Dangerous Secrets (37 page)

The moment he touched her he knew he was lost.
If she′d fought, pushed him away, it would have been better than this
torture he knew couldn′t continue. He lifted his head at the thought and
buried it in her neck, kissing her skin, sampling the soft texture of smooth
velvet. Her arms tightened around his neck and he squeezed her and his eyes
shut. He kept them that way for a moment. He needed another second to hold her.
Then it was time to destroy both their worlds.

‶
That′s it, Morgan,″
he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.
‶
I′m your bad boy. The
kiss is over. Your arms released.″ He pulled her arms away from him.
‶
It′s
customary to run your hands down the bad boy′s rock-hard chest.″ He
demonstrated using her hands.
‶
You like it, don′t you? All bad boys have
rock-hard chests. It′s the law. And then it′s time for the bad boy
to move on, Morgan.

‶
To the next one, and the next
one, and the next. . .″

***

Morgan didn′t know how it happened. She
heard his voice, heard the soft words. They had been sweet, mesmerizing,
sexual. They pushed all the right buttons, turned her on. Then they changed.
The softness remained but the words hardened. No longer did the letters have
curved edges. They weren′t rounded and comfortable, falling on her ears like
sweet caresses. These words had metal spikes, long and ugly, protruding like
daggers even through their whispering delicacy. They were nailed into
Morgan′s mind. The pain hit her like lightning striking. Then her hand
was curling, turning from a long slender appendage that had dropped to her side
into a tight fist. Her entire body tensed, then without volition, without
thought, with nothing behind it but the brute force of an outcast teenager and
all the shoulder she could muster, her arm swung out and she slapped him. The
noise resounded about the room with the strength of a sonic boom.

They were both surprised. Morgan had never
slapped anyone. She′d been in fights as a teenager, many of them, staking
her claim, showing bullies they couldn′t run roughshod over her, proving
time and again that she was tough enough to make it on the mean streets of
Washington, D.C., but until today, until this moment, until Jack, she had never
slapped anyone. She considered it the ultimate insult.

Jack′s hands came up to grab her, but he
stopped himself. Murder surged into his eyes, black chips of obsidian, but it
couldn′t hold water if he saw what must be reflected in her own eyes. For
a moment they held each other′s gazes, poised like two mountain lions
ready to battle over turf ownership. Then Jack stepped back from her as if he
needed distance to keep himself in check. Morgan didn′t move. She
didn′t back down. She never backed down.

‶
And the next one,″ Jack
said.
‶
And
the next one.″ Jack turned his back and left her. He closed the bathroom
door. Morgan slipped down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. Her head
fell forward and tears seeped from her eyes. He′d done what no other man
had ever been able to do. He′d stripped her of everything. How
appropriate it was for her to have on no clothes. He hadn′t left her
anything. He knew everything about her now. Her weaknesses. How much his
presence destroyed her ability to think straight. How, if he came close to her,
she was no more than a Roman candle ready to explode. And explode she would.

Morgan pounded the floor in anger, but there
was nothing she could do except hurt her hands. She knew how she felt about
Jack. She hadn′t thought he knew until a few moments ago when he burst
into the bathroom and kissed her. She couldn′t call what he′d done
a kiss. He sapped her of life, removed the carefully constructed wall
she′d lived behind almost all of her life. He′d shattered the
glass, melted the invisible structure in the heat of the unleashed fire that
should have burned the small bathroom and the two of them to cinders. But Fate
wasn′t that kind. She had never been kind to Morgan. Fate had always been
the ghost who stepped in to kill her dreams. It had taken her best friend,
Jean, from her, but brought her foster mother, Sharon. Then it had taken Sharon
and given her the Olympic chance, a carrot she didn′t recognize for what
it was. Her chance at the top of the world would be marred by a small matter of
breaking into a foreign jail and living, but not to tell about it.

She forgot about Fate. It abandoned her for
long periods. Then it came back just when Morgan thought she was off screwing
up someone else′s life. She should have remembered Fate never completely
abandons her. She came back when Jack appeared and now she had left again,
giving her another opportunity to face him and see the scorn in his eyes.

Chapter 7

‶
The plan was to get Hart
Lewiston out of jail,″ Morgan began as if she were answering Jack′s
question from dinner. She wouldn′t acknowledge anything that had happened
in the bathroom. Nothing had happened there, she told herself. She stood in the
doorway, dressed all in black, the same as she′d been the night she got
Hart Lewiston out of the jail. Jack turned to look at her, but didn′t
move from his seat at the bar. She came into the room. She didn′t sit or
go near him. She needed space, the entire floor, the entire state. She paced
around before continuing.

‶
I had memorized the floor plan.
I knew the layout, all the exits, the doors, cells, guards rooms, bathrooms,
warden offices, laundry. I knew the exercise yard, the intake pipes, water
pipes, heating ducts. I′d memorized everything about that prison from the
barbed wire fencing to the width of the ledge surrounding the roof. I′d
practiced getting in and out of it. A special setting had been set up just for
me. It was designed to help familiarize me with the layout. I′d practiced
a special routine in daylight, twilight and darkness. I could do it under a
full moon, in dense fog, or rain, or sleet. I could do it barefoot or with
cramps in my toes. Nothing had been left to chance. Regardless of time of day
or weather conditions, I was prepared. Everything was under control.″

Jack knew everything she told him, but he
didn′t want to interrupt her.

‶
Then it happened.″ She
turned to look at him. He sat still, frozen almost, as if moving, breathing,
the tiniest twitch of a finger would break her fragile connection between
time-present and time-past and she′d decide not to continue.

Morgan, however, had no intention of stopping.
That night had been burned into her brain like some cerebral video disk that
played for an audience of one.

‶
The building was constructed of
red brick, old brick. It must have been there for centuries. The stone was
rough to the touch and hard to get a foothold in. Much of it crumbled when I
touched it. Putting weight on it, even my 103 pounds of muscle, was enough to
make the walls turn to dust. It′s a wonder a strong wind didn′t
topple the structure in on itself.″

‶
But you got inside,″ Jack
prompted. His voice was low, without emotion or inflection. This was a story
she′d waited twelve years to tell. And she was telling it to him.

‶
I climbed the wall, imagining
it to be the rock wall in the special gym. My feet slipped more times than I
expected. It took longer to do the Spiderman act and then the timing was thrown
off.″

Morgan sat down on the sofa. She stared into
the past. She no longer saw Jack, although she was aware of his presence. She
was always aware of him being there. She wanted to reach across the table and
take his hand, make him again the anchor that kept her grounded to the earth.
But she remained where she was and Jack stayed in his position.

Her heart pounded in her chest. It had done
that on the final night of the competition. When she should have been in the
arena, waiting her turn or resting with her team members, she was scaling
bricks that needed pointing. At the top she found the entrance, a small window.
The grate on it was old, rusted and no longer fit into the base of the cemented
window frame. As expected, the grate was loose and she easily pushed it aside.
The room was empty. Her heart slowed as she felt this job might go as planned.
She should never have allowed that thought to enter her brain, for nothing
afterward would follow the plan.

‶
Morgan.″

She′d stopped talking. Her memory was
replaying the night, but Jack wanted the details.
‶
I got into the
building through a window near the roof. It was a tight fit, but my length and
lack of body fat had to be one of the reasons they chose me.″ She paused
and glanced at Jack before beginning to talk again.
‶
He wasn′t in
his cell. It was on the top floor at the edge of the hall near the tiny room
the window led into. The cell was empty.″

The place smelled of human waste, sweat and
hopelessness, like something had died there long ago and the walls held onto
the odor of decay and rot as a warning to all who came after. She fought to
keep from coughing. Even now, half a world away from that place, Morgan wanted
to cough.

‶
No guards patrolled the classic
row upon row of iron-barred cells. The lighting was dark and I couldn′t
see into the other cells.″ She could hear the murmur of collective pain.
It covered centuries of life and death and despair, day after day of relentless
boredom. Boredom that became agony. If you′ve never heard it, it′s
difficult to explain, so she didn′t try to tell Jack what it sounded
like. There were no words to describe it. It had to be experienced, and Morgan
knew she′d never wanted to sentence anyone to that kind of torture.

‶
I started down the rows,
keeping my breath controlled, not wanting any of the prisoners to see me, call
out and alert a guard. But it was already too late. The guards knew I was
there. The prison had an electronic surveillance system. No one told me.″

‶
They didn′t know,″
Jack supplied.

‶
I found Hart Lewiston. He was
in the cell near the end of the row. The lock mechanism was exactly as
I′d been told. I opened it with the key I′d been given. Hart had
been drugged. I thought he was asleep, but I couldn′t wake him.″

This is when fear first set in. Morgan knew she
wasn′t going to be able to complete the assignment. She wasn′t even
sure she could get out without being killed. Her hair had been pulled up and
confined with pins. On her head was a black skullcap, matching the black body
suit she wore as camouflage for the night and muted light of the halls.

Her face, already dark by natural selection,
was painted with a black, odorless grease. She was designed to blend into the
walls, no more noticeable than a shadow.

Morgan was going to have to carry Hart back to
the room in which she′d entered. She grabbed his arm. It was cold and
hard.

‶
At that moment I knew he was
dead.″

‶
Who was dead?″

‶
Lewiston. The man in the bed
had been dead a long time. His body had begun to harden.″

‶
Morgan, you′re not making
sense. Hart Lewiston is alive. You got him out of the prison.″

‶
I was going to try to carry him
back,″ she continued as if she hadn′t heard him.
‶
But
the man was dead. It was all going to be for nothing. I was going to die for a
man who was already dead. They knew. The Koreans knew. Someone talked, told
them, set me up.″

She stood up then, hugging herself, holding her
arms around her body as if she would spill out.

‶
I turned to run. All I could
think of was the tiny window in the small room, getting back to it, getting to
the roof. The helicopter was to meet us there, me and Hart Lewiston. It would
take us to safety. But I knew as I rushed down that hall that there would be no
helicopter when I got there. Nothing would wait for me except the thin,
dimensionless air. I would be stranded, alone, unprotected, huddling in
darkness until they found me. Still I raced to it. It was my only hope and I
streaked toward it.

‶
Suddenly, someone stepped out
in front of me. He grabbed me. I struggled, started to scream. He clamped a
hand over my mouth. He wore a uniform. I couldn′t see his face, but I
could feel the buttons pressing into the tight skin of the jumpsuit I wore. He whispered
in my ear for me to be quiet. I was too frightened to do anything else. I kept
thinking, this is it. This is where I die. After surviving the streets of D.C.,
facing down bullies, drug dealers and pimps, after scavenging in garbage cans
for enough food to survive on, after coming all the way to Korea and getting so
close to the goal I′d worked my entire life to attain, I was going to die
in a dark prison twenty-five thousand miles from home.″

‶
Morgan.″ Jack came up
behind her.
‶
You′re
all right. You aren′t in Korea now. This is only a memory. It can′t
hurt you.″

Morgan knew he thought she was reliving the
experience, not just telling him what happened. She was. She was back in the
prison, twelve years earlier, twelve years younger, with twelve years less
experience. She was nineteen years old, more afraid than she′d ever been
facing down a knife on a corner in the murder capital of the world.

‶
‵
What you′re looking for
is in there,′ he said.
‵
You′ve got three minutes.′ He slapped an
envelope into my hand and released me. I went to the door he pointed toward and
found a man lying on a bed. He′d been beaten. Blood had crusted on his
face and legs. His clothes were torn and ragged and he looked older than time.
His hair was matted and thin and his skin had a gray tinge in the weak light. I
didn′t even try to get him to walk. I stuffed the envelope in my suit,
grabbed his arm and heaved his weight over my shoulder.″

‶
What happened to the
guard?″

‶
I don′t know. He
wasn′t there when I looked in the hall again. The other prisoners woke
and started making noise. I didn′t stop to find out why. I headed for the
little room. The hall looked a mile away. The weight on my shoulder
wasn′t that heavy, but it slowed me down. Suddenly bright lights flared
and sirens went off. Guards burst through a door at the end of the hall,
cutting off my escape route. I immediately changed direction and headed for the
other end. There was a door that would lead to the roof. I needed to get there.
That′s where the helicopter was to pick us up. So far I hadn′t
heard it. I wouldn′t let myself think it wasn′t coming. I had to be
positive. So I willed it to be there. All I had to do was reach it. The noise
of the guards′ feet sounded fast. Lewiston grew heavier, but I kept
going. A bullet whizzed past my left ear. I didn′t know what it was. I
just thought this was a lesson they hadn′t taught me. They′d given
me sharpshooting and hand-to-hand combat training, but they′d fallen
short in the area of bullets coming close to the body. I shifted Lewiston, but
kept going. My one thought was reaching that door. Lewiston was dead weight,
holding me back, and for all I knew he could already be dead.″

A second bullet hit the wall next to her.
Concrete chips flew into her face. She didn′t bother trying to brush them
away. She pushed at the door, praying it wasn′t locked. It wasn′t.
It should have been. She thanked whoever had been there for her. Maybe the
helicopter would be on the roof when she got there.

If
she got there.

She swung through the door, reversed and swung
the lock into place. It wasn′t a fancy lock. In fact, it was medieval.
The prison didn′t call for sturdy locks anywhere but on the cells. This
was a simple board that folded down into a wooden slot, like the locks on
western movie forts. She remembered the Indians always broke through those
doors, and she understood her time was growing shorter and shorter.

‶
You got him out.′′
Jack interrupted her thoughts. She turned to him and nodded. Then she continued
her story.

‶
We made it to the roof with
only a bullet in Lewiston′s sleeve. One grazed my arm, but only burned
the fabric of my suit. I didn′t even know it until I was changing clothes
much later and discovered the hole and a small drop of blood. There was no
helicopter. I listened but could hear nothing other than the guards behind
me.″

‶
How did you get down?″

She turned and stared at him.
‶
Don′t
you get it, Jack? We weren′t supposed to get down. I was sent there to
cause an escape attempt. We were both supposed to be killed.″

‶
You don′t know
that.″

‶
Don′t I?″ Her gaze
never wavered. She knew it as sure as she knew her name.
‶
I
was there. There was no escape route. Hart wasn′t where he was supposed
to be. The guards were coming from both directions. There was no helicopter.
The man was practically dead and I had to carry him. If ever a setup was
designed for failure, this was it.″

She stopped and took a deep breath. Her heart
hammered in her chest.

‶
Morgan, they would never have
let you die in there. They′d have gotten you out.″

‶
Jack, you′re a smart man.
Look at who I was. I had nothing, no parents, no one concerned about me.
I′d been on the streets, a vagrant, someone lost in the system,
non-productive, hardcore unemployed. All the labels fit me. And they had a man
in a foreign jail who had secrets in his head. They needed to get him out or
kill him. If one or both of us died in the process, the mission would be
accomplished. It didn′t matter the outcome. If he got out, that would
make them heroes on a worldwide scale. If he died, he′d be one of the
honored dead. No one would ever know my involvement. I was expendable.″

‶
If what you say is true, why
didn′t they just have the guard kill Lewiston? You said there were
already dead men there. What would another dead body mean?′′

‶
That would mean someone at the
prison was playing his hand. It would look better if an escape attempt took
place. Then he could be shot while attempting to leave. And what would a nobody
from the streets of D.C. mean? The government would deny everything.″

‶
But you′re here
now.″

‶
That is true.″

‶
How did you get off the
roof?′′ He went back to the Korean story.