“About telling McNiel?”
“About telling Sydney,” Tex said. “If what you’re saying is true, she’s unwittingly responsible for two deaths tonight, if you count this guy’s friend in the other apartment. I won’t even go into the national security issues, what with the evidence being pretty strong that Sydney’s got a copy of the Devil’s Key in her possession, which we’re now going to have to recover. For God’s sake, Griff. They didn’t put out a kill order for anyone in possession of that thing for no reason. How long you think it’s going to take for her to start putting two and two together?”
“And what am I supposed to tell her?”
“I don’t know,” Tex said, his voice dripping with well-deserved sarcasm. “Something along the lines of, you know that case in Rome? The one where you did the drawing of the skull for us? Well, we sort of met you several weeks before that. Covertly. In Mexico when you were looking into your father’s murder and recovered that list of numbers. Oh. And, in case you were wondering which government agent was shooting at you—?”
“I get it. Anything else you want to throw at me?”
“I think that should do it. Unless of course you want me to call McNiel?”
“No thanks. I prefer to tighten my own noose,” he said, taking out his phone. He hit the speed dial for his boss, heard it ring several times, while Tex got back in the car.
It was after one A.M. in Washington, a fact McNiel felt it important to emphasize by saying, “At this hour? I’m not going to like this. Am I?”
“No, sir.” And then Griffin proceeded to tell him a condensed version of events, starting with the few facts he might have neglected to mention about the mission in Mexico, that Sydney probably had a copy of those numbers, and the recent murders—along with Piper and her eidetic memory.
“First,” McNiel said, “address the matter of the witness you picked up. I’m sending Lisette out. I don’t even want that girl going to the bathroom by herself. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sending the jet out for the girl. When Lisette gets there, one of the two of you will be with her the entire time. Tex can go out to Carillo’s place to make sure he doesn’t have a copy.” Tony Carillo was Sydney’s partner at the time, which meant he very well could have one.
“And Sydney?” Griffin asked. “What do I do about her?”
“Once you get the girl back here, and Marc arrives to relieve you, you can deal with Sydney Fitzpatrick.”
“How?”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve never slept with someone I was supposed to kill.”
“For what it’s worth, we’re only dating. I haven’t slept with her.”
“O for two, Griffin. Because you didn’t kill her, either.”
3
Griffin spent the night tossing about on the sofa in their hotel room, and by the time morning came, he was exhausted. Over the last few months, he’d worked several cases with Sydney Fitzpatrick, an FBI agent now assigned out of Quantico. Though they’d spent a considerable amount of time together on those investigations, it was only recently, these past few weeks, in fact, that they’d actually started to date. When he’d told McNiel that he hadn’t slept with her, it was the truth. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; God knew he did. And when Sydney assumed his reticence to take their relationship any further had more to do with his not quite letting go of his feelings over his late wife, he had let her think that’s what it was.
It wasn’t like he could just blurt out the truth: Oh, by the way, I was supposed to kill you in Mexico, while working a case which I’m not at liberty to discuss. But since I didn’t go through with it, any chance you still want to sleep with me?
Right.
Still, in light of recent events and with everything that was likely to be coming down on her, he had to give her some sort of warning. The fact these numbers had shown up meant that certain things were going to start happening in short order, and Sydney would soon find herself in the thick of it, wondering what the hell hit her.
He called her phone, got her voice mail, thought about leaving a message, except there was a knock at their hotel room door. Since he wasn’t even sure what he’d say to Sydney at this point, considering most of the information was classified—never mind it wasn’t really a conversation that one could have on the phone—he disconnected, then got up to answer the door. They were expecting Lisette Perrault. Like Griffin and Tex she worked for ATLAS, a covert government agency that very few people even knew existed. He looked through the peephole, saw it was she, then opened the door. “You made good time. How was the flight?”
“Not sure. Slept the whole way.”
“At least somebody did,” he replied, stepping aside to let her in.
She took stock of the room, gave an amused look at Tex, reading the paper, sprawled out on one bed, Piper on the other. And then she eyed the couch where Griffin had spent the night. “Drew the short straw?”
“Something like that.”
“So,” Lisette said, walking over to the bed where Piper sat propped up on the pillows, working the television remote. “You must be Piper?”
The girl glanced over, then back at the TV and the reality show she was watching. “Good guess.” Her red-rimmed eyes gave evidence that she’d spent the night crying—quietly, but Griffin had still heard, and it bothered him to think that he was indirectly involved with her pain. She’d lost her friend, was being yanked from her home and shipped off across the country for who knew how long.
“Well,” Lisette said, holding up one of two shopping bags. “New clothes. You’ll need to change before we leave.”
Piper slid off the bed, took the bag, looking inside as she walked into the bathroom. “Pink and blue. So . . . not me.”
When she disappeared into the bathroom, Lisette whispered, “Not taking it so well?”
Tex scoffed. “Taking advantage of the situation is what I think.”
“How so?”
“Stole my wallet. So watch your things on the flight back is all I can say.”
“Apparently you got it back.”
“Damned good thing, too. Imagine if I hadn’t noticed it missing until after the three of you left. Quite the thief, that one,” he said, turning the page of the newspaper. “She also stole some candy from the gift shop. That we didn’t discover until after she started eating it.”
Griffin eyed the other bag Lisette was holding. “What’s in there?”
“Hat for the hair. I’d like to get her into D.C. without too much notice.”
Tex rattled the paper, straightening out the pages. “Then keep her the hell away from anything not glued down.”
“Sore, are we?” she said to Tex.
“We saved her life,” Tex said. “You’d think she’d be grateful.”
“Have you told her where she’s going?”
Griffin and Tex looked at each other, but didn’t answer.
“I take it that means no?”
“Time never seemed right,” Griffin said.
Lisette shook her head, then walked to the bathroom door, giving a light knock. “Everything okay in there?”
The door opened, and Piper poked her head out. “You sure I can’t go in my old clothes?”
“Positive. And you need to remove the lip, eyebrow, and tongue piercings.”
“Why?”
“Because they clash with pink and blue.”
The girl’s eyes teared up, and Lisette turned toward Griffin and Tex, giving them an accusing stare. A moment later, Piper stuck her head out again. “Well I’m gonna need help. The eyebrow ring always gets stuck. I don’t understand why I have to take them off. Everybody has them.”
Lisette slipped into the bathroom. “It’s too noticeable. I’m sorry,” she said, then closed the door. He heard them talking, then heard Piper crying.
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A few minutes later, Lisette emerged. Alone. She walked over to the table and sat.
“Is she okay?” Griffin asked.
“Hardly. Her world’s just been turned upside down, her best friend was just murdered, and she thinks he betrayed her at the end.”
Tex looked up from the newspaper. “Betrayed her? How?”
“Told the gunmen she was there.”
Griffin rubbed at his stiff neck, trying to remember the sequence of events from last night. “They probably had a gun shoved in his face. Surely she realizes that.”
“Someday maybe. Now? She’s a bit raw.”
Griffin’s head was starting to hurt. He got up, dug a bottle of ibuprofen from his carry-on. “Did you tell her where she’s going to be staying?” he asked, referring to the witness protection they’d be placing her in.
“Me? I am not going to be the bad guy. I told her we’d be staying at my apartment until we decide what to do next.”
He popped open the bottle, shook two pills into his hand, then looked around for something to drink. The only thing available was his cup of cold coffee from breakfast. He swallowed the pills, then the stale coffee.
“And you?” Lisette asked Tex. “I’m assuming you must have something going on, or you’d be flying with us back to D.C.?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tex said.
The aspirin felt like it was stuck in his throat, and he took another swig of coffee. “He’s paying a visit to Carillo tonight.”
“Not a social visit?”
“Since Carillo was Sydney’s partner in San Francisco at the time she found those numbers in Mexico? Not social.” He finished the coffee, then tossed the cup in the trash.
“You think he might have a copy?”
“We have to assume so until we find out otherwise.”
“Then why not ask him?”
Tex tossed the paper down, clearly frustrated. “That’s exactly what we should do. But McNiel says no. Carillo doesn’t have the clearance.”
And Griffin said, “If we’re lucky, he’ll never find out.”
“If the two of you are lucky,” Lisette countered, “he’ll forgive you when he does.”
The possibility existed with Carillo. Of forgiveness, that was. He was the pragmatic sort. Sydney was not, he thought, ignoring the pointed stare Lisette had turned his way.
“So,” she said, getting up to sit on the edge of Tex’s bed, her look one of cynical amusement. “How are you planning to recover this alleged info?”
“He hasn’t decided,” Griffin replied.
Tex looked over the top of the paper. “More like I’ve been avoiding the issue, because both options suck.”
“And they are . . . ?” Lisette asked him.
“One, I leave now and go in while he’s at work. Two, I wait for dark, call to say I’m in the area, get his ass drunk, then search while he’s passed out.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re right. They both suck. But the first plan is far less slimy than buttering up your friend with alcohol and pretending to be all buddy-buddy as you’re shoving a dagger in his back.”
“Like I wasn’t feeling crappy enough,” Tex said. The shower stopped, and they all looked at the bathroom. Tex turned his attention back to the paper, clearly done with the conversation, and they sat there in silence, even after the blow dryer started.
Unfortunately it gave Griffin far too long to think about everything that had resulted, the lives touched—the lives lost—because of a decision he’d made before he even knew Sydney or Carillo. His mission had been to recover the Devil’s Key—and failing that, to kill anyone in possession of it. Those numbers Sydney had found were that important, that dangerous to national security. And yet when it came right down to it, Griffin ignored the kill order, deciding instead that Sydney, who was known for being a rule follower, would turn them over to the agents as instructed.
Who could have foreseen this?
Right now, he was actually glad his pounding headache made it difficult to concentrate on any one thing. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, trying not to think about the implications of his actions. And when he’d almost succeeded, Piper stepped out, the piercings in her face no longer present. Although she still had the black and pink hair, gone was the tough, goth, punk rocker. In her place stood a young, vulnerable girl, reminding him once again that there were consequences for his actions—and his inactions.
Lisette smiled at her, holding up the shopping bag. “A hat. This way, you can at least keep your hair for a while.”
The girl took it, pulled out the fleece cap, and put it on.
The moment her hair was covered, hiding the vivid pink tufts, the effect was complete. She looked like any other young girl.
Tex eyed the two of them. “She could pass for your younger sister, Lisette.”
Piper looked over at her, her expression one of curiosity as she examined Lisette’s face. And then Piper gave a hint of a smile. “You’re pretty.”
Lisette walked her over to the mirror, then touched her on the chin. “And so are you.” She stood there, looking at their reflection a moment. “Perhaps you are my long-lost cousin? Yes? Clearly we both have good genes.”
The girl smiled again, and Griffin was grateful for Lisette’s ability to bond so quickly. It would make the process much easier when they finally had to inform her that she’d be going into witness protection. Nothing like telling a girl barely twenty years old that she was going to have to give up everything she ever knew and start over again.
Then again, with her history, maybe a fresh start was just what she needed—even if she didn’t realize it. From what he and Tex had learned after talking to the girl last night, she was alone in the world. She’d been raised in foster care, but when her foster father died just after her thirteenth birthday, and her foster mother’s health had failed, she’d been shuffled around through the system, some places better than others. Once the physical abuse turned to sexual, Piper ran away. The authorities picked her up, placed her in a new home, where the foster parent only cared about the money, not where the kids were or who they were with. Unfortunately the woman also didn’t care about feeding them, and so the kids found other means to acquire food. Stealing, Piper decided, was the only option she was willing to resort to. After a couple of arrests, however, a probation officer assured her that she’d end up in prison if she continued down such a path and didn’t make an effort to straighten out her life.
A lot of good that did her, Griffin thought, as he looked at his watch, then walked over and picked up his overnight bag. “We should get going.”
Lisette turned to Tex, and just before they left, said, “Be careful.”
He gave her a dark look. “What can possibly go wrong?”
In their business, Griffin thought, plenty, and he hoped like hell Tex was successful.
4
FBI Academy
Quantico, Virginia
“Gun!”
Special Agent Sydney Fitzpatrick drew her weapon, fired twice, then scanned her surroundings. The agent next to her did the same.
“Holster!” the range master called out, then walked down the line, making sure everyone had complied. When he reached Sydney’s side, he eyed her target, saw a tight pattern that would have been excellent—had it not been to the right and slightly below the ten X. “You’re pulling.”
“Trigger’s a lot stiffer than my normal weapon,” she explained. Her issued weapon had been secured after a recent on-duty shooting, and this, her temporary replacement, same make and model, Glock 22, was brand-new out of the box.
“Until you get yours back, this is what you’re working with. Take it up to the armorer. Have him lighten that trigger pull, see if we can’t move that pattern back over.”
She did as told and was standing by while the ar
morer stripped down the weapon, adjusted the trigger pull, and was putting it all back together when her cell phone rang. It was Tony Carillo, her former partner, calling from the San Francisco field office.
“Any chance you have a few minutes to talk?” Tony asked.
The sharp crack of gunfire echoed in the distance, as she said, “In the middle of qualifications. Why?”
“Call me as soon as you can.”
He disconnected before she could ask what was going on.
“Here you go, Fitzpatrick,” the gunsmith said, wiping the excess oil from the empty weapon, then handing it back to her. “See if that works a little better.”
“Thanks.”
She carried it to the range, put on her shooting glasses, and waited for the range master to give the okay to reload and fire. This time the pattern was mostly in the center. The moment he signed her off, she cleaned the weapon, then hurried off to her basement office in the academy building, calling Carillo from the landline phone. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Trivia question. Guess what office item besides your computer has a hard drive?”
Even though she thought the question absurd, her gaze flicked around her office. “A printer?”
“Besides that,” he said.
“No clue.”
“Copy machine.”
“And your point?”
“There was a murder in South San Francisco that was connected to the machine from our San Francisco office.”
“What makes you think that?”
“We recently had ours replaced after it went kaput, along with several others. Only someone forgot to remove the hard drives from said machines prior to their being auctioned off at the surplus warehouse. Apparently, this was an oversight, as the tech folks are aware of the hard drives, and they’re supposed to remove them before the machines leave the premises.”
“How do you know all this?”
“It’s in the policy and procedures manual.”
“Not about the copy machine hard drive. About the murder being related?”
The Kill Order Page 3
