Stop at Nothing (22 page)

Kyle straightened at the comment, turning to study Peterman's profile. “How do you know anything about her?”

Peterman sent a nonchalant look his way. “What? You didn't think I'd check into the woman you said you were working this case with when you called me?”

Kyle studied him for a moment longer, searching for any signs of a hidden agenda, but Peterman seemed on the level. “Sure. Just use some respect, man. You talk like that about her again, and I'll drop you.”

Peterman lifted his hands from the steering wheel briefly in a mea culpa gesture. “No disrespect meant.”

“So where the hell are we meeting with Rhodes anyway?” Kyle asked, changing the subject.

“Just outside of the city,” Peterman told him. “We'll be there soon.”

* * *

Fielding was careful to stay back from the silver Lincoln, not wanting either of the men to pick up on the fact that they had a tail. He'd paid handsomely to have a car delivered to him at the airport terminal, but it'd been worth it. If he'd had to hail a cab or get a rental car, he would've missed Agent Dawson getting into a car with someone who looked like an FBI agent. A colleague in law enforcement, Fielding guessed. They certainly hadn't greeted one another as friends.

So where the hell were they going?

If Dawson's companion was a fellow agent, why weren't they going to FBI headquarters, which was in the opposite direction by several miles now? Fortunately, Fielding had a couple hours before it was time to do his job, so he had time to follow for a while and satisfy his curiosity about their final destination.

“What are you up to, Agent Dawson?” he mumbled to himself, narrowing his eyes against the sun.

Suddenly, Fielding's phone alerted him to a new text message. With a groan, he snatched up his phone and glanced at the message. His eyes went wide when he saw who the message was from. But his lips curved into a satisfied smile when he saw what the message actually said.

Thank you.

It seemed the pretty little deputy had finally received his text messages. He'd been beginning to wonder if he'd been wrong to do her such a considerable favor. It turned out she'd been worthy of his benevolence after all.

It was too bad he hadn't been sent to abduct Abby Morrow. He had a feeling she wouldn't have been nearly so timid or frightened while under his care. Her sister had been a compliant little mouse. And while that certainly made his job easier, it had taken all the sport out of it.

But Abby had made up for it by following all his rules during their little game.

It was really too bad that their association had to end. He would've liked to continue to test the full limit of her investigative abilities by really putting her to the test in a
true
battle of the wits. Now
that
would've been a game worthy of her talents—and his.

And then perhaps he could've been the one making out with her in the thunderstorm, stripping her of her clothes in her entryway, fucking her against the wall…

He shifted a little in his seat as he remembered the scene he'd glimpsed through her window.

Fielding shook off the fantasy and focused his attention back on the road and the Lincoln several cars ahead. The driver was taking an exit.

Fielding frowned and did a double take when he saw the highway sign indicating where they were headed. The driver's destination seemed to be in the same direction as where Fielding would be heading for his own job. That would certainly make it easier to keep his appointment. What a fortunate coincidence.

Except that Fielding didn't believe in coincidences.

“You dragged my ass all the way out to some
warehouse
?”

Peterman gestured vaguely with his arm toward the few boxes and crates that remained in the abandoned building. “Rhodes's attorney thought this might be the best place to talk with him off the record,” he said. “You can ask him what you want here without anyone listening in.”

Kyle glanced around the vast expanse of the warehouse, illuminated only by the single fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling near where Peterman stood. The rest of the light fixtures that Kyle could discern in the waning evening light appeared to have been broken or disabled long ago. In the darkness, he heard the scurry of one of the local wildlife that'd apparently taken up residence in the building since its human occupants had vacated.

He didn't like this. Not one fucking bit.

“So where's Rhodes?” Kyle asked, working to keep his voice level. “Shouldn't he be here?”

Peterman shifted uneasily on his feet, beginning to look a little nervous. “I'm sure he'll be here any minute. Just be patient.”

The hair on the back of Kyle's neck prickled in warning. When a soft shuffle in the shadows drew Peterman's attention away, Kyle snatched his gun from the back of his waistband and had it trained on Peterman when the man turned back around.

“What the fuck, Dawson?” Peterman cried, instantly raising his hands.

“Who are you working for?” Kyle demanded. “Maxwell? Whitmore? Hamilton?
Who?
”

Peterman shook his head frantically. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about! I'm not working for anybody.”

“Bullshit!” Kyle barked, taking a few cautious steps forward. “Take out your weapon and put in on the ground where I can see it. Your backup too.” Peterman gave him a quizzical look. “Yeah, I paid a little more attention than you think, Peterman.” He gestured with the muzzle of his gun. “Let's go.”

Peterman reached around to the small of his back and slowly withdrew his weapon, letting it hang from his index finger as he held it up where Kyle could see it. Then, without taking his eyes off Kyle, he squatted and set it on the concrete floor. While he was kneeling, he lifted the leg of his pants and undid the Velcro strap that secured his backup weapon against his calf.

“How much are they paying you for information?” Kyle hissed. “How much did it take for you to sell out?”

“You gotta believe me,” Peterman said, as he slowly rose to his feet, hands still raised. “I'm not involved in this, Dawson.”

“It all makes sense now, Peterman,” Kyle retorted. “Someone tipped off Rhodes that we were coming to bring him in. That's why he ran. And you tried to stop me when I went after him.”

“I wasn't trying to stop you!” Peterman shouted. “I was trying to keep you from getting your stupid ass killed! You were my partner, Dawson. That's what partners
do
.”

“Then who tipped him off that we were coming?” Kyle demanded, beginning to doubt his own suspicions. “Huh?”

“I have no fucking clue! Damn it, Dawson!” Peterman growled. “I'm not a dirty agent! This case is just as important to me as it is to you. I was there when we found Rosalie Sparks, remember? That has haunted me just as much as it's haunted you. Why the fuck do you think I'm helping you now? I want those assholes caught just as much as you do!”

“So where's Rhodes then?” Kyle spat. “Why drag me out to a deserted warehouse? Who the hell paid you off to get me here, Peterman?”

Peterman's face twisted with emotion, then his shoulders sagged. “I'm not working for them, Dawson. I swear to God. It's not like that.”

Kyle's grip on the gun tightened. “Enlighten me.”

“They—” He glanced away for a moment, composing himself. “They've got my daughter. They've got my baby girl, Miranda. She's only
sixteen
. They said if I didn't bring you out here, she'd get passed around from man to man and then they'd gut her and drop her on my doorstep.”

Kyle lowered his weapon on a horrified curse. “Jesus Christ.”

“I don't know where the hell Rhodes is,” Peterman repeated. “I swear it. His attorney called me to set it up—”

The sharp crack of the shot abruptly cut off Peterman's words as the bullet struck him in the chest. Kyle whirled around to face the assailant and nearly fired a round just as the man emerged from the shadows, but thank God he'd caught sight of the terrified, sobbing girl being used as a human shield before he'd fired.

Kyle's eyes went wide when he saw who was peeking out around her, keeping her in front of him like the coward he was. One hand grasped the girl's arm while the other held a gun to her side. She was gagged and her hands were bound, her entire body trembling. When she saw her father lying on the ground, a terrible little wail escaped her. Fury raged in Kyle's blood.

“Miranda, honey,” Kyle called out. “Miranda, look at me. Don't look over there. You just look at me, okay?” He then turned his furious gaze on her captor. “You son of a bitch.”

Rhodes grinned, his lips curving into a mockery of a smile. “Agent Dawson, so good to see you again. And you too, Agent Peterman—” He sent a pitying look toward Peterman's body, then offered Kyle a pout. “Well, I guess he won't be joining in our conversation after all.”

“Fuck you, Rhodes,” Kyle hissed, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the wiry little shithead before him. He certainly didn't look like the drugged-out prostitute he'd pretended to be on the street. He was now dressed in an expensive suit and tie, his bleached blond hair fashionably styled. “What the hell do you want from me?”

Rhodes clucked his tongue. “It's not what
I
want,” he corrected. “It's what my boss wants. You're interfering with his business, Agent Dawson. And, well, we just can't have that. Now, if you would be so kind as to put your weapon on the ground and kick it away from you?”

Kyle did as he was told, then straightened, his hands held out a little from his sides. “Whose boy toy are you, Rhodes?” he asked, slowly turning as Rhodes circled him. “Obviously, you're not who you pretended to be. Were you using prostitution as a way to recruit fresh meat for the market? Or did you just like being manhandled by drunks in alleyways?”

Rhodes gave Kyle a tolerant grin. “Who doesn't like to be manhandled now and then? But you're correct—I wasn't quite who I made myself out to be. And when this job is over, I can retire quite comfortably.”

“Who's providing this golden parachute?” Kyle demanded. “Who's paying you to do his dirty work?”

Rhodes gave Kyle a pitying look. “Really, Agent Dawson, do you think I'm going to just stand here and confess all my dirty little secrets? You've seen far too many movies.”

“Then why bring me out here?” Kyle asked. “If you're going to kill me, you might as well get on with it.”

Rhodes heaved a dramatic sigh. “Unfortunately, that's not for me to do. I'm supposed to wait until closer to when the hired help is scheduled to arrive. Can't have anyone stumbling onto your body, now can we?”

Kyle swallowed hard, wondering just who the hell Rhodes was expecting to show up. “Fine. We'll wait here. But let Miranda go. You don't need her anymore.”

Rhodes turned to look the girl over with a glance that made Kyle's skin crawl. “Oh, I don't know…” Rhodes mused. “I might have use for her yet.”

The girl shrank away from Rhodes's lascivious gaze, her trembling increasing.

“Leave her alone,” Kyle hissed, trying to draw Rhodes's attention away from the girl. If he lived through this, he'd tear the little fucker apart for putting the poor girl through hell. She sent a pleading look his way. He met her gaze briefly, then turned back to Rhodes.

Kyle licked his lips, trying to come up with a way to stall Rhodes until he could figure out how the hell to get Peterman's daughter out of there without getting both of them killed. “Were you the one who sent the picture of the dead man to Abby?”

Rhodes inclined his head. “It's amazing what an attorney can smuggle to his client these days…”

“Where's the body now?” Kyle demanded.

Rhodes shrugged. “Oh, others handle those nasty little details, Agent. But I imagine Whitmore's probably alligator food.”

So it
was
Whitmore in the photo… Okay, so where the hell is Maxwell?

At that moment, a watch alarm started beeping. “Ah, there's my cue,” Rhodes announced. “Good-bye, Agent Dawson.”

Kyle started as two shots rang out in rapid succession. For a split second he wondered if his body had already gone into shock because he felt no pain at all. But then he saw the bloodstain spreading across Rhodes's suit jacket. Kyle's head snapped over to Miranda Peterman. Her eyes were wide, terrified. She started screaming, wiggling to break away from Rhodes. He clung to her as his knees gave out beneath him and he slipped to the floor.

As his synapses began to fire again, Kyle's instincts kicked in and he rushed toward Miranda, snatching up his weapon as he went and arriving just in time to grab her around the waist and keep her from falling to the ground with Rhodes.

Tucking the girl in close to his body to shield her as much as possible, he trained his gun on the darkness where the shots must've originated.

“Federal agent!” he barked out, half dragging the terrified Miranda behind some nearby shipping crates that he hoped might offer them a little cover from the gunman. “Drop your weapon and come out with your hands where I can see them!”

As the man came out from the shadows, his arms raised, Kyle straightened, completely dumbfounded. “Holy shit.”

Fielding offered Kyle a friendly grin. “Well, hello again, Agent Dawson. Good to see you alive and well.”

Kyle started to pull away from Miranda, but she clutched his arm with her bound hands, tears streaming down her face as she vehemently shook her head, her eyes pleading with him not to leave her.

“It's alright, sweetheart,” he soothed. “I'm not going anywhere.”

He gently pulled away from her to better train his gun on Fielding. “What the hell are you doing here, Fielding?” But as soon as the words left his lips, Kyle made the connection. He cursed under his breath as Fielding's grin widened, then ground out, “
Independent contractor
.”

“See, this is why I've decided to like you, Agent Dawson,” Fielding said, his tone jovial. “You're sharp as a tack.”

Kyle reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone. “I want you to lie down on your stomach, Fielding, and lace your fingers behind your head.”

Fielding gave Kyle a disappointed look. “Now, is that any way to treat the man who saved your life?
Three times
?”

Kyle frowned, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Ask Abby about the picture I sent,” he said. “It's of the man who'd been sent to kill you the night of the thunderstorm.”

“What?” Kyle sputtered. “How the hell…?”

“The second time was when I accepted a very sizable sum to murder all of you involved. But I've decided to decline to provide said services as I find my employer's lack of manners…unfortunate.”

Kyle could do little more than blink in dismay. The guy was a total whack job.

Fielding gestured toward where Rhodes lay. “The third… Well, I think you and your friend there were probably the bodies I was supposed to dispose of, but since you're alive, I guess that won't be necessary.”

When Kyle's frown deepened, Fielding jerked his chin toward where Peterman lay. “No
blood
, Agent Dawson. Kevlar, I imagine.”

Kyle came out from behind the crate and took a couple of quick sidesteps toward Peterman but halted when Fielding started to reach into his pocket. “Hands where I can see them!”

Fielding tilted his head slightly. “I'm just going to give you my phone and the flash drive that Deputy Morrow was kind enough to provide in exchange for her sister's return,” he assured Kyle. At Kyle's startled expression, Fielding offered another comforting smile. “As my employer didn't require that it stay in his possession, I thought you might like to have it back. And you'll find some interesting photos on my phone that might assist you in your investigation.”

Kyle nodded. “Okay. But slowly.”

Fielding reached into his pocket again and withdrew the items. Then he slowly crouched down and set them on the concrete at his feet. As soon as he was standing again, Fielding inclined his head a little, taking a bow. “Now, if you'll excuse me, Agent, I suppose I should probably leave before you call the police.”

“You aren't going anywhere,” Kyle informed him. “I'm taking you in for questioning, Fielding.”

“Good luck to you, Agent Dawson,” Fielding said, talking over Kyle's protestations. “It's been a fine game. I do hope we get the chance to play again.”

“Game?” Kyle repeated. “What the—”

At that moment, Peterman moaned. Kyle glanced toward him, just briefly, but when he returned his attention to Fielding, the man was gone, having vanished back into the shadows.

Kyle dropped to Peterman's side and rolled the man over. As Fielding had predicted, there was a bullet hole in Peterman's shirt but no blood, the bullet having been stopped by Peterman's vest.

“Jesus, Peterman,” Kyle muttered. “You lucky bastard.”

“My daughter?” Peterman moaned as Kyle dialed 911. “Where's Miranda?”

At hearing her father speak, the girl rushed out from behind the crate, sobbing as she fell to the ground on her knees beside her father.

“Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?”

Kyle closed his eyes with relief when he heard the 911 dispatcher's voice. “This is Agent Kyle Dawson,” he said. “There's been a shooting.”