Brutally Beautiful (22 page)

Bennick lived in the burbs, at a modest, respectable address. Nick walked past once, taking snaps with his phone camera while he pretended to make a call. At the end of the street, he ducked into an open garage and studied the pictures, blowing up the one that showed the front door.

Shit, that would be too easy. His eyes narrowed. Yes, he thought so. Clever security. Okay, so the back.

He hadn’t done this for years, and despite his determination to keep a cool head, adrenaline stirred. It would give him the edge he needed, but he had to keep it under control.

The back way had one door and one window, and in this area, he’d guess nobody would overlook him. He pulled on the acrylic knit cap that would keep his hair from getting loose. Fucking easier to be bald. Then he snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

He was inside the house in five minutes and had the alarm disabled in thirty seconds. Jim might be good at computers, but he couldn’t beat Nick’s expertise at security systems. He’d kept up his interest as a kind of puzzle, something to exercise his brain, so he knew the recent developments and how to break them. He used his smartphone to detour the emergency warning system before he cut the power.

Just in case he didn’t have much time, he skimmed the rooms. Downstairs he found a living room, with the inevitable big-screen TV, a large kitchen, and a smaller room with a half bath but no computer system. Upstairs, then.

He hit pay dirt in the first room he went into. A computer tower and a laptop. After ensuring they weren’t hooked up to a separate alarm system, something he’d have done had the articles belonged to him, he set to work. A multitool was a wonderful thing, and he could carry one around without suspicion. Thirty seconds and he was into the tower. Another twenty and he had the hard drive disconnected. He stuffed it into the pocket of his leather jacket. Then he bent to pull out the plug for the laptop. No need to make it look like a general break-in. Bennick was hardly likely to report this to the police. Now Nick needed to leave a message of some kind.

He glanced around, looking for a pad and pencil. A simple message would work:
You leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone
. Just to tell him who got here before the cops.

No need, as it turned out, because the man himself was standing in the doorway of the large study, a gun trained on Nick’s midsection. “Put it down.”

Nick took stock, his mind working rapidly. Too far to jump the bastard. The window was a possibility. Narrow but doable, and only one floor up. The man had a patch of lawn, which would be reasonably soft after this weekend’s rain. Nick’d watched it fall from the comfort of his own bed, his woman in his arms.

First rule, to chat. Establish a line of communication, as the hostage negotiators put it. “Taking the day off?”

“Sick.”

Fuck. The man was wearing sweats, and his forehead was sheened with sweat. So he could be telling the truth. Or he could be high. Either could work for Nick, but in different ways. He had one weapon—the laptop—and if the fucker thought he was putting it down, he was insane.

Nick had done his research so he knew Bennick got into work at around eight thirty and he was expected in that morning. A simple call to the office had established that.

Jim had scheduled the leak to hit the desks of the principals of departments at seven that morning. If anyone got into work early, they could have turned this around and already be on their way. Nicely calculated to inflame interdepartmental rivalry: whoever got Bennick’s scalp would get the prize. Jim had been sure to put the recipients on the
To:
line of the e-mail, making sure they all knew who was getting the leak. One of them wouldn’t take long. That was why Nick had got here first thing, although he hadn’t banked on Bennick being home. His phone vibrated, but he didn’t check the caller or even glance down to the pocket where he’d stashed it. Probably someone telling him Bennick wasn’t at work, and he didn’t need that information now.

“You take many sick days?”

“First one in two years.” Bennick talked as if he was chatting with a casual caller. “Courts are unhealthy places.” He motioned with his gun. “Put it down.”

“What?” If Nick wasn’t mistaken, Bennick’s hand trembled a little.

“The laptop. If you do that, I might let you go.”

Now he was sure about that last bit. Bennick had no intention of letting him go. He was going to kill him. But he’d wanted Nick’s compliance before. That gave Nick an in. “If I do, what then?”

Bennick smirked. “You work for me. You’ve got to be desperate to try this. I have records at work and in a safe-deposit box at the bank. You can’t get a hold of all of them. What were you trying to do, take me over?”

“Something like that.” If Bennick thought he’d won, it gave Nick an edge. His one aim was to keep Gen safe. That was all. He didn’t matter anymore, not if she was in danger. And now he’d shown his hand, she was in more danger from this man standing three strides away, grinning. Cocky. “So you’ll give me my green card? I earned it.”

“That remains to be seen. If you do me a few favors, then you’ll get it.” He leaned against the door.

Talk, Nick, talk. He’s weakening
. He must really be ill. A bad head cold could do that. Could make his aim shaky. Nick thought coldly. He didn’t want any record of him being here, so getting shot and leaving blood traces wasn’t the way to go. Bennick would reveal Nick’s identity, and after a quick fingerprint and DNA check, Nick’s time here was over. But he could still help the woman he loved.

Nick leaned a hip against the desk behind him. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave Gen alone. If anything happens to her, I’ll know, and I’ll use what I have against you.” An empty threat, if Bennick only knew it. The cops should be arriving soon to arrest him. Then he’d have no leverage. “Is that a deal?” Watching, waiting long enough to take Bennick off his guard. The only chance he had, because Bennick wanted to kill him. In all his years running gangs, he’d never seen it so clearly signaled on a face: the taut lines around his mouth, the hard eyes, already preparing for the shot. Even the slight trembling, because although Bennick had used other people as his murder weapons, he probably hadn’t done it himself yet.

No fucking chance. Bennick had to know he’d fight, had to know that the
killing an intruder
defense wouldn’t work here.

Bennick’s grin widened. “It’s a deal. But I’m going to work you hard. Now I know you have another skill, I can use that too.”

“What? You mean you’re not just into forging green cards?”

“They’re not forged. They’re real. Just the information is a bit…tweaked. And that’s not going to keep me in fast cars and women, is it? Do you think this house bought itself? When I moved in here, I had one room at the front. This one, as it happens. Now I own the whole thing. Bought the house, ejected the other tenants. All mine.”

“You want money? I’m a lecturer. I don’t have that kind of cash.”

“You have deposit accounts in different names in banks all over the world.”

Nick knew that was a bluff. Even if it was true. He shrugged, making sure his shoulders were loose and ready for action. “It takes time to get to it. I live on my salary, plus one working bank account, enough to cover my story of a legacy.”

Bennick’s hold on his weapon loosened, just a tad, but it was what Nick was waiting for. Pushing back against the desk, he kicked up, high, aiming for the gun. It went off as it sailed into the air. Fuck. Messy. Ah well, it couldn’t be helped. When it came down, he was waiting. He grabbed the barrel, he turned it, and oh, fuck, Bennick jumped him.

He had no choice. He fired. Bennick went down, bleeding heavily.

Done. Game over. Nick stood over him. “You’ll be dead soon. Gut-shot people rarely recover.” But he felt no triumph. No remorse either, because Bennick was a bastard. Nick’d seen this scenario before. Oh, not the exact one, but similar things happened. “You should have come into this room firing. Only stupid people gloat. Or amateurs. You never meant to make me work for you. You knew you couldn’t handle me, didn’t you? If you’d let me go, I’d have killed you anyway, you must have seen that. And no, I’m not gloating. Just shooting the breeze while I wait for you to pass out.”

While he kept an eye on Bennick bleeding over his carpet, Nick went to the computer tower and replaced the hard drive. No chance of using it now, though he’d keep the laptop. The hard drive was hooked up to the Internet, so perhaps it didn’t have the more sensitive information on it. The laptop would have that, and maybe he’d keep a few innocent people from being prosecuted. That was all he could salvage from this fucking mess. But if the cops discovered a computer without a hard drive, they’d know for sure that someone else had been there. He’d have to reenable the security before he went too. He wiped the inner and outer case, just to be sure and because he had the time.

After what seemed like forever, but Nick’s inner timer told him was barely five minutes, Bennick groaned and passed out, or died. Nick didn’t stop to check. Nobody could save him now. Add blood loss to the wound and it wouldn’t take long, not long enough for infection to set in. He wiped the gun and positioned it by Bennick’s hand, carefully avoiding stepping in the growing pool of blood. Didn’t have time to do any more. Suicide or intruder unknown would cover the scenario.

Then he was out of there.

He left the back door open. He should have realized when he’d found the heavy bolts over the door undone that someone was in the house. He vaulted the low fence into the next yard, keeping low, and then he heard the police siren.

He was gone.

“You have no idea where he went,” Jim said for the umpteenth time. After two months, he’d gone from question to statement. He stood in the large room of Nick’s apartment and scratched his head, frustration marking his handsome features.

“I’ve gone over every conversation we ever had.” Gen sat on the big sofa, her laptop on the coffee table. Useless. Just as he’d done five years before, Nick had ducked out of sight. He was wealthy enough to buy what he needed. They didn’t even have any proof he was in the States anymore. He might have bought a passport and hopped on a plane to Nowheresville. “If we ever find him, I’m going after him.”

“You could get him into trouble.”

She gave him a derisory look. “Sure. After the work we’ve done? You’ve done? Though if anyone ever finds out, I’ll say I did it on my own. You have more to lose than I do.” Even though she’d kept her job when the scandal broke because they’d needed someone to hold the department together. Homeland Security was besieged on all sides, from other agencies who resented the new kid on the block, from above and below. Bennick’s death had given them a way in.

And this apartment? Hers. Nick had passed the title to her via a lawyer. The papers were perfectly legal. The owner turned out to be a holding company, probably owned by Nick, but on paper owned by someone in the Seychelles. Now it was hers. She couldn’t afford to keep it, but before he’d left for London, Lawrence had given her enough to cover the maintenance fees for the next year. “Keep it for him,” he’d said. “It’s our only link.”

They’d searched the place but found nothing, no clue as to where Nick could have gone. Only hundreds of poetry books, notes, and essays, all attesting to what a brilliant student Nick had been, how he’d released the secret urge he must have had for years, flooding out in analysis, discussion, and witty, insightful monographs. She hadn’t read them all, but she would. Every single word.

Gen wandered over to the glass room and peered out. She hadn’t entered it since that wonderful night when they’d opened themselves to each other. No more secrets, or so she’d thought, and it was true. Except he didn’t tell her he planned to kill her boss. That she found hard to forgive.

Lawrence didn’t believe it. “He wouldn’t have done anything so stupid,” he’d said. “Not after five years of keeping clean. It must have been self-defense.”

“If it was even him,” Jim had added. “Bennick had a lot of enemies.”

In her heart, she wanted to believe, but she also knew Nick had killed her old boss. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have disappeared. He’d have celebrated with her, knowing they were both free and clear. What he’d done hadn’t changed the way she felt about Nick one bit. She still loved him. Still missed him with an ache that increased every day. Worse at nights.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the silence in the big room, and she picked up the phone, glancing at the small screen that showed her who was calling. “Let him up, please,” she told the concierge. The elevator whirred, and the door opened to reveal Odell, out of breath.

“I remembered something. One tiny thing, but it might help.” He bent over, his hands on his knees. “Shit, I’m out of shape. I ran here. Have to exercise more often.”

Jim ignored Odell’s condition and cut to the chase. “What did you remember?”

Odell lifted his head and fixed Gen with a hard stare. “The night you met, he made a joke. He said I’d no more been to the ghetto than he’d been to Seattle. He was right too.”

Jim almost pushed her out of his path on his way to the laptop.

* * * *

Nick stared out over the forest of masts that bristled over Puget Sound. He enjoyed walking down here in the evenings as much as he enjoyed anything these days. Soon, he promised himself, he’d move on. But he’d always wanted to come here, just because he fancied the look of the place. When he’d arrived, he’d discovered that it wasn’t New York or any substitute for it. Nowhere was. He’d lost the two loves of his life in one miserable morning. Three, if he counted his brother, but this wasn’t the first time he’d lost Larry, and he got the feeling he’d see him again before he died.

Death would be a blessing right now, but Nick knew better than to wallow in self-pity. That helped nobody. This break had been for him to get his head together and decide what to do next. He took a deep lungful of the salt-tinged air.

“Don’t jump.”

He spun around at the sound of the voice he’d heard in his head before he fell into his usual fitful sleep every night for the last sixty-three days. The one he knew for sure he’d never hear again. Except he just had.