Into the Fire (47 page)

“This is crazy,” Murphy said.

“No, it’s not.”

“Hannah,” Murphy said. “I know you don’t want it to have been me, you know, who killed Ebersole. I appreciate your loyalty, and your willingness to reach for another answer—any answer—other than the one that has me climbing that fence and firing that rifle. But the FBI is pretty convinced that the Freedom Network has some kind of proof as to the shooter’s identity, and I’ve got to agree with them.” He paused, to give Sophia time to repeat his words to Hannah.

“Murph,” Hannah started.

“Sophia, will you ask her to let me finish? Please?”

There was a murmur of voices, then Hannah spoke, her voice tight. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t want your help,” Murphy told her, then realized he had to get specific. “I don’t want Hannah’s help, I don’t want Troubleshooters’ help—other than to get Han safely to Arizona as soon as possible. Like now. Like, get into your cars and drive away. I’m coming to Dalton, but I’m only coming there to pick up my gear. I’m outa here, and it’ll be much easier—for all of us—if Hannah’s not there when I stop by.”

The pause was only a brief one, because Sophia was getting faster at repeating his words.

“I’m not going to Arizona,” Hannah said. “I’m going back to Sacramento. I’ve already e-mailed those photos to the FBI. I’m going to tell them the whole truth this time—that we hopped those fences, and that these pictures were taken yesterday morning. I’m going to tell them that we’re the reason the Freedom Network sent those ten cars out of the compound—that they were looking for us, and that when they found us at Steve and Paul’s, they were shooting to kill, and that I believe it’s because of what we saw and not anything we did.”

Murphy laughed his despair. “And you think, what? The gang from the Bureau’s going to take one look at you and go,
wow, she’s completely impartial, so her crazy-ass conspiracy theory
must
be true.
Jesus, Han, it’s beyond obvious to anyone with
eyes
that there’s something going on between us, and
you
should
know
it’s a law enforcement fact that having sex with someone makes you the opposite of impartial. You told me that, yourself, a few years ago. What they’re going to think is that you’re involved with me—on all levels.”

“I
am
involved,” she retorted. “And you know what? I’m freaking tired of pretending that I’m not—that I’m not in love with you. God, you’ve been wrong about a lot of things, Murph, for so many years, but you finally got that one right. I love you. And I’m
not
leaving you to face this alone.”

D
ALTON
, C
ALIFORNIA

Hannah died a million times, watching Sophia for Murphy’s response.

The other woman hated this almost as much as she did—caught in the middle, the way she was, of their intimate conversation.

I love you.

Hannah had finally told Murphy that she loved him—in front of an audience.

Nash, thank God, had slipped out of the house. With a damp towel in his hand, pressed against the gash on his head that probably would need stitches to truly stop bleeding, he’d gone to stand in the heat of the morning, with Tess.

Eden was lying on the couch, with her eyes closed. If she wasn’t asleep, she was pretending to be.

Sophia—cool and slim and elegant, her blond hair up in a neat twist atop her head—sat across from Hannah at the kitchen table, her hands clasped in front of her, her blue eyes filled with dread as she listened to the words Murphy was saying on the other end of the cell phone that lay on the table between them. Words she was going to have to repeat to Hannah.

“Murphy, please don’t make me…” Hannah clearly read Sophia’s lips.

“It’s okay,” Hannah told her. “Just tell me what he said. You don’t need to edit.”

“He said a lot of…of…crap that he didn’t mean,” Sophia told her. “And then he said how important your friendship is to him, but that…” She closed her eyes and said it. “He doesn’t love you. Not the same way.” She looked at Hannah through tears that filled her eyes. “He’s sorry and…I am, too,” she added.

“I wasn’t expecting him to…” Hannah shook her head. “I just wanted him to know and…understand why I’m not going to walk away.” She stood up. Spoke slightly louder—at least it felt louder. “I’m sorry to make things harder for you, Murph, but if you’re hellbent on getting your gear, we’re going to wait here for you. I think it would be better if we travel back to Sacramento and speak to the FBI together. So I’m going to go pack some clean clothes and I’ll see you when you get here. Oh, and this conversation? It’s over.”

She flipped shut the phone and looked at Sophia. “Thank you,” she told the other woman, and went to gather her things.

S
ACRAMENTO
, C
ALIFORNIA

“Before you drop me off,” Dr. Heissman said, from the passenger seat of Decker’s truck, “there is one extremely important topic that we haven’t yet discussed.”

Deck knew exactly what was coming—he’d actually been surprised it had taken her this long. Still, he tried to head it off. “I would never intentionally harm myself.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

There was nothing Decker could say in response to that, because she was right, so he said nothing.

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” she finally said. “You probably think it’s not noticeable but…I feel as if I’ve been watching you unravel. Aside from occasional moments, like the parking lot incident that made Tom call me, or the night you got…How did you put it? Ripshit drunk. Or last night. It’s been happening relatively slowly. You’ve been doing it for a while, so I don’t doubt it now feels normal to you. But it’s not.”

He glanced up from the traffic and over at her. “Normal is such a subjective idea. What is normal? The life my parents shared? Or maybe your marriage to your ex-husband—”

“Nice try, but we are
not
going
there,
” she told him firmly.

“When I was really young,” Decker told her, “I thought my family was normal. I thought everyone’s father spent six months of the year at sea. And even after I realized that normal was relative, I still struggled to understand why Emily—my ex-fiancée—got so upset when I went TDY for six weeks. I thought she was ridiculous, she thought I was cold and uncaring, and yet I’m still not over her leaving and taking our dog.” He looked at her again.

“Is
that
normal? Me missing Ranger more than Emily?”

The doctor laughed, a brief burst of amused air. “You
are
talented at redirection, aren’t you?” she said. “And yes, short answer, I think missing a dog, who probably never questioned anything you did and loved you unconditionally,
does
fall into the realm of normal. Let’s get back on topic, though. How often do you consider suicide?”

Shit. “Never,” Decker said.

“That’s not what you said last night,” she countered. “Which, by the way, was not the first time you mentioned—”

“
Consider
it,” he interrupted. “What you asked was how often I
considered
it and I’m telling you I never seriously do. It has, however, occasionally crossed my mind as an option, but
never
as a viable one. So my answer stands: Never.” He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white, and he consciously made himself relax.

She sighed, which was never a good sound to hear from a doctor. “Lawrence, you trusted me enough to come to me last night,” she said quietly. “I know you probably think you drove all that way to get information from me about Jim Nash and the Agency, but I have to believe that you also knew—deep down—that you were going to tell me the things that you did. And despite what you’re telling me now, the words
eat a bullet
came out of your mouth, and I cannot allow myself to believe it is anything less than a gravely consequential cry for help. I’m going to have to talk to Tom.”

And there it was. The end of Decker’s career with Troubleshooters. They drove for a mile. Two.

He finally broke the silence. “Way to make me
really
suicidal.”

She didn’t laugh. Instead, she bristled. “That’s not funny.”

“Hmm, maybe I’m in worse shape than I thought, because I kind of thought it was.” He looked at her. “What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? You gonna tell him I cried like a baby, too?”

“Of course not. And you didn’t cry like a…” She started over. “You cry like a man, Lawrence. Trust me on that one. It was not new or shocking. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“And yet,” he said, “I find that I am.”

“As far as your…kissing me,” she said. “That wasn’t shocking or new either.”

“I’m not embarrassed about that.”

Dr. Heissman laughed. “Again, no surprises there. And as far as doctor-patient confidentiality…” She went into a long-winded explanation of how threats of suicide were outside of the rules and blah, blah, blah.

Decker tuned her out as he pulled into the parking garage next to the FBI building, and found a spot right next to an ancient Chevy Impala.

“Look,” he said, interrupting her as he pulled up the parking brake. “It’s time to be honest with you. Everything I said last night was just to get you to talk to me about the Agency. I played you, Doctor.”

Apparently he’d finally done something that she
did
find shocking and new. But then the surprise on her face turned to unbridled disbelief. “That’s BS.”

“Nope,” he disagreed. “Just me refusing to be manipulated, and, in turn, manipulating you.” He made a
too bad
face. “Sorry.”

“Nice try, but I’m sorry, too. I’m still going to have to tell Tom.”

Decker nodded and turned off the engine. Hit the unlock button for the doors. “He’ll get my report, too.” He opened the door.

“Decker, wait.”

He turned back to look at her.

“Don’t throw it away,” she implored him. “You took a big step last night, and I wish I didn’t have to tell Tom, but I do. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you—”

“I wouldn’t,” he said. “I’m telling you, that was—”

“You’re lying. I can tell when you’re lying and you’re definitely—”

“I
was
lying,” he said, “last night. Honey, trust me, I would’ve convinced you that I’m—” he laughed “—seriously considering a sex change operation if it meant you’d give me the information I need to help Nash.”

“Tom Paoletti won’t find this funny,” she told him grimly.

Decker stopped laughing, too. “You come in here and think you can
save
me?” he asked her. “Get over yourself.”

He didn’t wait for her. He got out of the truck and headed for the FBI office, to see exactly what evidence they had against Murphy, and to ask his old friend Jules Cassidy what info—if any—the Bureau had on the Agency’s Black Op Group.

N
ORTH OF
D
ALTON
, C
ALIFORNIA

It was impossible to have a private conversation, squeezed into the back of Jay Lopez’s Prius with Lindsey and Mark Jenkins. Still, Dave needed to talk to Sophia, so he didn’t have much of a choice.

“I know it sounds crazy,” she told him over their tenuous cell phone connection, “but these photos that Hannah took are…We hacked into an Agency website that has one of the rare on-file photos of Tim Ebersole without his trademark beard, and it absolutely could be him. I’ve spoken to Jules Cassidy, and he’s forwarded the photos on to computer analysis—they’re going to compare facial structure from the photos we have, plus analyze a file photo they’ve got of Ebersole. It sounds as if Cassidy’s taking this seriously, although he did point out that photos alone wouldn’t help Murphy if he were on trial for Ebersole’s murder. However, coming from a trusted source—Hannah—they could be used to open an investigation of a crime—fraud—which is what it would be, if Ebersole did fake his death. The Freedom Network is going to receive five
million
dollars from his life insurance policy. And then there’s the question of whose body was found at the crime scene—if it wasn’t Ebersole.
Some
one was murdered to perpetrate Ebersole’s fraud. Long story short, Cassidy’s looking into getting a warrant to go into the Freedom Network compound.”

“Which he’d be crazy to use,” Dave pointed out. “One word: Waco. The FBI knocks on the compound gate with a warrant, everyone inside cowboys up and we’ll have an instant standoff on our hands. What the FBI needs is someone to go in covertly—someone not working for the government—to find Hannah’s bald guy and deliver him to the FBI for a DNA test.”

“Talk about crazy,” Sophia said. “Who in their right mind would willingly go into that compound?”

“Jim Nash would,” Dave reminded her. “And Decker. Murphy and Hannah not only would, but did. And you know what? I would, too, if I weren’t otherwise engaged.”

Dan Gillman turned from his seat in the front to roll his eyes at Dave.

“I would,” Dave repeated. “You know nothing about me, asshole.”

“Excuse me?” Sophia said.

“Not you,” Dave told her. “Just…Sorry.”

She lowered her voice. “Tess was right about Nash. He was still in Dalton. He got to the cabin before we did—and Hannah nearly killed him. Seriously, it was close.”

“Nash is unkillable,” Dave said.

“Don’t say that, you’ll jinx him.” She lowered her voice even more. “What did he say to you, yesterday, in the motel parking lot?”

“In the where?” Dave asked, even though he knew exactly what she was talking about. In the middle of his slam-bam-drag-out fight with Tess, Nash had turned and spoken, quietly into Dave’s ear.
Picture Sophia, broken and bleeding. What would
you
do to save her…?

“You were the only one brave enough to attempt to play referee,” Sophia told him. “But Nash said something to you, and you just…you turned and looked at me…”

“He just, um…” Dave shifted in his seat.

“Sorry,” Lindsey murmured, trying to move closer to Mark.

He shook his head at her. It wasn’t her fault that Lopez had gone green and gotten the smallest car in the universe.