Dead Aim (20 page)

Shepard was silent a moment. "It's the threats from the terrorists who are responsible for the embassy bombings?"

"What do you think? Three embassies gone and they haven't been able to find more than a few leads. It's not like the usual hits. They're smart and they must have a hell of a lot of money and contacts. I can't be sure they're not moving closer."

"Keller's been doing a great job keeping you safe."

"Yes, but a dose of cyanide still managed to get as far as my kitchen, and before that an explosive device was discovered on the grounds outside my quarters."

"
Discovered
is the key word. And that was some time ago. I'm sure Keller's plugged every hole."

"So am I. I didn't bring you out here to ask for reassurance." His lips tightened. "It's okay that every threat is directed at me. I never expected anything else. It's in the job description. It's not okay that Chelsea may be targeted because she's standing beside me." He paused, his gaze on Chelsea as he added softly, "And she's always beside me. In every way."

"I'll do my best. I'll talk to Nancy tonight. How soon?"

"Yesterday. Today. As quick as you can. I've sent the children away to their stepsister in San Diego. It's only Chelsea who won't leave me." He clapped Shepard on the shoulder. "I appreciate this. I owe you."

"It's my honor, Mr. President. We all have to pull together in times like this."

Yes, they did, Andreas thought wearily as he opened the French doors. United we stand. But Chelsea mustn't stand united with him now.

He paused in the doorway and glanced around the room. There was no way of slipping in or out of any function, but everyone seemed to be pretending they hadn't noticed he'd been gone.

Except Betworth. He smiled and bowed slightly before going back to his conversation with the Secretary of Labor. Bold as brass and full of personal magnetism.

Andreas coolly nodded his head in acknowledgment at him as he slipped his arm around Chelsea's waist and brushed a kiss on her temple. "Everything okay?"

"Fine." She smiled brightly at Ellswyth. "The Senator was telling me about St. Louis. But I'm sure he's much more interested in what you and Vice President Shepard were discussing." She sipped her orange juice. "Aren't you, Senator?"

Ellswyth blinked. "Not at all. I had no--"

"No? Then I must have been mistaken." She slipped her arm through Andreas's. "I think it's time to circulate and then say our good night to the Prime Minister. You've got that visit to the school for the handicapped early tomorrow morning." She gave Ellswyth a smile that made him forget his momentary embarrassment. "You'll excuse us?" She didn't wait for an answer as she gently nudged Andreas forward. "What the hell are you up to?" she murmured. "You have everyone in the room wondering what you said to Shepard."

"Then they can keep on wondering."

"Not me. I'm on the home team."

"Maybe it's top secret."

She searched his expression and then shook her head. "I don't think so."

He should have expected both the curiosity and the perceptiveness. They knew each other so well. They had been friends and partners as well as lovers for many years. "No," he said softly. "Drop it, Chelsea."

She studied him and then shrugged. "I'll find out." She turned her brilliant smile on the Prime Minister. "So good of you to honor us with your presence tonight. . . ."

Chapter 9.

Terre Haute

Morgan and Alex checked into a Motel 6 shortly before seven in the evening. They stopped at the convenience store on the corner for take-out sandwiches and toiletries before they went to their rooms.

"The rooms are adjoining," Morgan said as he handed her the key. "Lock your front door and put a chair in front of it. We'll enter and exit through my room. I have to make a phone call. Take your shower and then come in and have something to eat."

She nodded wearily. "Don't hold your breath. I have to wash all this ash out of my hair."

"Need help?"

"I can do it. It will just take a while. Who are you calling?"

"I had Galen set up an operative here in Terre Haute to watch the motel. I have to tell him we're here."

"Why is he watching our motel?"

"Because I'm not leaving you alone here."

"You're damn right you're not." She didn't like the sound of what Morgan had said, but she couldn't deal with it right now. She went into her room, shut the door, and locked it. She didn't move for a minute. After that puddle jumper from Des Moines, she felt as drained and lackluster as her appearance.

Well, she'd feel better after a shower--though she'd probably risk drowning, moving in and out of the spray to keep this blasted bandage from getting wet. She was glad Morgan hadn't been insistent about helping her. She didn't need that tension along with the hassle of dealing with her bum shoulder.

It took over an hour for her to shower and wash her hair, and she was more exhausted than ever by the time she finished. She wrapped a towel around herself, sank down in the chair by the desk, and closed her eyes. She'd just take a little time to rest. Not long. Perhaps only--

"Are you all right?"

Her lids flew open and she saw Morgan standing in the doorway of the adjoining room. "I'm fine. A little tired." She tightened the towel around her body. "I'll get dressed and be with you in a minute. Will you set up my laptop?"

"No." He crossed the room, unzipped her duffel, and pulled out his gray T-shirt she'd taken to using as nightwear. "You'll eat. We'll talk a little, make plans, and then you'll go to bed. You can get up at the break of dawn and hit the computer. But you rest first or you'll be no use to yourself or me." He pulled her to her feet, stripped the towel off her, jerked the T-shirt over her head, and stretched it until he could manipulate both arms into the sleeves. "Hair." He took the towel and started to dry it.

She took the towel away from him. "I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can." He turned. "Call if you need me. I'll see you in ten minutes."

God, he was bossy. She was tempted to tell him to go to hell and dig out the computer herself and--

But he had known exactly what he was doing by striking just the right note of annoyance to send a corresponding surge of adrenaline through her. How long the energy would last she had no idea, but she'd better use it while she had it.

She quickly towel-dried her hair and strode into his room. "Okay, what next, Nero?"

He flinched. "I don't mind being compared to an emperor but not one who was off his noggin." He gestured to the table. "Sit down and have a sandwich. You haven't had anything to eat since that layover in St. Louis."

"I'm not hungry." She sat down and picked up the tuna sandwich. "Or maybe I am. It looks pretty good." She bit into it. "So talk. What do we do about Powers?"

He sat down opposite her. "Nothing, until I do a little surveillance of the house and surroundings. I want to make sure I'm not walking into a trap."

"You keep speaking in the singular. Stop it."

"No, that's the way it's going to be." His words were cool and precise. "You don't interfere with my business. You don't get in my way. I won't have you messing up my job."

"Your job? Don't you think I'm affected just a little by--" She stopped. Stop this defensive bullshit. He was a professional and she wasn't. Too many times she'd seen well-meaning amateurs cause irreparable harm on disaster sites. And God knows this entire scenario was a disaster site. "How can I help?"

"Stay here and do that research."

"Are you sure you didn't make that up to keep me out of sight?"

"It occurred to me. But I think it's a job that needs doing. What do you think?"

Damn him, he'd turned the tables by throwing out that question. She made a face. "If I didn't think there was merit, I wouldn't have consented to do it. I hate research. But I have other talents. I'm a damn fine photographer, and I have a lens that's good a block away and can see the stripes on the back of a bee buzzing around a sunflower. You wouldn't have to get too near the house, and I can have the film developed within thirty minutes of getting back here."

He was silent a moment. "A block can be pretty close."

"But I make sense." She stared him in the eye. "Don't I?"

"Yes, damn you." He finished his sandwich. "Okay, but I do the preliminary surveillance myself to find you a place to do your shoot."

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. But she had won too much to argue with him. "When?"

"Tonight." He stood up. "As soon as I rummage through that kit Galen gave us and find a wig and a few accessories to disguise my unforgettable mug."

He was joking, but his face was unforgettable. If she never saw him again she would always remember it. Christ, the thought had come out of nowhere and scared her to death. Ignore it, and for heaven's sake don't let him know. She leaned back in her chair. "What kind of wig?"

"We'll see." He opened his duffel and pulled out a brownish-red wig with gray at the temples. "Not exactly fashionable, but it's nowhere close to my real hair. That's a plus." He pulled out a denim jacket and tennis shoes. "You can't say Galen's choices aren't eclectic." He threw the clothes on the bed. "I hope he does better by you."

"I think my wig is red too. Curly as Orphan Annie's. Maybe we're supposed to be brother and sister." She moistened her lips. "You do think this is a trap, don't you?"

He nodded. "They've got to know we'd access the credit card. It's only smart to follow up. It's what I'd do in the same circumstances."

"Then you be careful." She pushed back the chair and rose to her feet. "You'll knock on my door when you get back?"

"You'll probably be asleep."

"Don't be absurd. I won't be asleep. How the hell could I be asleep when you're--" She steadied her voice. "You knock on my door and tell me what happened, or I'll get my gun and shoot you."

He smiled. "In that case, you can bet I'll knock the damn door down if you don't answer. I'm always out to protect my neck."

"See that you do." She left the room and shut the door. Idiot. She'd known Morgan in only the most volatile circumstances and slept with him one night. He was possibly the most wary man she'd ever met and he had no desire for anything but a sexual encounter. It was the height of foolishness to let herself feel this way. For Christ's sake, get a grip.

But foolish or not, she knew she wouldn't sleep until he got back. She'd make a list of developing chemicals for Morgan to pick up tomorrow. Then she figured she might as well get out the computer and surf the Net.

It was after three A.M. when she heard Morgan's door close.

Her fingers froze on the keyboard and she closed her eyes. Thank God.

She was already opening the adjoining door when he knocked on it a moment later. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I scouted around and didn't see anything suspicious. A little brick house on a quiet street. Late-model car in the driveway. Not a rental car--Indiana license plates--and it doesn't look like it's been taken care of any too well. It could belong to Powers's ex-wife. That doesn't mean there isn't a very neat trap ready to be sprung." He gazed beyond her to the laptop on the table. "I see you've been working. Stumble on anything?"

"I'd have to stumble. I don't have any idea where I'm going. I started with explosives and now I'm doing a search on water pressure." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm almost blind. Did you find a house where I can shoot my photos?"

He nodded. "A house for sale on the next block. Two stories, unoccupied, with a clear view of Powers's house from the corner bedroom. There are shutters on the window, so the camera can't be seen from outside."

"How did you get in?" She gestured. "Never mind. What a stupid question. That's just another facet of your business, right?"

"Absolutely. I'll slip you into the house tomorrow night. May I suggest you stop work and get some sleep?"

She nodded. "I'll try again tomorrow." She started to close the door and then stopped. "You didn't see anything?"

He shook his head as he turned away. "I didn't see anything."

Morgan stripped off his clothes, lay down, and pulled the sheet over him.

He had told the truth. He had seen nothing.

But there had been someone there, waiting. His every instinct, every nerve had been vibrating with the knowledge. He had been in the game too long not to have developed antennae. It was the reason he had spent an hour and a half driving around before coming back to the motel.

Government?

Probably not. CIA agents on jobs like these usually traveled in twos or threes, and he'd only met a few he couldn't spot.

Powers?

More than likely.

Runne?

It was possible. Everything seemed to be overlapping, and Runne might be allowing himself to be used.

It would be helpful to know who the antagonist was so that he could adjust his actions to each player. But he'd probably have to go in blind and trust to instinct until he saw the field.