Off the Edge (The Associates) (25 page)

“Yes,” she said, face heating.

He pulled away and gazed into her eyes. She knew what he was thinking—the night of the dragon.

His gaze intensified, like he might kiss her.

Her eyes dropped to his lips. “I want what’s underneath.”

“Too bad.” He let go.

“I won’t accept—”

He raised his eyebrows, nodded his head toward the front.

“What?”

He put a hand to his ear.

Silence.

The barking had stopped. Relief flooded through her. “Oh.”

“You see? It worked. We thought of something else. And now here’s my guy.” Maxwell rose and moved up along the shadowed side of the stall toward the front where a dark figure stood. If she hadn’t known somebody was there, she wouldn’t have seen him. The brief flash of glasses could’ve been the reflection of sunshine off chrome.

The ratcheting sound was nearly imperceptible when he pulled the gate up. A man slipped in. Maxwell’s guy? He seemed to have gotten there awfully fast.

Maxwell and the man clasped each other’s shoulders with affection. Together they slipped back along the wall and behind the crates next to her, stealthy as ghosts.

Maxwell introduced the man as Rio.

Rio had short dark hair and glasses and inky eyelashes—he could get a job as a model in a heartbeat, she thought, though the way he moved told her he was every bit as lethal as Maxwell. And these two had clearly exchanged stealthy-walking recipes.

“That was fast,” Maxwell whispered as Rio pulled a wig and a cap from his bag.

“I’m not here,” Rio said with intensity, handing him a knit cap. “I was in the neighborhood saying goodbye to an old friend and I heard it over the line.”

“Ah,” Maxwell said, like that was hugely significant.

“Yes,” Rio said simply.

“How’s Douglas?”

“He’ll be fine, but you have a problem. Dax is sending a few Associates to get you two to a safe house.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I believe you’re looking at a Seattle-style exchange.”

Maxwell stiffened. “What about my angle? We can get Jazzman’s real voice now. I can break that security and take control of the TZ. I just need some quiet, some samples, some—”

“You’re being pulled out.”

Maxwell sucked in a breath. Laney realized she’d never heard Maxwell surprised, but he was surprised by this. “He can’t pull me out.”

“I thought you’d want to know,” Rio added.

“Damn right I’d want to know.” Maxwell grabbed a wig and shoved it into Laney’s hands. “Put this on. We’re leaving.” He pulled the knit cap over his head, tucked in his hair, and grabbed the gun Rio held out to him, pulling out the magazine and shoving it back in. He handed her gun to Rio and Rio gave him another. They were like a NASCAR pit crew, these two, with their guns and bullets.

“What’s a Seattle-style exchange?” she asked.

“A bad idea, that’s what.” Maxwell shoved Laney’s gun in her bag. “Let her have your Sig, Rio. She shoots.”

Rio pulled a black weapon from his ankle holster and set it in her hand. It was heavy as hell. “For you,” he said. “Be ready for its kick and it’ll treat you fine.” He looked into her eyes like he really wanted her to get that, to be safe.

“Thanks,” she said.

“You good with that one?” Maxwell asked.

“I’m good,” she said.

“I’m parked a block down,” Rio said. “Blue Toyota. I saw Little Hussein’s men roaming around five minutes ago, but the coast was clear when I came in.”

“Little Hussein’s men,” Macmillan said, as if it meant worlds.

“Dax isn’t the only one thinking about an exchange,” Rio said. “And it’s only going to get worse. Every dealer out there wants to be a hero for Jazzman.”

“All the decent holes’ll be staked out,” Macmillan said.

Rio nodded and they went on, gathering stuff up.

Laney looked at her socks and tennis shoes and the dirty hem of the white lingerie, hating that these men were excluding her, talking over her head. She’d lost so much, felt so alone. She needed Maxwell to let her in; couldn’t he see that? She needed to know somebody else was with her—not some military type or whatever he was, but another soul.

Another walker on the moon.

Moments later, Maxwell and Rio headed out; she was to wait at the front, watching from the shadows, ready to duck under the gate and slip into the car when it rolled by.

They ambled down the sidewalk with the loose walk of fighters, soft and relaxed, but with a kind of weightlessness, as if they could spring into furious action at any instant. She had the sense of them as a duo, like they’d been through things together. They both had that warrior intensity. That high-functioning intelligence.

Fighters. Could that be all there was to him?

Macmillan caught Laney’s gaze in the rearview mirror as Rio sped down the dawn streets. He owed his old friend big-time.

“Nice job, by the way,” Rio said. “It’s definitely him. Jerry Lee Drucker, age 39. Released from federal prison five weeks ago on a dubious technicality. He was in Panama during the time frame.”

“What time frame?” Laney asked. “What’s going on?”

Macmillan turned to her best he could without excruciating pain. “Your Rolly has a dangerous weapon in his possession. He’s in the process of selling it off to the highest bidder. And it’s nobody good.”

He saw when the recognition came over her. “You’ve been hunting him all this time. That’s why you know so much about his talk.”

He nodded.

“What does this weapon do?”

“It can do anything,” he said. “It can locate and kill one person on a crowded sidewalk, or it can level an entire building or part of a city.”

“Like a missile?”

“It’s more like a small plane the size of a rider mower,” Rio said, “but flattened out, like a sting ray.”

Macmillan said, “The problem with it is that it has laser weaponry, which hasn’t been feasible in an airborne weapon up until now because of the energy demand. But this weapon is powered by a network of lasers on the ground, which makes it very dangerous. If Rolly wanted to, he could destroy the White House, then he could turn it around and fly it back to Bangkok, exploding any jets that have the bad fortune to catch up with it. All remotely.”

“And you’re trying to get it.”

“Yes,” Macmillan said. “The weapon, the schematics, and the location of the ground lasers.”

“And he wants to sell it,” Laney said. “That’s the convention at the hotel. All those guys.”

“I guess you could call it a convention,” Macmillan said. “Though it’s more of an auction.”

“Was an auction,” said Rio. “He’s a bit more focused on you two at the moment.”

They careened under a massive bridge and came out between gleaming new buildings hung with sales banners and vines of riotous flowers. The shopping district.

Macmillan turned to Rio. “Now that we know his identity, we’re good. There will be voice recordings of Rolly in that basement by now. I can get down there—”

“You think you can get down into that basement ever again? The hotel is tighter than the Pentagon right now. Recordings offline, everything locked down and guarded. Top floors are no-go. You think Jazzman hasn’t guessed who you are?” Rio turned to meet his gaze.

“I know,” Macmillan whispered.

“Our people are not happy,” Rio whispered.

Macmillan nodded. Any Associate worth his salt would’ve left Laney there to occupy Jazzman’s attention.

Rio said nothing. They hit a traffic jam. Horns honked and motorcycles wove in and out through the knot of cars.

“I can do this,” Macmillan said. “I can take it by voice. I can’t believe he won’t give me that opportunity.” Few people in the world had his level of voice expertise—using Jazzman’s own voice to fool the biometric security and get control of the weapon could prevent bloodshed.

“It seems certain people aren’t in the mood for subterfuge and science,” Rio said.
Certain people.
Meaning Dax. “Certain people want the sure thing,” Rio added.

“Certain people need a little faith,” Macmillan said coolly, but in truth, it was a blow to the gut that Dax had lost faith in him, that he’d shut him out of the mission.

Laney sat in the back seat twirling a dirty twisty-tie back and forth in her fingers, staring out the window with a furrowed forehead. Worried. Thinking about her brother, probably. It was all he could do not to clamber back there and hold her.

She wanted to think the best. To hope. It was a kind of bravery, and he loved her for it. He’d do it his way, no matter what Dax said. And hell if he’d let her get used as a bargaining chip.

Ever.

That’s what a Seattle-style exchange meant—to exchange somebody as part of the payment for something when you knew it would go bad for that person. Dax meant to buy the weapon himself, offering Laney as part of the payment.

It was cold logic that Dax was operating on, but Macmillan was working off fire and passion now.

Maybe his efforts to save Laney had unbalanced the mission and set countless arms dealers after her. Well, he’d save her from them, too. He’d save the whole goddamn world, because just watching her twirl a twisty tie made him feel hopeful. And every one of her crazy words filled him with unspeakable joy. And the way she held her lips when she was angry made him happy, and so did her filthy mouth, and all that energetic red hair she hid under that brown dye. There was even something about those songs of hers, much as they nettled him. No, it was more that they pierced him…pummeled him.

A text tone cut the silence. Rio glanced at his phone, then stowed it away.

“What?” Macmillan asked.

“The TZ is on the roof of the hotel.”

“So it really is happening.”

She turned to him. “What does that mean?”

“The TZ is the weapon. Rolly has his toy out and he may be inclined to demonstrate it. He could hold the whole damn city hostage if he felt like it.”

“In a way, he already is,” Rio pointed out.

“Ah,” she said softly.

“Would you consider him a hothead?” Rio asked. “A vengeful person?”

“Both,” she said.

No wonder Dax wanted a sure thing.

The traffic snarl was breaking up.

He turned back to Rio. “I don’t need the hotel recordings. His voice is out there in other places. I don’t need much to crack the weapon’s security. Prison phone calls—those are recorded. We could get his voice from those.”

Rio looked skeptical. “That would be great—if we can get somebody to turn them over in the next few hours.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Forgive me for kicking the tires, but even the great Macmillan—”

“I can do it,” Macmillan said. “A few hours, a few supplies…”

“We have to secure the TZ,” Rio said. “That is still my first allegiance.”

Macmillan was about to say, “It’s my first allegiance, too,” but he stopped himself. He’d vowed to save Laney
and
get the TZ, but given a choice, he’d choose Laney.

The realization floored him.

He’d choose Laney.

Rio turned to him, brown eyes weary with understanding. Macmillan would choose Laney, and Rio knew it.

His old friend put his attention back on the road with a sigh. “What do you need?”

Macmillan put together a shopping list. In addition to clean clothes they needed a charger, food, water, and other essentials. They parked in a ramp for a crowded department store. Rio slipped out to go shopping.

He looked back at Laney.
I’d choose you,
he thought.

While they waited, he made a call to a contact to get the requisition for recordings of Rolly’s phone calls started.

“This is a weapon of mass destruction?” she asked after he hung up.

“Yes. And I’m going to take control of it away from him.”

“But it’s not for sure you can.”

He watched her in the rearview mirror. “It’s what I do.”

She monitored his eyes with that intensity of hers. “I was the exchange, wasn’t I?”

His gut twisted. He hated that she knew. But of course she’d gotten it; she was an artist and language was one of her mediums. “Yes,” he said.

“Bait for a trap?”

“It wouldn’t be a trap.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the plan wouldn’t be built around getting you back. We’d take advantage of an opening, but we wouldn’t expect one. It’s not like in the movies. This exchange would be a straightforward transfer.”

She stared at him in horror. The Association had done this sort of ruthless thing before and he’d always gone along. It seemed monstrous now.

“Don’t make me go back.”

He turned—the hell with the pain. His voice, when it came, was low and gravelly. “I won’t.” He looked her straight in the eyes and made the promise with everything he had. “I won’t let you go back.”

“Thank you.”

She trusted him, and he meant to earn that trust. She wanted him to be Peter, but it wasn’t Peter who could keep her alive. It wasn’t Peter who could handle this mission.

Rio returned with an armful of bags. A very efficient shopper. “The blue bag is food and supplies. The white ones are new outfits. You two need to dress up for the business sector.”

“How’d you know my size?” Laney asked.

“I guessed,” Rio said. “There’s a neck scarf, too.”

Laney’s hand went to her throat.

Macmillan could kill Rio for saying something. “It’s not so bad,” he said.

Yet.

“But best to be unremarkable,” Rio said. “Go ahead and change back there. We won’t look.” He pulled moccasin boots from another bag, along with thick socks.

So Rio had noticed the way he was walking. He’d guessed about his toes.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I think I did,” Rio said.

Rio would do what he could to help him, but there was a limit even to what Rio would do. Rio wanted to get that weapon out of enemy hands as badly as anyone.

New York

Dax stood at the window of his penthouse looking out at the lights along the pathways of Central Park, sliding his fingers up and down along the silk lapel of his Armani one-button jacket. Up and down, up and down, sliding along the cool grain. The monotonous motion sometimes soothed, but not tonight. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the sensation of an icepick rammed between his eyes.