CL Hart -From A Distance (50 page)

"Katherine, what are you going to do?"

"I trust you, Judge. I trust you with her life and yours."

The judge persisted. "Katherine, where are you?"

"Please...just look after her, okay? I'll contact you." She closed the phone, ending the call.

Cori snatched the phone from the judge's hand. "Kenzie!" But she was gone. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She said she was fine, but we need to go."

"What do you mean, go? If she's fine then why are we leaving?"

"Because she told us to leave," the judge said as he gathered up his things.

"I want to know what she said, what's going on."

"Not now, Cori. We need to go," he said, taking her by the arm.

Cori pulled from his grasp and stood defiantly still. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what she said."

The judge looked around the cafe, and then out the windows. No one appeared to be paying them any special attention, but that didn't ease his concern. It all seemed so unreal to him, everything except the frustration on Cori's face. "Katherine didn't tell me what was going on. All she said was that we needed to leave and to get somewhere safe. That was all. So might I suggest that we leave...now."

Reluctantly, Cori scooped up her papers and pulled Kenzie's jacket from the back of the chair. The weight of it sent a cool shiver of fear through her.

Judge Woodward saw the change of expression. "What? What is wrong?"

She silently reached into the pocket of the jacket and showed him the butt of the gun. "It's her gun!"

"Put that away," the judge said in a hushed whisper. "We attracted enough attention earlier."

"But it's hers... She has no gun...no way to defend herself."

The judge stepped toward Cori. Putting his hand on hers, he slid the gun back into the jacket. "I'm not comfortable with that, so let's leave it where it is." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and they headed for the door. "I wouldn't be too worried about Katherine being defenseless. I know her and I know what she's capable of. She is more than proficient in the art of defending herself, with or without a gun."

Staring out the taxi window, Kenzie tried to decide where she was going and what she was going to do. Pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place, yet she still didn't have an idea what the big picture was.

The judge had told her to follow the money, so she decided to do just that. The money came to her from Trillium, and it came to Trillium from Palmer Tectonic. If she was going to start anywhere, it might as well be at the top.

"Do you know where Winston Palmer lives?" Kenzie asked the cab driver.

He shrugged. "Who?"

Kenzie pulled a couple of bills from her pocket and held them up to him. She watched his eyes as she asked again. "Senator Winston Palmer."

"I think he lives out on Lake Washington somewhere."

She added several more bills to the collection, and the driver eyed each of them greedily. "Somewhere?" she asked, offering him the bills.

"On McGilvra Boulevard, about half an hour or so from here." He took the money and changed direction.

Chapter 23

The skies darkened with the approach of evening as the cab made its way northward toward Lake Washington. The homes grew in grandeur as the gates and fences grew in height. The taxi slowed as they wound through large, lavish residential properties in search of Senator Palmer's home.

Engrossed in the information she had taken from Viper, Kenzie had not been paying close attention to their direction. It was her entire life typed and neatly assembled inside a manila envelope. The more she read, the more defeated and disheartened she felt. They had it all - from the addresses of her bank accounts to the zip code of her bike mechanic, and scrawled in the margin of one of the papers was the marina where she had kept her boat. They, whoever they were, knew everything about her.

The driver slowed the car as they approached the senator's gated home. "We're here."

Looking up from the file, Kenzie peered out the car window. "Don't stop. Pull up there, beyond those trees."

He did as directed, curious as to what was going to happen next. His fare had intrigued him since he saw the thick roll of money in her pocket. She had been quiet if not anxious, or maybe frustrated. He watched her looking about the neighborhood.

Kenzie pulled three more bills from her pocket. "Give me half an hour. If I'm not back, redial the last number on your cell phone and give him this." Kenzie held up the brown manila envelope and then laid it down on the backseat. She started to pass him the cash, but had second thoughts. Ripping the bills in half, she handed over three halves, "Just to make sure you wait."

He took the torn bills and looked at her quizzically. "And if you don't come back?"

"The man on the phone will reimburse you for your time and trouble."

Exiting the cab, Kenzie quietly closed the door. She walked past the large mansion the cab driver had pointed out as Palmer's, examining every detail of the fence, the gate, and the security system. It told her the man who could afford all of this had a lot of money, and a lot of enemies.

Climbing a large tree next to the stone wall gave Kenzie a better view of the grounds around the senator's home. There were only a few lights on, but with a house that size it would be impossible to tell if he was alone or even home. Checking the area, she tried to ascertain whether there were any in-ground sensors, but she wouldn't know for certain until she was standing on the neatly trimmed lawn. After a quick glance back to assure her the cab had not left, she scaled the fence and dropped into the unknown.

Holding herself in a crouch, she listened for the sound of an alarm. To her relief there was only the quiet serenity of an affluent neighborhood. No barking dogs or raised voices, no signs of life beyond the fences, everyone was safely tucked inside their homes. Moving cautiously in the shadows, she was on alert as she made her way down past what she assumed was a large garage. Kenzie's heartbeat was strong and steady as adrenaline pounded through her. The grass and bushes were wet from the afternoon showers, but she paid them little attention as she crept along the side of the house. Rounding the corner, she ignored the million-dollar view of Lake Washington as she glanced from window to window. Stepping with care onto the multi-level cedar deck, she was not surprised to find the first set of double doors locked. Treading cautiously, she tried the second set of doors and a couple of windows, but they were all locked as well. Picking up a small potted plant, Kenzie moved to the last set of double glass doors. Swinging the ceramic pot back with enough force to smash the glass, she hesitated a moment and tried the handle. To her amused surprise, the door was unlocked. Kenzie returned the potted plant and stepped silently into the house.

She found herself in a massive kitchen. Expensive looking stone countertops were bare and cold looking. The stainless steel fridge was unadorned, without even a picture or magnet. In the center of the kitchen was a large island, shadowed above by a copper and iron grid that held pots and pans. The only thing out of place was a single dirty plate next to the sink, its cutlery placed neatly in the center. Someone was definitely home.

In the stillness of the evening, a muffled voice came from deeper inside the house. Leaving the kitchen, Kenzie followed the faint sound. Moving through the house, she ignored the elaborate design and the impeccably positioned furnishings, concentrating all her senses on one destination. The art on the walls and the Italian furniture meant nothing to her. All she wanted was to locate the person who was talking.

She made her way to a wide hallway, which ended with a set of dark double doors. Moving toward them, she could see that one of them was slightly ajar. The voice she'd been following was now clearer. The speaker had an English accent and the voice was obviously coming from a television within the room. Approaching with caution, she stopped several times and looked back in the direction from which she had come. Kenzie was thankful when she found nothing but the stairs leading to the second floor. Inching closer to the open door, she heard the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. Kenzie chanced a quick peek into the room.

There were two carpeted steps down into the sunken room, making the ceiling seem even higher than it actually was. There were bookshelves on three sides, with a single draped window on the far side. Best she could tell, there were no other doors. In the center of the room a man sat at a massive L-shaped desk, totally engrossed in what he was typing. Kenzie knew from pictures she had seen on the computer at the Internet cafe that this was Senator Winston Palmer, and he was alone. It was all she needed to know.

Without making a sound, she moved stealthily into the room, taking it all in. The room's elegant decor was washed with a male hand. The shelves were lined with books, leather bound and expensive. A framed degree from an Ivy League school was prominently displayed on one shelf, surrounded by pictures of the senator with several presidents. Scattered across several shelves was a collection of miniature swords perfectly placed in little stands. Kenzie moved to the TV and pressed the off button.

Silence and tension instantly filled the room. Palmer's hands froze above the keyboard. "They said you would show up," he said without turning around.

Kenzie was not concerned by the comment, but by his use of the word "they". Putting her back to the one wall of books, she quickly looked back and forth between the senator and the hallway. "So you know who I am?" She waited to see if he had alerted someone else in the house, but no one arrived.

The senator leaned back in his chair. Calmly, confidently, he put his fingertips together and turned to face her. He observed Kenzie with interest, respectfully curious about the woman who had ruined all of their plans. "Yes, I know who you are, and I've been expecting you."

"Really?" Her senses in overdrive, she warily watched his every move.

"You've had more lives than a cat, Miss LeGault." He looked her up and down, the woman who had eluded them. "Though you do look a little worse for wear."

Kenzie remained silent.

"Funny though, I thought you'd be taller...and maybe a bit smarter. You shouldn't have come here."

"If you knew I was coming, then I don't have to ask if you're involved in all of this." Kenzie took in his air of rich arrogance and his scheming political smile. If he had been expecting her, then she might have walked into a trap. There was no time to waste with idle chitchat. "Why has Trillium been paying me?" He chuckled and she wondered if it was from nerves.

"Is this where I'm supposed to confess all my sins and answer all your questions?"

"That would be the easy way to do it," her gaze was steely, "but make no mistake, Senator, I am leaving here with answers. The easy way...or the hard way, I really don't care. And before you shoot back another sarcastic quip, keep in mind that you've been paying me to kill people. Adding you to that list wouldn't bother me in the least." She watched and waited for his reaction. "I want to know why."

The smile on Palmer's face didn't fade, but the gleam in his eyes darkened. "Quite simply, my dear, you're very good at what you do, and I employ the best."

He sat calmly in his overstuffed, expensive chair, his overconfidence annoying her. "You're a senator. You're not supposed to employ anyone, certainly not someone like me. You and Colonel Manuck had me convinced I was working for our government, not a private party like you." Kenzie included her mentor's name to gauge Winston Palmer's reaction. He didn't show one. It confirmed what she already suspected about her commander: Colonel Manuck was involved!

"Maybe you should have read the fine print, or maybe taken a better look at one of those fat checks you received. The military sure as hell doesn't pay that much." Palmer studied her, impressed by what his money and power had bought him. She was good, he had no doubt, good enough to thwart all their attempts and still be standing there in front of him. "Are you here to kill me?"