True Lies (27 page)

There was no mistake. That was the voice she remembered clearly from the phone and the warehouse. He really was here. But who was the other man?

“Not my fault. I was tied up with this damn task force all day, and the number you gave me has been disconnected.”

“Yeah. We had to change location.”

“Have you got my envelope?”

“Don’t bother counting it, it’s all there.” The draft strengthened, swirling across the floor. “You’d better come with me and we'll set up a welcoming committee for them. It'll be a regular turkey shoot.”

“Hey, killing wasn’t part of our deal.”

“It is now. If we go down, you go down, Haskin.”

At the sound of the name, Emma jerked. Her knuckles clunked dully against the metal.

For a moment there was silence. Then she heard Harvey’s voice again. “Where are your deputies?”

“Don’t worry, we're alone. Thibault is out on a call and I gave enough paperwork to Duff to keep him busy all night.”

“Anyone down there?”

Another silence. Then Emma heard the scrape of a shoe at the top of the stairs. She pivoted quickly and dived for the cot. Heedless of the plate of food, she curled up on the mattress and faced the wall. Heavy footsteps approached across the floor and stopped just outside the cell. She forced herself to remain motionless and breathe evenly. Her flesh crawled as she felt his gaze move over her.

After what seemed like an hour but what only could have been a minute, the footsteps crossed back to the stairs. Emma was about to move but caught herself just in time. She continued to feign deep sleep, the rhythm of her breathing never changing. Another hour-long minute passed before Haskin finally climbed the stairs. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, then nothing.

Emma curled her fingers into her palms and stayed where she was, counting off another two minutes, but he really was gone this time. Warily, she lifted her head and looked behind her. The basement was empty. She rolled over and came to her feet in an instant, muttering a short oath.

Haskin. A crooked cop. No wonder Simon had panicked at the idea of going to the police. Was that why Haskin had always been asking about Simon? Was he keeping an eye on him for McQuaig’s group? He had been out to the cabin the day before the Cessna had blown up. What else was he doing for McQuaig?

She ground her teeth together so hard her jaw ached. The question wasn’t what Haskin had been doing, it was what he was about to do.

“Oh, my God,” she said, as the full implication of what she had heard finally hit her.

Haskin had warned them. That meant Simon would be able to get away after all.

But for how long? Wouldn’t it be better if he was forced to face up to his actions now, before he only got in deeper? Maybe the prospect of being arrested was less dangerous than continuing the involvement with the drug smuggling.

But the raid was no longer a surprise. What kind of welcoming committee was Harvey going to set up for the police?

What would be the price of her brother’s freedom?

Lives are at stake. If only a hint of this gets out, things could turn ugly...

Suddenly all the tangled emotions, all the conflicting loyalties didn’t mean a thing. There were no sides to choose, because her heart had already chosen.

She leapt to the door. “Hey,” she yelled. “Hey!”

There was no response.

She kicked the bars until the steel rang. When no one came to investigate the noise, she took her discarded plate from the mattress, dumped the food on the floor, and started clanging the plate against the bars. In the enclosed space the din was deafening, but Emma persisted until she saw the red-haired deputy descend the stairs.

“What’s all that for?” he demanded the moment she lowered the plate. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Please, you have to help. Call off the raid.”

“What raid? I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“The raid on McQuaig’s estate. Sheriff Haskin warned them. You have to get word to Bruce Prentice. He’s working with Xavier Jones.”

“Ma'am, I've never heard of either of those characters.”

“They were here this morning with another man. They're working a special undercover assignment to stop a ring of people who are smuggling cocaine into the country....” She paused, seeing his disbelief in his raised eyebrows and narrowed eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. Please, you have to warn them they're being set up.”

“Cocaine smuggling? In Bethel Corners?” He laughed. “That’s crazy, all right. Those guys were no cops, they were from the county roads department. The sheriff told me that himself.”

“He didn’t know who they were until yesterday. He’s been working for the drug smugglers. He’s setting up an ambush.”

“Ma'am, if this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not very funny. I don’t know what you think you'll get out of it, but—”

“I'm not lying!” She might have laughed, if the situation hadn’t been so desperate. One of the few times she was being honest with someone in uniform, and he wouldn’t believe her. Clenching her fists against a wave of helplessness, she whirled around. Her gaze fell on her uneaten dinner. The chicken gravy had spread across the floor in a splatter of lumpy blotches. Mashed potatoes were smeared on the toe of her boot and partway up her calf from where she had been lying on the plate. She had been standing in front of the mess, so the deputy wouldn’t have seen it yet.

“Now, I think it would be best if you settle down and stop making up stories about Sheriff Haskin. He doesn’t seem to be too pleased with you as it is.”

Swiftly she wrapped her arms around her waist and doubled over. Groaning, she staggered closer to the spilled food.

“What’s wrong now?”

“I don’t feel well. I think...I'm going...to be...sick.”

“Uh, ma'am?”

“Help me, please, I don’t know if I can...” She positioned herself strategically and collapsed within easy reach of her dinner plate, then drew her knees to her chest and moaned loudly.

But not loudly enough to drown out the sound of the key in the lock.

Chapter 14

B
ruce sipped a mouthful of lukewarm, tasteless coffee and tried to quell the uneasiness that tightened his gut. The interior of the panel truck was crammed with only a small portion of the team that Xavier had been putting together over the past week. Apart from O'Hara and himself, there were DEA people, two representatives from the Bangor Police, a coast guard official and some perfumed and high-heeled advisor from the justice department. What had begun as a fishing trip based on a hunch had snowballed into a major narcotics bust. Bruce didn’t like it. With so many people involved, there were too many chances for something to go wrong. At least Emma would be safe. Furious, but safe.

“Forget about her, Bruce,” O'Hara said quietly.

There was no mind reading involved here, Bruce thought. O'Hara knew him well enough to realize that his attention wasn’t focused on the case. “Right.”

“You had to do it. We couldn’t have her running around loose.”

“I know that.”

“She’s made it clear that she doesn’t think much of the law. Xavier filled me in on her background, and she’s a bad risk.”

“I wanted her out of the way for her sake, not ours.”

“Whatever. Quit beating yourself up about it. It was nothing but nature taking its course. She’s a good-looking woman. Considering the circumstances—”

“Damn the circumstances!”

Several heads turned in his direction. Xavier looked up from the aerial photograph he was studying. “Problem?”

“No. No problem.” Bruce drained his coffee in one gulp. Focusing on the paper cup in his hand, he tore off pieces of the rim and dropped them inside.

Xavier murmured a low comment to the woman from the justice department and made his way to the rear door of the truck. “Let’s get some air, Prentice.”

Bruce crushed the cup in his fist and tossed it to O'Hara. “Whatever you say.”

Xavier held the door open against the wind until Bruce had stepped outside, then eased it shut and walked a short distance away. They were behind a deserted gas station that was about a mile from McQuaig’s place. Several other vehicles gleamed dully from the shadows nearby. Xavier halted beside one of them and turned up his collar. “We move in less than two hours. Anything you want to say before then?”

The clouds that had rolled in at sunset had brought the tang of rain. The air was charged with expectancy and the threat of change. Frowning, Bruce shoved his hands into the pockets of his borrowed coat. “I don’t like this.”

“Any particular reason?”

“It’s gotten too big.”

“McQuaig
is
big. We need the help. Anything else?”

“No, just a bad feeling.”

He was silent for a few moments. “You don’t have to take part. You've already contributed more than your share. Why don’t you stay in the truck and man the radio this time?”

“No. I want in. I want to find Simon Duprey.”

“You're too close to this one, Bruce. Considering your involvement with the sister—”

“Leave Emma out of it. I want Simon Duprey because he’s our best chance of nailing McQuaig. He worked for them under duress, and despite his problems with the law, it’s my guess that he’d choose a deal over prison.”

“We've already discussed that possibility.”

“And if we've figured it out, so could McQuaig. Duprey might not last long enough to do us any good. I can’t let that happen.”

“Because of the case or because of the woman?”

Bruce couldn’t answer. He hunched his shoulders and turned his back to the wind. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

“Go ahead.”

“This is my last case. I'll give you my badge when it’s over.”

Crickets chirped shrilly from the long grass at the edge of the road. The wind gusted in whispers through the stand of birch that bordered the gas station. Xavier swore softly and stepped closer. “You're burned out. Take some time off. You've got it coming. There isn’t any reason for you to do something this drastic. You're a good cop. Why throw that away?”

“Because that’s all I am.”

“You've worked undercover for too long. I've seen it before. Take a vacation, get some perspective on the situation.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t something that a tropical beach can change.”

Twin beams of light swung around the curve of the road. A car slowed and pulled off on the shoulder. Xavier glanced toward it and stepped away. “We'll talk about this later. Once you have a chance to rest, you'll feel differently.” He started off toward the car. “In the meantime, you keep that badge, because if you try to give it to me, I won’t take it.”

With an odd sense of detachment Bruce watched four more men emerge from the car. Xavier wasn’t taking any chances. Already there were units unobtrusively surrounding McQuaig’s estate. The planned raid was taking shape, but instead of feeling the thrill of anticipation or the low-level excitement of the chase, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

His heart simply wasn’t in this anymore. He had known early this morning, when he had stood by the window and stared at the glinting piece of metal in his hand, that he would never be able to go back to the way things were. He’d always known that Emma Cassidy was a dangerous woman, but he’d never imagined how dangerous. With the vulnerability in her mountain lake blue eyes and the generous, healing passion of her body, she had managed to destroy the defensive wall that had shielded him for five years. No, there was no going back. He closed his eyes briefly, and into his mind flashed the image of Emma’s face as the cell door had clicked shut.

He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye like that. He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye. Ever.

* * *

Muttering an apology under her breath, Emma locked the cell and tossed the keys on the table, then ran up the stairs and closed the metal door on the deputy’s outraged demands. Cautiously, she peered around the corner. There was no one at the front desk. Normally there were two officers on duty at this time of the evening, but from what she had overheard Haskin say, one of them, Thibault, was on a call. The other one, who must be Duff, was nursing a sore head in the basement. Haskin had already left with Harvey, so temporarily she had the place to herself.

Moving swiftly, she went straight to Haskin’s office, slipped inside and closed the door behind her. With a quick glance to assure herself that the blinds were still shut, she crossed to the desk and picked up the phone. It was only when she was listening to the dial tone that it struck her—she didn’t know what number to call.

“Damn,” she whispered. She bent over the desk and sorted through the papers, her anxiety mounting. She found the map that had been pinned to the bulletin board, but there was no trace of the files that Xavier had placed here this morning. The dial tone switched from a hum to a squeal and she jabbed at the zero.

“Give me the Bangor Police,” she told the operator. But when the connection was made and she heard the first ring, she hung up the phone. McQuaig had the Bethel Corners sheriff on his payroll. Did it stop there? Or were there others? Could she trust them to deliver her message? What if her attempts to warn Bruce’s people backfired?

Frustrated, she shoved the map into her pocket and paced across the room. This was too much. All her life she had claimed that she couldn’t trust cops. Now she wished she could. Bruce had asked her to give the law a chance, and she was trying. A week ago, when she had told him that Simon was in trouble, he had attempted to convince her to... She skidded to a stop. He had wanted her to go to the police. He had picked up a pen and scrawled a number on the back of an empty envelope and had said that it belonged to Xavier Jones.

“That’s it!” she exclaimed. Even if Xavier himself couldn’t be reached, someone at that number would be able to get the warning to him. She glanced at the clock, her stomach knotting. If she ignored the speed limits, she could be at her cabin in fifteen minutes.

If she had a car.

Chewing her lower lip, she looked around the room until her gaze lit on the set of small hooks beside the locked gun rack. One set of keys dangled from the center hook. With the tip of her finger she lifted a slat from the blind and looked outside. Haskin’s patrol car was still parked in its usual spot in front of the station. Of course. He wouldn’t have wanted to draw attention to himself when he left with Harvey. Without giving herself time to think about what she was doing, she snatched the keys and ran outside.