Dangerous Liaisons

by Tarah Scott

  She barked a harsh laugh. “Even you can’t give me back my life. I got nothing. I’ve—” She shook her head, feeling like a junkie trying to clear the dope from her brain. “I’m gonna taste your blood when you go.” She leaned into him. “Time to pay the piper.”

  “Wait!” he shouted. “I can give you the final piece of the puzzle.”

  Jesse stared, nonplussed. “There’s more?”

  He lifted a sleeve to his mouth and dabbed at the blood. “Don’t underestimate me. You know the little girl you’re so concerned about?” he asked.

  “You fucking son-of-a-bitch, I’ll—”

  “She was never missing,” he interrupted. “I have proof.” He paused. “She’s my daughter.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Jesse felt as if she’d been belly-slammed with a club. “Your daughter? But Senator Hamilton—” She stared. It all made sense in a sick, twisted way. Did the Senator know the daughter he thought was his, wasn’t? What would Lanton’s wife think of her husband’s high society mistress? Jesse’s head spun.

  “Don’t you see?” Lanton said. “I couldn’t hurt Maria any more than you could hurt Amanda.”

  In a flash, Jesse had the Beretta jammed so hard against his temple his cheek crushed against the cement wall. “Don’t you so much as mention my sister, you son-of-a-bitch. I’ll blow your brains from here to kingdom come, then feed what’s left to the dogs.”

  Jesse punched him in the stomach. He crashed to his knees on the unforgiving concrete. He gurgled a groan, a protective arm wrapping his belly. She yanked the Beretta up.

  He threw up a palm. “Wait! You need me.”

  She wanted to laugh. She wanted to laugh from now until doomsday.

  “I—” His voice hitched, “I have the contents of your safe deposit box—and you need me to lift the freeze on your sister’s trust fund.” He struggled to his feet, then collapsed against the wall. “By now, you’ve no doubt falsified new identity documents, but you can never replace the personal items.”

  Jesse stared at him impassively. The disc with the secrets Juanita had stolen from Tom. Jesse had been right. He was desperate to learn what the disc held. He might return the rest of the papers, but would never return the disk.

  She lifted a shoulder and wiped sweat from her forehead. “What do you want?”

  “A deal. I met Perez here. He was armed, I wasn’t. No one knows I have the Walther. You can say it’s yours. You caught Perez before he fired, and killed him in my defense. The evidence will hold up. I’ll back you on it.”

  Jesse wanted to vomit, but forced an even voice. “Then what?”

  “I’ll resign. I have my twenty years. You get your property, money, and never see me again.”

  “You expect me to buy that? You’ve gambled away your wife’s money. You need payments from people like Perez to replace your losses. You can’t live on your pension.”

  “I can live quite well in Ecuador with what I have.”

  “Ecuador?”

  “The woman I love has dual citizenship,” he said with pride.

  “Love?” she repeated. “You’re—” This was too rich. Robert Lanton was in love. She should shoot him just for making her so sick to her stomach. His gaze darkened, but she cut him off with a cool, “FARC will put a price on both our heads.”

  He shook his head. “Not me. The Senator.”

  Jesse stared. “My God,” she breathed. “He goes down. You get his wife and child, and a whole new life.”

  “They’re mine!” he shouted.

  “Touchy, touchy.”

  “I’ll give you everything you want,” Lanton snapped. “You went to a lot of trouble to make sure your sister remained safe, and whatever’s on that disc must be important or you wouldn’t have kept it under lock and key.”

  There it was. She had him running scared. “How do you propose to end this?” she asked.

  “A phone call from me will release the trust fund.”

  “OIA won’t let me off the hook so easily,” she said. “You made sure of that when you framed me for the murder of those five men—not to mention selling secrets of national security.”

  “Perez is dead,” Lanton replied. “There’s an abundance of evidence to prove you didn’t sell out Green Team, which will absolve you of any charges of selling top secret. I can make sure the information surfaces.”

  Jesse bit her lip. Goddamit to hell, he was cagey. He still hadn’t admitted getting Green Team slaughtered. If he double crossed her and got her arrested, he could say he made promises under duress. She needed a confession.

  Just a few more minutes, Cole. I promise.

  “I’m the only person who can clear you,” Lanton said. “Even if I confess to colluding with Perez that doesn’t prove you weren’t my accomplice. No one will believe I pulled this off alone.”

  “Morales,” Jesse murmured.

  “I can make this end the way it should,” he said. “I’ll get OIA off your back. If you’re worried about Cole Murphy, don’t be, I can deal with him. I put him on your—”

  “What did you say?” Jesse demanded.

  “I said, I can make this end—”

  “No. Murphy. Who—” But she understood. Both files from Juanita and Michael had been on Cole Smith. Cole Smith was Green Team Leader and had died in Colombia. Cole Murphy was the man lying on the concrete floor behind her. Disbelief washed over her in a wave of nausea. She’d trusted him. She’d cared.

  How could she have been so stupid?

  Jesse pointed the Beretta at Lanton. “You’re going to make a fast phone call to release my sister’s money—and hand over my belongings.” At least she could save Tom. He’d put himself on the line for her. “Fuck with me, and I’ll bury you alive—where no one will hear you scream.”

  “I agreed—”

  “Move,” she hissed.

  He started forward and Jesse cast a glance at Cole Murphy. He lay just as he had moments ago, right arm sprawled over his head, legs spread. He looked dead. And why not? He was a damned good actor. He had lied to her—and oh, so convincingly made love to her as if he really cared. Her pulse spiked with memory of his hard thrusts deep inside her channel. She tore her gaze from him. She had to get out—and fast.

  A moment later, they reached the back door. Jesse stopped Lanton. “How did you alter the transcript of my call?”

  “What difference—”

  “A show of good faith,” she snapped. “Give me something now or kiss your ass good bye.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Morales has some dirt on Gloria Knowles. He made the transcript disappear, and she kept quiet.”

  Jesse gave a low laugh. It really came down to who you knew. Gloria had eighteen years with OIA as Head of Communications. She was a fifty-five year old female geek. What the hell could Morales possibly have on her? She probably dated a Colombian mobster’s nephew in college.

  Jesse motioned Lanton forward and he opened the door. Rusty hinges squealed. Light poured in as the door swung outward. As he stepped into the sunshine she reached inside her shirt, yanked the wire free, and tossed it aside.

  “Nail his ass, Tom,” she silently said, then closed the door behind her.

  Lanton’s silver Mercedes sat parked a few feet away.

  “Hand over the keys,” she ordered. “Now.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Jesse fired up the Mercedes as Lanton slammed the passenger door closed. Her hand contacted the gearshift when Tom jumped onto the hood. Their gazes locked. Apparently, this was as far as he would let her go.

  “Get off!” she ordered.

  He shook his head.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Jesse began, then caught movement in the corner of her eye.

  Too late. Cole yanked open the car door. Lanton jerked as if going into a seizure and cringed against the passenger door. Cole lunged across her and killed the ignition, then backed out of the car, smearing fake blood across her jeans as he dragged her out
of the car with him. Tom slid from the hood.

  Lanton fumbled with the latch, nearly falling out when the door swung open. He backed up, muttering, “You were dead. Twice dead.”

  Jesse tried to twist free of Cole, but he yanked her back against him. “Let go of me, Cole,” she hissed.

  “Cole?” Lanton’s eyes widened.

  Adrenaline coursed through her. “Tomorrow, everyone will know you met Amadeo Perez in a deserted warehouse, framed me for treason, and falsified the kidnapping of a senator’s daughter.” She looked at Tom. “Tell him.”

  “Sure, Jesse,” he replied. “We got him.”

  She yanked free of Cole. “What’s wrong?”

  “Jesse…” Tom faltered. “It wasn’t supposed to go down this way.”

  She stared at him. “He admitted everything. Tell him.”

  Tom remained mute.

  She searched his expression. “Tell him we got it all on tape.”

  Lanton whimpered.

  “Jesse,” Tom began as Cole reached for her.

  She stepped back. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Where were you going?” he demanded.

  She wanted to laugh. Murphy! It just didn’t matter anymore. “I was going to save a friend.” She looked at Tom. “Tell me I wasn’t wrong.”

  Cole shifted. She took another quick step back. “Don’t fuck with me, Tex.”

  His gaze darkened behind the latex mask and she was reminded of the hurt in his eyes that day in the hotel when he’d bandaged her leg.

  She swung her attention back to Tom. “Tell him.”

  “This is bigger than us,” he said in a rush. “If this got out—an affair with a Senator’s wife, using his daughter to send U.S. agents to attack a drug lord, sending a suicide mission into the jungle to get back a girl who wasn’t kidnapped—never mind squandering taxpayer money and our reputation.”

  “Our reputation?” she snarled.

  “This goes to the highest level,” Tom said. “OIA briefed the President on the operation.”

  “What?” Jesse’s mind reeled.

  “He knows about using Maria to get FARC and the sub base. We couldn’t do it without his go ahead.”

  Jesse shook her head to clear the sludge of anger that threatened to drown reason. “I don’t believe you.”

  “We cut off the head of FARC and destroyed the sub base,” Tom shot back.

  “Perez headed FARC?”

  “We got them, Jesse,” he added with his old enthusiasm. “Lanton is finished. We can make him quietly retire. We need you around to remind him of that.”

  Horror filled her. “You need me to remind him—what the hell kind of bullshit is this? What we need is for people to know that the law applies to everyone, even those at the top—especially those at the top.”

  Tom’s lips thinned. “A scandal like this would damage the U.S. I love this country too much to allow that to happen. We’d be the laughing stock of the intelligence community. No one would take us seriously. Besides, there are no tapes.”

  “Wha—”

  “No one but the four of us knows what happened here,” he insisted. “All confidential. You know the drill.”

  “If I go along with this, I’ll be no better than him.” She whipped her Beretta from her waistband and pointed it in Lanton’s direction.

  “Jesse,” Tom stepped toward her, “he’s not worth it.”

  Amanda’s smiling face flashed before Jesse. Her world had crashed around her. “No,” she replied. “But I know someone who is.”

  Jesse pulled the trigger.

  Her heart seemed to beat in slow motion in the instant between the deafening blast of the gun and Lanton’s stumble backwards. Shock etched his face as she pivoted, leg high, and slammed her heel into Cole’s jaw. Latex ripped and his head snapped back. Tom lunged for Lanton. She leaped into the car.

  “Jess!” Cole shouted.

  She hit the starter, and slammed the car into drive.

  Cole had his hand on the door handle. She met his gaze as she jammed her foot against the accelerator. The car shot forward. His hand jerked back. She shifted hard into second, her eye on the mirror. Cole stared after her.

  She looked ahead at the road, jumped the curb, and pulled out of a four-wheel drift. The tears she’d felt earlier were nowhere near the surface. The puzzle pieces finally fit. Cole had told her Tom gave him her number, but she hadn’t believed it. She couldn’t prevent a snort of near hysterical laughter. The one time he’d been telling the truth, and she hadn’t believed him.

  Pain lanced her heart. Cole had known where she was when she walked by that alley because Tom had given Cole her location. And, of course, this explained why Tom had seemed at home at Cole’s ranch. How many times had they sat together in that opulent living room and discussed life, politics, women…her?

  As the corner of the last warehouse approached, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Cole hadn’t moved. Cole Murphy. He had such expressive blue eyes. Even the brown contact lenses hadn’t quite hidden them. She hadn’t thought about that before.

  Jesse tossed the Beretta over her shoulder. It struck the floor of the back seat with a thud as she turned the corner. Anyone waiting for her at Amanda’s would be advised that the Baretta she carried shot blanks.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Distant thunder rolled across a cloudy sky as Jesse lowered the night-vision binoculars. She blinked away the green-speckled afterglow of the night-vision display and the darkness of the visitor’s cottage a hundred yards from Houghton House enveloped her. She cautiously placed the binoculars on the table beside a penlight, Lanton’s PPK, and a small syringe. No lightning had appeared—yet—but if a flash lit the night sky as she and Harris carried Amanda from the house, they would never make it out alive. He had reported all quiet at Houghton House today, but Jesse knew that simply meant Lanton had decided against the direct approach. Like so many others, Harris had returned from Vietnam with baggage that would have fried most civilians’ brains.

  Damaged goods was what the government called men like him. Seven years ago, a flat tire on a snowy Boston night had forced her into a tavern where Harris was winning his third game of pool against a Diablo Gang member. Jesse phoned for a tow truck, and planned on toughing out the hour and a half wait in the car, but couldn’t ignore the fact the Diablos were working themselves into a nasty mood because a black man—vet or no vet—was kicking their asses.

  She knew she’d miss the tow truck—hell, she knew she’d probably end up short a Mercedes Station Wagon. The E500 4-Matic was the most decadent thing she owned. But what the hell? She stayed for a beer. Manny Noriega, a white boy looking to prove he was as big a bad ass as the Panamanian gang leader, took a liking to her. Harris surprised her by intervening. He had fifty pounds on the kid, but his weight centered around his gut. Jesse leaped to his assistance and, together, they took on five Diablos, and won.

  Jesse smiled at the memory of Harris collapsing on a bar stool and, breathing hard as he said, “Damn, girl, if I’d known you didn’t need me, I would have collected my two hundred bucks first.”

  She got him a janitor’s job at a nearby high school. Then, two years ago, in exchange for keeping their friendship quiet and watching Amanda, she’d gotten him the maintenance supervisor’s job at Houghton House. Harris was a good man, and—Jesse gave up a prayer of thanks—Amanda liked him.

  Jesse prayed that would be enough to get Amanda outside the mansion. Once there, Jesse would sedate her if needed, and she and Harris would get her to the cottage. Jesse would exchange Amanda’s pajamas for jeans and a t-shirt, then they would smuggle her off the grounds via an overgrown path on the arboretum’s east side. Harris had already freed the forgotten oak door in the eight-foot high stone wall from the contractor’s mortar that sealed it.

  This wasn’t wrong, Jesse told herself for the hundredth time. Amanda wasn’t safe here anymore. The dream was over. Eight people from prominent, well-to-do families boarded on the forty
-acre grounds. It was the occupants’ best hope for a normal life, and Jesse had bought into the dream. When she had found Houghton House, she believed Amanda was home.

  Tonight, when they left, they would leave behind the dream, and change their names from Marietta and Helen Keene to Joanne and Cindy Miller. Anger surfaced. Maybe she should just kill Lanton. No. Then the trust fund would be frozen forever.

  She could earn enough to scrape by and pay Amanda’s bills, but the idea of disappearing from Amanda’s life altogether equaled abandonment. Jesse was the only family she had left.

  And Amanda is the only family you have left, an inner voice added.

  She switched her thoughts to Tom, glad for the disgust that filled her. Would he stoop to using an autistic woman who couldn’t defend herself? What about Cole Murphy? Hurt stabbed through anger. How much of the background report Juanita gave her on Cole was true, and how much was part of his OIA-fabricated cover? He could be any schmuck from Texas with a barefoot wife and ten kids. He’d played her from the start, and she’d been too distracted by lust to keep her distance. How could she have thought he cared?

  Oh, he cared…about fucking her brains out.

  A tiny gong from the mantle clock drew Jesse’s attention. Glow–in-the-dark hands read eight o’clock. She returned her gaze to the colonial mansion. On cue, the main lights in the upper story went dark, leaving only two tiny lights in rooms four and five. Number five was Amanda’s, number four, a wealthy businessman’s niece with Down Syndrome. Amanda would read for fifteen minutes—she loved Wonder Woman comic books—then she would turn out her light. Five minutes later, she would be asleep.

  As a kid, Jesse marveled how Amanda could fall asleep on cue. As an adult, Jesse envied her older sister’s ability to so easily free herself of the world’s encumbrances. Jesse figured Amanda’s peace came from not carrying around the guilt most people did. Somewhere along the way, Amanda had gotten the better deal.