by Debra Webb
“You said the place is hell,” she challenged, throwing his words back at him. “How do you know?”
His cell vibrated. Dakota gritted his teeth. He stared at the display screen for two more rings. He shouldn’t answer Keaton this time. He’d been the one to end the last call. But the truth was, even if Dakota didn’t want to acknowledge it, if an innocent victim had been transported into that facility—whoever she might be—she was in for a nightmare she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Could he really just walk away and pretend he didn’t know?
He accepted the call. “Garrett.”
“I understand this is difficult,” Keaton admitted, his tone weary or reluctant, “but you know what happens behind those walls. You can’t walk away from this. Not and let them do to her what they did to you.”
More of that unbridled fury tightened Dakota’s lips at the idea that his boss had just read his mind. This guy had no idea what he was asking. Dakota stepped away from Malone and muttered, “How did you get my file?” Years after he’d left Chicago far behind, he’d returned once. His mission had been simple—break into the hall of records at Juvie and take his file. He’d burned every single page. No matter that it had been sealed, he hadn’t wanted to take any chances.
“Your case worker kept a copy of the file.”
Impossible. That was a breach of security, not to mention an ethics infraction. “She must be retired or dead by now.” Uncertainty niggled at him. Rules were broken all the time. He had broken more than his share.
“She is. But she left behind a very cooperative husband who likes nothing better than bragging about all the cases where his lovely wife helped out a troubled teen. Particularly the very difficult ones.”
Every vein in Dakota’s body throbbed with a volatile mixture of emotions. Rage, regret, pain…too many to name.
A man like Keaton wouldn’t stop with the usual background research. He would want to know everything. Just because no one else had been able to dig up that ugly past didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to. Dakota should have recognized that about the man at the initial interview. He should have seen this coming.
“Why did you hire me?” Dakota hated that his voice sounded weak. He wasn’t weak, not anymore.
“Because I knew a man who’d been as deep into hell as you would prove more useful and resourceful than a dozen of the most highly skilled and experienced others who lined up for the three positions I had to offer.”
Dakota knew the explanation wasn’t meant as a compliment. It was fact. Keaton operated on fact alone. Dakota doubted a man more emotionless than Keaton existed. He had recognized an asset and he’d seized it.
“You know the goal and the obstacles,” Keaton said, getting down to business. “The question is, are you willing to accept the assignment?”
Dakota glanced at Malone who waited only two or three yards away, her eyes filled with worry and frustration.
She wasn’t his problem. This Victoria wasn’t his problem. What made either of them relevant to Keaton?
“Quid pro quo, Keaton,” Dakota announced, the inspiration only just coming to him. “You know my deepest, darkest secret, so tell me one of yours. If you impress me, I’ll take the job. If you don’t, it’s adios, amigo.”
Silence expanded between them.
Dakota had him there. He mentally counted off the seconds. Four, five, six. Just to see how long Keaton would hold out. Nine, ten.
“She is key to my learning certain things about my past.” There was another extended silence. “I need that information.”
Of all the myriad possibilities Dakota had considered in those few seconds, this was assuredly not one of them. Was this part of why Slade Keaton was so secretive? Dakota could definitely relate despite having no desire to.
“If she dies,” he ventured, “your opportunity to find the truth may die with her?”
“Yes.”
Dakota scrubbed his free hand over his mouth. Fourteen years. It had taken him fourteen long years to put this place behind him. Only last year had he mustered up the courage to return to Chicago—the home that had never really been home to him. He’d made a decision that he would make it home, that he would never allow anything to keep him away again. It was the final proof of his triumph. It was a test to prove he could do it.
He had a new life now. A new name. The past was way behind him. They couldn’t touch him anymore.
Unless he chose to let them.
His cheek pulsed with the tension of his hard-set jaw. Dakota had spent a lifetime running away from exactly what Keaton was running toward. Dakota understood all too well that driving need to find the nirvana that would somehow set a man free.
Keaton broke into his thoughts. “You can get inside more quickly than anyone else without revealing your true agenda.”
Dakota was intimately familiar with the institute’s security. No one got in without an invitation from the director. Dr. Lionel Byrd. The images of white coats and moans of pain that accompanied the name made Dakota’s gut seize.
“You know that once I get in, they’ll never let me out alive.” He knew too much. Remembered the things they wanted certain patients to forget. That he’d escaped and was never found was the one black mark on that freak Byrd’s otherwise perfect record.
He wouldn’t allow the same mistake twice.
The first few years after Dakota had escaped, he’d sworn that one day he would go back. He’d go back and he’d kill that madman. Put a stop to his evil endeavors.
But Dakota had never taken that step. He’d pretended to forget the whole idea. He could deny it all day long, but fear, pure and simple, had kept him clear of the Byrd Institute. Until now he hadn’t so much as dared to think the name, except in the occasional nightmare.
“I will see that you are released,” Keaton guaranteed. “You have my word.”
For the first time since he’d taken the position with the Equalizers, Dakota wondered if there was any way under the sun he could trust this man.
Malone had moved in front of him. She studied Dakota’s face, searched his eyes in hopes of learning something about the conversation.
“Garrett,” Keaton urged, “don’t fail me and I will not fail you.”
Dakota laughed. He had been thirteen years old the last time he’d believed in anyone besides himself. Despite that glaring fact, he said, “Consider it done.”
Keaton wanted to know the details of his entry strategy. Dakota couldn’t give him any meticulously calculated steps.
There was just one that mattered.
And the timing had to be perfect for it to work.
Chapter Nine
2:00 p.m.
Chicago P.D.’s contact, Sean Ames, waited patiently while Lucas moved carefully around the crime scene. The bodies had been removed but the markers placed by the forensics techs remained in place. Ian had convinced Lucas not to confront Keaton until they had more to go on. Struggling to keep his emotions from overwhelming his logic, he had agreed to ignore his strongest instinct and delay that move.
Now, as he stood here, surrounded by the evidence of senseless death, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right decision. There was nothing that gave so much as a hint as to why this shoot-out had gone down. The two male victims had been identified. Mercenaries for hire, their allegiance to the dollar and not the employer. Simon was running down background info on the two. The witness who had come forward insisted that the man who’d killed the two mercenaries had been a hero. That he’d saved the young woman, who, based on her description, was Malone. The witness had seen no one else. Nicole Reed-Michaels, Ian’s wife and a Colby investigator herself, was following up with the witness.
Where had Victoria been during the shoot-out? Jim and Ian were attempting to nail down a location on Victoria’s cell phone. As soon as Chicago P.D.’s lab confirmed that the blood at the scene matched the victims, with none unaccounted for, Lucas would be able to breathe again.
He studied the place whe
re Jennifer had fallen and shook his head. He would find who did this.
“Lucas.”
He turned to Ames and raised his eyebrows in question.
“I was able to get the M.E. to do a preliminary review of the bodies, per your request.”
“I appreciate that, Ames.” Lucas needed all the details he could gather as quickly as possible. Having good contacts with the local authorities was immensely useful to that end.
Ames acknowledged the thanks with a nod. “The M.E.’s preliminary conclusion on the female vic is that the fatal gunshot was self-inflicted.”
A wave of disbelief crashed into Lucas. “He’s certain?” That conclusion was even more confusing than the rest of this strewn puzzle.
Ames gave a succinct nod. “He wouldn’t say one way or the other unless he was damned certain. The lab confirmed that all the blood—” he gestured to the ground “—belonged to the four victims.”
Relief flooded Lucas’s chest. “Thank you, Sean.” Lucas used the man’s first name as further indication of how much he appreciated his help. “I’ve seen enough.”
Ames made conversation about the rise in random crimes as he secured the scene and then walked with Lucas to where they had parked their cars on the opposite side of the street. Before driving away he assured Lucas that he would keep him apprised of every step of their investigation. An APB had been issued for both Victoria and Lucky.
Tow trucks had arrived to transport the vehicles involved to the Chicago P.D. crime lab for further analysis. Lucky’s purse had been left inside the car. Where the hell was she? Where was Victoria? Lucas sat in his car for long minutes, watching the removal of the vehicles. He banished the fear roaring beneath his skin and summoned the part of himself that he had retired six months ago—the ruthless, relentless intelligence agent and master spy who never failed to accomplish his mission. There was no room for emotion now. And no time for second guessing. Action, swift and decisive, was essential.
He opened his cell phone and put through a call to Ian Michaels. “There’s nothing else to be gained here.” He passed along the lab results as well as the M.E.’s conclusion. Ian had no news from Nicole. “Notify me the instant you have an update,” Lucas said as he settled his gaze on the run-down building where his longtime friend had lost her life. “I’ll keep trying to get in touch with my contact who can track Victoria’s cell since it wasn’t found at the scene.”
“Are you returning to the office?”
Lucas’s lips tightened, then he said, “No. I’m going to the brownstone.”
This time Ian didn’t argue.
Keaton was the only lead Lucas had and even that one was nothing more than gut instinct.
Lucas’s instincts had brought down far larger and more dangerous prey than Slade Keaton.
Whatever Keaton’s game, it was over.
Chapter Ten
5:05 p.m.
Lucky had waited long enough for answers. Garrett had spent the past few hours alternately speaking to someone on his cell and studying its screen. He’d ignored her every question, putting her off each time she attempted to interrupt. She wasn’t going to stand for this a minute more.
She stalked across the kitchen, arms folded over her chest, and stared up at him. He was tall, even leaning against the counter the way he was. She disregarded the hint of uncertainty that whispered through her veins. He made her feel even more vulnerable, needy—the kind of need that only a woman understood. No man, certainly not a stranger, had ever succeeded in making her feel that way. “What’s happening? We’ve been here for hours and you’ve told me nothing.”
Several seconds elapsed before he looked up from his phone. When he did, her breath hitched. He frowned. “I’ll brief you on the details you need to know when it’s time.” He shifted his attention back to the screen of his high-tech smart phone.
Outrage rumbled inside her, vaporizing those silly, softer feelings. Okay. Lucky had been patient long enough. She was fed up with being treated as though she was not as deeply involved in this as her self-professed savior was.
“I’m only a personal assistant,” she snapped, another shot of anger blasting through her, “and I’m new to the agency, but I’m not a child or an idiot. If whatever you’re planning has anything to do with my boss or me, I am a part of it. So start talking, Mr. Garrett.”
He leveled his gaze on hers, his brown eyes assessing her long enough to undermine her bravado. “What do you want to know? Specifically.”
She blinked. “Why are we still waiting here? Why aren’t we doing something?” That was a good start.
He placed his cell on the counter and folded his arms over his broad chest. She didn’t know if he was matching her body language or mocking it and that annoyed the heck out of her. What frustrated her even more was that she couldn’t help but notice the width of his shoulders. Or how he smelled like sweet fresh air. She’d definitely lost it.
Then he leaned toward her and placed his hands on the counter, one hand on either side of her. “We can’t move for several hours yet—”
“Hours?” She held her breath to prevent inhaling more of that appealing scent of his. This close she couldn’t help studying every lean detail of his face. Focus, Lucky! He’d said hours. Was he out of his mind? Surely Mr. Camp wasn’t in agreement with this plan. Mrs. Colby-Camp had been taken hours ago—far too many hours ago. Before she could calm herself Lucky said as much.
Garrett cocked his head, stared at her lips a moment then gave her a curious look. “Do you want answers or not?”
Exasperation replaced the burst of anger. “Keep going.” She trembled inside as much from being trapped by his body as from her frustration…maybe more.
“We’ll go in after your boss, but the timing is crucial. The strategy won’t work unless the timing is perfect.”
That still didn’t explain anything. “Has Mr. Camp initiated any other strategies? Why aren’t the police here?” People had been murdered by the criminals involved in Mrs. Colby-Camp’s abduction! The Colby Agency would never disregard the law. That doubt she’d suffered several times already surfaced again. Had Mr. Camp really sent this man to watch over her? There were moments, like now, that his story just didn’t feel right. And yet she couldn’t stop wanting to fall into his arms and to allow him to assuage this unfamiliar restlessness stirring so deep inside her that she felt as if she might erupt into a volcano of heat.
“The people we’re dealing with don’t respond well to the police,” Garrett said. The features of his face tightened visibly as he spoke. “If backed into a corner, they’ll cut their losses and your boss will be the one to lose.” The utter certainty in his eyes made her breath catch. “Trust me. In three decades they’ve never been caught. They never leave any evidence. They have disposal and cleanup down to a science.”
Lucky flinched. “You’re saying they would…” She licked her lips, wishing her throat wasn’t so dry. “They would hurt her? Get rid of her?”
He nodded. “In a heartbeat.”
“How do we know they haven’t already hurt her?” A surge of fear forced her heart into a faster rhythm.
“We don’t.”
That wasn’t the answer she’d wanted to hear, though she fully understood he was most likely right. She cleared the anxiety from her throat. “So when the time comes, what are we going to do?” She held her breath, tried to slow her pounding heart. Tried not to watch his mouth in anticipation of his lips moving.
“We’re going in.” He straightened, moved away from her and picked up his phone. He checked the screen, then slid the phone into the pocket of his jeans. As if their discussion was over, he strode to the refrigerator and looked inside.
She blinked away the image of his backside, cleared the lump of apprehension and need clogging her throat and resumed her interrogation. “Explain ‘going in.’”
He turned around, a couple of slices of cheese in his hand, and bumped the refrigerator door shut with his hip. “We’r
e arranging for a badge that identifies you as an employee of the institute. You’ll go in and search for your boss while I create a distraction.”
A new kind of fear clutched at her chest. “Even with a badge, are they just going to let me wander the halls of the place?” From the way he’d described the institute so far she couldn’t imagine that being the case.
He shrugged, drawing her attention to the appealing way the T-shirt molded to his body. He looked strong. She should find that comforting but somehow she didn’t. It was…distracting. Just as these crazy things he made her feel were.
“You’ll need to be creative and careful,” he advised. “I can get us inside and distract the powers that be, but the search and avoiding the wrong kind of attention are entirely up to you.”
Lucky had no undercover operative training, no investigative training whatsoever. She was a terrible liar. She’d only fired a weapon once in her life and that hadn’t ended well. Putting Mrs. Colby-Camp’s well-being in Lucky’s hands was a stunningly poor choice in strategy. Garrett couldn’t be serious. The entire plan was risky and ridiculous. If Lucky was caught, would Mrs. Colby-Camp pay the price? Where was their backup or on-site support of any kind? This was not the way the Colby Agency carried out operations. Lucky might be new but she’d done her research before applying.
A cold, hard reality slammed into her churning thoughts.
Her eyes widened as the air rushed out of her lungs. “Mr. Camp didn’t send you.” It wasn’t a question. Lucky suddenly understood that terrifying truth with absolute certainty.
DAKOTA MULLED OVER the best way to answer.
That he was even hesitating to simply toss out another automatic lie was unexpected. That this naive, clearly inexperienced woman could have sexual tension building in him was downright baffling. He stuck with the more experienced types. The ones who wanted or expected nothing more than physical release. This was way outside his comfort zone.
