Judd nodded approvingly. “Very good. And the next question is, why have you found me?”
“I have a job for you.”
Judd went still. “I take it you're not hiring me to paint Elena's portrait.”
“No way.”
“Then I have to refuse. I'm out of the business.”
“The wages are very high.”
“I don't need money, Galen.”
“I don't imagine you do, after the money you took from Chavez. But you need that sanction taken off you and I know a man who can do it.”
“For a price?” His lips twisted. “Who does he want taken down?”
Galen shook his head. “He wants someone kept alive.” Galen dropped into a chair and stretched out his legs. “Could I have a cup of coffee from the pot on that table? It was a damn cold walk from the road.”
“No one invited you to make it.” Judd crossed the room, poured him a cup, and took it to him. “If your man wants to pay me to keep someone alive, then he must think it's going to be difficult to do it.”
“Not easy.”
“Who?”
“Alex Graham.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Her. She's a photojournalist covering the dam break at Arapahoe Junction.”
He went still. “Arapahoe Junction?”
“Even if you've been on the move you must have heard about the break.”
“Oh, yes. I've heard about it. And?”
“She claims she saw someone cause a landslide on the other side of the dam.”
“I thought the dam break was supposed to be an accident.”
“They can't find any evidence to the contrary, but the FBI isn't taking any chances. An attempt was made on Graham's life two nights ago. Her friend, Sarah Logan, was shot instead.”
His brows lifted. “Logan?”
Galen nodded. “John Logan's wife. She's going to be fine, but he's a tad upset. So upset he wants to make sure Alex Graham is nowhere near his wife until this mess is cleared up.”
“The woman is a target because she's a witness? Then why don't the police or the FBI put her in a safe house?”
“She won't have it. Logan tried to persuade her, but she balked.”
“Then how am I supposed to keep her safe if she insists on staying in the open?”
Galen smiled. “I've never known you to quibble when an obstacle gets in your way. You'll do whatever is necessary. I told you, Logan wants to make sure.”
“And Logan is going to get this sanction taken off me?” He shook his head. “He tried to pull strings before, but he struck out.”
“You didn't give him enough time. He's had the President's ear since he's been involved in Homeland Security. All you have to do is make sure Alex Graham remains safe and sound until the FBI finds out what the hell happened at Arapahoe Dam.”
“And I assume I don't get my payoff until the woman is considered out of danger?”
“That's right.”
“Bullshit. If I make myself visible, I could get taken out while I'm playing bodyguard.”
“Maybe you could find a way to work around it. The payoff is worth it.”
Freedom. Yes, that would be worth almost any risk. He thought about it. It was tempting. Logan was an honest man and would keep his word. Judd wouldn't admit it to Galen, but his own efforts to bribe his way to safety had come to a dead end lately. But he could see any number of possible pitfalls looming in a situation that involved working in the shadow of the FBI.
Arapahoe Junction . . .
He shook his head. “It's not my scene. I'll work out my problems my own way.”
“Look, this job's important to me. Logan is my friend. Actually, he called me and asked me to do it.”
“Then why don't you?”
“I promised I'd stay close to home, and I don't want to worry Elena.” He paused and a smile lit his face. “She's pregnant.”
“Congratulations.”
“We're pretty happy about it.” His smile faded. “So I'm calling in debts. You could have gotten eliminated if I hadn't given you a place to hide when they put out word of the sanction. You owe me, Judd.”
“What makes you think that means anything to me?”
“Like I said, I know you.”
Judd shook his head. “No, you don't.”
“Elena said that you once threatened to take her out if she got me into trouble.”
“Threats are easy.”
“And you didn't mean it?”
Yes, he'd meant it. He didn't permit himself to become close to many people, but Galen had barged into his life and made himself his friend. “Maybe.”
“That was hard to say, wasn't it?”
Judd smiled faintly. “You've always insisted on thinking the best of me. Why? Do you hate to admit you're wrong?”
“Probably. It would be a great blow to my self-esteem. You should be glad I don't believe you're the bastard Elena thinks you are. I don't think you'd have sold us out for the money.”
“But I did sell you out.”
“Not really.” He paused. “If you had, I'd have made sure that you didn't survive to paint any more pretty pictures.” Galen finished his coffee and stood up. He pulled a large manila envelope from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the coffee table. “A dossier on Alex Graham. I thought you might want to look it over. Now I'll get out of here and leave you to think about the proposition.”
“I've already turned it down.”
“But that was before I appealed to your gentler side.” He started for the door and then stopped and gazed at the painting on the easel. It was of a slim, bearded man in Renaissance dress stepping out from behind a curtain. “That's really very good. His expression is . . . exceptional. It's mocking yet . . .” He thought about it. “Haunted.”
“But then, we're all haunted by something, aren't we?”
“And there's a tension. . . . He looks lethal. Who is he supposed to be?”
Judd shrugged. “No one in particular. I just woke up one morning and started to paint him.”
Galen was still studying it and suddenly snapped his fingers. “He's an assassin, a Renaissance assassin.”
“Is he?”
“Isn't he?”
“I suppose he could be.” He smiled faintly. “But I assure you I had no intention of creating a self-portrait.”
“Remarkable . . .” Galen headed for the door. “Call me.”
Judd picked up his paintbrush as the door closed behind Galen. He wouldn't call him. Even if Arapahoe Junction weren't involved, getting mixed up with a job like this would be a mistake. He was no bodyguard, and the last thing he wanted to do was try to protect this woman. He was having enough trouble protecting himself. There was no way he'd let himself be persuaded by sentiment.
Besides, he wanted to finish this painting. It had been driving him since he'd first started it last week. He didn't need any interruptions.
He bent over the easel.
More shadow in the cloak.
More richness in the velvet of the doublet.
More torment in the face of the assassin.
Galen waited until he had crossed the state line into Massachusetts before he dialed Logan.
“I've found Morgan and made the offer,” he said as soon as he reached Logan. “It's a possible.”
“You're sure he's the right man? He may be more dangerous than our shooter.”
“Almost certainly. That's why you need him.”
“He's a loose cannon.” Logan paused. “I never questioned you before when you told me he'd had a raw deal. But I'm questioning you now. There's a hell of a lot at stake. The word is that he disobeyed orders and almost caused a diplomatic incident. That the sanction on that North Korean general was canceled and he went ahead and did it anyway.”
“It wasn't canceled. Just deemed a mistake after the fact.”
“So he claimed.”
“And I believe him. He did what he was ordered to do, what the U
nited States government trained him to do.” He added wearily, “My God, I'm sick to death of all this hypocrisy. They can't have it both ways. The military picks up kids with potential and gives them a bunch of brainwashing about patriotism and duty and then sends them out to kill. If they have a good eye and steady nerves, they may even put them in the Airborne Rangers like they did Morgan. They taught him how to kill and blow up everything in sight and praised him for it. When he proved to be exceptional, they upped the ante and sent him alone behind enemy lines in the Middle East to take out the enemy. Do you know how many terrorists he's killed in these last years? But exceptional also means expendable. He became a little hot, so the CIA picked him up for their dirty tricks and the cycle began again.”
Logan didn't speak for a moment. “You like him.”
“Yes, I've always liked him. God knows why. And I wouldn't have recommended him to you if I didn't think he could do the job. He has great qualifications. He knows how to run, how to hide, and how to get rid of anyone in his way.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Logan said, “I've always been puzzled about the difficulty I ran into when I was trying to pull strings to get the heat off Morgan.”
“Puzzled?”
“It should have been easier. I'm no amateur when it comes to getting my own way with politicians and bureaucrats, but I ran into a stone wall when I mentioned his name.”
“They were trying to protect their asses.”
“Maybe. Or maybe not.”
“Look, do you want to use him or not?”
Another silence. “If you really think he's the best man for the job. When will I know if he consents to do it?”
“When I do.”
“And you think he'll go for it?”
“It's hard to tell. Judd's always been hard to read. I've got a hunch he'll— I don't know. I have to let him mull it over. I'll call you.” He hung up the phone. He wasn't about to commit himself to Logan. Even though Galen's instincts were telling him he'd made an impact, Judd might still turn him down.
It had to be instinct. Judd's face had all the expression of a slab of granite, and he sure as hell wasn't predictable. Elena would testify to that fact. She'd probably never forgive him for the Chavez deal.
Elena. At the thought of her, his foot pressed harder on the accelerator. Forget about Judd and Alex Graham and everyone else. If he could get a quick flight out of Boston, he might be home with Elena tonight.
It was done.
God, he was tired. Judd rubbed his eyes as he propped his feet on the coffee table. It must be close to three in the morning, and he'd been working on the painting since Galen left hours ago.
Was it good? How the hell did he know? He supposed it was the best he could do at this particular stage. It was certainly better than he'd been able to do a year ago. He'd been sketching faces for years, but when he'd fled the Company and started to dedicate himself to painting, he'd been unable to do anything but landscapes and still lifes. It was only recently he'd begun to bring people back into the mix, and now portraiture was becoming an obsession. It was fascinating to delve deep, to tear through the layers and find what lay beneath. Not many people were at all what they seemed on the surface, and painting them was like exploring a new territory. His gaze met the eyes of the assassin in the picture. He'd denied to Galen that this particular painting was a form of therapy, but perhaps he'd lied. He lifted his coffee cup in a toast and murmured, “Hello, brother.”
He took a drink of coffee and then grimaced. Cold and bitter. He should have made a fresh pot. He set the cup on the coffee table beside the envelope Galen had tossed there.
Arapahoe Dam.
Ignore the envelope. He had to look out for his own neck.
Arapahoe Junction.
What the devil did he care if the woman was idiot enough to think she could tilt at windmills? He'd already made a decision that there was no way he was going to open that Pandora's box. He was in enough trouble.
What had she seen at Arapahoe Dam?
Oh, what the hell. He opened the envelope and drew out the dossier and three photos. He wouldn't look at the photos. He had found as long as he didn't look at the faces he could keep himself remote and unemotional.
He scanned the opening paragraphs, which described the events that had led to Logan's offer, and then the dossier itself.
Alex Graham, age twenty-nine. Born and raised in Westacre, New Jersey, of middle-class parents who divorced when she was thirteen. Her mother, Ellen, was a computer information-systems specialist with IBM and her father, Michael, a fireman with the Newark fire department. A civil enough divorce. Though her mother retained custody, she'd spent every other weekend with her father. She won a photo contest sponsored by National Geographic at sixteen and was awarded a journalism scholarship to Columbia University when she graduated from high school. She'd quit college in her junior year and gone to photograph the horrendous earthquake in Tibet. The resulting photos had earned her acclaim and a place on the staff of Newsweek. From that point on it had been a steady climb upward in her chosen profession. She was now a freelance photojournalist and contributed principally to World Life.
Her mother had died of emphysema three years after Alex left school, and her father was killed at the World Trade Center a few years later. She had been engaged once but never married.
All cut and dried, Judd thought. It read like an obituary. Which it might turn out to be if Alex Graham wasn't very careful.
Not his problem. He tossed the dossier back on the table. Let Galen get someone else for the job.
But Galen hadn't said that when Judd was in trouble. He had stepped in and yanked him out from under the threat and kept him safe for months.
Forget it. This was the last job he should get near. They could very well be waiting for him. He couldn't afford to be soft when it might put everything he valued in jeopardy. He picked up the photos and started to jam them back into the envelope. He wouldn't look at them. He wouldn't let Alex Graham become a real person to him. Judd wasn't Galen, and he wouldn't be a quixotic ass and pretend that he was anything but what life had made him. He would do what was best for himself and screw—
Oh, shit.
The photo of Alex Graham was faceup, staring at him.
My God, what a remarkable face. She was not a beautiful woman, unless you considered strength beauty. Her short brown hair was clean and shining, pushed back and styled simply. Her high cheekbones were clean cut and her mouth wide and sensitive. Deep-set brown eyes sparkled with vitality and intensity. The snapshot had been taken somewhere in the mountains, and she was gazing out of the picture with a touch of defiance.
Why?
He glanced at the other photos. One was obviously a passport photo, but the other one was at a disaster site and she looked exhausted and heartsick. Yet her eyes . . . Defiance and wariness. What was behind those barriers she was putting up?
It was just a face. Don't let curiosity influence cool judgment. Don't let her become a person to you. It was always a mistake to—
Dammit, it was already too late.
Okay, she was alive for him. Then bend the situation to suit yourself. He knew how to make himself invisible. He could do the job and no one, not even Alex Graham, would be aware he was around. He could still stay apart and in full control.
His phone rang. “Hello.”
“Galen. Have you finished the painting?”
“Yes. Is that why you're calling me at four in the morning?”
“Not exactly. But I didn't want you to have any distractions getting in the way of the job.”
“I told you I wasn't—”
“I thought you might have second thoughts.”
Judd stared down at the photograph of Alex Graham.
“Judd?”
“Maybe.”
Galen was silent for a moment. “How do I turn the maybe into a yes?”
“You and Logan let me do anything I have to do. If I have to t
ake the gloves off, I don't want anyone getting in my way. You see that I have a clear playing field.”
“He's not going to agree to get the sanction taken off you yet.”
“I'm not talking about the past, only the present.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“You don't want to know. It might jar you out of that cozy little cocoon you're sharing with Elena. Just be ready to jump in case I need you.”
“Okay. I'll call Logan. If there's any problem, I'll let you know.”
“Tonight. If I'm going to do this, it's got to be right away. If this is a professional job, Graham is on borrowed time. I don't want to waste any planning on a dead woman.”
“She's not dead yet. If you don't hear from me in an hour, it's a go.” He hung up.
Jesus, he should have his head examined, Judd thought wearily. Why had he committed himself? Alex Graham meant nothing to him.
Because he was tired and angry and sick of being a target? Because lately he'd been tempted to just stay and wait for Runne to find him?
Judd leaned his head back on the couch, his gaze returning to the mocking face of the assassin in the painting. “Okay, so it's not the brightest decision I've ever made. . . .”
3
Denver, Colorado
“None of them is here.” Alex wearily leaned back in the chair and gazed at Leopold across the desk. “Do you have any more mug shots?”
“None that meet your description. That's why we have databases. You'd have been sitting in that chair for the next year if we'd let you do a random check.”
“They've got to have records. People who do things like this don't go through life without stumbling over the law.”
“I agree. That's why I've set up an appointment for you at the local FBI field office tomorrow morning. They have a much more extensive database.” Leopold poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “If you're up to it.”
“I'm up to it.” She took a sip of coffee. “I've got to be up to it. They can't get away with this.”
“Then we'll find them. If the databases don't pan out, we'll call in a police artist and you can give us a description to work with.”
“Jesus, why didn't I take their damn pictures that night? I didn't even think of it. I saw Ken blow up and I—” She drew a shaky breath. “I screamed. Isn't that pathetic? Instead of doing something useful. I screamed.”
Dead Aim Page 4
