by Sandra Brown
Joshua had distinguished himself in Haiti doing wet work for Duvalier. He wasn't afraid of bloodletting. In fact, he had a passion for it. His other passion was Brother Gabriel, whom he worshiped. Brother Gabriel had won Joshua's unqualified love and allegiance by liberating his brother, another mercenary, from a prison in Malaysia. Joshua would walk through fire for Brother Gabriel.
Jem understood his loyalty, and he admired the man's lethal skills. He was glad he was playing on their team. But right now, he could throttle him.
Joshua complained of having a knot on his temple as proof of Melina's dislike for the FBI. "I also think my wrist might be broken. I don't know what put her on to us."
"You had to get the IDs done overnight."
"But they're the best money can buy," Joshua argued. "The real Tobias would have a hard time spotting them as fakes."
"Then it must've been something you said." Jem had Joshua recount the meeting step by step, word for word. "That's it, you moron," he hissed when Joshua reached the part about Patterson's flight from D.C. "He was supposed to be from the Dallas office."
"You didn't tell me that."
"Of course I did."
"You didn't," Joshua insisted coldly.
"Well, that's how you tipped her."
Joshua described the fight. "Soon’s we regained consciousness, we cleared out."
"And there was no sign of Melina or Hart?"
"They'd split. Her car was gone."
Joshua had failed to neutralize Hart. He'd let Melina disappear. Maybe so much spiritual indoctrination had softened him. What other explanation could there be for his having botched—and botched badly—his last two assignments?
That's the risk you ran by using malleable people. Those who could be so easily manipulated weren't particularly mental giants. Dale Gordon, for example. He'd been a scientific genius. He was steadfastly devoted to the Program. But once he'd served his purpose, he'd been expendable. Unfortunately, he'd been too stupid to destroy all the collected photos and data on Gillian inside his apartment. That had brought the clinic into the investigation.
Jem Hennings wouldn't have made a mistake like that. It still rankled that Brother Gabriel had ordered Gillian's murder and Gordon's suicide without even consulting him. He'd been genuinely shocked when he arrived at her house and saw her body. The words written on the wall had been his first clue that her suitability for the Program had come into question, but it wasn't until the meeting with Lawson, when he heard Christopher Hart describing Dale Gordon, that he realized what had happened and why.
Brother Gabriel couldn't be faulted. He was perfect. It was Gordon's fault for not thinking it through and being more thorough. Gordon, you damn idiot, he thought now. If not for his oversight, Jem wouldn't be having to deal with another incompetent.
"You've disappointed me, Joshua," Jem said in the tone of a hanging judge. "Twice."
"Why couldn't we've just shot the guy? Grabbed the girl when she opened the door? That would've been easier. All this role-playing is for shit," he sneered.
Jem ignored the criticism of his strategy. "I have no choice except to report your failures to Brother Gabriel."
The name evoked fear and respect. Since Brother Gabriel was God's chosen spokesperson, the one person on earth to whom God had entrusted the future of the world, even the strongest of men were humbled by the threat of his disapproval. To cross Brother Gabriel was tantamount to raising your fist to God.
"We haven't failed," Joshua countered, not sounding as contrite as Jem wished. "We've got it covered. Remember?"
And suddenly Jem did. He'd been so upset over their failure, he'd almost forgotten their backup plan! His head broke the surface, and he took a much-needed breath. "You're sure it works?"
"It works. They can't disappear. What do you want us to do with her and the guy?"
That was a very good question. How much had Melina guessed or managed to piece together? Other than him, who could have known that the FBI was coming to her house this morning? If confronted about that, how would he explain? What if she notified the police or the FBI?
He needed time to think, to sort this out, develop contingencies. "When you locate them, do nothing until you notify me first," he instructed Joshua.
The order didn't sit well with the mercenary and his companion, men of action who now harbored a double grudge against Christopher Hart. Good. Jem could foster that resentment.
"Christopher Hart is an enemy of the Program. He defiled Gillian Lloyd. He might already have defiled Melina as well." "He must be destroyed."
"That's what we've been called to do." Jem's voice reverberated with righteous fervor. He hoped it conveyed the spiritual overtones that the retribution against Hart should take, while on a personal level, he hoped these guys pulverized the bastard and made him bleed into his cowboy boots. "Stay as close to them as you can without their seeing you. They know your faces now. If you're seen, you're blown."
Joshua took umbrage. "I'm not an idiot."
"All evidence pointing to the contrary," Jem said beneath his breath. "Keep me posted."
The instant he hung up, the secretary was there, waving another memo beneath his nose. "Can't it wait?"
"I don't think so," she replied sweetly, practically cooing. Then she turned and prissily walked away.
"Mr. Hennings?"
Jem swiveled his chair around. Two men had converged on his workstation. One was tall, black, immaculately dressed, no-nonsense. He held Jem's gaze so imperiously that the other man was noticed only in his peripheral vision. His presence seemed inconsequential.
Jem's bowels suddenly felt loose, but he managed to come to his feet, a pleasant but inquisitive smile on his face. "I'm Jem Hennings. What can I do for you?"
The man flipped open a small leather wallet. "Special Agent Tobias, FBI."
CHAPTER 22
"Personal shopper?" Chief remarked drolly as she ended the call on her cell phone.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing. Actually, Melina, I'm impressed." She shot him a dirty look, and he feigned being afraid. "You're not going to hit me in the head with a vase, are you?"
Ignoring that, she stood. The space between the two double beds was so narrow, he had to angle his knees aside in order to make room for her to pass. "Today I'm glad I have her to do my shopping. I told her what I needed. She'll gather up the merchandise and send it here in a taxi."
"These aren't your usual digs. She didn't ask for an explanation?"
"She probably thinks I'm having an affair. Among her clients are the rich and famous. She wouldn't have them for long if she fished for information and told secrets. Discretion is key."
"The same as with your job. Gillian explained to me that you don't divulge one client's secrets to another."
"Bad for business."
"You still haven't explained the necessity for haute couture."
"Anyone looking for us will watch for credit card purchases, but maybe they won't think of Neiman's. This is the best way I could think of to get a few changes of clothes. You told me to grab my keys. I grabbed my keys. God knows when I'll be able to go home, and this is a little conspicuous," she said of her Tweety Bird shirt.
She looked around at the dreary, impersonal room. After stopping at an ATM and getting enough cash to last for several days, they'd checked into an interstate highway chain motel that had a parking lot full of eighteen-wheelers. The room was standard issue.
Her dejected gaze eventually came back to him. "Chief, listen. This may be home for me for a while, but that doesn't mean it has to be for you."
"How's the collarbone?" he asked, making her aware that she was massaging it.
She dropped her hand. "It's fine. I shouldn't have let on that I knew you had slept with Gillian. If I hadn't called you a liar and a coward, you would have walked away from that meeting with Lawson free and clear."
"Do you think it's broken?"
"My collarbone? No."
"Cra
cked?"
"No," she said with an impatient shake of her head. "It'll probably bruise, but that'll be the worst of it." Wringing her hands, she said, "I hate myself for dragging you into this mess."
He sighed with resignation. "You insist on talking about it, don't you? Okay, let's talk about it. You didn't drag me in, Melina. I was in it from the start. Unwittingly, maybe, but I was in it. Gillian was killed because of the time she spent with me. Now it seems that I'm next. On both counts, I want to know why."
"NASA would protect you. Whoever attacked you last night wouldn't be so brave if NASA was looming behind you." She appealed to him to call the FBI.
"And tell them what?"
"That you thought I was being attacked by thieves this morning."
"Thieves!" he exclaimed on a short laugh.
"You jumped to my defense. When you realized your mistake, you were appalled. I escaped before you could detain me."
"You think they would buy that?" he asked scoffingly. "No, they wouldn't. And I refuse to hide behind NASA." Pointing to his battered face, he said, "This is a personal fight."
"How does it feel now?"
"You don't want to know"
His nose had finally stopped bleeding. As soon as they reached the hotel, he had washed up and she had replaced the bandage on his cheekbone. He'd been holding a plastic bag of ice on his eye, and the swelling had gone down appreciably. But he still looked like a has-been prizefighter who'd gone one round too many.
"I'm sorry, Chief."
"Well, at least this time I got a whack at the other guys."
Regardless of his jokes and his insistence that he'd been involved from the start, she still felt responsible. "What about your car?"
"It's sitting there like bait. I can't go back for it."
"They'll be looking for mine now, too. What can we do about that?"
"I'm working on it," he said, tapping his temple.
"Fine pair of outlaws we are." She sat down across from him again and gave a mirthless laugh. "In a million years, I'd never have thought I'd be having a conversation like this."
He smiled. "Neither did I."
"I don't know how to be on the lam."
"I guess we'll pick it up as we go along."
"I guess."
He dug his cell phone out of the pocket of his jacket and placed a call to The Mansion. He explained to the concierge that he'd had to leave unexpectedly and that he wished his belongings to be packed and sent by taxi to his present location. He gave them the address of the motel but didn't identify the place by name. "As soon as possible, please." After disconnecting, he said, "I miss it already."
Barely listening, she thoughtfully tapped her own cell phone against her chin. "I don't believe it."
"What?"
"That Tobias and Patterson were government agents. I know, I know, the IDs looked authentic. But crooks would know how to get good fakes."
"There's one way to find out. Call the FBI."
"Call the FBI." They had spoken the words simultaneously. "That's what my sister and I used to do," she told him as she dialed long-distance information.
Their eyes connected. Any mention of her caused their smiles to slip noticeably. Now was no exception.
"I can forget it, temporarily," he said quietly. "But it always comes back with a jolting reminder."
"Me, too."
She was being cued to press a digit if she wanted her call to be automatically forwarded. She did so, then said to Chief softly, "She had a very good time."
Before he could press her for details, her call went through. "Yes, I'm trying to reach Special Agent Hank Tobias. Do you have a number for him?"
"I can connect you directly to his office."
She covered the mouthpiece. "Oh, God. He's real." "So we're toast."
The call was answered in a crisp, businesslike manner. She asked to speak to Tobias but was informed that he was unavailable. "Can someone else help you?"
"Ms...." She strained to remember, and miraculously recalled the name. "Myrick."
"Please hold."
She looked across at Chief and shook her head remorsefully. "I'll take full responsibility. It was my mistake, Chief. I'll make certain they understand—"
A voice she recognized interrupted her. "This is Lucy."
"I saw Melina last night," Jem Hennings answered in reply to Tobias's question. "Why? What's this about? Has something happened to her? Oh, Jesus, don't tell me something's happened to her, too."
"We're not jumping to any conclusions," Tobias told him calmly. "I had an appointment with her this morning, and she failed to keep it. I'm just trying to track her down."
"You had an appointment with Melina? What for? What's she done?"
Sidestepping the question, Tobias asked his own. "Do you know where she might have gone this morning? We've checked her office. She hasn't reported in."
"The gym. She told me she was going to work out this morning."
"What gym?"
"I'm sorry, I don't know where her membership is."
After directing Patterson to get someone on that, Tobias turned back totem Hennings. "What time did you see her last night?"
Hennings divided a confused gaze between him and Patterson, who was speaking softly into his cell phone. "Uh. Let's see, about ten, ten-thirty. We had dinner at her house. Relaxed for a while. She was beat. After the week she's had. You know about my fiancée, Gillian, right? Melina's sister?"
"We had a lengthy discussion with Senior Corporal Lawson this morning."
"Oh. Then you know. Are you investigating Gillian's murder?"
"We just wanted to ask Ms. Lloyd some questions." "About what?"
"You haven't heard from her since last night?"
"No. I told her I'd check in on her sometime today, but we didn't make specific plans."
"Was she alone when you left her?"
"Against my better judgment. She'd taken a long bath and was going straight to bed. In fact, she ran me out so she could do just that. Personally, I thought she should have had someone staying with her. At least for the next few days. She's very independent, though. Wouldn't hear of it."
Tobias kept his expression impassive. Patterson ended his call and reported that one of Melina's employees had volunteered to call the gym she frequented.
"It's not like her to skip an appointment," Hennings continued. "She's a professional woman. Her business is keeping appointments. But I guess that after what she's suffered this week, she's not her usual self."
"In what way?"
"Absentminded. Distracted. She'll be mortified when she realizes she forgot your appointment. You might try calling her on her cell," Hennings said, trying ever so hard to be helpful. "I have the number."
"So do I." Tobias had called it several times but always got her voice mail.
"If you've called it, you probably got her voice mail," Hennings said. "It used to annoy Gillian that Melina wouldn't answer. She leaves her phone off so it won't disturb her clients."
"You seem to know her almost as well as you knew your fiancée."
"They were so close, to know one was almost to know the other. It was Gillian I fell in love with, but I'd already come to consider Melina my sister, so I want to help any way I can," Hennings said earnestly. "What's this about? Is she in some sort of trouble?"
Tobias withdrew a business card from his suit jacket pocket and gave it to the stockbroker. "You can help by calling me immediately if you hear from her."
"That's it?"
"For now."
"I'd like to know what's going on."
"We just want to talk to her."
"You'll stay in touch with me?" Hennings asked anxiously. "You can count on it."
Out in the corridor as they were making their way to the elevator, Patterson said, "Lawson wasn't exaggerating. He is a Class-A asshole."
"Who is tripping all over himself in his eagerness to help." "You think he was lying about leaving her house last night? Was h
e there this morning?"
"I don't know about that, but it wasn't him who slept in the guest room bed."
"How do you know?"
"He has light, wavy hair."
"Pardon?"
Tobias's cell phone rang. "Yes?"
"You're gonna love me."
"Why's that, Ms. Myrick?"
"I just spoke to Melina Lloyd."
"Black, six feet two inches tall, dynamite dresser. Her words. Gorgeous. Also her word. A Denzel Washington type." Melina reiterated for Chief the physical traits of Hank Tobias as described to her by Lucy Myrick. "She doesn't know Patterson because he's from the Dallas office."
"And when you asked your Patterson about his flight down this morning, he lied."
"So maybe I won't be sent to federal prison after all."
"I don't think so," Chief agreed. "Because our Tobias wasn't
that tall, and he sure as hell was no Denzel Washington." "Off-the-rack suit, cheap shoes. Not what I'd describe as a 'dynamite dresser. '"
"As anyone with a personal shopper would know." "Would you please let up on that?"
"Your shopper knows her business." His eyes were on her butt. "Perfect fit."
The new things had been delivered a half hour earlier. She'd specified casual, so the saleswoman at Neiman's had sent two pairs of slacks, one skirt, and sweaters that would go with them. She had included a lightweight wool jacket, three sets of underwear, two pairs of shoes, and a nightgown. A smaller bag had been filled with cosmetics and toiletries, along with a cheeky note from the shopper that read, "Have fun!" She'd taken a quick shower and put on a pair of the new slacks, exchanging her Tweety Bird shirt for a silk and cashmere blend pullover sweater.
Disregarding Chief's compliment, she told him that Ms. Myrick had promised to contact Tobias immediately. "She assured me that he would call, so I've left my ringer on." "What are you going to say?"
"I have no idea. I guess I'll play it by ear."
"Who knew about your appointment with him?"
"No one."
"Someone."
