Whatever It Takes (39 page)

“I’ll make sure Adam’s notified that he’s been had,” Justice said. “I’m sure he’ll be quite disappointed.” He jerked his head toward the door they’d just exited. “You heard everything you needed to hear?”

“It was enough,” Eli said. “Were you able to trace the woman’s location?”

“Yes. She’s still in Dallas.” He gave Eli a small, pained smile. “At the Slater House Hotel.”

“Shit,” Eli muttered softly.

“I’ve got people headed there as we speak,” Justice said. 

“Think they can take her alive?”

“That’s my intent.”

“No way in hell is that contract canceled.”

Justice nodded. “Agreed.”

“She’s got nothing to lose now. She’ll be gunning for us any way she can.” 

They all turned at the sound of the mechanized motor of Johnson’s wheelchair. He wasn’t looking quite so confident now as a small bead of perspiration rolled down his forehead. To keep him from being able to hurt Kathleen any further, Eli put an arm around her shoulders and led her to the other side of the porch. If Johnson even knew they were there, he didn’t let on. Eli figured the man had more on his mind now than taunting them.

Once he rolled down the ramp at the other end of the porch, they watched as his hands were uncuffed so he could be lifted into the backseat of the patrol car. The instant the cuffs came off, Johnson went into action. Knocking aside the deputy who was assisting him, Johnson took off running down the hillside and into the woods.

Eli, Kathleen, Justice, and Nick, along with the sheriff and the deputy, ran after him. Something inside had told Eli that the man was faking his handicap. He should have listened to his instincts.

Darkness hadn’t yet set, but a thin, damp fog was swirling through the trees, obscuring their vision. They were all armed. Johnson had no weapons, and despite his ability to escape the sheriff’s deputy, he wasn’t in good physical condition, nor was he trained to evade his pursuers. The mountains were dense with trees, filled with wild animals and hazards of all kinds. 

One way or the other, William Johnson would be caught.

His lungs burned from overexertion, and the air wheezing from his mouth sounded like a dysfunctional teakettle. When this was over and he was safe, he’d go to a place where he could get in better shape. He’d always preferred exercising his brain more than his body, but since he would be on the lam for the rest of his life, perhaps it would be best if he were in better shape.

As his feet crunched over wet leaves and rotted branches, a part of him wanted to sit down and cackle at how he’d fooled them all. He’d been using the wheelchair ruse for years. People were always extra careful and considerate toward people with disabilities. They had been so arrogant, so rude with their weapons, their insults. If only he could see their faces as they pursued him. He was a phantom. They would never catch him, because he had a plan. He always had a plan.

Slipping and sliding down the hill, William spotted the headlights of the car waiting for him. The minute he’d heard the caravan of vehicles arrive, he’d set this exit strategy into action. The extra time of questioning had been excruciating but important for his getaway plan. 

The minute he was in the car and safely away, he’d call his hired gun and reassure her that his phone call to her canceling the contract had been a ruse. He thought she knew that already, but he’d double check, just in case. Eli Slater and Kathleen Callahan would both get a bullet in the head. Then he’d have the remaining family members picked off, one by one. The entire Slater family would be crazed with fear, not knowing who would be next.

Yes, it was all working out just as he—

His feet flew out from under him, and he landed with a painful, bruising impact on his butt. Then kept sliding. William reached out to grab a limb, and it came apart in his hands. His heart thudding with a new kind of fear, he grappled for anything he could grab hold of to catch him. The lip of a drop-off loomed ahead. If he didn’t catch on to something soon, he would go off the cliff. As he slid downward, he spotted a tree stump directly ahead. He dug his heels into the wet ground, trying to slow his descent. The tree stump would stop him, but he didn’t want to hit it too hard. His plan worked perfectly. He skidded into the stump, stopping abruptly just before he went off the ledge. Giddy with relief, giggling at the adventure he hadn’t expected, William stood on tired, shaky legs. 

A noise behind him startled him, and he jerked around. 

Eli Slater and Kathleen Callahan stood before him. 

“It’s over, Johnson,” Slater growled.

Shaking his head, William jumped back and stumbled. The stump that had saved him from falling, tripped him. Arms swinging like windmills, he tried to find something solid to grab.

Something stopped him from falling. He looked up to see that both Slater and Callahan had hold of his jacket. Their expressions were grim with resolve; they had saved him from certain death. 

Laughing at the irony and their stupidity, he took a step forward, toward them. It wasn’t over. He’d find another way to escape. He was a Johnson and a Johnson always had a—

The ground crumbled, then disappeared beneath his feet, and William plunged downward. His cry echoed through trees as he fell into cold dark nothingness. The last image in his mind was the bitter disappointment on his father’s face.

Chapter Forty-five

Dallas

It was a somber group that disembarked onto the tarmac at the private airstrip. The night hadn’t ended in the way they’d hoped. Not only had William Johnson gotten off easy by getting himself killed, the killer he’d hired was nowhere to be found. Grey’s people had arrived at the location of the cellphone ping only to find an empty hotel room. The added insult that it was a Slater House Hotel was of no consequence. She had disappeared, that was all they cared about.

Sitting beside Eli, Kathleen had managed about an hour’s sleep. Eli hadn’t slept at all. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with worry. That worry grew only stronger when his cellphone rang a few moments after landing.

Taking in his grim expression, Kathleen knew something dire had happened.

“What the hell do you mean the house blew up?”

Only able to hear one side of the conversation, she stared at Eli in horror.

Apparently seeing her worry, he punched a button and put the call on speaker. “It’s Jonah.”

“The house in Toulouse where Mother and Mathias used to vacation each year. I caught it on the news this morning. Happened a couple of days ago. No one hurt. House was empty.”

“Dammit,” Eli said. “She took the chance it’s where the family is staying. She didn’t care who she hurt.”

“You want me to get them out of France?” Jonah asked.

Eli’s gaze connected with hers as he said, “We’re headed there in a few hours. Alert the guards and stay on lockdown.”

“Will do.”

Ending the call, Eli immediately made another one. “I need the plane ready to leave for France in two hours.”

As soon as he ended that call, Kathleen grabbed his hand. “Tell me.”

“My parents vacationed in Toulouse every year at the same house. It’s where they honeymooned. It exploded yesterday.”

“So she wasn’t even sure if her targets were in the house. She’s getting reckless.”

“And more dangerous.” Eli closed his eyes. “If they’d been there…” He shook his head. “I’ve got to get them out of there.”

Squeezing his arm, she whispered softly, “We will. We’ll take them someplace safe, and then we’ll go after this bitch with everything we have.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “I love you, Kathleen Callahan. And as selfish as it seems, there’s no one else I’d rather have at my side right now.”

“That’s because you know I can kick ass with the best of them.”

“Yes, I do.”

“We’ll get through this. And once this is over, we’re going to have a wonderful life together. I promise.”

“Yes, we will.”

This was beyond irritating. The house where Mathias and Eleanor Slater had vacationed each year had seemed like the perfect spot for Eli to hide his family. Okay, yes, it had seemed too easy, but the correct answers were often the most obvious. It had taken days to uncover the location, and now she had nothing to show for it.

She allowed herself an indignant sniff, a little shrug of her shoulders, and then moved on. Other than lost time and the aggravation of needing to do more research, she wasn’t really out anything. But still, it was a setback she didn’t like. And, if she were being honest, it was a bit embarrassing. Two failed attempts were unheard of in her line of work. Admittedly, now that Johnson had been arrested, she had all the time in the world to get the job done, but she had a reputation to uphold. She had planned for this job to be a career triumph for her. Instead, it was turning into a giant bust.

She had to step up her game.

So she had returned to Dallas to do a little recon work. Not her favorite thing. She much preferred making the kill. But busy work was part of her job. She had put off this particular method simply because it could get so messy. She was a goal-oriented killer. Meaning she didn’t like to include other people who weren’t on her agenda already. Okay, yes, she’d used the killer by proxy method several times because…honestly, it was fun. Screwing with people’s heads like that was an enjoyable byproduct. But this? No, this wasn’t a favorite part of her job, but it had to be done.

She stood in front of the modest but obviously expensive home. She knew enough about this family to know only one woman occupied the house most of the year. A widow with no children, Phillippa Morton stayed busy with her church, her charity work. She had a reputation for being somewhat of a loner with only a few friends, but she was apparently quite loyal to those few. A test of that loyalty was about to occur. Would Phillippa pass or fail?

She knocked on the heavy oak door. When no one answered, she rang the doorbell. At last she saw the outline of someone through the thick glass. With a sweet, sincere smile pasted on her face, she waited. The door opened, and Phillippa Morton, Eleanor Slater’s best friend in the whole world, stood before her.

“Yes?” 

The woman had the look of a pampered, spoiled woman who’d never seen hardship a day in her life. Unfortunately, before the day was over, Phillippa would know a horror most people could barely fathom. She had just answered the door to her very own nightmare.

Holding out her hand, she took Phillippa’s and said, “Mrs. Morton? I’m a friend of Eleanor Slater’s. May I speak with you?”

Like any friendly Southerner, she opened the door wider and smiled. “Why, of course. Please come in.” 

His feet slapping against the wet pavement in a hypnotic rhythm, sweat dripping from every pore, Grey pushed himself harder. For convenience sake, he usually used the treadmill in his private gym, but tonight, fresh air was a necessity. It was well past midnight, so the streets were mostly empty. Which was good, because right now he needed solitude.

For as long as he could remember, he’d had a plan. One that had worked with surprising success. Escaping his past had been his number one priority. Once that was achieved, he’d concentrated on building the life he wanted. Creating his wealth hadn’t been difficult. He’d had good luck, made sound decisions, worked hard, and reaped the rewards. It had helped that he enjoyed his work. Once he had established himself, had the wealth he desired, he’d developed his victims’ advocacy group. The organization did valuable work, and he was proud to be a part of it, but that hadn’t been enough. So he had done more. 

Perhaps because of his heritage, perhaps in spite of it, he had needed to do more.

His life, though not perfect, and God knew he wasn’t perfect, had been a good one. He had been satisfied. Was that because she had been with him for so long? From the beginning? 

But now, Irelyn was out there somewhere, and she was in trouble. He felt it to the marrow of his bones—she needed him. How to get to her, to help her? That was the clincher. She no longer trusted him, no longer wanted their partnership. While he understood her reasoning, he couldn’t accept it. He had to find her.

His cellphone rang in his pocket. Skidding to a halt, Grey slid his finger over the screen to answer. As if his need had conjured her, he heard Irelyn’s voice say, “Ivy Roane.”

So relieved to hear from her, to know that she was alive, Grey didn’t immediately comprehend her words. “What?”

“The woman trying to kill Eli and his family. That’s her name. It’s not me.”

“I know it’s not, baby.”

He heard an odd choking noise that sounded almost like a soft sob. “It’s been a long time since you called me anything sweet, like baby.”

“We haven’t had many sweet moments.”

“No, I guess we haven’t.”

“Where are you, Irelyn? I’ll come to you. I—”

As if the intimate words had never occurred, her voice went serious, hard. “Those in the business know her as Poison Ivy, as that’s her preferred kill method. She’s been a contract killer for a half-dozen years.” She paused a beat. “She’s one of his.”

Something he’d already figured out. “He made her look like you. Hell, her name is even similar to yours. Why?”

“That’s something I’ll ask when we’re finally face-to-face. Unfortunately, we can’t ask him directly.”

She would be forever throwing that back in his face. Yeah, nothing less than he deserved. But damned if he would regret the bastard’s death. Hill Reed had deserved death more than any person he’d ever known.

“She’ll have it out for you, Grey. She may not wait until her current job is done before she comes after you.”

“She’ll be after you, too, Irelyn.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Then lets fight her together. Come back to Dallas.”

“I can’t. You know that. You know why.”

“I can keep you safe.”

The soft laugh was one he often heard in his dreams. “You know I can protect myself.”

“Then come back and protect me.”

“You have an advantage. She doesn’t know how deadly you are, what you can do. That doesn’t mean she won’t get you in a weak moment, though. Watch your back, Grey. I’d be very pissed off if she got to you before I did.”