An Eye for Danger (41 page)

"You're my bodyguard, not my nurse." I reached for the pills, but he shoved them into his pocket. Like the day he'd ambushed me on the sidewalk, I didn't hide my scowl.

While Stone finished his search and Daniels reviewed our travel plans with Higgins, I ventured to the windows to see if the SUVs had arrived, but only taxis waited on the street below.
My photographer eyes fixed on the interlacing patterns of square buildings and rectangular windows, the skewed-angle perspectives that had won me awards. I'd spent years photographing inanimate objects that didn't matter. But now I had a second chance.

So I'd start over once I entered witness protection, maybe finish cooking school, work with kids in need. Work that counted. Sam's message instilled in me new hope, renewed enthusiasm. Upside down felt like the new right side up.

I stepped into the light that cut through the curtains, absorbing the sun's energy. Whatever was coming, I'd need all the courage and energy I could muster.

Stone jumped toward me. "Julie, stay behind the—"

A flash of light from the opposite building blinded me and I blinked.

Pop.

Stone tackled me. His bruising weight rammed my shoulder into the floor and knocked the wind from my lungs. He rolled onto his back and pulled his weapon in one fluid movement.

Glass shimmered on the carpet at my nose. Seeing the hole in the window, I scanned across the room. Daniel laid sideways, one half of his face staring back at me, unblinking. The other half gushing red between white clots of brain matter. Blood seeped onto the pale carpet. Dark and light, the perfect contrast for a photograph. I nearly vomited.

"Move!" Stone grabbed my sleeve. Staying low, he towed me to the kitchen, where we hid behind the half-wall. But I couldn't take my eyes off Daniels.

Stone whipped out his radio. "Agent down, under fire. Sniper in east building." He waited. No response. "Clarke, report." Silence. "Emry, report." Nothing. He turned up the volume on the unit, but it was already near the top of its range. "Macintyre, report." Static. "Shit." Stone glanced at me, a mix of fear and loathing in one shot. "Go left. Now."

We scrambled to the door, staying low. Before he unlatched the hook, he set his ear to the door and checked the peephole. He shook his head.
No agent, no Higgins
.

I held my breath. Stone counted to three with his fingers and opened the door. He popped his head into the hall and whispered "Clear." He squatted in the doorway alcove, conducted a second review of the hall, and pulled me behind him. "Left. Go."

Left led to the fire exit, away from the elevator, so I hesitated before dashing into the hall.

And there was Higgins, face down. We had to step over him to proceed. My body shuddered, and Stone pushed me forward, not letting me slow our escape.

I aimed for the fire exit sign, which I assumed meant the stairwell. After passing a couple doors, Stone stopped and jerked me backwards by my shirt so I hit the wall. He swiped a door key for another suite and shoved me inside, locking the door quickly but quietly.

We waited, listening. All I could hear was my own panting. With the curtains drawn, daylight illuminated a bedroom, a couch, and bright peach walls.

Slipping to the wall next to the window, I lightly pulled back the curtain's edge and reviewed the street for our SUVs or agents. Nothing but New York commuters clogging up escape arteries. We were on the opposite side of the building now, so I hadn't expected much.

"Get back," Stone whispered loudly. He spider-crawled to my side, inhaled the view in a second, and closed the curtains, shrouding the room in shadows. "Keep your head down. This is for real. All posts are down. That means they know our plan and might have this backup room under surveillance. And I'm not taking any chances just because you can't follow fucking directions."

He dragged me behind the couch and balanced on one knee as he inventoried the two magazines still on him. "You got something to tell me, Julie? You and Sam make plans? That unexpected visit of his seemed pretty convenient. No word from Reynolds since. Lotta coincidences going on here. And I don't believe in coincidences."

"I just got shot at." I just glared at him. "You're supposed to be in charge here, not me."

"Sam wearing that sweatshirt inside out with a cougar on the tag. Just like the guy at the murder scene." He shook his head as he racked the slide, raised his weapon, and aimed at the door with a squinted eye. "I noticed that mole near his ear when I pinned him down. Draw a beard on Sam, and I bet he'd look a lot like that sketch you gave us."

"A sketch I gave willingly, if you recall. Lots of people have moles. Why would I give you his information if we were scheming together?"

"You always have such neat little excuses. You think you can bat your eyelashes and I'll accept whatever you say." He propped his hand on the couch above my shoulder and leaned over me, his gun close enough to blow a hole through my neck if he turned the weapon toward me. "Getting pretty hard to take your word for it, Julie. Especially when I have to risk my life for yours. I'm not going down for a fucking liar." With his free hand he pulled his cell phone, scrolled through numbers and chose one. "I'd like to think you're a classy lady, a real uptown girl. Maybe you're worth the risk, maybe you're not. You tell me. You giving me the truth, or just your dolled-up version?" He set the phone to his ear and waited.

"Believe whatever you want. Just get us out of here. Alive." I hugged my knees.

He turned off the phone when no one answered. "You got anything on you, like a phone, anything that's getting us tracked?"

I gestured to his phone as the potential culprit. "You searched my stuff, remember."

I wasn't scared of his evil eye as he patted down my pockets, my hips, my ribcage. The pink phone sat snug inside my bra, tucked under my left breast. The iPod was tucked under my right. The gun, however, was sitting over my ass, and Stone got so close, I shrugged him off and spurted, "Just call the FBI already. Stop wasting time."

"Someone leaked our location." He got in my face. "So any call I make can lead to a trap. Sam broke cover, so he's probably the mole. But who's helping him, huh? You helping him, Julie? Stung like hell when you heard he was married. Knocked the wind right out of you. Like you two were lovers."

"They're shooting at me, remember." I pointed at my chest.

He grabbed my arm and wrenched it. "A marksman doesn't miss an easy shot of you in a window. He was aiming for Daniels. Taking down the team first. That means he was a pro, so I was his next shot. Not you." He waited till that sank in. The thought of the team all being dead. For me. "I'm waiting for your confession, Julie. And you'd better make this one good."

"Jules!" Sam's voice shot down the hall.

Stone shoved me against the bar behind me, stopping his hand over my mouth so fast I choked for air. I didn't resist. He was right: Sam's timing was suspicious. How did he get here so fast after the shooting?

 "Jules." Sam's voice grew dimmer. The stairwell door opened and shut.

"We're getting out of here together," said Stone. "You and me, Julie. Do we have a problem with this plan?"

I shook my head, and his hand peeled away. Without telegraphing my intentions, I inched my hand to my waistband and laced my fingers around the gun grip. He towed me toward the front door, checked the peephole, and slowly turned the deadbolt. "Be ready."

"I'm plenty ready." I hammered the gun handle onto the back of his head.

Stone plopped onto the floor.

"Sorry, but I'm not as classy as you think." I searched Stone's pockets and took key cards, a wallet, cash, credit cards, his badge, his radio. And I took his gun. I didn't need him coming after me armed.

I dialed the operator, noting my hands no longer shook. "Yes, please page Mr. Wainwright. Let him know his party is... lost." I dropped the phone as soon as the operator put me on hold, ensuring the trace.

Cracking the door, I checked the hallway, or at least what I could see of it. Clear enough.

I took a breath and jumped, hugging the wall. At the service elevator I swiped Stone's secret keycard and hid in a suite's alcove, waiting for the elevator doors to pop and praying the car was empty. At this early hour, I assumed guests were ensconced in breakfast or packing, and that housekeeping staff was light, as they usually worked their way up the floors.

But the sniper could be inside the building by now. Part of me wanted him to appear, to see his face and finally know who hunted me. The other part preferred the path of ignorance.

The elevator doors slid wide. Empty. I boarded, kept my nose to the doors in case the bad guys had tied in with elevator cameras so all they'd see was my back, and held down the basement button, assuming that would keep the elevator from stopping. At every floor I expected an assassin to board, but the car continued its downward flight.

When the elevator landed at the service level, I jumped out and nearly ran over a petite woman in uniform pushing an empty laundry cart. She took in my jeans and stained silk blouse with squinty eyes.

I flashed Stone's badge, held a finger to my lips. "Inspection time."

Turning, she scrambled down the corridor. I realized the disgust on her face was due to the faint blood splatter on my shirt.

Adrenaline, not courage was pushing me now. Pressing my back to a door marked 'Laundry,' I slipped into a room lined with stacks of uniform. Black pants, white button-down shirts. A familiar uniform, and plenty of sizes to choose from. I changed fast behind the lockers, stuffing my blood-stained silk shirt to the bottom of a garbage bag. The cash I tucked nicely into the middle of my bra, the rest into my apron and pockets, and Sam's gun into my waistband with the shirt bloused over it. With half of the duct tape I strapped Stone's gun inside my right leg, then exited in perfect penguin attire.

Down the hall I found an internal phone. "Yes, I called for Mr. Wainwright but was disconnected. Could you page him again and let him know to meet his party on the count of three... You heard me right. Thanks." I wasn't sure Sam would understand my code, but I dared not be explicit with ears everywhere.

When I reached the kitchen, I pulled the radio from my apron, attached the other half of the duct tape to depress the button, and secured the unit to a high shelf. Then I folded into the line of exiting waiters and climbed the stairs at the same sluggish pace, holding my head at the same sleepy angle.

Without warning, the herd on the landing above us shifted right, flattening against the wall as a beefy man in baggy combat trousers trampled down the stairs, plowing over a man without stopping and likely breaking the guy's ankle.

I tucked behind a male waiter as people stupidly shouted at the man, who bulldozed toward us. The oversize sweater, long hair, and a thick beard quickly filled in the picture. And the slight limp Sam gave him. Troy.

CHAPTER 29

Troy jumped three stairs at a time down the employee stairwell of the Waldorf Astoria hotel. The hurricane was nearly upon us.

A gun muzzle nosed out of his cuff. My fingers laced around Sam's Glock in my waistband.

One, two, and Troy landed on the stairs below me. The radio in his other hand told me he was aiming for the kitchen, where I'd left Stone's unit broadcasting the breakfast chaos.

The herd recovered, drove upward, and led me into the main building. I followed a small crew that split off, which passed ostentatious ballrooms and through gold-sheathed corridors as wide as my apartment.

At the Bull and Bear restaurant, I severed from the group and ducked into a room that felt like an upscale man cave: solid mahogany beams, leather broad-back chairs, wooded whiskey in the air. Antique beveled glass walls enabled me to watch for Troy's unmistakable mass.

I stepped behind the famous curved mahogany bar and into a storage room. And startled a man dressed in the same uniform as mine.

With quick hands he caught a box of bottles just below his knees, saving thousands of liquid dollars from shattering onto the cement floor. "What the hell." He grunted, his black pompadour ruffled, lowered the box, and wiped his hair out of his eyes. A second look at me and the corners of his mouth curled. "You better be one of the new bartenders."

Brandishing the iPod, I said, "Hope first day is lady's choice."

***

"Lost" played over the music system, while I used a rough towel to rub the bar to a mirror glaze. An oversize clock face with Roman numerals hung on the far wall. I'd given Sam five minutes till I disappeared, and three were already gone.

A businessman poked his head into the room, pushed through the doors with narrowing strides. His dark glasses and low-slung wool cap looked appropriate in a place qualified for treating morning hangovers. Beneath his gray overcoat and scarf was a tailor-fit suit in silvery blue, fitting the rat-pack room and giving him the right mix of authority and grace.

He took a seat at the bar, one foot on the floor, both eyes on the entrance, though his subtle head turn told me he'd scanned the room. A gold bracelet shimmered in the low light as he tapped his fingers to the song. I could tell Sam was mouthing the words.

I watched him from the storage room doorway, doubting my decision. I'd never seen him slicked up in a suit, let alone red carpet worthy. A whisper ran through my mind, hinting of possessiveness and pride, which I quickly hushed.

"On three." I flipped over a shot glass on the bar, halting his dancing fingers, and poured a shot. My eyes fixed on his empty ring finger. "I always wonder about men who remove their wedding bands when they frequent bars."

"Can't wear whatcha don't got."

He slid his fingers across the bar, groping for my hand. His chest heaved as he gripped my fingers. I threw a bar towel over our joined hands, conscious of cameras, and allowed a small measure of relief to wash over me.

Removing his hat and glasses, Sam swiveled his chair to face me, threw back the drink, and sucked through his front teeth. "Pretty early for vodka." He glanced to the storage room. "I'd prefer something sweeter."