Lethal Affairs (23 page)

When his secure line rang with Jack’s callback, he answered with, “I’m listening.”
“Doesn’t look like she knows anything about you,” Jack began. “Says she got Rabinowitz’s number randomly, from a list, along with several others.”
“What else?”
“I’m still questioning her, but she’s scared, and apparently she’s telling the truth when she claims not to know much. She’s not a serious threat to you.”
“Good work,” he replied. “I’ll pick her up in three or four hours.”
“I’ll be expecting you.”
He disconnected and dialed Pierce’s number. “I have your meddlesome journalist.”
“I didn’t ask you to go after her,” Pierce replied.
“That’s right. I decided to do it anyway.” Terrence injected the right amount of righteous anger into his voice. “I couldn’t take that kind of risk. And it’s a good thing I did, Pierce. She was about to go to the police.”
“Where is she now?”
“Somewhere she can’t talk or create any more problems.”
“I need her alive,” Pierce said.
“That’s up to you, but I don’t see why.” He puffed on his cigar. “I didn’t even have to try, and she gave up names and locations,” he lied. “She knows too much, and she’s afraid. Dangerous combination.”
“I said I need her alive,” Pierce repeated. “We’ll see to it that she doesn’t talk, but first we need some answers. Where can we collect her?”
“You can’t,” he said. “I’ll deliver her to you personally. I don’t want anyone else involved, Pierce. None of my people, and especially not any of yours. I can’t risk having one of your operatives recognize and then blackmail me. Besides, I need to hand over the information Grant asked for concerning the China delegation. You might as well bring her along, because we need to talk specifics.”
“Fine,” Pierce said. “It’s a four-hour flight to get to you. Where and when?”
“At an abandoned office building.” He gave him the address. “Go to room 512. I’ll see you there at eight thirty. I hope you appreciate my help with—” He heard the click of Pierce disconnecting, then a dial tone. Arrogant fuck, he thought. But then he smiled because he wouldn’t have to put up with this shit after tonight.
The timing couldn’t have been better. All the necessary accoutrements for tonight’s lethal festivities were in the trunk of an old Buick Jack had acquired for him. He would celebrate his independence tonight from his shackles, and the fireworks in the capital would be the perfect backdrop.

The Mazda Miata was fast and maneuverable, and its driver skillful, but Domino had the advantage on her stolen speed bike in the slow, congested traffic near the marina. She darted between the lanes of cars, narrowly missing mirrors, hearing curses and shouts on either side, while the guy in the Miata tried to parallel her on the wide sidewalk, scattering pedestrians and street-food vendors and plowing through lawn chairs, newspaper racks, trash bins, and anything else in his way. She gained ground quickly, but couldn’t shake him entirely.

Seeking an avenue of escape, she paralleled the Potomac, hearing sirens closing in. Ahead she spotted a pair of office buildings that filled a city block, with a pedestrian walkway between that looked too narrow for the car to follow, so she braked, swerved, and shot through it, nearly losing control halfway when she suddenly reached a series of wide steps. They led down to a small, bench-filled plaza in the shadow of the buildings, where office workers could smoke or eat their lunch alfresco.

On the opposite side, more steps led up and out to the main street north of the buildings, where she guessed her pursuer would try to pick her up again. She bounced down the half-dozen stairs to the plaza level, where she had room to turn the bike around, then roared up them again to head back the way she came.

When she emerged from between the buildings, the Miata was waiting for her. This guy was good. Too good, which led her to believe he was another EOO op.

She gunned the bike and took off eastbound, the sports car in pursuit. Traffic was sparse now, and he was able to keep closer, dodging around cars with her, at one point so near she could see his gun out of the driver’s side window, readying for a shot.

Ahead, the road ended as it bisected another. Taking a left would lead her back toward the marina—certain to be filled with cops by now—but to the right, the road was closed, under construction. Wooden barricades with flashing lights blocked all of the pavement and sidewalk.

She barely slowed as she took the corner, leaning the bike over so far the foot peg scraped the pavement. Then she plowed through the barricades, pieces of wood flying in all directions. One cut through her jacket and into her side, but she barely felt it.

She fought for control as the bike barreled through a patch of sand beyond the barricade, the Miata not far behind. Then, no road at all, only a grid of steel where the concrete would be laid, impassible for either of them. The only alternative was a narrow alley to her right, so she braked hard and smelled burning rubber as the bike shuddered to make the turn.

The Miata fell a bit farther back. The driver had to slow severely to follow her down the cramped space.
She was a hundred and fifty feet down the alley when she saw the enormous dumpster ahead and, beyond it, a brick wall. She hit the brakes a few feet before the wall and twisted the throttle, turning the bike on its axis until it faced the Miata, which was accelerating toward her, closing fast.
She took in her surroundings and saw only one possibility. She twisted the throttle and headed straight for the car. They were forty feet apart, then thirty. She stood on the pegs and jumped off when she reached the dumpster, slamming onto the metal top with a bone-jarring impact that knocked the wind out of her.
The bike slid down the alley toward the Miata, and she heard the squeal of brakes and the deafening sound of metal and glass as he crashed into it, then spun toward the dumpster.
He hit it just as she jumped for the fire escape, hanging on by one hand.
Domino pulled out her gun and dropped onto the roof of the Miata as it stopped beneath her, then lay prone, hanging over the side at the driver’s side window. Her pursuer’s hand closed on the gun on the seat beside him. As he brought it toward her, she shot a hole in the window, then shattered it with her fist.
Her reflexes were only a hair faster than his. She had her gun to his head before he could fire. “You have a good shot at me right now, but I have an even better one. Don’t fuck with the odds. Drop the piece.”
Instead, he shifted to take a shot, so she fired right next to his face and shattered the passenger-side window. He froze.
“Next time I won’t miss,” she said. “Throw the gun out of the window I just opened for you.”
Slowly, he complied.
She slid off the car, her gun trained on his head. “Keep your hands on the wheel where I can see them.”
When he obeyed, she walked around the car to retrieve his gun, still aiming her own at his head. At the back of the vehicle, she put two of his bullets into the rear tires, ejected the magazine from his gun, and stuck it into her pocket before tossing the weapon beneath the car. Then she ran like hell.
Under normal circumstances, she’d have taken care of him for good. But he was almost certainly EOO, and she still hoped to work things out with Pierce and return to the Organization.
A half mile from the alley, she slowed, considering what to do next. Her jacket was torn, as was the shirt beneath it, and badly bloodstained. She had a deep cut from her encounter with the barricade, which needed dressing. And the police were looking for her by now. A lot of people could have described her, which was another reason to change her appearance.
She also wanted to call Pierce, and she had to do it from her cell phone. He wouldn’t pick up if she used a phone not in the EOO database. But if they were trying to track her, they could use her cell to do so, so she had to call from a busy place where she could get lost quickly.
She needed some kind of department store. After taking off her jacket, she folded it to hide the tear, then draped it over her arm and against her injured side to hide that, too.
It took her fifteen minutes to find a subway stop and she recalled a Macy’s nearby, at Twelfth and G Street, so she got off at the Metro Center stop and headed for it. The store was busy with holiday shoppers, but she found a quiet corner where she tried her call to Pierce.
When the line connected, a recording told her the number she had dialed was no longer in service.
The finality of the situation hit home. She was on her own, and the only family she had known weren’t just rejecting her, but were out to kill her. Though solitary all of her life, Domino felt more alone than she could remember.
She had to contact Pierce and explain the situation.
There must be a way to make him listen.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t stop until they caught up with her, and she couldn’t run for the rest of her life.
Next, she tried Hayley’s number, hopeful she’d gotten away and was somewhere safe. But she’d had too many surprises today to be sure of anything. The phone rang five times, then went to voice mail. “Hayley, it’s Luka. I hope you’re safe. Call me and I’ll come get you.”
Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the store, her side patched up and wearing a new T-shirt, ball cap, and sunglasses, and she had nothing to do but wait
.
A myriad of questions swirled through Hayley’s mind after the woman left her alone. Who the hell were they going to turn her over to? Rabinowitz? And for what purpose? She took a long drink of the water and several deep breaths.
Don’t panic
. She couldn’t merely sit around and wait for whatever was going to happen. It didn’t seem to matter she didn’t know anything. Someone had a plan for her, evidently, and she wasn’t going to change their minds.
Only Luka believed that she knew nothing about this affair. She had said she would find a way out of this mess, but where was she?
How do I find her, or help her find me, when I don’t even know where I am?
She peeled off the tape binding her ankles together. Getting out of this room was her first objective. Then she’d try to figure out where she was, find a window or something, and see if she could locate a phone to call Luka.
Hayley stood and felt dizzy. She had to hold on to the table to steady herself. After a minute, she took a few tentative steps. Better. Her breathing had started to settle, thank God. And her heartbeat was a little more normal. She’d had panic attacks before, never this bad, but she’d never had these kinds of reasons to panic.
She forced herself to take several deep breaths. Slow and steady. Yes, she was definitely feeling better.
Keep a cool head. Think.
She’d had to talk herself in and out of situations before.
Footsteps approached outside, and another rush of adrenaline poured through her. Without thinking, she picked up the chair she’d been sitting in and stood behind the door. She heard the click as it unlocked and raised the chair above her head.
The next few seconds happened in slow motion. The door started to open. She expected Jack, but instead the guy who’d brought her the water said, a millisecond before he came into view, “Yes, sir. Jack told me to contact you with an update—”
She brought the chair down hard and fast on the side of his head. He stumbled and fell to the side, off balance, dropping his cell phone, and before he had time to recover, she brought the chair down on his head twice more. The man lay on his side, unmoving, the butt of a gun sticking out of the rear waistband of his jeans.
After she retrieved the gun, she picked up the cell phone. It had disconnected, but still worked. She was tempted to call 911, but hesitated. She still didn’t know who to trust, and her gut told her to let Luka try to help—that she was in the best position to take care of whoever was after her.
But better to get the hell out of there and somewhere safe first. Jack could walk in any minute, and whoever was on the other end of that call knew it had disconnected. What was she going to tell Luka, anyway? That she was in a room without windows somewhere?
She turned to leave.
Shit.
Somehow the door had clicked shut again. She remembered how Jack had gotten out and was about to put her own hand on the device near the door when she realized it probably worked with print recognition. Placing the wrong palm there might set off an alarm.
The guy on the floor evidently had clearance. She stuck the gun into her pants and flipped the man onto his back. Grabbing him by the wrists, she dragged him to the door. First, she tried to lift him by his right arm, twisting it to maneuver his palm into place. But the man was dead weight.
Leverage. That’s what she needed. Using the man’s belt loops, she turned him onto his stomach and straddled him, lifting him by the armpits, using her knees to keep his upper torso off the ground until she could wrap one arm around him while she positioned his palm on the device with the other. The struggle took all her strength, but it worked.
Click.
Hayley dropped the man and took the gun back out. The safety was off, ready to fire. When she’d moved away from home and into her first apartment, her brother had insisted on teaching her how to shoot a gun and had urged her to get one for her personal protection. But she’d never felt particularly comfortable with firearms, though she was glad to have one now. She’d use it if she had to, to get out of here. Gripping it tightly, she headed toward the door.

ayley pushed the door open a few inches and listened. Nothing. She peered out at a hallway that had a doorway to the left about fifteen feet away and another door at the end. Of the two windows, the nearest one was to her right a body length away.

Quietly, she headed down the hall to the first window, her heart thumping wildly, straining to hear anything from the room ahead. The Washington Monument stood in the distance, stark white against a brilliant blue sky. Otherwise she seemed to be in an industrial area, unfamiliar and largely deserted, no traffic or pedestrians. And no signage to help her determine exactly where she was.

She hugged the left wall and crept to the room farther down, with its door ajar and no sound from inside. She peered inside, the gun shaking so much she worried about shooting herself in the foot.