Packing Heat (15 page)

“Give me a minute to enjoy the fact that we survived this one, and the air bags didn’t even go off.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet. The police are going to be looking for us. We can’t stay here very long.”

Just long enough for her to get an explanation. Cole knew she was right. He had to take a risk and come clean, but he gave it a minute anyway.

“Let’s start with what you were thinking when you sent that virus,” she prompted.

“I wasn’t,” he admitted. “At least not clearly.”

“No kidding.” Harmony settled back in her seat, facing the darkness through the windshield. “Every time you try to get into the FBI’s system, you get angry. If you’d been thinking instead of striking back—”

“I know.”

“We’re supposed to be a team,” Harmony said. “I realize it didn’t exactly start out that way, but you just got done telling me you trust me. So trust me.”

Saying it and doing it, Cole thought, were two different things. But she was right. The time had come for honesty. Her life was on the line, too, the more so because of one bad decision on his part.

“My freshman year in college I roomed with a kid by the name of Scott Treacher, and we became friends.”

Harmony said something that sounded like “fuck” under her breath. He’d been expecting that kind of reaction, but hearing her say it felt like Tinkerbell had flown up his pants and done something obscene. It also gave him an idea how she was going to react to the rest of the story. Not that he blamed her.

“Scotty and I got an apartment off campus, and we lived together the whole six years I was getting my undergrad and master’s degrees,” he said. “Kid was a total screwup. It took him all that time just to get his bachelor’s degree, but I helped him get through it, and he got me a face-to-face with his father.”

“Victor Treacher, head of Systems Security for the FBI.” Harmony sounded like she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest of the story.

Cole told her anyway. “Not back then,” he said. “Treacher’s career had stalled. Computer technology changes at light speed, and guys like me, coming right out of school, have the edge over anyone who’s been in the industry awhile. I spent every second of my spare time working on a new kind of software security system. By the time I was starting on my doctorate, I had it pretty much perfected. Victor was tired of watching younger men get promoted over him. He saw my system as an opportunity to move to the top of the ladder.”

“So he stole it from you.”

“Right after he got me to hack into the FBI’s computer system in order to prove to them they needed an upgrade.

“Scotty got into trouble right about that time,” Cole continued, “big trouble. Drugs. His old man wouldn’t help him out of the jam unless he stole all my paper documents. Then he copied my hard drive and wiped it so I had no proof I’d created the system.” Cole gave a slight, humorless laugh. “It never occurred to me to hide anything from a guy who’d been my friend for so long.”

“That’s because you don’t have a devious mind. Or a cynical one. Not back then, at least.”

“Yeah,” he said, feeling demoralized, victimized, and pissed off all over again. “Victor won himself a lot of kudos by ‘catching’ me. I went to jail, and once I was safely out of the way, he sold my system to the Bureau, with Scotty as the author.”

“Ouch.”

An understatement if he’d ever heard one. Victor couldn’t claim to have written the system because anything he’d created as a federal employee would automatically be the property of his employers. So Scott Treacher had gotten a big payday, Victor had gotten a big promotion, and Cole had gotten the shaft.

“I’d be willing to bet Treacher’s been getting regular updates on you,” Harmony said. “He probably knew every time you had a visitor—heck, he probably knew what you had for dinner every night. And he knew it the minute you checked out of Lewisburg.”

“I’ll bet he sent those agents day one.”

“Yeah, and they were the same two guys on that boat in Cleveland. My guess is they’re a couple of secret agent wannabes who work for Victor. That explains why they’re so inept. It also allows Victor to keep their activities off the books, which is why Mike doesn’t know anything about it. So what happened tonight?”

Another subject Cole didn’t want to revisit. He took a couple of deep breaths, vowing never again to give Harmony grief for doing it, and plowed on. “You’re right about Treacher. I underestimated his paranoia. The first time I tested the FBI’s firewall—
my
firewall—he probably knew it was me. When I got into the system at Juan’s, he kicked me out right away. Today I got in, no problem, and I didn’t get kicked out. I figured it was a trap.”

“You were right. And it ticked you off so you wrote that virus, and while they were dealing with fairy tales you hijacked four million dollars. Not a bad strategy, except for the part where Treacher plastered our faces on every television and website in the country.”

Cole scrubbed a hand over his buzzed scalp. “I didn’t expect him to do that. Putting me on the nation’s radar as a federal fugitive might help get me caught, but it also gives me a pretty big soapbox.”

“Not if you’re dead.”

“Shit. I didn’t think of that.”

“That’s what I’m around for,” Harmony snapped.

“You? Mary Sunshine?”

“There’s a difference between recognizing trouble and borrowing it. Just because I’m an optimist, it doesn’t mean I can’t understand the workings of a criminal mind.”

She had a point there.

“If you’d told me you were taking on someone like Victor Treacher, I might have been able to anticipate this kind of situation and avoid it. What else haven’t you told me?”

“That’s everything.”

She shook her head, and there was nothing cute about her expression. She didn’t look like Barbie or Jessica Rabbit or any of the other harmless sexpot characters he’d likened her to. She was furious, and for once he was glad she chanted mantras to calm herself down. Otherwise she’d probably be shooting him.

“At least we know what we’re up against now,” Cole said into the silence. He’d been hopping to defuse her anger, but the look she shot him said he’d missed the mark. “You can call your guy now, right? Get them pulled.”

“They’re not the problem anymore.”

No, he’d been an ass and let loose that virus, pushing Treacher into going public. By now everybody and their brother was looking for them, probably with guns drawn, and there was a pretty damn good chance they wouldn’t be talking to anyone ever again. “So I signed our death warrant with that virus.”

Harmony didn’t say anything, the tension in the car growing thicker as the seconds ticked by, until Cole couldn’t take it any more.

“Harm—”

“We have to split up.”

Cole closed his eyes and just let that sink in. He’d known from day one how she would feel going up against a high-ranking FBI official. “I guess I should be glad you’re not taking me back to jail.”

“What?” She turned to him, puzzlement overlaying the anger still on her face. And then it sank in. “Our deal still holds. But it’s nice to know how little faith you have in me.”

“Taking on Treacher is a career ender for you.”

“Yeah, well”—she looked away—“I think it’s too late to worry about that. They’re looking for a man and a woman together, and I’m a lot more recognizable than you are. That’s why we have to separate. Just for a little while. We have to get as far away from the last confirmed sighting as we can, and the best way to do that is separately.”

Cole digested the implications of her decision, and what it said about their partnership. “How do you know I won’t take off and leave you hanging?”

“Because Treacher won’t stop until you’re dead, Cole. I’m the only hope you have.”

“What makes you think he won’t kill you?”

She shrugged. “Arrogance. He’s confident the Bureau will sweep this under the rug.”

“He’s probably right, but as far as he knows, you’re not working for the FBI on this one.”

“He has no way of knowing if that’s true. Mike could have made it appear I was out in the cold for a reason. Treacher can’t risk taking me out without there being a lot of uncomfortable questions asked.”

“So how does that help me?”

“Mike will back me up,” she said with absolute conviction. “And I believe you, which means he won’t just write you off as a crackpot with an axe to grind.”

“Great, I can see how far I get with a murderous FBI computer geek on my ass, or I can trust an FBI agent and her FBI handler to take my side when the shit hits the fan.”

“There’s really no choice, is there?”

Cole heaved a sigh. “I’ll meet you in Tulsa.”

“Another ex-con friend?”

Cole didn’t say anything.

“Don’t you think Treacher will have agents on anyone you knew in Lewisburg?”

“Fine, no friends.”

She handed him some cash and the prepaid untraceable cell phone. “My number’s programmed in, and I-44 will take you straight to Tulsa. Call me when you get there. And be careful. The instructions will be shoot to kill.”

Unnecessary advice, Cole might have said. If there’d been any point. He opened the door, then thought better of it, leaning across and taking her mouth. He let the heat and sweetness take him, just as she did, sinking in for a few rushing heartbeats.

She didn’t push him away, but as soon as he pulled back, she said, “What was that for?”

“I don’t want you to forget me.”

She exited the driver’s side and looked at him over the roof. “I’m pretty sure that would be impossible, even without the kiss.” She started to walk away, then turned back. “But it was a nice touch.”

The only thing he had going for him was unrecognizability. His mug shot was eight years old; he’d changed so much since it had been taken he was basically a different person now. But he was still a person on foot. He took out the untraceable cell and called information. The nearest bus station turned out to be in St. Louis, and heading back the way he’d just come, where people had already connected him to the guy on TV and the cops were probably all on alert, didn’t seem a very bright idea. The next bus station was in Springfield, over two hundred miles away.

Hopefully he’d find some sort of transportation before then, but at the moment he was surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. Walking along the highway, where he’d be at the mercy of every dozing driver and backlighted by every car that went by, including state police cruisers, was out of the question. Cole opted for the service drive, keeping just off the shoulder. He could still see the road, but the dark hid him pretty well, and if anyone did see him and got nosy, he could disappear into the wilderness.

Two hours later, he was willing to try his hand at car theft. Or bicycle theft. Or horse theft. Any mode of transportation besides his own two feet would be a welcome relief. He could just imagine Harmony in some nice, warm car, gliding comfortably through the night, while he was cold and tired and pissed off, and wondering if it could get any worse. And then it began to rain. Torrentially. A gully-washing, cats-and-dogs, Noah’s Ark downpour that had him scrambling for high ground. That part of Missouri had clearly had a lot of rain over the last couple of weeks; there was standing water everywhere, and the dirt and gravel shoulder was striped with runoff channels. Even as he made that observation, the ground beneath his feet washed away, dumping him into the overflowing ditch, along with a ton of mud.

Cole came up, sputtering for air and clawing the phone, his only lifeline to Harmony, out of his pocket. He almost fumbled it because his hands were slick and clumsy with the cold, but he managed to hang onto it and flip it open. Water ran out. The display blinked half-heartedly a couple times, then went dark.

“Shit.” He dragged himself back up the embankment and stood there in the pouring rain, not daring to think things like
It can’t get any worse
, or
At least it would be warm and dry in the back of a police cruiser
. But when a car pulled over just ahead of him, he didn’t think twice, or factor in how bad his luck had turned since Harmony had deserted him. If Victor Treacher had been driving that car, with his goon squad in the back, Cole wouldn’t have hesitated.

What he found instead of FBI agents was cats. A car full of cats, piloted by a woman who looked like she belonged in a car full of cats. She was old and wrinkled and feisty-looking. Not to mention ornery.

“You just going to stand there,” she yelled at him through the open passenger-side window. “The upholstery is getting all wet.”

The upholstery looked like worse things had happened to it. “It’s going to get a lot wetter if I sit on it. I’m kind of dirty, too. I fell in the ditch.”

“That’s why I pulled over. I don’t normally pick up strange men, but I felt kind of sorry for you. I’m a sucker for strays.”

“I can see that,” Cole said, but he still wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem like an old woman should give him pause, but an old woman with a car full of cats struck him as crazy, and he’d had enough crazy in his life lately.

“No offense,” she yelled, “but it ain’t like a fella in your sort of predicament can be picky.”

She had a point. He pulled open the door and angled himself into the passenger seat, the window motoring up as he did, so that when he pulled the door shut he felt trapped.

“I’m Maizie,” the old woman said.

Cole took her hand and shook it, saying, “Pleased to meet you, Maizie.”

“What, you don’t have a name?”

He smiled faintly. “You can call me Dick.”

“Hmmmm.” Maizie sounded unconvinced, but she didn’t comment. “What are you doing wandering around in the middle of nowhere in the dead of the night in a thunderstorm, Dick?”

“My car broke down on the highway,” Cole said, shaking his head a little over how easily the lie came. He’d spent eight years with criminals and nothing had rubbed off on him. Less than a week with Harmony Swift and he was lying like a pro. “I figured it would be a bad idea to walk along the highway, but that was before the shoulder of the service drive gave way and dumped me into the ditch.”

“Sounds like you had a disagreement with god,” Maizie observed.

“It’s been that kind of night.” Hell, it had been that kind of decade. “I’m sorry about getting your seat all wet.”

“Can’t hurt this car none.”

She had a point. The rest of the interior of the ancient Chrysler wasn’t any cleaner than the passenger seat. It smelled, too. In all fairness he probably didn’t remind anyone of a flower garden, but he’d had a rough night. And as long as he didn’t resemble a scratching pole or a litter box, he was happy. There had to be twenty cats in the backseat, and when he ventured a look over his shoulder, he saw that they were all staring at him, not moving or making noise or even blinking, just their yellow eyes shining in the darkness.

“Not a cat person, huh?”

“Nope,” Cole said, keeping his eyes on the cats and trying not to be freaked out. Not that he really had anything against cats, but as best friends went they left something to be desired, especially if you were a kid. They didn’t fetch or catch a Frisbee or greet you at the door after school like you were the best thing that had ever happened to them. Cats were independent. And sort of sneaky.

“You strike me as the kind of person who favors dogs,” Maizie said.

“I was until recently.”

“Nasty, slobbery things.”

It was more their teeth Cole didn’t like. Hounds especially. “So, where you headed?” he asked Maizie.

“Home, but I won’t take you there.”

“I’m surprised you picked me up at all.”

“My babies won’t let anything happen to me.”

Cole turned his head and got a face full of cat because one of her “babies” had hopped onto the back of his seat. He sneezed. Twice. It hissed at him both times.

“Sounds like you’re mildly allergic,” Maizie said, “and I’m going a bit beyond Springfield. You sure you want to tag along?”

Cole considered his chances of finding another ride. Springfield was a bit over halfway to Tulsa, so about two hundred miles. Even at old lady speed it shouldn’t take more than five hours. He could catch a bus from Springfield and be in Tulsa by noon. Maizie was right about his allergies being mild, too. As long as the cats stayed in the backseat, he seemed to be all right. And it would be worth a few hours of sneezing to see the shock on Harm’s face when he beat her to the rendezvous.

“So, you in?”

“Yep, let’s go.”

Maizie put the car in gear and guided it back onto the road. “It’s your funeral.”

It wasn’t long before Cole wondered if she’d been trying for humor or making a prediction. Maizie hadn’t figured out that cars went faster than forty miles per hour in the twenty-first century, and she wouldn’t let Cole drive because he “didn’t look like a rapist or serial killer, but that there Ted Bundy fella didn’t either.” Apparently she was afraid he’d take her to a remote location, kill her in some gruesome manner, and bury her in a shallow grave.

Cole couldn’t think of anyplace more remote, and he had no sexual designs on the old lady, violent or otherwise. Murder was a different story. He could have worked himself up to a nice strangulation, if not for twenty pairs of cats’ eyes watching his every move. One of them hissed at him whenever he sneezed; he could just imagine what they’d do if he went for the old lady—which became more of a temptation as the hours dragged by.

Not only was she slower than Christmas Eve for a five-year-old, but she stopped once an hour to let the cats out, and then it took forever to round them all up again. And she always stopped on some deserted stretch of road, which made her the best of a bad situation every time. What should have been a five-hour trip at most took them well over eight, but Cole managed to get some sleep, mostly because he’d been bored into a stupor.

Maizie nudged him out of a light doze about mid-morning, and Cole straightened in his seat, puffy-eyed, congested, and itchy from the dried mud in his clothes. And he smelled like wet cat.

“Where are we?” he asked, yawning and stretching.

“Shawville, just like I told you.”

“I wanted to get out in Springfield.”

“Then you shoulda said something.”

Cole sighed dejectedly, not bothering to muster up the energy to point out he’d been asleep. “What’s in Shawville?”

“Farmers,” Maizie said, “but they got a mall here now.”

“That works for me.”

Mall was the last thing he’d have called the blocky, industrial-looking brick building she took him to.

“Used to be a manure factory,” she explained when he just sat in the car and stared for a minute.

“That explains it.” He shooed the cat off his lap and reached for the door handle. “Thanks, Maizie,” he said, getting out of the car and taking a deep breath of the fresh air—through his mouth since his head was filled with goo from the cat allergy.

Maizie peeled off on her bald tires, and he headed for Sears, the mall’s big anchor store, outfitting himself from head to toe in less than ten minutes. The sales clerk took the twenties he handed her, eyeing the wrinkled, damp bills, then studying him suspiciously before she deposited the cash in the register and gave him change.

He hit the bathroom next, stripping down and washing up as best he could, including his hair, then dumping everything he’d been wearing into the trash. Getting rid of all evidence of cat. It helped, but putting wet paper towels on his eyes was even better. Sure, he felt a little girly, but it worked. Some of the swelling went down, and the congestion seemed to clear up a bit, enough that he could feel his stomach talking to him.

There were maybe ten stores in the Shawville mall, but it boasted a small food court. Since it was mid-morning, his only choice was one of those huge cinnamon buns and coffee. Not that he was complaining. He was clean, he had food, and a table all to himself at the edge of the seating area. Things were looking up. For all of about five minutes.

Cole’s coffee had barely cooled enough for him to drink it comfortably when a kid with acne and ADD wandered by. He was wearing droopy, three-sizes-too-big Levi’s, hanging so low Cole could see a pair of Simpson’s boxers between the waistband of the jeans and the hem of his khaki security guard shirt. There was a name tag on the shirt pocket that read Ted jasper, and since he wasn’t wearing a holster, Cole’s level of alarm dropped sharply.

His mouth should have been classified as noise pollution, though. He decided to stop at Cole’s table and chat, and by chat, Cole meant talk nonstop. Every sentence ended in a question mark, and he didn’t seem to notice that he was crossing the line from annoying to nosy.

The third time Ted asked where he was from, Cole said, “I’m just passing through,” deciding it probably wasn’t a good idea to ignore the kid. It certainly didn’t discourage him.

“I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Ted said. “You ever get to Kentucky? I got kin over that way.”

“Never been to Kentucky.”

“Huh, you sure look familiar. Like I knew you a couple years ago or something.”

Cole got to his feet. “Time for a refill,” he said, holding up his coffee cup. “Nice talking to you.”

Instead of taking the hint, Ted followed after him like a puppy, still asking questions but not waiting for answers. “What do you do for a living?” he wanted to know. “Are you between jobs? I mean, it’s the middle of the morning on a weekday and you’re not at work. And you’re not dressed like you have a job, unless you work at a real casual place. One that allows tattoos . . . Shit.”

Cole turned around. Ted was backing away slowly, his eyes riveted to the tattoo Cole’s new T-shirt sleeve wasn’t long enough to hide completely. The tattoo that must have been used on TV as an identifying mark of the dangerous federal fugitive who’d just unleashed a virus in the FBI’s computer system.

Sure enough, the kid pulled a square of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and held it up, looking from the paper to Cole, paper, Cole, his eyes shifting back and forth so fast it was a wonder he didn’t make himself dizzy.

Cole’s streak of luck—all bad—was holding strong. Ted reached into his other pocket, pulled out a pistol, and pointed it at him.

It wasn’t like that was a first for Cole, but with Harmony he’d thought she wouldn’t shoot. He was afraid this kid’s gun would go off and kill him accidentally. Ted’s hand was shaking, his eyes darted back and forth, and if he didn’t hit Cole, he’d likely take out one of the innocent bystanders. There weren’t a lot of people in the food court, and most of them were employees, but they all decided to leave their cash registers and grills to come out and gawk. And get in the line of fire.