Cause For Alarm (34 page)

She went on to explain things she said she had only learned of today. About how Julianna had found them through the adoption agency, how she had fallen in love with Richard from his profile, then set out to seduce him.

“She followed us. She learned about us. About me. Dear Jesus—” Kate brought her hands to her face a moment, using the time to collect herself, then dropped them to her lap. “She modeled herself after me. Tried to become like me, so Richard would trust her. So he would be attracted to her.” Kate made a sound of pain. “Like me, only better. Younger. Sexier. Unencumbered.”

“No one's like you,” Luke said softly. “Trust me on this, I've been looking for ten years.”

For a moment, Kate simply stared at him, then her eyes flooded with fresh tears.

“The story gets better.” She relayed to him what Julianna had told him about John Powers. That he had killed Richard, Julianna's mother, a family friend connected with the CIA who had tried to help her.

“And you believe her, Kate? Come on, this is not a stable woman. She probably fabricated the whole—”

“No, I didn't, not at first. Until he called. He said Emma was…he said she was dead.”

Luke sat back against the couch, stunned. “He said that? Those exact words?”

“Yes. There was no mistaking his meaning. So, you see,” she finished, “there's a madman after us. A professional killer. He means to kill Julianna and Emma. If I get in the way, he'll kill me, too. If he finds out you've helped us—” Her voice broke. “I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have involved you.”

“You didn't have a choice.”

“Yes, I did. I could have just kept driving. But I was afraid. And I knew…I knew you'd make me feel safe.” She began to cry. “Now, because of me, you're in danger, too. I'm sorry. So sorry.”

He went to her and took her in his arms, holding her while she wept. She pressed her face to his shoulder, and curved her arms around his middle, clinging to him.

After a time her tears subsided, and she drew away. “We won't stay long,” she murmured, wiping the tears from her cheeks, “we have to keep moving, be sure to stay a step ahead of him. I just need a little time to figure out where we're going. To make a plan.”

“You can stay as long as you like.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don't want to involve you any more than I already have. The sooner we're gone, the safer you'll be.”

“I can take care of myself, Kate. It's you who I'm worried about. And Emma.”

She laid her head against his shoulder once more. He felt her exhaustion in the way she sagged against him, as if she hadn't the strength to even hold herself upright.

“If only I could think clearly,” she whispered. “There's got to be a way to beat John Powers. There's got to be.”

He curved his arms tighter around her. “In the morning,” he murmured. “We'll talk some more. Between the two of us, we'll figure something out. I promise we will.”

L
uke couldn't sleep. Long after he had told Kate good-night he sat at his computer, staring at the glowing screen. He'd thought his story would crowd Kate and her situation out of his mind. His writing had always taken him out of himself, away from the world of flesh-and-blood people and into one of his own making.

Not tonight. The last hour and a half had been futile. As much as he'd tried, his story in progress had been crowded out by hers.

Luke shut off his computer in disgust, stood and crossed to the window. He stared out at the darkened street, mulling over what she had told him. Her story was more high drama than real life, like something from one of his novels.

But it was real life. Kate's.

He was frightened for her.

From the research he'd done for his books, he knew this guy. John Powers was like Condor. At the truth of that, Luke's blood ran cold. He recalled the loving way Condor had held the gun at the range that day, thought of the things he had said about life and death. About killing.

John Powers was like Condor, he thought again. But without the honor. Without the code of ethics.

He was a walking, talking killing machine.

Fear grabbed Luke by the throat. With his mind's eye, he saw Kate lying in a pool of blood. He saw Emma beside her, face contorted in death. The images took his breath away.

Luke turned his back to the window. John Powers could have followed Kate here. From what she'd told him, there had been time. He could have been parked outside Kate's home, calling from a cell phone. He could have been there waiting, watching, laughing at their pitiable effort at escape.

Heart thundering, he crossed to his desk and retrieved the .44 Magnum from the bottom right-hand drawer, recalling his conversation with Condor. He smiled grimly. Right now he was damn glad to have the Magnum's firepower. Up against a man like John Powers, he would be lucky to get off one shot—he would want that shot to do as much damage as possible.

Luke snapped open the cylinder, checked to make certain it carried a full round, then strode for the stairs. He took them two at a time to the second-floor landing, paused a moment to listen, than started for Kate's room.

It lay at the end of the hall. He closed the distance between him and it, opened the door and stepped inside. He crossed to the bed. Kate was there. Asleep on her side, her face pressed deeply into the feather pillow. Crescent-shaped shadows stained the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and her dark lashes stood out in stark contrast to her pale cheeks.

Luke reached out to touch her, then drew his hand away and shifted his gaze to her daughter. Emma slept beside her on the queen-size bed, nestled in the bassinet they had fashioned out of bed pillows. He tipped his head, studying the child. She was small and sweet and pretty, her face angelic in sleep. Her chubby arms were thrown above her head in total relaxation; her chest rose and fell with her deep, even breathing.

No wonder Kate loved her so desperately, Luke thought. No wonder she would sacrifice herself to save her. He drew his eyebrows together. How could Richard not have felt the same? Emma Ryan would be easy to love. Easy to grow attached to. Too easy.

Sweet Jesus, he had to help Kate. He had to help them both, had to stop this man.

“Luke? Is everything all right?”

Kate's eyes were half-open. Regret that he had awakened her skittered through him. “Fine,” he whispered, thinking again of John Powers. He forced an easy smile. “Just checking on you. Go back to sleep. Everything's going to be fine.”

Her lips lifted slightly even as her eyelids fluttered shut. She mumbled something he couldn't make out, and he realized she was already asleep.

He watched her for a moment, then exited the room, leaving the door ajar. After checking all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked, he brewed himself a pot of coffee, poured himself a cup and took post on the couch.

Someone had to stand guard. Tonight and every night until John Powers was stopped.

And he seemed the most likely candidate.

K
ate awakened to the smell of coffee and bacon. She stretched, breathing deeply, taking a moment to savor the luxury of being pampered. She smiled. How long had it been since she had awakened to those smells? Since the baby, of course. But how long before then? Somewhere along the line Richard had begun to refuse to make coffee—he said she made the process too complicated—and he considered bacon toxic waste, unfit for human consumption.

Thoughts of Richard brought the present crashing in on her. She didn't think of him in the past tense, she realized. Tears flooded her eyes, and she shut them tightly. She couldn't. Not yet. It hurt too much.

Tears squeezed from the corners of her closed eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She missed him. Not the man he had become in the past few months, the one whose frailties and flaws had surfaced to overshadow his many fine and admirable traits. She missed the Richard who had carried her over the threshold, the man who had made her laugh, who had encouraged her to open her own business; the man who had taught her about love.

She didn't have time for this, she thought, brushing the tears away. She couldn't give her energy to grieving for Richard. She had a daughter to protect; a madman to outrun.

The events of the day before and the gravity of her situation thundered down on her, in an avalanche of fear and helplessness. She glanced at the bedside clock, noted it was after ten, then dragged herself into a sitting position. She brought her hands to her face, working to center herself. She had to stay strong and focused. She, Julianna and Emma would be on the road again in a matter of hours. Between now and then, she had to come up with a plan.

Suddenly, the lateness of the hour sank in, the quiet of the room. Kate twisted to face the bed she and Luke had created for her daughter.

It was empty.

It took a split second for the realization to register, then with a sound of terror, Kate leaped out of the bed and raced for the door. She yanked it open and darted into the hall, stumbling slightly. “Luke!” she cried. “Luke! Where are you?”

He called that he was in the kitchen, and she ran in that direction, heart thundering, hysteria rising up inside her. John had found them. He had slipped into the house during the night and had stole Emma away. She brought a hand to her mouth, a horror of images unfolding in her head.

She stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. Stunned. Speechless. Luke sat at the kitchen table, cradling Emma in his arms while he fed her a bottle.

He looked up and smiled. “Morning, Kate.”

“What are you doing?”

He looked down at Emma, then back up at Kate. “Giving Emma her bottle. She woke up hungry, and you needed to sleep. That was about six-thirty, by the way. This is her second bottle.”

He had slipped into her room and out with Emma, and she hadn't heard a thing.
Unsettled, Kate moved fully into the kitchen, legs shaking. “But how…how did you know what to do?”

He smiled, the small lopsided smile that had always made her heart go pit-a-pat. “It's not all that technical, Kate. Take bottle, fill, warm and offer to baby. Simple.”

She laughed then, a high, nervous sound. He moved his gaze over her, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I—” She brought a hand to her chest and let out a long breath. “I woke up and she was…gone.”

She crossed to the table, legs shaking so badly she must have looked like an epileptic having a seizure. She sank onto a chair. “I thought…I thought the worst.”

His smile faded. “I'm sorry, Kate. I didn't think about that. Considering the circumstances, I should—”

She held up a hand, stopping him. “No, don't apologize. I appreciate you letting me sleep. Richard never—” She bit the words back, forced a smile and held out her arms. “Now that I'm up, I can take her.”

“Actually, I'm rather enjoying myself. Do you mind?”

She said she didn't, swallowing hard. “Coffee?” she asked.

“In the carafe. Cups are in the cabinet right above.”

“Thanks.” She crossed to the cabinet and selected a mug. Obviously a promotional item for
Dead Drop
, the mug's handle was shaped like a gun grip. Luke's name, the book title and release date were printed in red on the gunmetal gray exterior of the mug.

“Nice cup.”

“Thanks. Publisher premiums.”

She filled it with coffee, added cream, then sipped, murmuring a sound of pleasure. “This is Kona, isn't it?”

“It is.” He grinned. “I got hooked on it while I was in Hawaii researching
Last Dance.
There's bacon under the paper towel. And a loaf of homemade raisin bread on the cutting board. Help yourself.”

She did, suddenly famished. “When did you become Mr. Betty Crocker?” She carried her plate and mug to the table and sat down.

“Live alone long enough and you get pretty sick of Big Macs and Domino's pizza.” The lopsided grin made another appearance. “My repertoire's pretty limited, but I figured you'd be hungry.”

“Starving.” Kate ripped off a hunk of her bread and took a bite. “I love homemade bread. You have a machine?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Emma squirmed in his arms. He popped out the bottle, eyeballed what was left, then popped it back in. She began to suck voraciously. “My kid sister gave it to me for Christmas last year.”

Kate couldn't believe they were sitting here talking about such mundane things as bread machines and coffee beans. Only minutes ago she had been sure John Powers had stolen Emma away.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

“Surprisingly well.” Sometime during the night her nightmares had retreated and she had been left with a feeling of peace. Of being safe and protected. “And you?”

“Great. Like a baby.”

Emma noisily slurped down the last of her bottle, the now empty liner making a wheezing sound as she continued to suck on it. Luke popped out the bottle, brought the infant to his shoulder and began patting her on the back.

Kate watched his movements, astounded by how assuredly he handled the child. She told him so. “I have five younger siblings. And now three of them have children of their own. I've spent a good part of my life burping babies.”

“I'd forgotten you come from such a big family.”

Emma let out a deep, wet burp, one a sailor would be proud of. Luke and Kate looked at each other and laughed. “Nice burp, sport,” he said. “Very ladylike.”

Kate laughed again and held out her arms. “Spend a bit of time around her, that's nothing. And she has absolutely no shame about where—or how—she breaks wind. Speaking of which, I'd better change her diaper. She must be soaked by now.”

“Done,” he said, settling the child in her arms.

“Done,” she repeated, astounded.

“Mmm-hmm. Changed her right before you got up.” He went to the carafe and refilled his mug. That done, he met her eyes, the expression in his serious. “We need to talk, Kate. I've been thinking about your situation, and I've come to the conclusion that you and Julianna are going about this all wrong.”

“You do?”

“Mmm.” He brought the coffee mug to his lips and sipped, as if using the time to collect his thoughts. Kate waited, heart pounding, hoping against hope that during the night he had come up with a miracle.

“Seems to me,” he said, “if you start running, you'll never stop. There has to be another way.”

“And what is it?”

“I don't know. Yet.” He returned to the table and sat down, his gaze never leaving hers. “I know this guy who's after you, Kate. Not personally, but from research for my books. He's a hunter, above the law because of skills that keep him there. He has no compunction about taking a human life, to him death is merely an extension of life, the act of killing no different than that of taking out the trash. Necessary. Warranted.”

“Thanks for cheering me up,” she whispered. “I needed that.”

“There's more,” he said grimly. “And it's worse, so hold on. What you're contemplating's not a hiatus until things cool down, it's not disappearing for a month or two or a year, then returning to your regular life. It'll never cool down, Kate. This guy's on a personal mission. He'll hunt you down. Even if it takes years, he'll find you. And when he does—”

“He'll kill us.”

“Yes.” He went to her and squatted in front of her, forcing her to look him dead in the eyes. “We have to find a way to stop him. It's the only way you'll be safe.”

“We, Luke?” She shook her head. “I've already put your life in danger by involving you this much. I can't—”

“Yes, you can. I'm not going to abandon you to this monster, Kate. Not you or Emma.”

Kate struggled for an even breath, fought to control the fear that had her in a death grip. Fighting, too, the urge to lean on him and to completely fall apart. It wasn't fair or right. It could get him killed.

“I can't let you do this, Luke. You don't understand what you're getting yourself into.”

“Yes, I do.” He brought a hand to her face and cupped her cheek. “You don't have a choice in this, Katie-girl, you've involved me, now you're stuck with me.”

He'd used her father's pet name for her. Tears flooded her eyes and she covered his hand with her own. “What do you think we should do?”

“I have a couple of contacts with the Agency. Let me get in touch with them, ask their advice. In the meantime, you and Julianna crash here. Rest, get healthy—”

“No.”

They looked up to find Julianna standing in the kitchen doorway, her expression panicked. “Julianna—”

“No!” She shook her head. “You don't know what he's capable of! You didn't see—”

“I do know, Julianna.” Luke stood. “That's why I'm convinced running is futile.”

“He's right. We have to have a plan. We have to find a way to stop him.” Kate glanced at Emma, asleep in her arms, then back up at Julianna. “You can do what you think's best for you, but I'm staying with Luke.”

The younger woman stared silently at them a moment, as if considering her options, then turned and left the kitchen. She returned a moment later with her purse, a backpack-style tote. She set it on the table, opened it and rummaged inside for a moment. She pulled out a Ziploc plastic bag that appeared to contain three items.

She handed it to Luke. “Maybe this will help.”

He opened the bag and retrieved the items, a small, black leather binder, like an address book; a used envelope and an airplane ticket stub. “What are these?” Luke asked.

“They're John's. I took them after I talked to my mother, when I left D.C.” Luke flipped through the black book. “It's in some sort of code,” she offered. “John never spoke of what he did for a living. I was never to question him about it. I got curious.”

“And you began to snoop?”

“Yes.” She pulled out a chair and sank onto it, her expression at once defiant and defeated. “The black binder was hidden in the freezer, sandwiched between two packages of frozen meat. So I figured it must be really important.”

“This is good,” Luke murmured. “It could be very good.”

Kate came up behind Luke and peered at the items. “What do they mean?”

“See this ticket stub?” He held it up. “The ticket was issued to a Wendell White.” He held up the envelope. “This was sent to David Snow. But both were in our man's possession. Why? Because they're both aliases of John Powers'. And this address is to one of his dead drops.”

Julianna drew her eyebrows together. “How do you know?”

“Don't. But I'd bet money I'm right.”

“Dead drop?” Kate asked, amazed that Luke knew this stuff. “Like your book.”

“Yeah, that's right.” His lips lifted slightly. “A dead drop's a dummy address. Used for correspondence and deliveries but untraceable back to a real person, in this case John Powers. At any time an agent might have a dozen—or more—of them scattered throughout the country. Or countries.”

“So they can conduct business without fear of being discovered,” Kate murmured.

“Exactly. I know a private investigator, a good one. He helped me with some research a couple years back. I'll give him a call, see what he can dig up on these names.”

“What about the other?” Kate asked. “That…book?”

“He wants it back,” Julianna offered. “He told me he did. He was really angry that I'd taken it.”

“That's good.”

“Good? That he's angry?” Kate drew her eyebrows together. “Why am I not reassured by that?”

Luke smiled. “That means it's important. It means we're going to be able to use it to get this asshole.”

“But how?” Kate asked, heart thundering, afraid of the relief flowing over her—she feared if she relaxed, even just a bit, that would be the moment that John Powers struck.