Bad Nights (17 page)

“Nothing to worry about,” he reported. “It's Shane and Max coming back. With groceries.”

After returning to the center of the room, he found his clothing where they'd dropped it and started getting dressed.

“I'll go down,” he said.

And
pretend
this
never
even
happened
? She didn't say that out loud, of course.

She wasn't quite so comfortable walking around in front of him with no clothes on, and he must have realized that because he turned away from her as he pulled on his pants. She scooped up her clothing and carried it into the bathroom where she could look at her face in the mirror the way she had when she'd woken up. Did her eyes look brighter? She hoped not, because she didn't want any comments from Shane or Max.

Well, they probably weren't going to make any teasing remarks, even if they realized what she and Jack had been doing.

She heard him descend the stairs and was grateful that they weren't going to show up together like they'd just climbed out of the same bed. While she was alone she took the time for a quick wash, then dressed, brushed her hair, and put on a little bit of blusher that she found in the bathroom.

As she dealt with her appearance, she thought about her emotional temperature.

The question was, had making love with Jack changed her in some fundamental way? After eighteen months of widowhood, she'd thought she would never get over the loss of her husband. But Jack Brandt had swept into her life and changed everything. She could imagine a future with him. The trouble was, he didn't see it that way. Or to be more clear, he didn't think he deserved a future with anyone. And if she wanted him, she'd have to change his mind about that.

With a show of confidence, she walked out of the bathroom and downstairs.

Jack was in the front hall. “There you are,” he said, like they hadn't been together a few minutes earlier. “I should show you how the alarm system works.”

“Okay.”

He led her down the hall to a small office. “The control panel is in here. It's not just for the house. There's no fence around the place because that would be conspicuous, but we have sensors set up all around the property. If anyone approaches, we know.”

“What about animals?”

“We do have a deer fence. A low voltage system that keeps them away. Anything smaller could get under, but we figure anything smaller isn't going to be a threat.”

“Unless someone sends in a cat with a bomb strapped to its back,” Max said as he entered the room.

“Very funny.”

When he gave her a studied look, she fought to keep her features neutral.

“I see you're feeling better.”

“Maybe you can call it adjusting to reality,” she answered.

“Okay,” Max said.

Jack went back to showing her how to arm the system and how to disarm it.

“If you have to disarm it, how did you get inside?” she asked Max.

“We all have a remote.”

“And we all go armed here. That includes you, unless you're not willing to do it.”

“I'm willing.”

“Jack told us you know how to use a gun. We have a firing range set up on the property. You can have some sessions with the rest of us.”

Before she could answer, the alarm on the console went off, and they all froze.

The three men pulled out their weapons and turned toward the driveway.

“I want you in the safe room,” Jack said to Morgan, his voice low and urgent.

As he had done upstairs, he went to the window and looked out. Just visible in the fading light, a dark Mercedes was pulling up in front of the house. It stopped abruptly, and a man got out.

In the illumination from the security lights, Jack saw a man in his mid-fifties, with straight blond hair that was shot with gray, a broad face, and light eyes.

“Who is it?” Morgan asked.

“Cunningham,” Jack answered as he put his weapon away. “Turn off the alarm,” he said to Max.

As the other agent hurried out of the room, Jack turned to Morgan. “He's the guy who hired Rockfort to infiltrate Trainer's organization.”

He saw her face contort. “The man who gave you an impossible assignment?”

Jack shrugged. “We'll meet him in the great room.”

He and Morgan went down the hall while Shane hurried to answer the door.

They heard Cunningham barrel inside. Shane and Max trailed behind him.

As soon as they all stopped walking, he rounded on the two agents. “I gave you direct orders not to interfere in this situation, and it looks like you ignored me.”

“We weren't going to leave Jack twisting in the wind.”

“Tell me how you got there. How you found him. And what you did,” he growled.

“Tell me how you know about it,” Jack shot back.

“Satellite photography.”

Was that plausible? Maybe, if you were using the resources of the CIA.

“We might as well sit down.” Jack sighed.

Cunningham glared at Jack as he sat.

The others followed suit until the newcomer was the only one standing. Finally he sat, his expression stony.

Shane began to tell what had happened, starting with their idea of outfitting themselves for a fake fishing trip, through their conversation with the motel clerk and their arriving at the burned house as the militiamen were leaving to look for Jack and Morgan.

“And you engaged them?” Cunningham demanded.

“Jack and Ms. Rains had taken refuge in a cave and were under attack. We did what we could to help them escape alive.”

“Let's hear the rest of it.”

Max continued with the remainder of the story.

When he was finished, Cunningham made a snorting sound and flapped his arm. “And now Trainer knows that Jack is working with well-trained men capable of pulling off that operation.”

Max nodded.

“Which is going to make him jumpy.” His head swung toward Jack. “Did you figure out what kind of attack he's planning on Washington?”

“He confides his plans to no one. And as far as I could tell, there's nothing written down.”

Morgan's head jerked toward him. Apparently he no longer trusted this guy, and he wasn't going to talk about his memory gap in front of him.

“Just great,” Cunningham muttered. “But there's one thing we can be sure of. Trainer's moving up his timetable. And he's going to have guards patrolling the compound.”

“There's no point in attacking the compound,” Jack said. “He's not doing anything illegal in there.”

“Wasn't it illegal to burn down my house?” Morgan asked. “Or to chase us to that cave and try to kill us?”

“We don't have any proof that it was him,” Jack answered. “Our word against his.”

“Exactly,” Cunningham agreed. “Someone's backing him. My guess is it's someone in the private sector with power. We need proof of his activities. I want to capture him on the move toward Washington with a bomb or something in his van.”

“Risky,” Morgan murmured.

“It's the only way we can nail him, which is why I wanted to know when he made his move.”

“We're going to attack the problem from another angle,” Jack said.

Cunningham's gaze swung toward him.

Morgan waited for him to talk about her plan to dig out his memories.

Instead he said, “We're going to see if we can figure out who's funding him. That might give us a clue.”

The government man looked thoughtful. “I suppose it's worth a try.”

“We can monitor traffic in and out of there,” Shane said.

“If you can do it from a location where he won't know he's being watched.” Cunningham stood. “I want daily reports of your progress.”

“Fine,” Jack said.

“And if I want to have a face-to-face, I'd like to be able to get in here without setting off an alarm. Do you have a spare remote?”

Max also stood. “I'll get you one.”

Jack and Morgan remained in the living room. When they heard the front door close, she turned to him. “I don't like him.”

“He's not very likable.”

“Do you trust him?”

“We did at first.”

“But you didn't tell him about your memory loss.”

“That wouldn't have been productive,” Jack answered.

Morgan had offered him a technique that might or might not work to get those memories back, but he wanted time to think about it before he committed himself. And they did have other business that he considered urgent after Cunningham's surprise visit.

Standing up, he said, “Before we do anything else, let me show you the safe room, in case there's any real trouble around here.”

“Where is it?”

“It's in the basement.” He led her over to a bookcase near the entrance to the kitchen area and pressed about halfway up along one of the vertical supports. A click sounded, and the shelves glided open, revealing a set of stairs.

“Like something out of a spy movie,” she murmured.

“But this is for real.” He turned on a light, then descended a few steps. She followed.

“You close the bookcase here,” he said, like a real estate agent giving a house tour. When he flipped another switch, the shelves swung back into place, sealing them off.

He led Morgan the rest of the way down the steps into an unfinished basement. Pointing toward a shelf of canned goods, he said, “There's another hidden entrance over here.”

“If someone gets this far, won't they suspect the shelves?” she asked.

“We did this one first, then thought the ones on top would be more effective.”

He pushed a switch on the wall and the shelves swung aside to reveal a metal door, where he turned a handle to swing the barrier open.

“It's not locked?” she asked.

“You lock it from the inside.” He walked in, and she followed. The basement had been cold. It was several degrees warmer in the little room where she found herself. It was furnished with two sets of bunk beds, a small table and four chairs, and shelves with rows of supplies.

“It's bulletproof and fireproof,” Jack said, struggling to be matter-of-fact. He didn't like to think about Morgan having to lock herself in here.

He heard her swallow. “Fireproof—that's important.”

“Yeah. We don't have an escape tunnel, but we've got this.” He gestured toward the shelves. “There's plenty of water and food. Not gourmet, but high in protein.”

The weapons were on another set of shelves. Handguns and Uzis. He turned toward another small table by the door. “This is the wireless communications equipment.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” she murmured. “Won't you be with me?”

“First, we may not be at the house all the time. And even if we are, if we're under attack, no telling what could happen. You may have to get yourself down here.”

Her expression turned stark. “Okay, show me how to call for help.”

He crossed to the table and pointed to the broadcaster and receiver. “You just flip this switch. The instructions are written on this plastic card. I'll show you how to turn on the generator.”

Pivoting away, he almost bumped into Morgan who was standing right behind him.

“Jack.” She reached out and pulled her arms around him, holding tight.

He had told himself that making love with her had been a mistake. He'd told himself that there was no future for the two of them, but when she hugged him to her, he brought his own arms up and pulled her more tightly against himself.

He wanted to keep holding her. Hell, he wanted to make love to her again, but he finally forced himself to ease away. What he'd said in bed was still true. He wasn't good for her.

“We should go back up,” he said.

“We should talk. This might be a good place to do it.”

He met her questioning gaze. “There's nothing much to talk about—until we take care of Trainer.”

“If that's the way you want it.”

“It's the way it has to be.”

“What about my memory suggestion?”

He thought about it, wondering if he was going to like what he found out if they tried it.

They came up the stairs to find Shane waiting for them with a scowl on his face.

“What?” Jack asked.

“I did something we should have tried months ago. I ran the plates on Cunningham's car.”

“And you know who he really is?”

“No. The car's registered to a rental company.”

“And they don't give out the names of clients?”

“They did when I told them the car had been in an accident. The name on the rental is Arthur Cunningham, the same name he gave us.”

“So that leaves us nowhere with finding out who he really is.”

***

Maybe he should have run the fingerprints on all his men, Wade Trainer thought as he considered the personal possessions Jack Barnes had left in the compound. He decided his toothbrush would be good. To be on the safe side, he also included his comb and his billfold. He put each into a separate paper bag because he remembered that paper was better than plastic for fingerprints. All the little bags went into a canvas carry bag, along with the five hundred dollars he was paying for Davenport's services.

After placing Emerson in charge, he left the compound that evening and headed for the bar where he'd arranged to meet the Park Service officer.

He had a bad twenty minutes while he sipped a beer and waited for the man, but finally the guy showed up, dressed in civilian clothes.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said as he slid into the booth across from Wade. “There was an accident on North Capitol Street that blocked both lanes.”

“No problem.”

“You got that stuff for me?”

“Right here.” Wade handed over the bag with the items Barnes had handled and also the cash.

The big black man counted that first, then looked at the objects Wade had assembled. “This is a good selection.”

“How soon can you give me his name?”

“Tomorrow, if he's in the system.”

“That's great,” Wade answered. “You can just email me the results.” Wade gave one of his email addresses.

“So buy me a beer,” Davenport said.

Wade ordered another Dos Equis for himself and one for Davenport, although he wanted the cop to leap up and deal with the fingerprints. Not only that, he was nervous about being away from camp when the situation was so unsettled.

All of that made it hard to sit and chat with the man, but he forced himself to be sociable. He wanted this information—badly.

But he also wanted to stay on this guy's good side, in case he needed his services again.

“How's that security company of yours going?” Davenport asked.

“Fine.”

“Any chance of my getting some part-time work? The wife wants a new car, and I need some money to pay for it.”

“I'm pretty full right now,” Wade answered.

When Davenport's face fell, he said quickly, “But I'll put you at the top of my list for new hires.”

“Thanks.”

Wade shifted in his seat. The conversation had made him nervous. He didn't like sitting here and lying to the man's face. But that was part of what you needed to do in his position, Wade told himself.

There were no jobs available in his “security firm.” He only took recruits who were willing to dedicate their lives to his cause. But he couldn't explain that to Davenport. And in the end, he wouldn't need to. Davenport would likely buy the farm, along with everyone else who was close to ground zero.