Chasing Shadows (8 page)

He was lucky the convening authority allowed him to trade the names of the others in the smuggling ring for time served.  Still, he'd spent three months in Leavenworth, most of it in solitary confinement until his release in October.

His life since was a cipher.  There was no record, criminal or otherwise, since Chase had been expelled from the Marines.  No income reported on his behalf, no wants, no warrants.  The guy had either been squeaky clean or living under the radar.  

Given that he returned home to the same town that Bruno Gianotti lived in, at the same time Gianotti was putting together the biggest deal of his career, KC guessed the second.  Which would explain Westin's really lousy timing.

So Chase Westin was most likely working for Gianotti.  How could she use that?  Surely even a scumbag like Westin wouldn't endanger his kid brother's life for a business deal.  Maybe she could turn Westin, barter his and Jay's safety for info on Gianotti's buyer, his future testimony?  

No.  Better to wait until Jay was safely out of the way before exposing herself to Westin.

She climbed the steps to her bedroom, the questions swirling in her mind.  Probably would be easier if Jay hadn't gotten so attached to her.  And if his big brother wasn't so damned attractive.  She'd always had a weakness for rugged he-man types, despite the fact that every man she'd known like that had left her disappointed in the end.  

Just needed to get some sleep, that was all.  KC walked into the bedroom and turned on the light.

Less than three feet in front of her, Chase Westin straddled the desk chair, watching her.

CHAPTER 9

Lucky almost got lost on the dark and twisty roads that led through the snow-covered forests between Coalton and Mill Run, the closest town with a motel.  Hadn't these people ever heard of street lights? he wondered as he steered his Suzuki GSX 1400 over the two lane road rutted with pot holes and dark as a coal mine.  

He made it down the mountain in one piece, skidded his bike to a stop in front of the Blue Bird Inn, thankful that at least in December he wouldn't have to worry about actually encountering any real birds, and hurried inside to the bar.  

Deacon's people had taken over the place. The bartender and a middle-aged waitress with sagging breasts and penciled-on eyebrows were the only locals remaining.  Lucky grabbed a pitcher from the nearest table and filled a smudged mug, downed the weak beer in two gulps.  The men at the table laughed.

"Hope you're not looking to get drunk on this stuff," Redman said, glancing up from his hand of poker.  

"Tastes like tap water someone took a piss in," Lucky agreed.   "I can't wait until this deal's done, and we can get back to the city."

"Amen to that, Brother Cavanaugh," Deacon said from behind Lucky.  

Lucky's role was as a convert to The Crusade, unlike Chase whose cover was playing the middleman between Gianotti's organization and The Crusade.  

After listening to The Crusade's rhetoric for almost two months now, Lucky had to admit there was something compelling about the idea of wiping out the mistakes of the last two hundred years.  Abolishing the bureaucracy that was suffocating the government, overhauling the tax system so that everyone shared in the profits of their labor, ending special interest groups and establishing term limits so politicians could concentrate on getting the job done rather than the next election.

Lucky knew little more about Deacon than when he had started.  It was difficult to separate the truth from the urban legends that blossomed around the man.  Redman had told him Deacon grew up a gang-banger on the streets of LA, killed his first man before he was fourteen.   After the bombing of a LA Medi-Cal office, Deacon abandoned the gangsta lifestyle for the role of underground warrior, preparing for the Second Revolution.  And The Crusade was born. 

For Deacon it was easy: you were either part of The Crusade, or part of the problem.  And, from what Lucky had seen so far, Deacon's solution to most problems involved lethal force.

"We all set?" Deacon asked, gesturing Lucky to an empty booth.

"Tomorrow, noon."

Deacon poured Lucky a shot of Jack Daniels, then one for himself.  His knuckles still bore tattoos from his days in the Grape Street Crip gang.  He had a surprisingly soft voice, one that made you strain to catch each word.  "I hate to keep the men working over the holiday."

Lucky looked around at the men playing pool and cards.  None of them seemed to be missing the holiday cheer.  "We don't mind—as long as the job gets done."

Deacon raised his glass in a toast.  "That's the spirit, Brother.  Today's your birthday, you don't regret being far from your family?"

Lucky almost choked on his whiskey.  Damn, sometimes it freaked him out that these people, men he was trying to put in jail, knew intimate details of his life.  Even Chase didn't know it was his birthday today.

"You guys are my family," he said, giving Deacon the party line.  The other man nodded in approval.

"Is Westin coming back tonight?"

"Probably not, he has some family business."

Deacon acted as if he was familiar with Chase's family.  Lucky never could tell when the guy actually knew the inside scoop and when he was bluffing—guess that was what made Deacon so good at his job.  

Lucky was just a demo man.  Give him a bomb to build, something to blow up, or a device to disarm, and he could do it in his sleep.  This undercover deal was scary, made him feel like a rookie.  He could hold his own with the street thugs dealing modified TEC-9's, but these Crusade freaky-deaks were nuts, totally unpredictable.

He took another hit of whiskey and wished he were back in DC.  Mean streets he could navigate with ease.  Of course with three brothers, a father and two uncles on the Metro Force and his only sister with the Secret Service, he had plenty of trustworthy backup there as well.  Here, in the wilds of Pennsylvania, he felt naked.

"We scouted a few meet sites," he told Deacon, stifling his homesick sigh.  All part of the job.  Some of it had been fun, like designing the devices Deacon wanted.  He'd dreamt up a few beauties.  Of course, they'd never get built.  Not if he and Chase did their jobs right.

"Find a place suited to our needs?"

"High school basketball courts.  They're in the back of the building, a service road leads around and if there's any problems, we can move to cover inside the gym."

"There will be church services across the street."

He was right, but Lucky didn't ask how he knew.  Obviously Deacon had performed his own recon.  It was what Lucky would do if their positions were reversed.  

Trust no one, assume nothing—Chase had taught him that as his first lesson in undercover work.

Lucky shrugged.  "Guess so, didn't check.  Is that a problem?"

"No.  In fact it may be a blessing in disguise.  The Lord provides in mysterious ways."  

The Crusade's message was strictly non-denominational, focusing on economics and social inequities as common ground.  But that didn't stop Deacon from quoting the Bible at odd times, such as when drawing to an inside straight.  

Deacon finished his drink and pulled a motel key from his shirt pocket.  "Good work."  

Lucky took the key.  Room Thirteen.  Deacon laughed at his expression and clapped him on the shoulder as he stood to leave.  "Have faith, Brother.  It's just a number, it can't hurt you."

So why did Lucky have a bad feeling about this?

As he left the bar, he failed to notice Deacon nodding to Redman who took Lucky's glass from the table, placing it in a plastic bag.

"How long?" Deacon asked.

"Hour, tops."

CHAPTER 10

KC's hand moved to where her gun would be if she still had her jacket on.  Except her jacket was hanging downstairs in the foyer.  She wasn't supposed to need a weapon, not here in her own damned house!

"Close the door, we need to talk," Westin said, his eyes locking onto hers.  With his long, straggly hair and fierce expression he looked like the wolf waiting for Red Riding Hood.

Boy, had he ever picked the wrong girl.  She put her hand on the doorknob.  One good shout and Glenn and Carson would come running.  And she had her backup piece in her boot.  

Before she could decide, Westin stretched one long leg and kicked the door shut.  Pivoting out of the chair, he grabbed her arm, pushed her back against the wall.

That made up her mind for her.  KC knew exactly how to handle bullies like Chase Westin.  

She glared up at him, showing no fear or apprehension.  His grip on her arm was bruising, but if KC wanted to break it, she could have.  Told herself she would have, except she wanted to see where he was headed, see if this encounter could help her operation.

Up close he was even more handsome.  Tiny lines, the start of crow's feet, made his eyes look deeper, wiser, and there was a hairline scar trailing down from his lower lip to his chin that gave him a slightly crooked smile.  She breathed deep and inhaled his scent.  Definitely not an Old Spice man.  

"I want you to leave Jay alone," he told her.  

His voice was smoldering, whiskey on the fire growing within her.  Damn it, this was no time for pesky hormones to get in her way.  Why did Westin have to be exactly her type, physically at least?  It'd been a long time since any man had this kind of effect on her.  Not since Manny.  

Her breath caught, a small sound that came from deep in the back of her throat.  Westin interpreted it as fear, nodded as if they'd made some kind of bargain.  

"Find someone else to be your patsy.  I know the baby's not Jay's," he continued.

Smart kid.  Jay must have told his brother the line they were going to use on Neil.  Obviously Jay didn't trust his big brother with the truth.  Neither would KC.

What would a teenaged "bad girl" do in this situation?  KC grinned.  Turn the tables, take control.  

One thing about bullies: if you gave them a dose of their own medicine, they invariably tucked tail and ran.  

She kept her eyes locked with his, tilted her head back against the door and used her free hand to pull him close, pressing her lips against his.  

To her satisfaction, he resisted her bold move.  Of course he did.  Men like Westin wanted to be in charge, controlling the situation.  Too damn bad.  Her house, her rules.

KC's grip tightened, holding him fast as she kissed him hard and deep until she felt his body respond.  Now it was his turn to make a guttural noise as he shifted his hands to her hips, his long fingers stretching along the bare flesh exposed between her jeans and vest.  

His touch was pure heat as his hands moved beneath the leather.  KC inhaled his intoxicating scent, closed her eyes against the head rush that came with it, and fought to remember that Chase Westin was a dangerous man, a man who could get her and her team killed if she wasn't careful.

Chase's breath caught as KC pulled him into the embrace.  He tried to resist, but this skinny girl had him totally overwhelmed.  

She tasted of pepperoni pizza and Dr. Pepper—sheer heaven.  And the way her body felt against his, they fit together just right, like this was something meant to be.  

His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they roamed beneath the supple leather of her vest.  He realized she wore nothing under it.  She tugged his shirt from his jeans, her black enameled nails biting into the flesh along his spine.

This was wrong, so wrong, a voice emerged from the depths of his mind.  She was Jay's girl.  

No, he corrected himself as she circled a leg around his, pulling him against her so that their bodies lined up tighter than the sights of a sniper's scope, KC was no one's girl—she was a woman who knew exactly what to do to make a man forget everything he held dear.

Earlier, he'd lingered outside her house, debating the right approach to take.  Given her tattoo and wardrobe, it was obvious KC's father had no control over her.  And she and Jay were both adults, at least in the eyes of the law.  Finally, Chase had decided to use his reputation as a dangerous criminal capable of anything.  After all, what was the good of working his ass off to establish a cover story if he couldn't use it to help free his brother from KC's clutches?  

Chase had climbed up to the porch roof and staged an entrance certain to inspire fear and obedience.  Or so he had thought.

As KC's lips tangled with his, Chase cursed himself a fool.  He'd broken rule number one: never underestimate the enemy.  KC wasn't going to scare so easily.

Anger surged as he thought of this vamp enmeshing Jay in her problems, using Jay's own code of honor against him.  How could she be making google eyes at Jay one minute, then be melting in Chase's arms the next?  What happened to the girl who'd stepped in with the fireplace poker, ready to defend and protect her man?

Obviously KC was a better actress than Chase had given her credit for.  Didn't matter.  One way or the other, he'd stop her before she ruined his brother's life.   No way this teenaged seductress was going to get the best of him.

He stepped back, took a breath of fresh air and immediately missed her scent.  But it gave his head time to clear.  Reluctantly and with great will power, Chase released her, allowed his hands to slide away from her body.  They hung at his sides, empty.

"What's wrong?" she asked.  "Spend too much time in jail, forget what to do with a woman?" 

"Is that what Jay told you?" Chase asked, hating the sucker punch of pain the reality of how deep he'd fallen in his little brother's esteem brought.  It hurt a hell of a lot more than he ever imagined it would.

"Hate to tell you, Big Bro," she said, her gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips in a silent invitation, "but Jay never talks about you at all."

Ouch, that hurt even more.  Chase shook his head, tried to focus.  Why couldn't he think straight when he was around this girl?