Pursuit (34 page)

Matt’s heart gave a huge thump in his chest. God.
Red Cell!
The legendary team led by Marcinko, tasked with penetrating and testing security systems. There was a black hole where information about Red Cell should be, but enough info had escaped of the exploits of Red Cell to ensure their status forever as demigods. They’d been the best of the best, tasked with ferreting out security holes on nuclear submarines, military bases, and showing how top US officials were vulnerable to kidnappings. They’d left pompous and incompetent security managers red-faced and seething. They’d made enemies, but by God, thanks to the exploits of a small handful of very good men, the military’s security readiness had doubled in a couple of years.

Red Cell. Hot
damn
.

Matt was wary of any news
that
good. “Can you—can we—do that? As civilians?”

“Oh yeah. It’s a new ball game now, post 9/11. I’ve just signed a contract with Homeland Security to test the defenses of a couple of bases. And we’re drawing up plans to penetrate a major port that’s just been given half a billion dollars to beef up their security. So we’re supposed to find out what the government’s getting for its money. That’s why I need
you,
Matt. I’ve got plenty of operatives on my payroll. Good guys, young, fast, strong. But I need a top-level planner, a strategizer. That’s you. You were the best. That’s it. I can’t tell you any more until I know you’re on board.” He sat back. Tom was never much for words. He didn’t have to be, his plan had a huge allure all its own. The idea of re-creating Red Cell, of putting together the best, smartest team in the world to penetrate supersecure positions, to find the weak spots so they could be eliminated and strengthen his country’s defenses . . . it was his dream job.

If it weren’t for Charlotte, he’d have shook hands on the job on the spot. There was no doubt that this was as good as being a SEAL. Maybe even better. Matt itched to say yes, but he needed to talk to Charlotte, sound her out.

“Listen, I’m really interested, but I need to talk to someone first. I need to—oh, there she is.” The door to the cantina opened and Charlotte walked in.

Tom’s eyes widened and he gave a low whistle. “
That’s
your commitment? Jesus, no wonder you’re down here.”

“Something’s wrong.” Matt stood abruptly as he saw Charlotte’s face, bloodless with shock, and her outstretched hands. He reached her in two strides and folded her hands in his. They were icy-cold, and he held them between his own hands, trying to warm them. He clasped them tightly to slow the trembling.

She was shaking all over, and he finally just wrapped his arms around her. He had to hold her tightly to dampen down the tremors, she was shaking so hard.
Jesus, what happened?

Matt’s senses opened wide. He’d been on the alert for danger to his woman, but the surrounding environment had sent only low-level signals. But now he went to red alert.

“Charlotte, honey.” He kept his voice low and reassuring. “What’s the matter? Did someone hurt you?”

“Oh, Matt,” Charlotte whispered. “Something terrible has happened.” She could barely get the words out, slurring them as if she had hypothermia. It was almost as bad as when she’d fallen into the ocean.

“It’s okay, honey, whatever it is,” he murmured. “We’ll take care of it.”

“No.” Her eyes were closed, tears turning the long lashes dark. She shook her head against his tee shirt, the tears leaving streaks. “Nothing will ever make it better.” Her arms tightened around his waist.

“What’s wrong?” Tom had come up behind him, face serious. “Is there something I can help with?”

“I don’t know,” Matt answered honestly. Charlotte was burrowing her head into his shoulder so hard it was as if she was trying to disappear into him. He eased her head away an inch. “Honey?” She was shuddering, eyes closed. “Sweetheart, listen to me.” He eased her away another inch and waited until her eyes opened. The pupils were dilated, the irises a silver-gray rim surrounding them. “Whatever it is, I’m here. Listen, let’s go home, so you can tell me what this is all about.” He reached into his jeans pocket and left enough money to cover the meal they hadn’t consumed.

“Do you need my help?” Tom asked soberly.

“I don’t know.” Matt looked at him then back down at Charlotte. “Honey?” he asked softly.

“This is Tom Reich, from San Diego. He’s ex-Navy. Tom’s a really good friend and a good man to have at your back. Do we need his help?”

She looked carefully at him, then at Tom. She swallowed, breathing slowly. It took her a moment to answer, but when she did, the shakiness had left her voice. “I think—I think I need all the help I can get.”

Matt opened her door with his key but stopped her from going into her house. He gave a glance at his friend Tom that as much as said
watch her
and entered her house, pulling out the big black gun she knew he kept on him at all times. Charlotte stood outside, blinking in the harsh sunlight. She felt weak and had to keep locking her knees; otherwise, she would have keeled over. Visions of the horrors Moira had suffered kept blasting through her, and a shudder took her each time. She felt a large, heavy hand on her shoulder. Matt’s friend, Tom. She looked back and up at him. He wasn’t quite as tall as Matt but had the same broad-shouldered, lean physique. He had dark blue eyes and dark blond hair, but except for the coloring, he was a replica of Matt. They didn’t look alike but they shared a look. They had the same serious, watchful air and they held themselves in exactly the same way—as if ready for trouble at any moment.

He meant for his hand on her back to be reassuring, and the crazy thing was that it did reassure her. Matt was in her house and when he came back out she could be certain that there was nothing dangerous there. With Matt in front of her and Tom Reich at her back, she was just about as safe as a woman could be.

God, a year ago, choosing the company of men who made her feel safe wouldn’t even have entered her head. And yet, right now, Matt and Tom Reich were exactly what she needed.

When she’d read about Moira, it was as if an enormous black abyss had opened up right in front of her toes, with ravening monsters at the bottom. This time recovering in San Luis had lulled her, made her almost forget that dangerous men were out to kill her. Slowly, the urgency of imminent danger had receded, and her thoughts had turned more and more toward trying to prove her innocence of the murder charge.

It turned out that the murder charge was the least of her worries. Matt appeared on the doorstep, slipping his gun into the back of his jeans waistband, and nodded. “All clear.”

He spoke to the man behind her, not to her. He stepped to one side, and Tom Reich put a hand to her back. It wasn’t in any way a sexual touch. He’d sensed her unsteadiness and made sure she knew he was at her back.

Matt took charge. Within a minute, the three were sitting down, Matt next to her on the sofa and Tom on a chair facing them. Matt’s arm was around her, heavy and warm. He looked at her, assessing. “We’re ready when you are,” he said quietly.

This was it. What Charlotte had been so afraid of—telling Matt her secrets and him turning her in to the police—seemed ridiculous now. She looked at Matt and his friend. They were watching her silently, soberly.

She held Matt’s gaze and drew in a deep breath. “I—I don’t really know where to begin, so I guess I’ll just start with basics. My name isn’t Charlotte Fitzgerald, it’s Charlotte Court. And I live—lived in Warrenton, New York.”

“Court,” Tom said suddenly, eyes sharp. “Warrenton, New York. Any relation to Court Industries?”

Charlotte nodded wearily. “My family’s. And now—mine, I guess.”

Tom looked at Matt. “Scuttlebutt has it that Court Industries is going to sign a huge contract with the Pentagon. They’ve got this supersecret project. All I know is the name—

Proteus.”

At least Charlotte had an answer for that. “No,” she said crisply, “it’s not. My father and I both were against it.”

“Yes,” Tom replied, “it is. And soon. I keep my ear pretty much close to the ground when it’s a question of companies doing business with the Pentagon, and my sources are very clear on that. No one much knows what Proteus is, but word has it CI is going to make close to $8 billion off it.”

Matt whistled and Tom nodded. That kind of money was worth killing for, to the right—or wrong—kind of person.

“Jesus,” Matt said. He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Okay, honey, time to talk.”

Matt and Tom let her tell the story her own way, both of them intently focused on her. Charlotte spoke until she was hoarse, but she knew that she’d said everything. Matt and Tom were as unpriestlike as any men she’d ever seen, but there was something of the confessional in the room. The quiet, the nonjudgmental attention, and above all, the sensation of unburdening herself of a huge weight.

Charlotte stopped for a moment. Both Matt and Tom were listening to her intently. She’d covered the ground up until February 20. This was the moment in which either Matt believed her or he didn’t. She had no way of knowing which way it would go.

“Robert was obviously paranoid—he set up this immense security . . . thing inside the company. The head of security was this idiot called Conklin. Martin Conklin. He was just incredibly . . . annoying. He made this big thing about being a former soldier, though he wasn’t anything like you, Matt. He kept saying he’d been in Special Forces . . . is that the right expression?” Charlotte looked up at Matt.

He slanted a glance at Tom, who had whipped out a Blackberry. “On it,” he said, as he keyed something in. Two minutes later, he looked up and addressed Matt. “Gunnery sergeant, accused of selling weapons off-base. Dishonorable discharge in 2004.”

“Oh.” Charlotte blinked, even more appalled at what Robert had done to her family’s company. He’d hired a
thief
to be head of security. “My instincts were perfectly right, then. To tell the truth, I wasn’t paying much attention. My father was getting worse by the day, and I was spending most of my time in the hospital.” She stopped, took in a deep breath. This was it. Matt and Tom were watching her steadily, faces completely impassive. “On—

on the twentieth of February, I went to visit my father. There was a snowstorm, and the temperature had dropped during the night. My car wouldn’t start, and the maid lent me hers—an SUV, a Tahoe. She was so proud of that car. It was like a symbol of America and success to her, bless her. She’s Irish and comes from a very poor family. Her aunt had been our maid forever and when she retired, she proposed her niece. We get—got on really well.”

She was prattling, putting off the moment. Charlotte clenched her fists and chose her words carefully. If she closed her eyes, she could see the moment in the hospital, as fresh in her memory as if it happened yesterday.

“When I walked into Dad’s room, I found Martin Conklin holding—” She swallowed.

“Holding a pillow over his face. Dad’s EKG was flatlined. Then I connected the dots and became absolutely furious. Conklin had this horrific
smugness
to him, as if he had a perfect right to snuff out my father’s life. It enraged me and I grabbed the IV tree next to my father’s bed and swung it at his head. It connected,” she said with relish. “Hard.”

Matt looked startled, his first expression since they’d entered her house. He reached over to raise her hand to his mouth. “Good girl,” he murmured. Tom looked approving, too.

“Well, I don’t know if I deserve congratulations because I didn’t know I was going to do it until I did it, until I saw Conklin lying on the floor.” The memory still gave her a hot rush of satisfaction. It heated her veins, helped her get over the numbing shock of Moira’s death.

“He had a gun with those cylinder thingies attached to the barrel—a silencer—and he shot me through the shoulder as I was running toward him.”

Matt’s jaw muscles were jumping, and his hand tightened painfully around her shoulder. She shifted, murmuring, and he let go with an oath.

“I knew the hospital inside out. I’d been practically living there for almost two years. I made it out via the service elevator and made it to Moira’s SUV without encountering anyone else in Robert’s security team.”

Tom leaned forward. “You were shot in a hospital. Why didn’t you just call a doctor?”

“Because I knew Conklin and this second man—I think his name was Renfert—would come after me. I was a witness to the fact that they’d killed my father, and they’d shot me. A doctor wouldn’t be armed. They’d probably kill him, too. No, I decided to go to the police.”

Tom sat back. “Smart thinking.”

She sighed. “Not really. When I drove by, I saw Robert and a couple of his henchmen. They were outside, talking to the chief of police. It scared me. So I drove home.”

They were listening to her with an intensity that was almost palpable, Matt unblinking.

“They were there, too,” she said softly. “Four armed men outside the gates of my home. I was in intense pain by that point, and I’d lost a lot of blood. I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I thought I could make it to a friend’s house, stay there for the night, have her call a doctor, and call maybe the FBI in the morning, but first I needed to stop at a gas station. And I saw—I saw on the evening news that I was wanted for murder.”

“What?”
both men exclaimed.