In small towns like Coalton, Deacon prowled the cemeteries. Chase had seen him more than once kneel down and bow his head over what would turn out to be a child's grave.
Strange behavior from a guy who wanted to kill everyone in authority, but hey, Chase figured even the Nazis had their soft spots.
"What's your opinion of Brother Cavanaugh?" Deacon asked in his quiet voice. "How's he working out?"
"What do I care?" Chase kept his face neutral. Maybe there was something to Lucky's bad feeling after all. "You're the one brought him in on this, said you needed an expert to see that Gianotti's not cheating you." He took a drink. "You're not calling the deal off, are you? 'Cause then I would care. It'd be my ass on the line with Gianotti. Not to mention the commission I'd be forfeiting."
Deacon watched him for a long moment. "No, proceed as planned."
Chase tilted his glass back, then set it down. "Is there something hinky with Cavanaugh?" He looked around the bar, counting heads. Everyone except Lucky accounted for. "You still want me to take him to the meet to verify your shipment for you?"
"I wouldn't count on that," Deacon replied, his tone vague. "Don't worry, I'll handle everything."
"All right, then." Chase slid out of the booth, hoping that Lucky was safe in his room, not lying in a ditch somewhere, a bullet in his head.
The image almost brought the cheap whiskey back up. He swallowed hard. "Tomorrow's gonna be a long day," he said, throwing a five on the table. "See ya."
He felt Deacon's stare on his back and kept his stride easy as he left the bar and made his way through the frigid night air to the safety of his room. He couldn't risk going to Lucky's room. Hell, he didn't even know which one the ATF agent was in. But he had to warn him somehow.
Chase eyed the hotel telephone. Deacon was paranoid about electronics—which was how he stayed two steps ahead of the law. No one in his circle was allowed to carry cell phones or computers. He'd have someone monitoring the outgoing calls for certain, but what about room to room? Chase needed to get Lucky out of here, ASAP. He bounced on his feet, mulling over the problem, then saw the ice bucket.
Chase grabbed it and left the room. Lucky's Suzuki wasn't parked out front, so he tried the rear first. He walked through the covered breezeway that connected the front and back of the building and housed the ice machine. The night was quiet except for the beat of Garth Brooks coming from the jukebox in the bar.
He crept down to the other end of the hallway and peered around the corner. Lucky's bike was parked in front of room thirteen.
Deacon's brand of humor, he assumed. Lucky probably didn't appreciate the joke. At least Chase hoped it was only a joke. He took a gamble and approached the room. It was dark and silent, the drapes drawn shut except for a small crack between them. He looked over his shoulder, no one was near, so he bent forward, strained to see inside.
Snowy white sheets puddled on the floor, the bed was empty. Something shiny lay beside the night stand, an overturned brass lamp.
This was bad, very bad. He couldn't tell if anyone waited inside, ready to spring a trap if he entered. Or would he find Lucky's body?
Chase pushed the thought aside and focused on the task at hand, ignoring the prickling between his shoulder blades. He reached for the doorknob. It was open. He inhaled deeply and turned it. Nothing stirred on this side of the building. He slipped inside, shut the door behind him.
Chaos greeted him. The room had been thoroughly searched by someone who didn't care if anyone noticed.
No sign of Lucky. Chase crouched on the far side of the bed, the dim light from outside gleaming against the white fur of Lucky's rabbit foot. He reached for the leather jacket it was attached to.
Worse than bad. Lucky's tracking device and panic button remained concealed beneath the collar snap. No coat meant no way to trace Lucky. The fact that Lucky hadn't found some way to grab it and activate the panic alarm meant there was a very good chance he was already dead.
Chase stood, let the coat drop back to the floor beside the bed.
What had happened? All he'd done was spend a little time at home and then more at KC's—had Lucky somehow exposed himself because Chase was too busy screwing around, because he hadn't been there to watch his partner's back?
Why was it every time Chase came home all hell broke lose?
CHAPTER 13
KC ran her fingers through her hair, tugging on the ends as if trying to pull the answers she needed from her brain.
"You'll be bald you keep that up," Glenn said, sinking into the chair beside her. "Bad vibes about tomorrow?"
She stilled her hands. Her foot began tapping. How could she tell him and Carson that they were on their own out here in the middle of nowhere, that no one at the Bureau even knew where they were, much less what they were doing? The image of the agent tortured to death by The Crusade kept intruding itself in her vision. That could be Glenn or Carson if she wasn't careful, if she trusted the wrong person.
She had to trust herself. Her instincts had gotten her this far, the only other option was to abort and slink back to Philly. Where Special Agent in Charge Holstrom would turn her over to the OPR and she'd get her ass booted out of the Bureau. Maybe even thrown in jail if they really wanted to nail her.
"I don't like dealing with The Crusade. Too many unknowns," she finally told Glenn.
"That's just what Carson and I were thinking. We think you should take us with you tomorrow instead of posting us on the rooftop. If we're going to keep you safe, we need to be closer."
She couldn't hide her smile at that. Positioning them on the rooftop was her way of keeping
them
safe. "Deacon is a paranoid freak. He gets a whiff of anyone sniffing around either the Gianotti or Westin family and he'll declare war on this town. A lot of innocent people could get caught in the crossfire."
She rolled onto her feet, stretched the kinks out of her spine. "No. We go as planned. Just me on the street, you guys and the Staties ready to back me up if I need you."
When she looked up the older man's eyes were creased in worry. "Don't worry, Pops," she said with a short laugh. "If I do my job right not only will we nail Gianotti and Westin but we'll bring down Deacon and his boys as well. They'll give us medals."
"I'd settle for a home-cooked meal and a few days off. Anyone ever tell you you're a lousy cook?"
KC laughed, for real this time, the movement making her fake tattoo dance. She reached down and patted Glenn's arm. "Us bad girls rely on other talents," she said, sashaying toward the steps. "I'm going to get some sleep. You and Carson all right down here?"
He glanced over at the monitors. Carson's head bobbed in time to music coming through one earphone while he scanned their bugs with the other. "Yeah, I'll wake you if anything happens."
"Night." She peered back down over the banister. Glenn and Carson were good men, good friends. She had to do right by them. If anything happened to them because of Chase Westin and his gang of thieves...
Her grandfather had once told her how they took revenge on traitors, back in the old country. It involved barbed wire, sharp knives and a high tree limb. Not a pretty picture but it paled in comparison with what she'd do to Westin if one of her people got hurt.
No one was going to get hurt, she repeated with every step she took. Not on her team. Her ops never went south. Never.
Jay tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He'd actually gotten up once to go apologize to Chase, to talk things over and say goodbye, but Chase was gone. Probably out drinking, finding some new way to screw up.
Like going to work for Mr. Gianotti. What had he been thinking? Before their folks died, Chase never in a million years would have thought of doing something like that. It was as if something had broken inside Chase after what happened in Afghanistan. Left him a changed man.
Jay remembered long hours sitting in silence at Chase's bedside at Bethesda. Chase never once acknowledged his presence, the few times he made eye contact, he'd stare right through Jay like Jay was the walking ghost.
He rolled over again, pounding the pillow, trying to find a comfortable position. He wished he could trust Chase with the truth, maybe even convince him to join KC and him tomorrow. Maybe Chase knew something about Mr. Gianotti that KC could use to convince her bosses to offer Chase a deal.
Or maybe Chase would tell Mr. Gianotti about KC, get her killed.
Jay opened his eyes as the sound of a gunshot echoed through his memory. His body tensed now just as it did two months ago, as if it were far removed from the gruesome sight before him. Then came the adrenalin surge of terror as he ran for his life.
That fear hadn't subsided much these past few months—not until KC came along. Finally he was beginning to feel safe again. Even daring to hope that he had a future to look forward to.
All thanks to KC. He blew out his breath, forced his eyes closed once more. He had to get some rest, tomorrow was a big day. He wondered what KC was doing, how she was preparing for the completion of her operation. She could handle Mr. Gianotti's men, he was certain. She'd keep Neil safe as well. Maybe he should tell her about Chase?
He wished he could stay and watch her in action, imagined her sending the badguys flying with spinning kicks and hard hitting punches, then pulling her gun and yelling at them to
Freeze!
like they did on TV.
Jay sighed. He would be far away, sequestered in some hotel room with two Federal Marshals. Guys like Jay never got to see any of the action.
Since meeting KC he was wondering if medical school was really for him. Instead, he could get his degree, apply to the FBI—maybe even end up working undercover with KC. Or together under the covers, he thought, his mind flashing to an image of her in his arms. The fantasy put a smile on his face, and he finally drifted into sleep.
Until a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him from the unconscious realms of his dreams.
"Get up!" Neil shouted at him. "C'mon, we have to hurry!"
Fear jolted through Jay. Was Mr. Gianotti after him? Did he know what Jay had seen? He sat upright, tugged on the jeans Neil threw at him.
"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling a sweat shirt over his head.
"Your brother—he's gone after KC!"
Now Jay was fully awake. He stepped into a pair of sneakers and followed Neil outside, not bothering with his coat. The anger surging through him was protection enough against the cold. "Is she all right?"
"I don't know," Neil said as he started his Firebird. "I saw Chase at her bedroom window. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to wake her father, he'd kill her for sure, so I came to get you—" The words poured out of him in a rush until he was forced to take a breath.
Jay's vision cleared as the red haze of anger receded. KC could take care of herself. Heck, she probably had Chase in handcuffs and was hauling him off to jail as they spoke. Except she couldn't do that without blowing her cover and placing Jay at risk—how far would she go to protect him? He knew that was her job and all, but he hated that she was in jeopardy because of him.
Damn it, why did Chase have to pick now to come home and ruin his life?
CHAPTER 14
Rose Prospero paced the area between her desk and the door, her eyes never leaving the clock. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. She knew field ops had to be flexible, sometimes contacts were missed. Hell, she'd spent over a decade with the CIA crawling through the slums of the world and how many checkpoints had she missed?
Never two in a row. Except for that time in Razgravia and that was because she was busy rotting in the filth of a jail cell, abandoned by the Agency.
When she took command of the Special Threats Team, she'd vowed to give her people the utmost support. They would never endure the same fate she had.
Damn it, if only she could have gotten that worm in Hell's Bend to talk before he died. She'd known the bartender was holding out on her, that he knew who had set up Victor. Unfortunately, Deacon's people were religious about cleaning up any loose ends. When she'd gone back to interview the bartender after hours, she'd found his gutted remains hanging from the set of elk antlers behind his bar.
As if what The Crusade had done to Victor hadn't been warning enough to prevent anyone in Hell's Bend from talking to strangers. She was glad she hadn't told Billy about the two men who had come after her as she was making her escape from the small border town. They'd underestimated her and paid dearly for it—with their lives.
Probably take days before anyone found their bodies in the arroyo where they'd planned to rape and torture Rose.
Her jaws clenched at the thought of the fate the two Crusaders had intended for her. She couldn't help but hope that the buzzards and coyotes took their time with the bodies.
It had been a long time since Rose had killed anyone in close quarters. She'd showered twice since returning to the STR Headquarters, but still the coppery taste of blood and fear etched the back of her throat.
At least Victor's death hadn't gone totally unavenged. She hoped Deacon got the message: she wouldn't rest until she nailed his ass. And she didn't care if she had to break some laws to do it. Not when the fate of her team and a whole population of innocent civilians hung in the balance.
What the hell was Deacon planning with all those weapons? And how in God's name had he broken past their security? Again.
There had to be someone helping him. Someone on the inside of the intelligence community with access to the most secure databases.
She stopped before the large map of the world spread across one wall. Billy Price kept badgering her to upgrade to a computerized version like the one in his office. One of the many things they agreed to disagree on.