All the Way (9 page)

The plan was simple. Stay alive, retrieve Payton's calendar, and get her to the FBI headquarters in Columbia. Along the way, Adriano would get his story and try to figure out what was so important about Payton's planner. He'd been in worse predicaments with Jake, and he had no doubt he'd get out of this one in one piece. He looked forward to being instrumental in taking down Grazicky and his drug empire. What scared him was his rampantly growing attraction to Payton.

No woman had ever instantly revved his motor and fired him up so quickly. Everything about her was appealing. Mentally battered and physically beaten, she held her head high, keeping up with him every step of the way. Not once had she complained about their walk through the cornfields and farms on her aching feet. Other than the episode with the fire ants, she hadn't groused about anything. She trusted his decisions, depending on him to keep her safe.

Jake drove, with Adriano following the directions provided by Mr. Conners to the house where they would shelter until they could enact the next phase of their plan. Instead of running, they would root themselves on an obscure farm deep in the backwoods of South Carolina—let their chasers come to them, giving them the advantage of being familiar with the territory. Adriano could put safeguards in place. He couldn't do that if they kept running without a sense of direction. In the morning, Jake would return with the essentials they needed, and then they would map out their best route to Columbia. And there was still the matter of retrieving Payton's planner.

Jake drove quietly, not disturbing the contemplative mood inside the car, although Adriano caught him glancing in the rearview mirror at Payton every few miles. Payton's attention remained on the passing scenery. Turning her life over to the care of a man she hardly knew must have wrecked her. From the short time he'd known her, he'd found she was fiercely independent and strong. Her bravery was a front; he knew this from the brief peeks of her vulnerability. She'd hidden her tears when she weakened. Adriano wanted to tell her it was okay to be afraid. She could let her guard down with him. He would be strong when she needed him.

Adriano ended the silence of the drive when Jake pulled up to the huge colonial home hidden from the road by trees and a tobacco field. “How does Mr. Conners know these people?”

“They're distant relatives of his sister-in-law. No one could ever connect them back to him or the paper. He said Tom would treat you like family.”

Adriano got out of the car and opened the door for Payton while Jake popped the trunk.

“I'll be back tomorrow. The next day at the latest. If I don't show, know I'm being watched.”

“All right.” He reached through the window to pound fists with Jake.

“Grab the suitcase,” Jake said. “Payton, it's been interesting. Keep your head up.”

Adriano grabbed the suitcase from the trunk and rounded the car with Payton.

“One more thing,” Jake said, already rolling down the drive, “Mr. Conner told them you're married.”

Payton's mouth formed an O at the same time the front door swung open.

Chapter 10

Hiram wiped his nose with the back of his hand. As he aged, his allergies became worse: runny nose, itchy eyes—he wanted to get out of Charlotte as soon as possible. If things had gone as planned, he would be sitting on a beach, missing allergy season, and Grazicky would have Payton locked in one of the rooms of his Charlotte mansion—and would not be hounding his ass. Instead, his plans had been delayed by the police. He marveled over their willingness to die for a stranger. He'd come to the Adam's Mark with firepower two times the deadliness of police issue, but still they fought to keep their witness safe.

For this job Hiram needed the right crew. Grazicky had made it clear his life depended on assembling the perfect mix of ruthlessness and loyalty. As he watched the three people sitting around his hotel room, he was sure he had done it.

“What's the job?” Dan, always impatient, asked. There was a fine tremor to his body that never went away. Hiram suspected it had something to do with the reason Dan kept disappearing into the bathroom, but Dan was good at his work, and who was he to judge the man's recreational activities? His skill at tracking people who did not want to be found was invaluable for this job.

“I need you to find someone.” Hiram reached for a tissue and blew his nose.

Dan looked around the room. “What are
they
doing here? I work alone.”

“Marvin is here because once you do your job, he'll step in.”

Marvin concentrated on the television news and not on what was being said around him. When the time came, he would step in and do what he'd been hired for: eliminate the problem and discard the remains. A direct opposite of nervous Dan, Marvin could sit in front of the television for hours without twitching.

“I guess my skills are needed somewhere in the middle.” Kellie hopped up from the bed and ran her hands down the sleek lines of her thighs. Hiram mentally salivated as he watched her red fingertips move across the black leather pants.

“I want you close to me,” he answered with a double meaning not lost on anyone in the room. “If I don't get this job done . . . Well, let's just say I need the best. Kellie, your skills are widely varied and highly necessary.”

“How much?” Dan asked, a fretful edge to his voice. His fingers trembled as he raked them through his hair.

“Ten thousand apiece. An extra five to whoever delivers her.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars? And we don't even have to kill her?” Marvin's attention turned from the television. “Who the hell we after?”

Hiram opened a manila envelope and dropped several photos of Payton onto the bed, spreading them out so everyone had a good look at her.

“What did she do?” Dan asked. “Dump your sorry butt?”

Kellie did not join the others in laughing.

“Don't worry about what she did,” Hiram snapped. Truthfully, he wasn't certain himself. Grazicky said she had something on him, but Hiram thought it had more to do with his meal ticket—wife—finding out he had a thing for Payton. “Since when do you have to know that before taking a job?”

Kellie studied the picture, jealousy forming within the squint of her eyes. She wished they had finished the job at the hotel. She reminded Hiram every chance she got that she hated working with this crew.

“What's her name?” Marvin asked, glancing away from the television.

Hiram answered, “Payton Vaughn.”

Marvin snatched up one of the photos. “She runs that swanky club—Skye.”

“This is a job for Grazicky?” Dan asked excitedly. “No wonder the take is so high.”

“Don't ask too many questions,” Hiram warned. “Get the job done. I'll handle Grazicky.”

Anxious to get started, Dan went to work. “Any idea where she might be?”

“That's what you're here for.” Hiram pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket. “She left in this SUV. Find it, find the driver, and you'll find Payton Vaughn.”

Dan and Marvin left the hotel room without another word. Fifteen thousand dollars was good money; finding her first would pay off nicely.

Kellie shoved the photos off the bed, scattering them onto the floor. “Bitch,” she said, plopping down on the mattress.

Hiram liked her when she was mad. Sex was better—much better. He lay down next to the hellcat, working his pants open.

“And what happens if we don't get her?” Kellie asked, pulling her shirt over her head.

“Don't worry about it.” He tugged at her leather pants.

“Grazicky is dangerous. We have to be ready to get out of here if things go bad.”

Hiram worked his way between her legs, grabbing his penis and shoving it home. “We'll finish the job and leave on our own terms. I won't—run—from—Gra—zicky,” he said, thrusting into her.

Kellie's nails bit into his back. “You have a plan, baby?”

“Oh—yeah.”

 

 

Jake worked all night to verify the plans for Adriano and Payton's safe passage to Columbia. He'd obtained an untraceable satellite phone and fake identification. Creating Payton's had been costly. She had no personal belongings, and therefore Jake'd had to stand on the side of the road and take a Polaroid of her. She had no identification, and his contact was growing wary of the strange man from Chicago; he'd charged double the going rate.

Jake found a junk car lot and purchased a beat-up 1983 two-tone Ford Thunderbird. The souped-up engine would give Adriano the power he needed to lose anyone chasing them. The beaten exterior fit in well with the simple, non-flashy ways of the locals. He had to spend another couple hundred dollars to get a title, registration, insurance, and plates from the seller, but he'd done it without leaving a paper trail. After buying the car and phone, the IDs depleted his expense money, and he'd had to contact Mr. Conners for more funds.

Mr. Conners wired cash and increased the limits on Jake's credit cards—enough to finance the rest of this adventure. No doubt, Mr. Conners had grown used to his two star investigative reporters getting into trouble. Jake couldn't remember the last time they'd made deadline. They had been placed on a strict expense budget after Adriano wrecked a vintage Corvette doing their last story. Every story they proposed had to be cleared by the senior editor
and
Mr. Conners himself.

The other reporters envied their clout with Mr. Conners, always asking why the two hadn't been fired long ago. It was simple: they wrote award-winning exposés for the Chicago paper. They made their way up the ranks by agreeing to do stories other reporters shied away from because they were too dangerous. Their methods might be unorthodox, and Mr. Conners the only one able to control them, but they did their jobs well.

Jake prepared the two suitcases he would deliver to Adriano in the morning. Inside he had clothing for them both, toiletries, and every document they would need to maintain their cover. If they could make it to Columbia safely, they would be out of reach of Grazicky's men. If they could figure out what was so valuable about the information contained in Payton's date book, they could put Grazicky away for a long time. Meanwhile, Jake worried that a new problem would arise. He'd seen the way Adriano had looked at Payton. And he'd seen the way Payton looked at Adriano.

“I hope you both know what you're doing.”

 

 

“She called.”

Cecily smiled over the rim of her martini glass. Finally, Payton Vaughn had done something predictable. Unlike her cheating, very predictable husband, Payton kept amazing Cecily with her craftiness. The botched job at the Adam's Mark Hotel proved Hiram had underestimated Payton—she wouldn't make the same mistake. Where had Payton gotten the guts and tenacity to elude this crackerjack hit team?

This woman intrigued Cecily. Sherman had had other women—she knew this, although she pretended she didn't—but something about Payton held Sherman's interest longer than the others. She'd met Payton during one of her visits to Skye. She was a looker, Cecily couldn't deny that, but there was a sex appeal about her that was more than intriguing. One minute she wanted the girl dead—the threat of her testifying against Sherman and destroying the empire Cecily had built needed to be permanently eliminated. The next minute she wanted Payton in their bed and captive to their every whim. Conquering this woman and sharing her with Sherman was a monumental turn-on. Sherman would be more than thrilled to know how she felt, but he wasn't off the hook, and for now he wouldn't know what she knew.

“Of course she would contact her brother,” Cecily said. “He's almost the only family she has.”

The big man dressed all in black stood over her like a bad cliché—all killers felt obliged to dress in black and have toxic dispositions.

“She wasn't tough enough or resourceful enough to go into hiding. The hotel escape had to be a fluke. Since you know she called, I suppose the job is done.”

“Hiram's people traced the call to a motel in South Carolina, but she was gone when they got there.”

“Gone?”

“That's what Hiram says.”

“Do you believe him?”

The man answered by tugging at his hat. “They chased a Land Cruiser.”

“You can't chase a Land Cruiser if she was gone by the time they reached the motel,” Cecily reasoned.

Cecily threw her martini glass the length of the bar. The patrons at the Chicago bar were used to her outbursts, and, other than a few glances, no one acknowledged her explosion of temper. The man standing over her shifted, but his bland expression didn't waver.

“This girl doesn't have the skill to escape a team of professional hit men
twice.
What the hell is the problem here?”

The man's simple explanation: “She had help.”

“The help of an incompetent hit team. Hiram is useless.”

Hiram was the best hit man in Charlotte, but he was small-time compared to this man. This man, who always dressed in non-descriptive black clothing and said very little, had connections money couldn't buy. Cecily had first witnessed his expertise during her father's introduction to the man. When a Supreme Court judge's presidential nomination had been threatened by a secret past, everyone with knowledge of the judge's strange sexual activities had disappeared overnight. With the judge's nomination came her father's freedom to conduct certain activities unfettered by the police.

Cecily pondered the situation. “Change of plans.
You
bring Payton to
me.
”

“Dead or alive?”

“Alive.” This girl was so much trouble, why not have a little fun with her before she died? And scare the shit out of Sherman at the same time? What a lovely plan! She could picture his expression when he walked into their bedroom to find Payton tied to the bed. Cecily would make him explain, apologize, and grovel before they used the little bitch.

“Bring Payton to me,” Cecily repeated. “And I want her in one beautiful piece.”

“Not sure if I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“Your husband wants her. Hiram has a whole team going after her. Your husband even paid a government man to snatch her up.”

“Then you better get to her first.”

The man stood statue still, not acknowledging her order. “Don't tell me you're feeling sentimental toward Payton. Do you really believe you're
friends?
I hired you to do a job. It isn't done yet.”

“I've done what our original agreement called for.”

“Yes, but let us not forget your intimate involvement in all of this. When Payton testifies, she tells everything she knows, and Sherman goes to jail. Everything will be open to investigation, and if I or my husband go down, everybody goes down. You won't be spared. Understand?”

The man nodded, and she suddenly hated this man's cool demeanor. In all their years of affiliation, she'd never seen him excited. He maintained the same emotionless tone of voice, his facial expressions never betraying his thoughts. Come to think about it, the only time the man appeared human was when Payton was around.

Cecily had been on hand once to witness one of the man's victims escape from the rope binding him to a chair. In pure terror the man wrestled a hunting knife away from one of the other killers in the room. She was young then, so she hid underneath the staircase in the dark basement, ready to run if the man went crazy and came after her. After all, she'd ordered the hit. It was her first, and her father had insisted she witness it so as “not to take these matters lightly.”

This hit man, always dressed in black from head to toe, had stepped up to the man without fear. The victim lunged at him, slicing through the left side of his face. Everyone in the basement panicked, including the soon-to-be-dead man. But the hit man used the opportunity to grab the man, ending his life with one twist of his head. Calmly, he had walked up the stairs and out of the house, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Some hack doctor must have repaired the slice because it left him horribly disfigured, which accounted for his affinity for wide-brim hats. As Cecily watched the ruthless hit man today, she wondered if hiring him might have been overkill.

The man touched the brim of his hat and swiveled around on the heels of his cowboy boots.

Cecily stopped him before he could walk away. “One more thing. I want to know who's driving that Land Cruiser. Within the hour.”

She signaled the bartender for another martini. God, she missed her father. He was away, doing business with the Chinese. She knew the nature of the business and understood why she wouldn't hear from him until he returned from his trip in two more weeks, but she hated being separated from him. They talked on the phone every day, and when they were both in town they lunched together every week. He'd taught her everything she knew about the business. As a single parent, he'd loved her enough for four parents.