Dead Reckoning (6 page)

At every juncture where he’d expected her to fail, Shiloh Blake had surpassed his expectations. And now, she went in one door and out another without him ever noticing.

Again he honked and demanded the woman in green clear the road. She flashed her palms at him, a scowl etched into her face as if saying to hold his horses. He leaned out the window and shouted for her to move—and froze. No way. He narrowed his eyes. Hers widened.

“I’ll be the son of a monkey,” he murmured.

She hustled into a throng of people on the sidewalk opposite him.

Reece tossed the phone on the passenger seat and glued his eyes to the road ahead. Hands planted on the steering wheel, he peeked in the rearview mirror as his mark tucked her head and rushed onto the sidewalk. She quickly disappeared into a shop.

Whipping down the next street, he knew he’d have to dump the Jeep and follow her on foot. She’d spotted him. As he jogged back up the street he stuffed his arms through a
kurta
. The thin tunic would buy him some time in tracking her. He donned a pair of sunglasses. Hands in his pockets, he rounded the corner and didn’t slow.

Then he located her. She hugged the door of a shop and watched the corner, feigning interest in a black bag with crystal beads.

A couple of yards east, Reece stopped and purchased a plain black cup of thick coffee. Sipping it, he crossed to Shiloh's side of the street and slowly made his way toward her. Amazement mingled with frustration as he took in the sight of her. A choli left her tanned, trim waist bare. The brightly colored sari accented her auburn hair and blue-grey eyes. He’d never forget those wide orbs staring at him when he’d nearly run her over.

Incredible. She didn’t have any resources, yet she’d managed to change clothes, exit unnoticed, and almost lose him. Brilliant.

Who was this woman?

Shiloh licked her dry lips. It was him—the man from the Indian Coast Guard boat, the one with the brown beard who’d bumped into her at the hospital. At first she thought paranoia had tied her mind in knots, but now she had no doubt he was following her.

Who was Mr. Brownbeard, and who were the other men? Were they working together? Separately? The second seemed unfathomable. What could be big enough that two different forces would pursue her? Maybe they thought she saw Mikhail's murder.

More than ever she wished Khalid was here. With his help, she could talk through this. Alone, her mind couldn’t stitch together the threads of information.

Shiloh shrugged off the thoughts. She needed time to figure it out, but first, she had to ditch her tail. She surveyed the busy marketplace. A mother and daughter shopped a few feet away, admiring the bindi and bangles laid out across a scarved table. Arms crossed, an Indian man chatted with another who sat in his car, his elbow sticking out the open window. Her real focus, however, lay on the opposite corner of the street. Ten minutes and the man still hadn’t appeared.

Perhaps she was finally safe. Nearing the sidewalk, she stepped into the last rays of sunlight twinkling past the small huts. She reveled in the warmth and breathed in deeply of the scent of curried chicken. Now to make it to the beach. She was certain she could find food there. Her stomach rumbled.

“Okay, let's get this over with.” Just as her toes touched the curb to cross the street and head south, she glanced right.

Brownbeard. Though Shiloh wanted to snap away her gaze, she steeled her response. Definitely him, but now he wore a white kurta and black-tinted sunglasses. She’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere, especially in a sea of shorter Indian men.

She veered away from him and had taken only a dozen paces when uniformed men leapt out of the throng. Hostile eyes met hers—Kodiyeri and his minion.

Her heart jack-hammered. Trapped between Brownbeard and fake police.

The edges of her field of vision washed grey.

Oh no. Not now. Please not now!
Khalid wasn’t here to help. To steady herself, she reached for an electrical pole and looked for a place to hide. She spotted a gap between two shops. But it was too late. She couldn’t move.

S
OMETHING’S WRONG.

Reece considered the approaching agents and Shiloh. Why wasn’t she moving? Reece tossed down the coffee and started toward them. This he didn’t expect—Shiloh to freeze up. From what he’d seen, she was tougher. Smarter.

He pressed the autodial on his phone. “I’m going to need you to keep a tracer on me.”

“Jaxon … what are you up to?”

“Just keep a live feed. Something's wrong with Blake.”

“Reece, stop. Wait.”

He kept walking. She still stood with her arms locked, facing the opposition. Auburn hair billowed over her shoulders blown by a gentle breeze that swept a light, spicy scent toward him.

“Reece, what's happening? Answer me or—”

“
Namaskar
,” he said to the two agents and blocked their path to Blake. “
Tu kasa ahes
?”

The heavyset man scowled, his unibrow diving deep into the bridge of his nose. “Get out of my way!” he growled in Marathi.

Reece knew his linguistic skills concealed his nationality. “I think I may have seen the woman you’re looking for.”

The dingbat duo froze. “What did you say?” Malice painted a wicked mural across the older man's face. “How did you know we were looking for anyone?”

“I was in a shop earlier when you asked for her,” Reece said. “I saw her around the corner—that way.” He pointed across the street.

“Stay here. We will handle this.” The fat agent stomped past him.

Reece shifted and rammed his shoulder into the agent's. When the man swung a fist toward him, he stepped back and apologized. “
Maaf kijiye
. I didn’t mean anything.” He could play the pretender—at least until Shiloh found her exit.

“She's gone.” The younger man spun, searching the crowds. “The girl is gone!”

Reece smiled inwardly. Shiloh had taken the opportunity and split.

“
Chup raho
.” After ordering the underling to shut up, the bigger man turned his sneering eyes on Reece. “I ought to drag you down to the station and show you how
badmash
like you are handled.” He threw a punch, and Reece let it connect.

Bent and feigning pain, Reece offered false humility with his apology.

The man shoved him.

Reece gave a half-bow and stumbled down the street, still clutching his ribs and watching as the two stormed in the wrong direction. The way she’d stood there, feet pinned to the cement, wasn’t like her. What happened?

“Ryan?”

“Good save, Jaxon. Your satcom should be working. You won’t need us now.”

In the safety of his vehicle, he lifted his watch and flipped to the tracer readout. Her signal blipped, showing her nearing Bhuleshwar and Kalbadevi Roads. Reece clicked off the tracer.
Why would she go back?

Oh, no. He knew exactly what she was doing. And why.

Smacking the steering wheel, he started the engine. Stupid. He’d love to wring her neck. Never had a target so mangled his mind and options. After the stunt she pulled on Market Lane, and now this, her naïveté might prevent him from keeping her alive.

Long repressed memories surfaced. Darkness. Clanking. A scream followed closely by a thump. And he’d lost Chloe Staite.

Reece shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Let the dead remain buried.

He sped down Kalbadevi Road, keeping his eyes peeled. What had gotten into her? In the last fifteen minutes, she’d made two serious mistakes. Freezing up in front of those two and heading back to her apartment. She had to know better!

His phone chirruped. At the intersection, he held the brake and retrieved the phone. “Go ahead.”

“We’ve got an agent in place inside Mumbai Mansion. Just hold.”

An agent in place? “Who?” He’d been the only agent working this area. “What's going on? Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“He's been there since the attack. Just sit tight.”

“Sit tight?” He spun the steering wheel and pulled onto Bhuleshwar Road, this time coming from the east. The attack. He meant the one that had hit the Taj Mahal Palace and Tower … and killed Chloe.

Parked along the curb, he glanced up at the multi-storied building where the UCSD students had taken up residence. He glanced at the Laxmi Narayan Temple across the street. Would that the gods there actually did any good—at least for Shiloh right now.

“Okay, he's got her in sight. Looks like she's going in.”

“Ryan,” Reece worked to keep his voice calm. “If she goes in, she’ll walk into a trap.”

“I know.”

Reece stilled. Were they not listening? “She's dead if she goes in there.”

“I know, I know. We’re working on it.”

A dog with its tail tucked scampered across the road, skittering out of the way when a horn squawked at it. Reece lifted his thermal binoculars and peered through the lenses toward the building. A dozen or more signatures lit up the screen. He tossed them aside. There would be no way to find Shiloh in that crowd, not at this time of day with everyone gathering for dinner in the main lobby and café.

Several men in suits jogged up the street from the south. In a city of white kurtas and khaki pants, this had the look of high-powered trouble.

Reece reached for his Beretta. He popped the magazine out and cleared it. Double-checking the players, he returned the clip, chambered a round, and released the safety. An AK-47 rested under the arm of one man; another carried what looked like a carbine. A lot of firepower for dinner.

From under the seat, Reece ripped free his Glock and did a press check. He opened his door and climbed out. Something far more sinister was going down. He’d pound the answers out of Langley when this was over.

“Reece, what are you doing?” Ryan's voice wavered. “Your signal's moving—you’re moving.”

“She's my target.”

“Reece, stay out of this.”

“Too late.”

Scuttling across the lobby, Shiloh hugged the walls as she made her way to the stairwell. The people clustered near the front desk seemed harmless enough, but the two men near the east exit served as a warning not to stop.

Sweat tickled her back as she took the stairs two at a time. When she rounded a corner and looked up, she propelled herself faster. Her floor. She exhaled and then slowed, listening. Scraping on the steps above pushed her back against the wall. Side-stepping, she covered the last few stairs and reached the landing for the third floor.

“
Ye
! Come here! Down one more,” a voice shouted.

Footsteps pounded overhead. Her gaze shot to the door. She jerked it open. Although she might be confronted in the hall, she had no choice. Getting trapped in a stairwell meant death—no way out. As soon as her foot hit the threadbare carpet, she paused and checked both ways. Clear. She sprinted to the right.

Behind her, the door squeaked open.

Shiloh darted into a closet marked Supplies. Palm against the wood, she eased the door shut. She swiped at the sweat on her forehead and upper lip with the back of her hand. Her shirt stuck to her back. Angry voices drew nearer. She tucked herself behind a tall stack of paper towel boxes in the corner.

“
Tu kaay kela aahe
?”

What did you do?
Shiloh's heart skipped a beat. That sounded like Dr. Kuntz.

“Tracking down your problem,” came another voice.

“I have no problem, you infidel.” Definitely her professor—he loved that word! “If you had left her alone, she would be in our hands by now. Mess this up, Burak, and it's over.”

“Do not threaten me, old man.”

Shiloh squeezed her eyes. What was going on? What were they after? What did they think she knew? She couldn’t believe Dr. Kuntz was a part of this.

“Meet me at the office in two hours. She should return by then. She’ll think it's safe,” Dr. Kuntz said.

“What if she doesn’t?”

Dr. Kuntz's sarcastic laugh penetrated the walls of her hiding place. “Come now,
mera dost
. She thinks of me like a father.”

Shiloh frowned.
Not quite
.

So, he called the leader his friend. Exactly what kind of friends had the professor made since arriving here?