Twin Targets

by Marta Perry

  “I see.” He took his time reacting, trying to gauge her feelings. “Is there anything you need? Have you found a doctor?”

  “That side of it is all right. I just…” She shook her head in a pained movement. “This makes me feel so much more vulnerable. I have another life to protect now.”

  “I see that.” He put his hand over hers in a gesture of support. “It means we have another life to protect, too. We’ll take that seriously, I promise.”

  “Thank you.” The tension in her face eased. “I’m glad I told you.”

  He was, too, but it sent his thoughts back to the story Jackson had told of the young woman who’d given up her baby rather than risk its life.

  That old case, brought back to life when Kristin Perry walked into his office, couldn’t have anything to do with Olivia.

  He just prayed the same devastation didn’t await her. Jade hadn’t been in the hotel for even twenty-four hours, and already she felt as if she were ready to crawl out of her skin from the inactivity. How did anyone live in such limbo, unable to make plans, unable even to have routine human contact?

  How had Ruby done it? She’d never really appreciated what Ruby had gone through during that time of waiting to testify, waiting to be resettled. Ruby had been far more impatient than she was, far more used to excitement in her life. How had she managed?

  Maybe, for Ruby, it had been a respite. Her life, always on the edge, had tumbled over into danger. Maybe she’d welcomed the enforced idleness. Certainly, from what Micah had said, Ruby had found peace in her new life, even if it hadn’t been the life of her choosing. She paced across the small living room, stopping to stare at the phone. Micah hadn’t called yet. She’d expected to hear from him. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat in them. That was a cliché, wasn’t it? Waiting for a man to call again after that first kiss?

  She hadn’t expected it. At least, she didn’t think she had. And yet, when it happened, it was as if every moment since she’d met him had arrowed straight toward that one.

  She touched her lips lightly, imagining she could still feel his kiss. It was crazy, in the midst of all this turmoil, to be acting like a teenager with a crush. She could call him. She reached toward the phone, imagining his voice warm in her ear. He’d given her his cell number and said to call if anything worried her. Probably that anything hadn’t been meant to include her schoolgirl reactions to his embrace or her need to hear his voice. The feelings were too new, too untested. And far too much weighed in the balance against them.

  She’d turn the television on and get caught up on what was happening in the world. There’d be plenty of crises in the world that made hers seem very small. Ten minutes later the phone rang. She sprang at it, snatching it up.

  “Hello?” Her voice was ridiculously breathless.

  “Is everything all right with you? Any problems there?”

  Micah’s voice, just as warm as she’d hoped, sounded in her ear.

  “No problems at all, unless you count boredom.” She sank into the desk chair, cradling the receiver with both hands. “If I ever wanted to be less busy, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Sorry about that. I’m afraid it can’t be helped at the moment.” A bout of static interrupted his voice. He must be on his cell.

  “Where are you?”

  Why aren’t you here? That was what she wanted to say, but she stifled the words.

  “I can’t tell you that.” He sounded distant, as if she’d broken some unwritten rule by asking the question. “Sorry.”

  “I see. I mean, I understand. Will I see you soon?” That was a reasonable question to ask, surely.

  “I don’t know. I’m on my way to the office right now.”

  Again that distant note, and now she knew what was happening. He was trying to reestablish the boundaries between them, boundaries they’d both crossed the previous night.

  She understood. Really, she did. But somehow that didn’t prevent a ripple of anger from running through her.

  “I’ll talk with you later, then.” She kept her voice level with an effort. “Goodbye.”

  She didn’t wait to hear him say goodbye. It might sound too final. She hung up.

  The room wasn’t really big enough to walk off her bad temper. Instead she opened her laptop and booted up. Micah had told her not to let anyone know where she was. He hadn’t said she couldn’t be in touch with people. She could at least check her e-mail.

  A few minutes later she realized her mistake. She had e-mails, plenty of them. Friends, acquaintances, library board members, all wanting to know what had happened at the library yesterday, none of them accepting the official clampdown on information. Who had that man been? Why had he come to the library after her? What was going on?

  She couldn’t answer any of the questions. And if she didn’t have an explanation, people would imagine the worst. How long would her job last, given this blow? If she were on the library board, she wouldn’t want to employ someone whose presence brought danger into the children’s story time.

  She sucked in a breath, thinking of the children’s faces during those terrible moments. Then she opened an e-mail to the library board.

  Slowly, choosing every word with care, she began to write, skirting carefully around the full truth. Apparently someone believed she’d witnessed a crime, putting her in danger. The U.S. Marshal’s office had taken her to a safe place until they could arrest the criminal. She was sorry, and she hoped they could manage without her for a brief period of time.

  She paused, fingers on the keys. Should she offer to resign? Maybe she could cling to a tiny fragment of hope for a little longer. Without adding anything else, she hit Send.

  She shut the mail program and sat for a moment, head resting on her hands. Please. The word came from somewhere deep inside. Please. Slowly she opened the desk drawer, knowing what she’d find there, and pulled out the Gideon Bible. For a long moment she just held it in her hands, remembering. Sister Sally had given a Gideon Bible to each of them when they were in fourth grade. Hers lay in the drawer of the nightstand at home. What had happened to Ruby’s? Discarded long ago, or kept, so that Ruby had it to turn to when life had brought her back to God? The study Bible she’d brought from Ruby’s apartment had been relatively new, although well used, with notes written in the margins. The thought took her by the throat. She should have packed the books she’d brought from Ruby’s, instead of leaving them on the bedside table at home. She might have found comfort in them now.

  Pastor Davison’s people had probably cleared Ruby’s apartment by now. He’d see that her things went to people who needed them. She should call him and thank him again for all his kindness. In the rush and sorrow of Ruby’s funeral, she hadn’t said enough to him. But she couldn’t even call him now, not without checking with Micah first. He said he didn’t want any former connection with Ruby’s life. Tears stung her eyes. She was cut off, isolated from everyone and everything familiar, until this was settled.

  A tear splashed on the dark red cover of the Bible. She wiped it away with her fingers, hesitated a moment, and opened the scriptures.

  In times of trouble, turn to the Psalms. Sister Sally’s voice echoed in her memory. You’ll find the strength you need there.

  Strength, she’d said. Sister Sally had never been one to offer easy comfort. Strength to face the burdens of the day—that was what she’d asked, for herself and for the children she brought to Jesus.

  Jade began to read, turning from one familiar Psalm to another, feeling the words sink deep within her. Touching the painful places, bringing healing. Dropping onto her fears, bringing strength.

  Finally she turned to the much loved words that had been read at Ruby’s funeral.

  The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…

  A sob ripped through her. She sank from the chair to her knees, turning back to her Heavenly Father and feeling His arms welcome her. Micah knew something was wrong the instant he walked into the of
fice. The atmosphere of tension was palpable, showing itself in averted gazes and rapt attention to computer screens or reports. Mac jerked a nod at him. “You’re wanted upstairs. Right now.”

  “What’s going on?” A summons to the office of the U.S. Marshal in charge of the region didn’t come along every day of the week.

  Mac shrugged, looking annoyed that he didn’t have an answer. “Just get up there.”

  He turned on his heel and headed for the elevator, stomach churning. This had to be something bad. Jade?

  His heart skipped a beat. But he’d spoken with her not half an hour ago. If something had happened to her, he’d have been contacted via radio or cell.

  When the elevator doors opened, the secretary at the nearest desk nodded toward the door to the conference room. He was expected, apparently.

  Those who were seated around the polished table looked up as he entered, wearing similar expressions of gravity…the chief, Jackson, Arthur Phillips and two other criminal investigators who’d been working the Ruby Maxwell case.

  He focused on Phillips, his immediate boss. “You wanted to see me?”

  “We’ve had another killing.” Phillips’s tone was harsh. Micah’s heart stopped. Jade…

  “A woman named Carlie Donald.” He shuffled through the files in front of him and pulled one out. “It went down last night. Harper took it.” He gave a crisp nod to one of the investigators.

  Dave Harper probably hadn’t had any sleep, and his usually wry, amused face held a serious expression. “The locals didn’t call as quick as they should have. Apparently thought it was a domestic gone bad. She and the boyfriend had gone at it before. He’d been out drinking, came home to find her dead. Strangled.”

  Micah slid into a chair, pushing thoughts of Jade to the back of his mind. “Carlie Donald.” He repeated the name.

  “I’m not familiar with her. Any Mafia connection?”

  Someone must think so, or else why was Jackson sitting in on this meeting?

  “She testified against a small-time Mafia soldier,”

  Jackson said. “She went into Witness Protection, but didn’t change her lifestyle, apparently.”

  “Liked to live on the edge,” Dave said. He handed a sheaf of photos to Micah. “Could be she picked up a guy and it turned violent. Or could be the boyfriend, if he got home earlier than they think.”

  “A coincidence,” Jackson said the word as if it were a curse. “That’s hard to take.”

  “Everything isn’t connected to the Mob,” Phillips snapped. “If you think…”

  Micah stopped flipping through the photos, staring at one. “That mark on her palm. What is it?” He was vaguely aware of having interrupted his boss.

  “Graphite, according to the lab.” Dave consulted a report. “Lot of places she could pick up something like that. It doesn’t necessarily relate to the murder.”

  He flattened the photo on the table. “I’m afraid it does.”

  He looked, not at his boss, but at his brother. “Ruby had the same black mark on her palm.”

  Jackson’s breath hissed. “The black hand. The Mafia.”

  Phillips held out his hand for the photo, and Micah gave it to him. He studied it for a long moment. Then he looked at Jackson. “I owe you an apology, Agent McGraw.”

  “So this is Mafia-related.” The chief marshal spoke for the first time. Former military, he didn’t get rattled easily, and he didn’t show alarm now. “This is your area, Agent McGraw. What are they doing? Do these killings relate to the Bureau’s case against Vincent Martino?”

  “Could be.” Jackson’s mouth clamped on the words.

  “More to the point right now, how did the Mob find two unrelated female federal witnesses who have both been relocated to Montana?”

  Silence, for a long moment. Micah’s gaze went from face to face as each person in the room assimilated the unpalatable truth.

  “So.” Arthur Phillips’s face tightened to a rigid mask and said what they were all thinking. “There’s a leak. Here. In this office.”

  ELEVEN

  “Effective immediately, the investigation into the deaths of Ruby Maxwell and Carlie Donald, and the attacks on Jade Summers, will be turned over to FBI Special Agent Jackson McGraw.”

  The chief marshal stood as he spoke, an intimidating figure at the end of the conference table. Silence greeted his words. He spun on his heel and walked out of the room, looking as if he barely managed to refrain from slamming the door behind him.

  Everyone in the room knew how he felt. It was how they all felt. Someone in their office, one of the very people they trusted to watch their backs, was in the pay of the Mob. That deed dirtied every single one of them. Even worse, how could they look at each other without wondering if the person they were looking at was the one?

  Micah read the question in the averted gazes and the mumbled responses of the others as they filed out of the room. They’d been shamed by the realization, then shamed again that the investigation had been taken out of their hands.

  Finally Micah was alone with his brother. A wave of indignation rose in him. “I’d trust any of those people with my life.”

  Jackson stared at him for a moment, expressionless.

  “Would you trust them with Jade’s life?”

  That question punched him right in the gut. “I…I don’t know.”

  Jackson’s face was hard. “Then you should understand why your chief had to do what he did.”

  He understood. But somehow that didn’t seem to make the humiliation any better. He murmured a quick, silent prayer for guidance.

  “Okay.” He took a breath, steadying himself. “I get it. One person in this office is a traitor, so everyone is suspect. You think I don’t understand how serious that is?

  Jade’s location at the hotel could already be compromised. You have to—”

  Jackson held up a hand, shutting him off. “I can’t discuss the case with you, Micah.”

  He opened his lips to argue. Shut them again. Jackson wouldn’t bend. Everyone who knew him understood that about Jackson.

  For a long moment they stared at each other, while a chasm grew between them. There was nothing left to say. Micah walked out of the conference room. He got on the elevator, trying to focus. One thought kept blanking everything else out. His brother didn’t trust him. No, that wasn’t fair. Jackson trusted him as a person. He knew that. But Jackson didn’t trust his judgment in this case, or his ability to act impartially. He should go straight to his office and find out what Phillips wanted him to do. He had no choice but to walk away from the case that now belonged to the FBI.

  Jade was in danger. The traitor could be giving away her location right now.

  Jackson would act to safeguard her, but would it be soon enough? He would have to wait for his own team to arrive, hamstrung by the fact that there was no one here he could trust. And in the meantime, who was keeping Jade safe?

  The elevator doors opened on his floor. He glanced in at the desks, listened to the dispirited silence. Then he punched the button to take himself down to the parking garage. He couldn’t take the chance. If he did nothing else, he’d move Jade to a different hotel and then let only Jackson know where she was. There would be repercussions, but he couldn’t help that now. Acting on instinct, he thought wryly. His big brother would have a few sharp words to say about that. Minutes later he was in his vehicle and covering the few blocks to the hotel, eyes flickering to his mirrors to be sure no one followed him. He yanked out his cell phone and punched in the hotel number, then Jade’s room number. He should give her a heads up that he was coming, tell her to get packed and ready to move. Every wasted minute meant that the killers could be getting closer. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. His tension ratcheted up with each unanswered ring. Where was she? She should be there. She’d been told not to leave the room without an escort. He let it ring until the line switched over to the hotel’s answering system. Frustrated, he ended the call, not wanting to le
ave a message that someone else might hear.

  Where are you, Jade? Where are you? His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She could be in the shower, unable to hear the phone. That must be it. She wouldn’t leave. At least—

  Could Jackson have already moved her? Possible, but if so, wouldn’t he at least have told Micah that she was safe?

  Probably not. Jackson followed the rules, and right now the rules said that Micah was shut out of the case. But his instincts were riding him, just as they had when he’d rushed to find Jade unconscious from the gas leak. Telling him that Jackson wouldn’t have had time or manpower to move her. Telling him that she was in danger. Please, Father. His mind fumbled for the prayer. Wherever Jade is, be with her now. Surround her with Your protection. And get me there quickly. Around one more corner, cutting it short, and then he was driving down the ramp into the underground parking garage. He headed for the back, where the elevator was. A few more minutes, and he’d…

  Jade. The sight jolted him like a physical blow. Jade, alone, stepping off the elevator. Alone. What on earth was she doing?

  She paused for a moment, glancing around the gray, echoing interior of the garage, and then started walking to her right, where a rank of parked cars sat. He accelerated toward her, touching the horn to draw her attention. She spun, that banner of red hair swinging out, vivid against the forest-green jacket she wore. She saw him. Recognized him. And then she whirled and ran in the opposite direction.

  Panic ripped through Jade like an earthquake, tearing apart pieces of her heart. It was Micah. She could trust Micah, couldn’t she?

  Trust no one. That was what the FBI agent had said when he called. Trust no one. Not Micah. Not anyone who said they’d come from the marshal’s office. Her running feet took her along the rows of cars on the right side of the garage. The agent had said Jackson McGraw would be there. He’d said he’d be waiting. Where was he?

  Micah was coming. She could hear his vehicle, bearing down on her. Her instincts urged her to turn and run toward him, but the fear was too strong. It propelled her feet, stumbling now as she scanned the ranks of cars. A maroon sedan pulled out of a parking space toward the end of the row, turning against the lane markers to accelerate toward her. It must be Jackson—