An Eye for Danger (57 page)

Trees creaked as I leaned out the broken window to get a view of a dimly lit cabin near the bottom of the hill. No movement. My Land Cruiser was parked in a turnaround left of the cabin.

The wind howled again. A loud crack sounded, like a branch snapping under the storm's pressure. I looked up. Wet cedar and pine needles filled the air, while an icy wind kissed my cheeks. Something mean was coming.

"I'm here," I whispered into the radio. "Tell your sister I'll keep my promise."

"Stay in the car, woman." James definitely came from the same stock as Sam. "We're right behind you."

"You'll never make it from the city in time."

"No," said James, "we're literally behind you. Been tracking you guys from the road. Got worried when you stayed in one spot too long." I thought of the motel, feared how close James or Stone had come to dropping in on our private party. "Give me fifteen. We've got plenty of muscle power." From his voice, I could see James' dimpled smile, and from his emphatic use of the word 'muscle', I guessed he meant guns.

A clank came from the cabin. Two bodies stirred behind the curtains.

"I'm already committed." I opened the glove box. Empty. "And time's not on my side."

"God, you're stubborn, just like Malta."

"Gimme that." Malta took over. "Bitch, get back in that car before I come and—"

I squeezed the CB handset between the seat and console to continue broadcasting, in case gunfire exploded. Whether I intended for them to stay away or come running at that point, I wasn't sure. Then I jumped into the storm, descending the rocky drive and praying Sam's Glock was still my truck's glove compartment.

 I wiped my dripping nose on my dress sleeve, noting my swollen shoulder was numb with cold rather than pain. The wind pulled up my dress, forcing a chill where Stone's hands had trespassed. The memory clawed at me, wanted to take over my thought processes. So I dug my nails into my cold palms, the stinging pain bringing sharp focus.

Max should be barking at my approach. For that matter, he should've attacked the bouncer when they loaded Sam. Unless they'd drugged Max, too. Or shot him. But since gunfire in Mo's parking lot would have drawn attention, I put my bet on drugs.

Approaching the truck, I noticed condensation on the windows, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My pace picked up. Max lay stretched across the back seat. Foggy windows told me he was alive, thank God, and a hell of a lot warmer than I was.

The truck's doors were locked, so I searched for my hidden key inside the front bumper, running my fingers side to side over metal that was gritty with frozen mud. Again nothing.

A porch light flashed on. I ducked behind the truck as a creaky screen door swung open and heavy feet took the stairs. I crabbed-walked to hide behind the tire and watched Sam step into view, glancing up at the storm as the sky exhaled its violence through the forest

"Sam," I gasped, slinking out of the shadows. Thank God he was awake. And free.

Sam stood as stiff as the wood posts holding up the porch. "Julie." My feet halted. He never called me Julie. "Go home. Everything's all right."

"They're going to frame you." I scanned for another shadow.

"I know." Sam pushed at the air, like a rancher telling a horse to back up. "Get back in the deputy's truck and go."

"But Reynolds is the shooter. He's the mole. We've got to run."
Why wasn't he coming to me?

Sam closed his eyes. "Damn it, shut up and get out of here!"

"Too late for that." Reynolds stepped behind Sam. The rigid shoulders of his city overcoat looked out of place in the wilderness, and the raging wind flipped his hem as if to confirm the theory. "And you said she didn't know anything."

My gaze ran between Reynolds and Sam, confusion fisting my stomach. Sam knew of the cabin, planned to come here, bring
me
here. Thoughts of his compliance hit me like a lead pipe.

Sam stepped in front of Reynolds. "Get the fuck out of here, Jules."

"Run and he dies." Reynolds set a gun to Sam's head. "You see, Miss Larson, Sam agreed to let you go in exchange for him. Unfortunately, you returned. Smart of him, dumb of you."

I held my hands open, inching toward Sam. "I'm unarmed, easy prey." I looked to Sam, waiting for a signal, praying he still possessed one of his pistols or even his pocket knife.

"Not another step." Reynolds fisted Sam's short hair and shoved a silvery pistol under his ear, one that looked a lot like Sam's clinch piece. Sam grunted but wasn't fighting. "Trust me, I like the killing part even better than the hunt."

"I'll do whatever, say whatever you want." My words came out calm, but I was shaking, my teeth chattering from the temperature drop, an adrenaline milkshake and a mild case of brimming hysteria.

Hold yourself together, Jules.

Frowning, Reynolds spoke in Sam's ear. "Too bad we don't need her testimony anymore, do we, Fields? After all, if she turned on Stone, she'll most certainly turn on the brotherhood. And that's not tolerated among our kind." Reynolds stepped back from Sam, then reached his long arm, aiming at me. "Too bad this isn't a sisterhood. You're rather clever, for a woman."

Sam shifted, securing the gun's focus on his temple again. "She's got nothing to do with this." Sam bowed under the gun nozzle, clenching his teeth as the metal seemed to burn his temple.
Why the hell wasn't he fighting?
"She's no threat to you."

Reynolds scoffed. "She's a goddamn Helen of Troy." His gaze snapped in my direction. "You squandered the last of your bargaining chips on Stone, Miss Larson. We let him have you, despite our better judgment." He smiled when I stiffened at the mention of Stone's name. "The man serves his purpose in our operation. But cash is no object to a cop who's stashing seized drug money in Cayman accounts, so we toss him a bone—the woman he covets, the promotion his father refused him, even a new car. Keeps a loyal player at minimal cost to the brotherhood. And had you remained in his custody, we were prepared to look the other way."

My weak laughter caught both men off guard. I wiped my forehead, clearing the cobwebs of doubt Stone had weaved. Of course Stone had embezzled the money, not Sam. Stone was a genius at playing me, and a maverick at getting Sam to take the fall for his offenses. They'd never shared women. That was just another ruse to taunt me. Sam's blackouts had been drug-induced, no doubt. Tonight's dose was perfect, practiced; high enough to subdue Sam from fighting abduction, low enough to let Sam wake in Reynolds' custody and catch a bullet for the trouble. We both knew Sam that well. And with Sam dead, Stone would be rid of his nemesis, the only man competing for my affections. Brilliant.

"Stone's not very loyal if he ratted you out." My smile bridged the gap of understanding with Reynolds. My confidence practically exploded in his face. "He told me all about your little scheme, how Goliath was cleaning up the streets one body bag at a time. Burning them clean for the sake of lower crime rates. Lower stats get a lot of cops promotions and people elected."

"Shut up, Jules." Sam's face twisted with fear.

"But he had a change of heart," I continued. "Said he held back all the evidence to bring down your little boys' club. And that he didn't enjoy doing business with a fucking sociopath."

Accenting my last word hollowed Reynolds' cheeks. His eyes flared and blackened. With a growl Reynolds grabbed Sam's coat and shoved him off the porch.

"He's on his way to New York," I added, "to tell the District Attorney everything your ADA's been up to. They're right behind me, coming for you. I'm just the messenger."

A hand flashed open from Reynolds' side, a conciliatory gesture. He beamed, his eyes wild with excitement and hopped off the porch. "And I always say, 'shoot the messenger.'"

I froze. At twenty feet and standing in the open, I was an easy shot.

"Let her go and I'll confess." Sam stepped between us. "Everything, not just the fires. I'll go down for the park murder and the assassination attempt. All or nothing, Reynolds."

"You had your chance." Reynolds angled the gun over Sam's head, pushing his prey lower. "A chance to make something of your lousy fucking career. Goliath offered you everything. And you spat in our faces." Reynolds unfolded from his attack pose, shifting his shoulders to straighten his coat.

"My God," I blurted, envisioning the hotel scene. "You weren't shooting for me. Neither was Troy. You wanted me alive. As bait for Sam."

Reynolds smirked, tapped his temple. "Like I said, Sam, she's too little too late."

Whatever Sam had recorded, he'd been there for the live conversation. He knew the players, the plans, every piece of the Goliath puzzle and how they fit together. My fragmented testimony would be nothing compared to Sam's scathing tell-all. But more than this, they wanted to turn Sam. His contacts, his knowledge of multiple NYPD and FBI departments; Sam was a gold mine, if they could tap him. And if they couldn't...

"So why the fires? You could easily make unwanted people disappear."

Reynolds nodded toward a corner of the porch, where a red gasoline can awaited the call to action. "Fire to sacrifice, fire to cleanse, fire to punish. A man's worth is measured by his value to the whole, right, Fields? And when he proves no value at all, let him burn."

So the man truly was a sociopath.
Holy hell
.

As if on cue, the sky released its burden, and fine snowflakes drifted to the ground.

"I stashed copies the recording." I stood firm as Reynolds' hunter instincts inspected me for weakness. "Anything happens to me or Sam, one file goes straight to the DA."

Smirking, Reynolds buttoned his coat.

"Another to the crime lab," I added, trying to still my quivering legs.

Reynolds' dark face lightened with bleach-white teeth. "That's nothing to me. No, you're playing all the wrong cards, Miss Larson. Evidence goes missing every day, especially when you have a dog like Stone at your call. Stone's ambitious, even arrogant, but not stupid enough to cross Goliath. He agreed to clear the rats off his beat. Those bodies in the fires—he supplied the names and locations where they wreaked havoc. We simply swept up the mess, all in the name of justice. All for the higher good, so the DA looks the other way. Our DA, by the way." He raised his chin. "You might want to remember that next time you try bluffing me."

"And the remaining files to the press," I said, hoping he had a brain between those devil horns. "Every major paper on the East Coast and my friends at
The Economist
. I'm a journalist, remember. I don't think the world will tolerate another private faction terrorizing the streets of New York, not after nine-eleven. And not with Wall Street at risk. So you set me and Sam free, get your damn recordings back. Or kill us both, and Goliath goes down in flames. With you as the poster boy for false heroes."

"You're lying." Reynolds tilted his head, so I stepped toward him. His eyes widened. "That movie doesn't prove anything. Just a bunch of goons with guns running around the woods."

I paused, looked at Sam. "Mine's not a movie. Mine's an audio file."

"What the hell is she talking about?" asked Reynolds.

Sam chortled. "You should see the look on your face, Reynolds."

Reynolds heel-kicked Sam's back and Sam grunted as he stumbled closer to me. I jumped to help, but Reynolds' quick aim at my head stopped me cold. I was no good to Sam dead.

"What the fuck did you record?" Reynolds continued pointing the pistol at me with one hand, while the other hand pinched Sam's shoulder with some kind of death grip till Sam winced and his knees buckled. "You know the rules, Sam. One move against me and I shoot her cold. Now tell me what's on that recording."

"Nobody's heard that call but me," Sam hissed, closing his eyes.

"And no one ever will, not if you want her to live."

"You knew I'd make copies," I said to Sam. "That I'd never destroy them all, even though I'd erased the original from your device."

"Journalist's instincts," said Sam, panting. "Protect the data, protect your source. You do the right thing, Jules. You always do. That's why I chose you."

Reynolds squeezed harder, causing Sam to groan. "She's going to give me that file, every fucking copy, so you might as well explain what you recorded. Before I start putting bullets in her, too."

I watched Sam's mental wheels revving. "Don't say a word, Sam."

"Let's just say," Sam snorted, "some of those conference calls to the mayor's office weren't private."

Reynolds paused, ground his teeth. "Nothing I can't alter or destroy with Bureau resources." He dropped his gun from aiming at my head, stretched his neck and stood proud again, a true pillar of indecency.

"Boss called you a mediocre agent." Sam smiled in the face of his executioner. "And Goliath thinks you're nuts. They're shopping your replacement. Why do you think Stone didn't want the money? Mayor wants McCarthy leading, not you. Woops, I forgot. You weren't on that conference call."

Reynolds gave Sam another heel kick to the back that sent him flailing into the snowy dirt. "Stone doesn't have half the vision I have for this city," yelled Reynolds over Sam's crumpled body, as my fingernails dug into my palms. "He's a puppet. Goliath would never embrace him. And Agent Vilet is an overpaid desk jockey, a boy playing king of a Bureau molehill. He's your boss, not mine.
I
tell him who to recruit.
I
tell what's happening in the field.
I
tell him what move to make. Me."

Sam balanced on all fours. Already the ground around him softened with a fresh white pelt. Then came that high-pitched chortle, his body shaking off snow lumped on his back. "Me, me, me. That's all you ever say."

Reynolds drew back his foot.

"Stop it," I snapped. "Goddamn you, just stop hurting him."

Reynolds glowered at me. "Don't push your luck, Larson. I'm still in charge here."

"Fine, you're the boss." I lowered my head and he lowered his foot.
Where the hell was James?

Reynolds stepped back, behind Sam. "Go ahead, have your little reunion, Fields. Let's see who you really are under pressure."