Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Exit Strategy\Payback\Covert Justice (38 page)

“I don't think he has any idea.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The look on his face last night. He wasn't expecting to be run down on a rainy highway and he never imagined they'd done it on purpose. I spent the entire evening watching the family at the hospital. The dad, Jeffrey, and the sister, Caroline, were worried, but they weren't scared.”

“They should be.”

“They will be.”

“Have you thought about how you're going to handle letting him know what's going on?”

“I'm hoping to catch him alone. TacOps is monitoring the place.”

“No small job.”

“Tell me about it.”

The Harrisons owned a huge swath of property. The land had been in the family for over a hundred years. The family business, Harrison Plastics International, known by everyone in the area as HPI, sat on one side of the road in the valley between two small mountains. One mountain was undeveloped and used as a recreation area for the employees of HPI. The Harrisons' homes dotted the small mountain on the other side.

Blake's home sat on the backside of the mountain, while his parents' home sat in the middle overlooking the valley and the plant. Caroline's home perched near the top of the mountain above their parents'. A gate blocked the winding driveway leading to their houses, but it wouldn't stop anyone determined to get inside.

“Richards is leading the TacOps team,” Heidi continued.

“Good man.”

“He's supposed to let me know if there's a good opportunity to pay Blake Harrison a visit. If nothing comes up soon, I may just have to knock on his door.”

TWO

I
t was 7:28 p.m. Blake swallowed three more ibuprofen. They'd offered him a prescription for stronger pain medication before releasing him from the hospital. He'd refused. He'd seen firsthand how far prescription drugs could take someone and he didn't want that stuff in his house again.

He tried to bend over to pull Maggie's doll from under the couch, but his back had other ideas. The rap on the door caught him off guard and he jerked upright. Pain raced through his sore muscles as he reached for the baseball bat he'd unearthed when he'd returned home this morning.

Someone had tried to kill him last night. Not that anyone knew, but when his ex-wife's parents had offered to take Maggie for the evening, he'd jumped at it. At age five, Maggie's response to the idea of him being injured was to climb all over him to make sure he was in one piece. His aching back could use a night off from being her jungle gym. And anyway, she had to be safer with her grandparents than with him.

Wait. What if they'd tapped his phone? They could have been listening and that would mean they knew he was alone. If he looked through the peephole, would they shoot him?

Get a grip, man.
He'd watched too many movies.

The knock came again.

“Mr. Harrison?”

He knew that voice.

He risked a peek and got an eyeful of curly bronze hair. She stepped back from the door as he tried to match this woman with the version he had in his head. Hair saturated with rain, plastered to her cheeks. Eyes flashing. A bit on the bossy side, not that he would complain.

“Mr. Harrison?”

The voice. Yes. He would know her voice anywhere. Although last night she'd called him Blake. He preferred Blake. He opened the door before he could change his mind.

“Hi.”

Yes, same eyes, flashing with amusement now as she studied him.

He followed her gaze to the bat clenched in his hand. He considered putting it down, but really, what did he know about her?

Besides the fact that she'd saved his life.

“May I come in?”

He hesitated and looked behind her. A small Acura SUV sat in his driveway. “How did you get in here?”

“Your code's not complicated.”

His mind raced with the implications. She knew where he lived. She'd had no difficulty entering their gated driveway. She hadn't tried to hide either of those facts.

“Mr. Harrison?”

He met her gaze.

“I'd rather not stand on your porch all evening. If you don't want me to come in, I'd be happy to meet you somewhere more public.”

“No.” No way could he let her get away without giving him some kind of explanation for what was going on. Although he doubted he'd be able to stop her if she wanted to leave.

He stuck out his hand. “My name is Blake Harrison.”

She grinned as she shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harrison. I'm Heidi Zimmerman.”

“It's nice to meet you. Please come in. And please, call me Blake.” He opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Have a seat.”

He didn't miss the way her eyes darted around the room as she crossed the threshold, or the way she chose a chair with a view of the door and the rest of the room.

“Thank you,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Her smirk told him she wasn't buying it. “I'm moving slow, but there's no permanent damage. Thanks to you.”

They stared at each other for a moment. He got the impression that she was analyzing everything he said, every move he made, but he couldn't be sure what she'd concluded about him. “Can I offer you a Coke? Mountain Dew? Tea? Water?”

“Water would be great.”

He tried not to let on how stiff he was as he walked to the kitchen.

Her voice followed him. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks. It was my grandparents'. I inherited it after they passed away.”

Why on earth had he said that? He grabbed a water for her and a Mountain Dew for himself. Returning to the living room, he handed her the bottle and eased into the chair across from her. He had so many questions, but no idea where to start.

She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and removed a small leather case. She flipped it open and slid it across the coffee table. “Maybe this will help.”

He read the words on the badge. FBI? Was this for real?

“Need a closer look? You can call headquarters, if you'd like to verify it's legitimate.”

FBI? A lead weight settled on his chest as the faint hope that the events of last night were a fluke disintegrated. “I think I'd like to hear what you have to say first.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “I need you to know, before last night I had no idea you were in danger.”

The way she looked at him with her head cocked to the side, brows knit, mouth tight, he couldn't question the sincerity or concern behind her words.

Then again, for all he knew the FBI gave their agents acting classes.

He'd fallen for a pretty face once before. And Heidi Zimmerman qualified as more than a pretty face. Her hair spiraled past her shoulders in shades of blond and brown and one little curl kept breaking free from where she tucked it behind her ear. Long lashes framed big green eyes set over a cute nose.

Cute nose? Nobody had a cute nose. He needed to pull it together. What had she said? She hadn't known someone wanted him dead? What did someone say to that? Great?

She sat straighter in her chair. “I'm sure this goes without saying, but if you tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, I'll deny it and you'll be prosecuted for obstruction of justice.”

“Sounds fun.”

Her lips twitched. Super FBI agent lady had a sense of humor. Interesting.

No trace of humor lingered when she spoke again. “Fifty years ago, Viktor Kovac immigrated to America from Hungary. It didn't take him long to settle into New York City and within a few years, more members of the family joined him. Within ten years of his arrival, the Kovacs had made a name for themselves in criminal circles. The police suspected them of everything from money laundering to drug smuggling.”

She took a sip of her water. “Like most organized crime families, they are focused on doing whatever it takes to protect their own and make as much money as they can. In recent years the younger Kovacs have pushed into darker territory. Instead of money laundering and protection schemes, they've been linked to human trafficking, arms smuggling and trying to corner the market on certain prescription drugs.”

“I've never heard of them.”

“No. You wouldn't. Other than the occasional low-ranking lieutenant or wannabe, they've never been prosecuted.”

“Never?”

She shook her head, disgust etching her features. “They've been linked to multiple homicides yet despite extraordinary efforts on the part of detectives, FBI agents and even informants, there's never been enough proof to take them to trial, much less secure a conviction.”

Her voice cracked and for a moment, a cavern of pain opened in her eyes. As quickly as it appeared, she looked away and when their eyes met again, steely determination was in its place.

“The younger Kovacs are opportunists. They function without morals, ethics or loyalty to anything or anyone other than the family.”

“You don't have to convince me. They're bad news. I'll be sure to stay away from them.”

“I'm afraid that won't be as easy as you may think.”

“What are you talking about? I don't know any Kovacs.”

When she looked at him her eyes filled, not with the intensity he'd seen a moment ago, but with compassion. She had the look his mother had had when she'd told him about Grandma's cancer. A look like that only came with bad news.

“Are you saying I
do
know some Kovacs?”

She nodded. “One of your employees.”

“I know all my employees. Not a Kovac in the bunch.”

“Two months ago, you hired a man by the name of Mark Hammond, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“Mark Hammond isn't his real name.”

Blake put his head in his hands. This couldn't be happening. “I run background checks on all my employees.”

“If you've got the money and the know-how, it's not hard to create an identity that can withstand all but the most thorough of investigations.”

“So—”

“Mark Hammond's real name is Markos Kovac. He's the youngest grandson of the original Kovac and he has a lot to prove. He's the baby of the family by quite a few years and most of his older brothers have already established their roles in the organization.”

Blake sat up. “How do you know this?”

“The Kovac family is my job.”

She didn't elaborate and the set of her mouth made him think she might not say more, but she swallowed hard and continued. “I know more about the Kovacs than anyone else in the Bureau. When Markos and his wife, Katarina, bolted for North Carolina, I followed. I've been here four weeks, watching, following, listening—trying to figure out what Markos is up to.”

“I haven't seen you.”

“I'm an undercover agent. That's kind of the idea.”

Something about this whole conversation didn't make sense. “What does any of this have to do with me? Mark may not like me, but I don't think he'd run me off the road. Besides, I hate to tell you this, but he was at work when I left.”

She started to answer, but he cut her off. “Has it occurred to you that maybe this guy wants to go straight? Maybe he wants to get out of the family business and live an honest life.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “No one leaves the Kovacs. No one has even tried in the past fifteen years.” The words were more breath than whisper. She looked up at him and the pain on her face made him lean toward her. He wanted to comfort her, somehow, but he didn't even know her.

The moment passed. “What do you mean, about Markos not liking you?”

Blake rubbed his face with his hands. “I'm sure it's nothing. We've just had a few minor issues.”

“If it's all the same to you, I'd like to decide whether your issues are minor or not.”

Ah. Yes. There was the bossiness he remembered. “Fine. He's had some inconsistencies with quality that none of our other supervisors have had. The last twenty or so off-quality batches we've produced happened on his watch. I've questioned him, even hung out during shifts, tried to ask around. There's nothing I could prove in terms of negligence in his work, but I did tell Dad and Caroline that I was watching him. We've been wondering if he might be some sort of corporate spy.”

“Do you have a lot of trouble with corporate espionage?”

Blake couldn't resist the opportunity to brag. “We make things no one else can make. Sure, we produce a lot of stuff that's standard—your basic water bottles, food containers, chemical containers—but over the past ten years, we've built a reputation for making specialty containers no one else will even attempt. We make unique shapes and if we can't make it, no one can. This year we landed a huge account for water bottles shaped like footballs, basketballs and baseballs. Our client has already sold them to over thirty professional teams. They hit baseball parks this summer. That account alone doubled the production on our specialty lines.”

She didn't seem as impressed as she should be.

“We have some fierce competitors out there who would love to get an inside look at what we do.”

Heidi raised her hands. “Okay. Okay. You guys are the best. I'm not disputing your status. But I know the Kovacs, and corporate espionage isn't their style,” she said. “He's here to do more than steal some trade secrets.”

“Care to be more specific?”

Heidi looked down. “I can't.”

“You what?”

“I can't be more specific, because I don't know. That's what I'm here to find out.”

* * *

Blake sat back in his chair. Heidi watched as the struggle to grasp her words played out across his face. They sat in silence for several minutes before he cleared his throat. “What does any of this have to do with me getting run off the road last night?”

There it was. The question she'd been waiting for and the one she dreaded answering. “I don't know. I'm hoping you might be able to help with that.”

Skepticism radiated from his face. “Me?”

“One of the things that has bugged me from the beginning is why Markos chose HPI.”

“I'm not sure I'm following you.”

“You make plastic containers. What's dangerous about plastic? Sure, you store chemicals in high quantity, but he'd be able to get those in other places—places run by men who don't have your reputation for high moral standards. I can't figure out the connection between what you do at HPI and what he could be planning. But after last night, I'm certain of one thing.”

“What?”

“He believes you are standing in his way.”

Blake stood and paced around the small living room. He'd taken this far better than she'd expected. He hadn't thrown anything. He hadn't asked her to leave. He hadn't refused to believe her. His mind had to be in turmoil, but he didn't appear rattled. If anything, he looked like a man who was formulating a plan of action.

No. Not what she'd expected at all.

He turned to her. “Are you hungry?”

“Hungry?”

“Yes. I'm starving. How do you feel about pizza?”

“My feelings are generally favorable toward anything that involves cheese.”

A true smile flickered across his face and Heidi looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. Dark hair with a hint of curl. Dark brown eyes. Strong chin. He reminded her of the brooding movie stars of the '40s. Until he smiled. His smile did something funny to her, but she didn't have the time or inclination to explore the emotion.