She’d taken the keys and left the truck? That didn’t make any sense.
Instinct prickled along the back of his neck as he approached the vehicle. The morning sun had melted the snow to water, which held no tracks. There were a few fresh-looking scuffs in the salt scum that covered the side of the truck. Maybe a sign of a struggle. Maybe a sign that she’d tossed the duffel onto the hood and it had slid off.
When he reached the truck and looked inside, he nearly sagged back at the gut-punch of emotion. Of anger.
The keys were in the ignition.
And a note lay on the seat.
He yanked the door open and grabbed the single sheet of paper. He was tempted to wad it up and throw it away unread, but some optimistic part of him wouldn’t allow the gesture, just in case it was an explanation that meant something other than
gotcha.
Dear Max,
it began, wringing a snort from deep within his chest.
Go back to New York, the job is over. I’ll wire payment from wherever Frederic and I wind up. You were right the first time—the
plane tickets were mine. It was my idea in the beginning, everything except the dead women. I didn’t sign up for that, which is why I ran, and why my so-called partners tried to kill me. There’s no such thing as The Nine, that was all in poor Charlie’s mind, though Frederic was one of my partners. When it came down to the wire, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let the others hurt you. I love you—believe that if you believe anything. So I’m leaving. Let them have the drug. Tell Detective Marcus everything—it doesn’t matter anymore. Regardless, we’ll always have that night in Philadelphia.
She had signed it with her first initial.
I love you.
The words danced on the page, mocking him. He cursed bitterly, wadded the paper and tossed it in a puddle of slushy water before he threw himself into the truck cab and cranked the engine. Then he cursed again, retrieved the note and flung the dripping mess into the foot well.
He drove to New Bridge, to her house, which was now nothing more than a deserted pile of blackened, charred rubble.
He left the ruined rental truck parked crosswise in the driveway and climbed into his own vehicle,
figuring he and Detective Marcus would settle up later. Then he headed for the highway and took the westbound ramp, headed for New York City.
Headed for home.
DURING THE THREE-HOUR RIDE into Boston, there was only silence in the limo passenger compartment. Raine stared out the window, unable to look at Jeff, unwilling to converse with Forsythe. The men worked on cell phone-connected laptops instead of talking to each other, maybe because she was there, or maybe because there was nothing to say until they reached Logan Airport.
Once they were on the circular, convoluted network of airport roadways, an intercom clicked on and the driver’s voice said, “Which terminal, ma’am?”
“I don’t know.” Without conscious thought, she turned to Jeff. “Find out which terminal has a Thursday’s Restaurant, will you?”
“Sure thing.” He opened a new window on the laptop and tapped in a quick search. “Terminal B. Arrivals.”
Forsythe chuckled. “Seems like she trained you well, Jeffrey. You’re still wired to jump at her command.”
Jeff’s face flushed a dull red and he glanced at Raine. She couldn’t read his expression, but what
ever was there, it didn’t seem to be remorse. More like self-satisfaction.
“So, we’re going to Thursday’s, are we?” Forsythe glanced out the window, where jersey barriers signaled the edge of yet another construction zone. “Crummy little place. I hope for your sake the disks are there.”
“They’ll be there,” she assured him, fingers crossed that Ike’s care package included the database copy.
“And Vasek better
not
be there.”
“No way. He’s back in Manhattan by now, cursing my name.” She forced a laugh, but worry was a sick coil in her stomach. What if he’d believed the note? What if the love she’d felt, the love she’d thought they’d shared, had all been on her side?
No, she told herself, he’d be there.
If he loved her, he’d trust her. If he trusted her, he’d read the note carefully and grasp the buried clue. He’d come for her.
But what if he didn’t come?
What if he didn’t love her?
Forsythe sent her a long, measured look, but didn’t press.
Moments later, the intercom went live and the driver’s voice said, “Terminal B, Arrivals.”
“Wait for us here,” Forsythe ordered. “We won’t be long.” He waited for the driver to open
the passenger doors, then gestured Jeff out first, followed by Raine. As she passed, Forsythe made a show of tucking a small handgun into the pocket of his wool coat. “For insurance purposes only, of course.”
Too bad we don’t have to go through security to get to Thursday’s,
Raine thought as she climbed out of the limo and stood shivering in the cutting wind coming off the ocean. With both Jeff and Forsythe carrying concealed weapons, they wouldn’t make it three feet past the checkpoint.
Which was probably why Ike had chosen Thursday’s. No doubt she walked around with a pistol strapped to her ankle on a daily basis.
Rather than bringing her down, the thought buoyed Raine. Ike was tough enough to survive, and she was as tough as Ike, damn it. She might not be wearing all black or packing heat, but she could pull this off.
Provided her backup, her
partner,
came through for her.
Come on, Max,
she thought, the words nearly a prayer.
Give me the benefit of the doubt. Really
read
that note. Think about it with your heart, then with your head.
And get your butt to the restaurant, or I’m in big trouble.
But there was no sign of him as Forsythe, Jeff
and Raine entered Terminal B through baggage claim on the lower level and took an escalator up to the arrivals deck.
Sure enough, there was Thursday’s Restaurant, in all its green-and-white striped glory.
A yawning pit opened up in the center of Raine’s stomach. She didn’t have a backup plan. What would she do if Max didn’t show, or came too late? If she gave the disks to Forsythe, that would be the end of their efforts to gather evidence against The Nine, and it wasn’t as if she would actually go through with her supposed alliance.
If they didn’t kill her outright, they’d no doubt find a way to get her charged and convicted on the outstanding warrant.
Unless,
she thought, scrambling madly for an idea.
What if I get Forsythe to pull his weapon in Logan Airport? That’d bring security. It wouldn’t take care of the rest of The Nine, but it’d buy me some time. Buy us some time. I could—
“You waiting for someone?” Forsythe inquired with a thread of steel in his voice. He moved up beside her and she felt the barrel of his gun dig into the point of her hip.
Panic licked past her defenses at the realization that he could put a bullet in her without removing the gun from his pocket, then disappear in the ensuing melee.
Even if he were caught, he’d already proven that he had friends in high places.
What had she been thinking? Raine looked toward the exit, instincts screaming for her to run. She couldn’t do this, wasn’t tough enough, wasn’t smart enough, just wasn’t enough.
Yes you are, partner.
Max’s imagined voice came out of nowhere, out of the little core of warmth in her midsection, the warmth he’d put there the night before.
You can do this.
She took a breath and nodded to Forsythe and Jeff. “Okay, boys. Follow my lead.” She marched into the restaurant, waved off the hostess’s offer to seat them at a table and sat at the bar. Though it was barely 11:00 a.m., several of the other stools were occupied with travelers who either didn’t think it was uncool to drink before noon or were in another time zone.
The bartender—late twenties, prominent Adam’s apple—wandered over. “Get you something?”
“Gin and tonic with an olive, please.”
Forsythe leaned close to her. “No funny stuff, Ms. Montgomery. We clear on that?”
She manufactured a haughty look. “Same goes. We both know this could be a very good deal for your people. Don’t mess it up for them.”
He stared at her for a long minute before he nodded and leaned back. “Fair enough.”
But his hand remained in his jacket pocket, which was roughly in line with her right kidney.
“Here you go.” The bartender slid a glass in front of her. “Anything else?”
She frowned at the drink. “Where’s the umbrella? This is supposed to come with an umbrella. What kind of a place is this, anyway?”
He nodded. “Of course, I’m very sorry for the oversight. One umbrella coming right up.” He dropped down behind the bar, but instead of a brightly colored decoration, he came up with two sturdy envelopes. “Tell her hey from Rudy.”
“Will do. Thanks, Rudy.” Raine took the envelopes and nodded to Jeff, who was lurking behind Forsythe like a shadow. “Pay him for the drink and don’t stiff him on the tip, will you, Jeffrey?”
She moved to open the first envelope, but Forsythe took her arm and nudged her along with the hidden weapon. “We’ll have a look at those in the limo, if you please.”
Raine felt the walls closing in on her, felt her time count down and then expire as they left the restaurant. Crushing, overwhelming disappointment flooded her as they crossed the marbled lobby and headed for the escalators.
“Hold it right there, Ms. Montgomery. Mr. Forsythe. Police!” Detective Marcus suddenly appeared in front of her, flanked by a pair of airport
cops. All three had their guns out and at the ready. Agent Bryce of the FDA stood behind them and off to one side.
Before Raine could process Marcus’s appearance so far out of his jurisdiction, and Bryce’s presence at all, Forsythe turned on her. “You set me up! Bitch!” He grabbed her, spun her around and clamped an arm around her throat. Then pulled his gun and pressed it to her temple. “Everyone stand back! Back! I mean it!”
Raine froze, panic congealing in her blood. Forsythe nudged her toward the escalator. “Start walking. You got me into this, you’re going to get me out of it.”
She stumbled, dragging on numb legs. Oh, God. Oh, help. Oh—
Max!
He appeared from behind a marble upright beside the escalator, lunged at them and knocked Forsythe away from Raine in a move that was part football tackle, part rage.
They went tumbling down the up escalator, triggering screams from startled tourists. Raine staggered and fell to her knees, then struggled up and ran toward where the man had disappeared. “Max.
Max!
”
They came back into view, rising on the ascending escalator. Max’s eyes gleamed with battle lust,
Forsythe’s with rage as they struggled for possession of the gun.
Max bared his teeth and roared with the effort of forcing the weapon up, toward the ceiling. The gun fired once, twice, spending its bullets in the acoustic tiles far above.
Then Max slammed Forsythe’s wrist into the railing and the gun fell free. He grabbed Forsythe by the jacket collar, pinned him down and punched him once, twice, a third time before the escalator reached the top.
Security forces swarmed and grabbed both men.
“Enough!” Detective Marcus shouted. He shoved Raine aside when she would have run to the men and grabbed Max. “Stand down, Vasek. That’s enough!”
“It’s not nearly enough.” Breathing heavily, Max glared at the plastic surgeon, whose carefully preserved face was beginning to balloon and turn an ugly shade of red. Then Max glanced at Marcus. “You get the other two?”
“Two?” Raine said. She looked over to where Jeff stood, cuffed and cowed. “There was another?”
“Nice try, Ms. Montgomery. We know you and Forsythe were in collusion.” The detective looped her wrists in front of her and fastened a pair of handcuffs before she could react. As ice gathered in her gut, she heard him say, “I’m arresting you
on an outstanding warrant. We’ll figure out the other charges later.” He Mirandized her and then glanced over at Max. “Thanks again for your help, Mr. Vasek. Agent Bryce and I will see that the evidence gets to the proper authorities.”
A rushing noise built in Raine’s ears, like the wind, only louder. She went utterly, completely still. “Max?”
He took a long, hard look at her, then turned away.
She screamed his name, but he didn’t look back.
“This way, please, Ms. Montgomery.” The detective marched her through the terminal, flanked by armed security guards. The cuffs and escort earned her black looks from everyone she passed, tourist and employee alike. Under any other circumstance, it would have made Raine feel like a criminal. A terrorist. A terrible person.
But now, she was numb, except for the screaming, tearing pain in her chest.
Max had come, but he hadn’t trusted her.
“In here.” The detective stopped at a door marked Security Only and gestured for one of the uniformed men to open the door with a key card.
They urged Raine through, into what looked like four or five interconnected rooms with viewing glass between them and a central area. Interrogation.
Over the buzzing in her brain, in her soul,
Raine said, “I’m not saying anything without my lawyer present.”
The detective’s voice softened. “Don’t worry about it. I had my fingers crossed when I read you the Miranda warning, so it doesn’t count anyway.” His eyes warmed and he held up a key. “Give me those cuffs.”
Raine gaped as he freed her. “What’s going on?”
“A little subterfuge,” said Max’s voice behind her. “Just in case Forsythe’s friends were watching.”
MAX SAW HER TURN TOWARD HIM, saw her eyes widen. Then a huge, joyous, relieved smile split her face. “Max!”
They met halfway across the interrogation holding area. There was no hesitation, no holding back.
This time it was right.
This time they trusted it.
He folded her in his arms and held her tight, then ran his hands over her body, assuring himself that she was there, she was safe. Overwhelming, pounding relief thundered through him, chasing away the terror of the past few hours and the adrenaline of the fight, where he would have killed Forsythe if Marcus had let him.