Catch a Shadow (16 page)

He didn't bother with courtesies. “Did your neighbor tell you to go to a motel tonight?

“He did. Neither of us agree.”

Momentary silence.

“I can't make you, but I don't want either of you dead.”

“You're scaring me,” she said.

“I sincerely hope so. I was afraid nothing scared you.”

She ignored that. “How would you get into the house?” she asked.

“I can get in,” he said simply. “It would be easier if you gave me the code to the alarm system.”

She hesitated, then gave it to him. “What about the door?” she asked.

“I can get in,” he repeated.

She didn't know whether she should be comforted or horrified by his statement. Were homes really that easy to enter? Even with security systems? “It will be easier if you get the spare key,” she said, ignoring Sam's continuing glower. “There's one in a small metal case in back of the rosebush in the front yard.”

He didn't reply to that, but she sensed his disapproval over the distance. He lived in a different world than she did.

“What do you need for a couple of days?” he asked.

He was taking charge of her life. And Sam's.

She should resent it, but all she wanted now was to go home, get in bed, and forget the last week.

Still, she heard the words come out. “Merlin and Spade. Their food and supplies. Cage and cat carrier. Two sets of clothes. Shirts and jeans. Several large T-shirts from the bureau. The usual from the bathroom.”

How could she put her life in a few words?

And yet something about his manner, even over the phone, told her
he
was worried. She didn't think he was a man to worry over much.

That scared the devil out of her.

She handed the cell to Sam. To her surprise he also listed what he needed. Unhappily. But he did it.

Sam stopped at the first motel he found and went inside. She stayed in the car, knowing her bloodstained shirt, bandaged arm, and colorful black eye would probably raise eyebrows.

He came back. “No pets.” He took a long look at her. “Probably not battered wives, either.” He paused, then added, “They gave me the name of one that might and called ahead. We have two rooms.”

“Did you tell them about Merlin's siren?”

“Hell, no,” Sam said.

That damn guilt wrapped around her, smothering her. What was she doing to Sam? Was she betraying that friendship by insisting on going ahead on what was probably a quixotic mission of her own?

She called her captain.

“Are you all right, Kirke?” he asked the without preamble. “Do you need anything? We've been worried sick about you since you disappeared from the hospital.”

“I just needed to get away,” she said. “Can I take a couple of sick days?”

“With what you've been through these past two days, take a week. You have several due. If you need more, call me. Keep me posted. And Kirke?” he added.

“Captain?”

“You did a good job with Ben Wright.”

Wrong! If not for her, maybe Ben Wright may never have been injured at all. Yet it was even more reason for her to find out what was really going on.

Now she would insist on hearing everything from the enigmatic Jake Kelly. After hearing him out, she would decide whether to give him the information he so badly wanted.

Or go to the police.

Jake had not been followed. He was sure of that, but it probably didn't matter. Adams undoubtedly had someone watching her house.

He let himself into her unit with the key and punched in the code to the alarm system.

He heard the siren next door and grinned.

Merlin was on duty.

He started a search through her house. Within fifteen minutes, he'd found two listening devices. One was in the phone in the living room and the other in the bedroom. Adams had not lost his touch with locks or security systems.

He continued to look, even as he located a suitcase and gathered up the items she'd requested. He then went next door. He didn't have a key for Sam's side, but he did have a small tool he'd picked up at the electronics store. In seconds he had the door open and punched in the same code as he had on her house.

Merlin eyed him suspiciously as he entered.

“Good Merlin,” Jake said, repeating the words he'd heard Kirke say.

Merlin cocked his head for a moment, then ruffled his feathers. “Goddamned bird,” he responded in a male voice, then whistled a tune Jake hadn't heard in a long time.

Jake picked up Sam's litter box, carrier, and food, along with a ratty-looking stuffed mouse. He put them together with a suitcase full of clothes for Sam and another for Kirke. Because of the heat, he wanted to leave Merlin and Spade for his last trip.

Merlin repeated the whistle, and Jake stopped.

Adams had been in here as well. He used to drive other members of the team nuts with that tune. No one knew what it was, and Adams hadn't enlightened them.

Were there listening devices here as well? He started another search. He found one in the living room.

On impulse, he looked under the sink. There were a number of liquor bottles there, some nearly empty, two half full. Scotch. Bourbon. Vodka. Gin. A little of everything and not much of anything. The kind of collection you had if you had people over for parties.

Something caught his eye in the back. Maybe because of the pattern of the bottles. It was neat compared to the rest of the house where clothes were thrown over furniture, and magazines and CDs were scattered all over.

Jake found a flashlight in one of the cabinet drawers, then lowered himself to the floor and peered toward the back. He took the bottles out, then saw the small package connected to a detonator.

His breath caught in his throat.

He reached out and felt the substance.

Plastique
.

CHAPTER 14

Adams had been almost as good with explosives as Del Cox.

Jake made sure the plastique wasn't connected to anything under the sink, then slowly pulled it toward him. He studied the detonation device. No timer. Designed to be set off from a distance by a remote.

He very carefully separated the detonation device from what looked like a lump of clay.

When was Adams planning to use it? When he got what he wanted from Kirke? Or did he have another use for it?

Was the shooting today merely a diversion to pull Jake to the house? Or was it something else? Jake glanced around the room. His fingerprints would be all over both sides of the duplex. He might well have been seen coming and going. Like Adams, he was an expert shot as well as adept with explosives. He'd been pegged for Kirke's murder, except she foiled it by tripping. If Adams had been successful, he, Jake, would be a candidate for the death penalty. No questions asked.

Explosives were apparently plan B.

Adams had framed Jake once. Apparently, he thought he could do it again. Any accusations Jake made—if he wasn't dead—would be seen as a desperate attempt to deflect charges from himself.

His stomach clenched.
Run. Run!
But the image of Kirke's battered face surfaced in his mind.

He detached the detonator and took the plastique to the bathroom. He crumbled the whole into small pieces, then searched the drawers until he found a box of matches. He lit each small piece, feeling the heat as the flame flared and consumed the chemical. The acrid smell permeated the small room.

When he was through, he washed the residue down the drain, even as the odor lingered.

Then he went back to Kirke's side of the duplex. He started in the kitchen. Her cabinets were much neater than Sam's. Nothing. He did a quick search of the rest of the house. Still nothing.

That didn't matter, though. There had been enough plastique in what he'd found to blow up the entire house. Apparently whoever planted it thought they had found a safe location. Then it could be detonated at any time.

Jake gathered up Sam's and Kirke's suitcases and placed them in the trunk of his car along with food for the cat and Merlin.

Before loading the animals, he checked the bottom of the car and the ignition. He also checked the trunk and engine. He didn't see anything, but that didn't mean some device wasn't there. He was dealing with professionals.

He wished he knew how many.

He loaded the animals and drove out onto the street, then turned on Peachtree. A few more turns put him on the expressway, where he darted in and out of traffic. He kept an eye on the rearview mirror. He thought someone was following for a while, but he was sure he lost them when at the last second possible he managed to swerve across two lanes of traffic to an exit lane. He heard a squealing of brakes behind him. He accelerated the car, turning right, speeding down a main street, then entering the expressway again. No one was behind him.

He was as sure as he could be in a situation like this.

He looked at his watch. He called Sam Pierce's cell phone, and Kirke answered.

“Where do I go?” he asked.

She gave him directions. He would rather have had found a new vehicle, but he didn't have time. They would move soon again in any event. It wouldn't take long for Adams and his mercenaries to find them at a local motel.

“Goddamn bird,” Merlin said over and over again as Jake brought him into the motel room. “Goddamn bird.”

Kirke fastened her gaze on Jake Kelly's face. His jaw was set, and he had a five-o'clock shadow that made him look even more dangerous than before. His eyes were even darker and colder than she remembered.

He radiated tension, and yet Merlin had hopped onto his shoulder when she opened the cage. He never did that with strangers. Never.

“Traitor,” she said to the bird.

Unfazed, Merlin started whistling an odd melody.

Sam apparently had heard Jake's entrance and emerged from the connecting room where he'd been sleeping. He inspected his sax as if Jake Kelly had put a hex on it. He looked at the clothes Jake had bought, then nodded.

“I don't think I should play tonight,” he said. “I don't want you alone here,” Sam protested.

“I'm not alone,” she said. “And I'm in a motel room with lots of other people around, and you know exactly where I am and who I'm with.”

Sam still looked uncertain. “I still don't know why we couldn't go home.”

Jake Kelly dug in his pocket and brought out in his hand several small pieces of metal. “Listening devices,” he said. “They were in both sides.” He dumped them on a table, then produced a small clump of something that looked like dough. He'd saved a small piece to show them.

“There was a hunk of this in the back of the cabinet under Sam's sink.”

Sam stepped forward. “You searched my house …?”

“Only for stuff that shouldn't be there,” Jake Kelly replied.

Kirke stared down at the substance in his hand. “What is that?”

“Plastic explosive,” he said.

Somehow Kirke knew what the answer would be before he said the words. She'd had a course in explosives. It was part of a Homeland Security program. She'd seen it before. Even felt it.

“In our house?” she said, trying to understand.

“In Sam's,” he said, “but it would have destroyed the entire house.”

Sam went still. “In the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

A shiver of panic ran through Kirke. Momentary shock, then her heart dropped. She thought about her beloved house. Small as it was, it was hers. The only thing of any major value that she owned.

“Explosives?” Sam echoed in disbelief, then he turned on Jake. “You could have planted them yourself.”

“I could have, but I didn't.” He looked toward Kirke. “I think I cleared the house, but I'm not sure. I didn't have time to look outside.”

“Listening devices?” Kirke said, glancing at Sam. Had they been there when she'd opened the envelope? Had someone heard them discuss the numbers? Had they meant more to that someone than they had to her?

Jake Kelly nodded. “I wouldn't be surprised if they haven't planted tracking devices in Kirke's car. I checked Sam's car. There weren't any, but after his performance I would suggest he change cars with someone before returning to the motel.” He turned to Sam, who still looked stunned. “Can you do that?”

Sam nodded.

“How did you sign in?” Jake asked Sam.

Sam paced nervously the room. “As Malcolm Pierce and sister, Elizabeth,” he said grudgingly. “I had to use my last name because of the credit card.”

“Malcolm?” Kirke asked, startled.

“It's my middle name,” he said defensively.

“You never told me that,” Kirke said.

“Why do you think I would?” he replied, ignoring Jake Kelly.

She didn't answer. They were bantering, she realized, because their lives had just changed in a dramatic way. She felt like a fugitive, and he obviously felt the same.

Fear was there, too.

Because of one Jake Kelly, alias Mitch Edwards, alias David Cable.

“I'll give you free rent forever,” she offered.

His frown faded, and he grinned at her. “Some promise. Then you couldn't pay the taxes, and we would both be on the street.”

Jake had been listening impatiently. “I think you should move again tomorrow,” he said.

Sam nodded.

“I'll get an untraceable credit card for you,” Jake said.

“You had better go, Sam,” Kirke interrupted as she glanced at her watch. “I don't want to be responsible for you losing your job as well.”

“I don't get all this,” Sam protested. Fear was on his face, but determination was there as well.

“I'll explain everything when you get back,” Jake Kelly said.

Sam cast a quick glance at her. “Not good enough. I can't leave you together.”

Jake shrugged. “It's up to you.”

“Please go, Sam. I'll be fine,” Kirke said. She wanted him to go. She wanted to talk to Jake, and she knew that he wouldn't say much in front of Sam.