Evil Without a Face (22 page)

“Actually, I heard your whistle, then you called out…asking for help.”

“You heard what?” Jess thought long and hard about what he’d said but could only recall vague impressions. “I was really messed up, but I don’t remember calling to anyone.” She furrowed her brow. “And I definitely can’t whistle loud enough to be heard over that damned alarm. That doesn’t make sense, but I’m sure you heard what you did or else you never would have found me.”

She shuddered at the thought of how close she’d come to dying.

“It was a woman’s voice.” Payton jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Do you remember anyone else with you…besides Nikki?”

By the expression on his handsome face, the mention of his niece’s name took its toll, but when he mentioned a woman’s voice, it triggered something.

“You know, I have this memory of…” She stalled long enough to pull an image out of the blur of last night. “…a blond woman. Her face is stuck in my mind. Last night is still fuzzy, but I think she was there. Sam said I was outside that burning room, but I was in no shape to do that on my own.”

Deep in thought, Jess hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Payton asked her a question.

“Are you saying there was someone else there? Because I didn’t see anyone leave the way we came in.”

The urgency in his voice forced her to think harder about what happened, for his sake. Had she imagined the whole thing or was she recalling something from another time long ago? She was treading a dangerous line, threatening to drag him into her delusions if she was wrong.

“I can’t be sure, but I think someone pulled me from of the fire,” she replied in a voice that lacked resolve. How
much could she trust her recollections after what had happened?

When she looked up, Payton had a pained expression on his face.

“What?” she asked. “What are you thinking?”

“If there was a blond woman there, where did she go? I mean, she didn’t come through us or we would have seen her. If you’re right about this woman, then she got you help…and maybe she helped Nikki too. A big place like that? Maybe there were other ways in and out.”

Although her memories were muddled, Jess had a vague notion of a back way out. The pieces to the puzzle of last night hadn’t clicked into place yet, but Payton was grasping at very thin straws, and she knew it. In her line of work, she’d dealt with the scum of the earth, leaving her more cynical than someone like Payton Archer. The dark thought that percolated in her brain now would not be easy for him to hear, but encouraging him to believe that Nikki might still be alive would only prolong his agony if she was wrong. She considered her words carefully before speaking.

“Listen, Payton.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. “My memories sometimes get jumbled with a past I’d sooner forget. My childhood…I get confused between what actually happened and all the nightmares since…I don’t want to get your hopes up over something I may have conjured from thin air.”

“But—” He stopped short and considered her point. “I can see the pain behind your eyes. Are you okay?”

His astute observation surprised her. Was he talking about her physical pain, or the emotional scars most people chose to ignore? To his credit, Payton didn’t ask her any more about her personal recollections. He gave her the privacy she normally craved. And she liked that very much.

“I know Sam has got people digging through that old factory,” she said. “We’ll know what happened real soon. Maybe by then I’ll remember…be more sure.”

Her words sounded hollow. She wanted to comfort him but had no idea how to do that. She knew how she’d feel if it had been her loved one killed in the blaze. And by the look on Payton’s face, nothing would have consoled him either.

But she had to be sure about the troubling thought that plagued her now.

If a mystery woman had helped her from the fire in the control room, that woman may have done the same for Nikki, just as Payton had speculated. But if she was mistaken, and the woman had only been an illusive figment of her chronic bad dreams, she would be leading Payton and his sister down a grim path of false hope. After all they had been through, she didn’t want to be the cause of an even greater emotional setback.

Sure it would have been a comfort for Payton to realize he hadn’t left his niece behind in the fire, but another scenario remained, with serious implications. Jess shivered at the thought of his niece still in the hands of the Russian. The girl would be no match for the man’s cruelty.

She stared down at the pages clutched in her hand, the ones she’d retrieved from the fire. In her mind, Globe Harvest and its obscene network really did exist. And that Russian bastard went to great pains to blow up an abandoned textile plant. The man wanted to bury the proof of his link to the larger organization, but not all of that proof had been burned.

She knew her instincts were dead on. An organization like Globe Harvest operated and thrived on secrecy. Compromising Baker and his laptop connection to the larger system had been the catalyst for what happened last night. And in her hands, she held a copy of the only evidence pulled from the fire. It had to mean something or else those men wouldn’t have gone to such great pains to destroy the facility and its control room. With any luck, she’d find a key to open another door into Globe Harvest.

For the sake of Payton and his family—and countless others—she hoped she was right.

Downtown Chicago

After the fire, Alexa had caught a few restless hours of sleep at her downtown hotel room, where she’d nursed her burns and bruises. When she awoke, she’d stretched her sore muscles and took a long hot shower to loosen up. Now, dressed in the white robe of the hotel, sitting at a table eating her room service breakfast, she got a call on her cell phone. Although no number was displayed, she knew instinctively who was on the line.

“Marlowe.”

“I hope you’re enjoying your time off, Alexa.” Over the phone, his low and seductive voice teased her ear as if she lay next to him in the dark. “How is Paris?” he asked.

Alexa contemplated lying to Garrett Wheeler, an associate of a covert organization she knew only as the Sentinels. But chances were that Garrett was only testing whether she’d come close to the truth. She got up to adjust the air-conditioning thermostat, to cut the chill from the room before she went back to her breakfast.

“Paris? I wouldn’t know. Why do you take such pleasure in playing these games?”

“For the same reason you feel the need to stall…answering a question with a question. You know I don’t like it when you keep secrets. What are you doing in Chicago?”

She had taken special precautions to keep her trip a secret from Garrett. But given the man’s resources, it was only a matter of time before he would have found her. The Sentinels preferred keeping her on a short leash, according to Garrett, and the alliance had no tolerance for personal agendas—except their own. She had yet to fully understand what mattered most to them—or Garrett. He was as addictive to her as crystal meth to an addict, and she hoped her name might come up
on the list of necessities in his life. But she knew he was too secretive to confide such things to her. It wasn’t his nature.

“Globe Harvest is here in Chicago,” she told him. “I’ve got a solid lead that I’m—”

“Don’t you mean that in the past tense? From what I hear, your lead is nothing but a pile of rubble.”

Damn it!
Garrett knew more than she had counted on. Alexa tensed her jaw, contemplating her next move.

“I retrieved documents from their control room before the explosion, but I’m sure you know that already or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She sipped her coffee. “I’m confident I’ll find another way to track them.”

“That is, if a certain bounty hunter doesn’t beat you to the punch. Jessica Beckett is an interesting woman, wouldn’t you agree?”

A twinge of jealousy jabbed at Alexa, a reaction she hadn’t expected. When Garrett found people interesting, it usually meant he’d dug into their background on behalf of the Sentinels, but something in the way he’d said Jessica’s name triggered a more personal reaction.

He’d used that same understated word—interesting—to describe her two years ago when he recruited her to be his associate.

“Yes, she is,” she said. “I’ll be sure to add her to my Christmas card list. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s come to my attention that she retrieved documents from that fire, and hers are in much better condition than the burned fragments you sent for analysis.”

The Sentinels had a web of informants all over the world, but obviously, his list also included someone within the ranks of the local police force, if he knew about evidence the bounty hunter had retrieved.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“The police might’ve already confiscated her documents as evidence by now, but I hear that the FBI will be involved shortly. Once the feds get their hands on this case, you’ll
have a much harder time keeping a low profile. You may want to talk to Jessica and pool your resources, whatever they may be.”

Garrett still hadn’t committed any Sentinels’ aid in her pursuit of Globe Harvest. With his access to powerful connections all over the globe, if he chose to help her, she had no doubt Globe Harvest’s days would be numbered. And yet he continued to sit on the sidelines, claiming the Sentinels had no interest in intervening. Why?

The most she had been able to ascertain about Garrett Wheeler’s secretive alliance and their “agenda” was that he carried out the wishes of an elite group of powerful men from various countries—an alliance of wealthy vigilantes. It appeared that in tough situations, where the court systems of the world would have difficulty rendering justice, the Sentinels intervened to quietly do what had to be done.

For the most part, she agreed in dispensing justice on a grander scale when the case was clearly out of the reach of legal jurisdictions, a common issue in today’s international arena. And she relished her role in playing devil’s advocate with Garrett and his associates. But there were times when she wondered if these men were treading on a slippery slope. After all, they backed a course of action that came close to crossing a dangerous line between eradicating what they pursued and becoming another facet of it—with the only distinction being their point of view.

For now, the organization still had her allegiance. And from her perspective, the benefits far outweighed the pitfalls. But with her loyalty came a skepticism these men would have to deal with. She wouldn’t follow any cause with blinders on. That was one of the reasons she had chosen to pursue Globe Harvest on her own, when Garrett and his backers failed to show interest in her private investigation.

She’d confronted Garrett before when she hadn’t comprehended the Sentinels’ motives, and she learned that he had boundaries…except in the bedroom.

“Why are you telling me about the FBI?” she asked, setting down her coffee cup. “If you wanted to, you could convince your associates to make a difference in bringing down Globe Harvest. I don’t understand why—”

“We’ve gone over this before. These men have their reasons.” A phrase she’d heard often from him. “Besides, the world is full of injustice, and they prefer to pick their own battles. However, I will share something troubling I’ve heard. A Russian by the name of Stanislav Petrovin was in charge of security for the Chicago operation. Stas is a dangerous man with even deadlier connections, Alexa. As we speak, I’m sending you an encrypted file on him.”

“You sound like you know Petrovin.”

“Just take care of yourself, Alexa.” He paused for a moment, then added, “I miss you.”

He ended the call without allowing her to respond to his personal message, words that came across her phone as a tender whisper to her ear. Garrett knew how to keep her off balance, but he’d also thrown her a lifeline in pursuing Globe Harvest. Now that he knew about her agenda, could she count on him for more support, or had his gesture been personally motivated? Like all the other mysteries surrounding Garrett Wheeler and his organization, she suspected her questions would go unanswered.

Once she got Petrovin’s dossier and quickly familiarized herself with its content, it would be time to call on Jessica Beckett. She headed for her bedroom to get changed. Knowing Garrett’s flair for understatement, she would have to work fast if she wanted to orchestrate an encounter with the bounty hunter before the FBI got too involved. But with someone as tenacious as Jessica Beckett, Alexa knew she’d have to be careful, making sure any interaction with the woman would be a one-way street.

She was determined to cut the bounty hunter out of the picture.

Before dawn
The next morning

With the pain meds nearly out of her system, Jess lay flat on her back staring at the ceiling of her dimly lit hospital room, never feeling so useless. Her body ached and her head throbbed, but at least the pain made her feel like she was doing something. She hoped they would release her today, even though her brain felt like mush.

Unable to sleep, she flicked on a small light over her bed and pulled out the pages she’d taken from the textile factory, squinting as the light reflected off the white paper. Whenever she tried to study them, her eyes blurred, which brought on a lingering headache. So while out of commission, she’d made sure that Seth received a copy of the pages. A set was personally delivered to him by Sam. Seth had told her on the phone that at first glance the numeric sequences didn’t make sense to him either, but he was willing to look for any obvious patterns in the code. At least she felt that his effort would be something, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Not for her.

Yet staring at the ceiling for hours had served one purpose.

The face of the mystery blond woman came into better focus—bits of memory at a time, like kaleidoscope pieces
locking into place. And she was able to sift through her recollections and know these images were not from her distant past. They were more current, from the time of the explosion. If the woman walked up to her on the street in broad daylight, she wasn’t sure she would recognize her. But with each passing hour, her mind had cleared away the fog, leaving her with one desperate thought.

If the blond woman had indeed helped her, then she might have done the same for Payton’s niece. If so, Nikki could still be out there and in the hands of the Russian. The thought made her stomach gnarl into knots. She had to do something, and lying in a hospital bed wouldn’t cut it.

When would she tell Payton the truth about what she suspected? And if she did, would he even believe her?

Once again during the night, the helicopters had traveled for hours with only one brief stop to refuel. They landed in a grassy open field where a fuel truck was awaiting their arrival. Every aspect of their departure from Chicago had been planned and coordinated in secrecy. This time, once they touched down, armed men ordered Nikki and the others out of the passenger compartment and into the grass.

When she saw what was happening, panic gripped her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her legs felt weak and unable to move. A man shoved her behind the others. Every girl was forced into the scrub brush at gunpoint. This was it. Nikki believed they’d all be killed—coerced to their knees and shot in the head in mass execution.

“Oh, God…please no,” she pleaded under her breath.

Terrifying mental pictures flashed across her mind, each worse than the last. But once Nikki saw they were being forced to relieve themselves, she breathed a sigh of relief. Men holding flashlights kept track of the girls as they squatted, giving them no privacy as they watched. What Nikki had imagined had been far worse, so she suffered through the indignity when it came to her turn.

After they got back into the helicopters and took off, Nikki had huddled with the rest and kept an eye out the window to look for city lights or distinguishing landmarks. But it never got light enough for her to see much. She had no doubt their escape had been well planned. They flew by night and through remote areas, making it harder for anyone to track their flight. And with each well-orchestrated move by her captors, she grew more depressed. These men had thought of everything, leaving her without hope of ever being rescued.

At dawn, they landed in another open field, with a shack on the property, a corrugated metal Quonset hut amidst rolling mountains that encircled a clearing. No power lines. No real roads. Only rutted dirt tracks. Nikki didn’t recognize any of it. She had no idea if they were even in the United States anymore. And with the noticeable temperature drop, she caught a chill as she followed the others to the only shelter within miles.

“Get them inside,” she heard the Russian tell one of the men. “Chain them together, except for the three. I want them on a separate leash.”

“We shouldn’t stay here long,” the second man cautioned, looking over his shoulder and along the horizon.

“Not planning on it, but we may be here for a day or two. I’m waiting for clearance for our next stops,” the Russian ordered. “Make sure they…”

Nikki didn’t hear anything else the Russian said. She got shoved inside with the others, and started to look for the darkest corner she could find. A moldy stench made it nearly impossible to breathe. And their movements echoed in the tin structure as the girls cowered together in smaller packs. Someone struck a match and lit a lamp, casting shadows and the smell of kerosene into the dank space. One man threw dusty, scratchy blankets at them, and some of the girls had begun to cough from the filth floating in the stale air.

But as Nikki found a spot to sit, one of her abductors
grabbed her arm and hauled her to another corner, away from the others. She was handcuffed and chained to two other girls and given half a bottle of water to share. The others across the room got nothing.

She handed the water bottle to the girls chained beside her, allowing them to drink first. When it was Nikki’s turn, the youngest kid handed her the water and whispered, a girl by the name of Britney Webber who had a small heart-shaped birthmark on her chin.

“What’s happening? Why did they separate us?” Britney’s eyes glistened with tears in the dimly lit room.

Nikki shook her head in reply, too scared to speculate. Her lips quivered and the water bottle trembled in her hand as she drank. She’d been culled out with two others for a reason, a purpose she didn’t want to think about. She had hoped to get some sleep, but closing her eyes now was out of the question. After her failed attempt to escape with Jessica, she felt certain the Russian’s decision to isolate her had more to do with retribution than any treatment for good behavior.

The man had plans for her—something real special. And no amount of speculation would prepare her. No matter what she imagined, the Russian could conjure something much worse.

Nikki fought to keep from heaving the contents of her stomach. She shut her eyes tight and imagined hiding in the darkest corner of her closet back home. As she slowed her breathing, she almost smelled the light fragrance of her favorite perfume, and fought back tears with the memory. And she pretended to listen for the sounds of her mother’s footsteps up the stairs. In the not so distant past—a lifetime ago—having her mom outside her closed bedroom door would have angered her. But now she would give anything for such an intrusion. Thinking of her mom brought an undeniable lump to her throat.

And hearing Uncle Payton’s soft laughter would have warmed her heart—making her feel safe—until she realized
that she’d never hear his voice again. That’s when she pictured him dying in the explosion, and the frightening images sent her over the edge. This time she didn’t hold back her tears. She couldn’t, even if she tried.

“Thanks for everything, Joe. I wish…” Payton stood at the doorway to his friend’s hospital room, searching for words that wouldn’t come. He finally settled on, “Sorry you got hurt.”

“Are you kidding me? When I get home, I’m gonna milk this bum leg for all it’s worth.” Joe grinned between grimaces as a male nurse named Julio slowly helped him into a wheelchair. But his smile quickly faded when he changed the subject. “I know you were out at the site this morning. Anything new?”

“No. Just a whole lot of nothing.” Payton shook his head and stared down the hall at nothing in particular, his mind filled with images of the last forty-eight hours.

Hours had blurred into days with nothing accomplished—one big lesson in futility.

Recovery crews had painstakingly sifted through the sparse remnants of the destroyed factory, looking for bodies with cadaver dogs and using other means, without results. He could only watch from a distance behind the police barrier. Sam had warned him that he’d be unable to get closer, but he had to be there when they found Nikki.

It didn’t feel right to leave her in the hands of strangers, even well-meaning ones. Payton supposed no news was good news, and a part of him wanted to find hope in that. But being more pragmatic, he had grown to believe no news only delayed the inevitable of knowing what had actually happened to Nikki.

“How’s Susannah?” Joe asked as Julio retrieved his overnight bag and packed his personal stuff.

Payton knew that for every hour of not knowing, Susannah
paid an undeniable price. And by the grim look on Joe’s face, his friend knew it too.

“Not good.” Payton gritted his teeth, fending off the tension headache brewing behind his eyes. “I’m glad you’ll be there. She could use a friend.”

Susannah’s voice had sounded rough on the phone. With every call, Payton had found her more and more on edge as time dragged on without any news. At times, her words slurred and he knew she’d been drinking, but who was he to ask her to quit? She was alone. And with every stone turned aside in that pile of rubble, his sister came closer to confirming her worst fear.

He could only imagine what was happening from a distance. Being unable to console her left him feeling completely useless. Like when they had lost their parents, Susannah balled up in a cocoon of heartache, feeding off whatever was left inside her, giving up. If anyone reached out to help her, he knew she’d probably ignore them. It was her way of handling grief. This time, Payton wasn’t sure she could survive the ordeal.

And worrying about his sister had shoved his own feelings deeper.

“She’s not the only one who could use a friend.” Joe had a way of reading his mind that was downright spooky. “Keep in touch, son. Call me anytime. I mean it.”

“I will.” He nodded. “Promise.”

With Joe in Alaska, Payton knew he’d be losing a lifeline, but it was for the best. When his friend had asked to be sent home, Payton knew Joe had struggled with his decision. He’d explained that he didn’t want to be a burden in Chicago, with his bum leg, and taking care of Susannah seemed a worthier endeavor than holding a pity party for one. Payton couldn’t help but grin at his justification for leaving the lower forty-eight. Joe feeling sorry for himself was as likely to happen as pro athletes giving up the big
bucks and major endorsement deals, to play only for the love of the game.

He stepped back from the door as Julio wheeled Joe into the hallway. “My car’s in visitor parking near the patient pickup area,” he told the male nurse.

“Not so fast. We’ve got a stop to make,” Joe interrupted. “When does the plane leave?”

“We’ve got a little over two hours before the charter takes off. Why?”

“Plenty of time.” The old man grinned and avoided Payton’s eyes. Instead, he stared ahead and directed the nurse with a wave of his hand. “Straight ahead, Julio, my friend.”

To Payton, he added, “I promised Jessie that she could see me off and that you’d take her home after. She’s being released today.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” Payton narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Jess had signed the last of her hospital release forms and finished packing her overnight bag when a nurse entered the room. Her name tag read
LORENA,
but she had heard others call her “Smitty.” The woman had a voice full of gristle and rolled a wheelchair into the room to haul her to the curb. Unruly short blond hair and sharp eyes tempered with humor gave character to the face of a woman dressed in a crisp white uniform with sensible shoes.

“No thanks. I can walk.”

Jess barely looked up, but stopped when she heard, “Sorry, honey. Hospital policy.” Lorena smirked, undaunted by Jess’s best grimace.

“You don’t understand. I’ve got friends coming to pick me up. I’ll be okay.” Jess forced a smile. “Save the wheels for someone who really needs ’em.”

“Glad to hear you’ve got friends, honey. We should all be so lucky. But I’ve never lost this argument and I don’t intend
to start a losing streak today.” The nurse had a glint of amusement in her eyes, clearly enjoying Jess’s challenge.

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Jessie. Around here, Smitty’s got a reputation. They call her Nurse Ratched and she scares the hell out of me.”

In the doorway, Payton stood with arms crossed, behind his friend Joe, who sat in a wheelchair and was accompanied by a Hispanic male nurse. If Payton and his friend couldn’t buck the system, how did she stand a chance?

At the sound of Payton’s voice, the crusty nurse rolled her eyes and fought back a smile.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, young man.” She waggled a finger. “If you didn’t have such a cute tush, I might take offense and say
póg mo thóin
.”

Jess had heard the Gaelic phrase before and knew it meant “Kiss my arse.” She shook her head and grinned for real this time.

“Do you mind if I roll her out of here? I swear…” Payton made a quick cross over his heart. “…she won’t budge from the chair until she’s free of the building. Deal?”

“Only ’cause it’s you, Payton Archer.” The nurse heaved a sigh, pretending to be perturbed. “And I’m holding you to your word.”

The nurse clutched his hand in both of hers, and in a serious tone added, “We’re gonna miss you guys. Have a safe trip back to Alaska, Joe. And Payton? You and your family will be in my prayers.”

“Thanks, Smit. That means a lot.” He kissed her cheek and the woman blushed, giving Jess a glimpse of the young woman she used to be.

“Now go on. This place is for sick people.” The nurse shooed them out.

Complying with Smitty’s orders, Payton helped her into the wheelchair and pushed her down the corridor. When they got far enough away, Jess made her move.

“Is she looking?” Gaping over her shoulder, Jess shifted
in her seat, trying to catch a glimpse of her nurse. “I’m blessed with two good legs that work. As soon as I get in the elevator, we’re ditching the wheels.”

“We’re doing no such thing, Ms. Beckett. I made a promise to Smitty, and I’m a man of my word…most days.” As he pushed her wheelchair, Payton held her down with a strong hand on her shoulder, not letting her up. “Don’t make me duct-tape you into this thing.”