Long Road Home (21 page)

“No, she must have dropped it when we got out of the car,” Eddie replied.

After several minutes, Tony’s brow furrowed, then he held out the phone to Manuel. “You better read this, man. It’ll explain where your girl was going in such a hurry.”

Manuel took the phone and held it up. He scrolled through the message, rage flowing like a wild current through his body.

“When you’re done with that one, hit the next button,” Tony said. “It gets better.”

When Manuel read the next message and saw the name of the intended target, he nearly exploded. The man who had promised to help, the man who could very well have arranged a normal life for him and Jules, was the man she was going to kill.

He started to throw the phone across the room, but Tony grabbed his arm and retrieved the phone. “I’m not finished with that.”

“I’ve got to stop her,” Manuel said. “Before it’s too late. Call out whoever you need, but get everyone you can to the Ronald Reagan Center pronto. I can’t let her do it. I’m going to have to take her down.”

“I know, man,” Tony said quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

“We’ll go with you,” Matthews said.

“No.”

Tony threw Manuel the keys. “Use my car. I’ll get someone over here to pick me and the boys up.”

Manuel yanked on his shoulder holster then shoved his gun into place. He ran out to Tony’s car and climbed in. Seconds later, he careened down the street, driving as fast as he could.

“Damn it, Jules!”

He pounded the steering wheel. How could she turn her back on everything he was offering her? How could she betray him, take everything they’d shared, their past, their future and gut him with it?

She had played him from day one. Used him to get to D.C. so she could carry out her damn assignment. Everything she’d done, everything she’d said, had been a complete
lie
. He’d never been so goddamn angry in his entire life.

He arrived at the Ronald Reagan International Trade Center in record time. He roared up to the front and leaped out of the car. A dozen agents met him, guns drawn. He yanked out his ID and bolted for the entrance.

An FBI agent stopped him as he hit the door.

“What the hell is going on here?” the agent demanded.

“There’s going to be an attempt on Senator Denison’s life. I need to know if anyone new showed up for duty this morning. A woman.”

The agent frowned then snapped his fingers. “Yes, Kerry McDonald. Impeccable record. I called in about her myself. She was brought in for this assignment especially. A top-notch sniper. She’s on the upper level pulling guard duty.”

Manuel didn’t wait to hear more. He ran for the stairs leading to the balcony. There in the atrium, Senator Denison’s name was being announced as the next speaker. Manuel prayed he would make it in time.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jules relaxed her tightly wound body and shouldered her rifle. The speaker had droned on for several minutes. The senator should be coming to the podium shortly.

This was by far the easiest assignment she’d ever been handed. So easy that she felt a sense of foreboding. With the FBI badge and the fabricated background Northstar had arranged, walking into the building and getting past the Secret Service detail had been simple.

Here she was on sniper watch. Her job? To take out any threat to the senator. She nearly laughed. She
was
the threat to the senator, and all she had to do was wait for him to take the stage and pick him off.

Northstar had made it so easy, anyone could have done the job. So why was he so adamant that she do it? It didn’t make sense. But then nothing that twisted bastard did made sense.

The seconds ticked by, and her cool exterior began to falter. The numbness she’d embraced began to wear off as she imagined the consequences of what she was about to do.

She closed her eyes and thought of Manny, who by now must know of her betrayal. He would be furious. And hurt. But at least he didn’t know what she was about to do. He wouldn’t know until she was well away and out of his life. Maybe he’d never know. She’d disappear just as she had three years ago, only this time it would be of her own volition.

Was she doing the right thing? She shook her head. No, but then the right thing wouldn’t save Manny. Manny the protector, the enforcer. Would he want to live knowing she’d paid for his life in blood?

She heard the speaker’s voice through the small microphone she wore in her ear. He was announcing the senator’s name. She adjusted the rifle on her shoulder and leaned forward to look through the scope at the man she was supposed to kill.

When she finally put the cross hairs on him, she nearly dropped the rifle in her shock. Bile rose in her throat. Her stomach rolled violently. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she swallowed convulsively.

Her hands shook until she had to veer her head away from the scope. The
bastard
. The bastard who had raped her, who had forced her to join the CIA’s shadow group called the NFR, who had been the man behind Northstar three years ago. He stood before her, smiling at the assembled crowd. Senator Adam Denison, the man in line for the post of Director of Homeland Security, was the worst sort of criminal.

She settled the cross hairs back on him, her pulse pounding loudly in her head. She drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly. Her hands steadied themselves, and her finger curled around the trigger. He deserved to die. She wanted to be the one to send him to hell.

“Drop the rifle, Jules.”

She froze in horror as Manny’s cold voice rushed over her.

“Do it now. Don’t make me shoot you.”

She raised her head from the scope then slowly turned to look over her shoulder. Manny stood pointing his gun at her, anger etched on every surface of his face.

She let her hand fall from the trigger then rolled over on her back, putting her hands up where he could see them.

His eyes glittered dangerously as he advanced on her. He reached down for the rifle then backed away.

“Why, Jules? Why would you do it?”

She swallowed.

“No, don’t answer,” he cut in before she could speak. “I don’t care. Get up.”

She scrambled up, watching him warily. Her heart ached at the hatred she saw in his eyes. She didn’t know how he’d found her, found out what she was doing, but she knew he’d never forgive her.

“I thought I could take you down. I came here to arrest you for the terrorist you are, but when it comes down to it, I just can’t.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head angrily.

“Not a word. Not a damn word. I’m not interested in anything you have to say. You’ve told enough lies to last a lifetime.”

He looked at her with disgust that turned to sorrow, deep sadness swimming in his eyes.

“Walk away, Jules. God knows I should take you in so they can throw the book at you, but I can’t do it. But know this. If I ever see you, if I ever so much as think you’re in the vicinity, I’ll take you in so fast your head will spin. You run and you keep running.”

She stared at him, stunned by his words.

“What are you waiting for? Get the hell out of here. I’d do it before Tony shows up and explains the situation to the feds.”

She turned and ran, her heart breaking the entire way. When she descended the stairs, she slowed, donning a cool expression. She strode out the front as if she owned the place, but inside she was a mess.

Manny had managed to break through the numbness. She felt, oh how she felt. She felt every single word he’d thrown at her. To the very depths of her soul.

She walked past countless agents, through the cars in the parking lot and down the street that had since been cordoned off. She flashed her badge at the cops who started to stop her at the barricade and they stepped aside to let her pass.

She walked until the building was no longer in sight, and she never looked back. There was nothing there for her. She kept walking until the wind blew cold on her wet cheeks.

And then a stronger sense of grief struck her. She hadn’t killed the senator. Northstar, whatever his purposes, wouldn’t care why. He would strike back at her, ruthlessly, without mercy. Manny would die, and all because she had hesitated. She had let her emotions take over in that single minute, and Manny would pay for it with his life.

She curled her fingers into tight fists. Whatever power struggle had erupted between Northstar and the senator, the only clear solution to the problem was to take Northstar out.

She needed to lure him into the open. What happened to her as a result, she didn’t care. This one last thing she would do for Manny, for her parents and for the girl she had once been.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Manuel swigged down another beer and tossed the bottle into the growing collection on the floor in front of him. He eyed the empty carton in disgust then reached past it for the unopened bottle of whiskey.

After fumbling with the lid, he tilted it back and let the fire pour down his throat. He coughed and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Beer before liquor, never sicker.

The old adage swam around in his brain, and he emitted a harsh laugh. It wasn’t possible for him to be any sicker than he already was.

His chest hurt, his head hurt, his
heart
hurt. And he’d never been so goddamn mad in his life.

For two days, he’d sat in this chair, drinking, trying to drink himself into a coma. He’d barely slept, and when he had, his dreams had been little more than a reenactment of his last scene with Jules.

Damn her. Damn her to hell and the bloody NFR along with her. What had they done to her to instill such loyalty that she would turn her back on someone she purported to love? Had she ever loved him? He hadn’t thought anyone could be that good an actress, but now he wondered. She’d certainly played him like a fiddle.

He swallowed back more whiskey and prayed for oblivion to claim him. Maybe then he wouldn’t hurt so damn much.

A rapid staccato sounded at the door to his apartment.

“Fuck off,” Manuel muttered.

The knocking grew louder, and Manuel tilted the bottle back some more.

Finally it stopped, and he slammed the bottle back down again.

“What the hell are you doing to yourself?” Tony asked in disgust. At least he thought it was Tony. To be honest, it sounded as though he were underwater.

He opened one eye and peered across the room in the direction of the voice. Tony stood in the doorway of the living room, glaring—what the hell did he have to be pissed at, anyway?

“Get the fuck out of here,” Manuel demanded.

Tony crossed the room and came to stand a few feet from where Manuel sat slouched in his armchair.

“Look, dude. I don’t have a lot of time, and I need your full attention. Haul your ass upstairs, take a shower and sober up. Then get back down here because there are some things you need to hear.”

Manuel studied him with half-closed eyes. “Tony, I don’t really give a rat’s ass. Get the hell out of my house. I quit.”

“No, you aren’t quitting yet.” Tony jerked a thumb toward the stairs. “Get going or so help me, I’ll throw you in the shower myself.”

“You and what army?” Manuel grumbled. But he shoved himself up and made his way unsteadily toward the stairs.

“I’ll make you some coffee,” Tony offered. “Looks like you could use a pot. Or two.”

Manuel waved in irritation. Whatever it took to make him go away.

He slugged his way up the stairs, walked into the bathroom, shed his clothing and stepped directly into the cold spray. He sucked in his breath in shock as it hit him full-on. He stuck his head under the water and let it slosh down his back.

For five minutes, he stood there, his hands braced on the shower wall, head bent, eyes closed. When his head began to clear, he fumbled for the knobs and turned the water off.

Whatever it was Tony had to tell him, it couldn’t be any worse than what had already happened. His estimation of Jules certainly couldn’t be any lower, so he had nothing to lose by listening to the all-important information.

He yanked on a T-shirt, collected a pair of jeans and hopped out of the room on one leg as he thrust the other one into the pants.

When he arrived downstairs, Tony shoved a steaming mug of coffee into his hands. “Drink it,” his partner ordered.

Manuel sat on the couch and plunked the cup down in front of him on the coffee table. “Okay, what’s so important that you’d come all the way over here to tell me? Thought that was what the phone was for.”

“You needed to hear this in person,” Tony said.

Manuel leaned back and sighed. “All right, out with it then.”

Tony reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Jules’s phone. Manuel’s gut tightened.

“I played around with this quite a bit,” Tony began. “The only messages I found stored were the ones you already saw. And there were no records of phone numbers from incoming or outgoing calls. But what I did find were dates and times she received calls.”

Manuel continued to stare at him. “And this is important why?”

“I’m getting to that,” Tony said impatiently. “I fed the information into our database of phone conversations, but there are millions upon millions of conversations to sort through, and with only a date and a time, the likelihood of getting a hit is slim to none. So I had to narrow the search parameters. Think of words that might have been used, not very common words if we were going to come up with a short list.”

Manuel drummed his fingers, waiting for his partner to get to the point. Assuming he had one.

“I tried all sorts of words a man might use when ordering an assassination, but everything I tried came up with no less than a hundred thousand possibilities. Again, not good when time is a factor.”

Tony’s voice went up in excitement. Despite his attempt at disinterest, Manuel leaned forward.

“I noticed in both of the e-mails on Jules’s phone, the man she calls Northstar has a habit of calling her Magalie. So I tried Magalie, used the dates and times of the phone calls Jules received, then weeded through a few thousand French conversations and came across this.”