Familiar Stranger (24 page)

He moved a step backward, and as he did, he saw David's focus shift. Cursing his carelessness, he retreated behind the trees, then lifted the binoculars, adjusting the focus to make up for David's new location.

When his brother's face came into focus, he jerked as if he'd been shot. David was looking straight at him. His heart started to hammer. His hands started to shake.

"You bastard … you arrogant bastard."

Through the lens, David stood tall and straight, his chin thrust forward in a dare-to-take-me attitude—his feet slightly apart, as if bracing himself for battle. Frank knew that he should move, but he couldn't tear his gaze away. At that moment, the truth of who his brother had become finally hit. Intellectually, he'd known David had been the omnipotent Jonah for several years, but looking at him now, he realized what that entailed.

The man he saw was a modern-day warrior, broad-shouldered and lean, hardened by the years and by life. The word invincible came to mind, but he shoved it aside, because that meant unbeatable, and Frank Wilson wasn't a man who accepted defeat.

To his utter dismay, as he watched, David took off his sunglasses, smiled directly at him, then turned his back and walked away. For Frank, it was a slap-in-the-face gesture he couldn't ignore.

"You'll pay, little brother, and I'll be curious to see how wide you smile when you see your daughter's gun pointed at your head."

Seconds later, he was gone.

* * *

David was calmer now than he'd been since this hell began. By this time tomorrow, it would be over. Instead of ordering room service, he decided to go down to the hotel restaurant for dinner. He came out of the elevator and past the bar with nothing but a medium-rare steak on his mind when he suddenly flashed on Cara's face. He was seeing her as she'd looked on the morning he left her sleeping, her hair in gentle disarray, her hands cupped beneath her chin as if she was praying. He wanted to hear her voice—to say something witty that would elicit that throaty chuckle. But if he called her now, before this was over, she would take it as a defeated farewell, rather than the selfish gesture it actually was. So he told himself to suck it up and kept on walking.

A short while later, a hostess seated him at a table for one and laid food and wine menus on the table. He ordered a glass of wine and then opened the menu. A small note was attached at the top, with one word printed in bold, black ink.
Bang
. Anger followed shock as he bolted from his table and headed toward the door, grabbing the hostess by the arm and spinning her around. It wasn't the woman who had just seated him.

"Where is she?" he yelled.

"Sir?"

David saw the fear on her face and immediately regretted his actions as he turned her loose.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you, but I need to talk to the other hostess. Where did she go?"

"There is no other hostess, sir. I'm the only one on duty tonight."

David lowered his voice when all his instincts made him want to scream.

"Not two minutes ago, a woman was standing right where you're standing. She picked up the menus and took me to that table in the back near the windows."

She looked at David as if he'd gone mad.

"Two minutes ago, I was in the kitchen. There was no one else here."

David slapped his leg in frustration and bolted out of the restaurant, then stopped about ten feet from the door. There were at least four different directions she could have gone, and each one of them led outside. As he stood, a sense of calm began to settle. He shook his head and then almost smiled. That was so like Frank. Always wanting to have the last word.

Refusing to let Frank's antics psych him out, he turned and walked into the restaurant, sat down at his table and ordered his meal. When it came, he ate slowly and with relish. Words on paper were nothing but mind games that he wasn't going to play.

Afterward, he went to his room. Debating with himself about what he wanted to do, he hesitated twice and then said what the hell and made the calls, leaving messages at each one.

About fifteen minutes later, one of his calls was returned. He took down the information without comment then sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the numbers. Finally, he picked up the receiver and made one more call, leaving one brief message before hanging up.

He left a wake-up call for midnight, took off his clothes, then laid down and went to sleep.

* * *

Frank's confidence had slipped another notch after watching David ignore his latest stunt. Still in his disguise, he'd been at the bar across from the restaurant sipping a drink when David had come running out. He'd been pleased by the anger and confusion he'd seen on David's face. And then he'd seen his brother smile.

It had unnerved him to the point that he'd ordered a second drink. But he'd come to his senses before he drank it, tossed a handful of bills onto the table and left without looking back. He kept running through scenarios all the way to his hotel.

Should he shoot him in the back and get it over with, or follow his urge to confront him first by toying with his mind and watching him come undone?

He thought he would prefer the latter.

When he reached his room, there was a message light blinking on the phone. He frowned. No one knew he was here. He picked up the receiver and punched in the code to the mailbox, listening as the automated voice came on the line.

Mailbox 1077 has one new message. Message received at 8:05 p.m.

Frank's fingers clenched as a man's deep voice slid into his ear.

You missed.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he slammed the phone down. Damn it all to hell and back, how had David found him? He hadn't registered under his own name. He had not even shown his real face. He'd stayed in disguise from morning to night, removing the facial prosthetics only when he went to bed.

The son of a bitch!

Panic spread as he turned out the lights and then moved to the windows. Were they watching his room—just waiting for him to make his move? Was he going to be arrested before he even had a chance to pay David back for the hell he'd put him through?

He stood in the dark, peering into the streets below, trying to sort through the traffic for a sign of something suspicious.

There in the parking lot! Behind the wheel of that car on the end. Someone was sitting in the dark behind the wheel. He could see the end of their cigarette glowing in the dark.

But as he watched, a woman suddenly appeared within his vision, and as she did, the driver of the car emerged and went to meet her. They embraced briefly, then got in the car and drove away.

Frank cursed beneath his breath and moved his attention to some people on foot, certain that he was being watched. Yet each time he thought he'd zeroed in on a target, it would prove him false.

Every time he heard footsteps in the hallway, he expected a knock upon his door, and each time the footsteps went away, he went limp with relief. Finally, his nerves shot, he packed his bag, put on a new disguise and slipped out of the hotel, confident he had not been seen.

So he'd go to the meeting place early. There were plenty of places he could hide without being seen. He had yet to be beaten at his own game.

Even when he'd been shot.

Even when he'd been set on fire.

Even then, he had survived.

Tonight wasn't going to be any different.

Satisfied that he'd gotten away unobserved, Frank got in his car and drove away. He had Bethany's gun, his favorite knife, a one-way ticket to the Florida Keys and was already planning what kind of place he would buy. Something small but comfortable and close to the water. He liked the water. He liked to fish. That's what he would do. By the time he got to the area and parked, he was already planning what kind of furniture he would buy. He started to cross the greens and then paused and went back to the car. He opened the trunk, removed a bag and quickly removed his disguise. When he met David face to face, he wanted him to see the real damage that the fire had done. He needed to see the guilt and the shame on his baby brother's face—right before he killed him.

* * *

David rolled over and opened his eyes, wide awake and rested before his wake-up call came. When it did, he was already into the preparations for what lay ahead.

His pants were black and fit close to his body, leaving no loose fabric to catch on anything. A black shirt—lightweight but long-sleeved, to cover any white flesh that would show in the dark. Black, flat-heeled, rubber-soled shoes, soundless on any surface. In the bag that he carried was a handgun—the same one he'd used to free the hostages—a knife that he'd carried since Vietnam and a cell phone that was, for the moment, turned off. He tossed a small tin of camouflage face paint into the mix and then zipped the bag.

Exiting his room, he decided against the elevator and made his way to the stairs, taking the six floors down in less than a minute, retrieving his car from hotel parking without being observed, and was on the street within seconds—a true credit to being Jonah. He drove through the streets of D.C., parked on a side street beneath a broken streetlight and quickly disappeared into the night.

Although it had been a long time since he'd actually been on any missions, it felt normal, even comfortable to blend with the shadows. He'd learned long ago that darkness could be a friend, and in his business, he had few friends he could claim.

As he moved through the area, he felt the differences in the air out in the open as opposed to that beneath the trees. Even at night, there was a difference in temperature. It even felt thicker, although he knew that was a fanciful thought.

Once, he paused near a cluster of shrubs and glanced at the sky. What heavenly bodies had been visible were now all but obliterated by a growing bank of clouds.

On the horizon, he could see the faint threads of distant lightning, although the storm was too far away to be heard. He glanced at the digital readout on his wristwatch and then resumed his trek.

It wouldn't be long now.

Would Frank be waiting where he'd said he'd be, or would he be lying in wait, waiting to shoot him in the back as he passed?

David couldn't assume that his brother would do anything honorable. Not at this point. He didn't know what to expect, but he did know that whatever it was Frank had planned, he would most likely have a slim-to-none chance of survival.

Although he didn't like the odds, it was the slim that he focused on, rather than the
none
. He'd survived a lot worse with a lot poorer odds, so he hastened his steps, moving quickly now, anxious to get there. Anxious to get it over with.

By the time he got within seeing distance of the Wall, he was moving with extreme caution—always staying within cover until he was confident of the area before him. Dressed like the shadows within which he moved, he got as close as he could.

David stood quietly for long, silent minutes as time continued to pass. The closer and closer it came to 2:00 a.m. the more certain he was that Frank was nearby. But there was no way he could get to the Wall without being seen, so he stood and he waited, praying for something to change. When it did, he took it as a positive sign that God might be on his side.

It started to rain, first a whisper of mist, and then, within seconds, a blinding downpour. He was instantly drenched but it was the first time in his life he could ever remember being glad to be this wet. The heavy rainfall afforded him the best cover he could possibly have achieved. And, although he was fairly certain at this point that he could have walked up on Frank without being seen, he wouldn't abandon all caution.

He dropped to his stomach and started to crawl.

Chapter 14

«
^
»

D
espite the dark, overcast sky, the lights from the surrounding monuments kept the night at bay, and even though the hour was late, an occasional tourist could be seen meandering on the path leading to the Vietnam Memorial. Frank figured them as vets by their army surplus clothing and the way they lingered at the Wall, as if standing at attention. They didn't stay long, but the intermittent appearance of strangers kept him nervous. What if their presence kept David away?

With each passing hour, Frank felt himself coming unwound. This moment had been too long in coming. Instead of being tensed and focused, he felt weary and old. Hell, he was old in the ways that counted.

The fact that he'd been here at the monument far longer than he'd planned to be wasn't making things any easier. Within an hour of leaving the hotel, he knew that he'd overreacted, but it was too late to go back. So he had walked the area until midnight, searching for the best place to hide, finally settling among a thick stand of shrubs beneath a cluster of trees. Sheltered from most of the lighting and from any passersby, he began his watch.

Now he'd been here for hours. It was well after one in the morning, his knees were hurting, and the overcast sky had started to come undone. What had begun as a faint, drifting mist was escalating into an all-out thunderstorm, seriously diminishing his view. From where he was hiding, he could no longer see the Wall. If and when David showed, he wouldn't know it. If the rain didn't stop, he would have to move, well aware that when he did, he would give himself away. So he watched the time, hoping the storm would pass.

It didn't.

Thirty minutes later, the rain was still coming down and it was time to end that which had been left undone. He emerged from the bushes, completely soaked. Although the gesture was futile, he swiped his hands across his face to clear his vision, then checked his weapons.

His knife was still in his vest and the gun he'd taken from Bethany's husband was on his hip. The familiar shape of metal against his palm was comforting to a man who had lived his life by the sword.

Once more, he glanced at the digital readout on his watch. It was exactly 2:00 a.m. He straightened his shoulders and started to walk, no longer concerned about staying concealed. Face to face was how it had begun. Face to face was how it would end.