Into the Fire (41 page)

The corridor was carpeted and smelled faintly of wet dog—an aroma that was, for him, more nostalgic than offensive. Once upon a time, he’d had a dog.

Hell, once upon a time, he’d had an entire life. A live-in girlfriend who would have made him see reason if he’d told her his crazy-ass plan to drive more than seven hours from San Diego to Sacramento to wake a near total stranger in the middle of the night and accuse her of…

What? Decker wasn’t even sure.

These days, as Agency scandal after Agency scandal made the news, Deck himself kept his years of employment with the organization off of his own résumé.

Of course, there was another reason why someone like Dr. Heissman wouldn’t mention an Agency connection—and that was if she were still working for Doug Brendon.

Decker stopped in front of the door marked 408 and knocked.

Loudly.

He knocked for quite a long time, then—knowing full well that it was a mistake—got his B&E kit back out and gained access to Heissman’s suite as quickly as he’d gotten into the building.

It was dark in there, the kitchen area lit by a dim glow from the microwave clock. There was a sofa, several chairs and a TV set up by some windows, and a door that was tightly shut, no doubt leading to the bedroom.

No wonder she hadn’t heard him.

Deck started turning on lights—in the kitchen and in the living room alcove. He made sure he got them all, so that the place was blazing. At which point, he went to the bedroom door and, once again, knocked.

This time she heard him.

She opened the door, clearly thinking that the knocking had come from the outer door. Her hair was pulled back severely from her face, in a single braid down her back, and she was pulling a bathrobe on over what looked like a pink silk nightgown.

As Decker’s mind did a quick boggle—she didn’t seem the type to own anything pink—she quickly covered herself, securing the belt around her waist with an extremely businesslike square knot.

Deck found his voice. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said. “But I have some questions that couldn’t wait.”

“So you just…broke into my room?” She was not happy. “How dare you? Get out.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Not until you answer some questions—”

“You do understand this falls under the category of erratic behavior. I have every intention of reporting this to Tom Paoletti.”

Decker felt his polite bone break. It just snapped, and he got in her face, manners discarded. “Terrific,” he said as he invaded her personal space. “Let’s get a dialog with Tommy going, shall we? Let’s talk about your years—was it five?—with the Agency.”

She laughed her anger, held her ground. “I should have known. After James Nash’s performance this afternoon—”

Decker’s temper flared even more brightly. “Per
form
ance?”

“It seemed that way to me,” she said. “Yes. It was purposely done in public. He was alone in the car with Tess for hours before his outburst.” She managed to move away from him gracefully, without seeming as if she were retreating, by striding to the door. “Time to go, Mr. Decker. Your coming here like this is completely inappropriate—”

“I have an idea,” Decker said. “You let me search your room, right now, and if I don’t find anything that ties you to Brendon or his Agency, well, then I don’t kill you.”

“What, no threat of rape?” It was a low blow, and she knew it, and she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Look, I’m
not
going to let you search my room, so—”

“So you
do
have something to hide.”

She was back to being pissed. “What a surprise. You’re one of those troglodytes who believes that privacy is a luxury.
What’s the big deal about losing a basic constitutional right. If you don’t have anything to hide you shouldn’t be worried,
huh? Well, screw you, buster. I don’t have anything to hide, but I’m not going to let you search my room, because I still cherish my right to privacy. Do you
seriously
think that I managed to keep the fact that I worked with the Agency from Tom Paoletti? That’s the reason he hired me! He thought I would have insight into what’s going on with you and Jim Nash.” She picked up the phone, brandishing it at him more as if it were a weapon than a communication device. “Call him and ask.”

“I will,” Decker said. “Count on it. In the morning.”

“You don’t want to wake
him
up, but you think nothing of breaking into
my room
…”

“He’s on a flight from Hong Kong,” Decker told her. “I have no problem waking him.”

But she didn’t care. She pointed to the door again. “Just get out before I call hotel security.”

Decker laughed. “Was that supposed to be a threat?”

“It very much was one, yes. Perhaps not as violent and offensive as your threatening to kill me was—as if I thought for a moment that you’d actually—”

“You worked for the Agency. You’re aware of what its operatives are capable of.” Decker planted himself on the sofa, feigning a casualness that he didn’t come close to feeling. In truth, he could feel himself shaking. “I’ll have my coffee black, thanks.”

He’d rendered her speechless, but it was only temporary. “If you think for one
second
that I’m making you
coffee
…”

“Why don’t you start by telling me who you worked for at the Agency,” he said, “and for how long, and—the question of the hour, drumroll, please—if you’re still working there now?”

Hands on hips that were, beneath that terry-cloth robe, covered by a pink nightie—he still couldn’t get over that—she glared at him. “Why don’t you answer that last question yourself?”

“I’m pretty sure you know,” Decker told her. “But, okay, I’ll say it. No,
I’m
no longer working for those motherfuckers. Your turn.”

“And what? You’re just going to take my word for it…?” She let her voice trail off.

“I want to see if you’re ballsy enough to lie,” he said. “We’ve had enough conversations—I can tell when you’re lying.”

And there it was, on her face. A flicker of something—uncertainty? Possibly.

And sure enough, she tried to redirect. “Well, I’ve had enough conversations with you to know you’re capable of pulling one past me. Why should I believe you?”

“Because Doug Brendon forced me out,” Decker told her, “and I almost died in the process. And if you worked there when your background information indicates that you did—you damn well know it.”

“Almost died,” she pointed out. “The Agency that I’m familiar with doesn’t do
almost.
Unless they—and you—want the world to think you’re not working for them anymore…”

It
was
a classic Agency move. Pretend to cut ties, and then coerce former operatives into completing one more assignment. And then one more, and then another and another and another. With proper leverage to guarantee cooperation, of course.

Decker was almost completely convinced that this had to be what was going on with Nash. Because if Nash
was
still working for Brendon’s Agency, he wasn’t doing it by choice, that was for goddamn sure.

“For all Tom and I know,” Dr. Heissman pointed out—nice strategy to imply that she and Tom were on the same team, opposing Decker, “
you’ve
continued to work for them for the past four years.”

Enough of this bullshit. “Well,
I
know I haven’t,” Decker said.

“And I know
I
haven’t,” she countered.

“Which is what you would say if you still worked for Brendon.”

“Ditto to what you just said,” she shot back. “And around and around we merrily go.”

And there they indeed were, staring at each other, neither one backing down.

“What am I going to find out when I talk to Tommy?” Decker asked her, trying a different tack. “That you’re doing extensive research on the effects of trauma on field operatives, for some fictional paper you’re working on? That you agreed to shrink all of our heads at a special discounted rate in order to have access to more subjects for your study?”

He’d hit a truth there—he could see it in her eyes. “The paper’s quite real,” she started, but again, he cut her off.

“What are they looking for—the Agency?” Decker asked. “More shit to use to hold Nash’s feet to the fire? Or are they gunning for me now?” God knows he’d given Dr. Heissman all that she needed, to provide the Agency with plenty of blackmail material on himself. Jesus, he’d blow his own brains out before he’d let himself get entangled back in one of Brendon’s razor-sharp snares—and the idea of doing so was so starkly absolute, and oddly, crazily enticing that for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. But she was talking, so he had to focus.

“I don’t know,” she said tartly, “seeing as how I’m no longer working for them?”

His hands were shaking again, because now he couldn’t help but think about Nash, possibly caught in a similar trap, only with way more—Tess—to lose. And as much as he’d said otherwise, he honestly couldn’t tell if Jo Heissman was telling the truth. “But you
were
still working there after Nash and I left,” Decker persisted. “You seriously expect me to believe that no one—
no
one—discussed either one of us?”

She didn’t answer, so he pushed it harder. “Come on, Doctor,” he said. “You said
I want to help you.
Well, here I am. I’m asking you to help me.” His voice shook. “So for fuck’s sake, help me!”

She was trying—and succeeding—at keeping her composure. She was cool and aloof. “This was not what I meant.”

“You want to know how I
feel
?” Decker rocketed off the couch, unable to sit still a moment longer, and this time she retreated, so the crazy must’ve been radiating off of him in waves. “I’m sick about Murphy. Jesus, he’s finally surfaced and I’m scared shitless that I won’t be able to help him, that I
haven’t
helped him, that he’s already too far gone, that he
did
kill Ebersole, and, Christ, I’m glad that the motherfucker’s dead, but I’m sick that I didn’t think to do it for him. And I’m fucking sick about Nash, too, about not seeing that this bullshit was going on, about assuming that his having Tess would be enough—because it was easier for me to stay away from them, because—shit,
shit!
—I wanted it! I wanted what he found with her. And Jesus, I’m sick because if Tess couldn’t fix Nash, there’s no goddamn hope for me, so I might as well just eat a bullet tonight!”

To his complete and total horror, he found that somewhere in his rant, he’d started to cry. He bolted for the door, but now—damn it—she actually blocked him from leaving. He was afraid to touch her, afraid he’d hurt her. “Get out of my way!”

“Okay,” Jo said, hands out, as if she were calming a mad dog. “It’s okay. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll make that coffee?”

Decker had to get out of there. He couldn’t stop his tears and he would not cry in front of her, in front of
any
one. So he picked her up and moved her aside, only now she held onto him in an embrace, her arms tightly around him, and the shock of the sudden contact blew out a door that he’d thought was already wide open, but in fact had only been ajar, because now, Jesus, he was actually sobbing, and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t…

“It’s okay,” she said again, her voice soothing, her body solid and warm against him. “You’re safe with me, Lawrence. You’re safe here. You can say what you feel, and still be safe. You don’t have to run away.”

God help him, it had been so long since he’d been touched, let alone embraced like this, but then he thought of Sophia in the Troubleshooters’ parking lot, holding him from behind, her arms around him, her hand over his heart, and he was so screwed up, because he
knew
what she’d wanted from him for so many years, but he couldn’t forgive himself enough to give it to her, he just couldn’t, and it was stupid as shit, because the gentleness of the voice in his ear made him think about his mother, whom he hadn’t thought about in years, whom he suddenly missed with such a sharp, twisting ache and could he
be
any more pathetic, crying like a baby and missing his mommy?

He remembered the way Murphy had cried in the hospital, that awful day Decker had gone with Tommy to tell him that Angelina had died—the hoarse, keening sound of the man’s grief still echoed in his head, sweeping through him with a desolate, freezing loneliness, and he didn’t want to be here, he couldn’t stay here, not like this, so he kissed her, this woman who was holding him in her arms, and all of the pain turned instantly to need, hot and strong, and just like that his tears shut off, because Jesus God, her mouth was sweet—

But she pulled away from him and he realized with a jolt of shock that it was Jo Heissman’s mouth that his tongue had just been in. Her hair had partly come undone from her braid and her blue eyes were enormous as she caught her breath and adjusted her robe and said, “Okay, that’s okay, because, you know, sex is just another form of running away, another way to hide, to avoid talking—”

“I should go,” Decker somehow managed to say, because now he was completely freaked out on top of being mortified. He wasn’t even remotely attracted to Jo Heissman.

But she moved, again, in front of the door, and he found himself acutely aware of the fullness of her breasts beneath her bathrobe. No doubt about it, she was nicely put together for a woman of their age.

“I know for a fact that the majority of men in your occupation,” she told him, pushing her hair back behind her ear, no doubt in an attempt to look more professional, “use sex as a form of emotional release. A surrogate to expressing themselves through words or even tears, so you should know that I absolutely don’t take what just happened personally. It was pretty classic avoidance and…I need to make it absolutely clear, though, even as I insist that you stay, that nothing of a sexual nature can or will happen between us. But I urge you to sit down so we can talk about some of the things you said. If you want, we can start with your concerns about Jim Nash. I think you’re absolutely right—that Nash is under some kind of severe pressure, probably from the Agency.”

She was no fool, of that Decker was certain. She knew the magic words that would keep him here, despite his being mortified and completely unmanned. He’d wiped his face, but he knew his eyes were red and the fact that he’d actually broken down and wept was as palpable as if there were another person in the room with them.