Assassin P.I. (22 page)

“I need a huge favor. I need to locate a man by the name of Jack Gaines. I know he’s not at home or at his office, both have already been cleaned out, trust me I checked, but I need to know where else he could possibly go if he were on the run.”

Heading to a hotel seemed as likely as anything else, but it didn’t seem like something Jack would do. He was betting that he had a location squirreled away, for situations such as this.

While he waited for Ben to call back with whatever information he could dredge up, Nick tried calling Angie’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. If she was smart, she’d ditched it somewhere along the way.

Think, Nick
. Was there anything else that could help him locate Jack?

The GPS tracker Angie had planted. The one in the ledger was useless to him, seeing’s as how the ledger was currently at Shaw’s house at the moment, but Angie had said something about planting a second device. In Jack’s car. He guided his car to the side of the road again and used his phone to pull up the tracking website.

There. It was moving. Nick watched the tracker. The car seemed awfully far away from the LA area. In fact, it looked like he’d driven pretty far Upstate. As soon as the words formed in his mind, he knew GPS wouldn’t help him locate Jack. But it would help him find Frankie, who Jack tasked with heading to a prison to speak with some inmate.

Clever. They’d switched cars.

Ben called then and Nick quickly punched in the address into his phone’s navigation system. It was close to a two-hour drive and would take him up steep mountainy roads. The entire way, he kept praying he wasn’t too late. On the off chance that he wouldn’t make it in time, he’d asked Ben to call his boss. It was no guarantee help would arrive in time, but it was the best he could do.

Once he turned off the highway and onto a dirt road, he dialed his wife.

“Hi, baby, it’s me.”

His heart dropped as his wife spoke.

“What do you mean, you’re in labor?”

Chapter 24

By the time the adrenaline waned from Jack’s body, and the embers cooled, it was past midnight. Angie was sleeping peacefully in the bedroom. Slipping out, leaving her alone, would be sheer torture, but Jack knew it was the only way he could draw his opponents away. In time, he hoped she’d forgive him for what he was about to do.

His cell phone vibrated. Right on time. He grabbed the phone and answered it, slipping out the back door so as to not awaken Angie.

“How’d it go?”

Little Frankie’s gruff voice came on the line. “We’re too late. Edwin Doheny’s brother is dead.”

Jack rocked back on his heels. He should have known they’d start tying up any loose ends. With Edwin dead, his brother was the only one who could possibly still point the finger at the murderer. It made sense. He combed his fingers through his hair. “How?”

“Happened yesterday morning. There was some sort of fight over a pack of cigarettes. He was shanked multiple times. Bled out before they could even issue the lock-down.”

Damn.

“There’s more. Doheny wasn’t the only one your boy, Trevor, put away on trumped-up charges.”

“I’d figured as much.”

In the still of the night, while he waited for trouble to come find him, his mind couldn’t help but return to what Sweeny and Deluca had said about his father.

“Hey, Frankie? Do you think there’s any truth to what Deluca said? Was my father a dirty cop?”

His question was met with only silence. And then Frankie swore. “Shit. I picked up a tail.”

Jack’s pulse quickened. “You sure?”

“I’m doing eighty and this guy is keeping pace with me. Hell yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry though. Bastard won’t catch me.”

In the background, Jack could hear the sudden peal of police sirens. The engine revved up as Frankie floored it, but the sirens didn’t fade as he tried to put distance between them. A second later came the sound of tires squealing and the sickening crunch of metal on metal.

“Frankie?”

An explosion ended the phone call.

“Frankie!”

Jack retrieved the
portable television, hoping to find some shred of evidence that he was wrong. Maybe Frankie had survived. Maybe it wasn’t his car that had exploded. He set the TV and the antenna on the kitchen counter, turned the digital device on, and found a news station. The feed wasn’t good and kept cutting in and out.

“This just in . . .”

Jack’s hands shook as he poured himself a drink. He threw back the first one, barely feeling the strong liquid burn his throat, and poured a generous second helping.

“Police chase ended . . . Careening over the edge . . . Presumed dead.”

In horror, Jack watched as they replayed the video of a car, his car, taking a lover’s leap off a cliff. For a long time, he didn’t move, didn’t think. Numb was the only feeling he had. Life without Frankie was inconceivable. Beside him, smoke wafted up from the cigarette he’d lit but hadn’t touched, clouding his vision. Or maybe it was the tears that had clouded his vision, he wasn’t sure.

“Goddammit, Frankie!” He lashed out, swiping everything off the countertop. One minute Jack was holding his glass. The next, it, the ashtray, and the bottle of scotch, lay shattered on the floor. “Why’d you have to go and die on me?”

“Jack?” Angie filled the doorway, sleepy-eyed, barefoot, and beautiful. “What’s wrong?”

Everything
, he wanted to say, wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs. Instead, he dropped to the floor and started picking up the large chunks of glass. “Go back to bed,” he told her.

She didn’t listen. The damn woman never followed orders.

The front door swung open, but they both ignored it. His outburst had drawn the attention of Sal and Knuckles. He couldn’t face them, not now, not when their friend was dead. Dead because of him.

Dropping to Jack’s side, Angie placed a hand on his hand. “Shh, there now,” she consoled. “Everything’s fine. You’re safe now.”

But he wasn’t, and he never would be again. It was too much for Jack to bear. The tears that had been threatening to fall broke free, unable to be stemmed any longer. He turned his face and buried it in her shoulder, clinging to her like he was drowning.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Wiping the tears from his face, Jack stood and left the security of her embrace behind.

In the doorway were Sal and Knuckles. But they weren’t alone.

Agent Shaw shrugged off the two men who held him and blurted out, “I know everything, Jack. All of it.”

Who cared anymore? So what if the Fed knew he’d been framed? With a nod from Jack, the two older men turned and went back to their lookout posts outside, leaving Jack to deal with Shaw. Jack ignored the agent and took a seat on the couch. “You don’t know jack shit, kid. Go home to your family.”

Agent Shaw’s chin jutted defiantly. “I know you were set up.”

Big whoop. No one else cared. “Congratulations, kid. You finally know what I’ve known from the start.” Jack dismissed him with a flick of the wrist. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The agent took a step toward him. “Jack, you have to listen to me.”

“No. I don’t. I don’t have to listen to anything you say, because I don’t care.” Behind him, still watching the portable TV, Angie gave a strangled gasp. “Go home, little boy, and leave the dirty work to the grown men.”

Angie cranked up the volume on the televisio
n to drown out the sound of Jack and Agent Shaw’s little pissing match for dominance.

“Breaking news . . . Police are hunting for this man.”

Jack’s face was suddenly plastered on the screen. A mug shot, taken recently, she surmised.

“Armed and dangerous . . . Killing spree . . . Believed to be hiding near Gregory Lake.”

Oh crap! They knew where they were. The screen suddenly showed helicopters searching a thick swatch of forest surrounding a lake. The live shot was replaced with a headshot of Trevor and another two men she’d never seen before.

“Police now believe this man shot and killed the son of Senator Santino, along with a score of other men. The motive at this time is unclear.”

“It was you?” Angie sucked in a breath, holding it until her lungs burned. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. “It was you all along.”

The room went quiet.

“We need to go. Now,” Agent Shaw implored them, but Jack and Angie ignored him.

After all the time they’d spent together, how could he not tell her? Was he ever planning on telling her or did he plan to produce some innocent schmuck to play the part of Trevor’s killer? Or was he hoping she’d eventually lose interest or run out of money?

Maybe this was all one big mistake. Maybe she’d misunderstood. But no. There was Jack’s face on the television screen again with the word ‘wanted’ written across his chest.

“Say it isn’t true, Jack. Tell me this is just another lie, that you’re being set up again. Say the words and I’ll believe you.”

The police weren’t above taking bribes or planting evidence, as she, more than anyone, knew, but couldn’t help the tiny seed of doubt that planted in her mind.

She strode across the room toward Jack, searching his features for the truth. Stone faced, he stood silent, no denial on his lips. Finding no empathy, no remorse shining back at her in his dark, mysterious eyes, she slapped him. “Just say it. Say the damn words, Jack.” She banged her fist against his solid chest.

“Jack, forget about her. You’ve got to listen to me.”

Agent Shaw faded into the background, his words silenced, as she zeroed in on Jack’s face. This couldn’t be happening. She backed away, bumping into an end table, causing the lamp on it to teeter. If Jack were any other man, any other killer, she would have no trouble flinging the lamp in his direction, wielding it like a weapon of sorts. But this was Jack, and he would never be just some random man she’d hooked up with and could discard so easily.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Jack. Please.” Her voice held a whiny tinge. Why did she have to be so weak, so needy? When would she ever learn to stop trusting people? Angie wrapped her arms around her middle as she watched Jack put on his coat, a replica of the one he’d been wearing when he’d been shot, and grab his hat, dropping it onto his head. Pausing, he turned as if he was going to actually say something in his defense. Instead, he tugged his hat lower, saying nothing at all.

But the guilt was there, cloaked in the shadow cast by the hat, and for the first time, the full weight of the accusation hit her.

She
was
sleeping with the enemy.

What little patience Nick had was waning as he watched Jack and Angie indulge in a lover’s spat. He didn’t have time for crap like this. Especially not now, now that he had a son to welcome to the world.

His
son. His heart flip-flopped again at the mere thought of all the things he wanted to teach his son to do. Like how to play baseball and how to rebuild a car engine.

“Enough with the fighting!” Nick’s voice boomed in the small cabin. “He set you up, Jack, he ordered a hit on you.”

Angie froze, but her gaze was still riveted on Jack. He felt for her, really he did, but he’d warned her to walk away from Jack while she still could. The fact that she didn’t listen wasn’t on his conscience.

He shifted his attention back to Jack. The man’s stiff stance and slight tremor in his hand spoke volumes about his tenuous state of mind. He was in no condition to be taking on one adversary, let alone an entire police force.

As much as he wanted to help Jack, to help even the odds just a tiny bit, his first duty was to his wife and child. Wasn’t it?

Either way, either choice still felt wrong. Did he leave a man and innocent woman here to fend for themselves, knowing the only plausible outcome was death? Or did he stay and fight and leave his wife to labor on alone and scared, wondering why her husband would abandon her at her most vulnerable moment? Whom was his duty to? He vacillated, torn.

“Jack,” he implored once more, but the man’s hat concealed any emotion that might have been in his eyes. Only the rigid set of his jaw gave an inkling to what thoughts were going through Jack’s mind.

“Get outta here, kid, while you still can.” Jack jerked his head toward Angie. “Take doll face with you. Dames got no business fighting a man’s fight.”

Fury lit Angie’s face and she exploded with a string of expletives worthy of any truck driver he knew.

He took a step toward her.

Angie turned on Nick. “Lay one finger on me and I swear I’ll—” She turned and fled.

Damn it all to hell! Didn’t they know his wife and son needed him? He swore and started after her.

Chapter 25

By the time the gun discharged for the third time, riddling Agent Shaw’s back with shrapnel, Jack was moving, his heart pounding, dragging a terrified Angie along behind him. Pausing only long enough to grab his duffle bag filled with weapons and ammo, they burst through the door and ran into the inky darkness of the woods.

In the thick fog, visibility was limited, disorientating the pair for a minute. The sound of the front door being kicked in echoed around them. They didn’t have much time before the woods were crawling with officers armed to the teeth.

Don’t stop.
Don’t think about Shaw.
Jack’s heart thudded as the Fed’s face, twisted in shock and fear, swam in his mind’s eye. Christ, he was only a kid, still wet behind the ear. Jack shook his head to clear his thoughts. He couldn’t save him now. No one could. He forced himself to keep moving.

It was too risky to head back to the car. Even under the cover of night, there was no telling how many men were there, waiting for him. At best, he could hope to lure them further into the woods and then double back when it was safe.

No. For now he needed to put as much distance between Angie and the bloodthirsty boys in blue. Behind them, the cabin was being ransacked as they searched for him.

When Angie slowed to a stop, Jack cast a sideways glance at her, barely able to make out her features. She was beginning to panic, on the verge of hyperventilation, her chest heaving with exertion. Before Frankie’s phone call, and Shaw’s visit, he’d been dressed and ready to slip out unnoticed. But Angie hadn’t been so lucky. In their hasty retreat, brambles had torn her flimsy sheer nightgown and surely bloodied her bare feet.

He sucked in a breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. He couldn’t help save Shaw, but he could save Angie. She might hate him but she was still alive and needed his help staying that way. Focusing on that was far easier than numbering all the good people who’d died to save his sorry ass.

Jack loosened the shoulder strap on his duffle bag and dropped it over one shoulder so that it was slung across his body, freeing up both hands.

“We have to keep moving, Ang.” He took her hand and tugged to get her moving again.

She jerked away from him. “I’m not . . . going anywhere . . . with you. You’re . . . as bad as . . . they are.”

Doubled up as she was, gasping for each breath, she was in no condition to refuse his help. And there was no way in hell he’d let her be captured and tossed in jail, or worse, be shot in the melee.

In one smooth motion, Jack lifted her off the ground effortlessly and dumped her over one shoulder.

“Put me down this instant,” she hissed, struggling against his tight hold on her legs. “I will not be manhandled.”

“So you’ve told me.” Jack grimaced and tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his shoulder as his stitches tore open. Fresh blood dampened the sleeve of his shirt.

Pain was good. It meant he was still alive. Frankie was dead, Shaw was dead, but Angie was alive. He was alive. His gut twisted and a fresh wave of sorrow threatened to pull him under. He tamped it down and pressed onward.

Picking his way deeper into woods, he made his way toward the lake. There was a clearing there and a small boathouse that stored at least one useable rowboat. If they were lucky, Angie could hide out there while Jack took care of business. If he survived the night, he’d come back to get her. If not, well, at least she’d have a way to get to the other side of the lake and out of harm’s way.

The voices were getting closer now, and flashlights cut through the darkness, eating up what little head start they’d had. He kept to the shadows, flatting against trees and crouching whenever the lights swung their way.

By the sheer grace of God, they made it to the clearing by the lake, unnoticed. Jack stopped and deposited Angie back onto solid ground. Dropping his bag, he stripped off his jacket, placing it on her quivering shoulders. He tipped her face up. By the lake, the fog was thickest, but a thin sliver of moonlight cast an eerie light upon her face. The rough skin of his thumb brushed across her silky cheek, wiping away a tear. “It’s me they want. Not you.”

Anger and pain flashed in her golden eyes. “You left him there to die. How could you do that?”

“What choice did I have?”

Only accusations stared back at him. Her body shook as a new round of tremors hit her. Shock was setting in. He needed to get her to safety, and now.

“How could you be so callous?”

“He was already gone.” For that matter, he had to presume Sal and Knuckles had met the same fate. “There was nothing either one of us could have done to save him.”

Or Frankie.

Or Sal, or Knuckles, or . . . Hot tears spilled down his face. Annoyed at the sign of weakness, he brushed the tears away. Who would be the next name on his ever-mounting body count? His? Angie’s? The facts could never erase or alleviate the guilt he felt, would always feel.

“You don’t know that!” she hissed.

He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but the truth was still the ugly truth, whether she liked it or not. “Stay here. Go hide in the boat shed and I’ll draw them away from you. My phone is in my pocket. If I’m not back by dawn, call for help.”

She backed away, wrapping the jacket tight around her. “Who do you want me to call, Jack? The police? Last time I checked they were hunting us down like rabid dogs. Can’t call Agent Shaw, you left him to die in there. Alone. There’s nobody else, Jack. Nobody. You’re all I’ve got left.”

Tugging her close to him, he wrapped her in his embrace. “I love you. Always remember that.”

Then he picked up his bag again and left her there as he disappeared back into the thick of the woods.

Left alone to defend herself, da
rk shadows loomed ominously all around. Every rustling leaf sent her heart into her throat again. Water gently lapped at the shore, a sound that could have lulled her into a false sense of security if she weren’t dreading the impending sound of gunshots signifying Jack’s death.

She slipped her arms through the sleeves of his coat, grateful for the small measure of warmth it gave, but it wasn’t enough to mollify her. He’d dragged her through the woods in the dead of night, manhandled her
again
and abandoned her here. Left her to die, while he went off on another vigilante killing spree.

How dare he?

Her face flushed in anger. Jack was the reason why any of them were in this mess in the first place. He was a killer. There was no way to get around that simple fact. Jack had killed Trevor. And now he was inadvertently responsible for Agent Shaw’s death as well. Thoughts of Agent Shaw’s body, blood seeping from his wounds, set her blood boiling again.

“To hell with Jack Gaines.” Her breath crystallized in the cold air, forming a cloud. She shoved her hands into the jacket pockets. Her right hand brushed against something, something hard and metallic. He’d left her a gift after all. Her fingers wrapped around it and pulled it out for closer examination. It was a nine-millimeter sig pistol.

Time to finish what she’d started. Time to take down a murderer.

Propelling her body forward, she ran as fast as she could, tripping on the thick roots that snaked around her ankles in the misty darkness.

Shrouded by fog, a game of cat and mouse
ensued. Stealth-like, Jack crept through the underbrush, using trees and bushes for cover, his gun at the ready.

“Oh, Jackie-boy. Come out, come out, wherever you are,” called a singsong voice from Jack’s left.

Sweeney. No surprise there. The man was as crooked as they came, with a penchant for sadistic violence. Putting a bullet in him would be a pleasure. But it wasn’t time yet, not until he knew just how many adversaries he was dealing with. Based on the way they were trampling through the forest, it sounded like an entire Army platoon, but was probably more like three or four men tops.

Silently, so as to not arouse attention, he unzipped his duffle bag and felt for his silencer, quickly attaching it to the barrel of his gun. Less than forty-eight hours before he’d told Agent Shaw that if anyone were going to weed out the corruption that had permeated the local police force, it would be him. It was a promise he fully intended to keep.

If anyone deserved to die out there, it was Jack, not Shaw. The kid was only trying to do his job. Young and impressionable, the agent had still believed in a clear division between good and evil, right and wrong.

Jack felt his gut tighten. And he had used it against him, convincing him there was a greater good that could be achieved by helping Jack.

And now that man was dead, and it was all
his
fault.

Jack aimed his gun at Sweeney. Only a few mere feet separated the two men, but suddenly the man veered to his right, taking him away from where Jack hid.

Damn.