White Heat (25 page)

Max glanced up from the open file in his hand. “Is this everything?”

“It is, yes. Can I accommodate you with any more information?”

“Tillman senior can’t see me?” Max asked.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Taurus,” Norcroft said apologetically. “He was in so much pain, his nurse gave him a sedative just before I went in to see if he might be up to visitors. Again, I am sorry.”

Max flipped the folder closed. “Has Tillman senior left the country in the last four or five years?”

Norcroft shook his head. “Mr. Tillman is something of a recluse. He hasn’t left this house—truth be told—his
rooms
in over ten years. I don’t want you to think he’s a Howard Hughes. Mr. Tillman has enjoyed rude good health for some time. But he became something of a hermit after his wife’s death. And while he isn’t fond of people and dealing with the trappings of going to the office every day, let me assure you that he’s still as sharp as ever, and puts in a full ten-hour day from right there in his home office.”

Norcroft smiled fondly. “I wish it
were
possible for you to meet him today. I know you’d be impressed with his brain and his wit. Still, we’ll save that for another time. I know he’d love to finally meet you, Emily. I’ve spoken about you in the last few years, and he highly admires your work.”

“That’s lovely, thank you for telling me. I would have liked meeting him, too. But since I can’t, I wonder if there’s any way I could have a peek at his private gallery before we leave?” Emily asked hopefully.

Norcroft pulled a face, making him appear charmingly boyish. “It depends on how long you’ll be in the area. Unfortunately, we were installing Antelami’s
Deposition from the Cross
and some of the floor joists cracked from the weight. We have a contractor working on it but I’m afraid the floor is too unstable and I would be remiss if I allowed you to go into the gallery. I’m so sorry Emily. Please come back soon, and I’d be delighted to walk you through the museum at a leisurely pace. I’m sure Mr. Tillman would like to accompany us when you come back. He’s very proud of the work he’s doing, donating his precious art, so the world can enjoy it.
“Let me take that.” Norcroft took the floral plate from Emily, turned, then reached for her purse. In the process, the purse fell to the floor, its contents spilling everywhere.

Flustered, he quickly dropped to his knees and began placing the items back inside the Coach bag, muttering apologies as he inched along the edge of the carpet.

“It was an accident,” Emily chased down a tube of lip gloss. “I can do this.”

“No, no,” Norcroft countered, gripping the purse under his arm as he reached beneath the sofa and retrieved a ballpoint pen. He groaned once as his arm extended fully beneath the couch, then stood, shaking the bag to settle the contents before handing it back to Emily. Then he brushed the front of his shirt, straightened his tie, and smiled.

“There. Good as new. Everything is as it should be. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“MAX
TAURUS?”
EMILY SMILED AS SHE SETTLED INTO THE CORNER OF the backseat, tucking one leg under her. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her eyes were filled with amusement as she looked at him.

Max felt a thump in the region of his heart. If he’d had one. Which he
didn’t.
God damn it. “As good a name as any. Niigata, what did you uncover?”

Niigata turned in her seat. “First, the thermostat was set at seventy-four but the temperature was hovering around fifty-seven.”

Max nodded. “House that size? Someone turned the heat on after Emily called. Probably thought we wouldn’t notice with the fire roaring. What else?”

Niigata wriggled for a few seconds, then produced a small, rumpled slip of paper. “Found this delivery receipt in the kitchen trash can.”

“You went through the trash?” Emily asked.

Niigata shrugged. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

Max scanned the receipt. “Bread, deli ham, mustard, coffee, sugar, cream, salt, pepper, mayonnaise …”

“Hell, Max,” Niigata interrupted. “I’m never home but even I have most of those staples on hand.”

“Maid’s uniform was new” Max sounded distracted.

“How could you possibly know that? Do you have a little device that tells you how much sizing there is on a garment?”

“Probably.” His lips twitched. “But in this case the ‘inspected by’ sticker was still attached to the tie of her apron.”

“There was dust on the brass toilet tissue stand and the pipes rattled and sputtered when I turned on the water.” Niigata turned to Emily. “When a faucet isn’t used for a while, the water settles and air collects in the pipe. Turn on the faucet and it chokes the air out of the pipe before you get a steady stream.”

“So that whole scene back there was staged:’ Max concluded. The other operatives agreed.
AJ asked, “Why hide Tillman senior? Unless he’s dead. But why hide that fact? Especially if junior has his boxers in a knot over the donations. As sole heir—I’m assuming—junior could nix the philanthropy and keep everything for himself with Daddy dead.”

Max frowned. “I didn’t get the impression that Prescott Tillman was into keeping up appearances. If the old guy was dead, he wouldn’t waste a lot of time letting the world know he controlled the estate. There has to be a reason for the charade. If there is a charade.”

“Got any ideas?” Niigata asked.

Max pulled in an audible breath, then exhaled slowly. “Working on it.”

“Okay. Now WHERE?” EMILY ASKED AS NIIGATA PARKED CLOSE TO the jet out on the runway at Denver International.

“Monta—” A sharp sound of rifle shot cut off her words like a hot knife through butter. “Down.
Shit!”
He shoved her to the ground, at the same time he switched the Glock over to full auto and answered fire. With thirty-three rounds in a single pull and hold back on the trigger, the shots were literally “hosed” onto the target.

The spent magazine dropped to the ground with a ping, and he drove another one into the grip, and started firing again almost without pause.

“Keiko’s been hit!” AJ yelled over the sound of her own bursts of answering fire.

Yeah. He’d seen her drop. Still firing at the unseen sniper, he reached down and hauled Emily to her feet by her elbow. “Keep low. Get inside!” He pushed her halfway up the metal stairs with his free hand, blocking her back with his body as he shoved her up the stairs ahead of him.

“Go. Go. Go.” He turned fully and fired off covering shots in the direction of the last shot as he boxed Emily in. The snipers had a helluva lot better line of sight than he and AJ had. The runways were clear, but the edges where the fresh snow was banked were blinding white. The sharpshooter could be behind any number of snow-covered barricades. It was impossible to see a muzzle flash in the iffy light.

Niigata was facedown on the tarmac thirty feet away. Max only needed a second to know she was dead. Shot through the back of the head. God
damn
it.

“Get on the floor and stay down,” he yelled at Emily, shoving her inside the open door. He took the stairs in two jumps. He spared a quick glance at the gangway to make sure Emily was inside. She was. But if the pilot and copilot weren’t starting the engines, or hauling their asses out of here guns blazing, it meant they were dead.

“Give me your weapon,” Max instructed AJ. “I’ll cover you.” Max shouted to AJ. “Go make sure there’s no one inside—”

Bang!

“Jesus! Cooper?!”

With a look of startled annoyance she grabbed her chest. The M16 skittered out of her limp hand as she went down and lay still.

Thirteen

MAX BURST THROUGH THE SMALL OPEN DOORWAY OF THE plane carrying AJ in his arms. Emily ran to meet them, dragging a blanket with one hand and balancing towels with the other. She hadn’t known which of them would need whatever they were going to need, but she was ready. Barely. She’d had to take a moment to pull herself together after looking inside the cockpit.

From her vantage point inside the plane she’d watched, horrified, as AJ had taken a bullet seconds after Keiko and a large portion of brain matter had splattered on the ground. When AJ had crumpled to the tarmac, Emily’s heart had leapt with fear for all of them out there under fire.

“What can I do?” she demanded. AJ’s skin was almost translucent, she was so pale. Yet the only blood Emily saw was from a deep gash on the other woman’s forehead. Surely there would be more blood from a gunshot?

“Don’t worry b— me. I’m o—” AJ’s eyes rolled back and she went limp in Max’s arms.

“She’ll be fine. She’s tough.”

“Not tough enough to stop a speeding bullet,” Emily pointed out, racing ahead of him to lower one of the chairs so AJ could lie flat. “Did you kill them?” She jerked her chin toward the closest window as she covered the redhead with the blanket, tucking it around her body.

Clearly furious, Max shook his head. “I heard the screech of tires. Whoever was shooting ran like a chickenshit as soon as they hit Cooper.”

“What about Keiko?” Emily asked, moving toward the open door.

Max grabbed her arm. “Get the fuck away from the door. Jesus, Emily, the sniper could have just repositioned or there could be more than one!”

She wasn’t anywhere
near
the open door; she was going for hot water to bathe the blood off AJ’s face. “You said—”
that he was gone, anyway.

Holding her tightly by the shoulders, he crushed her mouth under his for a brief, hard kiss. When he broke away he looked almost feral. “I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you. Be careful, okay?”

“Yes,” she managed, shaken by the look in his eyes. She’d have to remember it, because she didn’t have time to analyze what Max could possibly be thinking right now. “Keiko?”

“Dead. I’ve got to get her body, and then we’re out of here.”

Just like in the Bozzatos’ house, Emily was momentarily paralyzed to find death so up close and personal. But she didn’t stay frozen in her own fear for long. Right now her priority was to see what, if anything, she could do to help AJ, and to stay out of Max’s way unless he needed her to do something. She crouched down beside AJ, blotting at the cut on her temple with a cloth dipped in warm water. It needed stitches. A lot of stitches.

“I hope you know how to fly. The pilot and copilot are dead, too.” She was appalled at how matter-of-fact her voice sounded. As soon as she’d seen them she’d wanted to throw up. Unfortunately there hadn’t been time. Her stomach was still roiling, but she didn’t have time to indulge it.

“Fuck. Did you go to the back?”

“No time,” she said. “But the door’s closed.”

“Take this.” He reached over and flipped the blanket off AJ’s legs, then slipped a small gun from a holster on her ankle.

Oh, no, no, no.
She so didn’t want the task of shooting someone. But she rose, dried her hands, and accepted the gun from him without comment.

“The safety’s off. Point and shoot.”

When this was over—and she prayed to God it would be over soon—Emily promised herself she’d go and take shooting lessons. It seemed as though she was the only one on the planet who didn’t know how to fire a bloody gun. Tucking the blanket back around AJ’s legs one-handed, she watched Max as he checked each bank of seats along the aisle and headed toward the door in back.

Cupping the grip with both hands, she braced her feet apart. Pretending to herself that she knew what she was doing.

The fact that she
didn’t
know what the hell she was doing scared her to death. She watched Max’s progress unblinkingly.

Gun first and with locked elbows, in swift, economical movements, he went all the way to the back of the plane and opened the door to disappear inside. Her heart stopped as she imagined all sorts of horrible possibilities.

Mimicking Max, it took both hands to hold the gun at eye level, but at least they didn’t shake. She sucked in a breath and held it, correcting where the barrel of the gun was pointing by a fraction of an inch.

A few agonizing minutes later Max came out of the rear cabin. “All clear.”

Emily let out her breath, but somehow couldn’t seem to lower her locked arms. For a little thing, the gun was surprisingly heavy Or maybe it was the weight of responsibility If there had been someone back there, would she have had to shoot them to protect Max?

Of course. There was no doubt in her mind that if anyone, or
anything,
threatened Max, and she had the wherewithal to protect him, she would kill without hesitation. The thought stunned her. She would
kill
for this man.

He hesitated a second when he saw the raised gun. “Now’s not a good time for you to shoot me, sweetheart. But hold that thought.” He sent her a smile that zinged like an electrical current straight to her heart. She let her arms down slowly, unable to answer his smile.

“I’m going outside,” he said evenly as he passed her in the aisle. “Use the bulkhead to block your body from sight. Cover me. If anyone gets past me, kill them.” Then he bolted down the stairs.

Cover him?
Mouth so dry it was hard to swallow, she did as he’d asked. Blocking her body from view, she held the gun palmed in both hands as she looked over the snowy landscape of the runway. Had anyone heard the shots? Probably not, if no one had come to offer assistance, or at least ask what the hell was going on.

She narrowed her eyes, and followed the slow arc of the barrel of the gun as she tried to discern what was shade and what was movement. The sun was setting, casting odd shadows and highlights on and around the dirty snow banked to one side.

There! Something moved in the shadows to the left, and she swung the gun in that direction. After watching the spot for several seconds she realized it was just a piece of paper blowing in the icy breeze. In her peripheral vision she saw Max pick up Keiko, then he was sprinting back up the stairs.

“Good job,” he told her, not even slightly out of breath.

“Except the part where I almost blew a hole in a newspaper,” she told him, not moving from her position. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that I didn’t have to shoot anyone.”