Heather nodded. “It sounds like the sensation may be starting to come back. It’ll take a while, but that’s probably a good sign.”
He considered her solemnly. “How are you doing?”
She shrugged. “Not bad, I guess. Nervous.”
Reaching out, he took the cup from her cold fingers and set it on the table before drawing her into his arms. Wrapping her arms about his waist, she allowed herself to sink into the solace he offered. He was warm and solid and so comforting. His hands moved gently over her back, soothing the tension from the muscles and Heather closed her tired eyes. He just held her for a moment. And then he murmured, “The call came, Heather.”
Her eyes flicked open. Then, as the words sank into her tired brain, she reared back to look up into his face. “When?” she demanded.
“Tonight. Ten-thirty. A bit earlier than expected, but for once that works in our favor.”
“So you want me to arrange to meet around that time?”
His arms tightened convulsively around her for an instant, and his eyes glowed with some emotion she couldn’t recognize as he looked down into her upturned face. Then, he said, “Yeah. About half an hour to an hour before should work. He’ll think he has time to meet with you and still be around to supervise his goons when the shipment arrives.”
She nodded, and began to move out of his embrace. “I’ll make the call.”
“Heather—”
“Yes?” She looked back up at him.
But whatever he’d been about to say, the words died on his lips. Finally, he just shook his head and said, “After you make the call, you’d better try to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long night.”
She forced a smile to her lips. “I will.”
Hours later, Heather stood silent while Liz replaced the button on her slacks with another. “This is a transmitter, to help us locate you if something goes wrong. It’s not a bug, so we’re not going to be able to hear what you’re saying. Understand?”
“Yes, but why can’t I have one of those? A bug, I mean. Then if something goes wrong I can let you know.”
“Wires are too easily detected, and DiMona’s not stupid. He’ll check you,” Court explained. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest looking more rested, but none too happy. “The transmitter is a lower frequency and easy to overlook. If he finds it,” he shrugged, “then we’re on our own and we’d better not screw up.”
Heather swallowed. “I see.” For the first time she considered the possibility that, even with Court and the resources of the DEA on her side, she might fail in what she was about to attempt. No! That was unacceptable and she refused to even entertain the potentiality.
Liz stepped back. “Okay. We’re about as ready as we can get. Time to go.” She left the room, pre sumably to join Ernest and Dave who were preparing the cars.
Court uncrossed his arms, straightened and moved toward Heather with a loose-limbed confident gait. Only his solemn expression revealed his tension. “I want you to be careful, Heather.”
A flicker of irritation passed through her. Why did people insist on stating the obvious? Of course she’d be careful. She wasn’t stupid. But before she could open her mouth to say as much, he continued.
“I mean really careful. The fact that DiMona has demanded that this meeting take place on a crowded downtown city street means he’s wary. He may suspect a setup.”
Heather frowned. “I don’t know why he should. He’s the one that put the forty-eight-hour time limit on getting information.”
“All the same, watch him.”
She nodded. “Are certain you want me to tell him who you really are?”
Court nodded. “This operation is over anyway, and we want what you tell him to be believable if he checks. I haven’t got time to set up anything else. You worry about yourself and Des. Not me. Remember all hell is going to break loose. When it goes down, the first thing you and Des do is hit the floor.”
She met his gaze. “I’ll—” But, before she had a chance to reassure him, Court swept her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. The kiss was hard, hot, passionate and commanding. And the response it provoked was instantaneous despite where they were, who they were, and what was about to happen. Her breasts swelled. Her heart raced. And a depth charge of excitement exploded in her lower abdomen.
And then, it was over.
“We’ll finish this later,” Court said as he solemnly brushed a strand of hair back, tucking it behind her ear.
Heather swallowed and managed to find her voice. “Is that a promise?”
His lips stretched into a slow, sexy smile calculated to heat her blood—that gorgeous smile that he used so seldom—and said, “You bet.”
And despite all the internal arguments she’d waged against initiating a relationship with this man, with any man who carried a gun and regularly faced danger, Heather hoped he was right. They could deal with the problems facing them later.
The city streets, illuminated by the perpetual twilight of neon lighting and street lamps, hummed with traffic. A fist clenched in Court’s gut as he watched DiMona grasp Heather’s arm and begin leading her down the crowded street. So far, so good.
Only it didn’t feel good. Court was more nervous than he had ever been.
A moment later, DiMona handed Heather into a pewter-colored Lincoln and shut the door firmly before walking around the car to get into the driver’s seat. Heather’s little Volkswagen was being left behind for the second time in as many nights. It had appeared for an instant as though Heather might have argued against abandoning her car, but DiMona had prevailed.
“They’re pulling out,” Ernest informed him un necessarily from his position behind the wheel. Although Court was pretty certain that the strength in his leg was now reliable, he didn’t want to risk something going wrong tonight, so he’d taken the passenger seat.
He nodded. “Yeah. Get ready.”
Ernest put the nondescript sedan they were driving into gear and inched forward. The tail would be conducted by three cars, in constant communication, traveling parallel to each other on different streets. They would switch off every so often, reducing the possibility of being spotted, and they would communicate on a series of predetermined radio channels, making it difficult for anyone to follow their communications. Now, Ernest spoke into the radio. “Suspect on the move. Heading south. We’re in pursuit.”
The other units confirmed that they’d heard the transmission, and were moving.
After almost an hour of zigging and zagging over half the city of Seattle it seemed, DiMona finally led them to a secluded area of the city where moderately-styled beach houses commanded astronomical prices for their view.
“Isn’t this DiMona’s own place?” Ernest asked.
Court nodded. “Yeah. I don’t like the feel of this.” It was out of character for DiMona to let anyone into his personal domain. Court had fully expected to be led to a rented warehouse somewhere. This felt wrong.
He furrowed his brows in thought. Would DiMona have brought the kid here? Possibly. He’d expected to have him for a few days. And he wouldn’t have wanted to fall into an easily traceable routine by going somewhere else to take him food. But, if DiMona had brought Des here, why hadn’t surveillance seen the kid being brought in? He looked across the car at Ernest. “Is there a way to get to the beachside entrance without being seen?”
Ernest shook his head. “Not unless you arrive by boat.”
Boat. Okay, so it was possible the kid could have been brought in without anyone noticing. But, unless the kid had been blindfolded, which was unlikely because something like that would really attract attention in a residential neighborhood like this, it meant that DiMona had never had any intention of letting him go. And, if he was bringing Heather here now, that meant… “Damn!”
“Yup,” Ernest agreed, obviously having followed the same lines of thought. “We’re gonna have to move in fast.”
As Di
Mona conducted Heather into the beach house kitchen, she anxiously scanned for any sign of Des. The kitchen was empty. In fact, it barely looked lived in. The countertops were bare. No ornaments or dishes sat out. There was only a fridge, a stove and a round oak table with three ladder-back chairs. She met DiMona’s cold-eyed look, and carefully keeping all emotion from her voice, asked, “Where is he?”
DiMona’s only response was to gesture with a jerk of his head in the direction of an arched doorway that, presumably, led to the living room. Heather moved forward. The instant she was in the doorway, her eyes found Des. He had been tied to the missing fourth kitchen chair in the center of the living room. His mouth had once again been taped shut with duct tape, and his eyes, wide and frightened, shouted at her to run, to escape. But Heather couldn’t heed his plea. Blind to everything but the need to touch him, to reassure herself that he was all right, she began to move toward him only to be brought up short when DiMona grabbed her arm.
“Okay. You’ve seen him. Now, what have you got?”
Heather jerked her arm from his grasp, the fury she felt on Des’s behalf smothering her fear. Meeting DiMona’s gaze, it took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to slap his smug face. Instead, she said the words that could well condemn them all if Court had miscalculated in the slightest. “Court Gabriele is a DEA agent.” She felt as though she betrayed Court with those words—even knowing that she followed the directions he himself had given her.
DiMona’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
“I overheard a conversation he was having with Ernest. He was telling him that he intended to get you for the murder of Brett Sanders. He said that Sanders was his friend and one of the DEA’s best agents and that they had to bring his murderer to justice.”
She met DiMona’s gaze squarely, as instructed by Court. No evasion. For an endless moment, DiMona’s soulless eyes seemed to penetrate her soul. Then, he nodded. “Good. Anything else?”
“No. Now, I want you to release my brother.”
DiMona raised a brow. “By all means.”
Heather all but raced across the room. Des had sagged in the chair now, and was staring at her with defeated eyes. As her nervous fingers tugged at the tape covering his mouth, she tried to communicate reassurance to him. But he either didn’t read her expression, or refused to believe in the promise of hope.
“Oh, Des, are you all right?” she asked him as soon as the tape was clear of his mouth.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right. You shouldn’t have come.”
Heather began tugging at the ropes binding his hands. She wanted him able to move when the agents stormed the house. “Shouldn’t have come! Don’t be ridiculous.”
Suddenly, a flash and a click drew her attention. Looking over her shoulder, she saw DiMona standing in the center of the room with a camera. At her questioning look, he smiled a mirthless smile. “For posterity,” he said.
Des swore. “He takes pictures of the people he kills, Heather.”
As Heather’s eyes widened in shock, DiMona smirked. “Don’t worry if you’re not at your best, Heather. It’s a private collection.” She hated the way he said her name.
As Des’s hands came free, he bent to work at the ropes binding his ankles. Heather, thus freed of her task, moved to stand before him facing DiMona.
“Still protecting little brother.”
Heather ignored his sarcasm. “You promised me that if I did what you wanted, we could have our lives back.”
He pulled a handgun and a tubelike object from his jacket pocket and began to attach the cylinder to the muzzle of the gun. A silencer! “I lied.” He smiled coldly. “You’re dead. Both of you.”
In the instant before Heather could open her mouth, before DiMona could pull the trigger, the living room window exploded inward in a shower of broken glass. Chaos ensued. Remembering Court’s directions to hit the floor, Heather dropped like a stone and dragged Des down with her. And then, all she could do was scrunch her body up into as small a target as possible while shielding her head to try to block out the sounds of violence. She wished for the oblivion of unconsciousness, but her mind refused to comply.
She thought she saw DiMona jerk and clutch his shoulder, but she wasn’t sure. He fired his gun in a continuous volley in the direction of the window.
Bullets whined. Men shouted. Someone screamed in pain and swore. Another voice yelled, “He’s getting away. Son of a bitch! Where the hell did he go?”
Oh, no! Where was DiMona? Still here somewhere? Would he try to carry out his threat before he was caught?
Where was Court? Was he all right?
Chapter 16
Someone swore again. “Okay. I want a thorough search of this place. No stone left unturned.”
Heather held her breath. Please catch him. DiMona’s threat resounded in her mind. She didn’t want to die.
A hand fell on her shoulder, and she jumped, a muffled squeal of terror escaping her throat before she could contain it. “Whoa, there. It’s Court. Are you okay?”
At the sound of his familiar voice, the terror faded somewhat and she sat up, nodding jerkily in response to his question. “Yes.” Relief poured through her that he, too, appeared unhurt. “Des?”
“Right here, Sis.” He was sitting just behind and to her right. Now, he got to his feet and moved forward, his gaze on Court as though he sensed the undercurrents between this stranger and his sister, and was trying to interpret them. He looked at her. “Is this the client?”
Heather nodded as she accepted Court’s silently offered hand to get to her feet. Des had always been very intuitive. “This is Court Gabriele. Or rather, Court Morgan.” Court had told her his real name when he’d been briefing her on what to tell DiMona. But it was difficult to suddenly start thinking of him as another person. “He’s with the DEA.”
Des nodded and offered his hand to Court. “I’m Des Buchanan.” Despite the ordeal he’d been through, Des seemed different in some way—more self-assured—but Heather didn’t have the opportunity to pay much heed to the passing observation.
As Court accepted Des’s hand, the two men sized each other up. Des obviously decided to get worry out of the way first. “Am I under arrest?”
Court considered him. “Not at the moment. But, I daresay you’ll have a lot of explaining to do before this is over.”
Des nodded. “Understood.” His gaze shifted to the chaos surrounding them. “Did you get him?”
Court met his gaze silently for a moment, briefly turned his head to meet Heather’s worried look, then shook his head. “No. He got out on the beachside of the house. Took off in a boat. But we’ll get him. We’ve got him on kidnapping and unlawful confinement now, and we’re looking for more evidence.”
“Do you know about the pictures?” Heather asked.
Court frowned. “We found a camera. An expensive digital model.”
Des shook his head. “That’s not what she means. DiMona saved pictures.” He went on to explain how DiMona had taunted him with the idea of increasing his collection.
Court nodded. “We’ll look for them.” Someone yelled his name, and he looked over his shoulder.
“We’ve got keys,” the voice said. Heather thought it sounded like Ernest. “One that looks like it could be for a safety deposit box.”
“Great!” Court yelled in response before turning his attention back to Heather. “We’ll be finished here in a little while. It would probably be best if you waited in the car.”
“No!” Realizing that her tone was almost frantic, Heather modulated her tone. “What if DiMona comes back and we’re out there while all of you are in here?” She shook her head. “He said he was going to kill us.”
Court considered her. At first glance, she seemed remarkably composed considering the harrowing time she’d been through. But a closer look revealed that her composure was brittle. Heather was strong—life had made her that way—but even she had limits. Ignoring the expression on young
Des Buchanan’s face, Court put his arms around her. “I won’t let him get to you, Heather,” he murmured into her ear. “You have my word on that. All right?”
He heard her draw a shaky breath, and then she nodded. He rubbed her back for a moment, and felt some of the tension begin to ease from her body. “You and Des just wait over there for me then.” He indicated a spot against one wall that didn’t appear as though it would be of any interest to those doing the evidence collection. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” And somehow, between now and then, he had to come up with a way to keep his promise, to keep her safe.
Damn! He was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole that he wasn’t sure he could find his way out of without losing part of himself. Any relationship between them was hopeless. They were simply too far apart. He didn’t know how to be anything other than what he was. And she wouldn’t live her life with a man who represented something she hated. So why the hell didn’t he pass the responsibility for her protection on to someone else and save himself the headache?
Damned if he knew the answer to that question.
Turning back to the room and his job, he walked over to Dave. The young agent had taken a bullet in the shoulder during the initial moments of the strike, but it was a clean wound. “How you doin’?”
Despite the pain written on his face, Dave tried to smile. “I’ll live.”
Court nodded. “The ambulance should be here any minute. Just take it easy, okay?”
Dave nodded. “Yeah. It’s not quite the way I pictured it, you know. I feel like I should be telling you it’s just a flesh wound—like in the movies—but it’s not like that.”
Court’s mouth twisted in a wry smile as he squeezed Dave’s uninjured shoulder. “It never is, man. It never is.”
The sun was coming up when Court ushered Heather and Des onto the small twin-engine airplane he’d chartered. They were all exhausted, but all in all—from a professional point of view—it hadn’t been a bad night. Doug Grey, his legal partner, had earned immunity from the prosecution for his complete cooperation with the DEA. Channing had lost everything his illicit profits had purchased, but he’d earned a reduced sentence for his help. The Seattle cell of the cartel had been dealt a mortal blow while still in its infancy. The Agency had a total of three injured agents, but they had made over thirty high-profile arrests including Aponte and Antonio Vargas.
Undercover with the Enemy Page 16
