Takedown (An Alexandra Poe Thriller) (34 page)

Bingo.

Right where he said it would be.

After stepping into a fresh pair of panties, she took some jeans from the closet and pulled them on, then slipped the card into her right front pocket.
 

As she started back toward the dresser to find a bra, she heard a sound, spun around, and froze.

Thomas Gérard was standing in the bedroom doorway.

And he was holding a gun.

“What are you doing here, Thomas?”

She didn’t bother trying to cover up. There wasn’t anything here he hadn’t seen before.

“I was wondering the same thing about you,” he said. “When I heard you left the rendezvous point, I thought I’d better come here and find out why.”

She frowned. “How do you know about that?”

“Your pilot’s an associate of mine.”

Sudden dread washed over her.

“Oh, not to worry, your friends are safe. I couldn’t care less about what happens to Valac. He was always a fringe benefit. I think spending the rest of his life in a supermax prison is probably better than he deserves.”

“I don’t get it,” she said. “What’s your angle? Who do you really work for? Because I know it isn’t my father.”

“You figured that out, did you?”

“With some help.”

“Then I take it Eric Hopcroft is still alive?”

“He is,” she said.
 

He looked disappointed. “That’s unfortunate, Alex. The man I work for won’t be happy to hear that, and he’ll probably take it out on me.”

“You mean Mr. Gray? Or should I say Richard Munro?”

He spread his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

“So all that stuff you told me about my father was complete nonsense, wasn’t it?”

“Not all, I don’t think. But I had nothing to do with that. I was merely acting as an intermediary.”

“Why did Munro want me to kill Hopcroft?”

“To be honest, I don’t really know. I don’t ask him too many questions. I just cash his checks.” He paused. “Let’s get back to why you came here.”

“Does it matter?”

He shrugged. “Probably not in the scheme of things, but it’s a loose end and I don’t like loose ends. And I can’t think of a good reason why you’d leave your friends to come back.”

“Maybe I like the clothes.”

He laughed softly and waved the gun at her. “I have to admit I agree. Especially what you’re wearing right now.”

“Oh, don’t spoil it, Thomas. Here you were so smooth and professional and then you go and ruin it with some juvenile remark.”

He smirked. “Let me clarify. It’s your nice new jeans I admire. When I came in here I noticed that you put something in your pocket. Care to tell me what it was?”

She stiffened slightly.
 

Did he know about the key cards?

“Well?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed,” she said, then pulled Favreau’s card from her pocket and showed it to him. “It’s just my room key.”

He looked at it for a second and shrugged. “Oh, well. It was worth a try.”

Relieved, she stuck the card back into her pocket and said, “Since we’re all about curiosity tonight, why don’t you answer a question I’ve had ever since you stepped into that doorway?”

“Which is?”

“Why are you pointing that weapon at me?”

Before he could answer, she dove for the bed. By the time he pulled the trigger, she had Deuce’s pistol in her hands.
 

Gérard fired three quick, wild shots as Alex raised the SIG and returned fire, answering with a larger number—

—
one two three four five
—

—all of which hit him in the chest and stomach and sent him flying backward into the living room, where he hit the floor and went still.

She got to her feet, keeping the SIG in her hand as she walked out to inspect the damage. With relief, she saw that Thomas Gérard—or whoever he was—would never be getting up again.

And then the pain came, spreading through her chest and side like white hot fire.
 

She looked down at her naked torso and saw blood.
 

How the hell…?
 

Gérard’s shots, she realized. They hadn’t been wild after all. All three had found their mark.
 

Suddenly the SIG felt very heavy in her hands, and the world around her began to tilt and spin and the fire in her chest grew hotter and hotter as her legs began to buckle and she fell to floor.
 

She stared up at the lights in the ceiling, which must have been put on a dimmer, because they were fading, getting darker and darker…

And a moment later she was gone.

I
MAGES
. F
LEETING
IMAGES
.
 

And voices, too.
 

That’s what Alex remembered.

Voices she recognized. Shouts. Deuce and Cooper, both frantically calling her name as the images flickered through her mind…some real, some imagined, some dreamed.

Then hands on her body. Rough hands. Men’s hands.
 

And she began to float through the air, taking a magic carpet ride into the darkness, and back into the light.

Then the rough hands were gone, replaced by something smooth, like plastic or latex, and the lights were blinding, making her squint as the burning sensation in her torso sank deeper, seeping its way into her bones…and then the lights again began to fade.

She felt a pressure on her chest and someone shouted, “Clean!” or “Clear!” or maybe it was “Claire!” but she didn’t know what that meant or who that might be.
 

Were they talking to
her
?

Then the darkness came again. A black, empty darkness that seemed to wipe away her pain. Not just the pain in her chest and side, but the pain in her head as well. In her mind. Her heart.

It enveloped her like a mother’s loving arms—

—and she felt herself falling into nowhere…

She woke in a bed to find Deuce fast asleep in a nearby chair, and Cooper standing next to a meal tray, pouring himself a glass of water.

Feeling pain in her chest and side, she groaned. Cooper put the glass down and came to her, taking her hand.
 

He looked as if he hadn’t slept since Christmas.

“Welcome back,” he said. “We thought we’d lost you a couple times there.”

She blinked and glanced around the room. “A hospital?”

Cooper nodded.

“How did I get here?”

He raised a brow. “Did you really believe Deuce and I would let you go back to that hotel alone? We left Warlock to escort Valac to Key West and had McElroy meet him there with a team.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re as stubborn as I am,” she said. “When I saw these wounds, I was pretty sure it was over for me.” She eyed the room again. “What hospital is this?”

“St. Cajetan General, believe it or not.”

She tried to sit up. “What?”

“It’s okay,” he said, and gently urged her back down. “You’re here courtesy of Pappy Leo himself. All expenses paid.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“The police are saying you were attacked in your hotel by a stalker. Some guy you’d met in a Key Largo bar who became obsessed with you and followed you to St. Cajetan. They couldn’t find any identification on him, so they’re still trying to work that out, but you’ve been cleared for shooting him. They figure it was well deserved.”

“At least they got that part right. But why would Leonard Latham care about me?”

“After we left his estate, Hopcroft gathered the rest of Valac’s troops and fled. Latham played it all off as a band of thugs looking to rob his guests. There were a few people wounded, but fortunately none of the partygoers were killed.”

“Unbelievable.”
 

Cooper shrugged. “Works out for everyone, the way I see it. When he was briefed by Stonewell, Latham told them that Valac had barged into his life seven months ago and was slowly draining his funds. He was a virtual prisoner in that house, while everyone chalked it up to his eccentricity. The way he sees it, you’re one of the people who helped give him back his freedom.”

“Well, good for me.”

Cooper smiled. “McElroy and his bosses are very happy about the Valac acquisition. We told them your theory about Favreau’s head for numbers, and everyone agrees that the codes must have died with him. At least that’s what they want
to believe.”

Suddenly remembering, Alex sat up again. “Shit. Where are my jeans?”

“What?”

“My jeans? Where are my jeans?”

“In a bag under your bed, I think. Why?”

“Get them for me.”

Her gave her a funny look, then bent down and retrieved the bag. She pulled it open and reached inside, squeezing the pockets of her bloodstained jeans until she felt the stiff plastic of Favreau’s key card. Then she fell back against the pillows and let out a long breath.

He looked at her. “Is that what I think it is?”

She nodded, deciding it was about time she was honest with him. “I know it was the main focus of the op, but I don’t want to give it McElroy. And I don’t want you telling him about it, either.” She gestured. “Or Warlock, or even Deuce.”

He didn’t even think about it. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he said. “All of them are, if you ever decide you want to share.”

“Thank you, Shane. It’s just that Hopcroft told me what’s on this thing, and I don’t think McElroy or anyone else at Stonewell can be trusted with the information. I’m not sure if I should destroy it, or hang on to it for a rainy day. Use it for leverage.”

“It rains a lot in our world.”

She offered him a wan smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

Then she squeezed his hand.

Washington, DC

M
R
. G
RAY
LIVED
in a very tidy brownstone apartment in Georgetown.

Every evening at six o’clock, his wife of thirty years greeted him when he came home from work, and brought him a glass of Pinot and the day’s mail.

Two days after the operation in the Bahamas was completed, although not quite to Mr. Gray’s satisfaction, he found a postcard waiting for him.
 

The photo on the front was an oversaturated shot of the St. Cajetan hotel, with all those ridiculous old cars parked in front of it.

Curious
.

When Gray turned the card over and saw there was no stamp or mailing address, he frowned.
 

Had this been dropped directly into their box?

As his gaze drifted to the handwriting that formed the short message, a small chill ran through him.

He knew that handwriting.

No one else made Ss like that.

And if there was any doubt, the initials at the end of the note made the identity of the sender quite clear.

The message itself was innocuous, but the implied threat was evident to Mr. Gray. He knew that from here on out, he would have to stagger his routine. Not be so predictable. Because you never knew who might be watching…

The card said:

Sorry I missed you.

                              
EH

EPILOGUE

Key Largo, Florida

A
LEX SPENT THE
bulk of her recovery at the Shimmy Shack.

Cooper and Deuce joined her there for a few days and helped her clean up the place, and as they worked, she decided she must have been possessed by demons when she had agreed to sell it. Spruced up, the place was a gem, and most of her memories here were good ones.

Thank God, the agreement had turned out to be bogus.

Cooper brought Danny out for a week, and they spent a lot of time laughing and making new memories. She could tell that Cooper was starting to get very comfortable being around her during the off hours, and she knew what he wanted from her. But she wasn’t ready to go there yet.
 

Wasn’t sure she ever would be.

One night, when she was alone and had fallen asleep on the front sofa, she was awakened by a noise coming from the back of the house. She reached for her pistol and carefully worked her way toward the den, noting that the patio door, which she had closed, was now ajar.

She stepped into the room and froze. There, on the floor, was the sleeping bag she had tossed over the rail when she had first returned to Key Largo. She had forgotten all about it.

Angry now, she stepped over the bag and slipped out onto the patio. Once she was sure no one was lurking there, she looked over the rail into the moonlit darkness but saw no sign of anyone. Heard only the gentle lapping of the water below.

Intending to toss the bag over the side again, she marched back into the house, snatched it up, and something fluttered out from inside it and landed on the floor.

Another photograph.
 

Alex’s skin prickled as she picked up the photo and stared at it. It was a shot from the same era as the wedding video, her mother standing near the steps of a mosque.

And it was clear by the bump in her belly that she was pregnant.

Pregnant.

Alex turned the photo over, saw another Google link, and her heart started to pound.