The Archangel Project (15 page)

Jax pulled his rented G6 into the marina's narrow strip
of parking lot, found an empty space near Pier 2, and killed the engine. The sun glinting off the water hurt his eyes, and he slipped on a pair of sunglasses before opening the car door.

Halfway down the pier he could see two men, one of them big and redheaded and unfamiliar. But Jax recognized the dark, good-looking one: his name was Stuart Ross, and six months ago he'd been in Colombia with the Army's Special Forces.

“Sonofabitch,” Jax whispered, and headed for the steps.

The two men were on board now. Elizabeth Vu was at the wheel and Jax could see the girl, October Guinness, out on the bow. As he watched, she cast off the bowlines and started working her way aft.

Trotting down the pier, he called out cheerfully, “Hey, Elizabeth. Heading out? Mind if I come along?”

Without waiting for an answer, he leaped nimbly
aboard. The redhead with the freckles and sunburned arms turned a Glock on Jax and growled, “Go sit over there, shut up, and don't do anything stupid. Who the fuck are you?”

Jax glanced toward Ross. The guy was studying Jax with a frown. But Jax had worn a full dark beard in Colombia, and it was obvious that Ross's memory of him wouldn't gel.

The redhead growled again. “I said, who are you?”

Jax spread his arms wide and sat down on the aft bench. “You told me to shut up.”

“A smartass.”

Jax was aware of October Guinness, a silent watchful presence on the far bench. He glanced at Elizabeth Vu. Her face was pale, her dark eyes huge, but she seemed to have herself under control. She said, “He's a friend of mine.”

Ross grunted. “He picked a bad time to come for a visit.” Leaving Redhead to cover the other two, Ross turned his back on Jax and moved in close to Vu. “Back up slow and take us out on the lake. We need some privacy.”

Jax could feel the deck vibrate, hear the swell of the water as Vu eased the cruiser out of its slip. For the first time, he swung his head and looked directly at October Guinness.

Her honey-colored hair fluttered loose around her face in the breeze, and the golden tone of her skin seemed to glow with health and vigor in the sun. He was surprised by how small she was, and by how young she looked. She had the body of a fifteen-year-old gymnast, with small high breasts and no hips. It made her
look younger than he knew she was, and oddly more vulnerable.

She was staring straight ahead. He could feel the tension in her. She was wound tight inside, so tight he wondered how she was managing to hold herself together. He knew only the faintest outlines of the hell she'd been through in the last eighteen hours.

The last time she'd been through hell, in Iraq, she had not coped well.

The cruiser lurched forward, the engines racing. Jax glanced to where Elizabeth Vu sat tall and stiff at the wheel.

Ross said to her, “You're going too fast. Just take it slow and don't do anything stupid. No wake.”

Wordlessly, Elizabeth Vu throttled back and the cruiser eased up.

They were out in the channel now, a long narrow line of wind-ruffled blue water cutting between grassy banks baking in the heat. Jax could see the point, opposite the ruins of an old lighthouse. As long as they were in the channel, Stuart Ross and his redheaded friend were unlikely to do anything. But once they were out on open water, Jax had no doubt he'd be the first one over the side with a bullet in the back of his head. If he was going to act, he needed to do it quickly.

He was aware of the hard outline of his own gun pressing against the small of his back, and casually leaned forward. The odds definitely were not good: two men with drawn guns against himself, a middle-aged math professor, and a woman certified as missing some of her marbles.

He looked again at Elizabeth Vu. She kept casting furtive glances at the console, her gaze drifting between the channel, Ross, and a built-in open shelf to the right of the helm. Jax shifted his position, trying to see what she might be looking at, but her body blocked his view.

He cleared his throat and raised his voice over the drone of the engines. “What's going on here, Elizabeth? Who are these guys?”

“I told you to shut up,” snarled Redhead.

They were clearing the channel, the cruiser keeling gently to the right. Ross said to Vu, “Okay. Now bring up the speed and head out into the middle of the lake.”

The boat began to pick up speed. Jax shifted his weight, giving himself lots of space around his right arm. Redhead leaned toward him, the Glock waving threateningly in the air. “Goddamn it, I told you to sit still!”

His shout jerked Ross's attention away from Dr. Elizabeth Vu. And in that instant she reached into the open compartment on the console and swung around, a heavy knife in one hand.

She lurched toward Ross, the knife clutched in her fist. Jax yanked his Cougar from his waistband, threw himself forward in a roll and came up firing. But Ross was already turning back toward Elizabeth Vu. He pulled the trigger, and an oozing red hole opened up in her chest as Jax's bullet slammed into Ross's face.

Jax swung back toward Redhead just in time to see October Guinness launch a well-aimed kick that knocked the gun flying out of Redhead's hand. Her
second kick caught the man in the face. He toppled backward over the handrail, his body hitting the water with a heavy splash.

“You bastard,” she shouted after the man in the water.

The helm abandoned, the cruiser swung in a tight, fast circle, the engines racing, the wheel spinning wildly. Jax leaped for the helm. He eased up on the throttle and steadied the helm, then went to make damn sure that Ross was dead. He was.

Slipping his gun into his waistband holster, Jax laid his fingertips against the pulse point on Elizabeth Vu's neck. “Shit,” he whispered.

He heard October Guinness ask, “Is she dead?”

Jax sat back on his heels and swiped a forearm across his sweaty face. “Yes.”

“What about him?”

“They're both dead.” He glanced over at her.

She was standing in the middle of the deck. At some point when he wasn't watching, she had picked up the redhead's heavy Glock. Now, she was holding it out in front of her in a steady, two-handed grip, pointed at him.

“You can put that thing away,” said Jax, keeping his voice
soft and easy. But he was very, very careful not to move.

She kept the Glock on him, her body swaying gently with the lifting of the deck, her hair flying loose around her face in the salty breeze. “I don't think so. Who are you?”

He held up his hands where she could see them. “Calm down.”

“Do I look hysterical?”

He had to admit she didn't. But then, he'd been in this business long enough to know that looks could be deceiving.

“Stand up slowly and turn the boat back toward shore. Do it!” she said, when he simply stared at her.

He eased to his feet and took the helm.

“Keep it slow and turn in a wide arc. I don't want to run into the redheaded gorilla we left swimming back there.”

Jax did as he was told. “And if he can't swim?”

“Then he drowns.” She shook her hair out of her eyes. “Who are you?”

“I work for the federal government.”

She laughed. She actually
laughed
. Then her face hardened and she said, “If that's meant to reassure me, it doesn't. The jerks who tried to kill me last night said they were from the FBI.”

“They're not FBI.”

“Yeah? So who are they?”

Jax squinted off across the sparkling expanse of the lake, toward the grassy levee that rose in a high swell beyond the seawall. “Look, I'm on your side. I just killed one of the bad guys, remember?”

“I don't see anything altruistic in that. It looked to me like you did it to save your own ass.”

“At least it means we have the same enemies.”

“Maybe, maybe not. How do I know you wouldn't have killed me next?”

“What reason would I have to kill you?”

“What reason do they have to kill me?”

She was starting to sound a bit too emotional for his taste; Jax decided to keep quiet for a while.

She said, “How did you know Dr. Vu?”

“I just met her. I've been trying to find you. She called and told me you were coming out here to talk to her.”

“And how did the bad guys find out I was here?”

“That, I don't know.”

He glanced back at her. She was studying him through narrowed eyes. “Why did you want to find me?”

“I'm trying to figure out what happened to Henry
Youngblood—who killed him, and why. I thought it might be useful to talk to you.”

She kept the gun on him. He remembered reading that she was a lousy shot, but a person could be blind and still not miss at that range. “Who do you work for?” she said. “And don't give me that federal government crap.”

“That's all I can tell you.” He glanced toward the shore. They were about a hundred yards out. “Where'd you learn to kick like that?” He didn't remember reading anything about martial arts in her file.

“Throttle back all the way,” she said. “But keep your hands on the wheel.”

He throttled back. The cruiser rolled heavily in the swell. He was suddenly aware of the sound of sea gulls wheeling overhead, of the pungent smell of fish and sun-baked mud in the air.

“All right. Now over the side.”

He swung around to look at her.
“What?”

“You heard me. Over the side.”

“And if I can't swim?”

“I'll throw you a life preserver.” She motioned with the Glock.

He backed toward the rail. “You need to think about this.”

“I have.” She lowered the muzzle of the gun until it pointed at his leg. “You can go over the side or I can put a hole in your knee and drop you over. Only then I don't think you'd find it very easy to swim.”

Jax swung a leg over the side, then paused. “Listen to me. You're in danger. Everyone close to you is in
danger. And the longer you play around with this, the more people are going to get hurt.”

“Jump.”

“If you change your mind, my name is Jax Alexander.” He paused. “Although, I'm registered at the Hilton under the name Jason Aldrich. Room 520.”

“I'm not going to say it a third time. I may be a lousy shot, but it'd be damn hard to miss at this distance.”

He wasn't going to argue with a woman with a gun and a psycho discharge. He jumped.

He made sure he jumped feet first, so he wouldn't lose his Beretta. The water closed over his head and he plunged deep. Kicking up, he broke the surface—and caught a mouthful of spray as a life preserver hit the water beside him.

“Thanks,” he called.

She hit the throttle and left him in a surging expanse of sun-shimmering waves.

Hadley rolled the Suburban to a stop in the shade of ancient
oak and nodded toward the house across the street. “That's it.”

Lance studied the stately Victorian with its curving porch and wide steps. The place reminded him of the big old houses in the exclusive neighborhoods of his hometown of Lawton, Oklahoma. When he was a kid, he used to dream of owning a place like this someday. He let his gaze drift over the ornate gables and the stained-glass bay window, and knew an echo of the combination of envy and longing he used to feel every day when he'd walk past those beautiful old places on his way to school.

“The nurse took the old lady for a walk about five minutes ago,” said Hadley, glancing at his watch.

Lance nodded. “Let's do it.”

He had his hand on the car door when his phone began to vibrate. He frowned. The call was from Buck O'Meara, who had gone with Stuart Ross to the marina.
As the senior partner, Ross should have been the one checking in. Lance flipped open the phone and settled back in his seat. “What is it?”

O'Meara's voice was tight. “Ross is dead.”

Lance's gaze met Hadley's. “What happened?”

“The girl was here.”

“Guinness?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get her?”

“No.”

Lance slammed his hand against the car door in frustration. “Why not?”

“Some smartass came up. Driving a Pontiac G6.”

The G6 again. Who the hell was this guy? “Tell me about him.”

“Late twenties. Slim. Medium height. He didn't give his name and I forgot to ask for his business card. He shot Ross. Vu's dead, too. Ross killed her.”

“And the Guinness woman?”

“She took off in the cruiser with the smartass.”

“She knows him?”

“He acted like he knew the professor, but I'm not so sure he really did. The guy's a pro.”

“Have the local police been brought into this yet?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Where's Ross's body?”

“In the boat, with the girl and the smartass.”

Shit,
thought Lance. Aloud, he said, “Where are you now?”

“I swam back to the marina.”

“Swam
back?”

There was a short pause. “You need to send a car to
pick me up. Ross had the keys in his pocket. And you might consider sending someone to stake out the asshole's G6. It's still here.”

“What about the girl's car?”

“I don't see it, but it must be around somewhere.”

“Find it. I'll send Barello.”

There was a short pause. “Can you tell him to step on it? I'm wet.”

Lance grunted and put the phone away.

“I thought Ross was good,” said Hadley.

“He was. One of the best. We've obviously got another player in the game.” Lance tapped his phone against his lips for a moment, then put in a call to Fitzgerald.

“We got any Semtex left?”

“Yes. Why?”

“The girl's car is somewhere near the marina at the West End. Send Reggie to wire it to blow when she opens the door.”

Lance snapped his phone closed and stood up, his shirt sticking to his back in the humid heat. They'd already checked out the girl's next door neighbor, Ambrose King; the guy was a clueless lowlife. “Let's go talk to this colonel. The last thing we need is one more loose end.”

 

Tobie ran the cabin cruiser parallel to the shore. She wanted to put as much distance as she could between herself and the men she'd left swimming in the lake behind her. But she was shaking so badly she finally had to throttle back and simply let the boat idle in the water.

Unwanted memories crowded in on her, of a desert
night filled with tracers and bomb blasts; the ugly thump of bullets striking flesh; the sobbing screams of a frightened, hurting child. Letting go of the helm, Tobie slid to the floor, her arms hugging her bent knees tight against her chest.

Eyes wide and vacant, Dr. Elizabeth Vu stared at her.

Tobie tightened her jaw. She was not crazy and she wasn't going to start acting like it. If she wanted to stay alive, she needed to
think
.

She sucked in a deep, steadying breath, then another. She was on a boat in the middle of Lake Pontchartrain with two dead bodies. She couldn't simply pull back into the marina and tie up at the dock. Even if Lance Palmer or his men weren't there, waiting, she couldn't risk being seen leaving the scene of another crime.

A fly buzzed her face. She brushed it away, but it was back again in an instant. The smell of blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the briny fresh breeze coming off the lake. Beneath her, the cruiser rocked gently with the waves. Pushing to her feet, she stared off across the sun-sparkled water, her gaze scanning the shoreline.

A stepped concrete seawall formed the edge of the lake here, with the grassy slope of the levee and a cluster of tall buildings marking the University of New Orleans rising up beyond that. In the distance she could see the sprawl of the Industrial Canal. There'd be a dock there, she thought, then realized she couldn't risk heading into it. Even in this post-Katrina world, there would be too many people around. She needed to find someplace else, someplace like…

Pontchartrain Beach.

Her gaze focused on the small cove below the university. She'd heard that at one time the people of the city used to come here to swim and picnic. There'd been a pier and a restaurant, even an amusement park with a Ferris wheel, before the beach had to be abandoned with the rise of the pollution levels in the lake. Now there was only a deserted strip of weed-grown sand and the remnant of a storm-shattered pier that stretched out to nowhere.

Squinting against the late afternoon sun, Tobie scanned the levee and the copse of oaks that grew on the small point just beyond the beach. No one was in sight. But she still didn't like the idea of pulling into the cove with two bloody bodies sprawled across the deck in plain view. She went looking for a tarp.

The only one she could find wasn't big, which meant she had to drag Dr. Vu's body closer to her killer in order to get the tarp to cover them both. She threw a quick glance at the dead man's face and felt her stomach tighten. The bullet that killed him had taken out one of his eyes. She'd seen worse—much worse—in Iraq, but she'd never gotten used to it.

That done, she rummaged around until she found an old T-shirt that she used to wipe down every surface on the boat she could possibly have touched, including the bow. Then she took the helm again and eased the throttle forward. Turning the bow toward shore, she ran the cruiser straight into the beach.

The cruiser's hull screeched along the bottom, then caught fast to lurch sideways at a drunken angle, the engines racing. She quickly killed the engine. In the sudden silence, she became aware of the sounds of the
lake, the lapping of the waves against the cruiser's hull, the cries of the gulls. She started to take off her sandals, then reconsidered. Surely footprints were as dangerous as fingerprints?

She wiped off the helm again and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. She had one leg over the side, ready to jump, when her gaze fell on the redhead's Glock—the one that hadn't been fired. Scooping it up, she shoved the gun into her bag.

It was uncomfortably heavy, whacking against her hip as she eased herself over the cruiser's side into the shallow water. But she was glad to have it as she splashed ashore, the sand sticking to her wet feet and legs as she crossed the narrow beach to climb the levee beyond.