Cause For Alarm (42 page)

“She's with me. Her
daddy.
” He laughed then, the sound flat, without warmth or life. That a human could make such an emotionless sound frightened her to her core. She fought to keep from crumbling, from simply falling to pieces. The only thing that kept her from doing so was knowing that Emma needed her.

“Such a shame about Julianna,” he continued. “Though I think you'll agree, she had it coming. She betrayed me, Kate.
Me.
I gave her everything, and she betrayed me.”

“You didn't give her everything,” Kate said, unable to contain her revulsion. “You took everything from her, you son of a bitch.”

“Such language.” He clucked his tongue in admonishment. “Kate, you of all people should understand betrayal. After the way Richard treated you? I would think you'd be thanking me.”

“What have you done with Emma? I want her back.”

“Funny you should say that. Because you have something that belongs to me. Something I want back.” In the background she heard an infant begin to cry.

Emma.
Kate brought a shaking hand to her mouth.
She would recognize Emma's cry anywhere.

She was alive.

“And now I have something that belongs to you. Something you want back, rather desperately I believe.”

“Don't hurt her,” Kate begged. “Please don't hurt her, I'll do anything you ask. Anything!”

“Just what I was counting on, love. But please, let's save the pleas and histrionics. This is a business arrangement. If you want your item returned intact, you and Dallas meet me at 2:00 a.m. at the Bay Harbor Yacht Club in Annapolis, pier twelve. Call the cops or the feds and the little baby bitch dies.”

A
nnapolis, Maryland, was located on Chesapeake Bay, about an hour from Washington, D.C. Founded in 1646, the town was known to most Americans for the navel academy of the same name. Historic and quaint, the capital of Maryland was also the sailing capital of the nation and sported no less than four yacht clubs—including Bay Harbor.

Kate and Luke arrived at Bay Harbor ten minutes early. Luke drew to a stop in the empty parking lot, shifted the car into park, but left it running. Beyond the parking lot lay the marina with its fingers of piers lined with boat slips.

The winter night was cold, quiet and impossibly dark. Kate huddled deeper into her coat, feeling small, vulnerable and afraid. The last hours had been a horror for her. Before leaving the hotel, they had called 911 and reported Julianna's murder. Then, though it had felt wrong, they'd just walked away. Quickly, not looking back. They'd had no choice.

Kate rubbed her arms. She couldn't close her eyes without seeing the image of Julianna in those last moments, as her life had slipped away. Without remembering that the man whose handiwork had caused her death now had her daughter.

Emma was in the hands of a madman.

Fear clutched at her and for a moment, Kate couldn't breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could stop the images unfurling in her head. Wishing she could stop imagining Emma's cries. Ones of fear. Cries for the safety and security of her mother's arms.

Only her mother didn't come.

If Emma was still alive.

A soft sob escaped her. Kate brought a hand to her mouth, the thought of it almost more than she could bear.

As if reading her thoughts, Luke turned to her. “She's alive,” he said softly. “John wants that book. He knows he won't get it if she isn't.” He reached across the seat and covered her clasped hands with one of his own. “We're going to get her back, Kate. We are.”

Tears flooded her eyes. She didn't trust herself to speak, didn't trust herself to meet his eyes. Because she didn't believe it, not in her heart, no matter how desperately she wanted to.

“Look at me, Kate.”

She shook her head. “I can't.”

“I need you to look at me while I say this. It's important.”

So she did. She turned her gaze to his, her tears welling and slipping slowly down her cheeks. He brought his hand up, cupping her face, catching her tears. “I love you, Kate. I always have.”

His words felt like a goodbye. She recoiled from them, tears choking her. “No, don't. Please, Luke—”

He laid his hand gently across her mouth. “We both know this guy has no plans of letting us go, book or no book, but I promise you, I'll do everything I can to save her. To save you both.”

Even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

She heard the words he left unsaid, as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud.

“If the opportunity comes for you to run, I want you to do it, Kate. I want you to take Emma and go. And don't look back. Promise me.”

“I can't.” She shook her head again. “I won't leave you behind, Luke. And I won't say goodbye.”

“Then don't.” He trailed his thumb across her cheekbone, his lips lifted in a bittersweet smile. “I'll love you forever, Kate. Nothing could change that. Not even death.”

She turned, pressing her lips into his palm, sobbing. “I love you, too, Luke.”

“Come here.”

He held out his arms and she slid across the seat and into them. She clung to him, aware of the time ticking inexorably past, her dread growing with each second.

“It's time.”

He was right, she knew. But she held back, clinging to the moment and to him. To life. She realized how precious and perfect it was, now that she faced the real possibility of death.

She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer—of thanks for all that she had been given, and one for the safekeeping of her daughter.

And then she was ready.

She met his eyes. “Let's go get Emma.”

They climbed out of the vehicle, the sound of the doors slamming shut reverberating through the night, echoing on the sea air. Kate paused, her senses assailed by the smells and sounds of the harbor: of halyards pinging against aluminum masts, of the rhythmic slap of water against wooden and fiberglass boat hulls, of mast flags flapping in the wind; the smell of fish and salt and the day's sun that had warmed both.

Kate sucked it all in, savoring the corporeal sensations, holding on. Last times were like that, she mused. Super-real. Exaggerated. Perfect.

Luke caught her hand and laced their fingers. “Pier twelve,” he murmured. They angled toward it, passing a group of storage sheds and a rest room.

As they reached the pier, John called softly from behind them. They turned. He stepped out of the shadows not twenty feet away. He had Emma. She lay limply in his arms, a piece of silver duct tape over her mouth.

“Emma!” Kate cried in anguish, fearing the worst. At the sound of her mother's voice, the infant began to stir, then squirm, in John's arms.

She was alive! Thank God!

Kate rushed forward; John stopped her by bringing his gun to Emma's head. “I don't think so, Kate.” He smiled, his lips stretching obscenely across his teeth. “The gun's cocked, Kate. It's a semiautomatic. I could put twelve bullets into your little princess in twelve seconds. Or less. Would you like that?”

A sob rose in her throat. “Don't hurt her. Please. I'll do anything.”

“I know you will.” Again he flashed her that horrific smile. “And I admire you for it. Such love and loyalty.” He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Richard was a fool for not appreciating you.” His gaze slid to Luke. “Somehow I don't think Dallas here has the same shortcomings. Such a shame.”

“Let her live,” she pleaded. “Please, Nick…John, I beg you. She's innocent in all this. She didn't ask to be conceived.”

He ignored her plea, turning his attention to Luke. “Where's my book?”

“I've got it,” Luke answered. “And I'll give it back as soon as you hand over Emma.”

John stared at him a moment, then laughed, the sound hollow, cold. “So, hero, what did you think you were going to do with that book? Decipher my code and cut a deal with the Agency? Let me clue you in, my friend, they'd have screwed you. They're a bunch of disloyal, dishonorable pricks.”

“Funny, those are the adjectives they used for you.” Luke moved his gaze between John's face and Emma, waiting, hoping, for an opportunity. He motioned their surroundings. “What's your plan, Ice? Kill us and sail off into the sunset?”

“Give the man a gold star. I've already got the GPS set for Bermuda.”

“You really think you're going to get away with this?”

“I know I am.” He laughed. “He motioned to the sleek Gulfstar fifty-four parked in the slip two down on the right. “Pretty, isn't she? I named her
The Julianna.
”

Kate brought a hand to her mouth. He felt no remorse over killing Julianna, no guilt.
John Powers wasn't even human.

“You've got snakes in your head, you know that Powers? You're pathetic.”

The killer's expression tightened. “You need to show me a little respect, Dallas. I could have killed you all a dozen times over, but I didn't. You know why?”

“I'm sure you're going to enlighten me.”

“I wanted to see the whites of your eyes when I did it. I wanted to smell your fear, hear you beg for your life.” He moved several steps closer. “You see, then I'd be certain you were being punished for your crimes.”

Luke laughed suddenly, the sound contemptuous. “You're not a very professional killer, are you? Making it personal is for psychos and street thugs. Why, the deadly Ice is nothing more than a jealous boyfriend.”

A muscle began to twitch in John's jaw. The gun slipped a fraction, as if he'd relaxed his hold on Emma.

Kate held her breath, more afraid than she could have imagined possible. All it would take was the wrong word from Luke, and Emma would be dead. Kate held her tongue, knowing that unhinging John might be their only chance for survival.

“Is that why you killed Senator Jacobson?” Luke asked. “In a jealous pique? How about Clark Russell?”

“Jealous of Jacobson or Russell? Get serious.” John's lips curled with derision. “Jacobson was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Russell stuck his nose in my personal business. He had to die. He had to be punished.”

“You keep saying that. We all need to be punished, right? Because little Johnny's feelings were hurt? Because his girlfriend dumped him as soon as she got old enough to see that he was nothing but a sick son of a bitch and a child molester?”

“Shut up!” John shouted, his face screwing up with rage. “Shut the fuck up and give me my goddamn book!”

“This book?” Luke asked, holding it up. “No problem. Just hand over Emma.”

“You want the little bitch? It'll be a pleasure. Almost as much of a pleasure as putting a bullet in your brain.”

As if in slow motion, Kate watched as John tossed Emma into the air. Luke rushed forward. A scream ripped from her lips as she dove for the infant, hoping at the very least to put herself between Emma and the ground.

Kate caught her, then went down hard, twisting to take the brunt of the fall and protect Emma. She skidded on the gravel; it tore at her arms, elbows and legs.

A blast rent the air.

“No!” Kate cried as Luke stopped dead, his body convulsing as the bullet slammed into him.

Suddenly the night went from dark to light as spotlights from the boats on either side of the pier snapped on, pinning John in their bright circles. Men with guns appeared as if from nowhere, at least a dozen of them, their weapons trained on John.

“Drop your weapon, Powers! CI—”

With a howl of rage, John swung toward Kate, leveling his gun on her and Emma.

Kate's life passed before her eyes. She lurched sideways, clutching her daughter to her chest, shielding the infant with her body, saying one last, silent prayer as she awaited the bullet's impact.

The agents opened fire. John's body jerked and twitched as round after round blew into him—blood, fragments of bone and bits of flesh flew as the shots pitched him side to side, forward and back in a grotesque dance of death.

As abruptly as it had begun, the explosion of sound that shattered the night ceased. But still, John stood. He hung there, gun clutched in his hand, blank gaze on Kate. In that moment, hysteria pulling at her, Kate wondered if John Powers couldn't be killed. If, monster that he was, he needed neither blood nor bone nor breath to survive. She wondered if it would ever be over.

Then, like a puppet whose wires had been suddenly severed, he went down, folding in on himself, hitting the ground without a sound.