Hero Under Cover

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Pete!” she shouted. It was only natural that he be dazed. He probably had the air knocked out of him. He probably needed to lie there a minute and catch his breath. But she was starting to get scared. Golden and Steadman were going to bust through the door any second….

  “Pete, come on!” she yelled, turning to look at him.

  Blood.

  Pete’s blood.

  Bright and red, it seeped out from underneath him, running in the cracks on the hardwood floor….

  With a cry, she ran toward him. Oh, God, he was bleeding. “Please don’t be dead. Please, God, don’t let him be dead!”

  She turned him over onto his back, oblivious to the door breaking open, oblivious to Golden and Steadman as they shouted and waved their guns at her. Annie was only aware of Pete, of the blood.

  There was so much blood, leaking out from underneath the waistband of his jacket, staining the front of his jeans.

  He wasn’t breathing. God, he wasn’t breathing….

  “Pete,” Annie cried, touching his face, his hair, his arms. Arms that had held her, lips that had kissed her…“No! God, no! Pete, I love you, don’t be dead—”

  Rough hands pulled her up, off the floor, away from Pete’s body. She struggled, sobbing his name, trying to get back to him, uncaring of her safety. Golden hit her, and she fell to the ground, not feeling the pain, not feeling anything but grief. Oh, God, Pete was dead….

  He was lying sprawled on the floor, one arm trapped underneath the weight of his body, the other flung out, his fingers spread wide as if he were reaching for something, reaching for her….

  “He’s dead,” Golden said, nudging Pete with his foot. His green eyes looked almost feverish in his white face. He looked frighteningly inhuman, his nervousness frozen away by whatever coldness now inhabited him. “Open the safe, or you will be, too.”

  Annie sat very still. She didn’t care. By killing Pete, Golden had already killed her.

  Swearing, Golden began to drag her into the laboratory.

  “For crying out loud, give me a hand,” he finally said to Steadman.

  “Which hand do you want, Al?” Steadman said, his voice pinched with pain. “I got a bullet in my right arm, and I think it’s broken, and I’m bleeding like a stuck pig from this gash in my leg—”

  “Shut up,” Golden said, finally pushing Annie down in front of the safe. He held the gun to her head. “Open it.”

  Woodenly, she pulled herself up and began to open the safe. He was going to kill her. She knew he would, as soon as she gave him the death mask. He’d killed Pete, and he was going to kill her.

  But he wasn’t going to get away with it. If she stalled, Whitley Scott and the FBI would come. If she stalled long enough, she might even live to see Golden and Steadman rot in prison….

  “You set me up, Golden,” she said, suddenly feeling almost deadly calm, turning to look at him. “Didn’t you?”

  “Open the safe,” he hissed.

  “The death mask isn’t in there,” she said.

  Steadman cursed loudly.

  The panic in Golden’s eyes deepened. “Where is it?”

  “Tell me why you set me up,” Annie said.

  “Because it was so easy to do,” he said. “The FBI was already investigating you. I just played into their hands.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do we really have to get into the details? The incident at Athens was just your bad luck. We didn’t have anything to do with that—you came under suspicion because they couldn’t find anyone else. So we staged a similar little event in England after you left. And then we planted the stuff in your lab. Are you satisfied? We gave the FBI what they needed, and now you’re gonna give me what I need. Then I’m gonna burn this place down.” Golden cocked his gun, pressing it against Annie’s head. “Now, where is that crate?”

  “Upstairs,” she said, curiously unafraid of the gun, its cold metal barrel bruising her temple. “In the attic.” Something still wasn’t clear. What was the big deal about this artifact? Why did they have to frame her? She’d probably never know….

  “I can’t handle the stairs,” Steadman complained. “You take her. And leave her up there, will you?”

  Golden forced Annie’s arm back behind her, twisting it upward so that she should have cried out from the pain. But the numbness was surrounding her so completely, she didn’t make a sound.

  Pete’s body lay in the foyer with all that blood, and the grief tore through, slicing into her, cutting her in two. He never knew that she loved him. He had died before she had a chance to tell him. No, that wasn’t true. She’d had plenty of chances, she had just been too pigheaded, too stubborn, too selfish, and now he was dead and he would never know.

  Tears spilled down her face, and she stumbled on the stairs, looking back at him. His face was probably already growing cold to the touch. The puddle of blood had grown. There was even blood on the knees of his jeans….

  Annie froze. Outwardly, she made herself keep going, but inwardly, even her heart had stopped beating.

  Pete’s fingers had been spread, reaching, but now they were clenched, his hand in a tight fist.

  Breathe, she told herself. Breathe.

  Around her, everything snapped into tight focus. She tried to appear to move at a normal speed, and still stall their inevitable climb up to the attic. They were walking up the stairs in slow motion. The light was on in the kitchen, and the black-and-white tiled floor became almost three-dimensional. There was a cobweb hanging from the light fixture in the hall. The banister at the edge of the second-floor landing was in serious need of dusting. And the secondary burglar alarm control panel that had been installed next to Annie’s bedroom door was flashing green.

  Green. The system had been shut down.

  The motion detectors had been turned off. But when she opened the front door, she’d activated only the override, leaving the rest of the system on-line. If she hadn’t turned off the alarm system, then…

  Pete.

  Pete was alive.

  She started to shake, and Golden pushed her harder. “Scared?” he taunted her. “You better be. If that crate isn’t up here, you’re dead.”

  But she wasn’t scared. She was happy, thunderously, joyfully happy. Pete was alive! God was giving her a second chance….

  His clenched fist had been some sort of signal to her. He knew that she would notice—he knew she always noticed details.

  He was trying to tell her something. But what?

  They reached the top of the stairs and she pointed to the attic door, unable to speak. Golden motioned for her to open it.

  The attic stairs creaked as they went up, up to the attic, up where Golden intended to leave her. Permanently.

  Annie’s heart was pounding.

  She strained her ears, but she heard no sounds from downstairs. No struggle, no scuffle, nothing.

  What was Pete trying to tell her?

  Golden released her arm as they stepped up into the attic. He held his gun steady with both hands as he aimed it at her. “Get it.”

  Behind the old TV. She had put the crate behind the…

  The crate!

  In a flash she remembered picking up a similar heavy package at the airport. Pete had lifted it up, realized he would need both hands to carry it and refused. She had ended up lugging it all the way out to the car because, he said, if something threatening happened while he was carrying it, he wouldn’t be able to properly protect her. He wouldn’t be able to go for his gun.

  He couldn’t carry the package and hold a gun at the same time!

  And if Pete couldn’t…

  With a silent heave, Annie picked up the crate and placed it solidly in Alistair Golden’s outstretched left hand. And she watched as he brought his right hand, his gun hand, over to support the bottom of the heavy crate.

  Annie wasn’t sure if the look of surprise on Golden’s face was from the unexpected weight of the crate, or from the sight o
f Pete, covered with blood and looking as if he’d risen from the dead, crashing through the attic window, a gun in each hand.

  “Freeze,” Pete shouted. “Annie, get down!”

  Annie dove for cover as Golden lunged toward Pete, futilely throwing the crate at him. She heard the sound of gunshots.

  Then there was silence.

  “You stupid son of a bitch,” Annie heard Pete say. “I told you to freeze.”

  Slowly she poked her head out. Golden lay on the floor, his sightless eyes staring up at the rafters, but Annie could see only Pete.

  Pete!

  Standing in front of her, breathing, living….

  “You’re alive,” she said, unaware of the tears that coursed down her face. “My God, you are alive.”

  She moved toward him, held by a gaze she’d thought she’d never see again, beautiful dark eyes filled with life. And pain.

  “Careful,” he said, “I’m covered with glass.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, touching his face, wrapping her arms around him. “I love you. I’m never going to let go of you again.”

  He kissed her, sweetly, softly.

  Downstairs, a team of federal agents poured into the house.

  “Well, if it isn’t the cavalry,” Pete said, swaying slightly in her arms. “About time.” And then his knees gave out.

  The next few seconds blurred together as Annie caught him, shouting, screaming for help. She didn’t have the strength to hold him up, but she kept him from hitting the floor with force, lowering him gently down.

  Whitley Scott was there in an instant. “Agent down!” he shouted. “We have an agent down! Get those paramedics up here—”

  Someone unzipped Pete’s jacket. There was a huge stain of bright red blood on his lower left side.

  “The bullet went in under his jacket,” Scott’s voice said, “and angled up….”

  Pete looked up at Scott. “Steadman—” he croaked.

  Scott nodded. “We found where you left him,” he said. “He hasn’t come to yet, but he’s cuffed.”

  “What’s this on the floor?” someone asked. “Whoa, these aren’t your everyday, average foam chips….”

  “Peterson’s lost an awful lot of blood,” someone said.

  Another voice swore softly. “How the hell did he manage to climb up the outside of the house in this condition? It’s unreal….”

  “Had to,” Pete whispered. “Stairs creak….”

  “Cocaine,” Annie heard someone say. “This entire crate is filled with cocaine….”

  “Hang in there, Captain,” another man’s voice said. “Paramedics are on their way.”

  “Get him downstairs,” Scott ordered. “Lift him up and get him down and into a car. There’s no time to wait. We can meet the ambulance halfway—”

  This couldn’t be happening, Annie thought, letting go of Pete’s hand as five men lifted him. She couldn’t get him back only to lose him again.

  Miraculously, the ambulance had arrived, and the paramedics were in the foyer with their stretcher. The other agents laid Pete gently on it.

  “Annie,” he whispered.

  She leaned over him, touching his face. His skin felt so clammy. “Don’t you dare die on me, Peterson,” she said fiercely. “Not twice in one day. I won’t let you!”

  “I have no intention of dying,” he said, his voice little more than a rasp. His eyes were glazed with pain, his fingers gripping hers. “No way….”

  “I love you,” Annie told him. “You better not forget that.”

  Somehow he managed to smile. “I won’t.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PETE WOKE UP.

  Intensive care, he thought, staring at the massive array of monitors and machines that surrounded his hospital bed.

  He was alive.

  Yes, he was definitely alive. The pain in his gut was proof of that.

  His throat was dry, his mouth was gluey and tasted like old socks. He tried to swallow, but it was a lost cause.

  He had an IV tube in the back of his right hand.

  His left hand was stuck in some kind of vise….

  No, that was no vise grip, that was Annie! She held his hand tightly as she sat next to his bed, her head resting on the edge of the mattress, her eyes closed, her breathing even. She was asleep.

  Gently he pulled his hand free, then touched the silky smoothness of her hair.

  Her eyes opened slowly, and she sat up, looking at him. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. One escaped and slid down her cheek.

  “Don’t cry.” Pete couldn’t make his voice any louder than a whisper. “Everything’s gonna be all right—”

  Her eyes blazed with anger. “You should have told me that you were going to try to provoke Golden and Steadman. I had no idea what you were doing—I thought you’d lost your mind. And when Whitley Scott told me that you had intentionally been making them angry, that you wanted them to try for you, that you were fast enough to disarm them both by winging them and that I was responsible for your getting shot because I opened the door and distracted you—”

  Huge tears fell from Annie’s eyes, faster and faster. Pete reached out to touch her hand, but she jerked away. But then, as if on second thought, she took his hand, bringing it up to her lips, then pressing it against the side of her face.

  “I’m really mad at you,” she said.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered. “I underestimated Golden, didn’t think he would have the guts to shoot me—”

  “If I hadn’t opened the door, he wouldn’t have,” Annie said, “but, God, Pete, I was so afraid you were going to die.”

  “I didn’t,” he said.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I remember.”

  PETE RODE IN THE WHEELCHAIR DOWN to the lobby. Outside the big double doors, he could see the flash of Annie’s shining hair in the bright autumn sunshine.

  The nurse pushed him through the doors and out onto the sidewalk. The morning air was cold, bracing. He took a deep breath, then smiled up into Annie’s dancing blue eyes.

  “Okay, Captain,” the nurse said. “You can take it from here.”

  Pete stood up, still moving slowly, carefully. It would be a few more weeks before he was running any laps.

  Annie was watching him carefully. “You talked to Whitley Scott this morning?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did they find out who was the inside contact?”

  “Collins,” Pete said. “He had access to the security codes—he got Steadman and Golden into your house.”

  “So this whole thing was about smuggling drugs?”

  “That’s it,” Pete said. “Steadman put up the money to buy the art, and Golden would take on the task of authenticating it. But what he really did was fly out to England and pack the piece using special foam packing peanuts that he’d picked up wholesale in Colombia. The peanuts were loaded with cocaine, sometimes tens of millions of dollars’ worth. Golden would bring the cocaine into the U.S. via England. He figured—correctly—that anything brought in from Colombia would be carefully searched, whereas England’s not particularly known for its drug trafficking, so Customs tends to be more lax. As for the artifact, Steadman would turn right around and sell it—usually at a loss. He didn’t care if he lost a few dollars on the art, he was making a bundle distributing the coke.

  “When Ben Sullivan specifically called for you to authenticate the death mask, Golden had already packed it—gotten it ready to ship,” he said. “He and Steadman stood to lose the whole shipment of cocaine.” They had reached the car. Pete looked at the woman he had risked his life for, the woman he would gladly risk his life for a hundred times more. “They stood to lose millions. Or worse. You could have found the coke. So they made those threatening phone calls, trying to set up a Navaho group as the fall guy when they stole the piece from you. When I made the scene and security got too tight,
they got desperate. They tried to kill you, and when that didn’t work, they resorted to their back-up plan—they framed you. They were willing to do anything to get Golden named as the authenticator again. Because then the crate—with the coke—would go back into his possession.”

  Annie shuddered. “I’m just glad the whole mess is over.”

  Pete let her help him into the car, then watched as she slid behind the wheel.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Very ready.” Pete leaned over, pulled her toward him and kissed her, long and hard. They were both breathing heavily when he finally let her go. “Guess what I want to do first thing when we get home?”

  Annie frowned in mock seriousness. “You promised the doctor no strenuous exercise.”

  “Who said anything about strenuous?” He smiled, tugging on her earlobe with his teeth.

  She pulled away. “No, Pete, really,” she said, all teasing gone. “You better ask the doctor first, make sure it’s okay….”

  “It’s okay,” he said, playing with her long, brown hair, running it through his fingers. “And I didn’t even have to ask. The doctor brought it up himself. I think he noticed the way I look at you.”

  The way Pete was looking at her right now…It was heat, steam, fire, his eyes glowing with flames. He bent to kiss her again, and Annie closed her eyes, losing herself in the conflagration….

  “Let’s go home,” he whispered.

  Heart pounding, Annie pulled out of the driveway and onto the main road. After a mile or two, her pulse had finally returned to near normal, and she glanced over at Pete. “Jerry Tillet got funding for his Mexico project,” she said. “Ben Sullivan came through.”

  “That’s great news,” Pete said. “Can’t you drive any faster?”

  Annie laughed. “We’re five minutes from home,” she said.

  Pete’s eyes told her that five minutes was five minutes too many.

  “Cara’s going to Mexico with Tillet,” she said, trying to distract him—trying to distract herself. Would this traffic light never change? “Now I’ve got to find another research assistant.”

  “I thought you were thinking about going along,” Pete said as the car moved forward. “You know, get your hands dirty for a change, do a little camping….”