For His Eyes Only (31 page)

“
Jesse,” Tom stepped toward her, “he’s not worth it.”

Amanda’s smiling face flashed before Jesse. Her world had crashed around her. “No,” she replied. “But I know someone who is.”

Jesse pulled the trigger.

Her heart seemed to beat in slow motion in the instant between the deafening blast of the gun and Lanton’s stumble backwards. Shock etched his face as she pivoted, leg high, and slammed her heel into Cole’s jaw. Latex ripped and his head snapped back. Tom lunged for Lanton. She leaped into the car.

“
Jess!” Cole shouted.

She hit the starter, and slammed the car into drive.

Cole had his hand on the door handle. She met his gaze as she jammed her foot against the accelerator. The car shot forward. His hand jerked back. She shifted hard into second, her eye on the mirror. Cole stared after her.

She looked ahead at the road, jumped the curb, and pulled out of a four-wheel drift. The tears she’d felt earlier were nowhere near the surface. The puzzle pieces finally fit. Cole had told her Tom gave him her number, but she hadn’t believed it. She couldn’t prevent a snort of near hysterical laughter. The one time he’d been telling the truth, and she hadn’t believed him.

Pain lanced at her heart. Cole had known where she was when she walked by that alley because Tom had given Cole her location. And, of course, this explained why Tom had seemed at home at Cole’s ranch. How many times had they sat together in that opulent living room and discussed life, politics, women…her?

As the corner of the last warehouse approached, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Cole hadn’t moved.
Cole Murphy.
He had such expressive blue eyes. Even the brown contact lenses hadn’t quite hidden them. She hadn’t thought about that before.

Jesse tossed the Beretta over her shoulder. It struck the floor of the back seat with a thud as she turned the corner. Anyone waiting for her at Amanda’s would be advised that the Baretta she carried shot blanks.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Distant thunder rolled across a cloudy sky as Jesse lowered the night-vision binoculars through which she’d been watching Houghton House. She blinked away the green-speckled afterglow of the night-vision display and darkness enveloped her in the small visitor’s cottage a hundred yards from the house. She cautiously placed the binoculars on the table beside a penlight, Lanton’s PPK, and a small syringe. No lightning had appeared—yet—but if a flash lit the night sky as she and Harris carried Amanda from the house, they would never make it out alive. He had reported all quiet at Houghton House today, but Jesse knew that simply meant Lanton had decided against the direct approach. Harris knew it, too.

Like so many others, Harris had returned from Vietnam with baggage that would have fried most civilians’ brains.
Damaged goods
was what the government called men like him. Seven years ago, a flat tire on a snowy Boston night had forced her into a tavern where Harris was winning his third game of pool against a Diablo Gang member. Jesse made her phone call for a tow truck, and planned on toughing out the hour and a half wait in the car, but couldn’t ignore the fact the Diablos were working themselves into a nasty mood because a black man—vet or no vet—was kicking their asses.

She knew she’d miss the tow truck—hell, she knew she’d probably end up short a Mercedes Station Wagon. The E500 4-Matic was the most decadent thing she owned. But what the hell? She stayed for a beer. Manny Noriega, a white boy looking to prove he was as big a bad ass as the Panamanian gang leader, took a liking to her. Harris surprised her by intervening. He had fifty pounds on the kid, but his weight centered around his gut. Jesse leaped to his assistance and, together, they took on five Diablos, and won.

Jesse smiled at the memory of Harris collapsing on a bar stool and, breathing hard as he said, “Damn, girl, if I’d known you didn’t need me, I would have collected my two hundred bucks first.”

She got him a janitor’s job at a nearby high school. Then, two years ago, in exchange for keeping their friendship quiet and watching Amanda, she’d gotten him the maintenance supervisor’s job at Houghton House. Harris was a good man, and—Jesse gave up a prayer of thanks—Amanda liked him.

Jesse prayed that would be enough to get Amanda outside the mansion. Once there, Jesse would sedate her if needed, and she and Harris would get her to the cottage. Jesse would exchange Amanda’s pajamas for jeans and a t-shirt, then they would smuggle her off the grounds via an overgrown path on the arboretum’s east side. Harris had already freed the forgotten oak door in the eight-foot high stone wall from the contractor’s mortar that sealed it.

This wasn’t wrong, Jesse told herself for the hundredth time. Amanda wasn’t safe here anymore. The dream was over. Eight people from prominent, well-to-do families boarded on the forty-acre grounds the colonial occupied. It was the occupants’ best hope for a normal life, and Jesse had bought into the dream. When she had found Houghton House, she believed Amanda was home.

Tonight, when they left, they would leave behind the dream and change their names from Marietta and Helen Keene to Joanne and Cindy Miller. Anger surfaced. Maybe she should just kill Lanton. The trust fund would be frozen forever. She could earn enough to scrape by and pay Amanda’s bills, but the idea of disappearing from Amanda’s life altogether felt too much like abandonment. Jesse was the only family Amanda had left.

And Amanda the only family you have left, an inner voice added.

She switched her thoughts to Tom, glad for the disgust that filled her. Would he stoop to using an autistic woman who couldn’t defend herself? What about Cole Murphy? Hurt replaced anger. How much of the background report Juanita gave her on Cole was true, and how much was part of his OIA fabricated cover? He could be any schmuck from Texas with a barefoot wife and ten kids. He’d played her from the start, and she’d been too distracted by lust to keep her distance. How could she have thought he cared? Oh, he cared…about fucking her brains out.

A tiny gong from the mantle clock drew Jesse’s attention. Glow–in-the-dark hands read eight o’clock. She returned her gaze to the mansion. On cue, the main lights in the upper story went dark, leaving only two tiny lights in rooms four and five. Number five was Amanda’s, number four, a wealthy businessman’s niece with Down Syndrome. Amanda would read for fifteen minutes—she loved Wonder Woman comic books—then she turned out her light. Five minutes later, she would be asleep.

As a kid, Jesse marveled how Amanda could fall asleep on cue. As an adult, Jesse envied her older sister’s ability to so easily free herself of the world’s encumbrances. Jesse figured Amanda’s peace came from not carrying around the guilt most people did. Somewhere along the way, Amanda had gotten the better deal.

Jesse picked up the binoculars and began scanning the grounds. Harris would wait ten minutes, make sure the house parents were settled in for the night, then he’d go for Amanda. If her lights went out before eight-fifteen, he had succeeded.

Houghton House employed a state-of-the-art security system on the wall and two guards who patrolled opposite sides of the grounds every thirty minutes. Security was highly paid and competent. A Senator’s daughter and the wealthy businessman’s niece lived at Houghton. They kept the girls’ whereabouts secret, but mercenaries were resourceful.

Jesse stuffed the pen light into her rear jeans pocket, the PPK into the waistband at the small of her back, then slid the syringe into her bra. No ops vest tonight. If someone at Houghton House spotted her, she might have a chance of explaining why she was wandering around the grounds after dark. Decked out like a ninja would place her on the wrong end of a gun before she had a chance to give a name.

She slipped outside the cottage, then hurried down the path leading to the mansion, careful to stay on the narrow path, clear of motion sensors. She sidestepped behind a large elm sixty feet down the path and tugged up her sleeve. She pressed the light button on her watch. Five after eight. Another five minutes, and Harris would reach Amanda’s room.

Jesse scanned the pathway ahead. The clouds had parted and a crescent moon cast a faint glow. As expected, the first guard left the entrance, turned right, and marched off toward employee housing. Lights flared to life along the ground as he paced off the grassy expanse toward Harris’ cottage. He swept a flashlight across the ground outside the ground light perimeter. She waited until he disappeared around the cottage, then continued. The second guard should be on the far side of the grounds by now.

She turned her attention to Amanda’s window. Less than a minute later, the bedroom light went dark. Jesse glanced at her watch. Eight twelve. Three minutes early. Amanda read for exactly fifteen minutes. Not fourteen, not sixteen. Fifteen. Jesse’s heartbeat quickened. Three minutes early and Amanda hadn’t raised a fuss. Harris had gotten her. Jesse scanned the grounds. All quiet. She stepped from cover.

A tiny shift within the elm’s shadows caught her attention.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Jesse leaped behind the elm, dropping to a crouch. After the count of four, she inched forward until she could peer around the tree, and waited. No second shadow shift occurred. There were no dogs on the grounds. Two Tabbies lived in the house. The only other animals would be squirrels or birds. Jesse slid back around the tree. Harris might have reached the side-door by now. She peered around the tree. Nothing moved in the shadows. She cursed her lack of night-vision goggles and UV-glasses.

A dim light flashed in her peripheral vision. The guard had completed checking the cottages and was headed around to the rear of the mansion. Jesse leaned against the tree, took a deep breath, then started toward the manor. A two-foot corridor of safety between motion sensor lights was all she had until she reached the side of the house, where Harris had blinded the sensors. She rounded the corner of the mansion to find the stoop empty.

Jesse hurried to the house, reached the door, and tried the knob. It turned easily. Shivers raced up her spine. This was almost too easy. Would the real trouble come when Harris tried to coax Amanda downstairs? If she refused to leave with him, he would meet Jesse at the side door, alone. She would then be forced to go into the house and sedate Amanda—something Harris had opposed from the start.

Houghton House had issued no warning to staff that Jesse was wanted, which didn’t mean the administrators hadn’t been warned. If Harris got caught with Amanda, he had a chance as passing it off as her getting lost. She seldom said more than two words at a time, so it was unlikely she would contradict him. If Jesse were caught with her, things could get stickier.

Jesse turned the knob, pushed the door open a fraction, and peered into the dark kitchen. The doorjamb to her right splintered in unison with a tiny thwang as a bullet hit the wood. She shoved forward, rolling onto tiled floor. She yanked the PPK from her waistband as she flattened against the floor and pointed it at the open door.

Her heart thudded. The silenced shot had to have come from the arboretum—forty yards away. Lanton was no marksman. The bullet had missed her by a bare inch. He had sent a pro. Blue Team, Green Team—
Cole?
She tried remembering if Cole had said anything about being a marksman, but the rush of blood roared in her ears. Not Tom, either. He was strictly intellect.

Morales.

Jesse scrambled to her knees and crawled to the cabinets on her left. The new vantage gave her a sliver’s view of the northern section of the arboretum, where the angle of the shot placed the shooter. She could see nothing in the dense shadows.

A stair-tread squeaked behind her. She twisted toward the sound, gun raised. A man’s large frame filled the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Jesse tightened her finger on the trigger. Something flitted in her peripheral vision outside the door. The figure on the landing paused and she realized he’d seen the open door. He shifted again, this time in her direction.

“
Jesse? Jesse! It’s me, girl. Don’t shoot!”

She released the trigger with effort, recognition of Harris’ voice barely registering through the roar in her head. He started toward her.

“
Get back!” she hissed.

Another figure appeared on the landing behind him. Her heart leaped into her throat before she realized the figure was too big to be Amanda. Jesse pushed to her feet. Blinding light slashed across her vision. Someone had turned on the lights!

She lunged forward. “Get down!”

Her arms closed around Harris’ large frame. They went down in unison with the spit of a stealth rifle shot. Harris went limp. Warmth spread across Jesse’s t-shirt, soaking through to the skin.

“
Jesse!” another voice cried as the room plunged into darkness.

Jesse leaped to her feet and whirled in the direction of Cole’s voice.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Jesse blinked furiously in an effort to adjust to the darkness—and center the PPK on Cole’s hulking figure. A bone-jarring blow to her arm forced the weapon from her grip. The gun clattered to the tile. She threw a hard right punch into air as the gun slid across the room. A hand closed around her wrist. She drew back an elbow for a jab at her attacker’s ribs, but was yanked into his arms. They toppled to the ground. Even blind, she knew Cole’s body.