Moonrise (8 page)

“You always said you hated it. I remember you and Win bemoaning the fact that you were going to have spend three months there.”

“You have too good a memory,” he said casually. “I lied.”

“When? Now or then?”

“All the time, Annie,” he said gently. “All the time.”

It took five glasses of champagne to put her to sleep. He was about ready to give her a little help—the CIA version of the Spock pinch—when she finally closed those damnably astute blue eyes of hers.

Damn, she was trouble. It didn’t matter how tired she was, how much pressure he brought to bear. With Win’s death the veil had been lifted, and she saw everything he didn’t want her to see.

He could have used a little of that free champagne himself. Scratch that—he could have used a couple of bottles of the stuff, washed down with a fifth of tequila. He didn’t dare touch anything harder than Pellegrino.

He was back in the real world now. On the island he had controlled his environment. No one could get close to him without him knowing. But now the cottage and at least a half dozen surrounding acres were toast, including all trace of his most recent visitors. And he had brought Annie out, into a danger he was no longer certain he could handle.

There was a piece of the puzzle missing, he was sure of it, but for the past few months he simply hadn’t given a damn. He’d holed up, just waiting for them to send someone after him, and he’d kept his mind and his memories successfully dulled. He hadn’t wanted to remember, not the night of April second, or the nagging questions that surrounded it.

He didn’t want to think about how he’d got there in the first place. The organization, small, quiet, efficient, meting out justice and cleaning up political messes where overt organizations were helpless. He had done his share, never realizing he was part and parcel of making things worse.

All the tequila in Mexico couldn’t burn that knowledge from his brain, and then Annie showed up, and all those questions flared into the open again.

Win Sutherland hadn’t been alone. In his schemes, his tricks, his games. In his lucrative little sideline, ordering death for the right
price and sending out his loyal minions. His stooges.

Carew might be fool enough to think the organization had stopped with Win’s death. James knew better. Up to now he hadn’t given a shit. Let them all keep killing one another. He was out of it, just waiting for someone good enough and fast enough to finish him.

But everything had changed. He wasn’t through yet. He couldn’t just let it go and let them sort things out, not with Annie poking her nose into things. He couldn’t count on Martin to protect her—he was good, but he’d never done any wet work. As far as James knew, he probably couldn’t even shoot a gun. He’d be no protection at all for those who’d come after Annie.

So he was back, whether he wanted to be or not. And this time he wasn’t going to let go until he found the answers. He’d take Carew by his scrawny little throat and force him to tell him everything. Carew wanted him dead, just as Win’s associates did. At least he could bargain with Carew for a cease-fire. Just long enough to find the answers.

What the hell was that stupid embroidery Annie kept yammering about? Probably a red herring, or maybe some kind of code. He wished he could just ignore it, concentrate on whom Win had seen last, where he’d been.

But he was good at his profession. And he knew he couldn’t afford to discount anything, even some tacky “luck o’ the Irish” wall hanging.

He needed answers, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got them. Knowledge was power. Knowledge was control and a faint modicum of safety. He doubted he could buy his own safety, but he might be able to buy a life for the tart-tongued woman sleeping so soundly beside him. With luck, it just might be enough.

“We’ve got a problem, sir.”

“So what the hell else is new?” the general snapped. It was early evening, but this time the office was far from deserted. The man standing opposite him had an ostensible reason for his visit, but one that wouldn’t hold up to too much scrutiny. It had to be something pretty damned bad to get him over here. “You’re going to tell me McKinley got away, aren’t you? I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m not sure. The place blew up, and we haven’t been able to contact our operatives yet. With any luck Hanover will have set it and taken care of both of them.”

“Who says we can expect luck in this business?” the General said sourly. “McKinley’s an
expert in explosives—better than Hanover ever was.”

“Was, sir?”

“You may not be sure, son, but I am. Your people are gone. McKinley got away again, damn his eyes. And he probably took Sutherland’s daughter with him. We’re in deep shit, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

The General leaned back with a weary sigh. He was getting too old for this. It was time to think of more pleasant battles to be won. He had his future all nicely mapped out for himself. He’d start small—secretary of defense maybe. He knew how to twist arms, how to grease palms—he was a consummate politician as well as tactician, and he’d been working on his public image all his life. It was time for it to pay off. His lucrative sideline had gone bust—he was a smart man and he knew when it was time to cut his losses. There was the future to look forward to. He wouldn’t settle for less than complete power. Preferably chief of staff. Or maybe the lesser job of president.

But he wasn’t getting anywhere near the White House with a loose cannon like McKinley waiting to go off. He had to make sure there were no skeletons rattling in his closet.
And McKinley’s bones were already making a hell of a racket.

“All right, son,” he said heavily. “I’ll take it from here.”

The yuppie scum in his damned Italian suit and too long hair looked surprised. “Sir?”

He wouldn’t have lasted a week in the old army. Of course, with the new one, chock-a-block full of women and faggots, he’d probably fit right in.

“I’ve got alternatives. You’ve failed, son. Time to let an old soldier take over.”

He didn’t like that, the General thought with cool amusement. But he knew there wasn’t a blessed thing he could do about it. There were times, he thought, when life could still be sweet. And squashing an Ivy League dickhead was one of those moments.

“I’ll have McKinley and the girl taken care of. Don’t you worry your head about it,” he added grandly. “You can stop wringing your hands.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, son?”

“I wouldn’t underestimate McKinley if I were you. They don’t call him Dr. Death for nothing.”

The General frowned. The boy didn’t stay squashed for long. “I think you can count on me to handle him. I have resources unconnected
to your little operation. McKinley won’t be expecting it. As soon as I find out where he is, I’ll have him and the girl taken out.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“You sound doubtful, son. Would you care to place a little bet?”

The man grimaced. “No, thank you, sir.”

“Think it’s in bad taste, do you, boy?”

“No, sir. I just don’t make bets that I think I might lose.”

The General leaned back, suddenly more in charity with the world. “You’re a smart man. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

Dickhead, the General thought genially as the door closed behind him. But a damned clever one at that.

He moved her through customs swiftly, and she stumbled after him, temporarily obedient, unable or unwilling to ask any more questions, put up any more arguments. He expected that if it had been up to her, she would have stayed asleep the moment the plane landed and let him cart her around over his shoulder.

But he would have put his hands on her, and that might have been a very big mistake for both of them. She was exhausted and not quite sober, and while he shared the first condition,
he would have given anything to share the second.

Clancy was waiting for them at the prearranged spot, and the moment he caught sight of McKinley he started toward the exit, secure in the knowledge that they’d follow at a discreet distance. Annie didn’t murmur more than a token protest when he put her in the backseat of an aging Toyota and then closed the door after her, taking the front seat beside Clancy. He could feel her glaring at the back of his head as they pulled into the pre-dawn traffic, and he glanced at her. “Go to sleep, Annie. Everything’s under control.”

She didn’t say a word. She simply lay back and closed her eyes, but McKinley wasn’t fooled. He had no doubt she would listen to every word they said.

Clancy kept his gaze glued to the road. “Who is she?”

McKinley considered his various answers. He was tired himself, and the memory of the brief, efficient blood bath that morning still lingered in the hidden recesses of his brain. Haunting him, as it always did. “Someone I’m sleeping with,” he said in an offhand voice.

“I don’t buy that. You never let your cock tell you what to do, and you wouldn’t have brought her along unless you had a reason.”

“You really want to know, Clancy?”

He watched Clancy consider it. He’d been in the business for more than ten years, but for the past three he’d been retired, providing occasional consulting services and living off his pension. Win had kept his operatives and their targets carefully segregated, but occasionally their paths would cross. James had run across Clancy in Panama, each on separate missions, sent by the same man. Both stained with blood.

Clancy had been the pragmatic one. It was a living, and none of the people he’d taken out was of any benefit to the world. They caused far more harm than good, and Clancy figured he was doing society a favor.

James couldn’t see it quite so clearly. That Catholic guilt haunting him. The memory of a corpse-strewn square, and women crying, lingered in some dark part of his mind.

But for all Clancy’s cool practicality, McKinley trusted him more than he trusted anyone else in this world. Which wasn’t saying much, he thought sourly.

“No,” Clancy said finally. “I guess I don’t want to know the details.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve got a safe house for you up in the hills. You’ve got it for as long as you need it.” Clancy jerked his head toward Annie’s reclining figure. “Is she one of us? Can we talk?”

“To some extent,” he said evenly.

“Did you ever find out what happened to Win?”

She didn’t make a sound, but he could practically feel her adrenaline kick in. “Not yet,” he said.

“Think Carew knew about it?”

“Yes.”

Clancy considered it for a moment, then nodded. “That’s what I thought. Bastard.”

“Yes.”

“Any idea why?”

James didn’t even consider telling him. Clancy lived with his choices, his life. He didn’t need to know the truth about the filthy work he’d dedicated his life to. Didn’t need to know that some of those targets had merely been someone’s inconvenience, taken out for a price.

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re going to do something about it,” Clancy said. “I know you well enough to know the answer. I’m just offering my help if you need it.”

“Clancy,” he said wearily, “you’ve earned your rest.”

“So have you, man.”

“No rest for the wicked, Clancy.”

Clancy hadn’t lost his touch. The house was tiny, remote, up at the end of a narrow dirt road. Trees closed in around it on two sides,
and the back overlooked a canyon, a cliff so steep and overgrown it would take a well-equipped army to maneuver up it. No one could get anywhere near the place without McKinley being aware of it, and he had no doubt Clancy had a sniper rifle set up for him to ward off any intruders.

Clancy didn’t even turn off the engine when he pulled up to the vine-covered front door. “There’s plenty of food and booze, and I took care of everything else you asked for. I’ll call tonight and see what else you need.”

“Did you set up the meeting?”

“Yeah. He wouldn’t say when. You know Carew.”

“I know Carew, Is the phone line clear?”

“It was last time I checked. With three relays set up so they can’t trace you. Carew knows where you are, but no one else can find out unless he tells them.”

“Maybe,” he said. “You’re a good man, Clancy.”

“I wish I could do more.”

McKinley slid out of the car, pausing by the back door. Annie had discovered that the Toyota came equipped with child-safety locks, and there was no way she could open the door herself. She wasn’t a happy woman.

He didn’t give her a chance to start arguing. He moved her out of the car and into the
house, fast, before she could start yelling at him, and this time he had no choice but to touch her. He put his hand over her mouth, shoved her up against the door, and held her there, in the stillness of the darkened house, as he listened for sounds of intruders.

There was no one there now. He knew it, with a sureness he could never explain but had saved his life countless times. The place was empty, safe.

And then Annie quivered.

He looked down at her. Her wide blue eyes were staring up at him, and the anger that had burned there was gone. She looked shocked, dazed, vulnerable, and he knew it had nothing to do with death and her father, and everything to do with his body pressing up against hers in the small, dark hallway.

She felt hot, strong, alive against him, and he found he had this crazy urge to move his mouth down to the side of her neck, to press it against her, to taste her skin. He wanted to feel her breasts, wanted to pull her T-shirt up and feel her hot skin against his. Damn, he wanted her.

He released her, backing away before she could feel his immediate response. Clancy said he never used to think with his cock. Clancy didn’t know that times had changed.

“What are we doing here?” she demanded in a shaky voice.

“Waiting for someone.” He moved away, scouting out the tidy layout of the little bungalow. It was an old building, modeled after an English cottage, all multipaned windows and trailing rose bushes. He could smell the scent of roses in the air, and it gave him a sharp pang. The Sutherland house in Georgetown was surrounded by roses. There had been a vase of pink, fragrant ones in Win’s study after the memorial service.