by Lakes, Lynde
“No dying allowed,” she said with a lilt in her voice.
“Right.” Especially since meeting her, he had so much to live for. He rounded the car with a spring in his step. In the next aisle, a battered gray Mustang crawled by. It paused and idled, the driver seemed to be looking their way. Although there were several parking spaces open, the driver just sat there idling. The hairs on the back of Bard’s neck prickled.
He didn’t like this. He squinted trying to get a look at the guy, but the glare on Mustang’s windshield made it impossible. Bard started toward him. If he could get closer…maybe catch the plate numbers. Before he walked more than a few feet, the driver gunned the engine and took off and disappeared into the sea of automobiles.
When Bard returned to his Z and slid behind the wheel, Paula said, “Why were you staring at that car? Is something wrong?”
Not wanting to alarm her, he shook his head and plastered on a smile. “Car sort of looked like an old Mustang I used to have.” In spite of the ache in his gut for the half lie, he forced a chuckle. “Nostalgia, I guess.”
He started the car and slowly pulled out of the lot into the Los Angeles traffic. He studied all the nearby cars, parked and moving. He checked the rearview mirror. When satisfied no one was on his tail, he headed for the San Diego Freeway. In minutes, they were flowing with the seventy-mile-an-hour traffic like a log caught in rushing flood waters.
Lying to Paula had brought back the pain of deceiving innocent parties. Was he really up to this undercover gig. He hadn’t done anything like it since he’d left the Air Force. He remembered the charges of adrenaline he’d had from saving lives and stopping enemies. It was the best high in the world. The power of that thought sent a rush of confidence through him. He could do this, whatever it took. He had to—for Paula.
As though feeling his glance, she looked up from reading the journal and smiled, faith flickering in her eyes. Damn. Why was there always a catch to everything? He’d worked hard to build her trust. Now he had to keep things from her.
Bard squinted against the glare of the sun reflected on the rear windshield of the car ahead of him. He eased up on the gas pedal to back off a car length. Maybe that was the problem in the clear zone; he’d gotten too close, and it had temporarily blinded him. Perhaps it was time to step back and sift through the facts and examine the things that bothered him.
Learning Charlie had been the one to hold up the request for security brought new questions. Did that mean bossman Gordon was off the hook? Or had he somehow learned about the undercover operation and betrayed Charlie?
And what was Cory’s motive for hounding Paula about Charlie’s murder? Was he even considering more likely suspects? Like Gordon, for instance. Or Deeter. Even the jerk contractor, Les Cardel, would profit if the clear zone residents left quickly. Cory should be investigating all of them and others. Everyone but Paula.
Bard glanced over at her. The quiet way she’d conducted herself when they first got to Reed’s office suggested she would let him do all the talking. Was he ever wrong about that. He chuckled remembering her spirited outburst.
“Your threat of going to the newspapers totally took Reed off guard,” Bard said, feeling so proud of her that he thought his chest might burst.
Paula laughed. “Nichols and Lord, we make a good team. I wonder if Reed really thought I didn’t know what was going on when he sent me out of the room?”
Bard’s throat went dry. “You knew?”
“Sure. He wanted to talk to you alone.” She sent Bard a conspiring look. “And I appreciate what you’re doing.”
Bard tensed. Had she overheard his conversation with Reed? “What’s that?”
“Taking me around. Helping me decipher Charlie’s papers. Without your help, I wouldn’t have known that the letter from Chief Reed meant Charlie worked for The Corps. And the Chief wouldn’t have admitted anything if I’d been alone.”
“Reed couldn’t have denied Charlie was their agent for long. Not with you being his beneficiary.”
Bard got that queasy feeling in his stomach again; the money also gave Cory the motive he needed to link Paula to Charlie’s murder.
It seemed inconceivable that she could innocently benefit from the murders of three people: her grandmother-in-law, her husband, and Charlie. Evidence was mounting against her. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. What if Cory was right? Bard darted a glance at her. In the instant their gazes met, he knew this woman, knew her soul. It might be an uphill fight to hold onto that belief, but he wouldn’t give up on her.
She moved closer to him, setting off warnings in his head. “I’m glad you insisted we make this trip together,” she said. “I needed you, and didn’t know it.”
“We needed each other.” His throat went dry. Electricity sizzled between them, forging a dangerous path. “Without access to Charlie’s documents, I wouldn’t have known Charlie was killed because of a blown cover.”
“Charlie would be pleased there’s someone besides me who cares,” she said softly. “Someone I can trust.”
Bard’s throat constricted. He sensed Paula studying his profile, perhaps waiting for him to confirm her faith. God, he hated the deception.
“I’m going through this journal word by word,” Paula said. Her eyes glittered with determination. “If there’s a clue to the killer’s identity in these pages, I’ll find it.”
“Might be in code.”
She blew an escaped carroty curl from her forehead. “Thought of that. That’s why I’m analyzing even vague entries.”
Bard ached to share with her as freely as she was sharing with him. “We have to finish sorting through Charlie’s documents, too,” he said, feeling lousy.
Paula tilted her head and smiled. “Looks like a busy afternoon ahead of us.”
Bard changed lanes. “Not the most exciting way to spend a sunny afternoon, is it?”
“Who knows? Life is full of surprises. We might find just what we’re looking for.” The upbeat tone in her voice touched his heart. She grinned and raised a playful brow. “Besides, in a way the process itself is exciting, sort of like being agents ourselves.”
He swallowed. “Right. If you ignore the fact that it’s unofficial.” Damn the need for secrecy! Guilt scraped his nerves like sandpaper. “And unofficial means working for free.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “Money’s never been my motivator.”
It was easy to believe that. With the property and money she’d already inherited, she probably had plenty of money, making it less of a motivator. And after the insurance settlements she had even more. She was the beneficiary for all those people.
With effort, he forced his misgivings away and focused on how she’d led the people in the clear zone to take a stand. “Right. Causes are your thing.”
“What about you? You admitted you could lose your job by coming here.”
“I like things to be the way they’re supposed to be,” Bard said. “And this project isn’t.”
“So, causes are your thing, too, only you don’t want to admit it.”
“I’m no Don Quixote. I don’t look for wrongs to right, but if they fall in my lap, I don’t turn tail either.”
At a stop light, Bard looked over at Paula. Sun rays blasted through the passenger window and set her slightly frizzy hair aflame with strands of luminous copper. “Stayin’ Alive” was playing on the radio. Reed’s warning echoed in Bard’s head: the more they knew, the greater their chances of ending up exactly like Charlie. Dead.
They had to review the journal and the rest of the documents quickly. Then he had to persuade Paula to leave the clear zone. It wouldn’t be easy. She was passionate, even obsessive about finding Charlie’s killer. He didn’t mind risking his own life, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t risk hers.
Chapter Seventeen
Three hours later, back in San Diego, Paula leaned on the hotel terrace railing and stared down at the swirling waves licking at the base of the rugged cliff.
The door between their adjoining rooms was open, and she thought she heard Bard’s pacing footsteps. Why was he pacing? She fought a persistent uneasy feeling that he was holding something back. He seemed to be including her, yet there was something she couldn’t put her finger on.
The phone rang, and he answered it. He was silent as though listening intently, then said, “Be right down.” The tension in his voice was unnervingly evident. A moment later, he appeared at the terrace slider and said, “That was hotel security. Someone backed into my Z. They need me to check the damages and fill out an accident report.”
She took a couple steps toward him, feeling more than just concern about his car; it was a deeper worry. “Want me to go with you?”
“No, there’s nothing you can do. Your time will be better spent combing the journal for more leads. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Paula nodded. He was right, so why did she feel closed out? She sat down and rested against the lounge chair’s oversized pillow, trying to relax. The sun sent its warming rays deep into her skin while the salty breeze caressed her face and arms. At the overhead cry of gulls, she looked up. They glided and soared against the azure cloudless sky, white and graceful. They were so free, free like she and Charlie were for a while, free of foster homes, free to be themselves. Then someone ended it for him. Watching the birds strengthened her determination to get justice for Charlie. Birds were creatures she understood and trusted, and birds represented the love she and Charlie had shared. “Don’t worry, Charlie,” she whispered to the wind, “I won’t stop until I put your killer behind bars.”
She lowered her eyes to the journal, filled with renewed hope. She hadn’t read more than a few pages when she heard tapping on the door to the corridor. Bard must have forgotten his key. She rose quickly, her bare feet hitting the terrace tile with a soft thud. She padded through the open slider and quickly crossed the room. As she reached for the handle, an unfamiliar man’s voice, thick with a slurry Spanish accent said, “Knock harder. The Bird lady’s in there.” Paula’s hand froze. She glanced at the double lock. It wasn’t engaged. Hardly breathing, she twisted the knob and eased the dead bolt into place.
“Gimme the crowbar,” another man said.
“I can do it,” the first guy insisted. “Just get out of the way.”
Paula’s heart pounded. Her gun was at home in a drawer. Who’d ever dream she’d need it over ninety miles away from the trouble? Stay calm. Bard’s gun was here! She whirled and raced through the doorway to his room. With trembling fingers, Paula opened the shiny black leather case. She shoved file folders out of the way and stuck her hand into the divided compartment. She exhaled in relief as her fingers closed over his gun. She checked. Loaded.
The door rattled, metal pryed into the frame and gouged wood. Paula grabbed the phone and dialed the desk. “Room 1825. Help! Someone’s breaking in!”
The doorjamb splintered. It was too late for outside help. If she hid, they’d find her. She had to count on the element of surprise and face the danger head on. Paula ran to the doorway between the rooms. Trembling, she crouched there. With both sweaty hands on the gun, she aimed. As as the corridor door burst open, she fired.
A man cursed and shouted, “I’m hit!”
The other man fired.
Paula screamed.
****
Bard was examining the dent in his fender when gunshots echoed from a top floor room. He stiffened. Paula!
He ran for the elevator. It was already there. Bard glanced heavenward. Thank you, God. When the lift stopped at their floor, he dashed out and heard retreating steps in the stairwell, but didn’t dare chance chasing the guys—he had to get to Paula. He raced down the corridor and through the opening provided by the bashed-in door. The noxious odor of gunpowder hung in the air. His stomach knotted. “Paula!” he shouted.
She stepped from behind the door frame between their adjoining rooms and slumped against it, holding a gun. Bard saw no blood. Above her head, a bullet had gorged the wood. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. He took the gun from her limp hand. It barely registered that it was his gun. He slipped it into his pocket and drew Paula into his arms.
“What happened?”
“Two gunmen burst in here.”
Bard swore under his breath. How had they found them? He’d been so careful.
Paula’s body trembled against him. He drew her closer. Suddenly, two men wearing security uniforms charged into the room. The burly apes grabbed Bard, yanked him away from Paula, and the biggest guy twisted his arm behind his back.
“He’s not the one!” Paula screamed.
The security men immediately released Bard. The one who’d twisted his arm said, “Sorry, sir. We thought….”
“It’s okay.” Bard rubbed his arm. “Just get those guys.”
The security man turned to Paula. “Can you give us a description, ma’am?”
“One was tall and thin,” she said with a tremor in her voice, “about 170 pounds, the other was short and beefy, perhaps 190. The tall thin guy had a slurry Spanish accent. His S’s sounded like Z’s.”
Bard stared at Paula with a new sense of alarm rising in him. “You heard the intruders’ voices?”
She nodded. “I think I’ll recognize them if I ever hear them again.” Without losing a beat, she returned her attention to the security men. “I think the other guy was Caucasian.” She paused, then continued, “I couldn’t see their faces or much else. They wore stocking masks, gloves, and blue coveralls like maintenance people wear.”
“I’ll alert our forces and notify management,” the guard said. “In spite of the perps wearing gloves there might be trace evidence. We have to wait for the police to check it out. before we let maintenance repair the door. A bellman will move you to another room.” He flipped on his radio unit and quickly relayed the description to the security center. “When you guys send up the maintenace crew, tell them not to wear blue.”
Bard watched the security duo turn and rush out of the room. He had no confidence in their ability to catch the shooter; they’d let too much time elapse. His heart thundered in his chest. “You can’t let anyone else know you can identify the intruders that way. It puts you in even greater danger.”
She laughed without humor. “Greater danger than being shot at?”
“Affirmative. Next time they might not miss.”
She looked down. “I know,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Bard heard the quiver in her voice and wanted to take her into his arms again, but the memory of her softness kept him motionless. If he touched her, he’d lose what little control he had left.
“Oh,” she said, as if she’d remembered something important, “your car. How badly is it damaged?”
“No big deal. I suspect the hit and run driver smashed my fender only to draw me away from you.”
Paula started gathering up her things. “I don’t want to just move to another room, I think we should leave.”
“First, we need to figure out how they knew where to find us. It’s like we’re bugged.”
Paula paused and snapped her fingers. “Your car!”
“I was thinking the same thing. You can wait at the security center while I go over it.”
She grabbed her purse. “No way. I’m going with you.”
After what had happened before when he left her alone, he wasn’t about to argue.
On their way to the parking structure, they stopped by the security center. One of the guards told them that the shooters had discarded their coveralls in the stairwell and must have blended in with the guests. “We’ve checked the whole grounds,” the guard said. “They probably had a car waiting near the stairwell exit.”
Bard was afraid of that, but before he could respond, the police arrived. He and Paula answered the lead officer’s questions about the shooting. The police went upstairs and checked the shattered door and the bullet gouge in the doorjamb. While their lab team finished dustin
g for prints upstairs, the first responder who seemed in charge joined them in the parking garage and examined Bard’s dented car. He agreed with Bard that the bumped fender was probably just a diversion, and together, they checked for a tracking device. When they found it attached to the bumper, Bard wasn’t surprised. It was the only logical answer. But how did those guys get to his Z? And when?
Bard showed the metal, button-like object to Paula. “You were right. This is how those guys knew we were here.”
She rubbed her arms. “Now what?”
“Wait here with Officer Mitchell for a few minutes. I have an idea.”
Before she could protest, he took off running. He left the parking structure and circled to the main entrance of the hotel where taxis and tour buses came and went throughout the day. A bus with a card in the window labeled “Tijuana Tour” was loading passengers. Perfect. When no one was paying attention, he attached the device to the back bumper.
After the police took down all of their information, verified some of the information with the Corp chief and processed her for physical evidence for GSR to validate her allegations, she and Bard returned to their newly assigned room to gather their packed bags.
“With all the crap they put us through,” Bard said, “you’d think we were the crimminals. One good thing, if those SOB’s follow the beep now, they’ll end up across the border.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Good. Now, let’s get out of here.”
They quickly checked out and loaded their suitcases in the car. But instead of heading home, Bard went south and crossed the bridge to Coronado Island.
****
Bard stretched comfortably on one of the two king-sized beds while Paula showered. She’d feel safer here, he thought. Those men would never guess they had checked into this plush beachfront hotel. This time registered as Mr. and Mrs. Chetney.
What would it be like to really be married to Paula? There was so much about her he didn’t know. The inheritance and triple beneficiary factors bothered him. Was she a murderess, a saint, or something in between?
