06 Double Danger (15 page)

Simon squatted to have a closer look. “She’s dead,” he said, stating the obvious. “And based on lividity, I’d say it wasn’t that long ago.”

“But we didn’t hear anything.” Jillian took a step back, letting her gaze sweep the area.

“Probably happened just before we got here.” He reached out to close the woman’s eyes and then gently searched the body. “Did you find anything to ID her?”

“She’s wearing a nametag,” Jillian said, pointing to the front of the blazer the woman was wearing. The lapel had been pressed against the floor until Simon had searched the body, his movements flipping the tag upright. “Sara Frazier.”

“Doesn’t ring any bells. But the tag is embossed with the gallery’s name as well. So it looks like Sara worked for Lester.”

“And got herself killed because of it. You want me to call it in?” Jillian asked, reaching for her cellphone, but Simon shook his head.

“There’s no service in here. Must be all the iron. I think that’s what was screwing with the comlinks, too. Hopefully we’ll be able to call out once we catch up with Nash.”

Simon turned to go back the way they’d come, but before Jillian could follow, a face flashed in the shadows off to her right.

“Simon,” she warned, freezing in place as the other man seemed to materialize from the shadows. With a flicker of a smile, he lifted his gun, and Jillian’s brain screamed in recognition. Lester. Reacting on instinct aided by pure adrenaline, Jillian took the shot, the bullet slamming not into flesh but glass, the man’s reflection shattering with the force.

Footsteps echoed off to her right, and Jillian swung around, trying to find Lester and, more important, Simon. But the area, littered now with fragments of the mirror, remained empty, and Jillian strained for some sound to guide her.

At first there was nothing, and then the gallery reverberated with the sound of another gunshot. Terrified, Jillian ran forward blindly, her only thought to get to Simon. Rounding the edge of the nearest pillar at almost a dead run, she cleared the last of the velvet panels, her heart skittering to a stop as she broke into the open to see Simon clutch his chest and fall to the floor. Across from him, still holding a gun, stood Lester.

White-hot fury rushed through her as she leveled her gun and shot, the sound echoing through the gallery. Lester turned, and Jillian could feel the malevolence of his
gaze as it settled on her. Again he lifted his weapon, and again she shot. This time, she hit the mark, a blossom of blood blooming across Lester’s shirt as his gun fell from his hand.

For a moment, he held his ground, his eyes still locked on hers, and then he made a gurgling noise, blood running out the corner of his mouth. One minute he was standing there, and the next he was on the floor, and Nash was emerging from somewhere in the back of the gallery.

Fighting to breathe, Jillian ran to Simon, dropping to her knees as she reached for him, praying with everything inside her that he wasn’t dead. She reached for his pulse, just as he groaned, his green eyes flickering open, his fingers closing around her hand.

“Thank God,” she whispered, tears springing in her eyes. “I thought he’d killed you.”

“Not a chance,” Simon said, as she helped him to sit up. “I was wearing a vest, remember?” He pointed to the triangle of Kevlar that showed just beneath the neck of his shirt. “It hurt like hell, but I’m going to be fine.”

“I killed Lester,” she said, her breathing still coming in sharp little gasps. “I… I shot him…”

“I know.” Simon nodded, slipping an arm around her as she knelt beside him. “And I’m grateful. His next shot would have been for my head.”

She shivered violently, the reality of the situation setting in.

“Hey,” Simon’s voice was soft now, cajoling, his hold on her tightening. “I’m okay. And it’s over.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Nash said, coming over to stand beside them. “Lester was still alive when I got to him.”

“But I shot him,” Jillian repeated, her eyes darting over to Lester’s prone body.

“That you did.” The ghost of a smile crested in Nash’s eyes. “And he’s dead now. But before he died, he left us with a warning.”

“What did he say?” Jillian asked, suppressing another shiver.

Nash blew out a long breath, his gaze encompassing them both. “It wasn’t exactly coherent, but the gist of it was that this was just the beginning.”

“Beginning of what?”

“Damned if I know,” Nash said, “but, all things considered, I figure it can’t be anything good.”

Köln, Germany

N
orman Lester is dead,” Michael Brecht said, snapping his phone shut as Gregor took a sip of his cappuccino. The little café was a favorite. Quiet and discreet. He’d spent many hours strategizing here at the table in the window. People wandered past, mostly tourists completely oblivious to the world around them. Which suited him just fine.

“What happened?” Gregor asked, his craggy face wrinkling as he frowned.

“The woman from Homeland Security shot him.” It wasn’t that he cared about Lester. He’d been nothing more than a pawn. A useful one, but still no one of true consequence. What irked him were the circumstances.

“The one who has been working with A-Tac.”

“Yes. I hadn’t thought her a true threat. But perhaps I underestimated her abilities.”

“Or overestimated Lester’s.” Gregor shrugged. “I was never impressed with the man.”

“He served his purpose.”

“Still, it means that A-Tac is one step closer to figuring it all out. I’ve been fielding calls all morning. The council members are growing restless. And I don’t need to remind you that we can’t afford another failure.”

“And by ‘we’ you mean me,” Michael said, taking a sip of his espresso, the bitter brew matching his mood. “But not to worry. I’m not out of moves yet. Isaacs has a little surprise planned for the bitch who took out Lester.”

“But isn’t that just stirring the hornets’ nest?”

“Precisely. We rile them up and then lead them on a merry chase. We can use Lester. After all, he’s dead. Which means his network dies along with him. Why not use that to our advantage? Let A-Tac discover what Lester was really up to. While they’re trying to make it fit with the other facts, we’ll move forward with the real plan.”

“And what about Isaacs? It was his network, too.”

“Yes, but it’s still been burned. Which actually makes him the perfect one to set the trap. And then when A-Tac takes the bait, we’ll stop them once and for all.”

Simon waited as the hospital doors slid open and then walked into the waiting room, grimacing a little as the ACE bandage hugged his ribs. Just a precaution, the doc had said. But he hated the idea that he needed any kind of support.

Across the room, he saw J.J. sitting with Harrison and Drake, the three of them huddled together, Harrison holding her hand. Despite the fact that Harrison literally worshiped the ground Hannah walked on, Simon felt an irrational flush of jealousy, and for a moment, considered turning tail and getting the hell out of Dodge.

But then J.J. saw him, her eyes going wide with questions, her lips tilting in the slightest of smiles. And damn it all to hell if he didn’t suddenly feel right as rain.

“You’re okay?” she asked, crossing the room in two strides, holding out her hands.

He took them, relishing the feel of her skin against his palms. “I’m fine. Just a bruise. Doc bandaged me up and said I’m good to go. What about you?”

“Nothing new to show. Just a little powder burn on my hand. Drake says it’s an easy mistake for a beginner. And the doctor checked on Hannah’s handiwork, but said that he couldn’t have done any better himself. So I’m clear, too.”

“You sure?” He searched her eyes, resisting the urge to lose himself in the blue depths. He’d been where she was. The first kill was never easy. No matter who was being threatened or how bad the person on the other end of the gun. Life was sacred. And nowhere was that more important than in a job like theirs.

“Yeah. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“I’m relieved everyone is okay,” Drake said, coming over to join them, Harrison on his heels. “Man, to hear Nash tell it, you were damn near a goner.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here to tell the tale so something must have gone right.” Simon grinned, thinking, not for the first time, that he was lucky to have landed here with A-Tac after losing his place in the SEALs.

“How’s the leg?” Harrison asked, his expression uncharacteristically somber.

“No worse than usual.” Simon brushed off the question, hoping that Harrison would take the hint. Truth was, he was hurting like hell. “So where’s everyone else?”

“Nash is still at the gallery, working with the forensics team. Avery and Hannah are digging to see if they can find anything useful on Lester. And Tyler is still playing with explosives.”

“At least some things are always the same. She find anything new?”

“Just confirmation of what we already suspected,” Drake replied, perching on the back of a chair as the rest of them sat down in a corner of the waiting room. “The bomb in the helicopter and the one in the apartment were constructed similarly, one using pipe and the other a plastic box, but she says the mechanisms were the same. And they both used black powder.”

“And the one in the warehouse?”

“Totally different animal,” Harrison said. “Designed for more bang for the buck. The first two explosions were meant to cover evidence. Enough of a charge to destroy the area immediately surrounding the point of origin and start a fire that would consume most of the rest. The bomber in the warehouse, on the other hand, was wearing enough plastique to have taken out most of lower Manhattan. The only thing that kept the blast from being catastrophic was the fact that it went off in a warehouse underneath a ton of concrete.”

“The overpass.” J.J. nodded.

“Roger that,” Drake said. “If Simon hadn’t run the bastard to ground, there’s no telling how bad it might have been.”

“All the more reason we need to find out what kind of game Norman Lester was playing.” Simon leaned back in the chair, ignoring the throbbing in his chest and leg. “Did we confirm the ID on the dead woman in the gallery?”

“Yeah,” Harrison said. “Looks like it was a case of wrong place, wrong time.”

“Or at least wrong time,” Drake said. “Her name was Sara Frazier. She worked at the gallery. My guess is that she surprised Lester—maybe asked the wrong questions—and he took her out.”

“Collateral damage.” J.J. sighed, running a hand through her hair. “This thing just keeps on getting weirder and weirder. It’s almost as if they’re trying to be random. To keep us on our toes. But there has to be some kind of plan, right?”

“If we’re dealing with rational people, sure. But who’s to say that any of this is rational?” Simon shrugged. “What about Lester? You said Avery and Hannah were digging. But I’m assuming they haven’t come up with anything yet?”

“No,” Drake said, “but thanks to Jillian’s quick thinking, at least we got his computer.”

They’d found the computer, along with a suitcase and the cat, in an office on the second floor in the factory. Lester had been running a program to wipe it clean. But Jillian had managed to stop it before it could completely erase everything.

“I’m running diagnostics on it now,” Harrison said. “Unfortunately, it’s going to take a little time. But if it was important enough to dump the data, that probably means there’s something there.”

“What about the hard drive we found in Afghanistan?” Simon asked. He’d almost forgotten about the half-destroyed box.

“That one is a tougher nut to crack, but I’ll get it, too.” Harrison grinned. And Simon had no doubt he’d be able
to unlock its secrets sooner or later. It’s just that sooner seemed the better option.

“Which probably means we’d best be getting on with it,” Simon said, pushing to his feet, trying, but not quite succeeding, to hide a wince.

“You’re hurting,” J.J. said, her hand immediately cupping his elbow as they headed to the exit. “We need to get you to bed.”

“Now there’s an invitation, if ever I did hear one,” Drake said, and Simon watched as J.J. turned a rosy shade of pink.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she protested as the automatic doors opened and the crisp New York night embraced them.

“Pity,” Simon mumbled under his breath.

“What?” She tipped her head up, searching his eyes, but he shook his head.

“Nothing. Honest.” Simon pulled his jacket closer as they headed to their SUV, the wind swirling around them. It was late, and for once, the city was fairly quiet.

“Yeah, well, however she meant it,” Drake said, “I’d listen up. The woman knows how to use force when necessary.”

J.J. flinched, and Simon reached out to squeeze her arm. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I know,” she said, nodding as Drake pulled out his keys and hit the button to unlock the SUV, the chirping sound filling the night. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I killed a man tonight.”

As she started to step off the curb, a taxi swerved between the four of them and the SUV. The taxi honked and started to pull away, but before it had made it more than
a couple of feet, the SUV exploded, both vehicles disappearing in a cloud of shrapnel and flame, the sharp smells of gasoline and sulfur saturating the smoke-laden air.

“Everyone okay?” Drake called, already on his feet again and heading for the taxi.

“I’m good.” Harrison, too, had risen, his face blackened from the smoke and ash. “Simon?”

“I’m fine. Where’s J.J.?” She’d been right next to him. He frantically spun around, his heart pounding, fear racing through him like nothing he’d ever felt before. Scenes from the helicopter crash rushed through his head. And then he heard a moan.

“I’m over here,” she called, her voice soft but strong. She was sprawled across the sidewalk, her jeans ripped at the knees, soot from the explosion staining her arms and cheeks.

“Are you all right?” Simon asked, running his hands down her body searching for injury.

“Yes.” She nodded, clearly surprised by the fact. “I was heading for the car, and then a wave of fire and heat literally lifted me up and threw me over here. What happened?”