Double Jeopardy (29 page)

“Why did he want it?”

“He’s looking for someone. Someone who turned state’s evidence four years ago. Jack.” He paused. “Moroconi wants revenge against Jack.”

“Wasn’t Jack on the list?”

“He was, but the information was incorrect.” Mario swirled the brandy around his mouth and down his throat, savoring the artificial comfort. “The FBI are not the only ones who know how to relocate.”

“Did Moroconi get the man’s address from you?”

Mario’s eyes lowered. “I had no choice.”

“Then give it to me, too,” Travis said. “I have to find him. It’s my only hope.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You gave it to Moroconi!”

“Because I had to. I don’t want to do any more damage than has already been done.”

“If you don’t give me the address,” Travis barked, “I won’t catch Moroconi. He’ll remain free.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink into Mario’s brain. “And when he finds out you’re still alive, he’ll be back here for you.”

This threat obviously caused Mario to reconsider, but he remained silent.

“Moreover, if you don’t give me the address right now,” Travis added, “I’m going to sink your fat butt back in the hot tub. And goose up the temperature. So
talk
!”

A shudder passed through Mario’s body. “The address is beneath the blotter on my desk in the den upstairs. He lives about a hundred miles from here, not too far from Austin. But you’ll never get in. He’s got guards posted who stop everyone who comes in or goes out. He’s got high-tech security equipment. And always a couple of bodyguards. At least.”

“One problem at a time,” Travis muttered. “Just give us—”

Travis was cut off by the ever-more-familiar sound of a bullet whistling overhead. He hadn’t heard the gun fire; that made it all the more disturbing. He grabbed Mario by the neck and slammed him down on the carpet. Cavanaugh followed suit. He heard another bullet sail past.

“Where is he?” Cavanaugh mouthed.

Travis shook his head. “Outside the door, I think.”

Travis pointed to their immediate right, and together they quickly crawled behind the pool table. Unfortunately, the table stood three feet off the ground. All the sniper had to do was crouch and—

Another whizzing sound. Travis heard a bullet smash into a leg of the pool table.

“This won’t cut it,” he whispered.

“What can we do?” Cavanaugh asked.

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know.”

“You’re the ex-cop. What would a cop do?”

Travis grimaced. He heard the soft patter of footsteps on the carpet. Whoever was firing at them was moving closer. “Follow my lead.” He rose up on his knees, pressed a shoulder against the pool table, and shoved. Good—the top separated from the legs, and the legs were screwed to the floor.

Cavanaugh lent her shoulder to the cause. Travis heaved and the tabletop fell forward off its base with a crash. Billiard balls and slate smashed onto the floor. The front legs propped the tabletop up at a forty-five-degree angle, creating a ten-foot-wide shield.

“How’s that for cover?” Travis murmured.

“Better,” Cavanaugh replied. “At least now he’ll have to move away from the door.”

“Unfortunately that doesn’t change the fundamental fact that he’s armed and I’m not. What happened to my gun?”

Cavanaugh shrugged. “I know I set mine down when I started mouth-to-mouth on Mario.”

“Great.”

Mario relaxed the expression of terror plastered across his face long enough to speak. “It’s by the hot tub.”

Travis stared at the hot tub—about twenty very exposed feet to his right. He didn’t see his multistrike weapon. Must be on the other side. The side closest to the door, natch.

“I’m going to make a dive for the hot tub, Cavanaugh. Cover me.”

“Cover you? With what?”

“Use your imagination.”

Cavanaugh clenched her teeth and mumbled something he couldn’t understand. He figured it was just as well. He crouched down near the end of the table and prepared to spring out.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m ready.”

He was startled to see Cavanaugh grit her teeth and grab a billiard ball. “Take this, you sorry son of a bitch!” she shouted. She reared over the tabletop and hurled the ball toward the door.

Travis heard the projectile clatter and ricochet around some exercise equipment, and heard their assailant drop to the floor. Good enough. He dove away from the table and scrambled toward the hot tub. He landed on his hands and executed a somersault that brought him right beside his gun. Not bad for a fat ex-cop. He grabbed his gun and scrambled back to the safer side of the hot tub, hugging the carpet.

Travis heard another bullet zoom over his head, this one much closer than before. Much too close for comfort. He flattened himself and tried to figure out what he was going to do next.

He heard a mechanical grinding sound coming from the door. No bullets followed. Something was wrong with their assailant’s gun.

From his prone position, Travis saw Cavanaugh cautiously peer over the top of the pool table, “His gun is jammed!” she shouted. “
Go
!”

Travis took her at her word. He sprang to his feet, cocked the hammer back, aimed the barrel at the stocking-capped figure in the doorway, and …

And he could not pull the trigger.

“Goddamn it,” Cavanaugh yelled. “Fire!”

He couldn’t do it. His hands trembled, his fingers refused to move. He stared at the man in the doorway, fully aware that at any second he might clear the action and fire that gun. It didn’t help. He still couldn’t do it.

“Travis—do something!”

The man in the stocking cap threw down his gun, pulled a long, curved knife out of his belt, and ran toward Travis. Travis hurled his weapon at the man’s head. While the man ducked, Travis rushed him. Travis hit him around the waist and sent him careening backward. The man hit the wall, lurched away in the opposite direction, then tumbled backward into the boiling hot tub. He screamed.

The man beat his arms furiously, trying desperately to get out of the water. Travis knocked the knife out of his hand, then held him down by the shoulders. Cavanaugh ran out from behind the pool table, grabbed her gun, and trained it on the man in the tub. “Don’t kill him,” she said.

“I’m not letting him out just so he can come after us again,” Travis grunted. “As long as he’s fighting me, he stays in the water.”

As if on cue, the man stopped struggling. Travis grabbed him behind the shoulders and placed a half Nelson lock around his neck. Once he was sure he had the man under control, he hauled him out of the water. Cavanaugh kept her gun trained on his skull the whole time.

The man’s face was red and flushed and he looked as if he hurt. “Look at all this high-tech equipment he’s packing,” Cavanaugh said. She searched him, then systematically removed every gadget and weapon he carried, much of it now waterlogged and ruined. “This is the same man who attacked me at the library.”

“Persistent son of a bitch,” Travis muttered.

Cavanaugh ripped the man’s stocking cap off his head. Travis’s eyes widened.

It was Curran McKenzie. Mary Ann McKenzie’s brother.

O
NCE TRAVIS’S EYES HAD
retracted back into his head, he murmured, “This is the rape victim’s brother.”

“I know,” Cavanaugh said, nodding. “I saw him in the courtroom, remember? Just after he talked to you. I believe you described him as an obnoxious wimp.”

“Well, I got the obnoxious part right.” He tightened his grip around Curran’s neck. “Where’d you learn the commando tactics?”

“In the army,” Curran spat out. “Green Beret, for your information.”

“Where’d you get the spiffy CIA-issue equipment?”

Curran struggled futilely against Travis’s grip. “I’ve maintained a few connections.”

“Great. A man of mystery.” He withdrew a canister from Curran’s belt. “What’s this? A time bomb disguised as a roll of film?”

“Just a roll of film. For the cameras.”

Travis fingered the tiny binoculars. “And I guess this is how you spy on your neighbors.”

Curran ignored him.

“So what’s the story, super spook? Are you working for the Outfit or the FBI?”

A pained expression crossed Curran’s face. “Neither one.”

“Then what—”

“I’m on my own.”

“On your own? Not a Green Beret anymore?”

“I had a disagreement with my commanding officer. Several, actually.”

“But why are you following us? What do you want?”

Curran twisted his head around as much as Travis’s grip permitted. “I want you dead.”

“Me? Dead?” Travis stared back at him, dumbfounded. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

Curran looked straight ahead and kept his mouth shut.

Cavanaugh pushed her gun into Curran’s ribs. “Answer him.”

“It’s not what you did to me,” Curran replied curtly. “It’s what you did to my sister.”

Travis released Curran’s neck. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your sister.”

“You had everything to do with humiliating her in court. You’re doing everything you can to help Moroconi escape punishment for what he did to her.”

“I was defending Moroconi, if that’s what you mean. The prosecution’s case against him is flimsy at best. Even scum are entitled to a fair trial. If you take that away, the whole system falls apart.”

Cavanaugh stepped between them. “I don’t think he’s in the mood for a civics lesson, Travis. Look, Curran, I’m on the prosecution side of the courtroom. You can trust me. This desire to exact vengeance by projecting your anger onto the defendant’s lawyer is very common, although most people don’t do it with Puukko knives and laserscope rifles. But surely you can see you’re misdirecting your anger. Your beef is against the men who attacked your sister.”

“If I knew who those men were, I’d go after them,” Curran said. “In the meantime, I’ll settle for Byrne.”

“Great.” Travis slumped down beside the hot tub. “Just what I need. Someone else who wants to kill me.”

“There are others?”

“Take a number, kid. I’m not sure you’re even in the top five.”

“Look, Curran,” Cavanaugh said, “I’m sympathetic. I share your frustration. But I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. Why don’t we all put away our big guns and just talk for a few minutes? Then you can decide if you still want to kill Travis.”

Travis stared at her. “Put our guns away! And what if he decides he still wants to kill me?”

“One thing at a time, Travis. Can we talk, Curran?”

Curran frowned. “I suppose. As long as Byrne doesn’t try to get away.”

“He won’t. I’ve got the car keys.
Mario
!”

Mario crawled out from behind the pool table. “Yes?” he whispered.

“Show us to the den, Mario, and unlock the liquor cabinet. We’re going to have a nice, friendly chat.”

While Mario retired to his master bedroom to pull himself together, Cavanaugh tried to convince Curran that Travis was as much a pawn as his sister had been. She explained that Travis had been appointed to represent Moroconi, that he had precious little choice in the matter, and that once appointed, he had an obligation to do his best to exonerate Moroconi. Most important, she tried to convince him that the last thing on earth Travis needed was another person trying to kill him.

“Who are these other people?” Curran asked, still suspicious. “Did you humiliate their relatives in public, too?”

Travis ignored the barb. “I thought one group was the FBI, but the FBI has never heard of them. I thought the other group was the mob, although the FBI assures me the mob has been cleaned out of Dallas. The paper trail leads to some corporation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Join the club.”

Curran was silent for a moment. “Do you think these people who are after you could be the same people who attacked my sister?”

“I don’t know,” Travis said honestly. “Moroconi always claimed someone had framed him. At the least I think they know something about it.”

“Then I’m in.”

Travis blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. I’m in. I’ll help.”

“Forget it. I’m not letting you anywhere near a weapon.”

“Wait a minute,” Cavanaugh said. “What exactly are you saying, Curran?”

“I’m saying I want to help you.”

“What do you think we’re going to do?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I listened in on part of your conversation with Mario after you hauled him out of the hot tub. You’re going after Moroconi.”

“So?”

“So, I’m coming along. If these people know who attacked my sister, then I have as much right to go after them as you do.”

“This isn’t just a vigilante mission,” Travis insisted. “They’ve kidnapped a little girl. I have to find her by midnight or they’ll kill her.”

“Then you’d better have me along.”

“He has a point, you know,” Cavanaugh said. “He’s far better trained for this sort of mission than either of us.” She eyed Curran carefully. “And you promise you won’t hurt Travis till we’re done?”

“I promise. Till we’re done.”

“Good. Travis, I think we should let him join the party.”

Travis threw up his hands. “Cavanaugh, he tried to kill me!”

“But he promised not to try again. Till we’re done.”

“Oh, well then. If the man who’s been stalking me for days
promises,
then fine. Here, Curran. Have a machete.”

“I think he’s okay,” Cavanaugh said. “Just a little headstrong.”

“Just a little—” Travis walked up to Curran and grabbed him by the lapel. “Look, Mr. Green Beret. How do I know you won’t kill me in some gruesome super-secret way the first opportunity you get?”

“I gave you my word.”

“I’d prefer a more tangible form of security.”

“Like what?”

Travis pushed him away. “Forget it. Come on, Cavanaugh. We don’t have time to mess around with him.”

“
No
!”

The sudden rise in Curran’s voice took them both by surprise. Curran’s face was transfixed by some new, unrecognizable emotion. He seated himself in an armchair and stared into the fireplace.

“Mary Ann is more than just my sister,” he said quietly. “She’s my twin.”