Authors: Debra Dixon
“So does Sully.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Jessica complained wryly.
“You want us to stop?”
Amazed, Jessica realized she really didn’t. “No. You keep right on. It’s kind of nice now that I’m used to it again.”
“Good.” Iris nodded her head as though new Middle East peace accords had been signed. “Because you aren’t a Jessica.”
That forced a laugh. “Thank you. I think. That’s what your dad always said to me—that I wasn’t a Jessica. I guess you and he are a lot alike.”
Clasping her hands on her lap, Iris asked, “Did he ever say anything about me?”
“Of course,” Jessica lied. “He talked about you all the time. How proud he was of you. How smart you were. How pretty.”
“He really thinks I’m pretty?”
“No. He thinks you’re gorgeous and that he’s going to have to hire fifteen more Lincolns to keep the boys away.”
“Do you think he’s coming back?”
The quiet question came at Jessica out of nowhere, and she didn’t know how to answer it. How could she answer it? Once more she had the feeling that she was
the
grown-up in a child’s world. That position magically bestowed her with the intuition of the universe as far as Iris was concerned.
Yet the only intuition Jessica possessed, she didn’t intend to share with a child. She believed that Phil’s time on earth was currently numbered in hours. As long as the book was missing, he stayed alive, but it was only a matter of time before someone found it. Then Phil became expendable, depending on the point of view of whoever had the book.
Once the kidnappers had the book, they wouldn’t want Phil around to screw up their plans. They’d kill him. Even if he made it to the exchange site alive, Phil was dead the moment the book changed hands. And if by some twist of fate the book was never found, Phil would be just as dead because he’d be excess baggage to the kidnappers.
Instead of saying any of that, Jessica asked her own question. “If we had a way to get your dad back, would you want to take it?”
Iris leaned forward. “Yes.”
“Even if it meant not telling the police?”
“Like ransom? Like if he’s been kidnapped?”
“Yeah. Exactly like that.”
“Couldn’t we tell Sully?”
“Especially not Sully.”
“Why not?”
“Because this isn’t about punishing the bad guys or getting evidence. This is about getting your dad back, and I don’t think I can do it if my hands are tied by the police. I don’t want to have to follow their rules.”
Iris watched her without expression. “Sully would make you do that?”
“He wouldn’t have a choice.”
He has to play fair. He
can’t kill the bad guys before the exchange to save your father
.
“What happens if we do it your way?” Iris asked.
“We wait for a call. We offer them whatever they want. And I pick the time and place for the exchange to make sure they bring your daddy.”
“And if we told Sully?”
The bad guys won’t be dead when we’re done
.
“Sort of the same thing. Except I wouldn’t be there at the exchange.”
“Oh, no!” Iris said quickly. She scrambled up on her knees, leaning forward. Right before she grabbed Jessica’s arm, she stopped herself and clasped her hands on her thighs. “You have to be there. I don’t know why, but you have to. I knew you were the one as soon as you answered the phone.”
“No,” Jessica got up, rubbing away the chill bumps on her arms. Only one other person in her life had had this kind of blind faith in her, and Jenny was dead because of it. “No, don’t think like that. I’m not here because of some cosmic plan. I’m here because I was the only phone number you could remember.”
But Iris kept looking at her with that eerie certainty, making Jessica wonder what she’d done to deserve such trust.
Besides giving orders and sweeping in here like you had all the answers? Like you were the hero of an action-adventure film come to save the day? You wanted the job, and now you’ve got it
.
“I don’t come with a guarantee, Iris. All I can do is what I can do, and it may not be enough.”
“It will be.” Iris slipped down off the bed. “I’ve got to brush my teeth and wash my face.” With that she was gone, subject closed, life-altering decision made.
Jessica was left alone in the dark with the consequences of her arrogance, fighting the dread and nausea
that threatened. The first thing she did was flip on the light to dispel the shadows, but the cheerful colors didn’t have time to work their magic. The shrill jangle of the phone shattered the silence even before her hand dropped away from the switch plate.
Welcome to Jericho. Life’s a beach
.
Sully pulled back the screen door and unlocked the faded wood one to let himself in. His beach house was a far cry from the Munro estate, and only supposed to be temporary. Casa Kincaid—in the less affluent section of the island where the houses were mostly rented by the week to middle-class tourists—had weathered a number of violent storms and had the scars to prove it. However, the house suited Sully, who’d also weathered a number of violent storms and had the scars to prove it.
On stilts and wrapped by a porch, the place had become home so quickly that Sully couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Or maybe it was the solitude of the beach at night. He dragged a hand through his hair and tossed his keys on the scuffed coffee table that had come with the house. The gun, his tie, and his wallet followed as he melted into heaven. Heaven was an easy chair that he’d spent the better part of five years training to fit every nook, cranny, and bone of Sullivan
Kincaid to a T. Tonight, he sorely needed that chair to ease his sorrows.
Jessie Daniels was hard on a man.
His mouth twisted into an unwilling smile. No argument there.
Jessie had the art of man-frustration down to a science. Without visible effort on her part, she had all of his senses wrapped up in three separate and incredibly complicated issues—the lady, the case, and her body. Sully closed his eyes and decided a woman shouldn’t be able to lie with a mouth that could kiss like that. One accomplishment was a talent and the other a sin. Hell of it was, he just couldn’t figure out which was which.
And he needed to figure it out. Quick.
As far as he could tell, Jessie was dangerous for someone like himself, someone who’d sworn to keep his life simple. She stirred things inside him that other women had never been able to touch. When he looked at her, emotions shifted in his chest and common sense disappeared. Jessie was dangerous all right, because she wasn’t the kind of woman a man could walk away from.
The image of her on the driveway as he drove out the gate stuck in his mind. Barefoot and hugging herself, she didn’t look capable of taking care of
Jessie
, much less Iris. But he knew better. He knew there was steel beneath the softness. The woman was a chameleon. That was the only reason he hadn’t turned the car around.
Well, if he were completely honest, the gate closing had something to do with it.
Perspective was a lovely thing, Sully admitted. He could use a little more of it in handling Jessie.
Handling
Jessie
. Now there was an idea with merit. Sully smiled again and regretfully hauled himself out of the chair.
He had work to do. He couldn’t sit there all night spinning fantasies while the real world waited. Cop instinct took precedence over base instinct. Jessie was damn close to changing that, though. He definitely needed perspective.
The phone was in the kitchen, which meant he could at least grab a beer before calling Peter Keelyn. Inexplicably Sully felt the need to fortify himself when it came to dealing with Jessie in any way, shape, or form. As he walked past the answering machine, he pushed the flashing message button and pulled his shirttail from his jeans.
The beer hadn’t even made it out of the refrigerator before Sully set it back down and closed the door. He leaned against the cold metal surface and stared at the answering machine.
“Hey, this is Peter. You know that feeling you had? Guess what? The freakin’
CI of A
crashed the Munro party this afternoon. They shut down everything, flashed a ton of ID, and every third word was ‘national security.’ They asked for full cooperation on this one. Then told us to go twiddle our thumbs until further notice. Nobody’s to breathe a word or make a move without clearing it. No media. And Harlan says they’ve got the juice to make it stick. So watch your back, buddy. They’ll be coming your way. Hell, they’re probably already there, and you just don’t know it. Sneaky bastards.”
Sully listened as the machine beeped and whirred and clicked before it finally stopped, leaving the room silent. It was over then. Done. He was out of the loop, and no longer responsible for passing along what he knew.
So where was the closure? Why did the message start that tingle at the base of his spine? Why’d he still feel the need to do something?
Unsettled, Sully hit the message button again. Closing his eyes, he focused on Peter’s voice. The man’s nose was out of joint, but it was more than that. Peter didn’t
trust
them.
“… they’re probably already there, and you just don’t know it.”
Sully checked his watch. “Aw, hell, when you’re right, Peter, you are right.”
As the details meshed into a nasty little scenario, Sully grabbed the phone and called the department for confirmation. No … they hadn’t heard a word from anyone on the Munro case—other than Harlan who indicated it was Houston’s baby. Of course you haven’t been contacted, Sully thought. The agency wasn’t going to be making an official visit to Jericho or Munro’s house because they’d already searched the most obvious spot. They weren’t worried about recording equipment for ransom calls or alerting the local PD for backup or interviewing witnesses. Or even protecting national security. All they wanted was the book—the last loose thread.
They didn’t care how they got it, didn’t care if Phil came out of this alive, or even if Jessie and Iris were caught in the crossfire. They were setting Jessie up, waiting to see who else came to the party before they made a move.
After asking for Munro’s private number, Sully hung up. What more was there to say that would sound remotely credible? He had nothing but conjecture and hunch to go on. Not a single concrete fact beyond Phil’s disappearance and the CIA’s appropriation of the investigation. Everything else had come
from Jessie. Most of that either lies, half-truths, or grudging admissions to be sifted through carefully.
So why did he believe her?
Because she had nothing to gain
.
The agency, on the other hand, had a great deal at stake, and they were willing to sacrifice a couple of innocents if it would lead them to what they wanted. Sully wondered if they wanted the operatives back online or if they just wanted them dead.
They’d probably read the Houston incident reports by now. She’d found the calendar and the car, which they’d sloppily missed. Maybe she could find the book for them. Jessie was their tool. Who cared if she ended up dead in the process?
He cared, Sully discovered suddenly. He cared more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. Sparring with Jessie, kissing her, touching her—all of it—pulled him out of himself. Sully wasn’t used to that. Nor was he particularly happy. He’d never had anything feel so right and so wrong at the same time.
He dialed the estate and willed it to ring.
Swearing, Sully slammed the phone down. The line was busy. At ten-thirty? Why would they be on the phone at this time of night? He stared at the phone. “You’ve got five minutes, Jessie. Five.”
Jessica spun, searching for the source of the ringing. She found the phone—sitting on the nightstand, half-hidden by the trolls she had moved off the bed earlier. Jessica’s feet barely touched the floor as she flung herself across the bed, praying that Lincoln wouldn’t answer first.
When she snatched up the receiver, she didn’t care that the bottom of the pink Princess phone cracked
when it fell off the nightstand and crashed to the floor. Or that the trolls flew everywhere. All she cared about was ripping through the mass of tangled phone cord knots to get the receiver to her ear.
“Munro residence,” she said as the cord finally stretched far enough. Her voice was calm but every pulse of her heart pounded against her temples. “Jessica Daniels.”
“Do you have what we want?” It was the same raspy male voice from the earlier conversation.
“I don’t trade unless Phil’s alive.”
The man didn’t respond, but she could hear muffled noises as if he’d put the phone to his chest for a discussion. Then Phil was on the line, his voice a ghastly, broken, fast-forward version of the whiskey-smooth man she once knew. “Don’t. Tell Iris to forget all this. Understand? I don’t want Iris to remember. Let it go. Don’t—”
The blow was audible.
Jessica recoiled and snapped her eyes shut. She opened them just as quickly when her mind had created a visual image to match the tortured voice.
Oh, my God, Phil
. Tears pricked her eyes for the man she’d known, for the man who cared more about his daughter than she’d realized, but Jessica couldn’t be sorry for him now or cry for him. Or remember what it was like to be desperately afraid.
Her job was to pick up the pieces and ignore the emotion. That was a task for which she was imminently qualified. So she bit her lip until it bled, letting everything she felt slide away into a dark corner of her soul. Until all that existed was the job.
When the raspy voice returned, she settled the nonnegotiable drop details as coldly as any professional: Two men and Phil would meet her, she’d deliver
a page of the book as a show of good faith before she saw Phil. When Phil had walked to or been put in her car, she’d give directions and the locker key for the rest of the book.
They agreed. Never mind that they had no intention of honoring their part of the bargain. Neither did she. In point of fact, they were the more honorable party in this transaction—they at least possessed what they intended to trade.
The phone went dead, but she didn’t hang up. She stared at it, wondering how such a pretty pink phone—every little girl’s dream—could be the instrument of evil. Right now she wanted to do two things with it—throw it against the wall; and call Sully just to hear his voice.