Shadow of Doubt

by Linda Poitevin

  His gaze traveled over the sedan again. He also seemed to remember an intimate acquaintance with the trunk of a car just like that one, right after he'd been shot. He shook off the sense of déjà vu. This time was different, he reminded himself. This time, others knew about Lewis and Ramirez, knew he was here, watched over him.

  He risked a quick glance up at the building on the other side of the alley and the rows of windows that stared down on him. This time, others had his back—Kate had his back—and he knew what he was dealing with.

  This time, there would be no surprises.

  He gripped the doorknob, cold against his palm, and turned it. Then he pulled open the door and stepped into the warehouse.

  * * *

  "Carmen. Lewis." Jonas's measured tones filtered through the equipment on the desk, rich and vibrant, filling the office. Kate turned to stare at the receiver that had become the center of her entire universe. Grant went to stand beside the desk.

  "Burke." A male voice spoke. "You're a brave man, coming out into the open like this with so many people looking for you."

  "So why not be a hero and take me in?"

  Kate pictured the belligerent expression that would have accompanied Jonas's words, and her skin tightened.

  The man snorted. "I think we can do without the games."

  "I was hoping so."

  "Why don't you start by telling us what you want?" a woman's voice suggested. Carmen Ramirez.

  "Three million," Jonas replied. "Cash. If I'm going to live with the accusations, I should be able to enjoy the spoils, don't you think?"

  There was a moment's silence.

  "And in return?" asked a new male voice.

  "Sorry, I don't think we've met?"

  "You don't need my name."

  "Then you don't need what I have."

  Footsteps.

  "Hold on, Burke," said Lewis. "This is Hal Peters."

  "Never heard of him. Is he Bureau?"

  "Canadian."

  Kate sucked in a sharp breath, the name and nationality coming together in her mind with explosive force. Corporal Henry Peters, RCMP Customs and Excise, going by the nickname Hal. He'd been a part of the investigation into Jimmy Lazarus—and the reason the investigation would have failed to turn up the real suspects if Kate hadn’t been there to contradict him. At the time, she’d put his errors down to sloppy work, but now...now it made more sense. And she wasn't in the least surprised to learn he was their Canadian connection.

  She grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the box of desk contents, jotted down a note, and passed it to Grant. He glanced at it, then at her. A single nod conveyed understanding. They focused again on their eavesdropping.

  "—and he gave me all the papers to back up what he told me," Jonas was saying. "Those are what you get in exchange."

  "You really think we're that stupid?" Lewis laughed. "We checked the files, Burke. Honeyman never removed them from the office."

  "Do you really think Rick was that stupid?" Jonas countered. "He told you not to go after me in the first place, and when you screwed up, it made him nervous. He copied everything as a backup and kept it at his apartment. With good reason, apparently."

  Another silence, longer this time.

  "You're bluffing," Lewis said at last.

  "Maybe. Maybe not. You can part with some of your profits to find out, or you can kill me and wait to see if my partner takes the evidence to the feds—along with my signed statement as to what it all means. Your choice."

  "Kate Dexter has the files?" Hal Peters gave a derisive chuckle. "Now I know you're lying. If she had anything, she'd have already turned it in. They don't come any more uptight than Dexter."

  "Just like she turned me in?" Jonas asked. "Kate's blown any career she once had by helping me, Peters, and you know it. She needs the money to drop out and start fresh somewhere, just like I do."

  The pause this time lasted so long that Kate began to think they'd lost their connection. The air knotted in her chest.

  "If I'd never seen you in action, Burke, and if I didn't know what a damned good liar you are, I might believe you," Lewis said at last. "But our partners would be less than happy if we handed that much money over to you without proof of what we get in return."

  Partners? Kate exchanged another look with a grim-faced Grant. It was their first evidence that others were involved. But how many? They needed more information. Jonas had to get names.

  Lewis was speaking again. "I tell you what. Let's have your friend bring us a sample. She provides us with one file, and we'll talk business."

  "You really think I'm stupid enough to put both of us in the same room with you?" Jonas gave a short bark of laughter. "Forget it. Kate stays out of this. You want a file, I'll get one for you. But I get it, not Kate." Footsteps sounded as he added, "You kiddies stick around. I'll be back in an hour."

  "Hold up there a minute, Burke."

  Lewis's voice had hardened, and Kate's heart dropped to her toes at the unmistakable sound of a gun leaving its leather holster. The footsteps stopped.

  "I think we'll do this our way, if it's all the same to you," Lewis said. "You call Dexter. She brings the file here to all of us. You stay. Peters, why don't you take Agent Burke over to one of those chairs and see that he's comfortable while he makes his call?"

  Heavier steps crossed concrete, and Kate suddenly remembered Hal Peters as a veritable mountain of a man. Much larger than Jonas. A brief scuffle sounded, and then—

  “What the hell is that?” Peters’s voice demanded. “Lewis, that belt buckle. Isn’t that—?”

  “Issue,” Carmen Ramirez responded. “It’s goddamned issue, Lewis. I told you we should’ve scanned him for tech. He’s freaking wired!”

  Other sounds poured through the radio connection. An angry bellow—Jonas's? More scuffling. The muffled crunch of a blow being struck. A thud. Labored breathing. And then—

  "Get the damn thing off him, for chrisssake!" Lewis shouted. "Peters, check the—"

  His words cut off abruptly, and the quiet static of radio silence took their place. Kate turned to Grant in disbelief, but he was already in full swing, barking out orders as he pointed at various agents.

  "Tell them to block the alley!" he snapped at the first. "Both ends!" He pointed at another. "You—get me Jack Lewis's cell number. You three, clear everyone out of this side of the building. And for God's sake, someone get me the assistant director! Move, people, move."

  Agents sprang into action, one pulling out a cell phone as she headed into the corridor on the heels of three others, one issuing terse instructions over the radio, another handing a cell phone to Grant. Two more headed for the windows with binoculars in hand.

  Sound and movement roared together in a hideous blur around Kate. The floor bucked beneath her feet, threatening to pitch her to her knees. She remained upright through sheer force of will, moving out of the way, claiming a third window for her own, fighting down hysteria.

  She remembered Jonas's face as she'd first seen it, blood spattered and pale beneath caked mud—but this time she saw it not through the eyes of the stranger she had been, but through those of the lover she had become. Her gut twisted. She struggled to draw air into lungs that had all but forgotten how to function.

  God, please, no.

  A shout went up from one of the other windows, and Kate leaned forward too fast, her forehead connecting sharply with the glass. She blinked away tears of pain as four people emerged from the warehouse below. Her gaze fastened on Jonas, one arm slung over Hal Peters's shoulders, feet bouncing as the larger man dragged him over the doorsill.

  Unconscious.

  Even as she registered the fact, the group stopped, and Lewis and Ramirez both gesticulated wildly. They pulled their weapons from their holsters and made a hasty retreat back into the building. The battered metal door slammed shut, cutting them off from the cops that had blocked the alley. Cutting her off from Jonas.

  She jumped as a hand close
d over her shoulder.

  "We'll get him out, Kate," Grant said. "You have my word."

  She wanted to believe him, but the cop in her had been in his shoes before and knew he could make no guarantees. She didn't reply.

  Grant released her shoulder. "The assistant director is on his way down. I'll let you know when he gets here."

  Kate turned back to the alley and the empty sedan sitting outside the warehouse door. She crossed her arms against the icy cold that had settled in the center of her soul. Thought about how Lewis and Ramirez had already tried to kill Jonas once and how they had nothing to lose by finishing the job now. They'd already be going to prison for so long at this point that his murder would make no difference to anyone except them.

  And Jonas.

  A knife blade slipped between her ribs.

  And me.

  "They won't let him out." She hated herself for being the one to speak the words—the truth—on everyone's minds. Movement and noise subsided behind them. She felt Grant's eyes on her. Braced for his denial, the empty assurances he would feel obliged to make.

  He cleared his throat. "I'll let you know when Assistant Director Fraser arrives," he said again, and he moved away.

  Kate rested her bruised forehead against the cool glass and stared at the warehouse door across the alley.

  Chapter 44

  It took long, excruciating minutes for Jonas’s awareness to come back online. Hal Peters had handcuffed him to the post in the center of the floor, but not until the man had buried his fist in the still-healing gut wound left by Lewis's bullet. Twice.

  The first time had left Jonas unable to breathe. The second had left him unable to function—physically or mentally. Jonas risked a shallow inhale as the agony in his belly subsided. The pain stabilized into a deep, dull throb. Slowly, the haze between him and the rest of the world dissipated. He took another breath and then, chin resting on his chest, cracked open his eyes enough to take stock of the situation.

  It wasn't encouraging.

  Sheets of plywood, braced by scrap lumber, had been placed over the windows lining the alley wall, cutting the already murky daylight to almost nothing. Jonas made out the figures of Ramirez and Peters at gaps in the wood, their weapons drawn and their faces grim in the little light that penetrated. A dozen feet away, Lewis paced the concrete floor, cell phone pressed to his ear, his voice angry—and desperate.

  Jonas's hands twitched in the metal cuffs. Desperate wasn't good. Desperate led to impulsive moves. Stupid decisions. Choices that got people killed. People like Jonas. He tuned into the one-sided conversation.

  "I know how this works, Douglas," Lewis said. "And I'm telling you now, I'm not interested in negotiation."

  A pause while Lewis listened to the voice at the other end of the line, and then, "No, I don't want to make a deal. I don't give a flying fuck about reduced sentences. I've seen what happens to cops who get sent up, remember? There's one deal on the table, and one deal only. We get a plane out of the country, you get Burke. Take it or leave it."

  Another pause. Another snarl. "I said no. You have our terms. First sign of activity in that alley, I put a bullet in Burke's head. Don't call again until our plane is ready."

  Lewis ended the call, and Jonas closed his eyes, pretending continued unconsciousness.

  "You really think they'll go for it?" Peters asked. "Maybe we should—"

  "No," Lewis cut him off. "We roll over on the others, we die. You know it, and I know it. Our only option is getting the hell out of the country."

  Peters was silent for a second, then said, "Ramirez?"

  "Jack's right. You don't give up names like Zabatoff and live to tell the tale."

  Zabatoff? These idiots are in bed with one of Russia’s most infamous arms dealers? The revelation was nearly Jonas's undoing, but he managed to remain still enough not to alert the others to his eavesdropping.

  “You're a frickin' idiot if you think the feds will go along with this,” Peters grumbled.

  "I think we didn't give them a choice," Lewis said.

  "And Burke? You'll really turn him over?"

  "After the chase he's led us on?" Lewis snorted. "What do you think?"

  Peters didn't answer. Jonas didn't need him to. In his mind's eye, he went over the warehouse setup again, examining the details he'd filed away as he'd entered, as he'd stood talking to Lewis. There weren't many. A cavernous space, empty but for piles of rubbish and the wood Peters and Ramirez had used to shore up the only windows. A solid concrete floor throughout. Metal roof. One pedestrian door at the front, through which he'd entered. A massive loading door at the rear, closed and padlocked.

  What had seemed the ideal place for a meet was a virtual fortress when it came to a police assault. If Grant Douglas and the feds stormed the place—the likely scenario—he would almost certainly die along with the others. And even if they let Lewis think they’d caved to his demands in order to draw them out into the open, .there was no way Lewis would let him live.

  Either way, Kate's last memory of him would be the aftermath of his phone call to Valerie. His denial of anything between them. Everything between them. His chest tightened, and he closed his eyes.

  Oh, Kate.

  * * *

  "Constable Dexter?"

  Kate wasn't sure what startled her more: the unexpected voice at her shoulder, or hearing her name and rank for the first time in what seemed an eon. She turned to face a short, thin, middle-aged man in a dark blue suit and charcoal overcoat. Blue eyes regarded her with calm professionalism.

  "I'm Assistant Director Sean Fraser," he said.

  Kate summoned a ghost of a smile and dutifully shook hands.

  "Why don't you come and have a coffee?" A.D. Fraser suggested. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

  Glancing out the window, Kate hesitated. She hadn't moved from her post in almost two hours because a part of her—the not altogether rational part—was convinced that if she did, Jonas would die in her absence.

  A gentle hand cupped her elbow and urged her forward.

  "It'll do you good," A.D. Fraser said, “and it’s only on the other side of the room.”

  She eased cramped muscles into motion and allowed him to lead her to the far side of the office. A coffee station had been set up there, with percolator, foam cups, and a mixed heap of creamers and sugar packets. An open box of thickly frosted donuts sat to one side, but Kate’s stomach churned at the sight of them, and she shook her head when offered one.

  A.D. Fraser poured two coffees and led her to the quietest corner of the room, pulling two chairs over and waiting until she sat down before he did so himself.

  “Constable Dexter—”

  “Kate,” she said.

  Fraser started over. “Kate, you should know that I’ve been in touch with Assistant Commissioner Bennett.”

  Dave’s father-in-law? Kate frowned. “Why?”

  “Given the circumstances, we’re setting up a joint investigation with the RCMP. The assistant commissioner says he can’t guarantee you total amnesty, but he has named you to the task force as their primary investigator, retroactive to when you met Agent Burke. That should erase some of your...um..."

  "Less horrendous escapades?" Kate supplied.

  A faint smile tipped the corners of A.D. Fraser's mouth. "Something like that. Another of your colleagues is flying down with the memorandum of understanding. Constable Jennings, I think the A.C. said. He should be here within the hour."

  "My partner." Great. If nothing else set her off, Dave Jennings's bear hug and bottomless sympathy were sure to do so. She began shoring up her defenses in anticipation of Dave's arrival. "I appreciate your help, sir—"

  "Sean."

  "—but what I really want to know is what's happening here."

  "Not much so far. Special Agent Douglas is handling the negotiations."

  "They want leniency in exchange for testimony?" she guessed.

  "Not exactly."


  Kate frowned. "Then what?"

  "Total amnesty and a ticket out of the country in exchange for Agent Burke. No testimony."

  Kate watched the other agents moving about the room. She sipped at the overly sweetened coffee. "If you let them leave with Jonas," she said finally, "they'll kill him and disappear, and whoever else is involved will get off scot-free."

  Fraser nodded grim agreement. "And if we go in after them, they'll kill him, probably get killed themselves, and whoever else is involved will still go free."

  Rock, meet hard place.

  The cop in Kate already knew the answer to her next question, but she asked anyway, because the woman in her needed to hear it. Needed to know for sure.

  "What are you going to do?"

  The assistant director squared his shoulders, his expression going tight as if bracing for argument. "We've called in tactical," he said simply.

  Kate set the cup down on the bookshelf beside him. "Thanks for the coffee," she said, and then she went back to her post at the window.

  * * *

  Within the hour promised by A.D. Fraser, a familiar voice spoke behind Kate. "You know, when I told you to be careful, this wasn't quite what I had in mind."

  Dave. At last.

  Bracing herself, she turned to greet her partner—and in an instant, all the mental preparation she thought she'd done for his appearance crumbled into relief, terror, and sheer hopelessness. Tears filled her eyes, and she gulped for air through a suddenly constricted throat. Without a word, Dave reached for her, and leather-clad arms wrapped her in the bear hug she'd both needed and dreaded ever since she'd learned he was flying down. A shudder wracked her frame. The arms tightened, and a chin rested on top of her head.

  Kate stayed in the comforting embrace for long seconds, letting Dave's silent strength envelop her as she swallowed her tears and struggled to regain a semblance of control. She'd come too far with Jonas to dissolve into hysterics now. He needed her to be a cop, not some wilting flower. At last, she pushed back and offered Dave a crooked smile.