Dead Aim

  “Even if you'd taken their pictures, your equipment is buried beneath that landslide.”

  She made a face. “I can't see you letting that stop you if you were convinced the dam was sabotaged. You'd bring in the cranes and every federal security organization in the country. Right?”

  “Right.” Leopold smiled. “But you didn't take their pictures, and all the experts are still saying there was no sabotage. We've never found proof that Nader's helicopter was brought down. So all we have is an attempt on your life.” He held up his hand. “I don't want to minimize the seriousness of that, you understand.”

  “I know.” Leopold was a good guy and he had been as sympathetic and helpful as he could during the last few days. “The proof's got to be there.”

  “Then maybe the FBI can find it.” The phone rang and he answered it. A moment later he handed the phone to her. “Speak of the devil. Bob Jurgens. He wants to talk to you. Remember him? I introduced you to him at the hospital.”

  “Why shouldn't I remember him? I wasn't that banged up.” She remembered Jurgens very well. Smooth, polite, and very disapproving.

  Jurgens's voice was just as disapproving when she took the phone from Leopold. “I understand you're not having much luck with identifying the men who attacked you. I think you'd better reconsider our offer to put you in protective custody. A safe house is the obvious solution. I have just the place that—”

  “No. Not only no, but hell, no.” Her hand tightened on the phone. Why wouldn't he leave her alone? “Maybe I didn't make myself clear. Arapahoe Junction isn't that much different than what happened at WTC. You give in to people like this and let them change your life and they win. I won't let them win.”

  “I'm sorry to hear you say that. I hope Leopold can persuade you to change your mind. I'll be in touch.”

  She handed the phone back to Leopold. “He wants to put me in some safe house and let me twiddle my thumbs while he completes his investigation.”

  “So I understand. Personally, I don't care much for those by-the-book FBI agents, but he appears to be very thorough and he's got a team out there scouring the entire crash area.”

  “He said he hoped you could convince me to let him tuck me away. Does he have you in his pocket?”

  Leopold shook his head. “We try to work together, but we run our own show. I admit he did call and suggest I try to influence you. The safe house isn't a bad idea.”

  “It's a very bad idea.” She stood up. “And it probably originated with John Logan.” She shook her head as she translated a flicker of expression on Leopold's face. “You too?”

  “He talked to me. I didn't think you'd go along with it. I told him we had your security well in hand.”

  “So you're responsible for that blue unmarked Toyota that's been following me since I left the hotel this morning?”

  He grinned. “Busted. But how do you know it's not someone more sinister than my humble self?”

  “That's why I'm telling you about it. Is it a Toyota?”

  He nodded as he picked up the phone and dialed a number. “What color and model car are we using for the surveillance on Alex Graham?” He listened. “And the license number?” He jotted the number down on his pad. “Thanks.” He handed Alex the slip of paper. “This one is ours. If you suspect anyone else is following you, then get on the phone and call me right away.”

  “Don't worry.” She tucked the note in her purse. “I'll yell if I even get a glimmer I'm in danger. I believe in letting the police earn those tax dollars. Particularly when it means keeping my neck intact.” She moved toward the door. “Thanks for everything, Detective.”

  “Thank you.” Leopold walked her out of the office and down the steps. “I'll just see you to your car. Wouldn't want you to be cheated out of those tax dollars.”

  Alex glanced in the rearview mirror as she turned the corner and approached the Golden Nugget Hotel.

  The blue Toyota was still behind her, keeping a discreet one-block distance.

  She turned left, went down the underground parking ramp, and parked beside the elevator doors. She glanced quickly around before getting out and punching the button for the elevator.

  She tensed.

  Another car was coming down the ramp.

  The elevator doors opened and she quickly stepped inside and pushed the button for the seventh floor.

  No response.

  She pushed the button again.

  The car was closer, coming down the last curve in the ramp.

  Her hand reached inside her bag for her .38 revolver. Dammit, why didn't the doors of the elevator—

  She stabbed the button again.

  The car on the ramp came into view.

  It was the blue Toyota.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and released the grasp on her gun to wave at the driver behind the wheel.

  He waved back. He parked in a space a short distance away as she punched the elevator button one more time.

  At last the elevator doors slid shut.

  Lester muttered a curse as he threw the radio-control device on the seat beside him. What the hell had happened? Decker had promised him the elevator doors would jam if he pressed the damn switch. He should have known better than to trust anyone but himself. Fucking screwup. Now he'd have to find a way to get into Graham's hotel room.

  He got out of the blue Toyota and strode toward the bank of elevators. He had to move fast. He pressed the button for the elevator. He didn't know how much time he had left before—

  The doors of the elevator opened.

  “Pardon me.”

  He whirled to see a man coming down the emergency stairs.

  “I do hate to spoil your plans,” the man said softly. “But I really can't let you get in that elevator.”

  Shit. Cop?

  Lester's hand dove into his jacket for his holstered Glock.

  “Too late.” Morgan shot him in the head.

  Alex was just picking the phone up to call Sarah when the fire alarms in the hall started wailing.

  She stiffened. A little too convenient? A fire was a great way to get someone out of a hotel room. She dialed the front desk. Busy.

  She dialed Leopold at the precinct. “There's a fire alarm going off at my hotel. Will you check and see if it's legitimate?”

  “I'm on it.” He hung up.

  Well, if the alarm was legitimate she wasn't going to stay here and burn up. She'd already gotten her handbag and camera equipment from the bedroom when the phone rang.

  “The fire department is on the way. The hotel called and reported a fire in a car in the underground lot,” Leopold said when she picked up. “It reached the gas tank and exploded. The smoke has entered the ventilating system. They're afraid there will be other explosions down there, so they're evacuating the hotel.”

  She headed for the door. “Then I'm out of here.”

  “Good idea. I'll have an officer meet you in the lobby.”

  The hall was only a little smoky, but it was filled with people heading for the emergency stairs at the end of the corridor.

  “This way.” A teenage boy was motioning her forward. “Don't be scared. It's only seven stories. We'll get out.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I'm sure we will.” She started down the concrete steps. “You go on. I'll be fine.”

  “No, I'll stay with you.”

  “Joseph.” A middle-aged woman was motioning him to come. “We don't want to get separated.”

  The teenager frowned. “She's alone, Mom. She might need help.”

  Sweet kid. “Go on,” Alex said. “I'm coming. I promise I won't panic.”

  “Joseph.” The boy's mother's voice was shrill. She was being pushed against the wall as more people flooded the steps from the exits on the other floors.

  “Okay. Okay.” Joseph suddenly grabbed Alex's arm and pulled her down the stairs. “Come on. You gotta come with us.”

  “Really, I'll be fine. You don't—” She stopped arguing. The impor
tant thing was for all of them to get out of there.

  Fifth floor.

  The smoke was getting worse.

  Fourth floor.

  She could barely move in the shuffling crowd.

  Third floor.

  “Stand to one side, please. We have to get up the stairs.” It was a fireman pushing his way up the stairwell. “There's been another fire reported on the fourth floor.”

  She moved to huddle against the wall with the rest of the people on the stairs.

  The fireman was below her, then beside her. He started to go past her and then stopped abruptly. The firefighter had cool blue eyes and a hard face, but his gaze was concerned as it searched her face. “You okay, ma'am? Are your lungs burning? You look like the smoke has gotten to you.”

  “I scarcely—”

  He reached out and took her wrist.

  Warmth. Strength. Safety.

  His fingers moved to the inside of her wrist. “Your pulse is going crazy. Do you have asthma or any respiratory problems?”

  “No, nothing like—”

  Christ, she was dizzy. Her knees were buckling. . . .

  But he was catching her. “Don't you worry, ma'am. I'll take good care of you.”

  Cool blue eyes.

  No, cold blue eyes, icy blue eyes . . .

  Music.

  Ravel, she recognized dimly. She liked Ravel. Dad had liked it too. He hadn't cared for many classical selections, but he'd said Ravel was full of thunder. . . .

  Like her head. Damn, it was pounding.

  “Open your eyes. I've got something that will make you feel better.”

  She slowly opened her eyes.

  Blue eyes. The fireman with blue eyes.

  “It's only aspirin.” He was holding a glass of water and two pills. “It will take care of the headache.”

  “I'll vote for that.” She swallowed the aspirins and water and handed the glass back to him. He wasn't dressed in the fireman's uniform anymore. He wore a red flannel shirt and jeans, but he still had that air of complete confidence that had impressed her on the stairs.

  Stairs. She came abruptly wide awake. She wasn't in the stairwell any longer. She was lying on a couch. She looked beyond him to see a fire leaping briskly in a huge stone fireplace that climbed to a rough-hewn beamed ceiling.

  Definitely not a hotel room.

  “Where am I?”

  He set the glass down on the end table. “At a lodge in the mountains.”

  “What?”

  “The situation was heating up. It was necessary that I get you out of sight for a while.”

  She sat up on the couch. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Judd Morgan. Don't worry, I'm no threat to you.”

  And she was supposed to believe him? Even when she'd been only half conscious she was aware of—what? Coldness, confidence, an overpowering presence.

  He nodded as he saw her expression. “Considering the company you've been keeping lately, I don't wonder you're suspicious. But if I'd meant you any harm, I'd have had every opportunity to put you down while you were sleeping.”

  “And why was I sleeping? I felt perfectly normal. I shouldn't have fallen—”

  “Just a harmless sedative, but it kept you out for the length of time I needed it to. I had to get you out of there and in a safe environment, and that was the most efficient way to do it.”

  “A sedative? You knocked me out?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, the most innocuous way of accomplishing an end. Even the headache will be gone soon.”

  “Why would you do that?” A phrase suddenly sank home. “Safe environment?” Anger was quickly replacing the shock. “My God, are you with the police or FBI? I told them I wouldn't go along with—” He was shaking his head. “Then why the devil would you do something like this?”

  “John Logan made me an offer I couldn't refuse.”

  She looked at him incredulously. “He paid you to do this?”

  “Well, he didn't tell me to snatch you. Only to make sure you were safe and his wife would know that.” He smiled. “Unfortunately, I couldn't do one without the other.”

  “You bastard. Kidnapping is a federal offense.”

  He nodded. “So I've heard.” He moved across the room toward the kitchenette. “I've got a stew on the stove. It should be ready in fifteen minutes if you want to wash up.”

  “I don't want to wash up. I'm getting out of here.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, not possible. You don't know where you are, and I have the keys to the Land Rover outside. You could try to walk, but it's started to snow and you'd probably not make it to anywhere near civilization before you got hypothermia.” He glanced at her handbag lying on the coffee table. “Oh, and I took the gun and telephone out of your bag. I didn't think photographers carried deadly weapons as a rule, but I guess your work has taken you into some hot spots.” He moved over to the stove. “Fifteen minutes.”

  She stared at Morgan in rage and frustration. She wanted to murder him. “They'll be looking for you. Leopold was sending an officer to meet me in the lobby.”

  He nodded.

  “I'm not going to put up with this. I won't be kept a prisoner so some son of a bitch like you can earn a few bucks.”

  He didn't answer.

  She had another thought. “Jesus, you set that hotel on fire, didn't you?”

  “Just your rental car in the parking garage. I parked it far enough away from the other cars so that it wouldn't cause more than a minor problem.”

  “Just? Minor problem?” She was working her way through the scenario. “You had it all planned. You were probably the one who called the fire department. You even had a fireman's uniform ready. Why?”

  He didn't look up from the stew he was stirring. “I always believe in being prepared. Your father was a fireman. I knew you'd be suspicious of anyone else, but you'd instinctively trust anyone who wore the uniform.”

  She felt a chill go through her as she remembered how safe she'd felt when he touched her wrist in that stairwell. He had thought it all out and come up with a plan that had caught her at her most vulnerable.

  She shook her head. “I still can't believe Logan would authorize a kidnapping.”

  “I told you, he didn't exactly authorize it. I just made it part of the deal that he'd cover any action I thought necessary to protect you.” He shrugged. “There was an outside chance that you might not even have had to know I was around. But when I saw the way the situation was shaping up, I knew I had to get you away.”

  “I don't need you. I'm being protected by the police.”

  He shook his head.

  “Call Detective Leopold. He'll tell you. Hell, they've been following me for two days.”

  “I know. Blue Toyota. Two officers.”

  She nodded. “One even followed me back to the hotel tonight.”

  He shook his head. “They were taken out in the parking lot across from the precinct while you were inside this afternoon. The Toyota was driven out of the parking lot fifteen minutes after you went into the precinct, but not by the same men who drove it in. They went to the hotel and the driver left his partner there to do some fine-tuning to the elevator, then went back to the parking lot and waited for you to come out.”

  “What?”

  “They were both very good, very professional. I was impressed.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You're saying that they killed the officers who were following me and took their place?”

  He nodded. “There wasn't time or opportunity to get rid of the bodies, so I imagine they're in the trunk of the Toyota.”

  She shook her head. “I don't believe you.”

  “You will. It will just take a little while. Why should I lie?”

  “I don't know. Any more than I know why you should tell me the truth.”

  He looked down at the stew. “Ten minutes,” he said quietly. “Your bedroom is down the hall to the left. I don't have any clothes for you, so I
put some of my stuff in your bureau drawer. You'll have to make do. I'm afraid I was a little unprepared. I didn't want it to come to this.”

  She slowly rose to her feet. “I'm going to make your life hell. This isn't going to be worth your while.”

  “You may be right. You've already caused me more problems than you know.”

  “Good.” She grabbed her purse and camera bag, strode down the hall, and slammed the door of the bedroom. A moment later she was splashing water on her face in the adjoining bathroom. She wiped her face on the guest towel and then went into the bedroom and stared out at the heavily falling snow. Between the darkness and the snow she could barely see the mountains.

  She doubted if the cold water was going to make her any sharper or more able to cope. She was still feeling fuzzy from that blasted sedative. What the devil had he given her?

  Okay, try to think. This entire episode was like something from a bad movie. She went to the bed and checked her purse. No gun, no phone. Nothing that even resembled a weapon, unless you counted a ballpoint pen.

  But there were probably knives in the kitchen.

  She'd always hated the thought of knife wounds. She might not have to use a weapon. It was clear Morgan was intelligent enough to respect a threat. Play the situation by ear.

  Logan. He was the one who'd hired Morgan. He could fire him. That was another path she could explore.

  Well, she couldn't accomplish anything by hiding here in the bedroom. She would face him, learn as much as she could from him, and then find a way to get out of here.

  Decker watched the two morgue attendants slide Lester's body into the hearse.

  What the hell had happened?

  A cold chill went through him. It didn't matter what had happened. The woman was gone. Lester was dead and the police would probably ID him within hours. Powers would be furious.

  Okay, think fast. Damage control. Find a hook and wriggle out from beneath the censure and punishment to come. He had to cover his ass.

  Find the hook.