Authors: Elizabeth Bevarly
Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #General, #Suspense
He tugged at the belts fruitlessly, even knowing his efforts would be, well, fruitless. Yeah, that rescue party from room service was looking better all the time. It was just too bad about the belts binding his limbs. And the three captors, one of whom was potentially psychotic. And the gun, which was definitely loaded.
But except for the potentially psychotic one, even his captors didn’t seem as menacing now as they had an hour ago, because Hobie and Donny were seated on the floor in front of the TV pitting Princess Peach against Ganondorf in Super Smash Brothers. Chuck, though, was still a little twitchy. But he’d at least laid down the gun and turned his attention to something other than Joel once he was confident his captive was effectively secured. Maybe Chuck and the boys couldn’t restrain themselves, but they were damned good at restraining someone else. There were belts wrapping Joel’s ankles to the chair, as well, though not the cheap crap kind these guys would buy—otherwise Joel might have escaped by now. Not that Chuck seemed to understand the purpose of a belt in the first place, since the guy’s pants exposed half his ass. These were high-end accessories the boys had retrieved from a closet filled with expensive-looking suits and dress shoes lined up neatly on the floor.
Clue number two that Joel was currently being held against his will in the hiding place of the man he was supposed to have in restraints by now himself.
This wasn’t going to look good on his report.
But where was Adrian Padgett right now? he wondered. Yes, it was helpful to know where the guy had been holed up most recently—and didn’t it just figure he’d have the balls to do it in Cincinnati’s finest luxury hotel?—but it would be more helpful to find him here now. Though it would have been better if, you know, Joel had surprised him here while he was alone. It would also have been helpful if Joel wasn’t inescapably bound while making these discoveries. And it would be most helpful of all if Lila were here with him. But since there was little chance she’d be able to figure out where he was…
He bit back a frustrated sound. Lila had been right about him all along, Joel thought. He wasn’t suited to work in the field. Even a slacker like Chuck Miller had been able to imprison him with fairly little effort. Joel hadn’t put up a struggle or tried to draw attention to himself, even as they’d escorted him across a crowded hotel lobby, because Chuck had had the 9 mm pressed to the base of his spine, the weapon hidden by Hobie and Donny, who flanked him. Lila, Joel was certain, would have had all three of them on their knees within moments of their arrival at the apartment.
Because Lila had all the makings of a good field agent. Field agents had to think on their feet and make split-second decisions. They had to be able to evaluate a situation in an instant and figure out how to work it. Their brains had to operate at lightning-fast speed, processing a million pieces of information at once. Joel was superb at thinking, but he was accustomed to doing it in a much more controlled environment. He excelled at considering facts and analyzing data and drawing conclusions. His brain was more suited to the leisurely, logical perusal of one thing at a time. He was used to working in an entirely different way than Lila. And his way wasn’t the right way when it came to doing her job.
Still, he thought, the two of them together made a good team. And not just professionally, either. He just wished there was some way to make her understand that, too.
Later, he told himself. He could think about that later. Right now he had to figure out how the hell he was going to get out of this, so that there would be a later for him to think about.
Although he was technically outnumbered, Joel knew that, ultimately, the person who had the gun was the one in control of the situation. Right now no one had it. But it was closest to Chuck, who sat at the desk on the opposite side of the suite. He’d dropped the weapon onto an end table by the sofa, only a few steps away from where he sat now. Between him and Joel was not only the sofa and TV and another chair in the living area, but a small dining set minus the chair to which Joel was currently bound. Not to mention Hobie and Donny.
Those two were completely caught up in their game, however, and might remain distracted enough not to pose a problem if Joel could work quickly. Chuck, too, had his attention focused on something other than Joel at the moment, as his gaze was fixed on one of a stack of file folders he’d discovered in a desk drawer when he’d started rifling through it to look for something shortly after sitting down. So Joel continued to work at the belts, hoping maybe if he were careful enough, he could loosen them. Hey, they were made of smooth, flexible—slippery—leather. There was a chance, however small, that he might be able to extricate himself.
For a good ten minutes he worked at the straps without rousing the attention of any of his captors. Then, suddenly, Chuck shouted out, “You dick!”
As far as Joel was concerned, he could have been addressing just about anyone in the room. Hobie and Donny seemed to take the moniker personally, though, because both of them looked over and said, “What?”
Chuck glanced up, confusion warring with anger in his expression. “No, not you,” he said to Hobie and Donny, who then looked over at Joel…who immediately stopped working at the belts. “No, not him, either,” Chuck added impatiently. “Nick.”
For a minute Joel wasn’t sure who Chuck was talking about, then remembered Nick was the name Adrian Padgett had most recently assumed. And now Chuck thought he was a dick. Wow, there was a shocker.
“Dude, what are you talking about?” Donny asked. But he’d already returned his attention to the game, as had Hobie.
Chuck stood, still holding the file, and began to make his way toward the others. Then, seemingly as an afterthought, he went back and retrieved two more. There was one file left, still closed, on the desk, but he didn’t bother with that one and instead strode to where Hobie and Donny sat, something that put more distance between himself and the gun. Of course, Chuck had also put himself between Joel and the gun. Still, it was worth noting.
“Look at this,” Chuck said as he held out one of the files toward Donny. “I found some files in the desk. They’re Nick’s. But they’re about us.”
“What?”
Chuck threw the file at him. “It’s your life story, man. Even about how you wet the bed until you were thirteen.”
“That’s a goddamned lie!” Donny shouted, jumping up. “I stopped when I was twelve.” He grabbed the file from Chuck and began to flip through it, shaking his head slowly as he read over each page. “Jesus, he’s really done his homework. He’s even got the name of the shrink I saw when I was seven, after my old man died.”
Now Hobie jumped up, too. “What’s mine say?” he asked eagerly as he strode to Chuck. “Does it have anything about how I kicked ass at the surfing competition in Rincon when I was fifteen?”
Chuck tossed a second file at Hobie. “Fifty-eighth on a roster of sixty isn’t kicking ass, dumbshit.”
Judging by the color Hobie’s face turned just then, Joel was able to determine that yes, as a matter of fact, the file
did
cover the competition in Rincon.
“But, hell, Hobie,” Chuck continued, “you never told us about the fire you set at your middle school. Way to go, bro.”
“It was an accident,” Hobie mumbled as he snatched his file from Chuck.
“That’s not what the superintendent of the Raleigh, North Carolina, school system says.”
“Son of a bitch is a liar.”
So, Joel thought. Sorcerer had felt compelled to look into the backgrounds of his partners in crime, doubtless using his contact at OPUS to do so. Damn. The guy didn’t trust anybody. Which was probably why he’d gotten as far as he had and eluded them for as long as he had. Trust was a good thing among friends and lovers and coworkers. Among thieves and liars and slackers, however, it was doubtless too expensive an investment.
When Joel saw that all three of the men were engrossed in their respective files, he increased his efforts to loosen his bonds. His hands had begun to perspire, making them and the belts damp, and he tried to use the moisture to both stretch the leather and lubricate his wrists. He was making some meager progress when a soft beep from his right announced the use of the key card in the door of the suite, something that caused him and his captors to turn their attention simultaneously in that direction.
But Joel doubted that their hearts were racing as fast as his own. Finally, he thought. Finally, finally. He was going to come face-to-face with the man he’d been studying for years. The man he’d been pursuing for almost a week.
But it wasn’t Adrian Padgett who stepped through the door. It was Iris Daugherty, dressed completely in black, from her high-tops to the knit cap embroidered with the circled
A
symbol for anarchy. She looked first at Joel, tied to the chair, then at her comrades, then back at Joel, tied to the chair. Her mouth dropped open and she immediately pushed the door closed and stormed toward her friends.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. She pointed at Joel. “Who the hell is that? And why the hell is he tied to a chair?
What the hell is going on?
”
“Where’s Nick?” Chuck replied, ignoring her questions.
“He stopped by the bar for a drink. He’ll be up in a minute.” She shook the arm still extended at Joel for more emphasis. “Who the hell is that?” she asked again.
“You might be more interested in what’s on the desk over there, Iris,” Chuck told her. “Nick’s been checking us all out. He’s got files on all of us. Pretty confidential information some of it, too. The dick.”
Joel noted that Iris seemed in no way surprised by the revelation. Interesting.
“Hey,” Hobie said, closing his own file and making his way toward the desk, “let’s see what Nick found out about Iris. I bet
she
didn’t wet the bed ’til she was thirteen.”
“Twelve,” Donny corrected him.
Iris darted after Hobie, but she wasn’t quick enough to reach the file before he did. Instead of expressing curiosity about its contents as she tried to grab it from him, she said, “It’s none of your business, Hobie. Give it back.”
“Give it
back?
” he echoed as he held it over his head, out of her reach. “I didn’t know you had it in the first place. What’s up, Iris? You already seen this stuff?”
“No…I…I mean…of course not,” she said. But there was enough stammer and hesitation—and anxiety—in her voice to suggest she was lying about that. “Give it to me, Hobie,” she repeated.
But Hobie tossed it to Chuck on the other side of the sofa. Iris was circling the big piece of furniture to try to retrieve it when her gaze lit on the gun that was sitting in clear view on the end table.
“Holy shit,” she said, stopping in her tracks. She looked first at Chuck, then must have realized he would just blow her off again, so turned to Hobie instead. “Jesus, Hobie. Where did you guys get a gun? What the hell is going on?”
By now, Chuck had opened Iris’s file and was reading it over himself. When Iris realized it, she vaulted toward him and tried to grab it, but he spun out of her way and kept reading.
“Whatsa matter, Iris?” Hobie taunted her as she fought to claim her file. “Afraid we’re gonna find out you didn’t get your period when all the other girls did?”
“Or that you wrote fan letters to Screech?”
Joel watched Iris struggle with Chuck until she finally managed to curl her fingers over one side of the file and give it a good pull. But Chuck retaliated by bending his free arm and backhanding her across the face with what appeared to be every bit of strength he possessed.
Her feet went out from under her, and she fell back onto the sofa like a rag doll, lifting a hand to her jaw. The room went completely still after that, except for Chuck, who continued to read over her file as if nothing had happened. Both Hobie and Donny stood silent with their mouths open, gaping first at Chuck, then at Iris. Joel’s fingers curled involuntarily into fists and he jerked harder at his restraints—unfortunately to no avail.
“Jesus, Chuck,” Donny finally said. “Why’d you do that?”
But Chuck didn’t answer, too caught up was he in reading over whatever he’d discovered in Iris’s file.
Hobie, to his credit, moved to the couch and held out a hand to her. “Are you okay, Iris?” he asked.
She ignored his hand, but pushed herself up to standing, her hand still cupped over the right side of her face. She rubbed it once, then dropped her hand to her side. Even from as far away as he was, Joel could see that her cheek was already bright red. She’d probably have a nasty bruise before long.
“Yeah, Hobie, I’m okay,” she said softly.
Joel wasn’t sure, but he thought her gaze dropped for a moment to the gun before she completed a few steps backward that took her out of swinging distance of Chuck.
“Why’d you hit Iris, Chuck?” Donny asked again.
But again Chuck ignored the question. Instead, he said, “You guys aren’t going to believe this, but Iris is worth a million and a half bucks.”
“What are you talking about?” Hobie asked.
Finally Chuck looked up from the file. When he turned to look at Iris, who bore the clear evidence of his assault, there wasn’t an iota of apology or regret on his face. Instead, he smiled. “Iris has been holding out on us,” he told the others. “She’s not just some worthless little bitch after all.”
A
DRIAN HAD USED THE
excuse of needing a drink to separate himself from Iris so that he could call his contact at OPUS to see if he could learn anything about the comings and goings of Lila Moreau. Not much to his surprise, he learned nothing. So before returning to the room, when he detoured to the bar to get a snifter of Armagnac that would further his ruse, he realized it wasn’t much of a ruse at all. He really did need a drink. So much so that the glass was half empty by the time the elevator doors folded open on his floor. Maybe he’d just call room service and have them send up an entire bottle. It was turning out to be that kind of day.
It wasn’t just because he knew Lila Moreau was out there closing in on him. And it wasn’t that Iris had informed him that Hobie had hit a snag on the virus they were building that could set the work back days. Perhaps weeks. What troubled Adrian was that when he considered the repercussions of both bits of news, he realized he just didn’t care.
He was tired of having to depend on a bunch of pathetic little gits to build a virus he didn’t know how to build himself. He was tired of waiting for the completion of a project he was beginning to suspect wouldn’t come close to living up to his expectations anyway. He was tired of looking at the same hotel suite day after day after day. He was tired of seeing the Cincinnati skyline out his window night after night after night. He was tired of room service, tired of having his movements hindered, tired of Chuck and the boys, tired of what his life had become. But most of all, he was tired of being Adrian Padgett, aka Sorcerer, aka Number One on the OPUS Most Wanted List.
He was tired. Period. Tired and restless and irritable and confused, and in no way certain what he even wanted anymore. He was a man approaching midlife who had been reduced to relying on boys half his age, whom he didn’t even like or respect, for his own happiness. Happiness that he was beginning to think would never, ever come.
When had everything gone awry? he asked himself as he approached his suite. When had the lust for unlimited wealth and power ceased to be the focus of his existence? When had it ceased to be desirable? Lately he’d begun to wonder what he’d even do with unlimited wealth and power if he had it. If he succeeded in what he planned, he’d be hunted for the rest of his life, by representatives of every country on the planet. He wouldn’t be safe anywhere, wouldn’t be able to stay in any one place for any length of time. He’d be alone for the rest of his life. And what kind of life was that? He couldn’t buy or bully himself peace of mind, even with unlimited wealth and power.
The thoughts halted him as he was about to insert his key card into the door. Not the parts about never being able to stay in one place and remaining alone for the rest of his life, because those things had always been givens, and neither had ever bothered him before. Adrian had always intended to move around constantly and remain alone. He’d always been certain that was what he wanted. And he’d never worried about peace of mind, because he’d always thought a peaceful mind would drive him mad. He’d never wanted peace of mind. Not once.
Until now.
The very fact that such thoughts had even entered his brain—and with negative connotation, no less—spoke volumes as to his current state of mind. Which, ironically, was in no way peaceful. Somehow, at some point over the past few years, Adrian had started having second thoughts about what he was doing. And he’d begun to regret the idea of never being able to settle down. Of being alone. For the rest of his life.
No, not over the past few years, he realized as he inserted the key card into the door. Over the past few
months.
It had only been since coming to Cincinnati that he’d begun to feel this strange ambiguity over what he was doing. Only since collecting his current band of merry hackers and slackers. Only since Iris had become so—
The thought concluded abruptly at the sight that greeted him when he pushed open the door to his suite. The first thing he saw was a man he didn’t recognize tied to one of the dining chairs with four of his best belts. Then he stepped inside and saw the rest. Iris sitting on the sofa flanked by Donny and Hobie, who were each holding one of her arms and who both looked very, very anxious about something. But Iris looked worse. And not just because she was clearly terrified of something. But because someone had obviously hit her hard enough in the face to discolor her flesh.
Adrian was completely unprepared for the swell of rage that surged up inside him at the sight of her flawless skin marred by such violence. Iris Daugherty was the most gentle person he had ever met, the only person he knew who he could say with all confidence had never hurt a fly. She was a rarity among human beings—inherently good. That anyone would strike her for any reason made Adrian want to strike back. Hard.
“Who hit Iris?” he asked by way of greeting the rest of the men. The calmness in his voice belied the rage that continued to well up from that dark pit in his belly he thought had emptied a long time ago.
Chuck, who had been standing with his back to Adrian, spun around at the sound of his voice and said, “Yo, Nick, you—”
“Who hit Iris?”
Adrian demanded again. Again his voice was quiet, but this time he couldn’t quite prevent the sliver of fury that crept through.
He turned to the man in the chair, thinking perhaps he was the most likely suspect, though somehow Adrian already knew who was responsible. Nevertheless, he asked, “Was it you?”
The man shook his head, but said nothing.
“Then why are you tied up?” Adrian asked him. “For that matter, who are you and why are you here?”
As soon as he uttered the question, however, he knew the answer to it, as well. Chuck had made good on Adrian’s instructions that he find Lila. Except that it wasn’t Lila he’d brought back. Not surprising, actually, since Lila wouldn’t be foolish enough to be captured by Chuck. Her new partner, however, obviously had a lot to learn.
“You’re gonna love this, Nick,” Chuck said.
Oh, Adrian doubted that. Still looking at the man in the chair, he asked, “What am I going to love, Chuck?”
“This is the guy who was with Jenny at the party Friday night,” Chuck said. “Friend of mine who works at Java Jackie’s scored Jenny’s address from her application there, so we went over to the apartment to have a little talk with her and found him there instead. And guess what?”
“What?” Adrian asked wearily.
“This dick’s got all kinds of information about you on his laptop,” Chuck said. “And the rest of us, too. We brought it with us when we brought him here. And his briefcase, too, which I haven’t been able to open yet. But I put both of them over—”
“Who hit Iris?” Adrian asked again, turning to look at Chuck.
Strangely, he didn’t even care that Chuck had somehow managed to capture one of the people who’d been trying to catch him. He didn’t care that by having this man here, they’d just turned the tables on OPUS—and Lila. He didn’t care that the ball was now in his own court to do with whatever he wanted. All he cared about was Iris.
Chuck seemed to realize that, because his smile fell a little. “Nobody hit Iris,” he said. “She fell.”
Adrian nodded slowly and echoed, “She fell. I see.” He looked at Iris then, at how the entire left side of her face between her eye and her chin was red. At how she was looking back at him, silently pleading with him to…do something.
“You know, Nick,” Chuck said with great self-importance, “we found those files you have on all of us, too, and we think it sucks that you felt like you had to check us all out. But Hobie and Donny and I have talked about it, and we’ve decided to forgive you.”
It was only then that Adrian realized he’d left their files in the desk drawer where they might be easily found. He really had slipped egregiously in the past few weeks. Strangely—or maybe not so strange, all things considered—he didn’t care about that, either.
“Have you?” Adrian said, still looking at Iris. “That’s such a relief to hear. I’m not sure I could have slept at night if I thought you boys were angry at me.”
“And the reason we’ve decided to forgive you,” Chuck added, “is because by checking us out, and leaving the information lying around like you did, you netted each of us a cool half mil.”
Something unfamiliar and fiery exploded in Adrian’s belly at hearing the announcement, and it was with no small surprise that he realized the sensation was nerves. His stomach was knotted with nervousness. Curious. That hadn’t happened to him since he was a child. But he was nervous now because he realized that “a cool half mil” each multiplied by three equaled a very cold one point five million. It was a number that was rather significant, with Iris sitting between two of the boys and looking terrified, the way she was. Which meant Adrian’s stomach was knotted with nerves on Iris’s behalf. But no, that wasn’t right, he realized. It was knotted with nerves because of…
Fear,
he marveled, nearly smiling at the discovery. He hadn’t recognized the feeling at first because it had been so long since he’d felt it. Nothing had frightened Adrian for decades, not really. And never in his life had he felt fear like this. This wasn’t fear for himself. This was fear for something else. Some
one
else. Someone for whom he had come to feel a great deal. He was afraid for Iris. For her safety. Because knowing Chuck as well as he did—alas—Adrian knew where this conversation was heading.
“We already called the number you had in the file to report her whereabouts,” Chuck said.
Ah, he’d been mistaken. The conversation had already arrived. “Did you?” he asked, schooling both his features and his voice into a blandness he was nowhere close to feeling, because the knots in his belly now were nearly cutting off his circulation.
“Yeah, they got somebody flying down from Toledo to pick her up,” Chuck said. “Ought to be here in a couple hours.”
Adrian thought quickly. Two hours. That should be enough. Barely, but enough. “And you think you’re going to split the money three ways and leave me nothing, is that it?” he asked. “I may not be quite the engineering protégés you three are, but I can do basic math.”
Iris’s face went white at his remark, save the angry bruise that was beginning to form. Clearly, she thought Adrian was planning to let the boys get away with what they’d done. Clearly, she thought Adrian was taking exception only because he wanted to be cut in on the reward himself. Clearly, she thought he was an unspeakable little bastard.
There was a time—not long ago, in fact—when she would have been right. He used to be an unspeakable little bastard. But not now. Not anymore. Because Adrian was tired of being that man.
More to the point, Adrian was through.
Chuck shrugged. “Well, we figure it’s the least you can do for being such a dick and not trusting us and having us all checked out. This way, there will be no hard feelings.”
“Oh, of course not, Chuck,” Adrian assured him. “Why would I have any hard feelings?” He began to walk toward the small group, slowly, then veered to the right, as if to make his way around the sofa to the desk on the other side. As he walked, he continued, “The three of you have helped me make a lot of money. And you’ve been such charming company for me, lo these last three months. I now know more about animated hedgehogs and…” He lifted a hand to tap his forehead, feigning memory loss as he slowly continued to make his way around the sofa. “Oh, what is that other interesting animal you all like so much in that game?”
“An echidna,” Donny supplied helpfully.
Adrian smiled and pointed a finger at him. “That’s the one.” He continued to walk. “And then there were those wonderful games where you all blew the bejesus out of law enforcement officials and brutally raped sorority girls. My God, who wouldn’t love the world you play in? I learned so much from you boys.”
By now Adrian had made his way to the other side of the sofa, having passed the end table where lay a gun that had come from only God knew where. At this point, all Adrian cared about was that it was there. Because he scooped it up and, with the expert skill that had never left him, pointed it at Chuck’s forehead.
And then he said, “You unspeakable little bastard.”
Chuck’s expression went slack at the sudden turn of events, but he said nothing and made not a single move.
“You pathetic little miscreant,” Adrian continued. “You odious little toad. You revolting little Caliban. You scabrous little vermin. Or to put it in terms you might be able to understand, Chuck, you dick.”
Hobie and Donny had craned their heads around at his outburst, and when they saw Adrian standing there with the gun trained on Chuck they, as one, dropped their mouths open in surprise. Both jumped up from the sofa and began to back up, so Adrian levered the gun in their direction and said, “Move again, and I’ll shoot you both in an area most men consider exceedingly important. The fellow you have strapped to the chair over there can tell you that I am an excellent shot and will have no trouble picking off—” he pointed the gun at Chuck again “—all three of you before you can get even halfway through the admonition, ‘Chuck, you dick, look what you’ve gotten us into.’”
“True fact,” the fellow strapped to the chair over there called from the other side of the room. “He was awarded sharpshooter honors every year he worked for OPUS. Chuck really was a dick, getting you into this.”
Without Adrian’s even having to ask, Hobie and Donny lifted their hands palms out. And both remained rooted where they stood.
Chuck, too, lifted his hands, but being a dick, he took a step toward Adrian. Adrian, in turn, cocked the gun and pointed it at Chuck’s groin. Chuck stopped. Oh, Adrian did so love it when that whole cause-and-effect thing worked the way it was supposed to.
“Whoa, Nick,” Chuck said. “I was just joking. We’ll cut you in on the money for Iris. Won’t we, guys?”
Hobie and Donny both nodded vigorously.
“I mean, three hundred and seventy-five gees will still buy a really nice Lamborghini. Maybe not the Murciélago, but for sure the Spyder.”