McCabe Read online

  She rubbed her temples. They’d started to throb upstairs. “He might have changed the security system.”

  “Or forgotten to turn it on.”

  “Or left it off intentionally to trap us.”

  McCabe crouched down, waited a beat, then passed his hand over the threshold. “Is this the only way in? The elevator?”

  “As far as I know, yes. McCabe, wait.” She nabbed his arm as he stood. “I could be wrong. I wouldn’t put poison darts past him.”

  He shot her a brief grin. “You’ve watched too many Indiana Jones movies. I’m going to block the door open and go in.” He checked his phone first. Rowena had no idea why. When she peered around his arm, he blanked the screen and reached behind him for her hand. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  They exited the elevator together. Again, nothing happened.

  The words “silent alarm” ran through her head, but she left them there and told herself James simply had faith in his entry codes. Which he hadn’t changed for an unusually long period of time.

  With a glance over her shoulder, she regarded the still-open door. “We should let it close, McCabe. There’s a camera pointed right at it.”

  “Already on that. Where are the others?”

  Rowena pointed them out.

  “Okay,” he said a few seconds and some minor adjustments later. “They’re all looping.”

  Rowena hated this room, more than any other room in James’s sphere of existence. He could lock them in here and let them starve to death. He might even gas them. Well, damn. Why hadn’t that horrible prospect occurred to her earlier? She had a strong feeling it had occurred to McCabe.

  Shivering, she jammed her hands in her jacket pockets. Breathe, she ordered herself. Do what they’d come to do.

  While McCabe skirted the perimeter, she walked to the glass desk, pulled out James’s white chair, and felt under the right arm for a button. “Please, please, please be there,” she whispered.

  She found it. A panel opened on the floor, and a pedestal rose up. On top sat a slim white computer. With barely a moment’s hesitation, she opened the device and switched it on.

  Do it. Fast in, fast out.

  She used the codes she had. As with the elevator, all of them appeared to work. But there was more—and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Frowning, she paused.

  “Something’s off, McCabe. I don’t remember being able to access this many files before. One document’s bleeding into another. The firewalls are ridiculously easy to bypass.”

  “Is the information legit, or can you tell?”

  “It seems real. Some of what I’m seeing, I remember. Look.” She indicated a symbol in the margin. “The computer’s letting me into the next file.”

  “Take the gift. Use your flash drive. Copy everything.”

  “I am.” Although the knots in her stomach had gone from loose and slippery to tight and painful. “This makes what I have on my phone totally redundant. We’ve hit the mother lode down here.” She caught a low beep on McCabe’s phone but didn’t look up. “Problem?”

  “Yep. James. He’s heading for the elevator. Put everything back. Fast.”

  Rowena took a moment to watch a series of icons as they whipped down the left margin.

  “Okay, whatever,” she murmured and pulled the flash drive out. “Where is he?”

  “Getting close. You need to move.”

  She did, with hands that were far steadier than they should have been, given the panic that was causing her nerves to leap and her heart to race.

  McCabe unblocked the elevator and kept an eye on his phone. “He’s entering the call code. We’ll need to see what if anything’s behind these panels. Otherwise, I’ll have to blindside him.”

  Nodding, Rowena ran to the wall. There were no visible pulls, no indentations. But when she pressed on the third panel, it sprang back slightly. Breath held, she eased it open.

  A quick scan revealed a legion of tools. What kind and there for what purpose, she refused to consider. The question was, could she and McCabe fit inside with them? The space was extremely narrow.

  “Over here, McCabe.” She turned to locate him. “What are you doing?”

  “Lights,” he said, and opening a small white panel, plunged the room into darkness. “Found it while I was circling,” he said, squeezing in next to her.

  “There’s a saw pressing into my shoulder,” she said through her teeth. “This is worse than any horror movie I’ve ever watched.”

  “Shhh.”

  McCabe’s phone provided the only light. “My spy upstairs says the elevator door just opened. He’s on his way.”

  Because he’d positioned himself in front of her, Rowena could feel the outline of the saw blade against her spine. She’d glimpsed an old-fashioned hand-held drill as well as a few devices that looked like a cross between small remote controls and cell phones.

  Setting her forehead on McCabe’s back, she counted the seconds. It felt like a thousand passed before the tiniest swish indicated that the elevator door had opened.

  She heard James’s voice. He must be on his phone. He sounded impatient, right on the verge of losing his temper.

  “What the fuck do you mean, wait? I can’t believe you’d want to watch them die, not the way I intend to do it. And what the hell business is it of yours anyway? You keep an eye on the business and leave this part of the deal to me.”

  A long pause ensued. The space was hot and confined. Almost claustrophobic. Rowena struggled to keep her breath from hitching.

  James’s voice faded. Obviously, he’d walked away. Or was pacing in circles like a restless lion.

  “I don’t want you here, Bert,” he said from a distance. “Bear in mind, I’m younger and more agile than you. More ruthless, too. As I recall, the sight of blood upsets your carefully balanced system. Now stop making pointless objections and tell me what’s going on in Colombia…”

  The talk turned to business. Perspiration beaded on Rowena’s forehead. Her wig was itchy and hot. The black leather was stifling. She inhaled evenly and closed her eyes.

  “Whoa, whoa, wait.” James sounded much closer now. His tone sharpened. “I think… Oh yea. I think I might have something here. Something very, very cool.”

  “Fuck,” McCabe said under his breath. “Stay behind me, Ro.”

  “How sweet.” A smile entered James’s voice. “Tropical fruit. No perfume—you’re way too smart for that—but heat will strengthen any scent.”

  The panel flew open. McCabe brought his arms up. James removed the phone from his ear and gave a low laugh.

  “Later, Bert,” he said and tucked the device inside his jacket. “Well, well, well. How absolutely perfect is this?”

  “Depends on your point of view.” To Rowena’s astonishment, McCabe let his arms and his weapon drop. “Not planning to let Bert share in the thrill of discovery?”

  “My circus, my monkeys.” Mockerie peered around McCabe’s arm. “Hello, Rowena. I’d say you’ve never looked lovelier, but that would be a lie. Oh, and I see you’re wearing a nose ring.” His smile widened. “Like a bull in Spain preparing to meet its death at the hands of a skilled matador.”

  There was a ragged edge to his amusement. A strained aspect lurking beneath the smooth facade that suggested deep and abiding rage.

  “Look at his fingers,” she whispered to McCabe.

  He gave a barely perceptible nod to show he’d heard her. The fact that James hadn’t probably had more to do with a roar of blood in his ears than anything else.

  As they tended to do when he was upset, James’s fingers twitched at his sides. He held his ground next to the white chair.

  “So what’s the deal?” Rowena watched McCabe stare James down. “Are you armed?”

  Rowena couldn’t see James’s eyes beneath the brim of his hat, but she imagined they were like two pieces of flint.

  “I don’t need weapons, McCabe. I have people upstairs. You’re not ge
tting out of here alive.” He spread his arms wide to the sides as if inviting McCabe to raise his gun. “I can’t believe you’d shoot me down in cold blood. Robbie would be very disappointed.”

  “You think?” His stare unrelenting, McCabe advanced on him. To Rowena’s further shock, as he walked, he stuffed his Glock behind him into the waistband of his black jeans.

  James’s fingers curled and uncurled now, a definite sign of mounting agitation. “I don’t have to think,” he replied. “I know.” A muscle in his jaw jerked every few seconds.

  The two men circled each other, like partners in an avant-garde dance.

  “I’m going to win this,” Mockerie said softly. “You entered my domain and now you’re trapped here. I hold all the cards.” His strained smile turned lethal. “Unless, as I said before, you intend to kill me. Imagine what Amanda would think of you then.” With his gaze glued to McCabe’s, he asked, “Are you getting all of this, Rowena? Here stand two adversaries, opposites in every way. Yet soon there’ll only be one. Only be me. Because your hero is too lily-livered to pull the trigger and end my life.” A chuckle emerged. “Would you do it if you had the opportunity?”

  “Maybe,” she replied without inflection. “Given the right incentive.”

  “You mean if I threatened the kid?”

  “That would do it.”

  “What if…?” Giving his right arm a shake, he whipped his hand up to reveal a gleaming black gun. Small but undoubtedly deadly. “What if the tables were turned?” He backed away from both of them. “Move and she’s dead, McCabe.”

  McCabe’s eyes remained fixed. “You kill her, I’ll kill you.”

  “You can try.” Mockerie grinned. “But your Achilles heel is that you love her. Pain and anguish will hinder you just long enough for me to put a second bullet in your throat.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not.”

  Rowena’s heart slammed against her ribs. This dance of theirs had suddenly gone from fascinating to macabre. Or was it her perception that had altered?

  Would James shoot her? Absolutely. So why in God’s name did she believe McCabe had foreseen a situation like this? Because he was too good at his job to have overlooked something so obvious.

  “Put the gun down,” McCabe said when Mockerie took aim at her.

  “Fuck you.” The ice was back, any trace of amusement banished. “And her, too. This isn’t how I wanted it to end, but I’ll take it. I admit you caught me off guard down here. I didn’t expect you to be so stupid. But a gift is a gift, and you’re too fucking dangerous for me to take foolish chances. I dreamed of blood. Fantasized about how long I might keep you alive. I planned to try for a record. Just another reason to hate you in the end. Imagine a body without a drop of hemoglobin inside. Can you picture that, either of you?”

  He was almost salivating as he regarded McCabe. Rowena slid her hand around behind her but stopped the motion when the trigger clicked back.

  “Guns on the floor, now!” James ordered through stiff lips. “That’s right, nice and slow. Three for McCabe, one for Rowena. Now kick them toward me. Very good. See, McCabe? You can take orders when you have to… Ah, ah, ah. Twitch a muscle, and the bitch is dead.”

  “It’s your funeral,” McCabe returned.

  Mockerie’s lips thinned even more. “You always were a backward asshole. Who’s holding the loaded weapon here, pal? Me, that’s who. And it’s pointed at the woman you love.”

  Rowena’s terror was on the verge of choking her. The entire room seemed to tilt. There were two men, each wearing his own mask, squaring off in front of her. And all she could think of was, who of the three of them would be the first to die? She couldn’t see it being Mockerie since he was the one holding the gun.

  She glanced at McCabe when he stepped sideways. Mockerie’s gun immediately snapped toward him.

  “I can swing this thing back and forth between you all day,” he declared. He whipped it quickly from McCabe to Rowena. “Or just shoot her and be done with it. What the hell. She’s legally dead anyway.”

  “Don’t.” McCabe’s order was a bullet of its own. “Look under my jacket, Mockerie.”

  “Screw that.”

  In a lightning-fast move, McCabe yanked it open to reveal a plethora of wires on a black plate. “I’ve got a detonator in the palm of my hand. You kill Rowena, my grip loosens and it’s over. We’re as dead as she is.”

  A dark flush of rage crept up James’s neck. “You’re bluffing.”

  McCabe sent him a slow grin. “Wanna bet?”

  James’s arm trembled. “You son of a bitch,” he hissed. “You son of a fucking bitch!”

  Rowena’s clenched her teeth so hard, she swore they’d crack. Relief coursed through her when James lowered his arm and tossed his gun to the floor. As any half sane person would do when faced with a man who’d turned himself into a bomb.

  …

  Martin Hood had come to expect that any meeting with James Mockerie might be his last. The fact that he had four kids had made no impression on the man, but then had he really believed monsters had hearts?

  He should never have let himself be bought. Money of the kind James offered was helpful to be sure, but not when a person was forced to sell his soul to obtain it.

  He could turn himself in. He’d been tempted to go that route more than once. Still was, in fact. Would do it, he promised himself, if the summons he’d received this evening didn’t result in him being carted out of the sleazy warehouse apartment Mockerie had chosen for their meeting in a body bag. Or worse.

  Dear God, yes, if he survived tonight he’d talk to his FBI superiors immediately. Tell all and beg for whatever mercy they might be willing to grant him.

  The body bag was front and center in his mind as he let himself in the creaking side door of the warehouse and mounted the stairs to wherever. Hell worked, except he didn’t usually visualize climbing a stinking, moldy staircase to get there.

  Three numbered apartments appeared at the top. He’d been told to go to the one farthest from the stairwell door.

  His footsteps echoed on the sagging floor. At the threshold, he paused, forced himself not to gag and knocked.

  The door swung open when he touched it. Didn’t creak or stutter, just moved soundlessly inward to reveal a gaping black hole.

  “Mr. Mockerie?” He spied a light, small and flickering, like a TV or a computer monitor. When Mockerie didn’t respond, Martin cleared his throat and tried again. “Sir, I’m here.”

  Still no response. Certain he was a dead man, he walked in on feet that felt lead weighted.

  He didn’t speak, just followed the light to its source. And stopped stunned when someone other than James looked up at him.

  “I, um. I’m sorry. I thought… Is Mr. Mockerie here?” Martin glanced around. “He sent for me.”

  A smile appeared, cool and calculating. “No, I’m the one who sent for you. I used James Mockerie’s name of course, because, well, because I knew you’d come if I did. You’ve been a bad boy, I’m afraid. Not killing people bad, but naughty in the way we humans often are when large sums of money enter the picture.”

  Martin inhaled through his nose and rubbed his sweating palms together. “My wife has cancer, and the treatments are expensive. There’s a new procedure in Germany. We couldn’t afford it any other way.”

  “I understand.” A hand waved. “Believe me, I’m not throwing stones. Not at all. What I’m going to do is encourage you to leave the country.”

  “What? Now? I can’t. He’ll find me.”

  “In time, he might. But time may be a thing that’s in short supply for him. He doesn’t know it yet, but his new behind-the-scenes and very silent partner has plans for him that don’t include him carrying on the way he has been.”

  Confused, Martin scanned the shadows. There had to be a trick to this meeting. Was Mockerie testing his loyalty?

  The smile in front of him transformed into a laugh. “You’r
e looking for treachery where none exists. My goal is to help you, and anyone else I possibly can. I don’t approve of killing. To certain other illegal activities, I’ll turn a blind eye. But murder and, worse than that, torture, is beyond what I can countenance.” A gloved hand produced a manila envelope. “Here are six tickets to Munich. It’s where you and your family need to be. Take them and do what you will from there. Confess. Hide. Get your wife the help she needs while you have the opportunity. The choice is yours.”

  Still in shock, Martin accepted the envelope. “Why are you doing this?”

  A smile was his only answer. “Let your conscience be your guide, Martin Hood. Mine is growing clearer by the minute. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Work,” Martin repeated in a daze.

  “It’s not much.” The smile grew troubled. “It won’t be enough. And I’ll pay for it at some point. But however it goes, I want to see the end.” Composure gave way to ferocity. “I want McCabe to win.”

  …

  Surreal. It was the word that best fit the situation. Rowena’s head spun as they rode the elevator back up to the main level. The three of them—her, McCabe, and James. Silent and unmoving in the confines of that gleaming white box.

  James didn’t utter a word, didn’t make a sound. He had to be glaring at them from under the brim of his hat, and God knew, his fingers were twitching up a storm, even the half finger with its engraved gold ring.

  It was the ring she’d given him for his birthday, she noted with a shudder. Back when she’d believed he was a kind and benevolent man. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she prayed for a conclusion to this ride, with no tricks at the end of it.

  “Stay with us a while,” McCabe suggested when the door slid open. “Not that I think you want the Lily Koi to go up in smoke, but I’m absolutely certain you don’t want that for yourself.”

  “This isn’t over, Ryan.” No snake had ever spewed more venom than James did with those words. “You’re only postponing the inevitable.”

  “I’ve been postponing that fate since we were kids, according to you.”

  As curious as she was terrified by their interaction, not to mention the bomb still strapped to McCabe’s chest, Rowena looked from one to the other. “What happened to make you hate each other so much?”