by Sharon Sala
“If you need a ride later, give me a call,” he said, and handed her his card.
Her nostrils flared in anger.
John grabbed her elbow before she could fly off the handle and turned her toward the door.
“I was going to pay,” he said as the cab disappeared back down the driveway.
“I’ve already told you. I pay my own way.” Then she pointed toward the cab. “Did you hear what he said to me?” she asked as John picked up their bags.
“Give him a break, lady. The disguise was your choice. You did a good job, okay?”
“It’s easy for you to say. I’ve been labeled a nutcase by my own father—who wants to kill me, by the way. I look like a whore, and you hate my guts. All in all, these last few days have been something of a revelation.”
“I don’t hate your guts,” he muttered.
“Could have fooled me,” she said, then turned her back and rang the doorbell.
John sighed. Her spurt of attitude was gone. He knew she’d led a privileged life. This was not only hard on her, it was hard for her. He couldn’t imagine what must be going through her mind, knowing her father was willing to kill her to shut her up.
“Look, Alicia, I—”
Before he could finish, the door opened inward and Corbin Woodliff was standing there, eyeing both of them with something akin to shock.
It had been at least fifteen years since John and Corbin had seen each other face-to-face, although they had kept in touch, but Corbin was at least twenty-five pounds heavier. His hairline had receded noticeably, and the hair that was left was almost entirely gray. And, as was the way of many men who begin going bald, he was growing facial hair. His beard was a grayish red, clipped in a neat Van Dyke style. He was wearing dark slacks and a white polo shirt, untucked over his burgeoning belly.
John braced himself for the comment he got most often, which was, “You haven’t aged a bit,” set down the suitcases and held out his hand.
“Corbin, it’s been a while.”
“That it has, my friend,” Corbin said. “A very long time since that coup in Venezuela.”
The two men shook hands, then hugged briefly before stepping apart, and John’s looks were never even mentioned, though at that point Corbin allowed himself a good look at the tall, wild-haired woman standing behind John. Her belly was bare. Her face needed to be. She was almost as tall as John and had a glint in her eye that mirrored his. Oddly enough, and despite their situation, they were rather well-matched.
“Miss Ponte, I presume. Please come in…come in.”
“This is a disguise,” Alicia offered as they paused in the foyer.
Corbin grinned. “It’s a doozy.”
Alicia sighed. “Considering the circumstances, thank you for seeing me.”
Corbin glanced at John. “I owe John a favor. Come on. I think we should go into the library, where it’s more comfortable. I’m assuming you two weren’t followed,” he added as he peered out before quickly closing the door.
“We’re good,” John said.
“He’s Cherokee,” Alicia snapped.
John grinned and shook his head at Corbin, indicating it would be wise not to follow up on that remark.
Corbin stifled a smile as he led them into the room across the foyer.
The faint scent of cigar smoke and that smell familiar only to rooms that house old books was pervasive. But Alicia was past being bothered by off-putting aromas. Weary to the core, she sank into an overstuffed chair. The oxblood leather was butter-soft beneath her palms as she scooted back in the seat, watching the two men as they spoke quickly in tones too low for her to hear. She knew they were talking about her—or, at the least, John’s dilemma after becoming associated with her. She could have argued the point that he was in this as deep as she was, and for his own reasons, but right now, she just wanted the secret out and the burden off her shoulders.
“Can I offer either of you something to drink?” Corbin asked as John took a seat in the chair beside Alicia.
“Not for me, thanks,” John said.
Alicia shook her head.
Corbin eased himself down on the matching sofa on the other side of the coffee table, then leaned back and crossed his legs, leaving his big arms loosely folded in his lap.
Alicia felt like a bug pinned to a mat as she waited for him to speak. He waited too long.
Nervously, she scooted to the edge of her chair. “I understand you’ve heard the bullshit my father put out about me.”
John shifted in his seat. Good. At least her attitude was back. The last thing he wanted was for her to start crying. It was the single chink in his stoic countenance that neither age nor time had changed. He couldn’t withstand a crying woman.
Corbin nodded. “I did, and I have to say, he seemed sincere.”
Alicia’s eyes glittered angrily. “Hell yes, he seemed sincere. He wants me back in the worst possible way, and preferably in a body bag.”
Corbin’s position shifted from one of nonchalance to intensity as he glanced at John, as if trying to read his expression, then back to Alicia.
“Pardon me, Miss Ponte, but—”
“Call me Alicia.”
He nodded. “Alicia…you have to understand. It’s difficult for me to think a man would put out a hit on his own daughter. You’re going to have a tough sell trying to make that stick.”
“Someone’s already made an attempt on her life,” John reminded him.
“You sure it wasn’t a bid for the million-dollar reward, instead?”
John answered sharply. “He shot at her. The gun had a silencer. The reward was for her safe return. You figure it out.”
Corbin nodded thoughtfully, then shifted his focus to Alicia.
“What do you know that your father is afraid you’ll tell?”
“I overheard a conversation between my father and his business associate, Jacob Carruthers, that I wasn’t meant to hear.”
“Are you referring to Jacob Carruthers of the Boston Carruthers?”
“Yes, although he’s just Uncle Jacob to me. I’ve known him all my life.”
“So what did you overhear?”
“My father and Jacob are selling munitions to al Qaeda.”
“Christ Almighty!” Corbin said, then stood abruptly and grabbed a digital recorder from the desk behind him. He turned it on as he sat back down. “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand what was being said?”
“How many Osama bin Ladens can you think of who are associated with al Qaeda and would be needing fresh munitions for Fallujah?”
Corbin appeared to be in shock. Alicia knew how he felt. For a few moments, he just sat, staring at the floor. She didn’t know if he was gathering his thoughts or still doubting what she’d said. Then he looked up.
“If this is true…Don’t get me wrong…. I’m not saying you’re lying, I’m just trying to wrap my head around the vastness of these ramifications—not the least of which is that this would make him a traitor to his country. And in a time of war. Dear God.”
Alicia didn’t know how pale she’d become, but she was all too aware that she was shaking from the inside out. Even though she believed her father was trying to kill her, she didn’t have the same darkness in her heart. Just saying the words that would guarantee his death felt sickening.
“Can you prove any of this?” Corbin asked.
“No. I just heard what I heard.”
“Does he know your intentions were to tell the authorities, or is he just guessing and trying to cover his ass?”
“Oh, he knows,” Alicia said. “It wasn’t my wisest or finest moment. I’d been dodging his phone calls for three days when I finally answered. I didn’t start out intending to tell him, but…well…it just happened.”
“Since he’s been forewarned of your intentions, this could be near impossible to prove. And making the authorities believe you enough to even start an investigation will be difficult now, considering the announcement he made about yo
ur mental state.”
“I know. I wasn’t thinking. The three days I wasted running, I could have used to start the ball rolling, but my father’s reach is long and deep within the government. He’s been furnishing munitions to our armies for years, as well as to many European countries. I had no way of knowing who to trust.”
“I see what you mean,” Corbin said. “Can you remember anything else? Did he mention names…dates…money transfers?”
“Only that the delivery would fall on the thirteenth, which seemed to be a problem because it was some religious holiday, but he didn’t say what month. I also heard another name, although I don’t know if it was a go-between or the person to whom delivery was going to be made.”
“Do you remember it?” Corbin asked.
Alicia sighed. “I remember all of it. I’ve thought of nothing else since the moment I realized my father and Uncle Jacob were betraying our country and our soldiers. The name he mentioned was in conjunction with a place in Afghanistan. He mentioned the Kurds, then a man…Mohammed al-Kazir.”
Corbin’s eyes suddenly widened. “Are you sure that’s the name?”
She nodded. “Why?”
“According to the latest intel, the present leader of al Qaeda is reported to be a man named Mohammed al-Kazir. They think he’s embedded somewhere within the mountains of Afghanistan, although I heard a bit of gossip regarding Turkey. I do know there hasn’t been a sighting in months.”
Alicia felt sick. The reality of what she’d heard suddenly solidified. Her stomach lurched. “Bathroom. I need to use your bathroom,” she said, and put her hand over her mouth.
John jumped up. “I saw one off the foyer,” he said, and grabbed her by the hand.
Alicia ran with him, too afraid she was going to embarrass herself to argue. The contents of her stomach were at the back of her throat as John slid to a halt and all but shoved her into the room on her right. She leaned over the toilet and threw up her guts as the door swung shut behind her.
John stood outside the bathroom, wincing with every retching sound she made, but not from disgust. Once again, the torment of her life had been brought home to him in a blatant and physical way. His desire for revenge was centuries old and in every pore of his skin. He breathed it, ate with it, lived with it—unable to escape it even in sleep, because, more often than not, his dreams were littered with flashes of White Fawn and his people bathed in blood. But it was also familiar.
But this was all new to Alicia Ponte, and she was in shock. Her life as she knew it was over. Everything she had known and trusted was a lie. Her father was no longer her father—he was her enemy. Now the woman she’d considered herself to be was gone, leaving her an unknown. As his quest for justice was finally coming to fruition, Alicia’s world was coming to an end.
“Is she all right?”
John looked over his shoulder. Corbin was standing in the hall behind him.
“No, but she will be,” he said.
“That’s a hell of a thing to find out about your father.”
“So you believe her?”
Corbin shrugged. “You believe her. I believe you—even though I’m starting to think you’ve been keeping secrets from me.”
John’s heartbeat stuttered. His life was nothing but secrets, but he hadn’t expected Corbin to call him on it.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Corbin let his gaze slide from the perfect structure of John’s coffee-brown face to the silver feather earring, his wide shoulders and flat belly.
“I’m thinking you’ve found the secret to eternal youth. You look damned good, my friend.”
“It’s all in the DNA, white man.”
Corbin grinned. “Maybe in my next life I’ll get to come back as a Native American.”
“Be careful what you ask for,” John said.
Corbin laughed, unaware that reincarnation was not only possible but probable. However, John wasn’t going to debate the quirks of living and dying with a man who operated on nothing but finding and proving the facts.
A few moments later, the door opened. Alicia walked out with her chin up and her shoulders back.
“Sorry. I think it was something I swallowed…probably my pride.” Then she added, “Thank you,” to John without looking at him.
Oh hell. She’d been crying. However, the jut of her chin was clue enough that she didn’t want it mentioned. And she also needed another dose of attitude to keep her emotions in check. Considering the fact that everything he did aggravated her, it was easy to piss her off.
“Consider it selfishness on my part. I didn’t want to have to mop up after you.”
Corbin’s lips parted slightly, shocked that John was being so rude. But when he saw the fire in Alicia Ponte’s eyes reappear, he realized that the tension between them might be more than anger. He smiled to himself, thinking he would like to be a fly on the wall if they ever gave in to what was simmering between them.
Alicia glared at John but refused to spar, then turned her attention to Corbin.
“There’s one other thing I should probably mention.”
Corbin’s interest spiked. “Yes?”
“Uncle Jacob…Jacob Carruthers.”
“What about him?”
“My father likes him, but I’ve often heard him refer to Uncle Jacob as weak-kneed. If that’s the case, you might be able to make him talk. If he was promised life instead of hanging—or whatever it is they do to traitors these days—he might turn. Knowing him as I do, I’m guessing he’s been in panic mode ever since he learned I was running.”
Now she really had Corbin’s attention. “I have some friends in the Bureau.” When he saw Alicia getting ready to argue, he held up his hands. “I know, I know…I saw the deputy director standing beside your father. I know all about their college days together. But Richard Ponte isn’t the only one with ties to the big shots. I’ve been in D.C. going on twenty-five years now. I have some connections of my own. I’m thinking if I can round up a couple of my buddies and show up on Jacob Carruthers’ doorstep, your suggestion might produce some usable facts.”
“That would be great!” Alicia cried. “Would you…I mean…if he talks…would you be able to let me know?”
“Oh, you’ll know. If he talks, the Bureau will most likely launch a full-scale investigation. It will be the biggest news to hit the country since Saddam Hussein’s capture.”
Alicia’s smile was bittersweet. Stopping the flow of illegal weapons to the enemy was not only necessary but was the honorable thing to do. Knowing she’d done what was right was one thing. Knowing she’d just signed her father’s death warrant was another.
“That’s good,” she said.
John saw her chin tremble. He felt her pain and wished he wasn’t beginning to care. But like Alicia, he was driven to do what was right at all costs. Now that they’d done what she wanted to do, it was his turn. But how to use her without getting her hurt was going to be a problem.
“About Carruthers…does he still live in Boston?” Corbin asked.
“Yes.”
Corbin grinned. “Fabulous. I have a favorite pub there that serves the best corned beef on rye I’ve ever eaten. Do you like corned beef on rye?” he asked.
For Alicia, the mere mention of food brought the threat of another round of nausea. John saw her pale, then swallow several times in rapid succession. Once again, he chose sarcasm to give her the breathing space she needed.
“Personally, I don’t eat anything I can’t shoot with my trusty bow and arrow,” he drawled.
Corbin laughed, and thumped John on the shoulder. “You are such a wise-ass. That’s only one of the reasons I like you.”
“I’m old. I’ve heard it all before,” John fired back, and then cupped Alicia’s elbow. “We need to get to the airport, and I don’t want to call another cab.”
“I’ll drive you,” Corbin offered.
“You’re a very recognizable face. It would be best if we weren’t seen to
gether,” John said.
“True, true,” Corbin said, then snapped his fingers. “How about you drive yourselves in my car? Call me and tell me later where it’s parked, and I’ll take a cab and retrieve it.”
Alicia was touched by the trouble this man was willing to go to. “I want to say this again, I really appreciate everything you’re doing on my behalf.”
“It’s not just for you, Miss Ponte. If all this is true, our soldiers and our country have been betrayed. And…there’s also the fact that you may have just handed me the story of the decade.”
Alicia felt as if she’d been slapped. “If? Are you saying you still don’t believe me?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m a journalist. Everything for me has to be fact, and what you’ve told me has yet to be proved. What I am saying is…John Nightwalker believes you, and I believe in John Nightwalker.”
Alicia eyes filled with tears, but there was a set to her jaw that dared both men to keep their distance.
“I wish I could say the same,” she said bitterly.
John looked at Alicia, then at Corbin, his mouth twisting with regret. “It’s a long story.”
Corbin seemed flustered. “Uh…can I make you two some sandwiches or something before you leave?”
John nodded. “That’s nice of you, Corbin. Maybe a—”
“It’s best I don’t eat before I fly,” Alicia said.
John sighed. “Yeah, me, too. Besides, we had a big dinner earlier.”
Alicia stifled a gasp of disbelief. Was that John Nightwalker being considerate on her behalf?
“Then I’ll be right back with the keys,” Corbin said, and hurried off.
John shoved his hands into his pockets and turned his back on Alicia. Don’t say it, woman. Don’t be nice to me. Don’t you dare. I need to keep all the distance I can between us to do what I have to do.
He heard her footsteps. She was right behind him.
“John.”
Shit. “Yeah?”
“How much do I owe you for our hotel room?”
