Dark of Night (44 page)

Jules came back into the kitchen. “Yeah,” he said. Nash was referring to a lengthy and detail-filled list that he'd drawn up, chronicling the black op missions—including deletions—he'd undertaken for the Agency, from
the beginning of his career, right up until a few months ago. He'd specifically requested that Jules not share it with Tess. Apparently, he'd changed his mind. “You want me to, um, be there when you show it to her?”

Nash didn't answer right away. He looked at Jules, but then his gaze flickered over to the doorway, where Robin was standing.

“No,” he told Jules quietly. “Thank you, but… I gotta do this one alone.” He smiled wryly. “Well, not exactly alone. I mean, I'll be with Tess. She says we're a team, too. It's funny, she used that same word.” He nodded. “I guess I'm going to find out if she means it.”

“She does,” Robin said, and Jules turned to look at him. He was standing there looking like the movie star that he was, with his casually covered muscles and that almost too-beautiful face that still often graced magazine covers. “She loves you, Jim. Unconditionally. I know because …” — he smiled at Jules—“I've got someone who loves me like that, too.”

Jules looked at Sam, who was shaking his head.

“You know, Rob, you are sometimes just so fucking gay,” he said. “Ow!”

Nash had smacked Sam with the back of his hand, as Jules rolled his eyes and pulled Robin down the hall.

“What the fuck?” he heard Sam say, laughter in his voice, as he followed Robin up the stairs that led to their third-floor suite.

“That was nice.” Nash's voice carried, too. “What he said. It was… really nice.”

“I was kidding,” Sam protested. “They know I was…” He raised his voice. “Hey, you guys know I was kidding, right?”

“Good night, Sam,” Jules called, as Robin pulled him into the darkness of their bedroom, and shut the door behind them.

And then Jules closed his eyes as he lost himself in the sweetness and fire of Robin's kiss.

“We need to get out of here,” Decker said with his usual quiet-yet-staccato grim. “And we need to do it now.”

“At least let me check my laptap,” Tracy persisted, following him into the kitchen, where Lopez had nailed a piece of wood over the window she'd broken. The SEAL locked the door and nodded to Deck. “To see if the pictures—”

Lopez spoke over her. “It's as secure as it's going to get, Chief.”

“Good enough. Let's go.” Deck took Tracy's arm and moved her back into the main part of the little house. “Your pictures of Michael aren't going to be there,” he told her.

It was clear that he believed Tracy absolutely—that it was, indeed, the man she'd met at the rock climbing gym, who told her his name was Michael Peterson, in those photos with Jo.

Michael
Peterson.
He hadn't even bothered to give himself a completely new name—probably because he thought Tracy was lacking in the logic and reasoning department. And oh, my God. Big giant
ew.
The idea that she and Jo both had sex with the same sleazoid con artist was humiliating.

Although Tracy had to admit that her own humiliation wasn't quite as awful as the doctor's. At least there weren't graphic photos out there of Tracy and Michael getting it on, with Tracy looking at him with that same, adoring
what did I do to deserve a stud-muffin like you
look on her obviously sex-starved face. At least she hoped there weren't photos.

Oh, please God, don't let there be photos.

“But shouldn't we see?” Tracy asked Decker again. “If we've got a picture of this man, of his
face—
”

“Let's not waste time,” Decker dismissed her again. “We've already been here too long.”

“What's the plan, boss?” Lindsey was by the front door, with Jo Heiss-man standing beside her. The older woman was carrying a small bag and was clearly ready to go. She, too, was watching Decker with great interest—no doubt waiting for him to save the world, or maybe just to save her.

“We should at least
check
my computer,” Tracy said, digging in her heels. “For all we know,
that's
where the tracking device is. And we're, like, carrying it around.
Hello, come and get us. We're too stupid to live.”

Decker nodded.
“That's
the plan,” he said. “In fact, we should take Dr. Heissman's laptop, too.”

“What?”

“Whoever these people are,” Deck told her, told all of them, “they gained access to Dr. Heissman's computer—and probably yours, too. There's a solid chance they left behind a cyber-fingerprint. If they did, Tess'll find it. And with luck, it'll help us find
them.”

Tracy alone argued as Lopez grabbed Jo's laptop, and with the doctor's
help packed it up. “Tess didn't find it before.” All of the computers that came and went from the Troubleshooters office were regularly checked for this type of security breach. Tess herself had checked Tracy's laptop a number of times, post-Michael.

Deck was undaunted. “Yeah, well, now she'll know what she's looking for.”

“What
is
she looking for?” Tracy asked. “A tracking device doesn't make sense.”

“He didn't put a tracking device in your computer,” Decker agreed. “They didn't use a tracking device to follow us to the motel—”

“Because I used my traitorous computer to access that e-mail from Tess,” Tracy finished for him, “which had the motel's address.
Hello, we're too stupid to live—come blow us up.”

The bomb at the Seaside Heights Motor Lodge
had
been set in advance of their arrival. Except…

“That e-mail from Tess came into your e-mail account, not mine,” Tracy argued.

“That's right,” Deck said. “Which means when Tess looks, she'll search for some kind of spyware or virus that gives the user access to
all
computer activity. You'll have an opportunity to talk directly to her, if you want, with any ideas or suggestions. But right now my priority is to get you and Dr. Heissman to a secure location.”

“Me
and Dr. Heissman?” Tracy repeated.

Decker nodded as he gazed steadily into her eyes. “They made a mistake,” he told her. “And they know it. You and Jo Heissman were never supposed to meet. She's not working with the Agency, the way I thought. In fact, she never was.”

Over by the door, Jo inhaled sharply. “You really believe that?” she asked.

Decker gave her only the briefest of glances. “Yes, I do. I owe you my apology, Doctor.” He turned his complete focus back to Tracy. “The fact that the doctor was hired by Tom, to work with us at Troubleshooters… ? That was a coincidence. One that's working now in our favor.”

“I don't understand,” Tracy said.

“They used
you,
honey,” he told her. “To monitor Nash. You kept everyone's schedule on your computer. They didn't need Dr. Heissman to do what you were already doing for them.”

“Oh, my God,” she said.

“Your relationship with Michael started back in January?”

She nodded. “It ended in January, too. He broke up with me just a few days after he …”—she had to look away from him—“ … spent the night at my place.”

“Where he had access to your laptop,” Decker said, his eyes and voice gentle.

“He didn't,” she insisted. “I have password protection. I'm careful about not letting anyone use my—”

Lindsey chimed in. “Was there ever a time when you weren't with him, maybe while you were sleeping?”

“He had access to your laptop,” Decker said again, in that way he had of making a statement sound absolute.

And Tracy had to face it—it
was
absolute. She exhaled her frustration. “I'm such an idiot.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“Yes it was,” she said. “I should have known he was too good to be true.”

“Live and learn.”

“Right,” she said. “Great. But I still don't get how any of this connects to Jo. Other than it's backwards proof that she wasn't there in the office to spy on Jimmy Nash because, like you said, she didn't have to.”

“These are not people who make mistakes,” Decker explained, “these people we're up against. I don't believe they would knowingly attempt to blackmail Dr. Heissman with photos that include pictures of a man you had an intimate relationship with, if they thought you were going to get anywhere near either Dr. Heissman or these photos.”

Tracy agreed. “It seems sloppy at least.”

“Yes, it does.” He nodded. “That tells us one of two things,” he said. “That they're either desperate enough to take that risk, or they didn't count on your connection to … me.”

He meant Nash. Didn't he? Maybe he didn't. Tracy liked—too much—the fact that Decker thought she had a connection to him. God, she
was
an idiot. There was no way this thing that had sprung to life between them could end with anything even remotely close to the words
and they lived happily ever after.

“Either way, they've made a mistake,” Deck continued. “They've
given us the man known as both Michael Peterson and Peter Olivetti. We don't need a photo of him, Tracy. I'm going to call a police sketch artist and have the two of you describe him. We can do it over the phone, via computer. We'll get something that's close enough—see if we can't ID him from that. But step one is to get you and Dr. Heissman somewhere secure. Because whoever was shooting at us outside of the motel… ? Honey, I'm now certain that they were trying to kill
you.”

“Me,” Tracy heard herself squeak.

Decker nodded. “I thought I was their target, or that maybe they thought you were Tess, but… Killing you—and probably Dr. Heissman now, too—is a priority for them. They know you have information that can hurt them. You can both sit in a witness stand and point a finger at the man you knew as Olivetti or Peterson. We're all in danger—that's very clear— but you're at the top of their hit list.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Oh, my
God.”

“I'm not going to let them hurt you,” Decker said, in that manner he had of making her believe he could change the orbit of the earth if he wanted to.

Tracy nodded. “I know. I'm just… Okay. I'm okay. I'm not happy about this, but… I'm okay.” She drew in a deep breath and exhaled hard. These terribly dangerous killers—who had absolutely no problem murdering innocent people—saw her as their prime threat. She made herself focus. “Okay,” she said again. “So where, then, are we going? Because I definitely don't think we should go … to the place where we were originally going.” She didn't want even to mention the safe house. “Because if they're after me? Well, let's absolutely not lead them
there.”

“I agree.” Deck included Lindsey, Lopez, and Dr. Heissman in his next words—which were really just a series of letters. “TS HQ.”

TS, Troubleshooters. HQ, headquarters. They were going into the office where they worked—which wasn't just an office. It was a highly secure, well-fortified building where there was not only a cache of weapons, but a vast array of high-tech equipment. Good plan.
Good
plan.

“Let's do it,” Decker said. “Lindsey, with the doctor. Tracy, you're with me.”

Words to warm her heart. He cared about her enough to want to protect her himself.

“Lopez called for backup—those are the headlights you're going to see out there, so don't be scared,” Deck continued. “There're four additional vehicles—Lindsey, you and Jo are going in Silverman's SUV. You know Bill Silverman?”

Lindsey nodded.

“Have him take the bridge to Harbor Drive,” Deck continued. “Stay off the 5.”

“Roger that,” she said.

“Junior and Fred'll be your escort—one in front, one in back. But they're going to drop you and go,” Decker told her. “So when you get to the office? I want every security system on and running at full alert.”

“Yes, sir.”

Decker wasn't done. “Lopez, glue yourself to my rear bumper—I want Warner right behind you. Targets—I want you on the floor, heads down. Let's do this—let's go.”

Tracy did exactly as she was told—she ran across the lawn, bent in half, then scrambled quickly into Decker's truck, keeping her head down.

She was silent, too. But that didn't last for long.

“Are they SEALs?” she asked. “Warner and the others?”

“Silverman and Junior are with Team Sixteen,” Deck told her as he started the engine of his truck. “Warner and Fred drive the team's delivery vehicles.”

To his surprise, she knew exactly what he was referring to. “From the Special Boat Squadron. They're SWCCs. Special Warfare Combatant-Craft Crewmen.”

“Very impressive.” She even pronounced it right.
Swicks.

“I dated a SWCC once,” she told him, then immediately recanted. “It wasn't a real date. It was as a favor to Lindsey and Mark. This guy Bob was trying to get this waitress named Jeanne to take him seriously, so we went to dinner to, I don't know, make her jealous or something.”

If she was frightened, it wasn't evident from her voice. It didn't wobble or break. But she did seem to want to keep talking.

“Believe me when I say I now know everything there is to know about MK-Vs and SWCCs,” Tracy continued.
“And
Jeanne.”

So Deck kept the conversation going. “Did it work?” He put the truck
into gear, waiting as half of the vehicles peeled off, leaving to follow Lind-sey and Dr. Heissman in Silverman's car.

“Like a charm,” Tracy said, adding, “Chief.”

“Lopez shouldn't call me that,” Decker said as she tried to make herself more comfortable down on the floor. She was still holding that paper towel around the cuts on her arm. “It's been a long time since I've been a SEAL.”

“Jay Lopez isn't the only one,” Tracy said. “I've heard Tom call you
Chief.
More than once. Sam Starrett, too. In fact, all of the operatives who are former SEALs do it. The non-military operatives—like Dave Malkoff— call you
sir.”

He glanced down at her as he backed into a neighbor's driveway and turned his truck around. She was looking at him, hard, as if trying to see inside of his head.

“So why
did
you leave the teams?” she asked.

Deck didn't have to answer her. He didn't have
time
to answer her. He needed his full attention on the street in front of him. He needed to watch for the attack—which was coming. He knew it was coming. It was just a matter of where and when. And it was his utmost priority to get Tracy out of his truck before it happened. Jesus, what he would've given for ten or fifteen trucks and SUVs filled with SEALs and SWCCs—even someone who was desperate would've backed off from that.