Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson (9 page)

The crack of gunfire exploded in my ears.

Kirk bellowed. His hands released me, and his
body lifted from mine.

I gasped, coughed, and gasped again.

A scream shattered the air around me. Not me.
Not Kirk.

I forced the darkness back, forced my eyes to
see, forced my body to function.

It was Julie. She held the Glock.

She had shot him.

Kirk staggered away from me. Julie raised the
gun again but he batted it away, sending it through the air. Then
he gripped Julie’s arm, steering her toward the car. He moved
awkwardly, each stride jerking, and it was then I noticed the dark
glisten drenching one leg of his black trousers.

I pushed up from the street. Pain seared my
hands and knees, but I forced it to the background, forced myself
to concentrate, adrenaline and training taking over.

Kirk was too focused on Julie and the bullet
in his leg to notice me come up fast behind him.

Using the knife edge of my hand, I delivered
a sharp blow to the side of his neck, below and slightly in front
of his ear. I rotated at the waist, driving all the power I could
muster into his carotid artery, jugular vein, and vagus nerve,
following through.

His body seized, muscles going rigid, then he
slumped forward.

I wasn’t sure if he was unconscious or merely
stunned for a few seconds, but either would do. I looped my arm
under his and across his back as he crumpled.

“Open the back door.”

Julie stared at me. “Is he … is he dead?”

“Just do it.”

I glanced down Broadway. Although I couldn’t
see them, I was sure the Iranians would be here on foot at any
moment. Cops too, after the gunshot.

“Unlock the back door. Now.”

She reached in and unlocked it from the
inside.

I threw it open and shoved Kirk into the back
seat. A quick search of the glove box scored me a handful of zip
ties. I used one to secure his wrists in front of him.

He groaned and tried to lift his head,
already coming around.

Traffic moved around us, horns blaring from
behind, a few idiots even having the nerve to yell obscenities. I
tugged my Ruger from the holster and set it on the dashboard. The
driver from the car we’d back-ended stepped out onto the street,
glimpsed the gun, and climbed back behind the wheel.

I shifted into drive and veered into the
parking lane. Steam rose from under our hood, accompanied by the
odor of scorched coolant. I doubted the Town Car would be running
for long.

Ahead, traffic stopped again.

Iranians and cops would be on us any second.
Disappearing was my first priority, getting Julie out of here as
fast as we could. But if I hoped to find out what was really going
on and why I had been lied to, I would have to take Kirk with
us.

I assessed the surrounding cityscape. We
weren’t far from Lincoln Center.

“Come on. We’re taking the subway.”

I shoved the car into park and climbed out,
pulling Julie with me. Opening the back door, I yanked Kirk to his
feet, keeping the gun on his head.

“You, too.”

We made it to the sidewalk, him dragging his
feet the whole way.

“Faster, Kirk.”

“She shot me.”

He was gimpy, but he could still walk. I had
no sympathy.

“Suck it up, unless you want
me
to
shoot you this time. I won’t aim for your leg.”

“And I thought we liked each other.”

He moved a little faster, grunting as he
hobbled, sweat beading on his brow.

I didn’t know if he was working with the men
I’d seen in the SUV or not, so I kept my mouth shut. We’d covered
about a block when I caught my next glimpse, three of them, running
up the sidewalk. They weren’t holding guns, but I saw bulges under
their sports coats.

We needed to hurry.

We reached the next crosswalk, the Iranians
closing the distance behind us disturbingly fast.

Sirens cut through the air, and a squad
rounded the corner, probably sent to check out the disturbance we’d
caused. The car stopped just twenty feet from where we stood.

As much as I’d like reinforcements to deal
with my Iranian problem, I couldn’t let police complicate my
operation, and that included letting them take Kirk to the hospital
for his injury or me to jail for the Ruger I had in a death
grip.

I eyed Julie. “Quiet, hear?”

To my relief, she nodded.

I circled my arms around Kirk and gazed up at
him in obvious adoration, the gun to the back of his head.

“If you signal them in any way, you’re
dead.”

He returned my loving smile with one of his
own.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I want the cops
involved about as much as you do.”

Halfway down the block, the Iranians slowed
to a walk, noticed the police car, and then ducked into a bistro
with outdoor seating.

The light changed, and the cops passed
by.

We continued across the street with the other
pedestrians. I kept one arm around Kirk, both helping and steering
him, his hands still bound in front of him with the twist tie. We
moved quickly, coming as close to a run as Kirk could manage. As
soon as the officers drove by the bistro, the Iranians would be
back on the street and in pursuit. I had to take advantage of the
short delay.

We reached Lincoln Center, rushing by the
famous fountain in front of the Metropolitan Opera House without a
sideways glance, then plunged down into the oppressive heat of the
subway.

I bought three fare cards, and we pushed
through the turnstiles. The Iranians had been delayed, but they had
to guess we’d make for the train. They would catch up within
minutes, maybe seconds. I had to make sure we were not where they
expected by the time they came calling.

The Lincoln Center station was accessible to
those with disabilities, and while Kirk was still mobile, handrails
and ramps made navigating much faster than it would be in some of
the less accessible stations. But though we reached the platform in
record time, no train was waiting, and I couldn’t detect any rumble
to suggest one would be approaching in the next few seconds.

The blood on his leg was obvious, but those
who noticed purposely turned their backs to it. I kept a watchful
eye out for Good Samaritans. None attempted to get involved.

I needed to find a place to hide. A place the
Iranians would be unlikely to expect me to go. A place I could
extract some answers.

I steered Kirk and Julie into a men’s
restroom.

The place smelled like piss, mildew and those
sweet pink deodorizing cakes that never really seemed to work. The
bank of urinals and sinks weren’t being used. Dipping low, I
noticed one pair of feet under a door. I directed Julie into the
large stall on the end and pushed Kirk in after her. After
depositing Kirk on the toilet, I flattened him to the tile wall
behind him, my forearm snug up under his chin, and waited for the
lone man to finish up and leave.

Kirk wisely stayed silent, watching me.
Although his skin was pale and sweat beaded on his brow, he was
still giving off that calm, deadly vibe.

Too bad for him I was now immune to his
charm. Trying to kill me tended to dampen my ardor.

I held the gun against his forehead. When I
actually decided to end him, I would opt for the garrote in my
purse strap, but there was nothing quite like the barrel of a gun
to convey you mean business.

“You killed Morrissey.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then who did?”

“My employers. I was brought in to take his
place, rendezvous with you and get the girl. I’m just the hired
help.”

“Who are you working for?”

“An interested party from Moscow.”

I narrowed my eyes on his. “Try Iran.”

“The Iranians? I wondered how long it would
take them to catch up. Have the Venezuelans rejoined the party
yet?”

I hadn’t seen Hawk Nose and his boys since
the tunnel incident, but I felt no need to answer. Knowledge was
power, as they say, and right now Kirk had all the answers. I
wasn’t about to let him start asking the questions.

“You expect me to believe you don’t work for
them?”

“I work for whoever pays. Sometimes it’s even
Uncle Sam. Today it happens to be the Russians.”

“Then how did they find us? Manhattan is a
big place.”

“Who? The Iranians or the Venezuelans?”

I gave him a cold stare.

“You want me to guess?” he asked.

“Give it your best shot.”

“The Venezuelans have a passion for police
scanners.”

I thought of the scanner I’d heard at the
house on Long Island. Great. If they were using the police scanner
to find us, after our street shooting, they might just be on their
way, too.

“And the Iranians?”

He gave a shrug. “If they found me, my best
guess is they had the same intel that you do. Eyes on the street.
Or maybe in the sky.”

Satellites. I liked that answer a little
better. If it was true, we could lose them in the maze that was the
New York subway system.

“How about the Russians?”

“They don’t have anyone else in the game. I’m
it. That’s part of my deal.”

I considered this for a moment. I didn’t want
to trust Kirk, and yet every sign he was giving suggested he was
telling the truth, that he was a gun for hire and had no stake in
any game other than a paycheck. As a bonus, the story jived with
the profile Jacob had dug up on him.

“And what are the Russians paying you to
do?”

“Same thing as you’re being paid to do.”

“My job is to protect Julie.”

I shot her a glance. She leaned against the
stall wall, her eyes large and sunken, a child who’d witnessed more
trauma than she could absorb. Graffiti etched the paint behind
her.

“Protect her,” Kirk continued. “Deliver her
unharmed. Bingo.”

“Why would the Russians care if Julie is
harmed? What value does she have to them?”

“Ask what value she has to you.” He shook his
head. “Scratch that. I can see you’re the protective type, at least
where she’s concerned. So instead, ask what value she has to your
employer.”

A fair question.

“She knows something.”

It was a complete guess on my part. Since I
had no idea who the VIP was or even if there was a VIP, a shot in
the dark was all I could manage. I looked Julie’s way, this time in
question.

She shook her head. “I don’t know anything. I
swear.”

When I brought my focus back to Kirk, he was
smiling.

“Okay, spill,” I said. “What does she
know?”

“She doesn’t know anything. She told you
herself.”

“So what are you getting at?” I gave him a
hard stare, waiting for the punch line.

“It’s not what she
knows
. It’s what
she
is
.”

Now I was really confused. “What she is?”

“I’m going to be on the level with you,
Chandler. Okay? This is just a job to me. I don’t have anything to
hide. If it matters, I wasn’t trying to kill you. I could have shot
you at any time. I was simply knocking you out.”

“Just spill it, Kirk.”

He took a deep breath, let it out slow. “Ever
heard of an asymptomatic carrier?”

Where the hell did that come from?

“It’s someone who has a disease and can
spread it but never actually gets sick,” he said.

“What?” Julie not only looked in shock now,
she appeared as confused as I was.

“And you’re telling me Julie is an
asymptomatic carrier?” I asked Kirk.

He nodded.

Julie shook her head. “I am not. What are you
talking about?”

Kirk’s gaze flicked to her. “You really have
no idea, do you?”

“Idea of what?”

The girl was getting distressed now. I could
hear it in the rising pitch of her voice.

“Don’t cry,” Kirk warned. “Do not cry.”

Julie’s chin trembled, but she held back the
tears. “Chandler?”

I pressed the gun barrel against his temple,
hard enough to leave a bruise.

“You have two seconds to explain.”

He spent his first second frowning at me, his
next uttering a single word.

“Ebola.”

“
Many things can happen in the field,
developments no amount of training can help you understand or
absorb,” said The Instructor. “In the face of such trauma, knowing
how to compartmentalize extraneous thought and emotion can save
your life.”

Heat rushed to my face, and I felt
lightheaded. I lowered my arm from his throat, freeing him to sit
normally, and rocked back on my heels. I wanted to believe it
wasn’t true, that Kirk was lying, but it all added up. It all made
sense.

A laugh bubbled up inside me, but I held it
back. I felt giddy, on the edge of hysteria. This girl I’d been
protecting—who I’d thought of as a younger me and even started to
care about—was the host of a disease that could wipe out all of
Manhattan.

Hell, it could wipe out the entire world.

Ebola was known as a filovirus, and it was
probably the deadliest and most virulent little critter on the
planet. Also known as hemorrhagic fever, Ebola basically invaded
cells and chopped them into bits. Victims bled internally—and
ultimately externally—through every opening in their body,
including pores.

All bodily fluids leaked by someone with
Ebola were highly infectious. Including tears.

If Julie was a carrier, she could spread the
disease without getting ill herself.

She cannot be harmed in any way, not even
slightly.

I took a step back, fear making my shoulders
bunch up.

Every moment I’d been with Julie, I’d been on
the verge of disaster. The bullet wound on my shoulder was like a
wide open door. Add in all the cuts and scrapes I’d sustained, and
I was just begging to be infected.