Michael pulled himself out of his slouch and tugged his jacket into place. The tall man wasn’t even wearing a vest. It wasn’t over yet, but it was a good start, and pleased, Bill maneuvered to the front, leaning to the driver and whispering, “Where are we going?”
The woman glanced at him, clearly unnerved—though not as much as Sean, whispering to the man next to him. “Ah, just another mile up. The Crab Shack. It’s on the right.”
“I know it,” he lied, giving her shoulder a squeeze before slipping back to his seat. “Intel?” he questioned, finding his phone. Sean should have sent it by now. Sure enough, it was in his inbox, and he scrolled through it as Sean nervously went over the layout of the two-story drive-up motel.
“Unless she’s moved, she’s in room twenty-six, second floor, right at the top of the stairs,” Sean said, hesitating as the rest of the team checked their phones and followed along. “Street is a one-way and narrow. She’s got a blue rental car,” Sean continued, beginning to relax in the familiar. “Parking is in front, and Smith is on scene. She says Harmony just came back with doughnuts. There’s four other renters, all of them out except a woman on the far end. She works at night and will probably be asleep.”
“Man on the scene?” Michael questioned, and Bill put his phone on VIP mode and tucked it away.
“It’s been ten minutes,” Bill said as they pulled in and parked at the outskirts of the motel. “You don’t think I’d send an entire team out without a vanguard, do you? That’s how people get killed.” Doughnuts? It’s a little late for breakfast, he thought, wondering whether he should have brought a larger team. He’d have his hands full making sure Michael didn’t do anything stupid. “Tom, you have stairs. Dan, cover the back. Jillian, sit tight and be ready to roll. Sean, go where your nose takes you.”
“Sir.”
Excitement tightened as the back door whined upward and the damp scent of cool cement and the sound of traffic slipped in with the crying gulls, urging him to do something—anything. “We’re playing it loose here. Stand back and give Michael room to work. It’s his show; let him demonstrate what he’s good at.”
Michael stood, hunched from the tight confines of the van, his attitude back in place as the January cold shifted his hair about his darkly brooding eyes.
“Stay out of his way unless he loses her,” Bill added, pleased at the flash of anger that crossed Michael. Anger was good. Cockiness wasn’t.
“I’m not going to lose her,” Michael said as he pushed out past Bill.
Sean was quick behind him, followed by Tom and Dan. The two men walked calmly to the outdoor stair and elevated walkway, heads together as they compared notes. Bumping fists, they parted. Tom eased into the shadows under the salted walkway, but Dan held up a hand to show thirty before vanishing around the back.
God, he’d missed this. “Thirty seconds until Dan is in place,” he said softly, still not seeing Smith, already on-site. “It’s all yours, Michael. Impress me.”
Sniffing, Michael headed for the stairs. He almost wished Harmony would put Michael out of Bill’s misery, but as insufferably irritating as Michael was, he had earned the right to be that way. He was good, infuriatingly so. And he’d lied about how far he could draft. What else hasn’t he told me?
“I don’t need you backing me up,” Michael said as Bill fell into place beside him.
“I know that, Michael, but as you’re so fond of pointing out, I need you.”
Michael went up the stairs, and from the top, Bill finally spotted their on-siteman and motioned her to the front desk. It was unlikely that shots would be fired, but if they were, keeping witnesses blind would be an asset.
It was a beautiful morning, the air dry and cold. From the second floor, the wind lifted through his hair, and Bill breathed it in deep, relishing the way it tickled his neck where his shave had gone too close. Steps quiet, they settled before her door. The curtains were drawn, and there was no noise from the room as Michael took up position to the side where the wall would be the thickest. Glock in hand, he knocked.
“Shit,” came a feminine whisper, but no gunshots—meaning she was going for her weapon, not aiming it.
Michael jerked into motion. With one kick, the door was knocked off its hinges. Michael followed it in, Bill proud of him as he went without fear, without hesitation. “Don’t move!” Michael shouted, his loud voice brooking no disobedience.
He loved watching Michael work. Bill confidently entered the small, dumpy hotel room. Smiling, he moved out of the window and to the corner. Harmony stood as if frozen beside the made bed, powdered sugar on her front and fingers. There were two cups of coffee on the dresser, both of them steaming. Bill’s smile fell.
“Bathroom!” he hissed as he pulled his weapon. “Check the bathroom!”
But he almost choked when Jack rolled out, his weapon pulled.
“Jack!” Michael exclaimed, starting to laugh. “This just keeps getting better.”
Bill’s aim never wavered from the lanky man in his rumpled suit. Jack had said no to him too many times. He was here on his own agenda, not Bill’s. Knowing death crouched behind the mattress, Bill didn’t move, staying where he was in the open, and said the only thing that would keep Jack thinking he was safe, the only thing that would keep Jack from firing at him. Michael might not bring him back.
“Very good, Jack, but you brought me the wrong girl. Where’s Peri?”
Harmony’s mouth dropped open. Outraged and thinking she’d been betrayed, she turned. “You son of a bitch!”
Make the smart move, Jack, Bill thought, and then Jack relaxed, his aim falling from Bill.
“Sorry, Bill,” the man said, gun pointing to the floor. “Peri turned rabbit. I got her newest best friend, though.”
With a cry of rage, Harmony launched herself at Jack.
Bill hit the floor, rolling into thin cover as Jack howled in pain and Harmony in rage. “Michael, get down!” he shouted, but it was too late as Harmony wrestled Jack’s gun away, and, that fast, shot Michael in the chest.
The pop sounded ridiculously small for the damage it did. Michael fell. Gun in hand, Harmony bolted for the door. Bill let her go, crawling to Michael as five more shots rang out.
“You stupid fool,” Bill muttered, his hands bloodied as he turned Michael over, praying he was still alive. “Don’t you die on me.”
From the lot came an apologetic “Sean got her! Sorry. She’s, ah, dead.”
Michael made a weird, choking laugh, bloody froth at his lips. Bill pulled him up, his hands stained, warm and sticky. “Draft, Michael. I need you alive.”
“Bill!” Jack hovered close, shoving hotel towels at him to try to stanch the bleeding. “I was bringing Peri in, but I had to draw WEFT away, and I lost her.”
Bill said nothing, pressing towels into Michael, waiting for the bastard to draft. Jack was making this up as he went along, lying to him. What was it with his people turning on him? Had he ever been unfair or dishonest in his requirements?
“Say it,” Michael demanded, his face pale under his dark hair and blood. “I want to hear you say it.”
The towels soaked up the blood, making Bill’s hands sticky. “Say what? Pretty please?”
“Say . . . you need me,” he gasped, his long hands gripping Bill’s over his shattered chest. The team was gathering at the door now, and if Michael was going to draft, it would be soon.
“I need you?” Bill said. “Of course I need you, you little pissant!”
“Just making sure you knew it,” he said, and then Bill clutched at him, vertigo taking him as his mind disconnected from the present.
More like rubbing my nose in it, Bill thought as his balance reset. His grip on his Glock tightened, and he found himself standing outside the motel’s door. Fifty seconds, he estimated. Peri’s best was forty-five. But her reach was almost a half mile and Michael’s was limited at hardly a block.
“Take Jack down, but do not kill him. Do you understand me, Mich
ael? I want him alive!” he hissed at Michael beside him.
“If you touch my mind, I’ll fucking kill you,” Michael said, his eyes mere slits. Teeth clenched, he slammed his foot into the door. Harmony shrieked as Michael stormed in. She screamed again at the sudden pop of Michael’s weapon.
Frowning, Bill lurched through the door, glad to find Harmony alive and clutching her arm. Sloppy. Michael was getting sloppy. This shouldn’t have needed a draft. “Jack!” he shouted at the closed bathroom door, knowing the anchor would remember the past they were rewriting. “She’s down. Come on out.”
Harmony’s face went livid as the lie took hold anew and she believed Jack had betrayed her. It was sweet irony it was really the other way around—and she’d never know.
Michael stood over Harmony, his Glock pointed down at her. “I hear you’re on unpaid leave from the CIA. Doing a little Dirty Harry with Jack to bring me in? There’s a good idea,” he said, and Bill winced, jolted into motion when his foot thumped into her.
“Michael, stop it,” he demanded, then louder, “Jack? Let’s go!”
Curled in a ball, Harmony looked up, clearly in pain, both from the kick and the bullet. “You son of a bitch! This was a setup?”
It hadn’t been, but no need to let Jack think he knew otherwise until Jack was down. The door to the bathroom cracked open, and Bill’s pulse jumped when he came out, his weapon dangling from a finger. “Bill. I’ve got this. She trusts me now. I just need a little more time.”
Bill’s gaze flicked to Michael, and the taller man lashed out, knocking the weapon from Jack’s hand, then slamming Jack into the wall. The smaller blond man grunted as he hit, sliding down only a few inches before Michael shoved him again, cuffing him as he held him against the wall. Harmony didn’t move, pinned by Bill’s weapon. Jack was compliant, knowing if he died while within a draft, there were no second chances.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “Bill, I can explain!” Jack exclaimed as Dan came in, taking Jack when Michael pushed him at him. “I had to leave Peri to keep WEFT from catching her,” Jack said even as Dan yanked him out onto the raised walkway. “As soon as she runs out of the Evocane, she’ll come running. I promise you, Bill. She wants to come back. She just doesn’t know it yet. I’ll get her. I have to.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Bill said, but Jack was gone. Bill held his hand out for the duct tape, giving his Glock to Michael as he dropped to kneel before Harmony.
“I should have listened to Peri,” Harmony said as Bill wrapped her wrists in front of her. “You’re lying bastards. All of you.”
Truer words have never been spoken, Bill thought. But the danger was over. All that was left was the haul-away. “Michael, go wait in the van.”
“The van?” he echoed incredulously as he picked up Jack’s Glock. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is my task.”
Bill rubbed his forehead. God help him, he was going to shoot this stupid kid in the head just for the hell of it. “I’m not going to let you knock me unconscious at the end of your draft so you feel safe. Go wait in the van.”
Clearly frustrated, Michael spun, pushing Sean out of the way to storm out.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me!” Harmony shouted, furious when Bill tried to get her to stand up. Eyebrows high, Bill ripped a second piece of tape free and taped her mouth shut. Her fury was suddenly muffled.
“Give me a hand here, Sean,” Bill said, and the man gingerly took her feet and they lifted. The draft ended almost without notice, Sean stumbling slightly on the stair as time meshed and the old timeline where Michael lay dying was rubbed out by the new. The van was already pulled up. They only had to get her to it.
Together they tossed Harmony into the back to slide into a silent, white-faced Jack. Furious, the woman kicked at him until he pulled himself away. Michael was already in the front seat, and Bill ignored him.
“Good man.” Bill clapped Sean over the shoulder, shutting the van and motioning Jillian to head back to Opti without them. He needed some time to think about how to handle Michael. This attempted end run had him worried. “You want some coffee?” he said to Sean, leading him away from the van. “I need some coffee. Did you have fun? How did it feel to fire that gun for real?”
Sean’s eyes flicked over his shoulder to the van, and then to his hands, spotted with Harmony’s blood. “I don’t know, sir. Can I get back to you on that?”
Bill laughed, but inside, he stewed. It was obvious that Jack had teamed up with Harmony to put an end to Michael, changing his story when it suited him to keep his ass out of a cell. Bill couldn’t fault him for that. He wanted to put an end to the dangerous, fickle man himself. But not yet. Not yet.
He needed Peri first.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
Jack stumbled when the guard shoved him. His hands were cuffed in front of him, and his shoulder hurt. That Bill hadn’t believed him wasn’t a surprise, but it left him thinking he should have shot Bill when he’d had the chance. Even with Michael drafting to rub it out, he would have had the satisfaction of having done it.
Even if it didn’t change where I am now, he thought as the man behind him jerked him to a stop before the first of two cells. His head came up, and he stiffened. Harmony was in there.
“Oh, hell no,” Jack said, turning to the guard. “I want my own cell.”
Harmony sat up from the single cot, rumpled in her black suit and smiling in a not very nice way. “Hello-o-o-o, Jack,” she said, hitting his name hard.
“I’m serious!” Jack protested, and the guard unlocked the door and pushed him in.
“Bill doesn’t want you to get lonely,” the man said, ignoring Jack’s cuffed hands as he wedged them through the bars to be unlocked. “Have fun,” he called over his shoulder as he left.
It felt as if something was crawling down his spine. Cuffs clinking, Jack turned to find it was Harmony’s stare.
She stood at the back of the one-person, ten-by-twelve cell, her hip cocked and her arms over her chest. “Wishes do come true,” she said lightly, a seriously pissed look in her eyes.
“Harmony,” he said, trying for calm but knowing it probably came across as pleading. “You don’t know what’s going on. I can explain,” he said, cuffed hands up in placation.
“Yeah.” She let her arms dangle, hands clenching into fists. “I want to hear that.” Expression ugly, she came at him, aiming a side kick at his gut.
“Hey!” Jack hopped back, cuffed hands trying to block it with some success. “Will you just listen?”
Eyes wide, he back-pedaled, but there was nowhere to go, and her roundhouse hit his arms, which he’d brought up to save his face. He was too slow to react, and her back kick slammed into his middle, flinging him into the wall.
Eyes watering, he slid to the floor, clutching his chest and trying to breathe.
“Are you okay?”
Bleary, he looked up, seeing Harmony leaning close over him.
“I said, are you okay?” she repeated, touching his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
He managed a breath, trying to smile. “Yes. Damn woman. What is wrong—”
He gasped, ducking as she hauled off and hit him right in the jaw. “Ow!” he shouted, cowering as she smacked him again. “What the fuck?”
“How about now?” Again she leaned over him, her anger easier to see now that he could breathe. “You still okay?”
“No!” Pissed, he pushed her away and she shoved him back, thumping his head into the wall.
“You sure?” she asked. “You look okay to me.”
“Knock it off!” he shouted, swinging his legs to cut her feet out from under her. She fell with a little shriek, and he decided to stay where he was on the floor. “Shit, woman. I was trying to save your life!”
Still on the floor, she kicked at him. “You never had any intention of helping me get Michael.”
Feeling like a school-yard bully, he kicked back, but it
was more threat than action. “I never promised I’d help you get Michael. I told you I was after Peri. If I’d taken a shot at Bill or Michael, Michael would have drafted. Fixed it.” She’d gotten to her feet, and he looked up at her. She was still mad, but at least she wasn’t kicking him. “And that’s exactly what happened when you shot Michael in the chest. He drafted. Me pretending to be there to give you up was the only way I could think of to stay at large.” His eyes fell. “And even that didn’t work.”
“Always thinking about yourself.” Harmony felt her side where she’d fallen. “I didn’t shoot Michael. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.”
“You did.” Shit, she loosened a tooth. Disgusted, he spit out a wad of blood. “In the first draft. Next time aim for his head or he’ll just jump to fix it. The only other way to kill a drafter is to do it in a rewrite. I was trying to save your life. Both our lives.”
Harmony paced, arms over her chest. “My first husband was good at lying,” she said, motion slowing. “My anger at him was what got me through the crap the CIA makes their women recruits swim through.”
Jack stiffened as she dropped to crouch before him, grabbing him by the shirtfront. But he’d lived his life with volatile women, and he knew if she wanted to hurt him, she’d still be kicking him.
“I can smell a lie before it comes out of your mouth, white-bread boy,” she said, squinting evilly at him.
“Yeah?” he panted, uncomfortable in the angle at which she was holding him. If she had cracked a rib, they’d take him to the infirmary, wouldn’t they?
Harmony dropped him with a huff, drawing back to stand over him. “But I can’t tell with you.” Her head tilted, and she eyed him again. “You need some help with those cuffs?” she asked, her voice softening.
Jack looked at them, then back at her. “Sure?” he said hesitantly, and held them out.
Sighing heavily, Harmony slid down the wall to sit beside him. Drawing her knees to her chest, she hid her face.