Because this was personal. Not just the destruction of his carefully laid plans. The infiltration of his private life, with Jack-shit O’Brien and Peter Jensen. There was something so…underhanded about that. But then, what could you expect from people who didn’t have the advantages he’d had. Weren’t as gifted as he was.
He was going to enjoy himself with Genevieve Spenser. First, because Jack-shit/Takashi had tried so hard to have him keep his hands off her. Second, because it would make Peter Jensen turn in his grave. Hurting the woman would be the next best thing to hurting the man who’d betrayed him. Hell, it might be even better; this way he could get his revenge twice over.
But first he had to get rid of these noisy, puking, disgusting children before he grabbed a gun and shot them.
“Stop the car,” he ordered.
And the driver slammed on the brakes.
22
The Kevlar vest was too small, and Genevieve had the sudden, distressing thought that if Peter were there, if he’d been in charge of outfitting her, it would have been the right size. Of course, he’d known what size she was before he’d gotten her naked. Now he’d know even better.
She managed to fasten it anyway, then pulled her T-shirt and sweatshirt over it. Her boobs were squashed and she was having a hard time breathing, but none of it mattered. She sat in the back of the nondescript car, uncomfortably similar to the sedan Peter had showed up with, and let them drive her up the winding road into the mountains, twisting and turning.
She wondered if she was going to throw up again all over her Kevlar vest. It would serve the elegant Madame Lambert right if she puked on her designer shoes, but then some might get down into the vest and that would be very unpleasant. Not that she figured the vest was going to do a bit of good. If Harry’s plan was to have someone shoot her, he’d have them go for a head shot. Lawyer’s brains, she thought again, with a little shiver.
“Are you cold?” Madame Lambert asked. “It gets a bit chilly and damp up here, and there’s supposed to be fog tonight. I can get you a blanket.”
“I’m fine,” Genevieve said in a tight voice.
“What about medication? Peter said you were fond of tranquilizers.”
“Fuck Peter,” she snapped. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t thought of her blessed little yellow pills in a long time. I guess when things get really bad I don’t need them, she thought. They’re just for minor annoyances, not life and death.
“I believe you already did,” Madame Lambert murmured. “I can get you whatever you need. It will just take a phone call and it’ll be waiting for us.”
She almost asked for Tab. She’d been careful with her last meal—her experience at Carl’s Junior had taught her not to shove food into her face—but she’d had to make do with Diet Coke. Surely she deserved a can of Tab before walking into the valley of death.
“I’m fine,” she said. They were climbing higher and higher into the mountains, and a light fog was rolling in. There must have been some kind of massive forest fire in the last few years. Twisted black stalks of dead trees covered the hillsides, making it look like a strange sort of cemetery. She kept her eyes away from the road; the driver was going way too fast for the conditions, and she was nervous enough. Was she ready to die on this strange, barren hillside? Was she going to have any choice?
The fog was getting thicker the higher they climbed. Madame Lambert was busy with her Black- Berry-like device—a duplicate of the one Peter had used. Modern technology and the spy world, Genevieve thought. Except they weren’t spies, were they? She didn’t know what the hell they were, and she didn’t care.
“Supposing you manage to kill Harry?” she said. “What then?”
“Then it all gets covered up very neatly. We have the full cooperation of certain branches of the U.S. government, and no one will ever know he didn’t die in an unfortunate car wreck on one of these twisty roads. They have rock slides all the time—sometimes boulders the size of a Volkswagen bug come down on the road. One could squash Harry, and even his good friend the president will have no idea what really happened.”
“Squash a bug with a bug. Sounds fitting,” she said. “And what about me with all my unfortunate knowledge? Aren’t you going to have to squash me, too?”
“You read too many thrillers, Genevieve,” Madame Lambert said. “You aren’t going to say a word to anyone. For one thing, no one would believe you. For another, you’ll want to forget these past few weeks, put them completely behind you. And there’s one more thing.”
“And that is?”
“You won’t want to endanger Peter. You wouldn’t blow his cover, no matter how wounded you are.”
“Are you talking potential physical wounds? Because I promise you I have no emotional scars at all.”
“Of course you don’t,” Madame Lambert agreed in her cool voice. “And there’ll be no physical wounds. You’re well protected.”
There wasn’t enough Kevlar in the world to protect her from the damage Peter Madsen had already done to her. “Bring it on,” she said wearily. “I’m ready.”
“That’s good,” her companion said. “Because we’re here.”
Peter was cursing the fog with steady, pungent curses. He’d staked out a small spot overlooking the wide circular driveway by Harry’s lavish mansion, and Mannion, who’d been part of the original team to take Harry hostage, was with him, squinting at the text message while Peter tried to see through the gathering fog.
“You suppose Van Dorn can even control the weather?” Mannion said after a moment. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“He’s got enough money,” Peter said grimly. The billowing fog moved and writhed like a living thing, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of his target and then covering it again. He set the rifle down and leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes for a moment.
“There’s no movement down there,” Mannion said. “Aren’t they supposed to be here by now? Maybe they’re hoping the fog will clear.”
“It could just as likely get worse, and Madame Lambert knows it,” Peter said. “They’ll be here soon.”
Mannion punched a series of buttons, then smiled. Smiles sat strangely on Mannion’s rough, battered face, but they were never without good cause.
“What’s up?”
“They found Takashi. In one piece. He’s pretty messed up, and they’re not sure he’ll make it, but you know our boy. No pantywaist billionaire is any match for a born-and-bred Yakuza.”
“That’s something,” Peter said, returning to his post. The dark black sedan was sitting there, and he was pretty sure the engine was running. Sound carried strangely in the fog, but every now and then he heard the rumble of an engine. Did Harry have the children in the car? Or had he betrayed them and already killed them?
They’d gone into this knowing there was a good possibility that Harry would renege on his end of the bargain. A thwarted billionaire was a dangerous thing, particularly one of Harry’s twisted temperament, and he’d like nothing better than to fuck them over. He thought he was inviolate—he could get away with anything, no matter how heinous. His grip on reality was slipping, which made him even more dangerous.
The fog shifted, and he could get a clear view of the car. No sign of any children, no sign of anything. And then he heard another car approach, and he didn’t need Mannion to inform him that Genny had arrived.
He didn’t want her to do this. He should have told her that, but something had stopped him, and now she might die because he’d been too fatheaded to say anything. The car pulled up to the heavy iron gate and waited. Waited. Peter’s mouth was dry.
Mannion had enough sense to keep quiet. He kept his attention riveted on the scene below, not glancing at the machine in his hand.
There were other snipers around, but no one with as clear a vantage point, and Peter knew in the end it would be up to him. He’d never missed a shot, no matter how difficult it was. He could see through fog and a moonless night, he could se
e through anything to keep her safe. He couldn’t waste his time making excuses or telling himself lies—they were down to the bare bones now. All that mattered was that she lived. Because he’d done the unthinkable. For only the second time in his life he’d fallen in love, when he didn’t even believe it existed.
It wasn’t the sex. It wasn’t some crazy protective notion motivating him either; there were plenty of other people who could do as good a job of keeping her safe.
And it certainly wasn’t that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He might be in love with her, but he devoutly hoped he’d never have to see her again after this afternoon. He wanted his old, calm, cold life back. He didn’t like the heat melting the ice around his heart.
The iron gates swung open, slowly, and the back door of the car opened as well. He saw her blond hair first, and he held his breath. As far as he could tell, Harry had no comparable snipers overlooking the site, but he couldn’t risk her life on that belief.
She stood very still, and he looked at her down on the driveway with the thick white fog blanketing her. She stood tall and straight, probably because of the armor they’d given her, and she didn’t look around, or look back. Harry would know she wasn’t alone. She took a step forward, and then another, and the door to the waiting limousine opened and Harry stepped out.
He had him in his sites, a perfect target, and then he was obscured again, fog rolling down in thick, wet waves.
“Peter!” Mannion’s voice was urgent.
“Shut up,” Peter hissed. “I can’t see.”
“Take your shot, man. He doesn’t have the kids. They were found wandering down in the woods just off 330. She doesn’t need to go.”
Peter rose, but everything had disappeared. It wasn’t a thick blanket of fog, it was a deep, poisonous shroud, and he couldn’t see anything anymore, not the cars below him, not Genny’s stalwart figure as she walked toward death.
He didn’t hesitate. “Run, Genny! Get the hell out of there! Run!” he shouted. And then he started scrambling down the hillside, trying to make it to the driveway in the impenetrable mist, and it clung to his skin like tiny particles of ice, as he felt the first burst of fear crack inside him.
He slipped, rolling down the hillside, landing on the wide driveway just as the headlights of a car zoomed down on him. He rolled out of the way, into the bushes, and it moved on, clipping the waiting car as it went. And then all was silence in the cottony darkness.
He scrambled to his feet, the sniper rifle still with him, when Madame Lambert loomed out of the mist. “He’s got her,” she said, and he almost thought he heard emotion in her cool, controlled voice. “He shoved her in the limo and got away. I’m so sorry, Peter. At least he won’t be able to take her off the mountain—we’ve got all the roads blocked. If it weren’t for this goddamn fog…”
He’d never heard her swear before. It didn’t matter. “I’m taking the car,” he said.
“You should wait for backup…”
“I’m taking the car.”
And a moment later he vanished into the mist, letting the darkness close behind him.
Harry Van Dorn was in the best mood he’d been in since he could remember. After weeks of having each of his careful plans dismantled, finding his most trusted servants betraying him, things had finally turned his way. Genevieve Spenser was sitting beside him in the back of the limo, looking pale and frightened, and he’d just been given a gift by the universe. He should have known his position as one of the chosen ones wouldn’t have faltered.
“So Peter’s alive after all,” he said, reaching for the minibar and pouring himself a drink. “Can I get you something, sweet cakes? Afraid I don’t have any of that belly-wash soda pop you seem to like, but I’ve got just about everything else. Might make things a bit easier on you.”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Harry chuckled happily. “I doubt that. Now, why didn’t you think to tell me that Peter was alive after all?”
“What makes you think he’s alive?”
“Don’t try that shit on me. I heard his voice, clear as day, telling you to run for it. Too little too late, but then, you’ve always been his worst nightmare, haven’t you? If it weren’t for you, I’d already be dead as a doornail.”
“Then I’d think you’d be a little grateful,” she said.
He backhanded her across the face, a casual blow that still snapped her head back. “I don’t like mouthy women, did I ever tell you that? Your bosses should have known better than to send me a mouthy broad.”
“Lawyers tend to be mouthy.”
He slapped her again, and this time her lip started bleeding. He liked that, but he didn’t want to let her leave any trace behind in the car. He would already have to get rid of the car the kids puked in. He’d set them down in the middle of the burned-out landscape— they’d never find their way out through those dead trees, and it got right cold on an April night up here in the mountains. The fog would just be icing on the cake.
He hadn’t decided on a cover story for that one yet—he was still concentrating on the delicious package of revenge sitting beside him. If the kids were found alive no one would believe anything they said, not when charming Harry Van Dorn came up with a plausible explanation. He didn’t know what that was, but it would come to him, spur of the moment. He was blessed that way. Everyone loved Harry Van Dorn— he could do no wrong.
“Watch yourself, missy. I plan to take my time with you, and I don’t want you annoying me. Having Peter still alive changes everything. He’s going to come after you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If he’s really alive and cared the slightest bit about me, he wouldn’t have let me walk into a trap like that.”
“Good point,” Harry conceded. “But I’m not giving up hope. Look at it this way, I’m keeping you in one piece until I’m certain Peter Jensen isn’t going to ride to the rescue.”
“His name is Madsen.”
He contemplated hitting her again, then decided it wasn’t worth it. “You see, it would be twice the fun making him watch. Double the pleasure, double the pain.”
“I’m sure he’s seen a lot of people die, Harry,” she said, too calm for his liking. “He’s not going to give much of a shit whether you kill me or not—he’s not that sentimental. You could always kill him first and make me watch, but I’m afraid I’d simply enjoy that, and you wouldn’t get your rocks off…”
“Don’t you ever shut up?” he demanded.
“Not if I can help it,” she shot back.
Oh, he was really going to enjoy killing her, maybe more than he’d ever enjoyed killing anyone. She was rapidly becoming even more infuriating than Peter Jensen…Madsen himself.
“Guess what?” he said cheerfully, slapping some duct tape over her mouth. “You can’t help it.”
He could barely see the road, but he tore up it like a bat out of hell anyway, trying to catch up with the taillights that must be somewhere ahead of him. Where the hell could he be taking her in this impenetrable fog? He could just as easily run off the road as Peter could, and they’d have to be careful.
They were in a limo. Presumably with a driver, since Harry never did a thing for himself when he didn’t have to, and he’d have a hard time controlling Genevieve while trying to drive in this shit.
Which meant he had her to himself in the back of the car. Peter stepped harder on the gas pedal, guessing where the winding road led. They were heading in the direction of Big Bear, the tackier of the lake resorts, and if Harry got that far he’d be even harder to find.
Peter wasn’t giving up. His rifle was beside him in the rental car, which had all the pickup of a donkey, but he didn’t expect it to do him much good when he could barely see three feet in front of him. He was going to have to get a lot closer to kill Harry Van Dorn, and that suited him just fine. If he could just find him.
He was just past Running Springs when he saw the taillights, barely visible in the
thick fog. They were moving up the road at a steady clip. He slammed on the accelerator and the car fishtailed on the wet road surface. It took him a moment to regain control, and by then the car ahead of him was out of sight, and he punched the steering wheel, cursing.
The road was straightening out a bit, and he sped up. He had no idea what time it was—with the fog that thick it could be daylight or midnight. His headlights bounced back at him, and he tried turning off the brights, hoping he’d be able to see a little bit better, when a vehicle came out of the darkness, slamming into his, knocking the car sideways off the road into a ditch.
He scrambled out of the car, ready to kill, when a voice he thought he’d never hear again broke the swirling clouds of night.
“He ditched the car and took her off into the woods, Peter.” Bastien Toussaint’s calm voice came out of the darkness. “You’re heading in the wrong direction.”
Peter froze. He didn’t waste his time asking stupid questions, like why was Bastien there and how did he know. What mattered was that Bastien would have the answers.
“Where’s he taken her?”
“There’s an old abandoned school up this way— used to be some movie star’s mountain home, and then it was a school. It’s been closed down for years now, but Harry managed to buy up the rights under a dummy corporation. He’ll have taken her there. And he’ll be wanting you to come get her, now that he knows you’re alive.”
“That’s exactly what I plan to do. What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in North Carolina having a baby?”
“My wife’s got that under control right now. Madame Lambert asked for help, and she wouldn’t ask lightly. I owe you, and I pay my debts. Come on. I’ll show you the way to the school. We’re better off going through the woods. I’m pretty sure Harry’s on his own now with your girlfriend, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
“She not my—”
“Save your breath, Peter. Once we get her out of there and put an end to Harry, you can deny it all you want. It makes no difference to me. But in the meantime we’d better get to her before Harry gets tired of the game. He knows it won’t take you long to find him, even without my help, and he’ll be waiting. But he never was a patient man, and he’ll have a toy to play with while he waits for you to show up.”