More Than a Mission (12 page)

A
idan hated leaving her, but she insisted she was fine.

When he mentioned calling the local police to report the incident, she had grown agitated and insisted that it made no sense. They had no ID of the driver and no plate number.

All good reasons, except that any normal person would think that the police just might be interested in an attempted murder. But Elizabeth was clearly not a normal person, he thought as he walked back to the hotel and recalled the professional way she had handled herself at the wheel.

Back at the hotel, both Lucia and Walker were waiting for him.

Lucia jumped out of her seat and stalked over to him. She gesticulated wildly with her hands as she demanded, “Is there some reason you've been incommunicado all day?”

Aidan cursed and stopped her hands in midair. He reached into his jacket pocket for the earpiece that he had taken off when he'd realized they were beyond its range. Hoping he would get up close and personal with Elizabeth, he had not wanted to risk her seeing it. “Sorry. We were out of range.”

“All day?” Walker asked and examined him carefully, anger darkening his normally blue eyes to a slate gray. “You look…confused.”

Aidan plopped himself down on the couch. Lucia and Walker joined him, sitting on the chairs opposite him. “It was an odd day.” He recounted what they had done, leaving out some key personal parts. Finally, he provided a detailed account of the SUV attack.

“Tinted windows. No plates. Sounds like someone was intentionally after you,” Lucia said, and then added, “Any idea on the make?”

“Big. Relatively fast. Might have been a Hummer. It was dark and too much was happening too fast.”

Lucia added her two cents. “I'll check through the island's DMV records and see what I can dig up.”

“But there's more that's bothering you, isn't there?” Walker asked, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs as he clasped his hands together. “Want to tell us what it is?”

Aidan slumped down into the cushions of the sofa and looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet Walker's discriminating gaze. Afraid the psychiatrist might see too much. “Everywhere we went, people were so happy to see her. She seemed to really take an interest in them.” He then recounted the talk about the prince and after, the one about honor and still believing in it.

“But she refused to call in the police. She had something to hide,” Lucia reminded him before Walker piped in with his opinion.

“The Sparrow is a stone-cold, remorseless killer. A pathological liar who is unable to form commitments of any type, but can fool people exceptionally well. Classic antisocial behavior.”

“Elizabeth seems to have lots of commitments: her friends, all those people we met today.” He didn't add that for a moment there, she seemed to have been getting committed to him.

“These kinds of killers are by nature glib and superficially charming. If it came down to it, the Sparrow would do as she pleased with little regard for that supposed friendship or affection,” Walker reminded him.

“Like Mitch,” he said out loud and finally met Walker's gaze.

“Or like you, Aidan. Don't let this woman trip you up with her charm and beauty,” Walker warned.

“What made her like this?” he wondered aloud, still trying to reconcile what the Sparrow had done with the woman who was getting a little too close to his heart. Who threatened his mission.

“If she's a psychopath—nothing. She was born that way. But I think Elizabeth is likely a sociopath, slipping into this behavior due to the deaths of her parents.”

Aidan recalled Elizabeth putting up the walls whenever talk turned to her parents. Her tears about the car came to mind. The tears hadn't been about crunched metal and broken glass. Certainly their deaths still plagued her. “You may be right about the why,” he admitted. “She's still deeply affected by her parents' murders.”

“You need to be careful around her,” Lucia reminded, clearly concerned that he had lost perspective.

And maybe neither she nor Walker were all that wrong. Elizabeth was making him doubt who she was. Making him want to find a reason why she did what she did if she was indeed the Sparrow. A reason he could understand—like wanting revenge. He could comprehend that one well. It was what should have still been motivating him—avenging his friend's death.

He sat up and rubbed his hands along his thighs. “Lucia, were you able to get into the safe and the locker?”

She smiled emphatically. “Your little gadget worked like a charm. Broke right into both, only…There was no foot locker in the safe.”

“She got it out of there without us seeing it? How?” he questioned sharply.

Shaking her head, Lucia answered, “There was nothing on the cameras. I can't explain how she did it. And as for that secret pathway, it led into a series of tunnels which might take weeks to explore.”

He turned his attention to Walker and suddenly recalled the evidence bag in his pocket. He tossed it to the other man. “Here's your foxglove. Maybe the DNA will match. Did the photos help at all?”

Walker admitted that they had, but motioned to the phone on the coffee table. “I think it's better that we get Xander on the line for this one.”

Alexander Forrest, Xander to his friends and colleagues, was the Lazlo Group's DNA specialist and resident botanist. Lucia used her laptop to connect with Xander and his image filled the computer screen. After the preliminaries, he toggled the window on the monitor to display the photos Aidan had taken with his PDA.

“I assume you want a rundown on the Sparrow's flora,” Xander said.

“Yes, please, Xander,” Aidan confirmed and then the three of them settled back to listen and watch Xander's report. With swift strokes of his mouse, he instructed them on the assorted plants in Elizabeth's garden.

“The lady has a veritable pharmacy of poisons and medicines in her little gardens,” he began. “These low-lying flowers are nasturtiums and completely edible.”

He circled the bright orange and yellow flowers.

“But right next door and not so good—Lily of the Valley. Poisonous to cats, dogs, goats and, of course, humans. Next and a little further back, delphiniums. Likewise poisonous. But again, mixed in with this, there's some chamomile—good for stomach upsets. And some…”

Aidan listened and watched as the screen was slowly filled by Xander's strokes as he identified one plant or another. When that screen was filled, he went to the next shot and likewise detailed a number of other edible, poisonous or medicinal plants: calendula, valerian, echinaecea and peppermint.

Aidan had already been familiar with the latter since Elizabeth had shown him where he could get peppermint to use for drinks at the bar.

Last but not least, Xander flipped to the snapshot of what Aidan had suspected was the foxglove.

“
Digitalis purpurea
subspecies
mariana.
More commonly found in Portugal. Great choice for rocky areas prone to drought. Flowers are closer to rose than purple. But no matter how you use it—leaves or seeds—still deadly,” Xander confirmed.

“So this garden—”

“Chock full of all kinds of plants that one could use for either good or bad,” Xander interrupted.

Something went cold inside Aidan at Xander's words. Up until now, Elizabeth's actions had almost had him convinced that she wasn't what he suspected. That she might not be the Sparrow. But now…this was just one other thing to add to the ever-growing list of evidence against her.

First, her obvious presence in so many of the areas where the Sparrow had had a kill attributed to her.

Her physical condition and martial arts skills, not to mention her driving abilities.

Now the deadly garden plants. As he remembered his first day in the kitchen, he recalled her nimble handling of the knife. A killer's way with a knife.

If Elizabeth wasn't the Sparrow…

“Walker's got some leaves I snipped off the plants. Will you be able to do anything with that?”

Suddenly Xander's face filled the screen again. He held up a test tube. “I've already done the PCR testing on the sample our crew lifted off the prince's marble coffee table. Seems that's where he decided to do the lines of coke.”

“So we were able to get more evidence at the crime scene?” Lucia asked her colleague.

Walker was the one who answered. “Our unit collected some remnants of coke, but no fingerprints, hair or fiber other than the prince's.”

“What about fluids?” he asked, interested in a perverse and decidedly personal kind of way in whether the prince had shared himself with the Sparrow before biting the dust.

Walker looked at him and saw past the professional reason for the question. “No fluids at the scene,” he replied, concern lacing his words.

“What about on the body?” he pressed.

“No indication of sexual activity,” Xander advised over the speaker and Aidan glanced at Walker.

“What about good ol'saliva? I can't imagine that the prince would have had someone as attractive as the Sparrow in his room and not have traded spit.”

Walker glared at him coldly. “Is that opinion based on personal knowledge?”

He stood, tired of Walker's and now Lucia's scrutiny. “You expect me to crack the Sparrow. That isn't going to happen unless I use everything at my disposal. Everything.”

With that comment he started to walk from the room, but as he neared his door, he paused and faced Walker. “And may I remind everyone that I'm the lead agent on this assignment. While I appreciate your concerns, I need to do what I think is right to crack the Sparrow.”

With that, he grabbed hold of the knob, but as he opened the door, Walker said to Xander, “Make sure we've got swabs of the prince's mouth. And if we don't, get them pronto.”

A
s usual, Elizabeth was up bright and early, flitting around the garden like a beautiful butterfly or a vicious little bee. Snipping here and there. Filling her basket with murder and mayhem, Aidan thought.

It was a trifle early for him to go to work, but there was little reason for him to hang out in the hotel room. Grabbing the special surveillance equipment Lucia had used to crack the safe and locker, Aidan stepped out into the suite where, as ever, Lucia vigilantly perused the monitors while typing away on her laptop.

“Anything?”

“Just the Sparrow's typical morning routine.” Noticing that he was dressed and holding the equipment, she asked, “Where are you going?”

“Figured I'd take a look in those tunnels. See what I can make of them.”

Lucia gave him a heads up. “FYI—You'll find my footprints—size nine—for the first few feet in the main tunnel and then in the path to the right. Once I saw that way branched out into multiple tunnels, I stopped.”

“Good job. Just keep an eye on Elizabeth and let me know if I've been compromised.” When she returned to her busy pecking on the keys, he asked, “What else are you up to?”

“Hacking the Silvershire DMV.”

“Why hack? We're on the government payroll,” he began, but then he remembered Walker's earlier concern about the
Quiz
and their source for information. “I get it. You don't trust whomever we have to ask.”

“Too much leakage of vital details. If there's a mole, I don't want them knowing what we're up to,” she confirmed.

He patted her on the back, but as he walked away, Lucia called out to him. He stopped, turned.

She seemed hesitant to speak. Unusual for the normally feisty operative. “You and the Sparrow. It's just business, right? Because if it isn't—”

A sharp slice of his hand silenced her. “The Sparrow or Elizabeth. So far, we've got lots of things linking them, but nothing definitive.”

“You're right. But it's hard to ignore everything we do have, isn't it?”

Aidan agreed despite his unease. “I still want definitive, Lucia. I want to solve this case. I want it for Mitch.”

He didn't add that he wanted it for himself, because he was too conflicted. But Lucia knew. She might specialize in talking to machines, but she had great people sense, as well.

“Just watch your back,” she noted.

“You help watch it for me.” He motioned to the monitors and with a wave, headed for Elizabeth's cellar.

 

He had dressed in sweats. The gym bag he held contained assorted workout gear and the special surveillance equipment he had developed.

Elizabeth was in the front garden when he arrived, picking things from the garden, presumably herbs for what she would cook that day. He waved and called out, “Good morning.”

She walked over, examining him as she did so. “Working out?”

He pointed to the restaurant. “You did say we could use the equipment in the gym before the patrons arrived.”

“I did.” She nervously grasped and ungrasped the handles of her garden basket. “You were right yesterday,” she blurted out.

“Right? About what?”

“The police. I called them this morning and filed a report. Called the insurance company, as well. An adjuster is coming in a few days to check out the damage.”

Another decision that didn't make sense if she was the Sparrow.

Then he remembered her words to him about how things could never be the same and tried to reassure her, to work his way into her confidence. “Once it's fixed, it'll be like new.”

“Right. Like new,” she repeated, although she was clearly not on board.

“Right. So, I'm heading to the cellar. Unless you need help with something.” Or unless you want to pick up where we left off on the bluff, he thought, wondering if that was possibly the way to the truth.

“No, no. I'm fine. I've got to decide on the day's menu. Prep a few things,” she advised and turned toward the door.

He walked beside her and they entered the kitchen. It was empty, but she had clearly already been at work there. A number of bowls and items were laid out in anticipation of the day's meals. Tomatoes, basil and other herbs, fresh picked from her garden. He could smell their aroma as soon as they entered the room.

When she headed to her prep table, he peeled off and rushed down the cellar stairs. Just to be convincing, he decided to start on the boxing bag first. Grabbing the wrist wraps from his gym bag, he wound them snugly around his hands and wrists, and then began his routine on the bag.

Punch after punch. An assortment of kicks that would send noise up to the kitchen above. He wanted to make sure Elizabeth was aware of what he was doing. Afterward, he unwound the wraps and tossed them beside the bag. Hitting the center of the mat, he did crunch after crunch. As he'd expected, the sudden drop in noise drew her attention.

From his prone position on the mat, he was able to see the door to the cellar open. Her feet—petite feet he made a point to note, thanks to Lucia's earlier comment—were visible as were her toned calves, but not much else.

She was checking on him, and, seeming satisfied that he was up to just what he'd said, she closed the door.

Perfect. He quickly laid out some of the free weights on the mat, just in case she checked on him again. He needed to be able to grab one of the weights immediately as a cover. “Red Rover, I'm going in,” he advised.

“All's clear. She's working in the kitchen.”

He headed to the locker and with the combination Lucia had secured earlier, opened the lock and removed it.

Inside the locker it was much as he had expected. A sweatshirt and sneakers. He picked up the sneakers and noted the size—a six. A T-shirt lay tossed onto the floor above the sneakers. He held it up to his nose, but there was no scent. No fragrance.

Elizabeth didn't wear any perfume, just the hand lotion. A hint of plumeria, Kate had said when he had bought the jar. A jar he'd passed on for chemical review with the evidence from the crime scene.

There was no hint of plumeria. Actually, there was just a fresh-laundered smell that said the shirt hadn't been worn. He placed it back where he had got it, trying his best to rearrange it in the exact same position.

Leaning toward the back, he realized it would be a tight fit for him to go through the locker, unlike the Sparrow and Lucia, who were more petite. Tight, but doable.

The back of the locker appeared to be plain metal like any other gym locker. He ran his hands along the edges of the metal and down at the bottom right-hand corner, behind the sneakers and beneath the T-shirt, he discovered a tiny button, right where Lucia had told him it would be. Barely the size of a pencil eraser.

He pushed.

The back of the locker swung smoothly inward into the tunnel.

Here goes, he thought, and wedged himself through the space into the opening.

His shoulder scraped against the metal and once he was in the passageway, he had to crouch to walk. It had definitely not been intended for a man his size. But a woman a few inches shorter, like Elizabeth, would have no problem moving about the tunnels freely.

The passage had been carved out of the dirt some time ago. Well before Elizabeth's time. Long-term water seepage had stained the walls a darker brown in spots or had calcified on them from mineral deposits. That might make the whole network of tunnels unstable. The tunnel was dimly lit by a series of light bulbs strung from wire at odd intervals along the earthen walls. There was enough light for him to see the footprints. Larger ones, likely Lucia's, moving straight ahead. Interspersed with them, both coming and going, a much more diminutive set. Elizabeth's? he wondered.

He bent and guesstimated the second set of footprints to be a size six, like the sneakers in the locker. For confirmation, he located two sets of prints adjacent to one another, laid down a coin for reference and snapped off a picture with his PDA.

Shoving the PDA into his pocket, he moved further into the tunnel. He heard a crackle in his ear and worried that he was losing the signal. “Red Rover. Copy, can you hear me?”

“Copy, Mixmaster. Not as strong as before though.”

Conscious of that, he crept forward until he was at the spot where the tunnel branched. As Lucia had mentioned, her prints were clear in the sand of the passage to the right. Since she had already gone that route only to find it led to multiple tunnels, he chose the path to the left.

Careful not to compromise any evidence, he stepped cautiously, preserving the earlier footprints, hoping the Sparrow wouldn't be looking for his. As he moved deeper into the earthen corridor, he once again hailed Lucia. “Red Rover. Copy, Red Rover.”

A snap, crackle and even a pop as she answered. “Barely…hear…you.” Her words were punctuated by static.

“Copy, Red Rover.” Up ahead, the path dipped downward, sloping lower below ground level. For sure the signal would be lost up ahead. He wondered how long he'd have to explore before Elizabeth would check on what he was up to in the cellar again. Without the connection to Lucia, he risked discovery…

“You may lose me in a moment,” he advised and plowed forward, needing to determine what was up ahead. Where the tunnel led.

Nothing but earthen walls and bare bulbs. It was cooler though and for a moment he thought he heard something. He closed his eyes to eliminate any extraneous sensation from interrupting.

The ocean—it sounded like he was stuck in the middle of a giant shell. Another noise. The scuffle of a shoe?

He held his breath and there it was again. Louder. Definitely a footfall in the tunnel ahead of him. Elizabeth?

No word from Lucia, but then again, maybe he had finally lost her signal. And if he could hear the Sparrow's footsteps, he had to remain silent.

He held his breath and slowly inched back a yard or so toward a spot in the tunnel where a jagged outcropping of rock sprang from the earthen wall. Not very large, but enough for him to partially hide behind it. As he tucked himself tight to the outcropping, a faint and incontinuous signal came across his wire.

“…move…lost…beach,” was all he could make out, and he tried to fill in the blanks.

The Sparrow was on the move and I lost her on the beach.

The beach being possibly straight down the passageway judging from the sound of the sea. He waited and listened for yet another footstep.

Nothing. Had the Sparrow realized he was there and run?

He cursed again beneath his breath. If he forged ahead, he might smack straight into her and if he did…

Proof positive that Elizabeth was the elusive assassin?

He didn't want to guess at why that thought now bothered him.

Another crackle of static and some scattered words pierced his ear. “Back…cellar…hurry…”

With a frustrated sigh, Aidan made the call and turned.

A sudden blur of movement caught his eye, but before he could register who or what it was, blinding pain smacked him in the middle of his solar plexus, doubling him up. It was immediately followed by a hard, swift kick to his head.

The force of that sent him flying against the wall, where his head connected roughly. As he dropped to the ground and his gaze darkened, all he could see before him were a pair of feet. Petite women's feet encased in running shoes.

Then everything went black.

 

“Aidan? Aidan?” Elizabeth repeated and wiped the damp towel over his forehead and the side of his face.

His eyelids flickered for a moment, and then he was instantly alert and in action.

He grabbed hold of her hands and shoved her down hard onto the mat, pinning her there with his greater force and strength. “What did you do to me?”

“What the hell's the matter with you?” she said and pushed at him, trying to loosen his grip.

He seemed disoriented for a second, looking around the cellar as if thinking he was elsewhere. When he realized where he was, he released her and sat back onto the mat, a puzzled look on his face.

Natalie came running down the cellar stairs at that moment, a bag filled with ice in her hand. “Here it is, Lizzy,” she said and stopped short as she realized something was up.

Elizabeth rose from the mat, walked over to Natalie and took the bag of ice. She approached Aidan, who was looking a little dazed, probably from the blow that had put the bruise on the side of his face.

Not wanting to risk that in his current state he would take her down again, she paused well before reaching him and held out the ice bag. “Here. This might help.”

Confusion reigned on his face again, finally forcing her to kneel before him and place the ice bag gently above the injury. He winced as she did so and roughly asked, “What the hell happened?”

She shrugged and Natalie piped in from behind her. “When you didn't come up for a while, Lizzy came down to see what you were doing.”