Read Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson Online

Authors: JA Konrath

Tags: #thriller, #assassin, #suspense, #mystery, #espionage, #female sleuth, #spy, #jack kilborn, #jack daniels

Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson (6 page)

BOOK: Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson
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“Hold on.” Morrissey swerved across traffic
and onto a ramp leading to the expressway. Tires squealed and horns
honked.

I glanced out the back window in time to see
the van complete the same risky maneuver.

“You didn’t shake them.”

“I see that.” Morrissey’s tone was dry, as
calm and still as I’d noted when I’d first seen him outside the
hotel.

He drove on, a mile, two, five humming by
under the tires, Hawk Nose and his boys still following.

I held the gun in my lap, my index finger
stretched along the side of the trigger guard, thinking. So many
parts of this assignment didn’t add up. So many details didn’t make
sense. A whole house on Long Island Sound and only one girl loaded
into the helicopter? At least five highly-trained and armed men to
watch over her? Pornocopia central but no one laying a finger on
her?

After I’d jumped with Julianne, things must
have gotten immeasurably messy for The Bradford and Sims Modeling
Agency. They had no idea who I was, who I worked for. The smart
move would be to cut their losses, wipe down their rented house and
disappear, not go on a high speed chase to … do what? Recover one
girl? Or erase three witnesses while potentially creating many
more?

The whole thing seemed foolhardy.

“Who are these guys?” I asked Morrissey.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I know as much as
you.”

“Haven’t you been on this case for a
while?”

“Working for the car service, not the
modeling agency.” He accelerated, weaving through a caravan of
slower moving cars. “I do what I’m asked, just like you.”

My turn to nod. And seeing that I’d already
delivered Julianne to Morrissey, my part of the operation was
over.

Not that now would be a convenient time to
take my leave.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Somewhere safe.”

I sensed Julianne’s glance from Morrissey to
me. I met her eyes. “It’s going to be all right.”

“How do I know that?”

“We’re the good guys. We were assigned to
protect you.”

“Protect me? You threw me out of a
helicopter.”

“I did it in a protective way.”

She eyed me as if I was crazy and she was
afraid it would rub off. I thought once more about Jacob’s orders,
that she not be harmed in any way.

Was this really human trafficking? Or
something else?

“Who is your father?” I asked her.

“What?”

“Your dad. Who is he?”

Some of the fear went away, replaced by
anger. “It doesn’t matter.”

I had lived up to my end of the op. I had no
control over what happened to her from here on out, and I had no
business knowing anything more. Any curiosity I felt, any sympathy
I had for this girl, were meaningless to the mission. So rather
than push it, I clammed up and turned my attention back to the men
chasing us.

The green whipping past the windows fell away
to shopping centers, and finally, industry. Ahead, the Manhattan
skyline shivered in the glare of the afternoon sun like a
mirage.

I heard a pop. The car lurched and
skidded.

I threw an arm over Julianne, forcing her
down.

“Are they shooting at us?” she squealed.

Morrissey regained control, but the car
shuddered and bucked with each rotation of the punctured tire.

Ahead, a sign directed us to the Queens
Midtown Tunnel. Morrissey took the turn.

I couldn’t believe it.

“Tell me you’re not heading into the city
with these guys on our tail.”

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You
have a better idea?”

This chase along the expressway was one
thing. Once we were in the city, traffic would be slow, sometimes
standing still. What would prevent Hawk Nose and his boys from
walking up to the limo and taking a shot?

“Yeah, drive somewhere else. Unless you want
to make us a slow-moving target.”

“I get the idea that you can move pretty fast
when you want to.”

“What are you planning?”

“I’ll take care of the guys behind us. You
have the girl at Columbus Circle at six o’clock.”

I didn’t ask how he was going to take care of
them. I had a feeling he’d find a way, and that I’d know what
action I had to take when the moment came.

We moved through the EZ Pass toll and plunged
into the tunnel.

Traffic moved steadily in two Manhattan-bound
lanes. The air held the odor of trapped exhaust. The shiny, cream
colored ceiling reflected headlights, their glare adding to the
artificial lighting and neon-bright speed limit reminders every
hundred feet. There was a cacophony of horn honking, helpful New
Yorkers trying to tell us we had a flat, as if the sparks being
thrown off the bare rim weren’t obvious enough.

“Hold on and be ready to release your seat
belts.”

Julianne’s fingers circled my free hand and
clenched. I braced my legs wide.

The Town Car’s wheel screeched, metal on
pavement. The drivers around us fell back, apparently not wanting
to get too close. Only the van stayed glued a few feet behind our
bumper, close enough for Hawk Nose to glower at me, close enough to
take a shot.

So why didn’t he? He might hit the girl?

Morrissey slowed the car and inched toward
the center, straddling lanes. Horns echoed off concrete.
Surrounding cars fell back farther. A few more seconds passed.

He hit the brakes and the car skidded
sideways.

Tires screeched all around, the sound
amplified in the tunnel.

“Now. Go.”

Before the car had reached a complete stop,
Morrissey was moving. He pulled an assault rifle from under the
seat and slid across to the passenger door.

I was moving too, pushing Julianne in front
of me, over the seat, out the door. The cars ahead kept moving down
the tunnel, leaving both lanes free and clear. I grabbed Julianne’s
arm and ran. The soles of my bare feet slapped pavement. The muggy
air smelled of exhaust and burned rubber. Angry voices and horns
behind us gave way to bursts of gunfire and screams.

My heart was a hummingbird trapped in my
chest. With all the training I’d had, the sound of gunfire was
still a viscerally frightening thing, especially at my back. I was
sure it was much worse for Julianne. To her credit, she kept up as
best she could, her sandals pounding the concrete behind me, her
breath coming fast and rhythmic.

I wasn’t sure how long one man could hold off
Hawk Nose’s entourage. In a firefight, numerical superiority
usually won out. I had to wonder if we’d see Morrissey again, but I
pushed those thoughts from my mind and kept running. Finally I
picked up the faint smell of fresh air, the first sign that we were
near the end.

An explosion shook the tunnel around us.

Julianne screamed.

I looked back, over my shoulder, back to
where we’d left Morrissey. The tiled walls and shiny ceiling
reflected the orange glow of flame. The smoke came fast, like an
acrid thunderhead.

Unlike in the movies, gunfire doesn’t easily
cause car explosions, but explosives wired to the gas tank could.
They also caused one hell of a traffic mess when detonated in a
tunnel. And one hell of an emergency response that criminal types
would be eager to avoid.

I had a feeling Morrissey was going to come
out of this just fine.

By the time Julianne and I reached the end of
the tunnel, sirens echoed from everywhere and the smell of burning
car coated the back of my throat and infused my hair. I pulled her
up on the walkway to the side of the two traffic lanes and
concealed the Glock along my leg. We made it to the mouth of the
tunnel and walked out onto the streets of Manhattan. The area was
swarming with cop cars, and I jammed the pistol into my tiny
bag.

We walked to Grand Central station, stopping
at a Banana Republic in the terminal to pick up a dress to pull
over my bikini, a change of clothing for Julianne and gym shoes for
both of us. The clothing wasn’t pricey, but the purchase still took
most of the money Jacob had stashed in the purse. Two subway fares
took the rest.

“Why are we going to Columbus Circle?”
Julianne asked.

I thought of the glorified roundabout marking
the southwest corner of Central Park. It offered continually
flowing traffic, access to streets leading in several directions,
and the cover of crowded sidewalks. A decent place for a hand off.
“It’s just a meeting place. We’re trying to get you somewhere
safe.”

If I thought it was hot on the streets, I was
mistaken. Descending into the subway tunnels felt like burrowing
into humidity hell. Exhaust and the odor of hot humanity swam in
the air. I heard the click of heels and rumble of voices, nothing
but ordinary subway sounds.

We moved into a wide area of red quarry tile
rimmed with scarred wooden benches. Live music echoed off walls and
floors, zamponas, charango, guitars, and percussion, a distinctly
South American sound, maybe Peruvian. I’d only been to Peru once,
but I’d spent significant time in Columbia, Brazil, and Venezuela,
the last time I remembered seeing a Tec-9, until today.

I had to wonder …

I led Julianne down steps and through
platforms only to cross over tracks and double-back. The third time
we passed the Andean band, she spoke up. “Are we lost?”

“I’m making sure we weren’t followed.”

She glanced around, as if the bogeyman
himself might jump out from the nearby newspaper stand.

“Were we?”

“No.”

She let out a long breath, but still looked
far from relieved. “What you said back at the beach, was it true?
Were they really going to sell me as a sex slave?”

I nodded, although my doubts were adding up
fast. Julianne was pretty and blond, but there was simply no way a
criminal enterprise could make enough money selling one girl.
Bradford and Sims was no modeling agency, their little porn
operation aside. But I was becoming less and less sure they dealt
in human trafficking, either.

“Well, thanks. I know I didn’t seem like I
appreciated you saving me at first, but I do. I was just a little,
you know, shaken up.”

She was sounding better, clearer. The
combination of caffeine and getting shot at was working against the
drugs in her system.

“Understandable.” I gave her a smile and led
her past the band one last time and up a sloping ramp toward the S
train that would take us to Times Square.

“Who are you, anyway?” Julianne asked, once
the band was far enough behind us to hear one another speak.

“Not important.”

“It is to me.”

“Then just think of me as a friend.”

She frowned, a tiny crease forming on her
lineless forehead. “I … I don’t have a good track record with
friends.”

I knew the feeling. “Okay, how about a
bodyguard? I was sent to keep you safe.”

“You and the driver.”

“Yes.”

“Sent? By who?”

I said nothing.

“Please?”

“I shouldn’t have told you that much.”

Not that my explanation would hurt anything,
but I’d learned, when dealing with civilians in the field, it was
better to keep things simple and them at arms’ length. I was
already starting to like Julianne more than I should.

“If someone is looking out for me, isn’t it
better that I know who?”

The platform was crowded, the rush hour
stampede starting to heat up. The S train ran between Grand Central
Station and Times Square every fifteen minutes. We wouldn’t have
long to wait, but I still felt as if it couldn’t come fast
enough.

“I’ve never really had anyone who has looked
out for me before. Not really. Not since my mom died.”

I didn’t react, not outwardly anyway.
Inwardly I was struck again by how many similarities there were
between the two of us.

“I had friends and stuff, but no one ever
seemed to be there when I needed them, you know?”

“You’re trying to manipulate me.”

She had the nerve to give me a little smile.
“Maybe.”

“It’s not working.”

“My mom used to love me. At least I remember
thinking she did. She died when I was sixteen.”

I focused on the rumble of the train
approaching. I had been ten when I lost both parents. At least
Julianne still had her father.

“I’ve kind of been on my own after that.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s not important.”

I didn’t believe her. There was more to this
than human trafficking. If her dad was a VIP, like Jacob said, this
could be a kidnapping for ransom. Or leverage. Take a senator’s
daughter, and you own him. That could be useful for certain
corporations. Or certain foreign governments.

The train rolled in, the sound too loud for
words. Doors opened, releasing crowds of commuters, then we stepped
on and they sucked closed behind us. I stood, holding onto a
pole.

Julianne stood next to me. I scanned the
crowd around us, looking for potential trouble. We remained quiet
until we emerged from the 42nd Street subway station and joined the
steamy, neon hubbub of Times Square.

She broke the silence. “Being alone, not
knowing who you can trust, it’s not fun. You don’t know what that
feels like.”

Actually, I did. Not that I was going to
share the dark times of my life with Julianne James.

But I could see her point.

Everyone needed someone to rely on. I had
Kaufmann, the parole officer who’d been there for me when my life
fell apart at age fourteen. He still checked in with me from time
to time. He had no clue about the nature of my real job, my real
life. But just knowing he cared made all the difference.

“Tell me why you’re helping me,” Julianne
said, “and I’ll leave you alone.”

I let out a deep breath. When it came down to
it, I really didn’t know much, and Jacob hadn’t said anything about
keeping what little I did know from Julianne. “Your father sent us,
sort of.”

BOOK: Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson
9.52Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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