Deadly Little Secrets (25 page)

Drake winced. Jurgens was well and truly pissed. It was going to take something major. Groveling might be his best bet. “I know. I know that, I do,” he said, letting the weariness he actually felt suffuse his voice. “I overreacted, damn it. Stupid of me. I thought I'd gotten over that.” He said it ruefully, reminding Jurgens of easier times when they'd put together deals in college, made money for tuition, cars, and women with their joint escapades. Jurgens had always twitted him for being hasty, getting ahead of himself.

Drake didn't agree, but he had moderated the tendency. Jurgens liked a long con better than he did, but they both liked the money. They paid one another, kept it straight so neither of them felt used or cheated.

The thing he always had to remember was that Jurgens was a killer; unstable, volatile, like nitroglycerin. Amazingly useful, but best handled with care.

“Seriously,” he said, hoping a last bit of eating crow would even things out. “It was that good. You can't blame me for thinking it was you.”

“Huh.” Jurgens's grunt didn't sound convinced, but he didn't sound like he was going to leave Oakland and come hunting Drake. “Be careful. Accusations are not wise.”

“Very true.” Drake decided it was time to shift gears. “Oakland, eh? What's up?”

“Our discussion,” Jurgens said impatiently. “More product from our new watcher.”

“Ah.” The light dawned. Jurgens was suborning the inside man at the CIA he'd cultivated. “Good. Listen, I'll say it once again. Sorry. I'll e-mail you a new number. These shouldn't be used again. Also, we need to step up our check on our East Coast rival. If this was him, he's gotten better. If it's something else, someone else muddling the works, we need to know that too.”

“Ja,” Jurgens agreed, disgust ringing in the single word. He cut the line off, and Drake was left sitting in the dark, seething.

If he'd thought it once, he'd thought it a hundred times. Jurgens was dangerous. He got out long enough to drop the phone on the ground in a puddle from the Opera House's landscape sprinklers. Starting the car, he ran over it, smashing it. He got out to retrieve the destroyed SIM chip. The pieces of the phone were indistinguishable in the dark, useless and unidentifiable without the chip.

On his way home, he got two cups of coffee, sipping one and dropping the chip in the other. At the gas station where he filled up the car, he dumped the unused cup into the trash, taking off the cardboard sleeve where he'd touched it. That, he would recycle at home.

He smiled, thinking that the lovely Ana was now without her protector. Meeting up with her again would be…intriguing.

No one left the hospital for two days. Pretzky had arranged for a change of clothes for Ana, taking the fabulous but ruined dress away. By the time Gates was able to accept visitors, Ana was running on two hours of sleep caught in a chair in the waiting room.

Dav went in first, and when he came out, he was pale. “He'd like to speak to you,” he said, taking Ana's hands and bussing her on the cheek before he led her to the doors to the ICU. “Remember, he's medicated. Lucid, but medicated, all right?”

She wasn't sure what that meant, but she set it aside in her hurry to get to Gates.

Her first thought was how drained he looked. His wavy mass of brown hair was the only warm spot of color on the white sheets; his skin was barely a shade pinker than the fabric.

“Ana,” he croaked. “I told Dav,” he said, rasping as he looked at her. He looked angry now, irritated.

“What?” She hurried over. “What is it? What can I do?”

“You can go home, Ana. You don't need to be here.”

The words were a hard slap to her face, a harder blow to her heart. “W-w-hat?”

“We've had fun, Ana, but you don't need to be hanging out here. You've got your work, it's not like we're—” He drew a deeper, harsher breath. “We're not an item here, Ana. Let's be real. I'll be leaving with Dav, you've got your job. We had a good time, but you don't need to be here, okay?”

Stricken, Ana backed away. “What the hell was this then? J-j-ust a fling?” she stuttered.

“It was a joint project, a good way for us to solve this art thing.” He grimaced in pain. “Didn't work out. I'm sorry, Agent,” he said, using her title rather than her name. The way he said it was slightly demeaning, the ultimate dismissal. “I wouldn't have ended it this way, you gotta know that, but we both know it would have ended. We've both got our work. We shouldn't have,” he restlessly waved a hand. He stopped and took a few long breaths. “On duty, in the middle of things. No. I have to focus here. Focus on getting better, not uh…” he paused, perhaps searching for a less painful way to tell her to get lost.

“It's okay. I understand. Obviously, I misread the situation between us.” She drew on every bit of early training she'd had as a diplomat's daughter. “However, I would have stayed for anyone. I want you to know that. Someone goes down on my watch, I stay.”

He nodded, looked away. “I get that. I'd do the same.”

The silence drew out, and he closed his eyes. He didn't open them again, but he did speak. “It would have ended soon anyway, Ana. I'm going to be following Dav, wherever he needs me. He'll jet off to Europe, and that would have ended it anyway. Where he goes, I go.” He made it sound like Europe was the end of the world, but she got the drift. “I'm a bad bet anyway, for flings or relationships.”

It was her, then.

He didn't want to care about her, or put up with some weepy, clinging female when he was trying to recover. He didn't want
her.
Obviously, nearly dying had made everything very clear for him.

“It's been real, Gates,” she choked on the words but managed to keep her voice firm, level. “Someone else will be in touch if there's anything on the art case.”

Now he just nodded, eyes still closed.

“Just so you know, Pretzky pushed the warrants through this morning. They've started the data run.”

He nodded, but still didn't move. “That's good. Let me—” He stopped, redirected to a neutral term. “Let us know the results.”

Tears closed her throat as she stood there, but she forced them away so she could speak and not sound weak. “I will. Heal quick, Gates. And be well.”

As exit lines went, it was piss-poor, but heartfelt.

She passed through the halls without seeing anything. In the waiting room, she went straight to Dav, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks for everything. Either I or one of my colleagues will be in touch, professionally, about all this.” She didn't look at him. Couldn't. “We'll keep at it.”

“Ana-aki,” Dav murmured, but she shook her head.

“Don't,” she whispered. “I can't, okay? Not here. Leave me with something.”

She felt, more than saw, his nod. He squeezed her arm and let her go. Blinded by tears, but with her head held high, she made for the elevators like they were the last lifeboat leaving the Titanic.

 

Dav shook his head over her departure. How two people could so thoroughly screw up a budding relationship was beyond him. As much as it pained him to admit it, though, he could do nothing to help. They were stubborn people, both of them. Meddling from him would only make things worse. He'd found that out to his pain, many times. Getting in between Ana and Gates would only end in disaster.

There were at least a few things he could do, though, to ease the pain he'd seen in Ana's eyes. He had already been on the phone, insuring that the dress was paid for and that additional private security was watching over her. There wasn't much more he could do.

“So,” he said as he came into Gates's private room. “You have sent her away.”

“It's for her own good,” Gates rasped, his throat still showing the effects of the intubation for surgery. “That shot, and the shot at the compound the other night weren't aimed at you, Dav. They were aimed at me. Drugs or not, I've been thinking, running through every incident for the last few years. I came up with at least six times that I could have been the target, when we assumed it was you.”

“We were complacent, which means stupid,” Dav grunted. “Obviously. I have already had calls to assure me that certain parties were not involved in this.”

“The Central American group?”

“Among others, yes. They want to be sure I don't pull any funding or stop the three deals we have in the works. They don't want me to think they had anything to do with it.”

“Good, I guess. More avenues to talk means fewer errors.” Gates coughed a little, then lay rigidly still to absorb the pain the cough caused.

“The Saudis have also called, expressed their concerns.”

“The desalinization plant.”

“Precisely. Ohmad bin Serra offered to send his private physician and a bevy of nurses to see to your care.” Dav smirked over that. “I declined on your behalf. I think Dr. Anderson can manage you at the house, don't you?”

Gates nodded, closing his eyes to the pain. “When can I get out of here?”

“Tomorrow, to my amazement. Modern medicine seems to believe you should arise and go, lest your insurance not pay,” Dav said, letting his opinion of the health care industry show in his sarcasm. “In the meantime, you need to think. Forget the how of it, leave that to the police. Think about the why of it. This was well planned, well executed.” He shifted to look out the narrow window. “It was meant to kill.”

“It would have too, if I hadn't pushed off to get into the car. I was higher, maybe by three inches, just for that moment.”

They sat in silence for a moment, as they both absorbed how close it had been.

“Who's with you while I'm out of it?” Gates broke the impasse.

“Queller and Jones,” Dav smiled. “They're annoying.”

“Overstimulated.” Gates smiled. “They're still new to all this.”

A nurse came in to check on Gates, gave Dav a meaningful look, and tapped her watch.

“I'll go now, let you get some rest. Think about the why.” Dav collected his raincoat and headed for the door. Without turning back, he said, “And Gates?”

“Hmmm?”

“Remember that she's smart, and very good at what she does. She's going to figure out what you've done in sending her away. Whatever chance you had with her will be shot to hell if you don't acknowledge that.”

Gates didn't answer, so Dav departed, off to face the maelstrom of media, business challenges, and emotional turmoil Gates's injury had stirred up.

It was never silent in a hospital room. The whirring, beeping, and crackle of the overhead speakers, with their endless announcements and calls to various people made sure that Gates couldn't be alone with his thoughts. Gifts and flowers had begun to arrive. Dav had sent Gates's assistant Alexia over to deal with them, write thank-you notes, and disperse the flowers appropriately. Gates had asked her to deliver the enormous basket of fruit, towering over her head, to the surgeons' break room.

“Sir?” Alexia knocked and came in. “There're more flowers and so on, but I'm sending them out to the house. I hope that's okay with you.”

“Fine,” he said, just wanting her to go away. He'd contacted his sister as soon as he was conscious, but she'd seen nothing and heard nothing that might indicate an attempt on her life. She promised to have her husband let the base commander know.

Then again, living on a military base in a foreign country tended to insulate anyone from the rest of the world. With no attempt on Patty, the shootings might not be related to his parents' deaths. He couldn't be sure though. He'd asked Baxter to check on the woman responsible for his family's murders, for the arson, see if either she or the arsonist had been paroled.

Maybe it was her, but that seemed improbable. It had been more than a decade.

“And sir, there's considerable press.” Alexia broke into his circling thoughts. “Mr. G's publicists have suggested a statement. Would you like to prepare it or see something they've worked up?”

“No, just have them take care of it.”

“Yes, sir. Are you comfortable enough to read through some things? We've been stalling the VanRoss paperwork, but they're getting antsy.”

Gates had to smile at that. He'd written a database program and registered the copyright. VanRoss had come looking for him with a deal to license and sell it. “I'll bet they are. Sure, give it to me.”

“Yes, sir. This will be easier at the house,” Alexia added, in her perky way, smiling at him as she handed him a portfolio and file folders, then bustled about to get the sliding table arranged just so. “I have to leave the floor to make calls.”

“I'm looking forward to sleeping all night,” he said by way of agreement. “It's noisy here.”

“Yes, sir,” Alexia said. “I'll be back in a bit if you need anything. I've got to ride down several floors to get a signal.” She waved her bright pink, bespangled phone.

He didn't answer her, since he was already opening the envelopes, diving into the work to take his mind off of Ana. Everything reminded him of her, of their time together. The nurse wore dangly silver earrings. They were nothing like the ones Ana had worn, but they made him think about the curve of Ana's neck, the shape of her ears.

Alexia had on shoes with a silver sheen, which reminded him of Ana's elegant dress shoes for the event. He had only the vaguest memory of her getting into the limo ahead of him, the flash of those silver shoes.

“I did the right thing, damn it,” he muttered, forcing himself to focus on the contracts. “I can't get her killed too.”

 

Ana buried the unimaginable hurt in sleep. Mother Nature took over and shut her down for a full fifteen hours. She woke in the dark and wept, and when that brought no solace, she went back to sleep until morning sun, streaming in the windows, woke her.

Like a robot, she dressed and went to work. The minute she stepped onto the floor, Pearson headed her way, diverting the others, many of whom had gotten up from their desks as Ana left the elevator.

“Boss wants you,” she said, walking Ana all the way to the door, like a visitor. Ana squared her shoulders and knocked.

“Status, Burton?” Pretzky said when Ana came into her office. “Shut the door.”

Frowning, Ana did, then took the seat Pretzky indicated. “Status is null at this point. I'm running some other leads. Suddenly all the other victims are willing to talk to me.” She smiled, a wry twist of the lips. “I expect Mr. Gianikopolis had something to do with that.”

“No doubt. Any trouble with the interjurisdictional pissing match you've stirred up?” she said, grimacing. “You sure know how to do it right.”

“Sorry,” Ana said, not knowing what else to say. The locals and the FBI had gotten involved now, and Baxter, even as county, was in the mix since he'd taken all the initial information and was the point of contact on other incidents at the estate.

Pretzky had barred Ana from doing anything on the shooting, citing orders from IAD. Knowing she'd be monitored, Ana had resisted running checks on the people from Gates's background, his business associates besides Dav. She itched to do it, but with everyone breathing down her neck, and Gates sending her away, essentially dumping her, she didn't know what to do. Any tracking she did would send up flags, mark her as disobeying orders. With her hearing pending, she dared not make waves.

Anyway, she was staying the hell out of it.

“Forget it, let them sort it out,” Pretzky continued, oblivious to Ana's internal turmoil. “In the meantime, this case is firing up and breaking open. You've got your warrants, and the search is running, right?”

“Yes, it'll be a while though. The data sets are massive.”

“What else is up?” Pretzky asked. “Has that idiot Davis,” she paused, and a sly smile curved her lips. “What was it you called him? A pus-ball?”

Ana nodded, flushing because it sounded so terrible coming from Pretzky.

Pretzky laughed. “Perfect name for him. Anyway, has he been any help, following up on the IT stuff? He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he can do that.”

“Some.” Ana told the exact truth. Davis might be a pus-ball, but he did know how to persuasively interview a victim. “He's got a lead that may take us to New York. One of the victims remembered,” Ana put the word
remembered
in air quotes, “something about the way all the items she bought were shipped. Everything that victim lost went through a shipper in White Plains, New York. Anything she kept that didn't turn into a forgery went another way. This lady didn't think to mention it when the case was hot, nine years ago. When Davis asked two other victims about how they shipped, the same shipper's name came up.”