Colder Than Ice (24 page)

M
ordecai sat alone in the darkened dining room long after he'd finished his dinner and cleaned up the dishes. There was no doubt in his mind that the shadowy figure he'd seen running from his front door tonight had been young Bryan Kendall. His guides didn't correct his assumption, and that, more than anything, confirmed it. Even though he'd seen the boy taken to the airport this very morning.

Obviously Bryan hadn't left town after all. Why the trip to the airport, then? he mused, twisting a long-stemmed wineglass in his hand, watching the bloodred contents swirl. Had he been meeting a new arrival in town? But then, why would Lizzie and the boy's father have left him there?

No, they had dropped him off. He'd been carrying a bag. He must have been planning to leave. Something had happened to change those plans. And who was the girl who'd
been with him? Why was the boy's identity made known to him, even in the darkness, but not the girl's?

Because she's unimportant, Mordecai.

It worried Mordecai that the boy had been sneaking around his temporary home tonight.

He knows something,
a voice whispered inside his mind.
Something about you.

“What could he know? He's only a boy.” For a moment he feared the guides would tell him the boy was a threat and had to be dealt with, and a knot of dread formed in his belly. Sometimes he hated them.

God, that was sacrilege!

It's not the boy. He's not the problem. It's that father of his. Joshua Kendall.

Mordecai nodded in silent agreement. Kendall
was
a problem. The knot in his belly loosened. He almost hoped they would tell him to rid the world of that man. Petty jealousy, yes, but he was still human, after all.

Knowledge is power, Mordecai.

“Yes,” he whispered. “And soon we'll have all the knowledge we need.” The name
Joshua Kendall
had been haunting him since the first time he'd heard it. Internet searches had turned up nothing other than references to other men of the same name. It had taken hours to go through all the hits, eliminating them one by one.

But he had other connections—friends in high places, as the saying went—though in his case, they were not friends at all. Just people with things in their past that they wished to keep there. Many skeletons in many closets. And Mordecai had been rattling the bones.

Time to see what had resulted.

He sipped his wine and got to his feet, refilled the glass and carried it with him into the den, where he'd set up his computer. There were no high speed, always-on connections here in this small town. Just an old-fashioned dial-up server. He clicked on the Connect icon, then waited for the modem to finish its squealing and log on.

The mailbox logo lit up, and he clicked on it. Three e-mails, the third one with a file attached. He clicked on the first, from a judge in San Diego.

“Joshua Kendall and Kevin Russell own a private security firm with offices in Manhattan and Washington, D.C. While neither man publicizes his name, for obvious reasons, the firm has a Web site, RK-Security.com. It's owned, hosted and maintained by a third party, however, so no personal information on either of the proprietors shows up in WHO IS records. I was unable to get a home address on either man. That's all I know.”

Security firm—well, that made sense. Perhaps Beth had sensed Mordecai closing in on her and hired him for protection.

“I knew he wasn't who he was pretending to be.”

He clicked on the second message, from a Congresswoman in South Carolina. “I won't help you. Don't contact me again.”

He pursed his lips, sighed softly. “What a shame,” he said. Then he took an extra moment to skim through his files and find the ten-year-old photographs he'd scanned in. So much easier to keep track of one's records since computers came along. He had files on hundreds of people. Ammunition.

He opened the file folder for a quick look. The Honorable Sheila McGruger's long limbs were wrapped around a naked man. She'd been very good back then. Only a lawyer, but just as married as she was today. He wondered sometimes if she remembered their dalliance fondly. There were several shots,
and he flicked through them, pausing longest on his favorite—the one of her on her knees in front of him, taking him halfway down her throat. He'd made sure they were very close and presenting a side view to his hidden camera for that particular carnal act. His face didn't show, but the tattoo on his thigh did. She was clearly not with her husband.

He flipped through his address book for North Carolina newspapers and sent the entire file folder to the largest one, all with a click of his mouse.

“She really should know better than to defy me,” he muttered.

Sighing, he moved on to read the third e-mail.

It was from Martin Phillips, the assistant warden of the prison where David Quentin Gray had been held, before Mordecai had helped to arrange his escape and subsequent demise.

“Yes, I know who Kendall is,” he had written. “The Feds have gone to a lot of trouble to help him keep his past quiet, and the press on him is too old to be found on the Net. Plus, he's shortened his name since then. It was Kendalson. He was in the papers, years ago. He was on the team that stormed your compound. He accidentally shot a girl, killed her, and was fired over it. I've attached a news clipping for you.

“By the way, I found Gray right where you said I would and got all the credit for locating him. Even though he was dead, as I'm sure you know. I figure we're even now.”

Mordecai smiled. “Not even, my friend,” he said to himself. “But I'm glad you've provided more leverage for my use, should I need to solicit your aid in the future.” He saved the e-mail containing the assistant warden's confession to his file on Martin Phillips, then opened the clipping.

It was a front page story, and the scan was excellent. The photo of Kendall—probably taken from his badge when they
made him turn it in—was a good likeness, though obviously taken when he was much younger.

The headline was the best part. ATF Agent's Bullet Killed Unarmed Seventeen-Year-Old Girl in Raid on Young Believers.

Mordecai smiled slowly. “This is too good.
He's
the one who shot Lizzie?”

Now do you understand?
the voices whispered.
Now do you see why you had to let her fall in love with him?

He nodded. “If she has…then this will destroy her.”

Timing is crucial, Mordecai. You have to show her at just the right time.

Again he nodded. Then he hit the print button on the PC screen and waited while the printer spat out a hard copy of the truth about Lizzie's new savior.

 

“I love you, Joshua.”

Her voice, soft and breathless, whispered those words again and again in Joshua's mind as he lay in her bed, holding her in his arms while she slept.

She loved him.

Hell.

He'd never intended to take things this far. Something had just…happened. When he'd kissed her tonight, he'd let himself fall for his own act. It was as if he really had fallen head over heels for the woman. As if he really did…

It was utterly unethical of him to have allowed things get to this point. Convincing her that he loved her was bad enough. Letting her fall in love with him was considerably worse, though still within the realm of necessary evil. But making love with her—that was beyond the rest. It was cruel. He wasn't a cruel guy. And he wasn't a caveman.

She muttered something in her sleep and rolled over, spooning up against him. His arm slid around her waist automatically, and he could smell her hair. With their bodies nestled this close, he knew at least part of the answer. The attraction he felt for her was real. Had been all along. And he liked her, making the attraction more potent. Above and beyond all of that was the past—his bullet cutting her down, costing her damn near everything. So, sure, part of it was probably guilt, mingled with the overwhelming relief of knowing she was alive.

Hell, it would take a shrink a year to figure out why he'd wound up in this woman's bed. He certainly wasn't going to work it out in one night. And he wasn't sure it would matter if he did, at this point. The deed was done; there was no turning back. If he backed off now, she would want to know why. So he would just have to play it out, live the act, pretend that he was in love with her.

He snuggled closer, kissing her hair and relaxing onto the pillows. If nothing else, he thought, he had at least won her trust. To bad he was going to end up dashing it on the rocks of truth once she was safe and her nemesis behind bars.

Tuesday

She didn't trust the man as far as she could throw him, Beth thought while she poured them each a cup of morning coffee. He was too good-looking to be trusted, to begin with. He'd been lying to her since he'd met her, and he was convincing and charming enough to fool anyone. Even Maude. Which meant he could fool her just as easily.

Mordecai had been like that. Charismatic. Charming.
Beautiful, with his dark-brown soulful eyes and those thick lashes. He had little-boy eyes. Angel eyes. As windows to the soul, they were miserable failures. Or maybe his soul really was a thing of beauty beneath the madness that had corrupted it.

There's nothing as precious as an honest man,
Maude used to say.
Unfortunately, there's nothing as rare, either.

She set Joshua's cup on the table, studying him closely and wondering if he was precious and rare, dropped on her door stop by some higher power that thought she'd finally earned a break, or if he was just another beautiful liar. One who smelled sinfully good, freshly showered, and looked good, freshly shaved.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

Ah, right. She'd been staring. Caught. “That Maude probably agreed to go along with your little charade in the hopes that something would happen between us.”

He smiled just a little, and a dimple came into his cheek. “Yeah, she was trying all along. Nothing subtle about it, either.”

“No, there never was.” She frowned then, tilting her head to one side. “Those people who were examining her body…?”

“Worked for Uncle Sam.” He tightened his lips, as if debating whether to tell her something; then finally he sighed. “She was murdered, Beth.”

She almost dropped the coffee cup. “How?”

“We suspect a drug was mixed with one of her vials of insulin.”

Beth blinked as Maude's panicked face and straining, terrified eyes replayed through her mind. “She couldn't breathe.”

“That's how this particular drug works. Paralyzes the muscles, including the lungs. Bastard could have used a tranquilizer—knocked her out so she wouldn't have suffered like that.”

She drew a breath. “It was Mordecai, wasn't it?”

“I think so.”

“And my house?”

He shook his head. “Nothing definitive. Everything points to a gas leak. But that's not a tough thing to set up. Tough to prove, though. We may never know for sure. But according to the Feds, he's a genius with explosives.”

She frowned. “I never knew that.”

“It was classified information. It's long been suspected he may very well have rigged the compound to burn himself, and that something went wrong, set it off early.”

Lowering her head, she let her eyes fall closed. “No wonder you sent Bryan away.”

He frowned at her.

“I'm dangerous, Josh. Anyone who gets close to me is putting themselves at risk.”

“I sent Bryan away because of Mordecai, Beth. Not because of you.”

“Mordecai wouldn't be here if it weren't for me. I know him. I know the way his mind works. What Mordecai loves, he has to own, and once he owns you, he never lets go.”

“He let your daughter go.”

She lifted her head, nodding slowly. “I still haven't figured that out. It's completely out of character. I wouldn't be surprised if it was part of some convoluted plan to get her back in the end.”

He sighed softly. “He doesn't own you, Beth. You got away. You survived, made a new life. He can never own you.”

“What he can't own, he destroys.” She studied his face for a long moment. “I know what he's doing,” she said softly. “He's trying to take away everyone I care about. Maude was first—you'll be next.”

“Don't even—”

“You should leave here.”

“—say it,” he said, finishing the sentence her own had cut in half. Shaking his head, he faced her, his eyes solemn but stubborn. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You're putting your life in danger.”