McCabe Read online

  “Thank you, but from the look on your face, I’m thinking I won’t be able to leave it that way. Are we going to Las Vegas?”

  He nodded. “The white dungeon.”

  “What? No.” Her fingers tightened around his. “I hate that place, McCabe. We’re talking about his prized Lily Koi. Chances are slim to none that we’ll even make it through the lobby, and you can forget about anything farther in than that. James changes the entry code on the dungeon door all the time. He’s not as fastidious in other areas, with his computers or his phone, for example, but the white room’s a fortress. It’s his inner sanctum. His stronghold. Am I getting through to you at all here?” she demanded when he continued to stare calmly back at her.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  “No, but go ahead. Just please tell me we’re not going to try and pass ourselves off as hotel wait staff.”

  “We’re going in Goth.” His lips twitched at her startled expression. “There’s a convention at the hotel next door. The Lily Koi has a top-notch casino. Dancer scoped it out. A lot of the participants have been using the Lily Koi’s facilities.”

  “James’ll be watching for a move like that. It’s too perfect a disguise.”

  “I know.” Giving her fingers a last kiss, he unlinked and stood to pour himself another mug of coffee. “I’ve got this covered, Ro. My superiors are willing to help. The office in Vegas is sending in six couples with the potential to be us. Six of them, then us, then four more thanks to the local police.”

  “Six plus four equals ten fake couples. If you can arrange all that, why don’t you just storm the place? Never mind.” She waved him off. “Then there’d be eleven couples—them and us—being held in James’s security rooms. And if even half of those couples got out alive, we’d be doing really, really well.” Plunking her elbows on the counter, and her chin on the heels of her hands, she offered a resigned, “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Codes won’t work,” she said again.

  He checked his cell phone, hit a key, and scrolled. “We’ll have to chance it. Shit.”

  Rowena let her head fall forward. “More good news?”

  “Depends on how you look at it. Robbie wants to see her son.”

  Raising her head, Rowena gave an incredulous laugh. “Now? In the middle of…insanity?”

  Swearing to himself, McCabe thought. Not now, Robbie. Dammit, not now. But he texted back, This isn’t a good time. Please wait.

  He could only hope to hell she’d listen.

  …

  “Maybe Beckett can talk some sense into her.” Rowena used the mirror on the sun visor in McCabe’s truck for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Man, I’ve never looked so freaking funky in my life. Maybe we should have gotten our tongues pierced.”

  “Fuck that. I had my ear pierced as a teenager, and it hurt like hell.”

  Amusement tickled her throat. “This from a man who’s been shot how many times? Seven?”

  “Eight, but we’re not talking by choice here.”

  She played with the fake stud at the end of her right eyebrow. “Why do I have to wear a six-months-pregnant body suit?”

  “Because it adds to the disguise. One of our doppelgangers is wearing an eight-months-pregnant suit. You got lucky.”

  Fighting a twinge of wistfulness in her belly, Rowena changed the subject. “Did Robbie text you back?”

  “No.”

  So much for that, she reflected. He was shutting her down and out, but she could be perverse, too. “I still think the codes in the phone I sent you will be invalid by now.”

  He slid her a mildly humorous look. “Then we’ll have to be clever in a different way.”

  She loved a good mystery, Rowena reminded herself when impatience threatened to overtake her. “Have you heard anything more from Johnny and Melia?”

  “We’ll Skype them tonight. I know you want to see Parker.”

  It was weird to look at him in Goth makeup—all that long black hair, black clothes, and eye makeup. When she visualized the dark side of Jack Sparrow, minus the colorful pirate attire, the twinge in her belly became a pull of lust.

  Forcing her mind in a different direction, she said, “I want to take Parker to Disneyland someday. Or Disney World if I ever to go back to Florida.”

  “Kids love Disney. Ro…”

  Something in his tone put her on alert. “What?”

  “The Irish Lady’s gone. It sank off Laurel Key.”

  “Fuck.” Her fists clenched in her lap. “How many people died?”

  “Everyone on board would be my guess.”

  “Carson, too? He was James’s right-hand man the whole time we were together.”

  McCabe glanced at her as the sparkling lights of Las Vegas came into view. “Mockerie’s getting colder, if that’s possible. He killed Carol Chambers’s sister.”

  “Well, if he didn’t mind losing Carson, Carol Chambers’s sister wouldn’t have been… Ah, right.” Comprehension finally struck. Her stomach turned under the body suit. “You’re saying he didn’t torture her first. Meaning his enjoyment of pain and dismemberment isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Let’s say it sounds like death’s become the goal more than slow torture. That won’t apply to us, but killing the woman outright suggests uncontrolled rage to me. What Mockerie perceives as fun took second place to murder in this case.”

  Rowena mulled that over for several seconds. “He wants it done. He’s not going to play us anymore. He wants us gone or at least in his clutches as soon as possible. Jesus, McCabe. How long could he keep us alive?”

  “Five or six days would be my guess.”

  She swallowed hard. “First me, then you.” Her eyes closed on the dazzling neon signs ahead. “Then Parker?”

  His hand closed over her icy fist. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Don’t go there for now. I only wanted you to know about the yacht.”

  Over the years, she’d gotten fairly good at not going to unpleasant places in her head. Parker was alive and well, and for the moment, so were she and McCabe. What happened in the future remained to be seen. Who knew, they might actually access James’s stark white office. However, if they didn’t. If James caught them…

  Rowena turned to McCabe. “I want you to promise me something.”

  He regarded the road ahead. “Don’t do this, Ro.”

  He knew, dammit. How could he know from a single, simple statement? She kept her tone even and her eyes on his profile. “You have to swear to me before we go into that dungeon. If we get caught, if you’re in any position to do it, promise you’ll kill me. Don’t argue,” she said when his gaze slid sideways to meet hers. “Just listen. James uses shields. If he can, he’ll use me to stop you from shooting him. He always walks behind people, sits behind them, even paces behind them.”

  “Ro, he won’t…”

  “Yes, he will. I didn’t consider it until we started talking about infiltrating the white dungeon, but he does and he will. He wouldn’t think for a minute you’d have the balls to kill me. But if it goes horribly wrong and he puts me between him and you, I want you to pull the trigger. Promise me, McCabe. If there’s no way out, shoot me, then if you can and there aren’t half a dozen people rushing you from behind, shoot James. I don’t want to die slowly over five or six days. I don’t want you to die that way, either.”

  “You won’t,” McCabe promised. “We won’t.”

  Rowena ground her teeth. Talk about stubborn and unyielding. “And you know that because?”

  McCabe turned steady eyes to her. “Mockerie’s terrified of bombs.”

  …

  Rowena would have pressed him, did press him in fact, but then McCabe’s phone rang and she was forced to answer for him.

  It was Johnny, she discovered, and immediately demanded, “Is Parker all right.”

  “He’s fine. Nothing’s happened. He’s safe. He’s just being fussy,” a man’s voice returned. “I tried singing to him, but I thi
nk that only made things worse.” Parker wailed as if to emphasize his point. “Mel’s got a patient downstairs, and my daddy genes are not fully developed yet.”

  “Hold the phone close to him,” McCabe suggested with a grin. “Looks like you’re up, sweetheart.”

  “Thank God for Mommy.” Johnny sounded relieved despite the fact that Parker continued to cry.

  Rowena fought the guilt pangs in her heart and stomach. It always made her clench to hear her baby cry. In spite of that, she calmed herself long enough to sing his favorite lullaby. When he quieted, she whispered softly, “Hold on, honey. Mommy’s doing everything she can to make your world safe. We’ll be together very soon, I promise. I love you, Parker. Remember that. I love you.” Drawing a deep breath, she said quietly to Johnny, “Give him a cherry lollipop, sugar-free. Make sure you brush his teeth. He’ll fall asleep right away if you play a Max and Ruby cartoon.”

  “Who the hell wouldn’t?” McCabe muttered. “We’re here, Ro. You need to say goodbye.”

  She did, with only a small hitch in her breath. Until the call ended, then tears threatened to spill. Blinking them ruthlessly back, she swiped at the corner of one eye with the back of her little finger. “I feel like he’ll be in college before I see him again.”

  “Skype,” McCabe repeated. “You’ll see him later tonight. He might be sound asleep, but you’ll see him.”

  “Assuming we get out of the hotel alive. And speaking of bombs…”

  “No time, Ro.” McCabe nodded forward. “We’re on.”

  He parked half a mile away in a secure underground lot. She spied other Goth convention goers the minute they reached the street.

  “Are any of these people yours?” she asked, executing a three-sixty turn. “I see a pregnant woman.”

  “She’s one of us. I don’t recognize the threesome in front of the rainbow fountain. Try not to engage with any of them if you can avoid it.”

  “Be hard to engage in any conversation at all with the breakneck pace you’ve set.”

  “Sorry.” He took her hand. “How much do you know about Goth? Are we supposed to look grim?”

  She poked his arm. “This was your idea, remember. We could pretend to fight if that would help.”

  “Let’s just follow their lead.” McCabe gestured sideways. “Those two look like smiles would break their faces.”

  The closer they got to the Lily Koi, the more the dread swirling around inside Rowena’s midsection grew.

  “What if he’s there, McCabe? He’s a night owl, and this hotel’s his baby.”

  “It’s not a concern unless he recognizes us, which is doubtful. One thing about Mockerie, he’s not into entourages. If he is here, chances are he’ll be alone.”

  “But with plenty of backup should he need it. This feels like suicide. Like we’re boarding the Titanic fully aware that what lifeboats there are will be overloaded by the time we reach them.”

  McCabe regarded her with just a hint of amusement. “What happened to your optimistic attitude? You used to believe anything was possible.”

  “I believed in the Easter Bunny once, too. Sometimes reality jumps up and bites you in the butt.” But she’d try, if for no other reason than James needed to be brought down, and accessing the white dungeon would be instrumental in making that happen.”

  She walked with McCabe through a sea of tourists. Her feet wanted to drag, would have if she’d let them. She watched a man in an NRA T-shirt saunter past and bit her lip. Confessions were so difficult to make. However.

  “I thought about killing him once. Just picking up a gun, walking into his office or wherever, and planting a bullet in his chest. End of nightmare.”

  “Yeah, for everyone but you.” McCabe set an arm across her shoulders. “I’ve had the same thought more times than you can imagine. But it’s not that simple. I grew up with Mockerie. I knew his father; I still know and care about his mother. Robbie can accept me bringing her son to justice, but she’d never forgive me for killing him.”

  Rowena caught hold of his free hand. “So that’s not how this is going to end?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Good. I guess.” The Lily Koi rose up to their left. “Why don’t I feel better?”

  “Because you’re scared. You know Mockerie won’t share our sense of fair play.”

  To say the least, she thought and shuddered inwardly. Staring up at the glittering megalith, she sighed. “Welcome aboard the Titanic.”

  …

  Mockerie did everything he could think of to get in touch with Bert. In the end, he was forced to leave a message. His cursing tirade would make a point and hopefully piss his partner in crime off. Maybe then he’d get a call back.

  Not that he needed Bert or anyone. But with Owen Fixx and Ben Satyr both gone, a lot of the weight he’d delegated had dropped back onto his shoulders. And now fucking McCabe was ramping up the pressure.

  He needed someone to take Satyr’s place. Carson might have fit the bill temporarily, but he was at the bottom of the ocean, along with the AWOL Carol Chambers’s sister, and a good dozen of his best snipers.

  Mockerie rewound his day. He’d taken his vintage Cobra out for a fun run this afternoon in the sunbaked desert. He’d gotten down and dirty with two women in Satyr’s off-the-Strip casino. He’d knocked back three shots of tequila, checked on an illegal shipment of drugs ready to be loaded in Los Angeles, and shot four rounds of ammo into two life-sized mannequins.

  Nothing satisfied. He craved death. Rowena’s death and McCabe’s. More than that, he craved their blood. Not the usual puddles of it, but big pools of red, streaming from their still-twitching bodies.

  How long would they last if he gave into his desire for a larger-than-usual quantity? A day? Two at most, assuming he could keep the pools to a reasonable size.

  Would such a short time sate his blood lust or simply make him want more? Need more? Go searching for more? Would he turn that need on Amanda or Robbie?

  The last question taunted him, a juicy carrot bobbing on a very thin string.

  When all he could see was the blood, he shoved back his chair—ten minutes of hanging out in Satyr’s unoccupied office was only making the fire in his belly worse—and strode from the building. Time to hit the Strip, see what and who might appeal to him for a little fun.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The codes would work. They would. If the universe was on their side tonight. If not, she’d have to figure out what the new ones might be. James had a tendency to use certain numbers and symbols over and over again in different combinations. She’d figured them out once; she could do it again.

  Something seemed to be working in their favor. They made it across the lobby and to the door that permitted the only access to James’s private white elevator.

  “How many security cams are we looking at?” McCabe asked.

  “Just the three you fiddled with a few minutes ago. Did you do what I told you to do?”

  “I put them on a sixty-minute loop. We’ll be good for a while. Most of the security team will be focused on the casino at this time of night.”

  Rowena only half heard him. She’d unlocked her phone and located the code she wanted. “Okay, here goes,” she said. Because what was the point of stalling?

  The codes were ridiculously convoluted. Like James’s mind, she supposed. She had to enter them manually. There were no prompts to tell her if she was doing it right or not.

  “I’ll be cross-eyed at the end of this,” she told McCabe over her shoulder. “One more set of figures and symbols to go. I can’t tell you how long it took me to dig this out of his files. He buries some stuff so deep I’m surprised his computers don’t implode. And on the subject of implosions…”

  “Concentrate, Ro. I was speaking metaphorically earlier.”

  “Uh-huh.” She entered the final three digits, offered up a little prayer, and pressed the button.

  Nothing happened. The red light denying them access to th
e elevator held steady.

  “Try again,” McCabe suggested. “You could have punched a wrong number.”

  He was right, of course, but she didn’t have to like it. With a sigh, she stepped back and flexed her cramped fingers.

  She went through the motions again, hit Enter, and watched the red light stare back at her.

  “I went slower this time, McCabe. He’s changed the code. I might be able to figure out a different combination…” She trailed off. “Uh, okay. That’s weird.” The light fluttered as it blinked from red to green. “And scary.” The door slid soundlessly open. “Are we going in?”

  Motioning for her to stay back, McCabe drew his gun, checked the corridor, and slipped inside. Ten seconds later he was back. “We’re good. Let’s go. Stay behind me. It looks like… What?” he said as the door closed, sealing them inside.

  “He’s probably waiting for us downstairs. You know that, right?”

  “It crossed my mind. Do you have the gun I gave you?”

  She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, and offered a tense, “Yes.” She considered adding more, but to what end? The elevator had stopped. They were out of time.

  The door swished opened. As it did, a series of bright lights blinked on. Almost everything down here was white—the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the furnishings. What wasn’t stark white was glass, an inch thick in the case of James’s desk.

  Nothing stirred. Rowena’s gaze went instantly to the panels on the opposite wall. They might be there for storage. However, what the word “storage” might entail to James wasn’t something she cared to contemplate.

  “Was the office alarmed when you broke in?” McCabe asked.

  “Very much so. Use the glasses in your jacket pocket. You’ll see the crisscross of beams. It’s a minefield for the first two feet, but after that we should be clear. Where did you get those by the way? I stole James’s spare set the first time around.”

  “Friends in high places, Ro.” He swept the floor from side to side. “There’s nothing.”