Approximately thirty seconds after climbing into the Mercedes, Laine’s brain caught up with her. Jon Gold was not a person she knew in any but the broadest sense of the term. He had no reason she could see for doling out assistance. Especially at his own risk. If not for the initial bewilderment of shots fired in so public a place, she would never have ventured down that corridor with him. Moreover, how and why had he acted with greater speed than her security team? A missing link stood out glaringly among the facts of the action, and she had a strong feeling its name was “Joe.”
It all came down to money, assuming she had the right of it. What she had overheard hinted strongly at a criminal exchange of dollars for services rendered that resulted in more dollars for both involved parties. It could not have anything to do with standard donations to the charity; otherwise, why would the man have acted so concerned about retaining anonymity? Most of the high-roller brand wanted recognition for contributing serious amounts of cash to worthy causes. And if the charity was so strapped for funds, why hadn’t she heard anything about it before? Most condemning of all, however, was Joe’s mention of “return payments.” That factoid erased all contrived guiltlessness of the conversation’s contents. And one well-framed question could lend confirmation.
Speaking of which…
She turned toward the golden-headed singer slouched thoughtfully at the other end of the Mercedes’ leather backseat. “Jonny, have you noticed anything…off…about Joe lately? He seemed…well, I heard him say some things.”
His attention snapped to her. If she hadn’t been looking for it, she might have missed the look of cold calculation that flashed across hazel before settling into innocent query. “Pardon?”
So Laine had her answer. Part of her immediately regretted the inquiry. Tipping her hand even a little likely placed her in greater jeopardy, but she needed to know Jonny’s level of involvement. From his initial reaction, she guessed it went deep.
“Never mind. I’m sure it’s nothing,” she shrugged with forced bemusement. Let him think she had missed the significance of the exchange entirely. “Oh, but I’d better let Mitchell know I’m safe before he starts turning the city inside and out.”
That last sounded extreme for Mitchell. Still, she imagined the likelihood of his finally taking safety over image seriously had grown quite a bit after witnessing an assault first hand. Maybe this was what it took to rattle him. Then again, maybe not.
“Do you have a cell phone I could borrow?” She added a soft, helpless laugh. “I didn’t think I’d need mine.”
Jonny shot her a rueful grin. “Sorry, Jace. Left mine at home too. When we stop, I’ll find you a phone somewhere.”
Two obvious lies blasted his answer apart. Well, three—Laine doubted he was sorry. The outline of a phone stood out clearly in his jacket pocket. Moreover, she had spotted the driver’s cell sticking out of a cup-holder up front. Jonny didn’t give her powers of observation much credit. She would keep that in mind. As advantages went, it was nothing to sneeze at.
Perhaps she could have at least indicated her awareness of the driver’s cell phone, but she wanted to keep Jonny in the dark as much as possible. The more he underestimated her, the better her chances of getting away. And she planned to get away. Not only that, but she planned on taking as much evidence with her as she could gather about whatever it was he and Joe were involved in. There was little doubt in her mind now that they were behind the attempts on her life.
Why, of course, remained the biggest concern. Joe, if not Jonny, knew of the provision in her will that left Yellow Brick Road an exorbitant number of dollar signs. The exchange she had overheard sounded an awfully lot like an investment deal, so they were clearly looking to raise funds. For what, though? Until she found that answer, a gaping hole marred the puzzle of the last few weeks. And the final piece would probably cost her.
Except that she had nothing to lose. Life as she knew it was finished. The most sensible road left to her stalkers was the one where they made her disappear while hiding their involvement. Either they took her out of the game, or she took them out first.
She wished help was coming, accepted that it wasn’t. She refused to think further along than that. Unless someone had seen her leave with Jonny, her security people wouldn’t know where to start their search—assuming they were even in a position to come after her. And Kyle—
Her stomach heaved and for a moment, she thought she might throw up. Doggedly, she pushed all thought aside and concentrated on what she did know: sooner or later, the car would have to stop. She would play dumb until that happened. And she would pray Jonny didn’t have a gun.
***
Kevin Briggs was at a loss. Despite their best efforts, the situation had spun out of hand with astounding neatness. He still couldn’t pin down how. The venue was secure, all the guests registered, surveillance cameras in place, men present on the floor. None of it had done much good, not where it counted. Worse, with no Merrimac to call the shots, the responsibility now fell heavily on his own stiff shoulders.
While ordinarily this would not have posed a problem, investigation was not Briggs’s strong suit. He had served a stint with the Marines, could take orders and give them too. That did not make him feel any more comfortable throwing out directions that might get the singer killed. He had watched her long enough to recognize that she knew better than to take off on her own. Whatever had gone down, chances were good she was chin deep in trouble.
Mitchell Jansen’s snarls hardly helped the situation. The manager was absolutely livid that their team held a grand total of zero clues about Jacy’s whereabouts. The police detectives were no better. Not a single camera covered the section of room in which she had stood previous to the gunfire. Only through conjecture could they piece together what may or may not have happened after that. Because Hancock hadn’t seen a damned thing either.
In the immediate mayhem, Hancock had inserted himself between the assassins and their target, and then laid down a few well-placed leg shots that toppled the pair in ten seconds flat. The bulky guard could certainly shoot—much more accurately than his beefed up build suggested—and his decision was defensible. Unfortunately, those scant seconds provided all the time necessary for Jacy to vanish.
Their best chance at recovering her might lie in the hands of Porter, Mercier, and whatever useful information they brought to light. In the interim, Briggs checked and rechecked the video records from his laptop while Hancock and the police canvassed the crowd for a lead. Someone had to have seen something.
Over and over, he watched the killers enter the ballroom and make their way across the floor. If they had a third party working with them, their accomplice blended too completely for him to detect. Or maybe they were already inside among the guests. In the next series of frames, he could see Merrimac smoothly part the crowd on his way to check out their suspects.
And then running.
And then falling.
Over and over and over again. Until the scene lost its affect.
Switching cameras, he chose the one closest to the spot where Jacy had disappeared. Nothing about that part of the crowd stood out either. Determined, he scanned the shocked faces. There. He recognized that one. A friend of hers, from what he’d seen. Maybe he had noticed something.
Glad for a legitimate reason to put some distance between himself and the raging manager, presently giving all hell to the detective in charge, Briggs strode back into the corridor that led to the ballroom. With any luck, Bobashank was still inside.
***
It took much longer than she anticipated but finally, just when she felt certain cold anxiety had worn chinks in her otherwise blasé expression, the car began to slow. Jostling a little from side to side, the Mercedes pulled into the pitted gravel parking lot of a run-down motel just off Highway 94 on the outskirts of Jamul. Any move she made would have to come quickly. Each mile brought them nearer the Mexican border.
The proximity did not bode well for her prospects.
Her only other opportunity for escape had come over an hour ago, when necessity forced a stop for gasoline at a 7-11 near San Diego. During their drive, Jonny had launched into an intricate explanation concerning plans for her continued safety. He suggested she leave the L.A. area prior to contacting her people, and when that vital phone call was placed, he insisted he be the one to do it. Playing along seemed the best course of action until she could signal someone for help. The gas station seemed the likeliest place. Unfortunately, Jonny had locked her inside with the driver while he located a payphone, and not a single patron approached the 7-11 in all that time.
Frustration had eaten away at her, urging her to take a chance before it was too late. Still, the small part of her brain that controlled her urge to run every time her feet hit center-stage held her back. She was no secret agent, no martial arts specialist. With the limited skill-set at her disposal, her only shot was getting the timing right. Otherwise, she would have no chance at escaping pursuit. And there was no doubt there would be pursuit.
When Jonny returned, it was to say he had contacted Mitchell after getting the number from his own agent—stupidly, she had Mitchell’s contact information saved in her cell phone and therefore had not bothered to memorize it. Her manager was supposedly relieved and urged her to hole up someplace safe until the proper authorities arrived.
She knew all of this was another in a long series of lies. Jonny had not contacted Mitchell, nor did he plan to. And even if by some extreme chance he had made contact, then either Mitchell had turned idiot, or he was in on the whole thing. Neither option sat well with her. Her first phone call, after she figured a way out of this mess, would be to the police, and not just because she didn’t require a cell phone to keep track of their number.
A tap at her shoulder yanked her attention back onto the current bane of her existence. Somewhere along the line, Jonny had taken over the role from Robin Kasey. “Hey, I’m gonna get us a room and give it a quick once over. Stay in the car ’til I give the go ahead. And hey, cheer up. We’re in the home stretch now. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Hard to worry when you’re dead, she smirked through a touch of morbid amusement.
“Thanks, Jonny,” she said aloud. “I really appreciate your help.”
Like hell she did.
Another empty parking lot, another chance lost. She was running out of options more quickly than they appeared. For obvious reasons, this was a substantial problem. If she did not develop a new plan and soon, the clock would wipe any last, infinitesimal opportunity off the map.
Time and distance were the foremost factors in achieving an exit strategy that gave her the best chance at success. The more time she wrangled before someone discovered her missing, the more distance she could put between herself and pursuit. With enough time and distance, she could call up help while giving it a chance to arrive.
Any ideal scenario, however, now seemed doubtful. She would have to make do with what she had, before she had nothing. If she could just get them to leave her alone, even for a minute…but the likelihood of that happening was slim to none. Now that Jonny had her, he would exercise every caution he could afford. And he could afford quite a lot of caution at this point. He held all the cards. It was her job to make him hand over the trump. Every trick counted.
She was not without a few assets. Jonny didn’t know she knew anything was amiss. He might guess it though. She was in superb physical condition, could run three miles in under twenty minutes, and her front thrust kick packed a punch. Thanks to the media, this last was virtually common knowledge. She did have a face people recognized. There was little he could do about that. Not in a public environment. She was also wearing an outfit that stood out like a dissonant chord this close to the border. Any onlookers would have to be blind to miss her sleek, steely blue sheath dress and four-inch sandal pumps. They were hardly desert-wear.
Perhaps she should slip out of the car and make a run for it. Only there was nowhere to go. The truck stop across the street might offer some shelter, but she doubted she could make it there without cuing Jonny to drastic action. The same would come from causing a scene in front of motel management.
Her gut insisted she play along a while longer, that this was not the right moment to bust a move. Countless hours of dance said that timing was what landed a jump, or instigated injury. Instinct kept the whole routine moving. If she wavered at all, concentrated too closely on what she wanted to accomplish, everything would fall apart.
Personally, she preferred that not happen.
The cracked door of the rust-stained adobe building swung open and Jonny made his way back to his very out of place Mercedes. It didn’t belong, she didn’t belong, and frankly even he didn’t belong. Someone was bound to notice. Dark sunglasses obstructed his optical focus, but Laine felt certain it centered on her. She settled for a look of impatience, entangled with irritated reproach at their present locale. Let him misinterpret the reason for her aggravation with his oh-so-grand plan.
A nod toward the driver sent her window rolling downward and she glared out at him. “What the hell are we doing here? We should have headed straight to a police station. There are army bases that are closer. I understand wanting to keep a low profile, but this is ridiculous.”
He slipped his shades up to perch atop his head and lifted the corner of his mouth in a cocky little grin. “Jansen wanted you to trust me, remember? He’s sending a car for us. They’ll meet us here within a couple of hours. So relax, Jace. I’ve got this under control.”
Under cover of a heavy sigh, she pushed at the door. To her surprise, it actually opened. The driver must have unlocked it at Jonny’s reappearance. Pushing to her feet, Laine sighed again and squared her shoulders. “I assume we’re going in?”
That infuriating grin flashed again and Jonny raised a key that dangled from a neon pink plastic paddle. “Room 122. We’ll head in the back way.”
Even more annoyed at his ploy to avoid the desk manager, Laine followed a few haughty steps behind. The minor tantrum disguised her own scheme: memorizing the layout of both building and deserted stretch of desolate wild. When the time to run finally came, she wanted to know where she was, and what led where.
They arrived at the door almost too quickly, though at the least it was positioned down a short hall that led out of the Mercedes’ line of sight. That facet might come in handy.
Hunching over slightly, Jonny fitted the key to the lock and twisted. The door creaked open. Laine winced. That sound would not be easily disguised. Clearly, she was not going to catch a break here.
“Fortunately, we won’t be here long,” Jonny shrugged in apology. “Not even a television. Phone doesn’t work either. It’s safe enough, though. No one will ever think of looking for you here.”
Therein undoubtedly lay the problem.
“It’s fine,” Laine brushed past him. Unless she completely missed her guess, Jonny had disabled the phone on his initial visit. Since he had thought this detail necessary, she hoped it meant he might be planning on leaving her on her own, long enough for her to contemplate a phone call. The thought almost made her giddy. This room might make all the difference.
“Can I get you anything?”
She simply stared at him.
“Stupid question,” he snorted. “Not much around here worth the getting. I need to run over a couple of things with Phil and see about finding a working phone, so will you be all right if I leave you on your own for a few? Shouldn’t take long.”
Frowning, Laine nibbled at her lip. “You’re sure no one followed us?”
“Positive.”
Slowly, she exhaled. “I’ll be fine. Just, would you mind calling Marshall again? See how long this’ll take?”
“First call on my list.”
When the door fell shut behind him and the lock snapped back into place, Laine smiled and dead-bolted the door. Then with two long strides, she crossed toward the window.
***
He was awake. Awake, and seriously pissed off. The white walls that enclosed this room looked like giant slates that accused failure on top of failure. Until this moment, he had never doubted his team’s ability to complete the job. And yet, here they were.
If they had anticipated another attack, if they had at all doubted their skills and strategies in the event of trouble, they would never have let her walk through those giant double doors. But the honest truth was that their confidence had cost them. They had misjudged the situation in every way that counted. Whatever happened next depended too much on factors over which they had no control. All because they had lost the focal point of their protective services.
That was part of the reason for his angry outlook. Mostly, though, he railed at his own stupidity. Despite everything he knew about staying close to the target, he had fallen for the trap. He had walked away. Ultimately, he had no one to blame but himself.
Outside the industrial steel framed window, traffic buzzed and screeched along the well-trekked boulevard. Life went on as it always did, regardless of what happened in the quiet corners of individual life. The world didn’t hold its breath for anyone these days, or if it did, the moment passed by more quickly than it had come. There were errands to run, phone calls to make, work to get done. The plight of a star singer hardly felt real by contrast.
He registered the thud of footsteps outside the door just before a tight rap sounded. “Yeah, come in.”
“Mer?” Briggs poked his head into the room, his face drawn and two shades paler than normal. Relief washed across the ex-soldier’s face when he saw his partner sitting up. Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched. “You look like hell.”
“Glad to see you too. What’s our situation?”
Briggs clomped across the compact space, settling onto the only other piece of furniture, a barely padded bedside chair. “Porter call?”
A short nod confirmed it.
“Then you know about Gold. Damn good thing Bobashank saw him leave with Jacy, or we’d never have run his name this fast. The LAPD have eyes out for the vehicle, a 2010 Mercedes E-Class Coupe, but Marshall tells me they’ve got nothing yet. If he was smart, Gold got out of town fast.”
“No,” Merrimac grunted. “The smart one’s whoever stayed behind. Unless Gold wants to pin the tail on himself, he’ll be back and soon.”
The other man looked away. “Not good for us.”
“What about the charity? Anything yet?”
“According to Bobashank, there’s a rumor going ’round that puts Gold in the middle of something big and illegal. Whatever it is, he’s been asking around for investors. Don’t know for sure about the charity. Porter’s reading through financial records right now. There has to be a connection in there somewhere, something that’ll connect Jacy and whoever else is in on this. Shouldn’t be too hard to see which direction the money’s flowing.”
Merrimac shook his head. “Not good enough. We don’t have time to waste here. There’s a bullet out there with our girl’s name on it. This isn’t about a ransom. My guess is we’ve got hours at best. Not enough to go around checking names, assuming the charity is even involved in the first place.”
“Shit.” Briggs rubbed a hand over his eyes. “We’re stuck in a maze, here. What the hell can we do?”
Merrimac wondered the same thing himself. His left side ached, a generalized throb that covered each of the baker’s dozen stitches clamping across his lower ribcage. He’d gotten very lucky with the bullet, a clean furrow that stung like a sonofa without the added hassle of having punctured something vital. It made him feel like an idiot for passing out. That rarely happened in the movies.
Shoving the pain to the back of his mind, he mentally reviewed the little information they had. Most importantly, Laine was outside their direct sphere of influence, and she’d last been seen with fellow celebrity Jonagold. No interaction between the two had been caught on camera, but street camera footage did show a silver Mercedes headed on the most direct route for I-5. Most likely the car was southbound for Mexico, although there was plenty of godforsaken desert available between LA and the border. His hunch said Jonny would drop her with an accomplice, sweep the car clean, and return on a roundabout way from the north. The accomplice would take care of the rest, preferably below the border, where any foul play was outside the jurisdiction of American lawyers.
Unfortunately, this was a best case scenario. And it made him sick to his stomach. Mostly because there was a whole hell of a lot of empty land south of the city and he didn’t even know where to start. No time, a few flimsy clues, and a hankering suspicion that all of this was his fault.
The nightmare was back, but without the boat and murky river water. Only miles of search grid and the knowledge that someone needed help before time ran out—and they drowned.
Grimly, he stared at the IV hooked into his arm. “I’m not sure we do anything.”
“What, so we just wait around for Gold?” Briggs spat his disbelief.
“I didn’t say that. You’re going to go wrangle me a nurse so I can get the hell out of here, and then you’re going to call Hancock. Have him drop off the truck.”
“We going somewhere?”
“South.”
After a moment, Briggs nodded. “If something changes, we’ll have a shot at being in position.”
Or way out of position. It was a gamble, for sure. Still, “big and illegal” in this part of the world smacked of a smuggling ring, which meant Jon Gold would know his way around the border. With security on the look out in Tijuana, Tecate became the likeliest border town with plenty of branching rural roads in the vicinity. If it were him making the drop-off, that was the direction he would head.
He just hoped Porter and Mercier could come up with something more concrete fast. Otherwise, they were flying blind, a dart hurled at the target in a pitch black room. If they believed in luck, they might have half a chance on principle.
But Merrimac didn’t believe in luck.
Neither would he bet someone’s life on it.
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