Authors: Penny McCall
“From the map room?” she shrieked, jumping to her feet.
Jack grabbed the remote and turned up the volume, which was unnecessary since Aubrey was too anxious to hear what was being said about her to talk through it.
“Sullivan is said to be traveling with this man.” They flashed a picture of Jack, his face half in shadow and too fuzzy to be recognizable to anyone who didn’t know him well.
“His identity remains a mystery,” the news anchor continued, “but he is alleged to be responsible for the murder of a woman in Washington, D.C., with possible connections to organized crime, and the assault of a police officer in Atlanta, Georgia.”
A woman’s face appeared on screen. “He banged that poor policeman’s head against the wall,” she said, “and the woman stood right there watching him do it. She didn’t say anything, but I could hear her helping him make plans to escape the other policemen.”
“Oh my God, that’s the woman from the bus station bathroom.”
Jack shushed Aubrey, but she was too horrified to object any more.
“The police have tracked the couple through a procession of stolen cars and the suspicious disappearance of Horace George outside a police station in rural North Carolina,” the anchor took up the report. “George was a former FBI agent. The couple is considered to be armed and dangerous. If they’re spotted, please call this number.”
The picture flipped back to some brainless sitcom, the hot-line number for her tipline crawling across the bottom of the screen.
“Great!” Aubrey said, her mind working furiously, her feet taking her from one side of the small room to the other. “Now I’m a fugitive. That wasn’t even a good picture of me
and
they called me Audrey.” She turned to Jack. “I’m being set up.”
“Feels pretty crappy, doesn’t it?”
“This is beyond crappy. Somebody is making it okay for them to shoot me on sight, no questions asked.”
“They’ll probably ask a few questions, just for appearance’s sake.”
“Oh goody, another interrogation before I die. And since Corona clearly wants me alive, it doesn’t make any sense. Unless there’s somebody else after me, too.”
“I can take your mind off it,” he said, patting the bed next to him.
“I don’t want my mind taken off it.” And since she obviously wasn’t going to get any answers from Jack, she’d have to figure this out for herself. She pulled her backpack over to her and dug through it.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged, even more dispirited than before. It seemed an impossibly long time ago that she’d made plans to leave her house, certain the whole thing would blow over if she disappeared for a few days. And so foolishly confident that she could protect herself. “I’m a screwup at this secret agent stuff, I admit it.”
“A screwup who knew she was going to get through this in one piece somehow. You stop believing that you’re already dead.”
Jack Mitchell, inspirational speaker.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Not really.”
Aubrey turned off the television, pacing around the room again, restless, struggling to fit the newscast into what she already knew and coming up empty because she didn’t have enough pieces to put the whole picture together.
“This isn’t working anymore, Jack,” she said.
“It’s working fine for me.”
“That’s because you have the upper hand. You’ve been pushing me to tell you everything I know, but you’re not reciprocating.”
“I’ve kept you alive.”
“But why?” she asked, and then felt sick to her stomach because loving Jack and trusting him weren’t the same thing. Because he didn’t love her back. And she couldn’t forget that she was just a tool to him.
“You’re right, Jack. My book learning has been pretty much useless, but you have some learning to do when it comes to people.”
“Such as?”
“The longer you keep me ignorant, the greater the possibility I’ll decide to take action on my own again.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“So are your secrets.”
“Save your egghead psychology for someone else. You can’t guilt me into spilling my guts.”
“You know what, Jack, this is starting to piss me off. One minute you’re climbing on top of me—”
“I was kind of hoping you’d take the top this time.”
“Don’t change the subject. You know what this whole thing is about and you won’t tell me.”
“I’m not saying that’s true, but it’s possible.”
“And how do you expect me to react to that? Do you have any idea what’s going through my head? The longer you keep the truth to yourself, the more it feels like I’m being kept in the dark because the truth is something horrible.”
“What could be more horrible than Corona wanting you dead?”
“How about this? You’ve actually been working for Corona this whole time? Maybe the claim about being an FBI mole was a ruse, and you’re taking me to him to secure yourself a place in his organization, and it’s easier for you if I come along willingly—which I wouldn’t do if I knew the truth.”
“If I was working for Corona I would have killed you outright or taken you to him immediately, instead of being stuck with you for a week.”
“Except you don’t know where Corona is,” Aubrey said, managing to get the words out though it felt like she’d been socked, hard, in the chest. And it wasn’t going to get any easier to say what needed to be said. “At best you’re still working for the government, and I’m a sacrificial lamb. You give me to Corona and maybe you can earn enough of his trust to infiltrate his organization and shut it down. My life for thousands.”
“Don’t you think you’re overestimating your worth?”
“I think maybe you are.”
Jack stood and went to the window beside the door, looking out for a long minute before he turned back to her—effectively placing himself between her and escape, Aubrey noticed.
“I know what I’m doing,” he said. “I’m betting my life on it.”
“You’re betting mine, too, and I’m sick and tired of being everyone’s pawn.” She picked up his gun and pointed it at him. “I want the truth, Jack, all of it.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You won’t shoot me. You don’t even know how that works.”
She clicked off the safety. “Now I’m supposed to rest my right hand in the palm of my left, line up this notch with this sight, and squeeze the trigger, right?”
“That’s the easy part.” He sounded relaxed but he was balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to move if he had to.
She should have been flattered that he was taking her seriously, but she was scared to death. Her hands were shaking and she’d practically stopped breathing.
“Pulling the trigger only takes a second, but you’ll have to live with the results for the rest of your life. How are you going to feel about shooting me?”
Awful, devastated, heartbroken. If she’d actually intended to go through with it. “Better than I’ll feel if Corona gets his hands on me.”
Jack took a step forward. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” Aubrey steadied the gun—
The door crashed open behind Jack. Danny and Carlo rushed into the room.
Aubrey swung toward them, squeezing the trigger before she’d completely re-aimed the gun. Danny and Carlo dove for the floor.
Jack slapped a hand to his forehead and crumpled to his knees. “Jesus,” he said, “you shot me,” and he keeled over, facefirst.
Aubrey dropped the gun and fell to her knees beside him, mouth open, mind empty, completely in shock. And then she saw the blood and she started to shake.
Somebody grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her out of the motel room—Danny, she realized when he yelled practically in her ear, “Get your ass out here, Carlo.”
“I’m making sure he’s dead.”
“We’re going to be dead if those cops get here before we’re gone.”
The sound of sirens pierced Aubrey’s daze.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Danny said. “She shot him in the head, with his own gun. The cops will figure she did it and they’ll be looking for her, traveling alone. If we shoot him, they’ll be after us for murder.”
“How about kidnapping?” Aubrey said, trying to claw her way free. Her eyes were on Jack, willing him to move or breathe or something.
“It’s not across state lines so the Feds won’t get involved, and who’s to say you didn’t go with us willingly? In fact it better seem that way. If you make it look like you don’t want to go with us, we’ll force you. And you won’t enjoy it.” Danny shoved Aubrey out the door in front of him, telling Carlo over his shoulder, “Let’s go, and grab that stupid backpack.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but it must be important to her because she keeps dragging it everywhere.”
“Can I tape her mouth shut again?” Carlo wanted to know.
“You can’t just leave him like that. He’ll die.”
“That’s the idea. Now stop yapping.”
“The cops were already on their way, remember?” Danny said, adding, not unkindly, “He’ll live or die, but either way he’ll be off our hands. Now, sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“Enjoy the ride? Enjoy the ride?! Just another car trip involving men with guns and being taken someplace I don’t want to go, right? Only I’m not going to think any of this is fun after it’s over, because I’m the one who’s going to get shot this time, and it won’t be something a bandage and a hit of morphine can fix!”
“Toss me the tape,” Danny called to Carlo.
Aubrey flopped back in her seat and sent Danny a glare that didn’t have all that much oomph behind it. The oomph was hiding under the guilt and fear. And the dread.
She was naturally an optimist; Jack had hated that—among other things—about her. Too bad he wasn’t around to see her now because she was completely out of hope.
Then again, Carlo was behind the wheel, splitting his attention between the road ahead and shooting her death looks in the rearview mirror. Carlo didn’t exactly excel at multitasking, so there was a pretty good likelihood he’d crash the car before they got to Corona. A gory death in a car accident wasn’t much more appealing than a bullet to the brain, but at least the anticipation would be over.
It turned out she didn’t have that long to wait. Even being unfamiliar with the area, it was hard to mistake the glow of downtown Miami against the night sky. They wound their way into the city, the press of the club-bound crowds slowing the car to a crawl. That was fine with Aubrey. It was nerve-wracking enough to know they’d hit Miami, she was about to be personally introduced to Corona the butcher, and there was no Jack to back her up.
Because she’d shot him in the head.
Some of the horror of that memory leaked through, the crack of the gun, Jack falling to his knees. Blood. Hope might be gone, but she still had rationalization and self-delusion. Jack couldn’t be dead, she assured herself. It would take more than a bullet to dent that hard skull of his. He might even have eluded the police.
But even if he was alive and free, and he assumed she was being taken to Miami, it wouldn’t do either of them much good. He had no idea where Corona lived. And Miami was a big town.
Just Corona’s piece of it was pretty big. Carlo pulled up to a massive set of wrought-iron gates that were more than decorative. The gates swung open and the car eased through walls a foot thick, the tires bumping over metal grating. Probably a Delta barrier. They laid flat most of the time, but if somebody managed to blast through the gates, the barrier could be raised in less than a second, and it wouldn’t just stop a vehicle, it would shred it.
If the exterior of the compound made her think of armed conflict, though, the interior was all class and elegance. They pulled up in front of a rambling two-story stone-and-glass house surrounded by beautifully manicured lawns and gardens, lit by multicolored lights. When Aubrey stepped out of the car she smelled the ocean and heard the crash of the waves.
She stopped where she was, just for a second, considering the possibilities. Carlo had no patience for indecision. He planted a hand in the small of her back and shoved. In all fairness to him, he probably hadn’t meant to send her sprawling, but she’d been sitting for hours and her legs weren’t exactly cooperating.
“How is this to treat a woman?”
Aubrey lifted her head and saw a pair of Ferragamos about a foot away, topped by legs clad in hand-tailored slacks with knife-edge pleats.
A well-manicured hand reached down and helped her to her feet, bringing her face-to-face with a fit, attractive, caramel-skinned man, just shy of six feet tall. Pablo Corona.
She’d expected to be terrified. She wasn’t. Like his home he was meticulously groomed, sophisticated, and elegant.
“I apologize, Miss Sullivan,” he said in a well-modulated voice with just the right amount of Colombia in it. “I fear Carlo will never learn the value of good manners.”
She couldn’t imagine that voice speaking the order that would have someone killed.
“Considering his role in this fiasco, and my dismal hopes that he will learn anything of value, perhaps it would be best to solve both our problems permanently.”
Okay, now she could imagine it. His death threat gave her chills, despite the mild tone and the fact that it wasn’t aimed at her. Carlo had gone pasty white, too. “I hear his grandmother loves him,” she said to Corona, “so there must be something redeemable about him.”
“Perhaps, but the family is an unquestioning refuge, where all is forgiven and even the least among us is loved like royalty.” He looked over her head, locking eyes with Danny. “The family is sacred. Would you not agree, Miss Sullivan?”
“Um, sure.”
“There, you see? We are off to a good start already. If you continue to be so agreeable, we will have very little trouble.” He gestured toward the front entrance of the house like she had a choice. “If you would care to join me. I’ve had a room prepared.”
Aubrey swallowed. Corona had prepared a room. Her imagination ran the gamut of torture devices from medieval dungeons to the cold war. “I don’t know anything,” she babbled. “Honest, I’m just a librarian. There has to be some mis—”
Corona patted her arm.
“—take.” She gulped, practically swallowing her tongue. His touch was unexpectedly warm. It should have been comforting. She would have run screaming into the ocean if she hadn’t been frozen with terror.
“Come, Miss Sullivan, I wish only to make you comfortable after your long journey.”
He took his hand off her arm and suddenly she could think again. Her thoughts weren’t all that reassuring because she knew she had to go along with Corona until she found a way to escape.
She kept her eyes on him as they walked, but there were no signs of madness, no whirling eyeballs, no spittle gathered at the corners of his lips, no tics or stutters or talking to imaginary people. To look at the guy you’d never know he was responsible for the suffering of countless drug addicts, not to mention the scores of people who wound up dead on his orders each year.
“You look confused,” he said as they entered the house.
“You’re not what I expected.”
“Neither are you. I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite some time, Miss Sullivan.”
“Maybe you should have sent an invitation instead of hit men.”
“My invitations are frequently misunderstood. I preferred not to have you running to the police. I preferred not to have you running at all.” Corona’s gaze cut to Danny and Carlo, keeping pace behind them. It was a wonder
they
didn’t turn and run screaming into the ocean.
“You chose to send them,” Aubrey pointed out.
“I had my reasons.”
“Doris?”
His eyes met hers. “You seem to be very forthcoming, Miss Sullivan. I’m glad, for both our sakes. This could become so unpleasant otherwise.”
For who, she wondered a bit hysterically. He might not like unpleasantness, but she had a feeling the Spanish Inquisition was right up his alley.
“Come,” he said. “It is the middle of the night, and you must be exhausted. Carlo will show you to your room.”
“But . . . why? Not that I’m complaining or anything.” Unless it was having Carlo as an escort.
“In a hurry? The waiting is killing you?” He laughed. “There, you see, is the value of deliberation, Miss Sullivan. You will have an opportunity to see how I treat my friends, and consider how I might deal with my enemies.” Corona was smiling, but it was the kind of smile that followed an orgasm. He knew she was petrified and he got off on it.
Aubrey didn’t need an entire night. She already knew how this was going to go—or rather how it wasn’t. Jack wasn’t going to blast her free and carry her to safety in a boosted car. She wasn’t going to find a magic key to liberation in her backpack, and Corona wasn’t going to be happy when he found out she didn’t know anything. At some point he’d run out of patience and she’d run out of life expectancy.
Carlo took her by the arm and led her through the house, heading steadily downward, which probably meant there was another basement in her future. They walked by a bank of windows that looked out on side yard lit by occasional spotlights, beyond which water gleamed in the moonlight. Her brain was spinning like a roulette wheel full of blank slots, but Aubrey knew one thing. Escape meant getting out of the house. The windows weren’t going to do her much good, but she thought she glimpsed a patio up ahead, and a patio meant an exit.
Sure enough, they came to set of French doors. “Wow,” Aubrey said, catching Carlo enough by surprise that he let her arm go. She stepped over to the door and gazed out. There was a small flagstoned area with potted plants and not much else. About fifty yards of lawn separated the patio from a narrow strip of beach. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”
Naturally Carlo didn’t stop to think about the fact that she lived in Washington, D.C. “You’re gonna get up close and personal with it real soon.”
Floating facedown—or worse yet, weighted at the bottom. Fish food. Aubrey swallowed back the nausea. “Can’t I go out and look? Just for a minute,” she begged, opening the door and stepping outside.
He tried to drag her back in, but she jerked her arm out of his grip. It hurt, but she knew just how to do it. She’d had a lot of practice with Jack. Manipulation, however, had always come naturally to her. “What’s the matter,” she asked Carlo before he could grab her again, “afraid you can’t keep a puny, defenseless little woman like me from escaping?”
“You’re puny, but you’re not exactly defenseless,” he said.
She could all but see the wheels turning in his brain. He was thinking about how she’d taken him out with nothing but momentum and a backpack. “I’m standing still,” she said, “and my backpack is long gone.”
Carlo shrugged. “You ain’t going anywhere while I got this.” He showed her the gun stuck in his waistband.
But they both knew he wouldn’t use it. Corona wanted her alive. For the time being.
She went to the marble rail and looked out over the ocean, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to panic. Panic wasn’t good. Panic made it hard to think around the possibility she’d never leave Corona’s house alive.
“Let’s go,” Carlo said.
“It smells like dead fish,” Aubrey blurted out, mind racing, eyes searching for something to hit Carlo over his hard head with. All the furniture was marble. She ruled it out immediately, which was a good thing because it meant her brain was kicking back in. Unfortunately the first thought that occurred to her was Spock’s Vulcan death grip, so the brain wasn’t exactly coming up with anything useful. Except her self-defense classes.
“Sightseeing’s over,” Carlo said, reaching for her arm.
Aubrey turned and kneed him in the balls before she could chicken out or overthink it and botch the job. Carlo went down like a sack of potatoes, rolling into the fetal position, hands between his legs, moaning and retching.
Aubrey hopped the low marble rail and ran flat-out for the beach, cutting to the left when she spied a long wooden dock with a boathouse at the end of it. Her brain wasn’t in top form yet, but she knew she’d get farther in a boat than she would swimming. And since there was a boathouse there had to be a boat, right?
She didn’t know much about boats, but how hard could it be to start a boat? Even without a key? She’d watched Jack hotwire half a dozen cars, it couldn’t be that much different to hotwire a boat. If she made it to the boat.
Her lungs were burning and her legs felt like two dead stumps. She was just about out of steam as she hit the first boards of the lighted wooden dock. The hollow thud of her footfalls brought a man out of the gloom at the far end, one hand holding a walkie-talkie up to his mouth, the other holding a gun.
Aubrey wasn’t so confident about his unwillingness to use the gun, but what did she have to lose? She was dead one way or another. All the self-defense literature said a moving target was harder to hit—of course she was supposed to running away from the gun, not toward it. But it was all she had. So she started zigzagging from one side of the dock to the other, dug up the last dregs of energy she possessed and sped up, barreling into the guy.
They went down in a tangle, the gun going off somewhere along the way. The goon’s head cracked against the wooden deck, knocking him out. Aubrey looked down at her side and sprawled on top of him. Dead to the world.
Jack had awakened to find himself handcuffed to a hospital bed. A cop stood bedside, asking questions. Another guarded the door. Jack had been in worse situations, in worse places in the world. But then it had been only his life on the line.
It knocked the breath out of him for a minute, thinking about Aubrey in Corona’s hands. Because Jack’s plan to let Danny and Carlo catch up to them had backfired. Then again, he hadn’t counted on her shooting him. At least not personally.
“Doris Landowski,” the cop prompted Jack. “Remember her? Found dead in a D.C. parking structure. You were the last message on her hotel phone, setting up a face-to-face in that parking structure. The meet was set for the time of her death.”