Cut and Run (28 page)

After Ethan and Tori said their goodbyes, Scott walked into the living room. Ethan followed him.

Ethan rubbed his hands together. “So, let’s make a few nice firecrackers for our guest. At least this is going to be one explosion I’m not going to have to prevent.”

Scott cast him a sideways glance. “What do you mean?”

“Do you sometimes get premonitions that keep repeating again and again?”

One premonition instantly came to mind. A premonition that only ever came to him in his dreams, not like the others that he got when fully awake. “Yeah. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Some things we just can’t prevent from happening.”

“I can’t accept that,” Ethan said, suddenly agitated. “I just can’t. Too many lives are at stake. Every time it happens, every time I see it, it shakes me to the core. The explosion…it’s so powerful, it knocks me on my ass. I can feel the heat, the burning, my skin melting.”

Scott’s heartbeat accelerated. He braced himself on the table, nausea hitting him out of nowhere. “Shit!”

“What?” There was a twinge of panic in Ethan’s voice while his eyes darted around the room as if sensing danger.

Scott searched his fellow Phoenix’s eyes. “I see myself running toward the explosion. I see the six Marines carrying the coffin. They get incinerated. I can’t stop them.”

“Six Marines? I don’t see those.”

“But you see the explosion.”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah, but there are nine black diplomatic vehicles. A caravan. They drive across a desert road. I can’t stop them. And then the explosion hits.”

“Nine cars?”

“SUVs. It must mean something.”

“There are no SUVs in my premonition. Only the explosion and the six Marines carrying the coffin draped with an American flag.”

“But it still looks like it’s the same event. Maybe we see it from a different angle?” Ethan mused.

Scott put his hand on his forearm, stopping him. “But it’s not the same. I don’t see the SUVs.”

“But you see everything else. It’s still the same premonition, only we both see different parts.”

For a moment Scott let the revelation sink in. Why would both he and Ethan see the same future event? He stared at his fellow Phoenix, a thought suddenly piercing his mind. “Do you think the other Phoenix see the same?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Scott nodded. “I’ve never been able to figure out when and where this event will take place. It’s been haunting me not to be able to do anything about it.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“We have to find the others. Maybe they can help us figure out what we’re meant to prevent.”

Ethan smiled. “Once we’ve smoked the asshole who’s after you, we’ll search for the others.”

“Deal.”

21

Scott had brought her to the motel only an hour earlier, and already Phoebe was pacing nervously. He hadn’t elaborated on what he was trying to set up. And now she wished she had insisted on Scott telling her how he was planning to draw the assassin out and defeat him. Not knowing made her edgy.

She needed something to calm herself down. She needed to talk to somebody—not to talk about Scott or what was happening, but simply to hear another person’s voice. And there was one person who could always calm her down: her father.

Phoebe sat down on the bed and reached for the phone on the nightstand. She knew her father’s cell phone number by heart, but she knew she couldn’t call it. She’d watched enough thrillers and suspense movies to know that if somebody was really using her to get to Scott, they would by now have figured out who her family was, and tapped the phones. Considering that Scott was ex-CIA, she had to assume his enemies had all kinds of resources at their disposal to find her.

She was still trying to take it all in: Scott having precognitive skills and having been part of a secret CIA program. She believed it, because it explained so many things. But the whole situation made her nervous—and afraid for Scott’s life. To think that he was living in danger for his life every single day made her heart bleed. And to realize that she had contributed to making it easier for his enemies to find him by putting that stupid GPS tracker on his motorbike flooded her with regret.

But there was one thing she couldn’t regret: the times they’d made love. She felt a closeness to him, a connection that seemed impossible, given that they’d only known each other for such a short time. Yet it was there, and she knew she was falling for him. At the same time she knew instinctively that their relationship had no future. He was on the run. Scott didn’t need her slowing him down.

With a sigh, she called information and got the number she wanted. She dialed it.

“Nashville PD, how may I direct your call?” a woman’s voice answered.

“Christopher Chadwick, please.” There was a click in the line, and she waited. She knew it was safe to call her father’s workplace and go through the switchboard rather than dial his extension. Nobody would be able to find out who she’d called, and there was no way somebody would be able to tap the police department’s phones.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr. Chadwick already left for the day. Would you like his voicemail?”

“No, thanks. That’s fine.” She disconnected the call, disappointed but not surprised at all. Her father wasn’t a police officer; he was the PR and press liaison person who’d been brought in because of his connections to the press. He’d been hired to improve the image of the police department, and worked a nine-to-five job.

Well, maybe it was better that she hadn’t reached him. After all, her father would probably ask her where she was and what was going on. Maybe he’d already tried her cell phone and realized that something was wrong.

A knock at the door tore her from her musings and made her jump up. Her heart beat into her throat. She’d pulled the shades, so nobody would be able to look into the room, but she nevertheless suddenly felt watched.

Who was at the door?

On tiptoes she stalked to it and brought her eye to the peephole.

Phoebe instantly jerked back. Outside the door to her motel room stood a police officer dressed in a black uniform.

Shit!

Her hands trembled. Should she open the door? Or should she pretend she wasn’t in?

Another knock accompanied by a male voice nearly robbed her of her breath. “Miss Chadwick? Memphis PD, please open the door.”

He knew who she was.
Oh God!
Something was wrong.

Her hand was damp when she turned the doorknob and pulled the door open halfway. “Yes?”

The police officer nodded politely. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am. Are you Miss Phoebe Chadwick?”

She nodded hesitantly.

“I’m Officer Grant. May I come in?”

Phoebe glanced at the name on his uniform, but kept blocking the door. “What is this about?”

“I’m afraid I have bad news.” He looked to his left and then his right. “I’d rather not do this out here. I think it would be better if you sat down for this.” A regretful smile crossed his face.

Her heart instantly clenched. She stumbled backward while Officer Grant entered and closed the door behind him. He glanced around the room.

“Are you alone, Miss Chadwick?”

She nodded numbly.

“Please, why don’t you take a seat?” His voice was calm and kind.

“I’ll stand. Please just tell me what’s wrong.” Her hand gripped the backrest of the chair for balance.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but there’s been an accident. Do you know a man named Scott Thompson?”

Her heart stopped, refusing to pump blood through her veins, while a cold shiver raced down her spine. Her lips trembled, and no words issued from her suddenly dry mouth.

“Ma’am?” he prompted.

Phoebe simply nodded.

“I’m afraid Mr. Thompson was involved in an accident. The paramedics confirmed that he died instantly.”

A sob tore from her chest. She slammed her hand over her mouth to hold in the scream that was building inside her. Tears shot to her eyes. “No! No!”

The police officer took her arm and nudged her toward the bed, making her sit down. “I’m so sorry. He obviously meant a lot to you.”

Phoebe gasped for air, but all it did was produce more sobs. “How?” she choked out, looking up at him. How could Scott be dead? He’d been alive only an hour earlier.

Officer Grant pulled out a small black notebook and a pen. “That’s where things get complicated. I’m sorry to have to do this at a time like this, but in order to know what we’re dealing with, we need to find out exactly what happened before the accident. That’s why I’ll have to ask you some questions.”

Her forehead furrowed. “What questions?”

“We need to know the exact timeline. Can you tell me what happened when you last saw Mr. Thompson? Don’t leave anything out, please. It might be crucial to our investigation.”

Phoebe shook her head in disbelief. “I was with him earlier today. I can’t believe he’s dead. No, it can’t be him. Maybe it’s not him.”

He put a calming hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Miss Chadwick. I know how hard this must be on you.”

She dropped her head. Another sob escaped and she rubbed her eyes with her hand, wiping away the tears. She stared at the floor, the police officer standing only half a foot away from her. The white of his shoes almost blinded her and she lifted her eyes to his black pants, the color soothing her eyes. But before she could raise her gaze back to his face and answer his question, her eyes veered back to his feet without her doing.

White shoes; white sneakers, in fact. Phoebe knew enough about police uniforms to know that they didn’t come with white sports shoes.

Her heartbeat accelerated. This man wasn’t a police officer. And now that she raised her eyes to run them up over his legs and his torso, she noticed his pants were a bit too tight, as if they were a size too small.

Shit!

Two thoughts collided in her mind. One was comforting, the other frightening: Scott was alive, but the man who stood before her now was the assassin who was after him.

“Miss Chadwick?” he prompted once more, his voice still kind. But she knew now that it was all a ruse to get her to reveal where Scott was hiding.

Phoebe lifted her head and took all her courage to respond to him. “Would it be okay if I came down to the station later and answered your questions then? I’m sorry. I’m just such a mess right now.”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed, then he looked down to the floor. When his gaze landed on her again, his demeanor had changed. The kindness in his regard had made way for a coldness she wasn’t prepared for.

“You are one perceptive woman, aren’t you?” He pointed to his white sneakers. “I’m afraid the guy’s shoes were a couple of sizes too small.”

Before she could respond, he jumped and pinned her to the mattress. Air rushed from her lungs.

“So you’d better talk or you’ll meet the same fate as Officer Grant.”

Cold fear gripped her. She knew instinctively that the policeman was dead. Killed in cold blood by the man who was restraining her. And for what? Just so he could take his uniform and trick her.

“Where is Scott Thompson?” he gritted out from between clenched teeth.

“I don’t know!” she lied.

He slapped the back of his hand across her face, whipping her head to the side. The pain stung and sent new tears into her eyes.

“He left me here. He didn’t want me around anymore.”

“Lying bitch!”

She wouldn’t give Scott’s hiding place away. Only an hour had passed since he’d dropped her at the motel. And according to Scott’s own words, he would need two to three hours to get ready for the assassin. If her attacker showed up at the house too early, for all she knew, he’d surprise an unprepared Scott. No, she couldn’t risk that. She owned him too much. She had to stall this man. “How did you find me?”

“That’s irrelevant!” he answered and pressed harder onto her chest, his entire weight now squeezing the air out of her lungs. “Where is he?”

Phoebe pressed her lips together.

“Fine! Have it your way.”

He jumped up and flipped her onto her stomach so fast that she couldn’t put up a fight. When she felt the cold steel of the handcuffs around her wrists and the corresponding click as he locked them, she kicked her legs out, trying to escape, but it was to no avail.

“Well, let’s see,” she heard him say and turned her head sideways.

She watched him rummage through her bag then tossed the contents onto the bed, grunting to himself but finding nothing of value.

“No cell phone?” he asked, narrowing his eyes again. Then he glanced past her at the nightstand.

He stalked to it and lifted the receiver. “I thought I heard you talk to somebody before I knocked. Well, let’s see who you were chatting with, shall we?”

He pressed the redial button and waited.

Panicked, Phoebe breathed hard. When he put the receiver down a moment later, he glared at her. “Who’s in Nashville? Why were you calling the police there?”

“Nobody.” She wouldn’t drag her father into this.

“It’s him, isn’t it? Scott went to Nashville.”

“No!”

“Well, guess where you and I are going now?”

“No!” She had to stay here. She couldn’t allow this man to drag her to Nashville. She only needed to stall him long enough so Scott would be ready to fight him. “Scott is not in Nashville. He’s here. In Memphis. I’ll tell you where.” She would make him drive around the city for an hour, before she’d lead him to the house where she and Scott had been staying.

A bitter laugh came from the assassin. “Sure you will.” He pulled her up by the handcuffs. “Once we’re in Nashville.”

Phoebe stumbled over her own feet as he dragged her to the door. She tried to escape and crashed into the chair, toppling it. He jerked her back, snarling at her.

“No! Please, you’re making a mistake. Scott is here. He’s in Memphis.”

“Bitch!”

His fist came toward her face so fast she had no way of evading the blow. The impact knocked her head sideways, but she barely felt the pain because darkness descended on her.