Trust No One (Vista Security)

by Diana Layne

  She drove on through the gate, leaving the guard watching after her with the epitome of a prime, hopeful face.

  “Sam’s Bar-and-Grill?”

  “It’s a gay bar,” Tasha explained.

  A laugh escaped MJ; she had to admire the cool aplomb of Tasha’s acting skills. “Obviously he doesn’t know.”

  “Seems not. Won’t he be surprised?”

  Still chuckling, MJ had to agree, no doubt Mr. Hopeful would park his butt on a barstool Friday night. “He won’t be forgetting you, that’s for sure.”

  Tasha sighed. “Yes, it’s the curse of having men find me sexually appealing.”

  MJ laughed, as Tasha had intended, but still there was underlying truth in what she said. Even in a disguise, with an ugly black wig and a plain pastel nursing uniform, Tasha was still beautiful.

  “But it comes in handy,” Tasha continued. “He didn’t look in the bag too closely.”

  “Not that there was much to see, since I had this vial of truth serum.” MJ pulled it out of her pocket and put it in the medical bag.

  “Without knowing exactly what Joan and Sandy usually carry with them, it was best he wasn’t thorough. Could be just as dangerous if he didn’t find something that he was expecting to find as it would be to find something unexpected.”

  Tasha turned off the main drive onto a circular drive in front of a massive dark gray brick house with white and navy trim. The house bespoke understated elegance and wealth. At the door, a Hispanic woman in a standard maid uniform let them in. Quaint.

  MJ, who’d grown up with her feet firmly planted in middle America thought all the showy wealth wasted on a dying man with a questionable, likely criminal past.

  “We’re here to check the Senator’s blood count,” Tasha announced as a way of introduction.

  The maid led the way upstairs without question, either having been informed of their arrival or being too trusting. She knocked on a door.

  A middle-age woman with vivid green eyes and bright red hair cut in a classic bob opened the door and flashed a quick smile. “There was a problem with his last blood work?” she asked. Her skirt, possibly chosen to match her eyes, made a soft swishing sound as she led them into the room.

  “We need more, I’m sorry to say,” Tasha confirmed.

  MJ wondered how Tasha was going to pull this off with the caretaker there. While MJ’s medic training had been a bit rusty with patching up Ben, she had no doubt Tasha was competent enough to do what was needed. But how did Tasha plan to question the old guy in front of his caregiver? Was it going to be MJ’s job to secure the woman?

  She prepared to watch for cues.

  “Senator,” the woman said to the old man, who was sitting in a wheelchair by the window. “The nurses are here to see you. They need more blood.”

  “More? Bunch of damn vampires.”

  “I’m going downstairs to see about your lunch.”

  That took care of the problem of the caregiver, MJ thought, but lunch at ten in the morning? Then the woman pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her purse resting on a small table by a corner chair. A smoking break. Bad habit for a healthcare worker, but thank goodness.

  Caring for an old sick man would probably drive the most health conscious to smoke. Or drink. Across the room, MJ spotted a half-empty bottle tucked behind a collection of sleek slender candles on the edge of an ornate dresser.

  Tasha deposited the medical bag on the bed, pulled out a couple of items. With a stethoscope around her neck, a blood pressure cuff in her hand, she approached the old man while MJ stayed parked by the door.

  “Hello, Senator, I’m Tina.” Tasha gave the phony name to match her badge. “I’m going to get your vitals.”

  She actually bent and listened to his heart, with his gaze glued to her chest. MJ grimaced. The senator’s skin sagged, his eyes sunken and greasy wisps of thin gray hair lay plastered to his head. Tasha seemed unaffected, driven perhaps, by an anger MJ wasn’t yet feeling. Tasha had years to build her anger, while MJ hadn’t moved much beyond the numb stage of disbelief.

  While Tasha pretended to examine the man, from her place by the door, MJ made a more thorough examination of the room. The bed with an elaborate carved headboard, was to the left, perpendicular to the door. Equally elaborate nightstands stood on each side, like guarding sentinels. A large entertainment center stood against the right wall. Next to the dresser on the far wall, a plush maroon recliner and small table with a reading light sat snug in the far left corner, next to the dresser. Taking a step further into the room, there was a door on the right end, just beyond the entertainment center.

  MJ tensed. Probably a closet, bathroom combo, but a good place for someone to hide.

  The senator watched Tasha closely. “Ticker still going strong, eh?”

  Tasha gave the sweetest smile. “Perfect.”

  “Circulation’s still good. I might look a little rusty on the outside, but I’m still in good working order.”

  MJ strangled her urge to laugh, covering it with a cough. The senator shot her a disgruntled look and she realized suddenly that some of the men had been found dead, naked in bed. Were they all this old? Had Tasha really had sex with the others? The thought of getting naked with the old wrinkly guys, whether doing the deed or not, made MJ shudder.

  “Why, Senator, you flirt,” Tasha teased with skill. “Extra-curricular activity is definitely against doctor’s orders.”

  “I won’t tell him.” The old man grinned, showing a mouthful of teeth that still looked pretty good. Once he must’ve had a winning smile. “Your friend there can keep watch outside the door.” He grabbed Tasha’s butt.

  Yuk, yuk, yuk, the horny old lecher. MJ remembered the more distasteful aspects of her former job, though she had never touted sex as blatantly as Tasha. A good reason to be grateful for her less than curvy build.

  Tasha, using skills MJ never wanted to call on again, removed the senator’s hand. “Yes, Melanie, that’s a good idea. Why don’t you check the door?”

  MJ checked the hallway, all clear. She discreetly locked the door as she closed it.

  Tasha pushed the old man in his wheelchair closer to the bed. His tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth.

  “Now, Senator, keep your hands to yourself while I get everything ready for your blood test.” Tasha pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves.

  Might as well check the rest of the room while Tasha was otherwise engaged.

  “What? You’re going to draw blood anyway?”

  “Why you old darling, are you afraid of needles?”

  “Yes, my one big fear.” His mouth turned down but his eyes said he still held hope. MJ figured he was changing tactics since his sexy old man routine hadn’t worked. Adaptable like a politician. Old habits never changed.

  “Afraid of needles, that’s too bad,” Tasha murmured. “Melanie, you ought to help me here.”

  With her nerves vibrating, MJ couldn’t shake the sense something didn’t feel right. “Is that the bathroom there?”

  “What?” Tasha asked.

  “Yes,” the senator confirmed.

  Long ago, MJ remembered something a nurse had done when the office had been like a refrigerator, leaving her veins cold and too hard to get blood. It wasn’t freezing in here but she could fake it, and she’d have a good excuse for exploring the bathroom.

  “I think it’s too cold in here. A warm compress will help loosen up his veins. I’ll get a warm wash cloth.” Still standing behind the senator, MJ nodded her head toward the door knowing Tasha would understand she needed to secure the area.

  Tasha tied the rubber band around the man’s arm, mashed on his veins with two fingers and nodded. Her gaze met MJ’s. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

  MJ stepped into the doorway, which was really a walk in closet with the bathroom beyond. She bent over, reached inside her sock and pulled out her back up Glock while Tasha held a running conversation with the senator, expertly fielding his
every attempt at seduction.

  The closet checked out clear. Holding her pistol ready, she moved onward. The large tiled bathroom included a Jacuzzi and an individual shower. And no sign of anyone hiding. Perhaps paranoia? Better safe than sorry.

  Wanting easier access to her gun, she tucked it inside her waistband, covering it with her uniform jacket before she grabbed a cloth and turned on the hot water. With the warm, wet cloth in her hand, she paused at the door of the room, senses alert. Hearing nothing more than the old man teasing Tasha, MJ stepped back into the bedroom.

  “It will only prick a little.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  Something in the senator’s voice made MJ hesitate.

  Tasha didn’t hear the odd note in his voice or ignored it. “See, here’s Melanie with the warm compress.”

  “No, he means you’re not going to stick him.” A man stepped from the back of the entertainment center, coming up behind MJ.

  She froze, staring at Tasha, who held the needle paused mid-air.

  Chapter 19

  Gun? MJ raised her brows, sent a mental question to Tasha, who never moved, but sent a message back with her eyes. Yes.

  Figured. Probably top notch security but why?

  “You with the rag. Go on over there with your friend.”

  MJ took a step forward and then using the direction of his voice, she whirled and threw the wet wash cloth, hitting his face. He quickly tossed the wash cloth aside, but the distraction gave her enough time to pull her pistol and aim.

  He wasn’t a bad looking guy, dark hair, dark eyes, clean shaven face. He wore a black sweatshirt with a I Wannabe a Rock Star logo in gold, and black jeans. She lowered her aim to those jeans, right at his crotch; that always got a man’s attention.

  “Ouch, you fucking bitch.”

  That came from behind MJ and not from the man who got his face washed. Obviously Tasha had done something with the senator. As for herself, MJ held her P220 aimed at a man who had a Berretta aimed at her. Tasha would have to hold her own with the man in the wheel chair.

  “Notice I have the syringe in his neck,” Tasha said. “It’s loaded with sodium pentothal. Enough to send him to dream land permanently.”

  The gunman, she thought of him as wannabe rock star shirt, glanced over to verify what Tasha said. He slightly lowered his gun, maybe even unconsciously, but it was enough to let MJ know at the moment Tasha was doing pretty good at evening the odds.

  MJ didn’t mind having Tasha, who had proved as resourceful as ever, but easier to work with than MJ would have imagined, as a partner.

  “I thought you had sex with your other victims,” the senator complained.

  His words caught MJ’s attention. There’d still been nothing on the news about senator murders. So how would he know unless Tasha was right?

  “Really? I heard they died of heart attacks. Strange considering none of them had a heart,” Tasha said.

  “You two are the kids?” the senator continued.

  Again, the old guy knew too much and reality intruded that Tasha’s theories and motivations were way too feasible.

  And understandable.

  “Why don’t you tell her about our parents?” Tasha prompted.

  From her angle, MJ could just see them out of the corner of her eye.

  The old guy didn’t give an inch. “Unfortunate accident, the way I heard.”

  Tasha twisted the needle. “Try again.”

  “Watch it, bitch,” the senator snarled and grabbed at the needle.

  Tasha twisted again. “Sit still or I’ll pump you full of this shit, and she’ll just have to believe me.”

  The carpet muffled the sound as the bodyguard shifted his feet, perhaps preparing to leap to the senator’s rescue. MJ took a deliberate step to her right. With his attention back on her, she redirected him with her pistol making sure he couldn’t miss her message she was still alert and willing to shoot.

  “You won’t get away with it this time,” Senator James said, his voice coming out weaker, the strain and adrenaline pumping obviously having a negative effect.

  “Maybe not, but you’ll still be dead,” Tasha reminded him.

  “But then you’ll never find out.”

  Something in his voice gave MJ pause. She wasn’t able to scan the room but she sent out the rest of her senses. She smelled minty rub, but couldn’t distinguish the scent enough to tell if it was the kind for colds or sore muscles; she tasted the woodsy scent of the gunman’s cologne, the humidifier made a soft swooshing sound, all registering normal to her senses, and yet there was something. . . .

  “Ouch. What are you doing?” the senator squeaked.

  “Warned you,” Tasha said, her voice cold and calm. “I think a little truth serum will help your memory. Now here’s a history lesson. Reagan. Cold war. Arms deals?”

  Arms deals? Tasha was serious? MJ had only read something about arms build ups, a game of chicken with Gorbachev, no more than she’d learned in school. She couldn’t grasp how Tasha got arms deals out of Ed’s notes.

  “Reagan’s policies were sheer lunacy. He was going to destroy the nation.”

  Then again, maybe she hadn’t really been paying attention to what she’d been reading.

  “Oh, come now. Tell the real reason. It’s not the policy. If Reagan’s plan worked, it would bring an end to the cold war. The nuclear build up would stop, and that would mess up those little arms deals you had going with the Russians.”

  What? A pain so hard slugged through MJ’s chest she had to fight not to gasp. A man held a gun on her. Show no weakness. She took shallow breaths and struggled to hold onto rational thought.

  This was about money? Her brain revved faster than a souped-up engine. Idealism, objecting to policy was at least in part understandable, though perhaps not as far as a planned assassination. But to object, to plot murder for nothing more than pure-and-simple greed? And for that reason alone, her parents were dead? Her life changed by the decisions of evil, avaricious men?

  She nearly stumbled from the weight of it.

  “Nothing more than money?” Tasha seemed to know MJ’s thoughts.

  “Money. The root of all good,” the senator chuckled, obviously warming to his subject.

  “I think your saying is skewed,” Tasha said.

  At last MJ found enough air to form words. “People. Died. To make you money.” Her parents. Tasha and Niko’s parents. Who else?

  The old man had the nerve to laugh out loud. “What a ninny,” he said between cackles. “People die all the time. Money’s as good of a reason as any.”

  MJ had an overwhelming need to whirl and use her gun to blow away the disgusting old man. She fought the rage-driven urge boiling through her. Understood better Tasha’s quest for revenge.

  “One more question then we’ll be on our way,” Tasha said as pleasantly as if she were on a social call, her acting skills coming in handy again.

  The senator kept on laughing. “Not going to kill me, too?”

  “It’d be a waste of my time, honey. I read your chart. You’re on the way to dead anyway.”

  “So they tell me. Ain’t dead yet, though.”

  “Who told you about us?” Tasha continued.

  Instead of hearing an answer, several things happened at once. MJ, unable to see beyond her peripheral vision, heard Tasha mumble “shit.” Wannabe rock star gunman across from her took a more aggressive stance, and even without a clear sight of vision, MJ knew the momentum had changed. Somehow another factor had been introduced.

  The thought flashed through her mind to shoot the man in front of her, but the adoption loomed over her head. If she killed the wannabe, in a prominent and wealthy ex-senator’s house, it would be hard to cover up. There was probably a tape of them driving up to the house. Disguise or not, it wasn’t a risk she wanted to take.

  All these things flitted through her mind in a nanosecond.

  In that short amount of time, Tasha sounded as if she was g
etting the bad end of whatever had happened.

  MJ lowered the barrel of her P220 and pulled the trigger. Wannabe rock star dude jumped. Score one for her. She’d shot between his legs, deliberately missing to give her an element of surprise. At the split second his attention was off her, she kicked his gun out of his hand. Instead of retreating, he countered by landing a kick in her solar plexus before she could aim again. She went flying backward, her breath trapped painfully in her lungs. Her shot landed somewhere in the ceiling. She expected to hear someone at the door soon, who could ignore a gun shot?

  When she could catch her breath again, she caught a glimpse of a second man lying on his belly, his hands firmly gripping Tasha’s ankle. He must’ve crawled out from under the bed. At that moment he jerked, and Tasha fell. Her head collided with the nightstand before she landed on the floor, unconscious.

  The senator pulled the needle from his neck before clutching his chest.

  MJ lay on her back, stunned, breathless, but recovering fast. She brought her weapon around, but rock star shirt man had recovered his.

  Stand off again.

  He growled a warning. “I don’t have orders to kill you yet, but I won’t miss when I shoot.” He aimed at her leg. “Hard to walk with a broken leg.” Hesitation cost her, and he knew it, if not the reason.

  Operatives with a family couldn’t do this job.

  Reluctant to give up her weapon, MJ stole a look at Tasha, who had regained consciousness and was slowly pushing herself upright. She struggled as far as her knees and stopped, seeming unable to make it to her feet yet.

  The man under the bed scrambled out to contain her, scooping a knife off the floor. Tasha’s back-up ankle knife.

  At the moment the woman wasn’t putting up much of fight, obviously still not fully conscious. Bed man sprang to action, pulled at her hair, got a hand full of wig.

  “Fuck. Gross.” He tossed it aside, this time getting hold of Tasha’s real hair twisted in a bun, jerking her head up and angling it back so he could hold her knife at her throat.

  MJ entertained the thought of shooting the guy; she could fire a round without hitting Tasha, but the man standing above her reminded her of his presence.