Relentless

Relentless Jo Leigh Former forensic accountant Kate Rydell is living under the radar. Currently she's stocking minibars at a sprawling Los Angeles hotel. Trying to survive, stay out of sight…until she witnesses a shocking murder in room 1408. Now the last people who can help her are the police, especially red-hot detective Vince Yarrow. Vince is relentless in pursuing Kate. He needs information and her testimony—pronto. And he's determined to protect her even if he has to handcuff the sexy brunette to his bed….But as the case starts to unravel, Vince can't help wondering if he has to let Kate go—to protect his own heart. RELENTLESS Jo Leigh TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND This one is for Barbara Joel, with love and gratitude. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Epilogue Coming Next Month 1 KATE SHOULD HAVE kept her eyes on her job, restocking the little refrigerator behind the bar, but she was so bored it was hard not to look around. All day, five days a week, pushing her cart in and out of rooms, checking how many little bottles of vodka, bourbon or gin had been used, how many candy bars and packets of peanuts had been nibbled. It was ridiculous that she had to spend so many hours doing this, while she should be putting all her energy into getting her life back. Unfortunately, she needed to eat and she preferred a roof over her head. So she worked for room service at the Meridian Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. Laying low, staying as invisible as possible. Kate preferred empty rooms where she was able to sail in and out quickly with her cart, ignoring the bland decor, identical in every room, down to the tan-colored, easy-to-disinfect imitation leather upholstery. She shuddered at the memory of the couple in 1242 on Monday afternoon who’d forgotten to hang out the Do Not Disturb card or bolt the door. She’d walked in on them having wild sex on top of the bedspread. Kate had just muttered her apologies and left, conveniently forgetting to return before the end of her shift. Undoubtedly the hotel manager would have docked her wages if they’d complained, but they hadn’t. At least this guest, a nice-looking man in his thirties who’d barely acknowledged her when she’d come in, had stayed in the suite’s living room. At first she’d thought he was talking to her, then she’d realized he was rehearsing a speech. One part of a speech. Something to do with changing neighborhoods for the better. She tried again to concentrate on her job as the man paced across the room. She still had six more suites on this floor to do before lunch and couldn’t afford to have her pay docked. She just wished the job was more interesting. It left her with way too much time to think. To be afraid. She looked up, not at the man, but at the mirror behind the bar, and saw him cross the room. She’d grown accustomed to being on the alert, always conscious of any and all entrances and exits. It had taken time to grasp that nowhere was safe, but she got it now. Behind every door, every smile, lay the potential for danger. There was a knock at the door just as she crouched down to stock the fridge. The mirror gave her a clear view of the room, while the bar hid her from sight. She stilled, trying to convince herself it was probably nothing. Room service. A friend. Not about her at all. Then she smiled at her own paranoia. There were two sodas and a couple of candy bars missing, and she reached into her cart to dig out the replacements. The guest opened the door, not cautiously as she would have, but calmly intent. Two young men, both Asian, dressed in baggy clothes with hoodies under their coats, rushed in. The guest cried out and tried to block them. Before Kate could even reach for the gun in her ankle holster, the men drew their automatic weapons. Gunfire exploded, and she watched as the guy was torn apart, his blood seeping into the pale carpet. Terrified, she held her breath, knowing she wouldn’t stand a chance against automatic weapons, knowing this man, this nice guy practicing his speech, was dead. Was it because of her? Was she the real target? The gunfire stopped and the killers left as swiftly as they had burst in. A shout echoed from the hallway; in the room though, there was nothing but quiet and the awful stench of death. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t next. That she had to leave. This second. She eyed her cart. There was no way she’d be able to wheel it down that hallway. Too many people had heard the gunfire. There was a fire exit just down the hall, away from the elevators. She walked to the door. Once there, she snuck a glance down the hall. There were two men, guests. They were looking around frantically, clearly reacting to the sound of the gunfire. With just two of them all she had to do was wait, and the moment they were distracted she’d make her break for the exit. The ding from the elevator gave her her chance. The two men turned, and she was out of there. No running. Just a fast, steady walk to the fire exit door. She was on the fourteenth floor, and with every step down to the parking garage, she thought about that poor man. Death was no stranger to her. She’d seen so many horrible things in Kosovo, where her whole universe had turned upside down. She’d been a forensic accountant, a pencil pusher. Then she’d stumbled upon a horrible secret perpetrated by her own government, and from that moment on, nothing had been the same. She’d almost been killed. Not just her, but six others who had uncovered the deadly truth. Now they were all back in the States, living under the radar, trying like hell to bring about justice and truth, all the while knowing there were men trained by the CIA who wanted them dead. This man? This poor guy gunned down in front of her? She had no idea who he was or why those two men had killed him. The way they were dressed suggested they were gang members. The way they handled the killing made her certain of it. Her stomach rebelled and she had to pause for a moment, breathe deeply to stop from throwing up. When she could handle it, she started down again, moving faster now, afraid that the police would see her and want to question her. Her steps slowed as the realization sunk in—they were gangbangers. Not CIA agents. Not Omicron. Oh, God. She hadn’t been their target at all. She’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She would have laughed if it hadn’t been so horribly tragic. She’d witnessed a murder. In her old life she would have stayed. She would have done everything she could to help. That wasn’t possible now. She was one of the hunted. The people who’d tried to kill her in Kosovo wanted her dead. Silenced. She’d seen things the government, her government, hadn’t wanted her to see. They’d meant for her to die in a lonely warehouse in a small Serbian village. Her very existence made them vulnerable. She’d seen the lengths to which these people would go to stop her. It would have been easier if she had money. But there was none. Not for any of them. No legitimate jobs, absolutely no using their real names. Her entire family thought she was dead. She paused in front of the garage exit. There were probably police behind the door, and she needed to make it to her car without being spotted. The best thing she could do was act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. There was, in fact, a police car. And an ambulance. But they weren’t that close to the exit, and she had, as always, parked with an eye toward a quick getaway. Walking across the parking lot ramped up her heart rate, but the rubber soles of her shoes muffled her steps, and there was so much chatter from the cop’s radio that by the time she was in her car she was pretty damn sure she was going to make it. It occurred to her that she wasn’t coming back. And that she had a full two-weeks’ pay that she hadn’t collected. That left her with maybe a hundred, which wasn’t going to take her far. She started her car and drove slowly to the busy downtown street. Once she reached the freeway heading toward the Valley, she started shaking. DETECTIVE VINCE YARROW stared at the body on the floor. He tried like hell to think in terms of weapons, trajectories, points of impact, but this wasn’t just another body. It was Tim Purchase, a man Vince had grown to respect and admire. A friend. “Christ, they didn’t leave much.” Vince glanced at his partner, Jeff Stoller, who looked small and weary in his heavy coat. “Just a message.” Jeff shook his head as he went over to the department photographer, there to capture the scene for the detectives and for a jury that would probably never be called. The room was starting to get crowded, and that wouldn’t do. There wasn’t going to be much evidence, that much Vince knew; still he’d collect what he could. Then he would leave Tim to the coroner while he and Jeff went room to room looking for a witness. He also knew that no one would talk. No one would admit that the perpetrators had been gangbangers. Everything about the murder screamed colors. The question was, which gang? Tim had worked against most of them, from the MS-13s, Crips and Bloods to the Aryan Nation. He’d dedicated his life to stealing kids from the gangs, to giving them opportunities to make something of themselves. He’d been a hero. A savior to hundreds. If it took him the rest of his life, Vince would catch the pricks who’d done this. He got out his notebook and began the work. Most of the time, getting into the case soothed him. The familiar procedures helped distance him from the inhumanity of the crime. Not today. With every notation, every cold observance, his anger grew until he could feel the heat in his face and the grinding of his molars. God damn them. All of them. All the selfish little bastards who thought nothing more of murder than they thought of taking a piss. “Vince.” He looked up from his book to find Jeff scowling. The reason was Corky Baker, a reporter for the Times who was a walking pain in the ass. Whenever there was a high profile murder, Baker would attach himself, leechlike, to whomever he could. Vince was all for freedom of the press and the public’s right to know, though not at the victims’ expense. Baker had caused him problems too many times in the past with his sleazy version of crime reporting. He owed it to Tim not to let that happen this time. “Get him out of here.” Vince looked pointedly at the bottom-feeder. “This is still an active crime scene.” Baker didn’t move. “Yarrow, you never fail to enchant. I have a couple of questions—” “Go jump off the roof.” “Can I quote you on that?” “Jeff. Ask the officers to come in and remove Mr. Baker.” “You got it.” Jeff smiled broadly at the reporter. “Should I tell them to use all necessary force?” “Sounds good to me.” Vince went back to his notebook, reading what he’d written before the interruption. “All right, I’ll go. Just tell me, was it crack? I heard Purchase was taking a hefty percentage as hush money.” Vince dropped his notebook as he crossed the room. He hit Baker so goddamned hard his head bounced off the doorframe. It wasn’t nearly enough. As he moved in for round two, the bastard slid down the wall, landing in a messy heap on the floor. Jeff stepped in front of Vince carefully. “You might have made your point there, buddy.” “Not even close.” “He’s an asshole. Let it go.” Vince took in a deep breath, his body still thrumming with the need to pummel. “Get him gone, Jeff. Now.” “Why don’t you go get some water, huh?” Vince sniffed as he looked at the reporter who was just coming to. A small trickle of blood had started at the corner of his mouth, which wasn’t as satisfying as one would think. The bruise would be a good one though, large and painful. He headed for the bar, wishing he could have something a lot stronger than water. His thoughts of bourbon were interrupted by the sight of the room service cart. It was open, with all the little liquor bottles, candy bars and fruit drinks in neat order. He turned to Jeff, but cut his remark off as he saw Baker rise to his feet. The last thing Vince wanted in the paper was that there had been a witness in the room. Baker raised his hand, swatted at the blood on his face and stared at the evidence on his fingers, then at Vince. “Thank you, you miserable prick. I’m going to sue you and your department for so much money they won’t have enough left over for toilet paper. You got that?” “Fine. Just do it somewhere else.” One of the uniforms put his hand on Baker’s elbow, but he shook him off. “You’ll be hearing from me.” Vince turned back to the cart. As Baker’s voice receded, Vince crouched down in front of the small refrigerator. From there, he looked up into the mirror. Shit. Whoever had been here had likely seen everything. Tim opening the door. The rush inside. The blaze of bullets. They’d be able to ID the gunmen, if not by face, by colors, clothing, tattoos, headgear, weapons. It would all help him identify who’d done this. The question was, who had been behind this bar, and where were they now? “Vince?” “Come here, Jeff.” His partner walked over to the side of the bar. “Whoa, what have we here?” “A witness.” “Excellent. I’ll go to the manager and ask who was working.” “I’ll go with you.” “I think you’d better call Emerson,” Jeff said. “The second he hears about Baker’s lawsuit, he’s gonna blow a gasket.” Vince stood, his knee cracking with the effort. “I don’t give a shit about Baker.” “You assaulted the man. He can have you arrested.” “No, he won’t. He’ll get more mileage from a lawsuit.” “Yeah, the Captain’s gonna love that.” “I’ll tell Emerson what happened. But first I need to find this witness.” Jeff, who’d been his partner for almost three years, shrugged. That’s what was so good about him. He wasn’t just a fine cop, he knew how to roll with the punches. And he put up with all Vince’s bullshit. “I’ll wait for the coroner. Come back up here when you’re done.” Vince picked up his notebook on his way out, his bruised knuckles making him wince. KATE PARKED HER beat-up Toyota in the parking lot of her apartment building. The prospect of moving again so soon after she’d found this dive made her sick. There was no choice, of course. The police could already know that she’d been in the suite during the murder. They’d be after her, and she wouldn’t let herself be found. Truthfully, it wasn’t the moving that had her so edgy. It was the smell of death that was still on her, the coppery odor of blood in her hair, on her uniform. She wanted to shower, but there wouldn’t be time. She’d learned how to live in the smallest possible way. A few changes of clothes, toiletries in one tote, her computer and paperwork all in one box. She had nothing extraneous, nothing that couldn’t be abandoned if she had to leave quickly. She kept the contents of her computer on a portable flash drive that was on her key ring, and she backed it up every single time she logged off. The clothes were from Goodwill, the toiletries from the dollar store. However, since last month she had one box that was more important than any of that. A friend who’d worked with her in the forensic accounting department of the U.N. had risked his life to get photocopies of certain ledgers. Ledgers Kate had worked on in Kosovo that had given her the first inkling that all was not as it should have been. She and Branislav had been part of the U.N.’s international war crimes tribunal, investigating ex-Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic and the ethnic war that had raged in the Balkans since 1986. Their specific task was to examine the hand-written ledgers from the offices of the Kosovo Liberation Army who had been accused of stealing NATO funds to pay for black market weapons. Those ledgers had started it all. She’d found payments from the KLA to a U.S. bank. She’d assumed the KLA had found an American arms dealer, but then she’d discovered that the money had shown up in some suspicious accounts. She’d been told to leave it alone. That it wasn’t important. But she’d continued to dig. The money led her to a slush fund, which made a roundabout circuit right back to the Balkans. To a laboratory run by what she now knew was a corrupt organization somehow connected to the CIA. They called themselves Omicron, and to the outside world, they were military consultants, meeting with presidents and generals from every allied nation. In reality, they were dealers of death, willing to kill countless civilians for the right price. Justifying their actions by using the tainted money to fund missions and objectives that weren’t exactly kosher. Approved by someone high up in the government. Someone who needed to be exposed if Omicron was to be stopped. She’d had to leave the ledgers when she’d escaped from the country. It had been Nate’s team who’d gotten them out. His Delta unit, the best of the best, had been hand-picked to go to Kosovo. They’d had one mission—to destroy a lab in Serbia where terrorists were making a chemical weapon. They would have done it, too, if she and Harper and Tam hadn’t told them the truth. God, she’d never forget Nate’s face when he realized his country had betrayed him. They’d gone to the lab on recon, and confirmed that it wasn’t terrorists making the gas, it was scientists, mostly young, bright graduate students, all working separately on their own unique task, none aware that when all the pieces were put together, they would have created the deadliest chemical agent known to man. They also didn’t know that once the project was complete, none of them would live to spend the money they’d earned, or to write up their findings in the scientific journals. They’d been duped, just like Nate’s unit had been duped. All by the men behind Omicron. Almost six months later, she’d gotten in touch with Branislav. It had taken another six months till he’d agreed to get the copies. Unfortunately, they were a mess. It was going to take Kate weeks to put them in order, then to create the paper trail that could be used in court. If the papers were all there. If Omicron, the CIA covert operation that was out to kill her, kill them all, didn’t find her first. The reminder got her moving. She stepped out of the car, then decided not to make any phone calls from the street. Even though her cell couldn’t be traced, she knew enough about microphones that she didn’t dare talk in public. Hell, after what had happened to Christie, she knew talking in private wasn’t safe, either. She thought about Christie, and how Omicron had tormented her. One of the agents had dated her, then stalked her for months. She’d lost her job, her money, almost her sanity. All because she was Nate Pratchett’s sister. Nate, who’d been Kate’s go-to guy in Kosovo, had been in hiding. Everyone, including his sister, including Kate, had thought he was dead. But he’d been spending his time finding out who was involved in the Kosovo killings. She wished Nate were here now. Nate, Seth, Boone and Cade, her Delta Force soldiers, all were in hiding. Nate and Seth were in Los Angeles, Boone was in Wyoming with Christie, and Cade was in Colorado, living in a safe house where they could all hide if they had to and listening in on the operations of a small Omicron office outside of Colorado Springs. Kate headed inside to the ugly efficiency apartment she’d rented under yet another assumed name. The smell of unwashed bodies and weed filled the dim hall, and for once, she didn’t mind. VINCE WAITED IN the manager’s office, shifting on the too-small chair, willing himself to chill. The guy, name of Tyson, was prissy and nervous and Vince needed his help. It turned out he wasn’t sure who had been assigned to stock Tim’s bar, and he had to go find the paperwork. The office gave him no easy distractions—it was as prim as the man who occupied it. The chairs were like something out of a Victorian sitting room, too delicate for a man Vince’s size. The art was all landscapes, the lamps had little beads on the shades and the whole office smelled like his grandmother’s bedroom. He tried to regret smashing Baker in the face but couldn’t. Then he tried to figure out which gang was most likely to have wanted Tim dead, but that just made him fidget more. Finally, he stood. At least he wouldn’t break the chair. He walked over to the window and looked out. It was gloomy, a typical November day for Los Angeles. At least there was no snow. He’d grown up in South Dakota, and he’d seen enough snow there to last two lifetimes. He was on the third floor, and from this corner window he could see a couple of patrol cars. More interesting was the vendor, selling fish tacos and horchata, standing by the front entrance. He’d probably witnessed the gunmen enter the hotel, although he’d probably be too scared to be of any help. “Detective Yarrow.” Vince turned. Tyson walked in with two manila folders. “The woman taking care of the fourteenth floor is Kate Rydell. I’ve asked her supervisor to bring her here.” “Great.” He nodded at the folders. “May I take a look?” The man handed them over, and Vince turned slightly, giving the manager more of his back, hoping he’d catch the hint. In the folder, he found Rydell’s work application along with a very blurry copy of her driver’s license. Shit, he couldn’t get anything from the picture at all. It was even hard to make out the license number or the salient facts. Squinting, he saw that she was five-eight, one hundred eighteen pounds, and had brown hair and eyes. That wouldn’t get him far. “I’ll need copies,” he said, not bothering to turn. He checked her license address against the application information. They were the same. Her work history was just about what he expected. Hotel service, waitress. High school education. He heard the manager behind him and handed him the first folder. “Do you have surveillance cameras?” “In the lobby and in the garage.” “I’ll need them.” “Why don’t you come with me. You can watch the tapes while I get the photocopies. We can wait for Ms. Rydell in the security office.” Luckily, the woman who was in charge of security for the hotel thought on her feet. She’d already taken out the tapes from this morning and queued them for duplication. Her name was Phyllis Samms, and from what he could see she was a regular on the weight machines. He’d hate to run into her in a dark alley. Even her handshake was muscular. “I’ve got them ready,” she said, pointing to a chair. He sat down. “I couldn’t find your shooter in the lobby. Maybe your people will have more luck. However, there are some interesting shots in the garage.” She sat next to him and pressed the remote. The camera angle wasn’t good—it was aimed more for identifying cars than people. Someone would have to look up in order for him to get a good face shot. Phyllis was right, there were some interesting shots. Two guys in big coats with hoods ran out at eleven-seventeen. He couldn’t see who they were, not even tats, but he’d take the tape and let the lab boys go to town. They’d find something. The bangers didn’t get in a car. Instead they ran out of camera range. As Phyllis went to stop the tape, Vince shook his head. He kept watching. A couple of businessmen came out, got into their cars. A hotel employee, a male, came out for a cigarette. Then nothing until a police car came in, followed by an ambulance. He watched as his own unmarked car entered the garage. Jeff got out, then he did, and they walked right into the building. Nothing except cops and EMTs and then, a woman. She was in a blue uniform and she had dark hair. Slim, tall—it had to be Kate Rydell. She glanced at the official vehicles, then walked calmly to her car, a beat-up old Toyota Celica. Nothing about her was rushed or panicked. Still, she wasn’t wearing a coat, which told him she hadn’t stopped to clock out or to go to her locker. She got her keys out of her pocket and opened her door. That’s when he saw her face. It was nothing like the picture on her driver’s license. Even though the security camera wasn’t the best, he could see she was a very attractive woman. Her hair had been pulled back, so he got a pretty decent look. She didn’t seem like a room service employee. Not with those cheekbones. “You know her?” he asked Phyllis. “Not really. I’ve seen her around, but we’ve never talked.” “No?” “She kept to herself. I’ve never seen her with anyone. Expect maybe Ellen.” Vince got out his notebook. “Ellen?” While Phyllis gave him the details about the housekeeper, he thought about Kate Rydell. She must have known something about the gangbangers who’d killed Tim. She’d gotten out so damn fast, he knew she was running, that she didn’t want anyone to know she’d seen the whole thing. She wasn’t about to cooperate, not willingly. But in the end, she would. He’d make sure of that. 2 THE MOTEL WAS AS nondescript as its name. The Sleep Inn had only twenty rooms, and the one she requested was on the second floor, on the end, with windows facing the parking lot and Van Nuys Boulevard. It cost thirty-nine dollars plus tax a night. She put the cardboard box on the small round table and looked around the room. A double bed with an ugly green bedspread, a TV bolted to a squat dresser. A phone she wouldn’t use. The carpet was worn and seemed recently vacuumed. The sink tile was cracked, but the water pressure wasn’t bad. She’d stayed in worse places. Lots worse. For the first time since she’d witnessed the murder, she let herself take a moment. In the past two hours she’d packed, loaded her car and gone by several other motels until she’d found this one. It was far enough from her old apartment that she felt relatively safe, but not so far she couldn’t hook up with the others. Seth and Nate were working on something big, tailing some high-level employee of Omicron—that was when they weren’t trying to earn a living with their private security business. They’d both been surveillance experts in Kosovo. When they’d gotten back, they’d spent every last cent setting up a trauma room in Harper’s basement. Just in case. Not only couldn’t they get regular jobs any longer, they couldn’t do half the things normal people took for granted. Go to a hospital, for example. At least not for the kinds of injuries they were likely to get fighting Omicron. Even she’d had to learn to shoot, and Kate had always hated guns. Harper worked at the free clinic in Boyle Heights, but she was always on call in case anything happened to any member of the team. They hadn’t had to use her services so far. She had been one of the doctors for the U.N. staff Kate had met in Kosovo. Harper had seen firsthand what Omicron had created in the Balkans. It had been her misfortune to be taken to the remote Serbian village that had been the testing ground for the gas. A nurses’ aide hadn’t been able to reach her family, so she’d asked Harper to drive with her to her home town. Everyone there was dead. Men, women, children. A town full of life, wiped out in one awful morning. Then Kate had met Tamara, a chemist who thought she’d been working to eliminate biological and chemical weapons, but in truth Omicron had tricked her and a lot of other scientists into creating a chemical agent of unimaginable horror. Tam had rebelled, and now she was one of them. One of the six who were hunted. But Kate hadn’t talked to either of the women in a long time. She was too busy trying to earn a living and trying to make sense of the poor photocopies from Kosovo. Her days swam by in dread and tedium. The fear never left. Never. It had become her second heartbeat. Now this. She didn’t have enough horror in her life? She would have screamed her outrage if she thought it would do any good. That poor man in the hotel, to die such an ugly death. She wondered if he’d been married. If he had children. She got her cell from her purse and dialed Nate’s number. It rang twice. “Yeah.” “I’ve got trouble.” “What?” “It’s not Omicron. But it’s bad. I witnessed a murder today at the hotel.” “Shit. Where are you now?” “At a motel in Reseda. I got out, left the apartment. No one followed.” “Okay, that’s good.” “What’s not good is that I saw them. Gangbangers. I can identify them.” “No, you can’t.” “Yes, I can. I saw their faces. And the tattoos, and their weapons.” “Kate, you can’t. The moment you come forward, you’re dead. You know that, right?” “There has to be a way. I can’t just—” “There is no way. I’m sorry. I know this sucks, but it’s not just you. It’s all of us. We’re getting close. We can’t afford to be identified. And you have to finish the paper trail.” She let her head drop down, so weary she could hardly breathe. “It’s not fair.” “Damn straight it’s not.” “Okay. Fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut. There’s another problem. I didn’t get my last check. I’m really broke.” “Damn. We just had a major outlay of cash. Not much left in the coffers. Let me see what I can do.” “Okay.” “Can you make it a week?” “If I have to.” “Sorry, kiddo. I mean it. I’ll figure something out.” “I appreciate it. What about getting me a new name?” “That, I can have for you by tomorrow. Give me a call in the morning.” “Okay. Thanks.” She turned the phone off but didn’t move. There were clothes to hang up, her files to go through. But first, that shower she’d been aching for. There’d been a time in her life when she’d adored showers and baths. She’d indulged in every kind of ointment and bath goody she could find. She’d had something for every mood. Now she carried a good soap with her because her face got too dry if she used the cheap stuff. That was it. Good soap. No lotions, no salts, no special conditioning treatments. Most days it didn’t matter. But man, today she’d kill for a lavender bubble bath. NATE DISCONNECTED and dropped the cell phone on the makeshift table in front of him. He leaned back and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. He tried to remember how long it had been since he’d had a really good night’s sleep. His eyes popped open, and, momentarily panicked, he looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes. He’d lost fifteen minutes. He stumbled to his feet and took the ten steps to the bathroom. He turned on the cold water and splashed some on his face, then dried and looked at himself in the mirror. He had to admit he was looking a little gaunt. Who was he kidding? He looked like crap. Would you buy a customized security system from this man? He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Several times. He actually picked up the brush and made a moderate effort to look somewhat neat. Kate. He had to find some way to help Kate. As refreshed as he was likely to get at the moment, he went back into his living room. Well, there wasn’t much he could cut back on. The only table in the room was a piece of plywood on concrete blocks. He’d gotten the mattress at Goodwill. His phone, like everybody else’s in the team, was prepaid—virtually untraceable. He’d never turned on the gas, doing all his cooking on a camp stove—on his plywood table. The couch had come with the room. Everything went into equipment and the needs of the team. He picked up his cell and dialed Seth’s. He knew the number by heart, just as he knew everyone else’s. No little scraps of paper lying about to get found later. “Hello?” “Seth. It’s Nate.” “Something new?” “Kate’s in trouble.” Nate could hear movement on the phone. “Shit. Where is she? I could be there in…” “Not that kind of trouble. She ran into a situation. She’s got to relocate.” “A-a-ah. Okay. The usual? Driver’s license, birth certificate…” “Yeah. Pretty quick, too. And how are you fixed for cash?” Seth let loose a strangled laugh. “I gave the last of it to you for that surveillance equipment. Maybe in a week.” Nate sighed. “Don’t sweat it. Just get to work on her new ID, would you?” “Sure thing. And Nate?” “Yeah?” “Get some sleep.” “WHAT THE FUCK were you thinking?” Vince looked at Captain Emerson’s red face, and he knew he wasn’t gonna walk out of this smelling like a rose. “He accused Tim of being in bed with drug dealers.” “So what?” “It wasn’t true.” “Since when is that something new? He’s not just putting the assault in the paper, he’s putting it on Channel 5.” “How much does he want?” “He says he wants twenty-million. What he really wants is your badge.” Vince sat back in the wooden chair across from Emerson’s desk. He’d been in here a lot during his years on the force. Mostly to get chewed out. He didn’t blame the Captain for that. He had a department to run. He had people to answer to. The Captain understood, most of the time. He knew Vince did the job. Most cops who got involved with investigating gangs didn’t last a year. They’d transfer to anything else they could, knowing it was the most dangerous of all the details. Hell, he knew guys who would quit rather than do one day on the streets. And Vince had stuck with it for three years already. “You gonna give it to him?” The Captain, looking a lot older today than he had yesterday, wiped his face with the flat of his hand. “I gotta suspend you. You know that, right? I can’t just give you a slap on the wrist this time. Goddammit, Vince. You had to hit him in the face?” “Yeah, Captain. I did.” “Shit, I suppose so. I’ll do what I can to soothe some feathers, but it’s not gonna be quick. Maybe the time off will do you good.” Vince leaned forward. “They killed Tim. I’m not gonna let that go.” “You have no choice.” He opened his mouth, then shut it before he got in deeper. Instead, he got out his badge and his weapon and put them on the desk. “Call me when I can come back.” The Captain looked at him for a long moment. “Don’t do anything stupid. Well, stupider. This may not be up to me. You got it?” Vince nodded as he stood, grateful it was only a suspension. “Thanks.” “Idiot.” “Nothing new there.” The Captain let him go. “Get out of town. Go get drunk. Get laid. Relax.” “I’ll do my best.” Emerson was already on the phone when Vince got to the door. The Captain had the press to deal with, and the city council and the mayor. It was all part of a thankless job, and keeping Vince’s badge was way, way down there in terms of importance. But that didn’t change things. There was no way in hell he was going to let this thing go. He had Kate Rydell’s address in his pocket. He’d find her, question her about what she saw, get her to testify if necessary. If it got him fired, oh, well. It was time for him to leave the job, anyway. He didn’t have the heart for it anymore. He walked into the squad room and to his desk. He unlocked the bottom drawer and reached far into the back, where he pulled out a black leather case. He didn’t open it until he was outside. Once he got in his car, he took out a badge. He wasn’t supposed to have it, let alone use it. But it went into his pocket, and the gun under his seat went into his holster. Screw it. THE KOSOVO PAPERS on her desk beckoned, but the want ads were more important, at least for the moment. She had two sections, one for jobs and one for furnished apartments. With red pen in hand, she started with the jobs. The primary criterion was the invisibility factor. Room service had been great for that. She’d also been a waitress, a housekeeper and worked at a copy store. Since she’d returned from Kosovo, the one time she’d tried to do anything close to her qualifications, she’d been forced to quit, leaving the R & D company in a real bind. She wouldn’t do that again. It had only been a few months since she’d seen the depths to which Omicron would go to stop her and her friends. They’d terrorized Christie, an innocent woman whose only crime was being Nate’s sister. It had come to a bloody end, and if things hadn’t worked out, they could have all been killed. Despite everything she’d seen, it was still hard for her to grasp that it was the U.S. government after them. The public didn’t know about this side of their government, and wouldn’t, unless she and the others could put together enough hard evidence to prove what they knew beyond doubt was true. If it had just been Omicron, it would have been easier, but someone—someone very powerful—was making sure the group was funded. It wasn’t enough to lay out the paper trail of deceit and murder. Kate and her friends had to dig deep into the black heart of the organization and find out who was pulling the strings. One thing at a time. She had to get a job. She needed a place to live. But first, she needed her new name, a new ID, a new license plate for her car. Nate was handling that. Right now she had to find the job and the apartment. And she had to figure out how to do it damn fast, because her money situation was more dire than she’d imagined. If only she could use her savings. She had over sixty-thousand dollars in a bank account in Washington, D.C., but she couldn’t touch it. Well, maybe she didn’t have it anymore—now that her family thought she was dead. So, she had seventy-four dollars to her name. That was it. And one night in this motel was going to eat up half of that. How was she going to get an apartment with no security or first month’s rent? Which meant she was probably going to end up sleeping in her car for a while. She felt vulnerable enough behind locked doors, but to be on the street? In a rusty old heap of a car? She thought about asking Nate or Harper to take her in, but that could put them in danger, what with the police likely searching for her. There had to be a way to get her check from the hotel. She didn’t want any favors, just what she was owed. She put her pen down and picked up her cell. There was no way she could go get the check herself. Perhaps there was something she could do. She had Ellen’s number listed in her phone. Kate had taken the housekeeper to work a few times when her husband hadn’t come home in time for her to get the car. It was six-forty, so the shift was over. It would be safe now to call. The phone rang so many times that Kate almost hung up, but finally an out-of-breath Ellen answered. “I’m interrupting,” Kate said. “No, I was just doing laundry, and I couldn’t get to the phone. Kate?” “Yeah.” “Where did you go? I heard you were up in that guy’s room when he was shot.” “No. I wasn’t. I was down the hall.” “Oh. The cops think you were there.” “They’re wrong. I was close enough though to hear the gunfire.” “Is that why you left like that, in the middle of a shift?” “Yep. I was scared. I’m sorry to do that to Mr. Tyson, but I couldn’t help it.” “You should probably call and tell them you didn’t see anything.” “I will. I promise.” Kate squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her fingers. “Uh, could you do me a favor?” “If I can.” “Could you pick up my check for me tomorrow? We could meet for coffee after work. At the Copper Skillet.” “Oh, sure. No sweat. You’ll have to be there right at six because I have to get the car back to Rick.” “Absolutely. I’ll be there before six. Thanks, Ell. You’re a doll.” “It’s nothing. Just don’t forget to tell the boss, you know? And the cops.” “Right. I’ll do that. Thanks.” “Sure. See you tomorrow.” Kate disconnected the phone and closed her eyes, though this time it was with relief. Two weeks pay would get her into an apartment. It was going to be in a lousy part of town, but it beat sleeping in the car. She blessed Ellen in all kinds of ways, mostly for just being nice. The warm fuzzy feeling lasted about ten seconds, then she turned back to the ads. If she got a job first, she’d know where to find the apartment. No reason she couldn’t get an interview tomorrow afternoon. If Nate came through with her new identity. She circled every menial job she could find, from the San Fernando Valley to Torrance. With that done and the promise of cash tomorrow, she went to get some dinner. There was a place she knew where they sold burritos, big ones, for a couple of bucks. That would do. THE APARTMENT WAS completely empty. Not a matchbook, a hairpin or a paper cup. Kate Rydell traveled light and fast. What was she running from? An abusive husband? A criminal warrant? Whatever it was, her behavior told Vince she wasn’t going to answer questions willingly. He’d have to find out more about her so that he could apply pressure. He didn’t give a damn about her reasons, she was going to help him put Tim’s killers behind bars. How hard it was going to be was up to her. He turned to the super who’d let him in. “She was here last night?” “I told ya. She was here this morning, too.” “You didn’t see her leave?” The man shook his head, which made his jowls quiver. “No. I musta been showing an apartment.” “She didn’t leave a forwarding address? A note? A number?” “Nah, nothing. Too bad. She always paid in cash, on time, and she never made any trouble.” Vince thanked the man, and as he went back to his car he realized the only option he had left was to find Kate’s friend Ellen. No way in hell he was letting his only witness get away. KATE SAT IN THE LAST booth against the back wall at the Copper Skillet. She kept her eyes on the door, even though it would be at least five more minutes before Ellen could conceivably get there. The day had been long and tense. Nate had arranged a new identity for her, but he couldn’t get his hands on the paperwork until tomorrow morning. Her new name would be Kate Hogan. She was glad he’d remembered to use Kate again. She’d used it now for four different identities. It was simply too difficult for her to change her first name over and over. She needed to react quickly, seamlessly, and always being a Kate helped. She had to get through tonight, then go to Gino’s tomorrow to pick up her new ID. She’d only been to the pizza parlor once. It wasn’t only a pizzeria. It was also an emergency meeting place. The phone there was always monitored, via a nifty computer program Seth had written, and Gino, an ex-Delta Force sharpshooter, had given them a safe place to hide. There, she’d change the license plates on her car, then she’d start in on the interviews. That part wouldn’t be too bad. Nate, bless his heart, had provided references for Kate Hogan, and she had several places lined up. Of course, she couldn’t do much of anything until she cashed her check. It was almost six, and she sipped her coffee, watching every person who walked into the restaurant. Four minutes later, she sighed with relief when Ellen entered, still wearing her uniform. Ellen had a rough life, especially with her four kids to feed. Her husband was an undocumented worker in the garment district, and they had to pay for childcare, as well as all the other expenses. Kate had no idea how they got by. “Hey,” Ellen said as she slipped into the booth. “You didn’t call Tyson.” “I know. I will.” “The cops came to see me.” Kate’s heart froze. “What did you tell them?” “Nothing. Except that you didn’t see the murder.” “Did you tell them you were meeting me here?” “Hell, no. I don’t tell cops my business. I figured you’d call them when you were ready, but jeez, Kate. Give me a break. I don’t need that.” “I know. You’re right. I’ll have it straightened out by tomorrow. I promise.” “You better. Shit, can you imagine if they come to the house?” “No, no, they won’t. I’ll call. They won’t bother you again.” Ellen pushed her brittle blond hair behind her ears, then she opened her purse. It was all Kate could do not to snatch the pay envelope from her hand. “Mr. Tyson was pissed you quit without telling him. I said it was a personal thing.” “What did he say?” Ellen smiled. “That you were ungrateful and downright rude.” Kate grinned. That was Mr. Tyson all right. “I have to go or Ricky’s gonna kill me. He’s got a job tonight.” “Okay, thanks, Ellen. You have no idea how much this helped.” “Hey, we’re friends, right? Let me know when this whole cop thing is over with, huh?” “You bet,” Kate said, knowing it was a lie. She hated so much about her life now, but this…This was hell. She’d never betrayed a friend before Kosovo. Not ever. And now, it was becoming second nature. VINCE WATCHED ELLEN leave the parking lot, and his gaze turned back to the Copper Skillet entrance. He knew Kate was inside, but he wasn’t going to approach her in such a public place. He sipped his cold coffee, waiting. He was good at that. God knew he’d had enough practice. The longer he sat, the more he thought about Tim and the pricks who’d killed him. He’d gone to see Tim’s wife that afternoon, and for a man who’d been involved with death for more years than he cared to remember, it had ripped his heart out to see her, weeping like a child at the loss of her husband. Vince had tried to find the right words, but Tim’s death was so wrong there was nothing at all that he could say. Except that he wouldn’t rest until justice was served. There she was. Kate Rydell, walking out of the restaurant, her head low, almost hidden in her big coat. When she got to her car, she looked in the back seat, then all around her before she slipped the key in the door. He waited until she drove past him to start his pursuit. This was something else he was good at. Following without being seen. She drove carefully, never over the speed limit. All surface streets, with a hell of a lot of turns. Finally, she got to a dive motel in Reseda, and he waited and watched as she walked up the stairs to the far unit on the second floor. It was showtime. 3 KATE’S HAND SHOOK AS she took the check out of her purse once again, praying she’d misread the amount. But no, it was half of what it should have been, not even three hundred dollars. She wanted to call Tyson and scream at him, but she couldn’t, could she? The deductions, of course. For the uniform she’d not returned, for her locker—which were in addition to tax deductions. Altogether, more had been taken out than paid, putting her in an incredible bind. She’d never get an apartment and money for gas, food or much else, with this. Until Nate could come up with more cash, she was stuck here. In this dingy room, with the noise from the street keeping her up at night. It wasn’t fair, but that had become the central theme of her life: Not Fair. Should Have Been Different. If Only. She sat on the edge of the bed, the springs squeaking as if she weighed a ton. At least she had enough money to get to her interviews. It would have to do. It took all her will, but she got up, put her coat in the measly closet and figured she’d make herself some tea, then start work on the ledgers. The tea, one of the essentials in her life along with her good soap, daily showers and a warm bed, would be made with her little heat coil. She’d picked it up in a travel shop four years ago and had taken it everywhere. She could survive on packaged soup, instant oatmeal and tea if she had to. Just add water. From the closet floor, she got her box with the ledger pages and her laptop and put it next to the small table. But before she could get her cup, there was a knock on the door. Panic made her freeze and foolishness made her hope it was a mistake. “Kate Rydell? It’s the police. Open up, please.” Shit, shit, shit. Should she keep quiet and hope the cops hadn’t seen her come in? How in hell had they found her? Ellen. It had to be Ellen. Kate cursed again, knowing her friend hadn’t purposely betrayed her. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.” Kate shoved the box under the table, then went to obey. “Please hold your badge up to the peephole.” He did, and she memorized the number, knowing all the while Omicron wouldn’t have a bit of trouble getting a fake badge. Or hiring a cop to do their dirty work. “Open the door, Kate.” She bristled at the use of her first name, but she managed not to shake as she turned the deadbolt. “Yes?” The man on the other side looked as if he’d had a rough day. He was taller than her by a good five inches, wearing a brown overcoat. His tie was loosened and he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. His dark hair was messy, as if he’d run his hands through it and not looked in a mirror after. It was his eyes that really gave him away. They were oddly blue and filled with anger. “I’m here about the murder at the hotel.” She thought about telling him he had the wrong person but dismissed that approach immediately. “What do you want to know?” He looked past her into her room. “May I come in?” “I don’t suppose it would do me any good to say no.” “We could always do this at the precinct.” She opened the door. Only after he was inside did it occur to her that he was alone. Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s your partner?” “He’ll be here shortly. I’m Detective Yarrow, and I know you witnessed Tim Purchase’s murder.” “And how do you know that?” “Your cart was there. Open. And you hadn’t even finished restocking the refrigerator. I also have you on tape ten minutes after the murder, leaving the hotel.” “I was there, but I didn’t see anything.” “You were behind the bar.” “That’s right. Where I hid.” “You could see everything from there. In the mirror.” “I suppose that would be true,” she said, “if I’d been looking up. I wasn’t.” “You mean to tell me you didn’t see any part of it? Not even when he opened the door?” “That’s what I’m telling you.” “But you heard it.” “Gunfire. That’s all. I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but I can’t.” The anger in his eyes had turned to fury. His neck had darkened and his hands were fisted by his side. She’d faced a lot of angry men in her life and she knew this cop would stop at nothing. “You’re lying.” “Excuse me?” He stepped closer to her. “If you didn’t see anything, why did you run?” “Gunshots. A dead guy.” “A dead guy? Do you have any idea who it was lying up there in a pool of blood?” “No.” He turned briefly, running his hand through that tangle of hair. When he turned back, he seemed the tiniest bit calmer. “He was important. He was also a friend.” “As I said, I wish I could help. But I can’t.” “I can protect you.” She laughed. She shouldn’t have, because he was so very serious. And because it told him more than she wanted him to know. He almost smiled at her slip. “Did you recognize the gang? Were they wearing colors? Tattoos?” “I didn’t see them.” “Don’t. I just want to know—” “Detective Yarrow, I appreciate that you’re trying to find whoever killed this man, but you’d be wise to look elsewhere. I can’t help you.” “You can. And you will.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, he was studying her so closely she had to step away. “You’re mistaken.” “No, I’m not. Listen to me, Kate. I need these punks. I need them like you wouldn’t believe. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get them.” He took a step closer, bridging the gap. “Whatever it takes.” “I applaud your determination,” she said, standing her ground. “You’re asking for something I can’t give.” He didn’t say anything as he continued to stare. Those strange blue eyes looked deeply, and she touched her throat. Then he broke away and walked over to the small table. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She was terrified that he’d look in the box underneath, that somehow he would understand what she had in her possession. The toe of his brown shoe touched the side of the box, and he turned his head so he could see. Kate wanted to stop him, but she knew if she responded at all it would just increase his curiosity. The best thing she could do was act nonchalant. As if his questions weren’t making her feel guilty as hell, as if her very life and the lives of her friends didn’t depend on her lies. If only her heart wouldn’t beat so hard. She felt sure he could hear it, that if he stayed one more minute he’d uncover the truth. “Listen up, Kate,” he said, his voice very low, a whisper that made everything worse. “I know you saw who killed my friend. I know you ran because you think the gangs will come after you if you testify. Well, here’s the deal. I don’t care. I don’t like being lied to, and believe me, I’ve been lied to by the best, so you don’t fool me for a second.” “I think you should leave,” she said, but this time her bravado slipped and her voice quavered like a child’s. “I’m not leaving until I get what I want. I’m going to be on you twenty-four-seven. And to make things even more interesting, I’m going to let the press know what I’m doing. You hear me? If you think you’re afraid now, just wait.” Vince watched her face grow pale, her eyes widen with his threats. She’d seen everything, all right. He’d wager his life on it. And he wasn’t about to let her walk away without testifying. “That’s illegal. It’s harassment.” “Sue me.” “Don’t you even care that you’ll be wasting your time on me when you could be looking for the killers?” “We’ve got a whole department of cops doing just that. My only assignment is you.” She turned from him and walked over to the bed, but she didn’t sit. He knew she was trying to figure a way out of this, to make him leave. Not that she had a prayer. He relaxed, debated taking off his coat, but didn’t. Instead he studied her. The cameras in the garage hadn’t done her justice. She was a beautiful woman, classy, strong. Her long, dark hair was shiny and as smooth as her skin. She wore no makeup, at least as far as he could tell, but it didn’t make a difference. With those dark eyes, that long, lean body, she could have had any man in the blink of an eye. So why didn’t she? She carried herself like someone with money. It didn’t track that she was working for room service. Clearly, she was hiding. From what, he didn’t know, but he’d find out. She moved again, lifting her head, straightening her shoulders. “I would help you if I could, but I can’t. If you let the press know about me, I’ll be as dead as your friend, whether the killers think I can ID them or not.” He held himself still, not wanting to spook her. “Why?” “Someone’s after me. A stalker.” “Let me help.” She frowned. “Yeah, right. And your success rate in finding and convicting stalkers is what?” “Pretty damn good.” “Now, who’s lying?” “Just tell me what I want to know, then you can play hide-and-seek all you want.” She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “I have nothing to tell you. Nothing, you hear me? I hid. I heard gunshots. Running. By the time I looked up, your friend was dead and I was alone with him in the room. Okay? There isn’t anything more.” Vince shook his head. “Sorry. It was a good try, but I’m not buying it.” “Buying what?” “You know more than you’re telling me.” “What are you talking about?” “You know how long I’ve been doing this? You know how many people have lied to me?” “This time you’re wrong.” He looked at her. Through her. “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. But not this. Seriously. I have nothing else on the docket. Just you, until you tell me the truth.” “If you enjoy wasting your time, be my guest. But you can’t do it sitting in my room.” She walked over to the door and opened it, her lips tight, her posture more closed off now than when he’d first arrived. “You bet. I’ll leave, but I won’t be far. You can count on that. No matter where you go, there I’ll be.” She said nothing. She didn’t even watch him as he passed her. Her gaze was somewhere else, perhaps with the stalker she said was after her, perhaps on the vision of Tim on the bloody carpet. It didn’t matter. Not a bit. The second he’d cleared the door, it was closed, not slammed, behind him. He got out his cell phone as he headed for his car. Surveillance wasn’t terribly effective without sufficient manpower. He wasn’t fool enough to believe he could cover her without getting sloppy. He dialed Jeff. “Detective Stoller.” “Hey, I’ve got an interesting challenge for you, buddy.” Jeff’s groan was all too familiar. Vince didn’t pay any attention to it as he detailed what he needed Jeff to do. Kate Rydell was now a material witness. Since Vince was on suspension, Jeff would have to do the paperwork and get the manpower. In the meantime, Vince would get comfortable in his car. He wasn’t sure when Kate would make her move, only that she would attempt to flee. He was also going to look into her background. He’d soon find out if there was any truth to the stalker business or if Ms. Rydell was hiding something even worse. ALTHOUGH THEY ADVERTISED Never Empty, Never Closed, there were few customers at The Pantry coffee shop. Nate scanned the tables, his gaze finally settling on an occupied booth near the far window. He walked across the diner and sat down across from his old friend. “Seth,” he said. “Good to see you.” “Good to see you, brother.” The two men ordered coffee when the elderly waitress asked if they wanted some and spread the menus in front of them. “I almost didn’t recognize you with the glasses,” Nate said. Seth shrugged off his stained leather jacket, revealing a plain black T-shirt. “Good. Let’s hope no one else does.” Nate smiled wryly. They seldom saw each other, wisely keeping their distance in case one of them went down. “You have everything, I trust.” Seth nodded, his gaze on the menu. “I have about eight bucks. What about you?” “Enough for a decent breakfast. Let’s splurge.” There’d been a time when Nate had never had to think about money. He’d always had plenty to spend on women and booze. Not from his work in Delta Force, but from a little locking device he’d come up with just after college. It didn’t look like much, but he’d sold the Army on the usefulness of the lock on weaponry in the field, and they’d bought the patent. The money was to be his nest egg, his safety net in case he got hurt. But it was all gone now. He’d spent a bloody fortune on Harper’s basement trauma room and Tam’s lab and equipment. The waitress came back and they both ordered the bacon and egg breakfast. When they were alone again, Seth pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and wordlessly handed it across the table. Nate glanced around, then flipped through the contents. Driver’s license, Social Security card, birth certificate. He held the driver’s license where the streetlight shone on it. “Damn. Your guy does fine work.” “Computer nerd at Cal Tech. He did these, too.” He put two photo IDs on the table. Nate stuffed Kate’s documents back in the envelope and picked up one of the identification cards. “Midtown Electric,” he read. “Damn. Where’d you get this picture?” “Department of Defense,” Seth said. “I must’ve been in high school.” He peered closer. “Frank Foley?” “George Hale.” Seth pushed the glasses all the way up the bridge of his nose. “Pleased to meet you.” He clipped the ID on the neck of his T-shirt. The waitress arrived with their food, and Nate quickly secured Kate’s documents and then clipped his ID onto his flannel shirt. After dinner, they’d do one more recon on one of the offices of Omicron. While it looked like a normal building, filled with consultants and secretaries, Nate had learned that it was actually an operations center for the rogue CIA unit. Most of their operatives had either been fired from the CIA or were professional mercenaries. They worked in secret, and while Nate had discovered several maneuvers that would never have been sanctioned by congress, including two high level assassinations, all he really cared about now was the chemical weapon they’d engineered in Kosovo. The gas had striking similarities to VX, but with VX there were antidotes. Nothing stopped this new weapon from killing. Death was ugly—the chemical bound itself to the enzyme that transmits signals to the nerves and inhibits them, making them uncontrollable. In the liquid form, the chemical takes an hour to kill, in the gaseous state, minutes. The truly horrifying thing about it was that Nate knew there was a market for this thing. The Sudan. Nicaragua. Not to mention the Middle East. And that was just off the top of his head. There was money to be made in certain death, and the men behind Omicron had no qualms about raking it in. There was no choice in Nate’s mind. They had to be stopped before even one shipment of the gas was sold. Halfway through the large breakfast, Seth laid his fork along the side of the plate, took a sip of the coffee and winced. “So how sure are you about this Leland Ingram?” “Damned sure. I’ve been following him since before my return from the dead. His official title is Project Manager, but I have a feeling he’s more like Omicron’s chief henchman. If we can get inside and pull this off, we should be able to monitor everything they’re doing. We can find out the status of the gas, but, more importantly, we can scope out exactly who’s funding the operation, the man from Washington giving Omicron the go-ahead. There’s no way for us to ever get these bastards unless we know who we’re up against. This surveillance should be a big step forward.” Seth glanced at his watch. “We’d better finish up and get going.” Nate nodded, and the two men returned to their food. Minutes later, his plate clean, Seth laid down his fork, drank a little more coffee, and motioned to the waitress. “You want more coffee?” she asked. Both men shook their heads, and she finished with the check and put it face down between them. Seth slipped his jacket on, looking once again like another anonymous worker, and stood, picking up the check. He headed for the cashier as Nate donned his own jacket and fished a five out of his pocket. He met Seth outside the front door. “Go home and get some sleep,” Nate said. “I’ll scope out the security on the building and we’ll connect at Gino’s.” Seth stretched his neck around and nodded. He, like the rest of the team, wore the stress of their work on his face. “You sure?” he asked. “Another fifteen minutes won’t kill me.” Nate shook his head. “Nah. One of us should be alert at Gino’s.” SHE DIDN’T SEE the detective when she left the motel at nine-thirty the next morning, but she was certain he was around somewhere. She’d talked to Nate last night, and he had everything she’d need to start the next life. They would move on the assumption that the police would be watching, so Kate would fill out a job application as a cover. Nate and Seth were going to be doing a little surveillance of their own, and get whatever information on Detective Yarrow they could, primarily to determine if he was on the level. The most important thing for her was to pick up her new papers. She wasn’t sure how she was going to ditch Yarrow, but she had to have the new ID. Gino was one of the only people outside their group who understood what had happened in Kosovo, and he’d offered his place as a quasi-command post. All phone calls were taped, and if someone needed help, they’d dial the pizza parlor. Kate fought another yawn as she battled the traffic on the freeway. Her night had been horrible. Not only had she gotten no work done, she’d gotten virtually no sleep. She hated lying about not seeing the gangbangers. It went against everything she’d ever stood for. Not just the lying but not stepping forward, not taking a stand for what was right and just. But how could she when doing so would sign the death warrants of the people who had done so much that was right and just? If it had just been her own life… She’d like to think she’d step forward. That she wouldn’t let herself be intimidated and cowed by punks, even if they were killers. The night had been filled with struggles. Trying to sleep in the unfamiliar bed. Searching desperately for a way out of her dilemma, and thinking about Detective Yarrow. The truth was, she respected him, if not his tactics. He believed in what he was doing. His friend had been killed, and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of getting the men who’d done it. Yet he was the worst possible thing that could have happened to her. She’d stopped asking why she’d been in that suite, at that moment. It was no use questioning fate. How could she have ever guessed that becoming a forensic accountant would lead her into a world of chemical warfare, covert operations and being completely cut off from everyone she’d ever known or loved? Who would have imagined getting caught up in a murder and gang warfare while restocking minibar fridges? She kept checking the rearview mirror, but she hadn’t had enough spy training. Yarrow could have been two cars behind and she wouldn’t have known it. Best to just get to Gino’s and let Nate and Seth take over. Maybe they could figure out a way she could stay hidden and still help Yarrow get his killers. Her mind went back to him again. Mostly his eyes. They were such an interesting color. Not powdery or like clouds…More like blue flame. Or maybe that was just his anger. Despite his dishevelment, he was a good-looking man. With no wedding ring. That didn’t mean he wasn’t married. If he wasn’t, he surely had a woman, or women. Men like him were chick magnets. Powerful, dangerous, commanding. Oh, yeah, he’d have them, all right. But not for keeps. She knew his type only too well. Nate, she supposed, was her first exposure to hero wannabees. They’d gone out on a couple of dates when she’d first arrived in Kosovo. He’d been charming and funny, but he wasn’t interested in anything close to a relationship. Not Nate. She’d never have guessed what a true hero he would turn out to be. Shane, on the other hand, was, to quote a phrase, all hat and no cowboy. He’d also been a soldier, but not in the special forces. He’d talked about how tough he was, how he led his men with an iron fist. But he’d really been nothing more than a bully. She’d dumped him as soon as she’d seen his true colors. She wondered if Yarrow was like Nate or like Shane. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to get to know him at all, nor would she want to. It was far too risky to let anyone in, for any reason. At least now, with Yarrow tailing her, he’d leave Ellen alone. Her exit was coming up, so she got into the right lane, wondering who she would be this time. There was so much that went into changing identities. She’d have to learn a whole history, put it on like a coat and wear it all the time. She wasn’t sure how they managed it, but anyone looking into Kate Rydell’s background would find nothing suspicious. She had a good but unremarkable work history, and had paid her income taxes. No huge debts, no property of her own. A wholly unremarkable person. Now she would become another unremarkable person, looking for another invisible job. She’d probably have to switch cars altogether because Yarrow knew this one. She’d slip away. Again. Only this time, no friends. She’d been foolish to get to know Ellen even a little. It could have gotten her killed. There was one other car in Gino’s parking lot. She pulled in next to it, making sure she had plenty of escape room, and brought her big tote with her into the store. Of course, no one was there this early, just Gino. And Nate and Seth, but she wouldn’t actually see them. At least not in the front of the store. Probably in the bathroom, if she knew anything about her soldiers. Once inside, things moved along smoothly. She filled out an application and Gino, all six foot six of him, slipped a packet inside her tote so adeptly that no one could have seen. Then she gave him back the application, he shook her hand and she went to the ladies’ room. Nate was perched on the counter, Seth was crouched under the air dryer. They were in jeans and T-shirts, looking buff but not particularly dangerous. A very nice illusion. “Did you see him?” she asked, getting right down to business. Nate, looking better than he had the last time she saw him, nodded. “He’s in a blue Crown Victoria. There’s a Dodgers’ bumper sticker on the back left.” She leaned against the wall, so weary she thought she could curl up and sleep on the floor. “I think he’s legit,” she said. “His friend was murdered. I saw it. He’s not going to let it go.” “We’ll get you out. We just need you to stay with it for another day or two, okay? We’re working on a place for you.” “The car will be clean,” Seth said as he stood up. “You just walk away from this one when we get you.” She nodded. “I know I have to go. But isn’t there some way? Something I can do? Maybe leave a document? A testament to what I saw?” “It wouldn’t be admissible,” Nate said. “Maybe that doesn’t matter.” Seth came over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, wishing for once that they were closer. Funny, they’d almost died together, done unbelievably hard things as a team, but hugging, that crossed the line. “I’d better get out there,” she said, patting his hand before she stepped away. “You have my money?” Nate jumped down, and she thought again about how much he’d aged since…It must have been so hard on him, pretending to be dead for so long. He traded cash for her check, endorsed, of course. “We’ll try and figure something out, okay?” he said. “In the meantime, be careful.” “Always.” She left the bathroom, new ID and money safely tucked in her tote. She smiled at Gino as she walked into the cold November air. Vince Yarrow was leaning on her car. HE WISHED SHE WASN’T wearing the big coat. He wanted to see her in motion. She was a striking woman, and it wouldn’t have bothered him at all to have met her under different circumstances. He’d heard from Jeff about thirty minutes ago. The surveillance team was in place, although the Captain had only okayed six people. Eight would have been better. The first team would already be at the motel. He wasn’t sure where Kate was going after this, but, wherever it was, he wouldn’t be far behind. “Did you get the job?” he asked pleasantly. “Please get away from my car. I have appointments.” He pushed off the Toyota and smiled brightly, just to piss her off. “Great. Where are we going next?” She looked daggers at him as she went around the front of the car. “There’s a simple way to get me to go.” Nothing. Not a look, not a glance. “Maybe during the next interview, I’ll come in. Who knows, they might want a character reference.” That got her. She spun on him, eyes narrow, lips tight. “I’m not one of the bad guys,” she said. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t see anything. You’re trying to get blood from stone.” He opened his mouth to argue, but a flash out of the corner of his eye made him turn. Behind a large trash bin was a familiar face. The bruise was new and rather spectacular. “Wow,” Vince said. “That looks like it’s gotta hurt.” The reporter approached them, his camera in one hand, a small recorder in the other. “So this is your material witness?” Vince blocked him with his body before he could reach Kate. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I figured Emerson would like to know what you’re up to.” “Emerson told me to relax. Get laid. I’m just following his advice.” “Bullshit, Yarrow. I know who she is.” “You don’t know—” Vince stopped at the sound of the engine, and turned just in time to see Kate take off like a bat out of hell. Damn it. “Oh, I like her,” Baker said. “Feisty.” “Shut up, you asshole.” “See you in the funny papers.” The reporter walked away, whistling, just to be a jerk. Vince jogged to his car, cursing the reporter and cursing Kate. He had no idea where she’d gone, but he had to find her. If the gangbangers saw her picture in the paper, they’d make sure she’d never testify. 4 SHE CAME BACK AT SEVEN. Vince was sitting on the floor next to her motel door, a cold cup of coffee in his hand, a smile hiding his frustration at a day that had knocked the wind out of him. His informant Eddie, a junkie too long without a fix, had given him nothing at all, and it was only a matter of time until the Captain had his ass in a permanent sling. “How’s it going?” he asked. Kate didn’t look like her day had been much better. She stood in front of him, scowling. On her, it looked pretty good. “Nothing’s changed. You’re still making my life miserable. Who was that guy, and why did he take my picture?” Vince got to his feet, his knees cracking like split kindling. “I’ve missed you. Any luck on the new job?” “I’m not interested in chatting with you. I want you gone. Out of my life.” “No can do. Especially now.” She closed her eyes. “Why?” “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but that wasn’t a guy. It was a reporter.” She cursed, and, oddly, that looked good on her, too. “What have you done to me?” “Me? I didn’t do a thing. The minute you give me your statement, I’m all about protection. You wouldn’t have a thing to worry about.” “Except for gangbangers coming to kill me.” “We should talk about that.” She gazed at him for a long moment. He needed a shower, a shave, some sleep. She wished he didn’t. Then she opened her door and walked silently into the motel room, leaving him to follow. She put her coat and bag away, ran a hand through that silky hair, then nodded toward the little table. “I’ve got tea and instant coffee.” “Coffee would be great.” “I hope you take it black.” “Yep.” He took a wobbly seat and watched her move about the small, tidy room. Her clothes matched what he knew about her, that she’d gone from one low-level job to another, from one crummy apartment to the next. He still didn’t quite believe the stalker story. Not because it couldn’t have happened—that kind of crap was more prevalent than anyone wanted to believe—but because he’d found nothing about it in the records. No restraining orders, no complaints at all. More than her plain sweater and beige pants, the thing that didn’t fit her was her presence. She was a woman to be reckoned with. Nothing about her was timid or weak. He wanted, more than he should, to figure out this mystery. She brought out a heating coil and plugged it in the wall, then took two foam cups and put in instant coffee for him, a tea bag for her. The whole process took about five minutes. He continued to watch. Mostly her hands, which were strong and lean, her nails short but neat, and her face, which showed no expression other than a quiet determination. When she handed him the coffee, she took her tea and sat on the edge of the bed. “So talk.” Damn, he liked her. Straightforward, no games, not in the least coy. Other than lying through her teeth, she was all right. “The reporter’s name is Baker, and he’s a prick of the first order. I don’t know how he found out about you. Maybe the same way I did.” “The videotape.” “Right.” “What paper does he work for?” “The Times.” She looked away for a moment. When she looked back, she seemed infinitely tired. “Is there any way you can stop him from running the picture?” “No.” “So these murderers are going to think I can ID them.” “Yes.” “And they’ll come after me.” “Yes.” “Wonderful. Would it do any good for you to tell this reporter that I didn’t see them?” “I doubt it, but I can try.” She sipped her tea. “Are you telling me the truth? That you didn’t tell Baker to force me into testifying?” “I am. Although I still want you to do that.” “Why is it so hard for you to believe me?” He put his cup down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’d like to. Honest. But I was there. I crouched down, just where you’d have been, and I looked in that mirror. There’s no way you would have known it was killers coming into the room. Tim heard a knock. He went to the door. You could see the door. It’s human nature to look. You’d want to know. It’s as simple as that.” “I was doing my job.” “Doesn’t matter. You’d have looked. Anyone would have. And even if you saw them for a few seconds, that would have been enough. You would have seen if they were black, Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian. You’d have seen clothing. Weapons. Maybe tattoos.” “It makes a lot of sense, what you just said. But I didn’t see. I would tell you if I did. I didn’t.” He sat back up. “Sorry. Not buying it.” “When I was a kid,” she said, “I had this phobia. I had nightmares about it, even though I have no recollection of where the fear started. I used to dream that I was being held prisoner and that I was being tortured. The guard wanted me to tell him something, but I had no clue what he was talking about. I wanted, more than anything, to tell him what he wanted to know, but I couldn’t. So I just kept getting tortured. Sound familiar?” “Wow,” he said. “You’re good.” “You’re making this very difficult.” “Just doing my job.” “Harassment? Endangering my life? Nice job you’ve got there.” He stood, and walked over to the bed. Kate didn’t seem alarmed, not even when he sat down next to her. “If you don’t want to testify, I suppose there’s not much I can do to force you. But I’d bet good money that Baker’s gonna run that picture, and when he does, you’re going to need help.” “Now it’s blackmail? Nice.” He studied her eyes. They were brown, a caf? au lait, and they were intelligent. Observant. And very attractive. He shifted his gaze down to her lips, and, once again, they were surprising. Not terribly lush, not like what was so popular right now, but they were smooth and perfect with her face. Altogether a remarkable looking woman who was working very hard to be as unremarkable as possible. “I can keep you safe.” “How?” “Let me make some phone calls.” “Gonna call the cops?” “Yeah.” She put her cup down on the rickety nightstand. “Tell me something. How do you have so much time to devote to little old me? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I know your friend’s death isn’t the only crime this city has seen for two days.” “It’s the only one I care about.” “So they just let you pick your cases?” He smiled. “It’s a little more complicated than that.” “I think I could follow along.” “I’ll bet you could. If I could tell you.” “Detective Yarrow, I think you’re full of crap. I have things to do. Coffee hour is over.” “This isn’t a joke, Kate. These gangbangers’ll kill you without a second thought.” She sighed. “Make your phone calls. Then let me know what you’re offering.” “Good enough.” He went to her door, but before he left he turned once again. “I’m curious. This guy that’s stalking you. How come you never reported him to the police.” “I did.” “No, you didn’t. I looked.” “You looked in the wrong place. Now I really do have things to do.” Damn, he really did like her. He sincerely hoped she’d get out of this alive. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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