Then I’m going to blame you.” His tone was casual, as if they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “You’re a good operative, Caleb. You’ve done a fine job for us over the years, but you’re getting soft. You know how this operation works—failure must be punished.” He paused, took a sip of something and crushed an ice cube before delivering his final blow. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re irreplaceable.”

  A click and the sound of a dial tone saved Caleb from needing to reply. A good thing, too, because his tongue had gone thick and clumsy at the threat. He had seen the things that happened to people who failed, knew just what his “punishment” would involve.

  He took a deep breath, then stood and walked back to the mini-fridge and pulled out another bottle. Scotch this time. He wasn’t picky now; he just wanted the release it would bring. He poured it into a fresh glass and took a hasty gulp, concentrating on the burn as the alcohol made its way down his throat. Warmth curled in his stomach, and he returned to the bed and stretched out, enjoying the heavy feel of his limbs as he moved.

  He would fix this. He would find the professor and make him pay for this behavior. In the meantime, he pulled out the picture of the woman again and studied it, squinting to bring the image into focus. She was pretty enough, he supposed, with her auburn hair, hazel eyes and heart-shaped face. He could turn her, he thought, blinking against the glaring light of the bedside lamp. He could be very persuasive and charming when the occasion called for it, especially around women. He’d have her eating out of his hand within an hour. And if she resisted? Well, he’d just take her.

  He traced a finger along the curve of her cheek. “You’re mine,” he murmured. “Whether you want it or not, you’re mine now.”

  He reached over and placed the picture carefully on the bedside table, then switched off the lamp. The movement made him slightly dizzy and he lay back against the pillow, liking the pleasant spinning sensation. After a moment he closed his eyes, ready to surrender to the darkness.

  Time to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day, after all.

  For both of them.

  Chapter 4

  Saturday dawned clear and bright, a direct contrast to Kelly’s mood. She hadn’t slept well; her thoughts had kept her awake for most of the night. She went over every interaction she’d had with George in the past month, trying to identify any sign that she had missed. Aside from the Saturday he’d snapped at her, there was nothing to indicate he was unduly worried. Either the FBI was wrong about his involvement or he was a very good actor.

  She frowned at the thought of the FBI as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. Despite telling them everything she knew, she suspected she hadn’t seen the last of them.

  She had invited James inside last night, which had been its own brand of torture, and had given him her key to George’s office. She didn’t think George would be stupid enough to leave incriminating evidence lying around, but he said they had to check it out.

  Having him in her apartment had made her feel more...aware. Not nervous per se, but she had watched him take in her living room, had seen the way his gaze rested on the pictures on her bookshelves and the pile of folded clothes on the couch. He wasn’t overt in his assessment, but she was willing to bet he could describe everything he had seen in great detail, right down to the crooked painting hanging on the wall.

  She headed to the bedroom, stripping off her T-shirt as she walked. Her eyes felt as if they’d been rubbed with sandpaper, but there was no point in going back to bed—she’d never get any sleep with the sun streaming into her room. Time to get cleaned up and go into work. If she had to be awake, at least she could be productive.

  Forty-five minutes later, she unlocked the lab and settled in at her desk. As she waited for her computer to boot up, she heard footsteps in the hall and a door unlocking. That was unusual, but not alarming. Sometimes people came in early on the weekends, wanting to get their work done so they’d have the rest of the day free.

  Her ancient computer was taking its time about coming to life, so she decided to walk down the hall and say hi to the other early bird.

  She stepped out of the lab, expecting to see another lab a few doors down with the door open and lights on. Instead, she found George’s office door open and heard the sounds of rummaging. It seemed the FBI had gotten an early start on their search.

  She stood in the hall for a moment, debating what to do next. Should she poke her head into George’s office and say hi? It was probably James conducting the search, since he was the one who had the key, and after their reunion yesterday it would be rude to ignore him. On the other hand, she really didn’t want to get involved in this investigation any more than she already was.

  In the end, her manners won out. She walked down to George’s office, rapping her fingers on the partially closed door as she pushed it open. “Good morning...” she said, the words trailing off as she realized James was not the person digging in the office.

  The man straightened from behind George’s desk, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up on his nose with a gloved finger. “Good morning,” he responded politely. “You must be Kelly Jarvis.”

  He didn’t appear threatening, but the hair on the back of Kelly’s neck stood up and she could feel her heart thumping. “That’s right,” she said slowly, unsure of how much to reveal. “What’s your name?”

  “Caleb,” he said, sending her a smile. He had dimples, she noticed, but there was something about his eyes that made her uncomfortable. Despite his friendly appearance, they remained cold and assessing.

  “Are you with the FBI?” she asked. “I didn’t see you yesterday.” She watched him carefully, saw his smile slip a bit when she mentioned the FBI. Interesting. “Of course, there were so many new faces, I may have just missed you.”

  He nodded, then said, “I have trouble with names and faces, too, especially when I meet a lot of people at once.” He rounded the desk and moved to stand in front of it, a few paces away from her.

  She backed up a step, not liking him so close. He hadn’t answered her question, but she decided not to press. Whoever this man was, he didn’t belong here, and she didn’t want to provoke him.

  “Well, I just came to say hello. I’m down the hall if you need anything.” She gestured vaguely with her left hand, backing out the door at what she hoped was a reasonable, non-suspicious speed.

  “Actually, there is something you can do for me,” Caleb replied, advancing on her.

  She didn’t stop moving. “What’s that?”

  Quick as a flash, his arm snaked out and his fingers wrapped around her wrist in a painful grip. He yanked her toward him, close enough that she could smell the stale coffee on his breath.

  “You’re going to help me make things right.”

  * * *

  James tugged on the glass doors of the research building, letting out an impatie
nt huff when he discovered they were locked. Kelly hadn’t said anything about needing a key to get in, but then again, he had told her he would swing by on Monday.

  He dug in his pants pocket, fishing out the key to Collins’s office. It was a long shot, but maybe...

  No luck. He cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed them to the tinted glass, squinting to see inside the building. There was a reception desk in the middle of the foyer, but the chair behind it was empty. Either the security guard was making his rounds or no one was on duty today. Considering it was a Saturday, the regular guard was probably off, which meant no one would be around to show him in.

  “So much for getting an early start,” he muttered, stepping back to consider his options. He didn’t see any other entrances to the building, but there had to be a side or back door. It was probably locked, though, so if he went off on a search for other entrances, he’d miss out on an opportunity to be let in if a student or professor arrived.

  He should really call Kelly. She’d be able to get him in and could probably escort him right to Collins’s office. Since he didn’t know the layout of the building, he was going to have to roam around the sixth floor until he found the right room. Kelly could save him a lot of time and trouble, but he didn’t want to contact her. It was probably just paranoia on his part, but the less she knew about the investigation, the better.

  He let his thoughts drift back to yesterday afternoon, replaying the montage that had been running on an endless loop in his mind since last night. Kelly had seemed genuinely shocked at the implication that Collins was involved with a terrorist organization, but he knew from experience how good her acting skills were. After all, hadn’t she seemed to be attracted to him, only to give him the cold shoulder the next morning? He wasn’t going to forget that little performance anytime soon.

  Still, the Kelly he’d once known—or thought he’d known—would never have gotten involved in something like this. At least not willingly. He knew from experience that people were capable of doing almost anything for money. Collins had signed up to pay for his wife’s chemo treatments. Did Kelly have some kind of debt hanging over her head?

  She appeared to live within her means, if her apartment was any indication. It was a small place, in an okay neighborhood—not a luxury suite or dump, but a decent apartment in a quiet, older building. She didn’t have a big-screen TV or any expensive computer or electronic equipment that he’d seen, but that could have been in another room. The place had been rather sparse, with the light coating of dust giving it a semi-neglected feel. He’d gotten the impression that she used the apartment mainly for sleeping and showering, which fit what he knew of her workaholic tendencies.

  He knew she didn’t have a car, either, so she certainly wasn’t blowing money on creature comforts. Did she have gambling debt? She didn’t seem the type to play the ponies, but anything was possible. He made a mental note to check on her financial records, but he suspected everything would be in order.

  That left family. Were her parents in trouble? Had she gotten in with the wrong crowd trying to help them out? He knew scientists in her position weren’t well paid, and short of winning the lottery, she didn’t have many options to increase her salary. She certainly had the know-how to engineer the bug, given her detailed explanations last night. Helping Collins in return for part of the money would be an easy way to make a quick buck, and since Collins wasn’t around to confirm her involvement, she was on the verge of getting away with it.

  The thought drew him up short. Since when had he decided she was part of this? The rational side of him realized his emotions were clouding his judgment, making him hypercritical of her motivations and actions. Just because she’d broken his heart...

  He sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head. No, not broken his heart. He refused to believe he’d been in love with her. She’d disappointed him, that was all.

  And despite his disappointment, he owed her the benefit of the doubt, at least until he discovered otherwise. All suspects were innocent until proven guilty, and she was no exception. Granted, he didn’t usually have such a personal history with the suspects in an investigation, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Just because his best friend had turned out to be a traitor didn’t mean Kelly was, as well. He wouldn’t let his experiences with Steve cloud his judgment here.

  He rubbed absently at the center of his chest, the thought of his late friend triggering a familiar ache. Despite the intervening years, James remembered that night with terrible clarity. It had been a scorcher of a day, and he was sitting under the fan in his tiny apartment in Silver Spring, drinking a beer and watching the Orioles game. The knock on his door had been rapid and insistent, announcing his visitor’s agitation as clearly as words.

  He’d opened the door to find Steve looking as though he hadn’t slept in days, and smelling like it, too. “Can I come in?”

  James stepped aside and gestured him through the door. “Have a seat, man. Can I get you anything?”

  Steve shook his head as he parked it on the couch. James sat in the recliner, taking in his uncombed hair, stubble and wrinkled clothes. What worried him most, though, were the white lines of strain around Steve’s eyes and lips. Deciding he could use a beer after all, James grabbed a bottle from the fridge and returned to his chair, holding it out for his friend, who took it with a sigh.

  This is it, he thought, his stomach dropping in anticipatory dread. He’s in over his head, and he needs me to bail him out.

  He would do it, too, he realized grimly. He didn’t have much money in the bank, but if it would get Steve out of trouble, he’d fork it over.

  He watched in silence as Steve peeled the label off his bottle with fumbling fingers, letting his friend come up with the words in his own time.

  “I screwed up,” he blurted, his leg bouncing a rapid tattoo as the last of the label flaked off and fell to the floor. “It’s bad—really bad.” He looked up at James then, despair shining in his eyes.

  “I’m sure it seems that way now,” James began, trying to inject reassurance into his voice. “But whatever it is, we can fix it.”

  Steve shot up from the chair and began to pace, prowling the room like a caged animal trying to find an escape. “No, man. You don’t understand. It’s over. They’re gonna kill me.”

  “Who’s going to kill you?” James felt the fine hairs on the nape of his neck rise, and he instinctively glanced at the door. Was Steve being followed?

  “The Cartel. Internal Affairs. Take your pick.” Steve flopped back into the chair, his features arranged in a mask of misery.

  James’s stomach twisted as his dinner threatened to reappear. The rumors were true, then. Steve was dirty. He took a healthy swallow from his bottle, trying to wash the bitter disappointment away.

  “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

  With a heavy sigh, Steve told him how he’d gotten sucked in, how it started out small, selling dime bags on the side, but then he’d been tapped to launder money for the Cartel. Now IAB was onto him, and if they didn’t get him, the Cartel would kill him for turning against them.

  James sat quietly, digesting the news, not sure how to respond now that he knew his best friend was a crooked cop, a drug dealer and a liar.

  “Will you help me?” Steve’s voice was quiet but thick with emotion.

  Help him? Help him break the law again so he could ride off into the sunset with his drug buddies? James felt a hot spurt of anger, wondering how Steve had been so stupid to get involved. Yeah, narcs walked a fine line, but most of the guys were good, clean cops. It could be done.

  He bit his tongue to keep from yelling, his throat tightening on the words he wanted to scream. For the first time in his adult life, he wanted to hit someone, wanted to feel the painfully satisfying crunch of knuckles against nose, the warm gush of blood on his fist.

  How could Steve do this to him? Steve knew that his dad had been a crooked cop, knew that James h
ad entered the academy wanting to restore his family’s name. There was no way James could risk getting involved in something like this, especially when certain factions in the department were watching him closely, just waiting for him to screw up like his father.

  Steve may have thrown away his career and reputation, but James wasn’t about to do the same.

  He must have been silent for too long, because Steve rose with a sigh. “Forget it,” he muttered, starting toward the door. “I should have known Saint James wouldn’t get involved.”

  James bristled at the old high-school nickname, his anger rising at Steve’s insinuation that he was a Goody Two-shoes.

  “Why’d you do it?” he called after Steve. The other man stopped, then turned to face him.

  “I thought you were smarter than that,” he continued, watching as Steve’s face turned from pink to a mottled red.

  “You think you’re so great, don’t you, Reynolds?” Steve took a menacing step forward, but James held his ground. “You think you’re so damn perfect,” he hissed, getting in James’s face.

  “No,” James said evenly. “I just want to know why you threw your life away.”

  Steve held his gaze for a beat, then stepped back, shaking his head. James looked down, searching for something to say, which kept him from seeing the punch until it was too late. Steve’s fist connected with his left eye with enough force that he stumbled back. He fell to the floor, clutching his face in reflex.

  Steve moved forward, sending James scrambling back until he met the couch. He grabbed for a handhold, something he could use to leverage himself up in case Steve was going to strike him again, but the pain and shock of the blow was disorienting and he couldn’t convince his legs to work.

  Steve loomed over him, leaning forward until his face was inches away. James regarded him warily out of his good eye, his hand cupped protectively over the left side of his face.

  “Go to hell.” Steve didn’t yell the words, but he didn’t have to. The contempt and hatred came through loud and clear.