McCabe Page 19

  Rowena let her head drop forward. “Great. So who knows what he did or who he did it to after he left the white dungeon.”

  “Authorities are keeping their eyes open. I suspect there are more than a dozen entrances to that dungeon.”

  “So do I. Is he proficient at hiding bodies?”

  “When he wants to be, yeah. We’ll have to wait and see where this goes.”

  “He’s a monster in sheep’s clothing.” She shoved her half-eaten flapjacks away. “That suggests a second persona to me. Why are you so sure you can dismiss the possibility?”

  “I’m not dismissing anything, I just don’t think a split’s the case with Mockerie.” Rolling his shoulders, he admitted, “It’s a problem for me having Amanda and Robbie and Beckett so close by.”

  Rowena frowned. “Amanda said you told her where we were.”

  “I did. I had to. She was worried about their safety, and Robbie wants to protect her son.”

  As a mother, Rowena understood that. Still… “Robbie must realize that James’s crimes can’t go unpunished.”

  “She does.” McCabe drained his cup. “She also expects me to do something that doesn’t involve having James die.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’d rather die than spend the rest of his life in prison.”

  “I agree. I told her I’d try.”

  “That’s good. It’s positive. It sounds like we have the upper hand. And please don’t tell me we don’t. I’m not stupid; I just need to believe there’s a chance we can defeat him.”

  “He’s human, Ro, and as fallible as we are. He also has resources. He could throw a blanket guard around himself that would be virtually impossible to penetrate.”

  “If he can erect walls we can’t breach, then how will we reach him?”

  Grinning, McCabe leaned over the counter and kissed her. “By going for his Achilles’ heel.”

  “I never noticed he had one,” she said dryly. “Unless you’re planning to use his alleged affection for Amanda in some way, which I seriously hope not.”

  “You know me well enough to understand I’d never compromise Amanda’s safety.”

  “Oh, good.” Sending him a false smile, she swiped some of the syrup from her plate and licked her index finger. “That only leaves Robbie and me, and I’m thinking his mother falls into the same category as his great-aunt. So.” Locking her gaze on his implacable features, she arched questioning brows. “How, when, and where?”

  “I’ll let you know when it comes to me.”

  “Better and better. I don’t mind being the bait in whatever trap you use to catch him, McCabe. Just promise me again that if it goes south, you’ll keep Parker safe and not let me suffer.”

  “Ro…”

  “Promise me, McCabe.”

  Something flickered in his dark eyes. “You know I will.”

  Because she did believe him, part of her relaxed. Although the prospect of never seeing her son again had her chest tightening.

  Breathe. She’d fooled James once; maybe together she and McCabe could do it again. Except…fooling him wasn’t the object here. They had to destroy him, financially and perhaps physically as well.

  How will Robbie take that? she wondered. Would she blame McCabe or understand there’d been no other way? Because the monster inside James would never die. Not fully. Not forever.

  A shudder ran through her. Although death really was their only hope of escape, the question remained. In the end, would James be the one to die—or someone else?

  …

  McCabe left Rowena with Amanda, his laptop, and their newly acquired flash drive. He didn’t doubt for a minute that she’d be able to make sense of the information they’d syphoned from Mockerie’s private files. With luck, his empire would begin to collapse in the next few weeks. Sooner if McCabe could manage it.

  Dancer met him in a patch of scrubby trees and rocks behind the hotel. He had cameras set up around the perimeter and a visual up his iPad.

  “It’s like watching paint dry, hanging around his town,” Dancer grumbled from his perch on a flat stone behind McCabe’s truck. “Most I’ve seen is a couple of kids kicking a hacky sack and an old geezer rooting through trash cans. A prosperous town, this isn’t.”

  “It livens up at night,” McCabe pointed out. “Local miners come in to drink and gamble.”

  “Is that why the three new people are here?” Dancer shot him an astute look from eyes that were never as stoned as they appeared. “Great-aunt, mother, and a rumpled-looking man. FYI, the man’s come outside twice already today.”

  Busy on his phone, McCabe walked back and forth behind him. “Why?”

  “You tell me. Both times, he stood and stared at the road leading into and out of town.”

  “For how long?”

  “Ten minutes each time, maybe a bit more. Used his phone once. I couldn’t hear what he said.”

  Nodding, McCabe finished up and shoved the cell into the back pocket of his jeans. “What’s happening at the Lily Koi?”

  “Not a whole lot. Mockerie showed up there late last night. No idea where he’d been before that. Our trackers lost him in old Las Vegas.”

  Mild annoyance kept McCabe on his feet. As he watched the hotel, his mind ran half a hundred possibilities, none of them palatable. “Keep in touch with the police and tell our trackers to tighten up their surveillance.”

  “They know their jobs, McCabe. We’re talking about a professional here. Mockerie’s been around the block a few thousand times. He knows how to ditch people. Only one better at it to my knowledge is you. You want tight, stay on him yourself. Otherwise… Can I have a beer?”

  “Nope.”

  “Figured that. You got a plan?”

  “I’m working on one.”

  “You gonna tell me about it?”

  McCabe slanted a faint smile in Dancer’s direction. “The less you know, my friend, the safer you’ll be.”

  “Yeah, like that really settles my mind. You’re thinking he’ll come for her, aren’t you? You’re hoping he’ll get sloppy and you’ll get lucky.”

  McCabe’s insides hardened. “He won’t get sloppy. A little reckless maybe, but that won’t hinder him like it would most of us.”

  Dancer snorted, “Why the hell not? He isn’t Superman, is he?”

  “He doesn’t have to be.” With a last scan of the surrounding area, McCabe regarded the hotel. “He’s got someone watching his back.”

  …

  Mockerie was shooting at the walls in his private security room when the call finally came. A smile lit his shadowed face. He was getting damned good at planting bullets between the monitors.

  “Took your time getting back to me, didn’t you, Bert?” he drawled. “You know I’m not a patient man. I was about to go looking for another Rowena to cut on.”

  Bert offered no response. Mockerie ignored the stare he was receiving via Skype and raised the glass of bourbon he’d poured a few seconds ago to his lips.

  “Apparently, abstinence of any kind simply isn’t in your nature,” Bert remarked at length and made Mockerie chuckle.

  “Pot, kettle, in my opinion.” He savored the taste of the bourbon almost as much as he did the expression on Bert’s face. “Problem?” he asked.

  “Local police found a female body early this morning. I’m told it took them some time to ascertain that she was a female. Why?”

  Mockerie shrugged. “Because I wanted McCabe to know that there was a price to pay for that stunt he and Rowena pulled.”

  “Yes, about that. How much damage did she mange to do?”

  “I can’t tell, but none of my firewalls appear to have been violated. I’d say that’s a good sign except she’s fucking brilliant at hacking into forbidden files. I’m thinking some of my South American sources might have been compromised. I’ve already been in touch with most of them. They’re taking the necessary precautions.”

  Bert made a doubtful sound. “It might not be enough. From what I’ve
heard, Rowena’s a fair bit more than fucking brilliant. She and McCabe breached the white dungeon easily enough, and I’m sure you change the elevator access codes regularly.”

  What had been a feel-good moment began to sour. When a hint of fear slithered in behind it, Mockerie followed the usual path and let the anger bleed through. “We need to finish this now, before that bastard and his whore screw up even more aspects of my life. I want them dead, one, two. Her first, then him.”

  “Yes, I don’t suppose we’re talking quick and painless, are we?”

  Mockerie wanted quite badly to shake his ally by the throat, but he held fast to the worst of his temper, tightened his lips, and snarled, “No, we’re not. We’re talking as much pain as I can squeeze from both of them. In McCabe’s case, I intend for that to be an inordinate amount. I’m going to carve up his soul before I carve up his flesh. Don’t even think about trying to stop me. And unless you want her carved up, too, keep Robbie out of my way. I only have one use left for her, and then we’re done.”

  Bert’s chuckle was laced with icy amusement. “Robbie won’t be any kind of problem for either of us. You have plans for Rowena and McCabe. I have plans for her.”

  Curious, Mockerie drained his glass. “Want to share?”

  “The details? No. But I’ll give you the gist. It’s been my experience that mothers are a source of weakness to their children. You’re Robbie’s child; therefore, her being near you is problematic. Amanda, too, but mothers worry me more. That only leaves me one solution.”

  “Which is?”

  Bert smiled into the screen. “I’m going to kill her.”

  …

  McCabe left Rowena to continue sifting through the information on the flash drive while he brooded on the back porch of the old hotel.

  Everyone was accounted for—except Mockerie, of course. Dancer was monitoring the cameras and probably dreaming about downing a Michelob or three. Amanda and Robbie were upstairs playing canasta, and Beckett was prowling around restlessly while he waited for the spaghetti sauce he’d made earlier to finish simmering.

  In other words, each of them was bored as hell and bracing for a nuclear explosion.

  He heard the text alert just as the waning rays of sun burst into red, gold, orange, and pink flame in front of him. As a kid, he’d been riveted by sunsets. This one took him back to that slightly more innocent time, even as the alert set his teeth on edge.

  Feet propped, he shoved the bill of his ball cap up and opened the text. It read:

  Hey there. You can’t ID me, so sit back and read on. Mockerie’s in the Silver Nugget Casino as I write this. There’s a special room overlooking the gaming floor on the east side of the building. You’ll find it. He’s been there for the better part of two hours and will be for at least the next three. It’s his habit when he’s in a particular mood. What he’ll do when he emerges is anyone’s guess. Mine would be to go on the hunt for some unsuspecting female to torture. Who am I, you’re wondering? Let’s just say all the information you and Rowena came by so easily in the white dungeon didn’t actually appear by magic, even though it seemed to. Deep down, I’m sure Rowena knows it and you probably do, too. So trust me when I tell you you want to bring James Mockerie down as quickly as possible. Before another “Rowena” dies. Before the real Rowena dies…

  “Shit!” As suggested, McCabe didn’t bother to try and pinpoint the source or sender of the text. He had ideas on that score in any case.

  Mockerie was at the Silver Nugget, in a room overlooking the casino. It wouldn’t be accessible to the masses, but the sender was right—he’d find it. And Mockerie.

  He thought of Rowena and her son. Of Robbie and Amanda, and of God only knew how many innocent people who’d died over the years. He thought of drugs and weapons and putting an end to this whole fucking nightmare.

  Blanking the screen, he dropped his feet and stood. Potential trap or not, he was sick of waiting the bastard out. It was time he finished this thing. One way or another.

  …

  “No, you can’t come with me.” McCabe set his hands firmly on Rowena’s shoulders, holding her in place while she vibrated with frustration in front of him. “There’s a fifty percent chance that this is a trap. I’m not putting your life at risk with odds like that.”

  “But your own life—no problem.”

  He almost smiled at her mutinous expression. “You can stop glaring at me, Rowena. It’s not going to work.”

  “Fine.” Jerking free, she strode away, arms folded across her chest. “You go and I’ll stay. No problem.”

  He sent her an even look. “Do I have to disable every vehicle in town, or will you give me your word to stay put?”

  “You’ll probably want to start disabling.”

  “Because you following me is going to help your son how, exactly?”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut with a low growl. “That’s not fair, McCabe. Playing the son card’s about as low as it gets under the circumstances.” Breathing through a spate of temper, she added a quiet, “Damn you.”

  He caught her again and this time pulled her in for a hard hug. “It’s not safe, Ro. And the plain truth is Parker needs you.” When she started to draw away, he tightened his hold. “This has to end. I might as well do that while I have a slight advantage.”

  “I thought you said the odds that this was a trap were fifty-fifty.”

  “Say forty-five fifty-five. Whatever. I’ll take the risk. For Parker’s sake, you can’t.” He placed his mouth next to her ear. “I need you to do this for me. Stay here and let Dancer do his thing. Only trust Dancer, okay? Keep working on untangling the information on that flash drive. Everything will be fine if you do as I say.”

  He felt a portion of the tension in her muscles relax. She wasn’t giving in willingly, but for her son, she’d suck it up and go with his agenda—as he’d hoped she would.

  Shoving back just far enough to stare at him, she asked. “Are you going to kill him?”

  He thought briefly of Robbie’s request. Then he recalled the horror of the crimes Mockerie had committed over the years, including, very likely, the remains of a female discovered earlier that day on the outskirts of Las Vegas. At least the police believed the corpse had been female…

  Rowena continued to regard him. As she did, her eyes narrowed. “You are, aren’t you?”

  McCabe glanced at the fading colors of the sunset, bleeding now into the desert horizon. He could lie of course, leave her wondering. But the time for lies was past.

  “Mockerie had his chance, Ro. He’s had thousands of them, and all he does is create more victims. I’m sorry to hurt Robbie, but yeah, I’m going to do it. Mockerie’s time’s up. If I get the chance, I’m going to kill him.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It infuriated her to do nothing. To pace and wait and remember. She’d done her computer homework and discovered that they had more than enough information in their possession to shut down the bulk of James’s South American trafficking lines. Not to mention his weapons supply businesses.

  It wasn’t all there, but enough of it was that James would be spending the next fifty years or more in prison. Unless McCabe made good on his promise to kill him.

  Did she want that end, for either of them? Rowena couldn’t decide. When all was said and done, James was the father of her child. He was morally corrupt, emotionally bankrupt, mentally unstable—and those were the kindest descriptions she could come up with.

  She could also add cold-blooded reptile to her list of qualities. The man was, or could be when he chose, a chameleon. Colored to suit any and all situations. Unfortunately, those colors only sustained for so long before the true James oozed through the cracks.

  And what about McCabe? Taking James’s life would make him a murderer. Not that he hadn’t killed people before, but to hunt James down for the purpose of putting a bullet in him really did feel like murder one to her. And Robbie wasn’t likely to disagree…<
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  Darkness had fallen over the small town. Rowena heard cars and trucks pass the hotel as groups of miners straggled in to drink and gamble at the local bar. A vehicle roared to life close by, sending a blast of exhaust through the open window. Too agitated to remain in her room, she decided to search for Amanda. The old woman was both interesting and needle sharp. Rowena only hoped she’d be half as astute when she reached her eighties.

  A door slammed down the hall. She smelled violets mixed with spaghetti sauce and saw a sliver of light coming from inside Amanda’s room.

  Head tipped to the side, she approached the old woman’s door and knocked. When Amanda didn’t answer, she gave the slightly open door a push. “Amanda?”

  There was no answer.

  She tried again. “Amanda?” Stepping inside, she switched on a second lamp. “Amanda, are you here? I was just… Shit!”

  A foot sticking out from the far side of the bed caught her eye. A blue mule sat half on, half off a foot that wasn’t moving.

  Rowena ran and immediately dropped to her knees when she spied Amanda lying on the carpet. There was blood under her head, her face was bone white, and her eyes were closed.

  “Jesus! Amanda?”

  Taking hold of her wrist, Rowena felt for a pulse. It was there, weak but steady. She grabbed her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans and punched in Dancer’s number.

  He answered on the first ring. “Yeah, what? Problem?”

  “I’m upstairs in Amanda’s room,” Rowena told him. Standing, she stepped carefully over the old woman so she could see the floor behind her head. “She’s unconscious and bleeding. I don’t know what happened, but I can see at least one deep cut on her temple.”

  “I’ll call the medics. Do you know first aid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then do whatever, and I’ll be right there.”

  Rowena kneeled, forced herself to think. The “whatever” Dancer had mentioned wasn’t much when it came to a head injury. She didn’t want to risk making the damage worse by moving Amanda to a more comfortable position, so what did that leave?

  “Life over limb,” she murmured, setting her palms on either side of Amanda’s face to keep her still. “I’m sorry I can’t get you up on the bed.”