Dark Deceptions (10 page)

“Well, she can’t be allowed to go out there on her own,” Tom insisted. “She’s perfectly capable of disappearing the moment
we lower our guard.”

“I’m not a fool, Tom,” Annie said.

“No, but you’re desperate. And you know as well as I do that desperation doesn’t make for good decisions.”

“Annie’s not going to run.” Avery lifted a hand to stop Tom’s protest. “She’s not going to run because we’re going to be with
her every step of the way.”

“But you can’t do that,” Annie protested. “They’ll be watching the hotel. If I’m seen with anyone, it’ll blow the whole thing
sky-high. My son’s life hangs on my following their rules.”

“Then we’ll just have to make certain that Nash stays out of sight.” Avery stood up, a sure sign that the discussion was over.

“Me?” Nash said, surprised at the choice.

“Yes, you,” Avery said, his gaze knowing. “The two of you worked together for years. So who better to keep watch? You know
Annie better than anyone.”

Which of course was exactly the problem.

T
his is as far as we can go together.” It was the first time Annie had spoken to Nash directly since they’d left the brownstone
other than “yes” and “no” and the occasional “this way.”

They were a block from her hotel in the West Village. A nondescript two-star affair, used primarily for temporary corporate
housing, it wasn’t exactly the Waldorf; but it was serviceable and, more important, the kind of place where no one particularly
noticed anyone else’s comings and goings.

Avery had secured Nash a room on the same floor as hers. Its proximity would allow for Nash to monitor goings-on without drawing
undue attention. She was still concerned about the possibility that if someone had her under surveillance Nash might be recognized,
but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done this kind of thing before. And with his baseball cap and jacket he blended in seamlessly
with other New Yorkers.

“You’re sure this is going to work?” she asked nervously. “Adam’s life depends on it.”

“Annie,” he said, laying a hand on her arm, the contact sending a shiver racing down her spine. “It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We’ll get him. I swear.” They stood for a moment, the past and present merging. “Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket
to produce her handgun. “You might need this.”

She took it from him, slipping it into her own pocket. “You’re trusting me with a gun.”

“I’m trusting you with a lot of things.” His words resonated in places that had nothing whatsoever to do with her brain, but
she chose to ignore the fact.

All that mattered was Adam. It would be so easy to run…

“You’re not going to run,” he said, reading her mind. “That would force Tom’s hand. He’d come after you with everything he’s
got. He wouldn’t have a choice. Adam be damned. You know it. I know it. And Tom knows it. So there’s no room for trying to
play it solo.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She sighed, nodding to emphasize the point, although, in truth, the gesture was more about convincing
herself than convincing Nash.

“Nice to hear you say so,” Nash said with a twisted smile. “Okay, so give me five minutes’ head start and then you can follow.”

“All right.” She nodded, glancing down at her watch. “Go already. They’re calling in less than twenty minutes.”

Nash nodded, gave her arm a squeeze, and then loped off down the street, keeping his head down as he made his way toward the
hotel.

Annie closed her eyes, still fighting the desire to run. For so long now, she’d trusted no one, depending only on herself
and her own ingenuity. But it was that very independence that had put Adam at risk. Nash was right—her best hope now lay in
cooperating with A-Tac, no matter what her instincts were telling her.

Forcing herself to keep her pace neutral, she made her way down Bleecker. The entrance to the hotel was sandwiched between
a bodega and a Verizon store, the revolving door adding to the place’s anonymity.

She stopped at the desk to request an extra key, then walked through the lobby toward the elevator. The small room was almost
empty, a woman in a blue sweatshirt on a cell phone and a man with a baseball cap standing in the corner casually perusing
a copy of the
Post.

Nash.

As the elevator doors slid open, he moved forward, entering the elevator on her heels. Sweatshirt was right behind him, still
on her cell, the three of them filling the small space. Shifting to make room, Annie stepped sideways to stand right in front
of Nash. Making a point of staring up at the numbers over the door, Annie casually slipped her arm behind her, passing the
keycard to her room off to Nash.

Two floors later, the elevator opened, and the two of them got off, Annie walking slightly ahead of Nash. Even after all this
time she was still acutely aware of his presence.

She shook her head and stopped in front of her door, sliding the keycard through the lock. The red light flashed for a moment
and then blessedly turned green. She opened the door and stepped into the room, Nash’s shadow brushing across her as he walked
by.

Forcing herself to focus, she walked through the tiny foyer and into the bedroom. The first thing she noticed was that her
suitcase had been moved from its corner of the floor to the bed. It lay open, her belongings scattered across the sheets.

The second thing she noticed was that the balcony door was open. Drawing her gun, she moved carefully across the room toward
the open French door, its gauzy curtain shifting in the breeze. Her hotel room was on the sixth floor, which meant that access
was limited. But the facts seemed to belie the logic.

As she approached the terrace doorway, she leveled her gun, grasping her wrist with her left hand to steady the shot. Sucking
in a deep breath, she swung into the opening, just as something hard hit her from behind.

The weight propelled her forward into the window flanking the door, the impact shattering the glass and sending her gun skittering
across the cement to the far edge of the balcony where it lay wedged against the wrought-iron railing.

She pushed to her knees, instinctively reaching for the gun, but her assailant had other ideas, yanking her backward as a
fist connected with her cheek. Pain exploded, and she fought against a sharp wave of nausea. Tightening the muscles in her
legs, she pushed off against the floor and, using her attacker as a fulcrum, she managed to flip over him, gaining her feet.

Without giving him time to react, she kicked upward, connecting with the man’s jaw, and then spun to kick again, this time
hitting him squarely in the solar plexus. He staggered back a pace or so but kept his balance using the railing, producing
a knife in his left hand.

He was dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie, a baseball cap jammed backward onto his head. His eyes were narrowed and
his stance combative. He lunged at her, the blade slicing through her upper arm, the metallic stench of blood filling the
air.

With a howl of protest, she kicked again, but he deflected the blow with one massive arm, slashing out with the knife in the
other hand. Diving to avoid the blade, she hit the floor, rolling toward the corner of the balcony and the gun. As her hand
closed on cold steel the man smiled, lifting the knife, his arm arcing downward in a deathblow.

Annie tried to lift the gun, but her arm refused to work, the sticky flow of blood coating her fingers. Using her feet, she
pushed back against the concrete floor, trying to roll away from the inevitable, but the railing barred escape, and reacting
on pure adrenaline, she lifted her good arm in defense.

“Adam,” her brain screamed.
Adam.

For one moment, sunlight glittered against the metallic blade, and then the man’s eyes widened as the curtains in the doorway
billowed outward. Cursing, her assailant spun away and then vaulted over the railing, the knife clanking against cement as
it landed on the floor.

Annie scrambled to her feet and grabbed her gun, training it on the French door. “Don’t move,” she hissed.

“It’s just me.” Nash emerged from behind the drapery, gun in hand.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered, turning back to lean over the railing, searching the roof below for signs of the intruder.

“You see him?” Nash asked, coming to stand beside her.

“No. He’s gone,” she sighed, frustration mixing with equal parts relief. “Thanks to you.”

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands. “I was just saving your ass.”

“I had things under control,” she said, her labored breathing making a lie of the statement. “But I suppose you evened the
odds a bit.” She nodded at the knife as she leaned back against the balcony.

“You’re hurt.” He frowned, reaching out to check her arm.

“It’s just a graze.” She shook him off, knowing that if he touched her she’d lose it. “I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” he said, helping her back into the hotel room.

“No. We need to follow the man with the knife,” she said, already moving toward the balcony. “He could lead us to Adam.”

“Annie,” he stopped her, his hand on her arm. “He’s long gone by now.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She clenched her fist and then winced in pain. “I just feel so helpless.” She moved into the bathroom
and grabbed a towel. After wetting it, she returned to the bedroom. “Everything…” she started as Nash stepped back into the
bedroom from the balcony, but he shook his head, lifting a finger to his lips as he quickly searched the room for signs that
they were being monitored.

“Looks clear to me,” he said, finally.

“I searched yesterday and came to the same conclusion. Although maybe the intruder was trying to change that. None of this
makes any sense at all.”

“Did you recognize him?” he asked, as he closed the door and drew the drapes.

“No. I’ve never seen him before.” Annie shook her head as she tried to picture the man’s face. “It was hard to make out his
features. He was wearing a hoodie. One thing’s for certain though: whoever he was, he wasn’t here to talk.”

“So the big question is whether he’s tied in to Adam’s kidnapping.” It was the first time he’d used her son’s name, and the
emotional rush was almost more painful than the gouge on her arm.

“Oh, God,” she said on a shuddering breath, “if he saw you—then they’ll…” Words failed as panic washed through her, and she
fumbled with the wet towel, cursing when she pressed too hard.

“Here,” Nash said, taking the towel, “let me.”

She shook her head, pulling away, her hands shaking as she gulped in calming breaths, trying not to let her imagination go
on overdrive.

“Annie, you’re not alone here.” His voice was full of emotion. Frustration, anger, and something else—concern. It had been
so long since anyone had cared.

“I can’t.” She shook her head. “Nash, I just can’t. We’ve covered this ground before. And we both know where it ends.”

“Just let me see your arm. Bandage it.” His voice was soft now, coaxing. “I was always better at triage than you were.”

She nodded, offering her arm, shivering as the heat of his fingers seeped through her. So many memories.

“Annie, I…” he stopped, his dark eyes meeting hers.

She leaned closer, his pull magnetic. It would be so easy to let herself go. To lean on him. To fall back into the patterns
of the past. But he’d hurt her so badly. And nothing had really changed. She shook her head, pulling back, breaking the moment.
“We need to focus on Adam,” she said, her words cutting through the building tension. “My son is out there and he needs me.”

“Right,” he said, his mouth tightening as he quickly cleaned and bound the wound, using the bottom of one of her T-shirts
for a bandage. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said, tying off the soft cotton. “Can you move your arm?”

She tested the limb, bending it at the elbow and then moving it gingerly to the right and left. The motion hurt, but the arm
seemed to be working again. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

“No problem. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

“You’re right; you were always better at field dressing than I was.” She closed her eyes, fighting against the memories engulfing
her. Other moments like this one—standing in the chaos after facing an all-but-inevitable death. It was all horribly familiar,
but this time the stakes were higher than ever. This time Adam’s life was in jeopardy. “So what made you check on me? Surely
you couldn’t hear us?”

“No.” He ducked his head, then moved off the bed.

“Then what?”

He shrugged, his expression wry. “I thought maybe you were going to make a run for it.”

“I’ll admit I was thinking about it,” she acknowledged. “But the intruder didn’t give me the chance.” A bubble of laughter
rose in her throat as she recognized the incredible irony of Nash’s action. His lack of trust had probably saved her life.
“So what about you?” she said, steeling herself against her fear. “Did you get a look at him?”

“Nothing definitive. I was trying to save you, not memorize his features, but I think maybe he was Asian.”

“That narrows it down.” She stood up, then sat down again, restless energy heightening her frustration.

“Let’s check the room,” he said. “Maybe the guy dropped something in the scuffle. Where did he attack you?”

“Door to the balcony.” She nodded toward the opening. “I think he was hiding in the curtains.”

Nash walked over to the doorway, searching the floor and the area outside. “We might be able to get a print off the knife
if we’re lucky.” He pushed back the curtains to check the floor. “Hang on,” he said, as he bent to retrieve something from
the floor. A slow smile spread across his face. “Look what we have here.” He brandished a card of some kind, careful to grip
only the edges. “Gym membership. Looks like the man is into fitness.”

“Does it have a name or address?” she asked. “Something that might lead us to Adam?”

“Not directly.” Nash shook his head. “But the gym’s in Brooklyn, and the card’s issued to one Leland Evan Bruebaker.”