Blind Faith (27 page)

Caitlyn was about ready to explode with frustration. Every nerve in her body screamed for release, yet Hal persisted in slowly torturing her with pleasure. She'd never before met a man who liked to take his time so much. Part of her wondered if he was avoiding actual sex out of some misguided loyalty to his wife. It was certainly obvious that she was the first woman he'd been intimate with since Lily's death.

They had made it as far as the kitchen table. She lay on her back, writhing, ignoring the cold steel of the dismantled Glock digging into her shoulder. Hal was peeling her out of her slacks, his tongue teasing the skin around her belly button.

A squawking noise burst through the room as both his radio and the scanner erupted with a high pitched alert. "Dispatch to Hopewell One, do you copy?"

Her fingers were fisted in his hair, encouraging him to finish what he'd started. "Don't stop," she urged. He paused, then began stroking her once more, his fingers moving in time with his tongue.

The dispatcher didn't give up so easily. "Chief, you there? We've a report of shots fired your vicinity. Closest responder is twenty minutes out."

Hal scrambled to his feet, lunging for his radio as Caitlyn slid from the table and tugged her slacks back up.

"Waverly here," he said into the radio, turning the scanner off with his other hand. "What's the twenty?"

Caitlyn grabbed the uniform shirt draped on the chair beside her and slipped it on. She tossed Hal his own shirt. He snagged it one-handed, a frown creasing his face, listening to the dispatcher. She slid into her shoes as she reached for her bag and the special compartment where she carried her Glock.

She snapped her holster on her hip. Hal yanked his duty belt from the peg near the door. "I'll be there in five," he said, grabbing his cell phone and pager as she opened the door for him. Once he had his belt in place, she asked, "What's the story?"

"Probably nothing," he said, jumping into the GMC and starting it. She climbed into the passenger side. "Kids down near the dam saw some strange lights and called in that a shot had been fired."

He sped the SUV down his drive and spun out onto the dirt road, turning in the opposite direction of town. As he steered with one hand, the other checking the equipment on his belt, he spared a glance at her. "Can I just say how damn sexy you looked back there? Gun on your hip, wearing my shirt and not much else, good God, I almost lost it then and there."

Caitlyn snorted a short laugh. Now she knew how to make him finish the job. The adrenalin rush of heading into action multiplied the desire still coursing through her. Hal effortlessly steered them onto a bumpy dirt road. His chiseled jaw, intense expression, even the twitching around his eye and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel seemed to make him all the more desirable and ruggedly handsome.

Damn, this wasn't her. Almost having sex with a stranger. It was as if she were possessed, having an out of body experience. Had she actually been ready to jump him, right there in his kitchen when they should have been working? Impossible. Work always came first.

At least that's what her rational side said. The rest of her body and mind told it to take the night off.

Hal stopped the car. Fog enveloped them in an opaque mass that was claustrophobic. "No sense shooting each other in this pea soup," he drawled, reaching over to hand her a small LED flashlight. "There's a cabin about fifty yards straight ahead. Single door, single window."

"I'll clear it," she told him. "You know the terrain better, you secure the perimeter."

He chewed on his lower lip, considering. She could see he didn't like it, but with this blinding fog, there was no other way. Not with only two people.

"Maybe we should wait for backup."

"The dispatcher said they were twenty minutes out," she argued. "Besides, the more people running around with guns in this," she gestured to the white cloud smothering them, "more chance someone's going to get hurt."

He nodded, then surprised her by squeezing her hand. "All right, but be careful out there. I've got big plans for you."

Caitlyn slid from her seat, leaving the car door open to avoid any sound. She took two steps forward and looked to her left, where Hal should be. He and the car had vanished, swallowed whole by the fog.

Blind leading the blind. She jogged forward toward the unseen cabin. Her feet found a smooth, well-worn path so she followed it, alone in the whiteout. Then she froze. Voices carried through the night air, but too faint for her to pinpoint their location.

She had no way to communicate with Hal. Rookie mistake, she chided herself. That's what rushing in got her. She held her gun at the ready and took one step, then another toward the voices and presumably whoever had fired the shot.

Her palms were sweaty. She alternated her grip on the Glock, wiping one hand on her shirt, then the other. Damn fog was so clammy it stuck to her like a second skin, coating her with drops of moisture.

Her foot hit a concrete wall. Still blinded by swirls of mist, she reached out. There was a short stoop and above it, a wooden door. She squinted, thankful her migraine had subsided and her vision was restored to normal. As she strained to decipher the murmuring voices beyond the door, the handle rattled.

Caitlyn jumped off the stoop and took up position on the blind side of the door. Her heartbeat pounded through her head, fueled by adrenalin.

She raised her gun and waited.

"Sam, get out of here. The police are on their way," Sarah tried to reason with him. One of them had to get Josh to safety. He wouldn't be safe now that Alan and Logan knew where he was.

"No. Not without you." She'd forgotten how damned stubborn he could be. He reached a hand out, palm up. "Give me the gun. I'll take care of him."

His lips were white and his hand trembled, but conviction filled his voice. She hesitated, ashamed that she actually thought twice about pulling the trigger and silencing Logan herself. This was different than rushing in, facing an armed man. This would be an execution. Damian Wright's face filled her vision. "No. I'm not going to kill an unarmed man and you can't either. You know that as well as I do, Sam Durandt."

He looked up at the sound of his name. Well,
her
name for him, Sarah thought wryly. "It's not who you are," she continued. "I don't care what name you go by."

"You don't know me," he persisted, emphasizing with his outstretched hand. "I can do it. I have to. To save you and Josh."

"Don't be an idiot," Logan said from his position on the floor between them. "You can't do it. That would make you as bad as Korsakov. Isn't that why you went through all this? To prove you're nothing like him, that you're not a killer."

"Shut up," Sam snapped. Sarah watched as he rubbed his hand along his side where his scar was.

"He's right, Sam." She laid a hand on his arm. His muscles bunched beneath her touch.

"Listen to the pretty lady. Besides, you need me. If you both want to get out of this alive, that is."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Sarah asked.

"Simple. Alan and I aren't your real problem. The Russian is. You let me go, get me the money, and I'll kill him for you. No fuss, no muss. You two ride into the sunset with little Josh and live happily ever after."

Sam frowned. "What about Alan?"

Logan shrugged as if Alan were of no consequence. "No problem. I'll take care of him for free."

Sarah tightened her fingers around Sam's arm, trying to pull him back to reality. "Sam. We're talking about killing people here. Cold blooded murder."

"Is it murder if they'd kill us without thinking twice?" he argued. "Or if they've already tried?"

The sound of tires crunching on gravel and the growl of an engine echoed through the night. Sarah glanced out the window, but it was obscured by droplets of mist and the impenetrable fog. All she could see were her and Sam's reflections. She, holding a large gun, more scared and worried than she'd ever remembered, and Sam looking absolutely desperate and lost.

Some pair they made.

"No time to bargain," Logan interrupted her thoughts. "Sam, you get out of here and meet me later today, take me to the money."

"Not here," Sam said, obviously not liking his bargain with the devil. "Up at the Colonel's cabin." He locked his fingers around Sarah's hand.

"No. She stays here," Logan ordered, an edge to his voice. "How else can I guarantee you'll hold up your side of the deal?"

Sam started forward, fists raised, but Sarah stepped between the two men, placing her hand flat on Sam's chest. "He's right. I need to stay." She whipped her head around to stare down at Logan. "To make sure he and Alan don't tell anyone where Josh is."

Logan nodded, a superior smirk forming on his face. She raised her gun, aiming it directly between his eyes. "Sam might not be able to kill a man in cold blood, Agent Logan. But don't you dare think you can gamble with my son's life. If you try to double-cross us, I will pull this trigger without hesitation."

The steel in her voice surprised even her. The Colonel would have been proud, but it made her ill to think of the possibility of being forced to end a life. Logan swallowed hard, the muscles edging his eyes tightening.

Then he nodded. "Deal."

"Go, Sam. Now."

He glared at Logan, shaking his head stubbornly, but then relented. "Tonight," he promised her, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. He yanked the door open and raced out into the night.

Sarah ran after him. He was already lost in the fog.

A rustling sounded beyond her. The beam of a flashlight danced through the mist.

"Drop the gun. Now!" A woman appeared beside her, a ghost conjured from the shadows and fog. When Sarah didn't immediately obey, the woman stepped closer, revealing a gun aimed at Sarah's chest. It was Caitlyn Tierney. Wearing one of Hal's khaki uniform shirts. "Drop it, Mrs. Durandt."

Sarah couldn't stall any longer. Hal Waverly emerged from the fog in front of her, his gun drawn as well. "Sarah, give me the gun."

Hal slowly walked toward her, approaching her from the side opposite from Caitlyn. Staying out of her line of fire, Sarah realized. Good God, did they actually think she might be dangerous?

She crouched down and placed Sam's gun on the damp earth, jerking back from it as if it was a viper. Hal stretched out with his leg and kicked it toward Caitlyn.

"Hold still, hands up," Caitlyn shouted, keeping her gun aimed at Sarah's heart.

Sarah jumped at her tone, then stood shock still, her hand hovering in mid air. Hal circled behind her and patted her down. She winced as he removed Logan's gun from her waistband. "I can explain all this."

"That'll be fine," he said. His voice was distant, held none of the warmth that she was used to from him. "But in the meantime, for everyone's safety, I'm going to have to put these handcuffs on you. You really shouldn't say anything more until you get a lawyer."

Sarah felt all the energy and fight drain from her. He tugged her arms behind her. Her throat went dry. There had to be a way out of this. She flinched at the bite of the cold steel handcuffs as they ratcheted around her wrists. Only then did Caitlyn relax her guard and come closer.

"There was another one," she told Hal. "Ran out before her, disappeared into the fog."

"No, there wasn't," Sarah argued. "It was the fog, when I opened the door it made it look like a shadow. It was just me, Hal. Honest."

He stared at her as if she'd just told him the moon was made of blue cheese. No wonder, she sounded like a blithering idiot. Better shut up now before she said something that made things worse.

Caitlyn stepped forward, peering around the edge of the doorway, her gun raised as she scanned the cabin. "Just you, huh?"

"Hi, Caitlyn," Logan called out in a cheerful voice. "You mind untying me, sweetheart? My arms are getting cramped."

Grigory parted company with the lawyer at JFK. He came very close to killing the man, sending his uncle a message, but he didn't want to take the time to do it right. An artist should never compromise. So Dawson left to take a limo into the city while Grigory headed toward the early shuttle to Albany.

"Good luck with your house hunting," Dawson said in lieu of a farewell.

Grigory hadn't bothered with an answer. He fidgeted throughout the short flight to Albany, enjoying the bucolic view from his window. He had no luggage, he didn't need any. Waiting for him in the terminal were two hulking men dressed in identical black suits and white shirts.

"Grigory," the first said, embracing him European style. "It is good to have you back with us."

"Thanks, Max. Were you able to get everything I require?"

"Yes sir. I believe you'll be pleased."

The second man remained silent. Alexi never spoke, but in Grigory's mind that was a plus. Both men were distant cousins from his mother's side and had joined in on his entertainments since they were teens cruising the seedier and more interesting neighborhoods of LA.

They strolled out into the morning light where a black Chevy Tahoe waited. Alexi drove them ten miles out of town and pulled over at a vacant parking lot of a scenic overlook. Max took obvious pleasure in demonstrating the new toys they had collected for Grigory. He sprung out of the Tahoe after flipping a switch on the dash.

"Flashing lights, hidden behind the grill," he said. "Just like the police." He vaulted around to the rear of the SUV and lowered the rear cargo door. From the hidden compartments surrounding the spare tire he pulled out a small arsenal, handing two .45 caliber semi-automatics to Alexi and taking one for himself. Then he unveiled a bundle wrapped in black silk. "Your favorite, Grigory. Walther PPK, just like James Bond. A complete set of surgical scalpels, German steel of course. And," he gestured with a flourish to the small golden object remaining, "voila."

Grigory frowned at first, handling the lightweight handgrip. Then he fired it up. A brilliant blue flame blazed from the end of the blow torch. "Magnificent. Where did you find it?"