“I’m not going to give you a break. Do you know why I didn’t pick up on those slips that Jessie made? It’s because I couldn’t believe you’d ever do something like this to me. It’s beyond belief.” She pronounced every word with precision. “I’m very angry with you, Lynch.”
“I know you are. I’ll give a damn some other time. Let me keep you safe.”
“I’m going to hang up now.”
“No, you aren’t. Not until you tell me that you’re going to let Jessie do her job.”
“Her job is Waldridge.”
“And you. Tell me.”
“I’ll discuss it with her. It might not be a pleasant discussion.”
“Then she’ll call me, and I’ll take the first flight back.”
“Damn you.” She hung up.
She stood there breathing hard, trying to regain control.
He would do exactly what he’d said he’d do. Stop what he was investigating and fly back here.
Was her anger and hurt pride worth losing what Lynch might learn in London?
She had felt like a child when she had guessed what he’d done. She was not a child. She was an intelligent woman who was capable of taking care of herself.
Lynch had just had that Rye scare and couldn’t think beyond it.
But that scare might affect finding Waldridge if she couldn’t find a way to get beyond it.
Okay, she would go get a glass of water and spend a little time thinking and regaining her control. Then she would go and have that discussion with Jessie she’d told Lynch she would have.
She was not looking forward to it.
Or maybe she was, she amended. She wanted to strike out, and not from thousands of miles away as she’d had to do with Lynch.
* * *
“THE DOOR’S OPEN,” Jessie called out when she heard Kendra coming across the living room toward the guest room. “Come in. I went upstairs on the roof and liberated that bottle of wine after Lynch called me. I figured we might need it.”
“The wine you used to try to con me?” Kendra pushed open the door to see Jessie sitting cross-legged on the bed. She was barefoot and dressed in a sleep shirt and had two wineglasses in her hand. “I’m not in the mood, Jessie.”
“I know.” She put the wineglasses on the nightstand. “You’re pissed off, and you feel humiliated, and you want to kick someone.”
“That about covers it.”
“I can’t help that you’re pissed. I would be, too. I’d want to kill Lynch. He might have meant well, but that doesn’t mean he had a right to do it. You shouldn’t feel humiliated because he hired the best when he hired me.” She smiled. “It’s not as if he didn’t have respect for you. As far as kicking someone, be my guest. I can take it. I was captured by the Taliban on my last tour, and nothing you could do would be any worse.”
“Was that supposed to deflate my anger with both of you? It doesn’t. He shouldn’t have hired you. You shouldn’t have taken the job.”
“He has an excuse. He cares about you. I don’t have an excuse. I like you, but I don’t know you well enough to use it as a reason why I’d violate your independence.” She met her eyes. “Independence is important to me. So the only excuse I’ll give you is that I believe you have a chance of getting killed if I don’t stick around and keep it from happening. Hell, it might have happened the day that I kept them from tossing you into that barrel. But I don’t think so. I believed Powers when he said he was hired to deliver you. But if this Dyle hired him because he found you necessary for some reason, that need remains. But after it’s fulfilled, you might very well be expendable.”
“You can’t know I’m still a target. The fact that Powers has been arrested might have scared them off.”
“Lynch doesn’t think so, or I wouldn’t be here.” She lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “And while you were with Dillingham today, a black paneled van cruised by once, slowed, then, when he saw me in the Toyota, sped up and took off. So I’m beginning to think that they’re not finished with you, either.”
Kendra gazed at her in shock. “Why didn’t you go after them?”
“And leave you alone? That wasn’t my job. They could have been trying to draw me away from you.” She made a face. “Though I was tempted.”
“Did you see the van later?”
She shook her head. “I was on the lookout, but I didn’t notice anyone following. But if they were good, I might not. I can manage to follow almost anyone and not be detected.”
“And maybe that van was just looking for an address.”
Jessie just raised her brows skeptically.
Kendra’s hands clenched. “It’s never made any sense to me why they would try to snatch me.”
“Maybe they don’t have Waldridge and think you do? Or maybe you’re looking too hard for your old friend, and they want to discourage you? Maybe they believe you have something they want? A few less benign reasons are occurring to me, but I won’t go into them. At any rate, neither Lynch nor I want to find out until we have the upper hand.”
That last sentence struck her wrong. They were clearly leaving her out of any decision making. “Lynch and you. What about me?”
“You’re smart, and you’re able to take care of yourself under most circumstances.” Jessie tapped her own chest. “I’m equipped to take care of people under any circumstances. That’s why Lynch made that call to me. I know he’s been checking me out, and that’s fine. But you should let me do my job. It will help you and Lynch, and it might even save Waldridge.” She shrugged. “But that’s your decision. If you want me to get out, just say the word.”
Kendra stared at her in exasperation. “And if I say that word, it might be the wrong thing to do. You’re damn right it’s my decision, but I’m in a corner, and I’m not going to be forced to make mistakes. So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.” She looked her in the eye. “I can’t trust Lynch not to fly back here, so you stay on the job. I’d be stupid to not pay attention to your expertise, so I will take advantage of it. But you’ll never lie to me or pretend to be something you’re not. I want honesty and integrity, and I intend to use you to find Waldridge. Tomorrow we’re going to go to L.A., and we’ll squeeze answers out of Dyle. You’ll work your ass off, and Waldridge is going to come out of this alive. We’re going to do that together, Jessie.”
“No problem.” Jessie smiled. “Can we have that wine now?”
“No. It’s going to take awhile before I’ll be able to be on drinking terms with you again.”
“It will come. Actually, we do like each other.”
“Don’t be too sure. It wasn’t long ago that I was thinking of you as a friendly gargoyle.”
Jessie laughed. “Really? That visual is priceless.” She humped over in a gargoyle-like pose, waving her arms like a monkey. Then she reached over and turned out the lamp. “Good night, Kendra. I’m glad the air is cleared now. I’m lousy at deception…”
“You should have told that to Lynch.” She closed the door behind her.
She was still upset, but some of it had ebbed away. It was difficult being angry with Jessie. It was really all Lynch’s fault, and Jessie was only a tool. She found herself smiling grimly at that description. Jessie would never let herself be a tool for anyone. It was almost like calling her a friendly gargoyle.
The memory of Jessie bent over in that ridiculous gargoyle pose was suddenly before Kendra.
Do not smile.
CHAPTER
14
Croyden, England
Middlesex Lane
STEVEN KINCAID, THE OFFICER from the Serious Organized Crime Agency, had not arrived when Lynch reached the factory, and he felt both impatience and frustration. Too much time had already passed since Rye’s death, and he didn’t need bureaucratic red tape and heel dragging to add to the problem.
Calm down. Kincaid was only twenty minutes late. If Lynch weren’t so on edge, he wouldn’t be making a major thing of it.
He glanced
down at his phone. No text from either Kendra or Jessie this morning. He hadn’t really expected one from Kendra. It was going to take some time to persuade her that he’d only done what he’d felt he had to do. And it was probably good that Jessie hadn’t texted him. She was too professional to leave Kendra without informing him. He could only hope they were working things out.
“There’s nobody here, you know.”
He looked up from his phone to see a seventysomething woman with gray hair and wearing a green plaid jacket coming toward him. He smiled. “No, I didn’t know. I heard that there might be. And you are?”
“Dorothy Jenkins.” She nodded at Dapper Dan’s Pub across the street. “I’m the bartender and manager.” She cocked her head. “You’re American, aren’t you? I can tell. Americans always sound so flat. I thought you might be Scotland Yard or something like that.” She paused as she had another thought. “Maybe FBI?”
“No. But if I were, why do you think I’d be interested in whether there was someone here at the factory?”
“Cagey.” She smiled. “That’s fine. I understand. Mr. Malone was like that.”
He stiffened. “Ryan Malone?”
“You know him? I’ve been waiting for him to come back.” Her expression was eager. “I wanted to tell him about everything that happened right after he came to the pub and started asking his questions. I told him I’d keep an eye on things for him.”
“I’m sure he appreciated it. Would you care to tell me instead?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know if I can trust you. You might be one of them.”
“Them?”
“Drug dealers, spies, whatever.”
“I assure you that I’m not one of ‘them.’” He met her eyes. “And Ryan Malone would want you to tell me anything you knew. Believe me. We worked closely together.”
She studied him. “Yeah, and you weren’t one of those men bustling all around and moving cars and trucks and stuff a couple days ago. And if you were one of the bad guys, what would you be doing standing out here like a hungry orphan, looking through those bars?”
“You’re very descriptive, if not complimentary,” he said wryly. “I never thought of myself in quite that way before. So that’s what happened? A complete cleanup and general abandonment?”
“As far as I could tell.”
He dialed up the photo that Kendra had sent him of Ted Dyle on his phone. “Did you see him?”
“I don’t think so. But most everyone who was here was wearing caps and jackets. Not suits, like this guy.” She shrugged. “And I decided not to walk over here and ask questions while it was going on. If Mr. Malone had given me his phone number, I might have called and told him.” She smiled. “He was a real gent. I could tell that he didn’t think that I could help him, but he was polite to me.”
“You were right not to try to do anything yourself. I’m certain he would have told you that himself.” It was like Rye to have been able to reach out and touch this woman, he thought. Even in the last hours of his life, he had done his job with kindness and dignity. He looked back at the factory. The chances of their finding anything were very slim now, but he had to try. “And he’d thank you if he were here.”
Her eyes widened and her smile faded. “Past tense,” she said jerkily. “You’re talking as if he—” She moistened her lips. “He’s dead?”
Lynch didn’t answer.
She looked back at the factory. “It was like a game to me. Or a puzzle. I never thought— But it’s not a game, is it?”
“No, it’s not a game.”
“I liked him.” She drew her coat closer about her as if warding off the cold. “But he was part of the game, too.” She looked back at Lynch. “Maybe if I’d paid more attention, if I’d been able to tell him more, he wouldn’t have died?”
“You had nothing to do with it. I’m certain that you only helped him.”
“Maybe.” She shook her head. “But it’s a terrible world when a nice man like that can die in the blink of an eye because he was just doing his job.” She turned away from the factory. “I’m going back to the pub. I don’t feel so good.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She glanced over her shoulder, and she looked years older than that first moment when she’d so eagerly approached him. “You take care of yourself. If you need something, just ask. Or just come over and have a pint on the house, and we’ll drink to your friend.”
“I believe he might like that.”
He watched her cross the street and go into the pub. Another life touched by Rye. He’d not even known about Dorothy Jenkins. Rye had only spoken about the “locals.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Stephen Kincaid had pulled up to the curb and jumped out of his car. “Traffic was hideous.” He shook Lynch’s hand. “Glad to see you. Not glad that it’s on this occasion.” He added grimly, “Rye was a good friend. Let’s go see if we can find something to nail those bastards.”
Maybe he wasn’t going to have to worry about bureaucracy in motion, Lynch thought. Kincaid seemed sincere, and the SOCA could be efficient if motivated. “I’m not sure if we’ll find anything. I’ve had a recent report that there was a cleanup about the time of Rye’s death.” He turned to the gate. “And this gate looks different from the photo Rye sent me on that last day. The newer apparatus, like the automatic gates and cameras, have been removed. I imagine that’s a sign of what we’re going to find inside, too.”
“Well, I can take care of getting us in.” Kincaid went back to his car and pulled out a pair of bolt cutters from the trunk. “Always prepared.” He clipped one of the chains and swung the gate open. He turned to throw the cutter back into his trunk. “After you, Lynch.”
From the moment Lynch walked into the factory yard, he was aware of immaculate cleanliness … and emptiness. Only a few spots of motor oil on the concrete that had probably come from the vehicles, but there was no other sign of the cars and trucks Rye had been told about by the locals.
“You’re sure this was the place?” Kincaid asked.
“This is the place.” He was gazing at the photos on his phone and letting them lead them on the same course that Rye had taken.
“What is this place?” Kincaid asked, puzzled, as they reached a bright, pristine-clean area that had transitioned from the older part of the factory. “It looks new…”
But it was as empty as the rest of the factory. Though there were signs that there might have been shelves or other pieces of furniture or equipment in that section. “I don’t know what it is. Rye didn’t send me any photos of this area.”
And he would have sent them, Lynch knew. He’d been documenting the entire factory, as was his custom.
And that meant that something had stopped him before he had been able to transmit them.
Was this the point where Rye was captured or killed?
No blood.
Of course not; it would have been cleaned and sterilized, like the rest of the factory.
“Do we go on?” Kincaid asked quietly.
Lynch nodded. “Sure.” He left the sterling-clean area where he was almost certain his friend had died and went out to a loading dock, then through several other areas. Nothing struck him as powerfully as that one bright place in all the darkness. He made his way back to the clean room, where Kincaid joined him.
“Have you seen enough?” Kincaid asked. “We’ll have a forensic team in to check for blood and fiber throughout the place.”
“They might not find anything. Night Watch has some of the finest doctors and scientists in the world. It’s reasonable to expect they’d be able to cover their tracks if needed.” He stood there gazing at the bright, sterile room. “Scientists. A lab?”
“Reasonable enough.”
“Nothing is reasonable about any of this.” He started back toward the main gate. “What about Rye’s car? Have you located it yet?”
“Not yet.” Kincaid opened the gate. “We’ve checked out his home and the area arou
nd the landfill.” He gazed at Lynch. “But you think that was a waste of time, don’t you? You think he was killed here.”
“He should have sent me photos of that last area of the factory, and he didn’t do it.” He looked back at the brick building. “He was … interrupted.”
“And the car?”
“He would have had to drive here. It’s possible that whoever killed him searched for his car, found it, and any other evidence Rye had discovered.” He shrugged. “And the vehicle might be found in the Thames in six months.”
“Possible?”
“You know how sharp and professional Rye always was. He never just left his vehicle on the street when he went on a job like this. He’d park it close, but it would be out of sight and not easy to spot. There’s a chance that it’s still out there somewhere.” He was on the street now. “So let’s go find it.”
Kincaid nodded. “Where do we start?”
He hesitated, then started across the street toward the pub. “We start with a new friend of Rye’s…”
* * *
“I NEVER NOTICED HIS CAR at all,” Dorothy Jenkins said as she gazed out the back window of Lynch’s rental car. “I guess I was too excited and interested in what was happening at the factory.” They had driven slowly up and down the four streets of the town directly before the factory, with Kincaid following behind. But they hadn’t seen anything that appeared promising. “What kind of car did you say it was?”
“A gray Aston-Martin,” Lynch said. He pulled over to the curb and got out. “I think I need a closer look.” He started to go house to house, peering into backyards and garages.
“You’ll get knocked on the head if someone sees you doing that.” Dorothy was suddenly beside him. “They’ll think you’re casing the joint. If someone comes out of the house, let me talk. Most of these people know me.”
“I’ll leave it entirely up to you. That’s why I asked you to come along. I’m relying on you to protect me.” But so far, there had been no sign of Rye’s car, and Dorothy was right, he’d be lucky if he didn’t get arrested or assaulted before this was over. As they reached the end of the block, he turned to Dorothy. “Any ideas? It’s your town.”
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