Flash Point (8 page)

‘So you're not here to kill me, not here to kill Yorke … why the hell
are
you here, Claudia? I'm guessing we don't happen to be at the same orthotics clinic today because serendipity brought us together?' Yancy jibed.

Claudia licked her lips. Smiled. This guy was about to have no choice but to make the biggest mistake he'd made so far, and he'd do it without his leg
and
his pride.

‘You're right. I'm here because I knew you were coming. As adorable as it would be to have my own personal kickstand for when I got tired, I don't
need
spare parts in order to run,' Claudia said evenly.

Yancy's nostrils flared.

‘That said, it
is
time we had a chat, isn't it? Because we
aren't
that different, you and me, are we? Except for that whole I-can-enter-a-three-legged-race-at-a-picnic thing. Well, and the whole I'm a woman and you're a … well, you have a penis. I'm assuming it still works since Jenna's still around.'

At this, Yancy's breathing came harder, angrier, and he leaned forward where he sat as though at any moment, he might charge. This was too damned good. Shame Jenna couldn't see this, nor could Claudia trust she'd hear about it.

Yancy sat as still as he could, but all he could think about was jumping up, surprising her. Wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing until that evil, leering smirk went lax.

‘Whoa, down, boy. We wouldn't want you to do something silly and hurt yourself, now would we? We both know I'd still get away, and if you make me shoot you, who will be there to protect your dearest, beloved Jenna when I catch up to her?' Claudia said.

Yancy pressed his lips together, swallowed hard. ‘You didn't follow me here to taunt me, Claudia. Even for you that's too much work.'

‘See! We
are
similar creatures despite … all that stuff. Because even though you're one good accident – or bullet,' she said, aiming the gun at Yancy's kneecap for a split-second before leveling it back at his face, ‘away from Jenna carrying you upstairs to bed the rest of your life, really, you're functioning at your peak, what with rescuing slutty damsels in distress and dumping bodies for them and everything.'

Finally, she'd come to it. He'd known she would. He'd been waiting for her to play her card ever since she'd left them the note telling them she'd seen. Knew.

But what the hell
could
she want? To hurt Jenna, all she needed to do was leak it. Incriminate him. Maybe, at worst, somehow come up with a way to implicate Jenna in the crime, too.

And yet she'd tracked him down, gotten him trapped far away from Jenna or any help – or his gun – instead. If she'd ambushed him so she could murder him and torture Jenna by sending his fingers to her one by one, she'd have started it. If her plan to torment Jenna forever had been to kill him then make sure his body was never found, she'd not be sitting here chatting. If there was one thing Yancy was positive of, it was that Claudia was getting whatever little thrills these jabs she was taking could give her while she happened to be there for another reason. She might've been bantering, but it was true that he wasn't her type. Nor was this sort of adventure. Part of the game was blending in, seeing how deep she could entrench a target – usually a man she was dating – before she yanked everything from under him. She couldn't get the same kicks from Yancy.

He knew what she was.

‘So did you come all this way to compare notes? Ridicule my killing skills by showing me some pictures you snapped of my leg's hook tracks in the mud somewhere or something?'

‘Actually, I came because of some other tracks you left,' Claudia said, her smile disappearing. ‘I need a little favor from you, Mr Vogul.'

‘Right. And I need to not be ambushed by a psychopath who's so hung up on her own past she can't use her newly found free time outside incarceration for something better than skulking around the loved ones of the one person who could put her back in again,' Yancy said.

Claudia snickered. ‘Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Mr Vogul. I do have much better things to do. And it just so happens that you're the type of person I need to do it. And what I saw you do puts you in a position to ensure you will. As long as you're still good enough with computers to, say, hack into the mainframe of a hate group database and post the anonymous group members' real names and addresses from their own website because they pissed you off.'

The house's front door swung open to reveal the silent, shadowed contents of an empty home, and Beo released the breath he'd been holding.

Don't look around. Don't act suspicious.

He walked in and closed the door, hopefully by all appearances as though he had every right to be there. The sun had lowered on the horizon, and the inhabitants of the quiet suburb were all retreating inside for frozen lasagnas or to catch the evening news.

The inside of the house was a bit dim, but he didn't need a light. The foyer was still familiar, despite that it had been years since his last visit.

At one time in his life, this had felt like his second home. A place of safety and warmth. Friendship.

Trust.

Yep, Athos's parent had said never hesitate. Any time, any day; an open invitation that, during the darkest days of his life, gave him a place in the world.

Yep, once upon a time, he'd been welcome here.

He wasn't anymore. Probably for good reason, all things considered. He was the type of person who would do what he was doing now, after all. Friends or not, if Athos wasn't all in, better their friendship had ended the way it had. Better Athos walk away as a punk without a backbone, unable to muster the courage to make a difference in the world.

Better Athos turn his back on Sabine and break my sister's heart while I was a state away, lest whatever backbone he did have be tested across my knee.

As Beo's mind drifted to the cold wood of the park bench where he'd sat only hours ago, flipping one of the well-worn, tanning pages of his tattered old copy of Heller's
Catch-22
, when Atticus had plopped down on the bus stop bench next to him.

Beo had continued his reading, careful not to so much as chance a sideways glance at Atticus, as the red-hooded man had slipped a tiny thumb drive in the crook of Beo's thumb and pointer finger where it held the book.

‘I don't like it much, either, dude,' Atticus had said, never looking at Beo. ‘But I figure it's the best … maybe only … insurance we have.'

Beo had grunted some sort of half-assed agreement, shifting to slide the thumb drive into his pocket. He closed his book, stood up.

‘Ishmael said you'd be able to get in. The authorities likely won't scratch the first layer of precautions we've taken, but if they ever do, this will waste enough of their time for us to go underground. Ishmael isn't the type to leave anything to chance.'

No. He most certainly is not.

Now, Beo pulled the thumb drive back out of his pocket as he slipped through an open set of French doors into the study. It was filled with expensive furniture, including glass-fronted bookcases that contained an outstanding collection, the contents of which were probably worth more than the average Mercedes Benz. Beo fixed his attention on the antique mahogany desk in the center of the room, however, and the computer on top of it.

He tapped a key on the keyboard to bring the PC out of sleep mode. After a few seconds, the monitor came to life, the room's only light source casting a pale glow across Beo's pale skin. Drawing in a fortifying breath, he bent to insert the USB drive.

Unpleasant business, framing one of the precious few people who didn't contribute to societies many problems. But federal agents would discover the source of the message to the reporter eventually, and when they did, Black Shadow would need a scapegoat.

And sorry, Athos. But, buddy, you're just not one of us anymore.

He smiled and clicked open the file browser, opening the word document to be copied to email. He had a few other stops to make online before this was over, but none of it would take long. After that, Athos would just need to show up when he was called. And of course he would show up. They were all still friends, after all.

Always better to have an anvil in place, ready for when the hammer of justice fell.

The look on Yancy's face wrapped Claudia in the warm, pleasant blanket of power. This was turning out to be even more fun than she thought.

‘How the hell did you know about tha—'

‘I think it'd probably work out best for you if you just assumed from here on out that I know
everything
,' Claudia said to cut him off. He had to be racking that poor little brain of his for how she could know all about his little escapades as the Robin Hood of the hackers, a part of his life long before he even knew Jenna. ‘So do you?'

‘Do I what?' he said stupidly.

‘Do your thoughts leak out your stump when the tin piece is off? Does it double as a drain plug or something? Do you still have the skill set to which I just referred?' she asked, rolling her eyes.

Yancy licked his bottom lip, clearly trying to compose himself. He sucked in a few deep breaths. Blew them out.

‘If you mean do I know how to hack, yes. It depends on what you're specifically wondering. Whether I
do
hack, or whether I know
how
to hack,' he said slowly.

‘Well, you better hope you do. Because I'm willing to offer you a bargain,' Claudia replied, salivating at the prospect of the reaction that would surely come.

‘And what bargain would that be, Lucifer?'

Claudia cackled. It was just too good. Too good because he was so right.

‘I need you to hack into a database for me and retrieve a file on someone,' she said slowly. Carefully.

Yancy's eyes narrowed. ‘Who?'

She smirked. ‘No one related to you.'

It wasn't a lie. Not directly, anyway.

‘And you're saying if I get this file for you, what?'

‘I won't breathe a word to anyone about your little excursion on the night of Denny Hoffsteader's death.'

‘You didn't say you wouldn't write a word,' Yancy countered.

Touché, Mr Vogul.

‘Let's make this more plain then. I won't set you up to take the fall in any way for what you did, try to implicate Jenna in your little crime, or in any way use your …
indiscretion
… to harm you or anyone you love,' Claudia said, again weighing her words quickly, decisively.

Yancy closed his eyes, the misery at knowing he didn't have much choice visible in the slump of his shoulders, the resignation on his face.

‘Why should I believe you?' he whispered.

‘Because what else are you going to do? If you tell me no, I'll have you put away, and maybe Jenna, too. Maybe I'll kill Vern, then Ayana and Charley in front of Jenna, then Jenna on video so I can bring some footage to you in prison …'

Claudia could practically smell the anger and fear wafting off Yancy as he visibly struggled to compose himself, knowing he literally didn't have a leg to stand on.

‘And why do you want this file?'

‘Oh, never you mind,' Claudia said, her stomach flip-flopping excitedly. ‘It shouldn't worry you, since like I said, it isn't related to you or your sweet, little profiler. Believe it or not, I
do
have other things to do besides lying in wait for you and my former family. Like you said, Jenna would love to have me put away, and though I'd love to sit down and have a lovely mother-daughter chat with her one of these days, I have quite a few other things on my agenda to attend to that are higher priority.'
Like Patrick Obermaier.
‘I know this is hard to believe, but I
have
made quite a few enemies over the years …'

‘You don't say?' Yancy spat.

Claudia shrugged, still aiming the gun at Yancy's forehead. ‘What can you do? You con a few people, maybe kill a couple of their family members, and they just get so pissy.'

Yancy stared at her blankly for a moment, as if he was fighting a retort. After a long pause, he finally said, ‘And if I do this, you won't use what you know?'

‘I'll be like a priest who took your confession,' Claudia said.

Yancy frowned. ‘Right. And you won't hurt Jenna or her family?'

‘I'll stay far away from your precious psychiatrist and the rest of
my
family,' Claudia sneered.

It wasn't a lie. For now.

Yancy closed his eyes, bowed his head for a long moment. He looked back up, met her gaze. ‘Fine,' he said. ‘I'll do it. What are the details?'

Saleda fast-forwarded the video again at the point where the tall, skinny figure had the blonde girl, who they had now identified as twenty-six-year-old Alice Coltraine, skewered in the back with what looked like some kind of long, wavy dagger. Jenna braced for what was coming. Machete UNSUB, the man they were assuming was the group's leader, jumped into the fray once again, cleanly lopping off Alice Coltraine's head as though it was nothing more than brush in his path in the jungle. Two seconds later, Saleda paused the video.

‘Look. There on the side,' she said, pointing to one of the black-clad figures who appeared to be bent over, hands on his or her knees. ‘See the way their neck arches, the heavy breathing pattern in their body?'

‘Dry-heaving?' Porter said.

‘That must be Scout,' Saleda said.

Jenna nodded. Made sense. ‘If she was threatening to throw up, it'd definitely be worth someone warning her to chill out, that it'd leave DNA at the scene.'

‘What makes you think she's a woman?' Saleda asked.

Before Jenna could answer, Porter leaned forward, his elbows on the conference table. ‘Not incredibly tall by any stretch of the imagination. Tiny. Body type looks female to me.'