by Dee Davis
A moan. Somebody had moaned.
Without stopping to think she ran for the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, her only thought to get to her friend.
Milo’s bedroom, like the room downstairs, was spotless, simplicity of design making the furnishings seem more expensive than they probably were.
“Milo?” she called again. Another moan came from the far side of the bed. She rushed around the end to find him sprawled on the floor, a spatter of blood on the wall above him, his shirt stained an ugly reddish brown. “Oh my God.”
She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching over to prop him up, but he batted her hand away. “In… the… drawer…” he whispered, his voice raspy and threaded with pain.
“Milo, you need to get to a hospital. To a doctor.”
He shook his head. “Too… late.” The words came out even more strangled than before. “Sorry… I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s okay,” she said, tears springing to her eyes.
“I didn’t… know….” He closed his eyes, and for a moment she thought he was gone, but then his fingers tightened around hers. “In the drawer… thumb drive… your… eyes only.” He struggled for a breath. “Promise me… only… you.” His fingers went slack, and his eyes closed.
“Milo?” she said, frantically searching for a pulse. “Milo.”
“Drawer,” he murmured on an exhale of breath, his head lolling to the side as his life slipped away.
Alexis fought a wave of panic. From down below she heard Tucker call her name. The sound of footsteps on the stairs spurring her on, she reached over to the bedside table, sliding the drawer open. Inside there was a jumble of things, a comb, a dog-eared thriller, some medicine bottles, the kind of junk that accumulates in drawers over the years, but there was no drive.
Hands shaking, she felt along the bottom of the drawer and then underneath the top of the table. There was something taped in place there. She fumbled to pull it free, her mind identifying the shape even before she saw it. The thumb drive. She slipped the drawer back into place, dropping the drive into her pocket just as Tucker came running into the room, gun drawn.
“Alexis?”
“I’m here,” she said, lifting up from behind the bed so he could see her. “With Milo. He just… he just died.” Saying the words made it seem all that much more real, and she fought the urge to give in to her tears.
“Did he say anything?” Tucker asked as he knelt beside her, moving to confirm her words by checking for a pulse.
“No. Nothing that would help, anyway.”
“Did you ask who shot him?”
“There wasn’t time. He was only with me for a few seconds. And all he wanted was to tell me he was sorry. He said ‘He didn’t know.’ ”
“Didn’t know what?” Tucker asked, his impatience showing.
“He didn’t say. I’m assuming it has to do with the tracker. But he never clarified it.”
“And that’s it? There’s nothing else?”
She shook her head, then closed her eyes, hating herself for lying but wanting more than anything to honor Milo’s last request. After she’d seen what was on the drive, she’d decide how to proceed, but for now, no matter how guilty she felt, she’d keep it to herself.
“Did you find anyone outside?” she asked, lifting her gaze to meet Tucker’s.
“No. Harrison is checking the neighboring houses to be certain, but I’m guessing the killer is long gone by now.”
As if to underscore the idea, Harrison walked into the room. “Nothing,” he said. “Not even a footprint.” He came to a stop, his eyes on Milo’s body. “Shit. Is he dead?”
Alexis nodded, her gut still churning. “He was alive when I found him, but there wasn’t time to call for help.”
“Did he—”
“No.” Tucker shook his head. “He was all about apologizing to Alexis. Looks like we were right about his tampering with the phone, though.”
“I checked downstairs in his office, and the computer is missing. Just like Dryker’s.”
“Even more support for our theory that Milo was playing for the other team. Dryker’s, or whoever the hell was pulling his strings.”
“And now they’re tying up loose ends,” Harrison said, his expression grim.
“Any chance there’s anything still here that could help us?” Tucker asked.
“I’m thinking not.”
Alexis clenched her hands, trying to maintain her resolve. She’d come to trust the two of them, and that made it tougher to keep quiet.
“Why don’t you get Alexis out of here. And I’ll call this in. And then we can head to the house we rented.”
“You rented a house?” Alexis’s voice rose with her surprise. Their resourcefulness was seemingly endless.
“It’s just a cottage, really,” Harrison said. “Near the lake. A friend—”
“—of a friend. I know. Anyway, I would like to get out of here, if it’s okay. I think I’ve had enough death for one day.” The minute that she said the words she regretted them. “Oh God, I didn’t mean…” she trailed off, staring down at her friend’s body.
“He can’t hear you, Alexis,” Tucker said, ever practical. “And besides, you were here with him when he died. That’s got to count for something. He knows you cared.”
She shook her head, unable to put her thoughts into words. In just a few days her life had literally exploded. And now all she felt was fear and confusion, the only escape the hours she’d spent in Tucker Flynn’s bed—which came with its own set of problems.
She blew out a breath, steeling her expression, Milo’s drive burning a hole in her pocket.
“What’s wrong?” Tucker asked, pulling her over to the corner of the room out of Harrison’s earshot. “This is more than just Milo being dead, I can tell.”
“It’s just that I don’t want more people to die.” Her hand closed around the drive. “And I don’t want others put at risk. Just being with me is dangerous, Tucker. This isn’t what you signed on for.”
Something flickered across his face—regret, maybe—but before she could identify it, it was gone. He reached out to pull her close. “I’m exactly where I want to be. So don’t give it another thought. And so is Harrison. We’ll figure this out.” He leaned back, searching her face. “So no more worries. Okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
The tears she’d been fighting finally won the day, and her heart twisted as she fought the instinct to confess all. There was no reason to feel guilty. It wasn’t as if she was going to keep it from him forever. But she owed Milo. Even if he had betrayed her, she didn’t believe for a minute that he would have wanted to hurt her. And the cold hard truth was that, because of her, he was dead.
And besides, what if there was something on the drive that incriminated her or George? No matter how strong her feelings for Tucker Flynn, she had to protect herself. Her father had always said she led with her heart, which he’d warned was a dangerous proposition. She’d always thought his pronouncements were a bit overzealous. But now, in light of her mother and George’s betrayal, she wondered if maybe he hadn’t been right.
Head over heart.
Easier said than done.
“Good evening, Mr. Atterley,” Alain DuBois said, looking across his desk at the man impersonating George Atterley.
Michael Brecht steepled his hands and adjusted the monitor so that he could better see both men. He would have preferred to have the conversation with Atterley himself rather than let his Number Two deal with the man. But no matter how much better he was at playing the game, he couldn’t risk the exposure. Better to remain the unseen puppet master. He’d just have to be content with watching—and feeding Alain information if necessary.
“Dare I hope that you’re here to conclude our business deal?” Alain asked.
“I wish that I was,” the other man said, his gaze shifting around the room, his fingers drumming out a nervous rhythm on the arm of th
e chair. “I honestly do. But I’m afraid there’s been another delay.”
“Meaning you haven’t got the formula.” Alain frowned.
Brecht leaned back, waiting, watching. Over the years he’d learned how to read men, especially ones with something to hide, and this one, for understandable reasons, showed all the signs. Unfortunately, his bravado was wasted. As usual, Michael was several steps ahead in the game. Just the way he liked it. Predator and prey was always so much fun when the prey had no idea the role they were playing.
“I haven’t got it because someone stole it from me,” the man said. “But I’m working to retrieve it.”
“By killing people?” Alain tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows, a practiced gesture that never failed to illicit a response. Michael smiled and moved closer to the monitor.
Atterley’s drumming stilled. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m saying. But for the moment I’m not interested in your antics. I’m only interested in the formula.”
“I’m telling you, I’m going to get it for you. I just need a little more time.”
“Offer your help,” Michael prompted, bending to speak into the microphone. “Use Carmichael to lead to the photograph. ”
Alain gave the briefest of nods and then smiled at Atterley. “What you need is assistance. And you’re lucky because I really do want that formula. And so instead of removing you from the equation, as my associates requested, I’m going to offer you my help.”
“Your help?” The man’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Yes. You’ve heard of Bastion Carmichael?”
“The governor of California? I don’t know him, of course. But I’ve heard of him.” Again the man’s hands gave him away, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair so forcefully his knuckles turned white.
“Yes, of course.” Alain contained a smile. “Well, it seems that Mr. Carmichael has been trying his best to waylay and/or eliminate a woman from New Orleans. The jury is still out on what exactly he’s trying to accomplish. But I guarantee you that it has something to do with Omega. By the way, you never did say how it was that you came into possession of the formula in the first place.”
Michael smiled at the monitor. Alain had always had a dramatic flair.
“No. I didn’t.” The man paused, his gaze steady. Point to fake Atterley.
“Well, it’s of no matter, really,” Alain said with a dismissing shrug. “After all, curiosity did kill the cat.”
“Yes, and if we’re playing with clichés, it’s better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.” The man’s smile belied his death hold on the chair.
“The problem, of course, being that I haven’t actually received the gift.” Alain arched his eyebrow again. “Which brings us back to Alexis Markham.”
“Who?” Atterley asked, his reaction genuine this time.
“The woman Carmichael is so interested in.” Alain pushed a file and a photo across the desk. Atterley picked them up. “I don’t know why, but she’s definitely the epicenter of all of this.” He waited while the other man studied the photo. “So, do you recognize her?”
Atterley’s brows drew together as he continued to stare down at the picture. Finally he looked up, still frowning. “No. I’ve never seen her in my life. But if you think she’s the key, then why don’t you go after her yourself? Why keep me in the loop?”
“There are complications. She’s got guard dogs. Serious gentlemen who I believe may be connected to an elite CIA unit.”
“And you don’t want to risk exposure,” Atterley said, his gaze turning shrewd.
“Careful,” Michael cautioned into the mic. They wanted Atterley to believe they were truly on his side. “Don’t overplay your hand.” Alain blinked, his mouth quirking slightly on one side. Michael resisted the urge to burst into the office from the adjoining room. He’d never been good at delegating.
“I think you can understand why we prefer to take a backseat in this kind of situation,” Alain said, his attention back on Atterley. “And, besides, the point here is that you made a bargain—for which, I hasten to remind you, you’ve already been paid in part. And unless you’ve lost your taste for living, I suggest you find a way to fulfill your end of the bargain—starting with Ms. Markham.”
Atterley’s gaze dropped unbidden to the photo in his hands. And Michael felt the familiar thrill of a battle won. Atterley had lied when he said he didn’t know Ms. Markham. It was there in his face.
Perfect. The endgame was within sight. He’d use Atterley to get to A-Tac and, if things went really well, gain control of the formula and destroy them both in the process. And—worst case—if things went south, all the suspicion would fall on Atterley. It was a win-win situation. Just the way he liked it.
CHAPTER 17
The moon slid from a cover of clouds, a beam of light coating the old oak flooring with silvery light. The cottage was located in the middle of a bayou, surrounded by cypress trees. It was probably quite pretty in the daylight, but in the dark it felt sinister somehow. And now, sitting here about to view the contents of Milo’s drive, Alexis’s stomach was knotted with anxiety.
She held her breath, listening for signs of life. Harrison and Tucker were upstairs sleeping. She’d checked on both of them before coming downstairs. The evening had been tense, death hanging in the air like a physical being, the images of Dryker’s and Milo’s bodies burned in their brains. Ultimately, Alexis had pleaded a headache, even though she’d wanted to be with Tucker more than she’d ever thought possible. But neither of them had mentioned the night before or suggested a return engagement. Whatever was between them would have to wait until the shadows had cleared.
And at the moment, Alexis wasn’t sure if that would ever happen. She sighed and pushed the hair out of her face, then opened Harrison’s laptop. Considering his agility with all things cyber related, she was half afraid the thing would belt out some kind of intruder alert. But it merely flashed to life, presenting the picture of a smiling young woman, her multi-colored eyes and wavy brown hair marking her as a relative of Harrison’s. A sister, maybe.
Alexis waited a few seconds more, but the computer remained silent, a blinking box indicating the need for a password. Fortunately, she’d managed to see him type it in earlier.
Brianna. A beautiful name. She looked again at the woman in the photo, then pushed aside her rambling thoughts. With an intake of breath, she typed in the name and hit Enter. The machine offered no resistance and the box disappeared, leaving only the smiling photo. And then, biting the side of her lip in the vain hope of maintaining her courage, she slipped the thumb drive into the USB port.
The computer hummed as the drive whirred to life, the sound seeming overly loud in the quiet room. Alexis’s heart rate ratcheted up as she waited, every muscle in her body tensing as she watched the screen.
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the photo of Harrison’s sister disappeared, a directory listing of the thumb drive appearing in its place. The list wasn’t long. A couple of text files with numerical headings and a video file labeled FOR ALEXIS. Her heartbeat moved into double time, and, with a shaking finger, she used the touch pad to click on the video.
For a moment the screen went blank, and then it was filled with Milo’s familiar face. Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she dug her nails into her palms, the sharp pain helping her regain control.
“So,” Milo began, the corner of his mouth lifting in what resembled a grimace more than a smile, “if you’re viewing this, it means that I’m dead. Otherwise I’d be telling you in person.” He stopped for a moment and then began again. “I think I’ve really made a mess of things. I let my bank account rule the day. Not surprising, but you have to know that I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
Alexis leaned forward, her eyes on her friend, her thoughts tumbling as he continued.
“I bugged your phone. Embedded the software with a tra
cking device. It was easy enough, and I figured what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you. I thought they were after George, but I was wrong. It’s you they want. And I’ve given them easy access.” He dipped his head, then lifted it again, his blue eyes reaching across the pixels. “I’m so fucking sorry. And, worst of all, I can’t even tell you who ‘they’ are. The man I dealt with is dead. Which is why I figure someone will be after me as well.”
Alexis swallowed her tears, anger swelling instead. Whoever was behind all of this had taken two of the people she cared about most. George and now Milo.
“I’ve done some digging, but, unfortunately, I’ve got nothing. Except for two things. The first is that I’m fairly confident the order for the bug came from somewhere inside the government. The man I referenced before. The dead one. His name is Peter Dryker, and he had a career in security, including some defense contractors. And I think DOD.” He blew out a breath, and Alexis felt tears welling again.
“And I got the feeling from the get-go that something big was afoot. Not that I heeded the warning, mind you. But the point is that digging deeper has only reinforced the idea. As I said, I thought it had to do with George, but I’m thinking now it’s you. And something in your past.”
She hadn’t shared that part of her life with Milo. They were friends, but George had been insistent that she never mention it to anyone. Tucker was the first person she’d ever willingly discussed her past with. The thought brought on a wave of guilt, but she quashed it, focusing on Milo’s words instead.
“Anyway, I’m afraid the news only gets worse. I didn’t listen to your advice concerning Tucker Flynn. I didn’t quit digging. Call it a character flaw. Anyway, I found out something rather alarming.” He paused for a moment, his expression reflecting his remorse.
“Tucker Flynn isn’t a friend of George’s. He’s CIA.”
Alexis gasped, her mind reeling as she struggled to breathe, one thought repeating itself over and over in her brain.
