The Choice (5 page)

Just jealous...just jealous...sick of you looking down your nose...
Could there have been any truth to Belinda’s accusation? Belinda had had so much, and Jillian had always been on the outside looking in.

A horn blasted Jillian out of her daydream. Tires squealed. She jumped off to the shoulder, her breath coming in quick gasps.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She whipped around to see Cullinane charging toward her from a side path. 

“Lady, are you crazy or what?” The driver of the car that had nearly hit her leaped out, his expression thunderous. “Do you know how close I came to hitting you?”

Her head swerved from side to side as she backed away, her pulse sky high.

“I’ll take care of it. Are you all right?” Cullinane asked the driver, his voice sounding faint in her ears.

“Yeah, I’m all right, but your girlfriend here better watch where she’s going. She could be dead right now.”

She heard Cullinane’s deep voice murmuring to the man as he escorted him back to his car. The man soon pulled away.

Oh, man. Here it came. 

But he stopped in front of her and said nothing. Her attention caught on one drop of sweat rolling from his throat down tanned skin, disappearing into the dark hair above the neck of his tank. 

When he remained silent, she raised her eyes to his.

The usual steely gaze studied her. His jaw flexed. “Are you all right?” An odd huskiness tinged his voice.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I was...preoccupied. Sorry.”

He started to speak, then stopped abruptly. Nodding his head, he glanced down the road, back in the direction she’d come. “Let’s head back.”

Jillian watched him as he turned away, still surprised that she’d escaped a lecture. Cullinane glanced back, one imperious eyebrow lifted, and she snapped to attention, determined not to show him weakness.

He slowed his steps enough for her to catch up, then stride for stride, they matched their styles to one another, an odd sort of kinship she’d never expected to feel with him. For a mile or so, they covered ground simply as fellow athletes, and she slipped into the zone that so often sustained her, Cullinane a welcome companion.

The sight of the compound abruptly reminded her that this man was her enemy. His success would mean her failure. The thought that she could respond at all to a man who’d protect a vicious beast like Hafner shook her deeply. Drawing upon her last reserves of energy, she sprinted ahead of him, covering the final yards to the gate, reminding herself that she could afford no distractions.

She had responsibilities. She had a mission.

She could not fail.

Chapter Four

Drake drove toward Metairie on auto-pilot, restless and uneasy. Good thing that his regular contact with his handler from the Bureau was today. He had too much on his mind and arranging to be away for special meets was a challenge. He needed the contact with a world that sometimes felt too unreal.

Hafner thought Drake was meeting a hooker on these outings. Drake grinned; Frank Campbell might resent being thought of in those terms. It was a good cover, though—Hafner took delight in chiding him for not bringing women to the compound, offering to provide him with all the free company he could ever want. He sneered at what he called monkish restraint, considering it a weakness that Drake would keep that part of his life so private, since, as he said, “It’s only women.” But Hafner’s smug complacency served his own purposes, so Drake didn’t object.

The high regard of a slimeball like Klaus was a dubious honor, anyway.

Drake rubbed the bridge of his nose. Soon. It would all be over soon. Then he could start washing away the years of filth staining his soul from close contact with vermin like Hafner.

Pulling around the seed motel, he parked the car and headed for the ground-floor room which the clerk would have checked in a half-hour ago to a stunning blonde who would soon be watching television in one room while he met with Campbell in the connecting room.

The door swung open before he could knock. Slender arms wrapped around his neck for the benefit of anyone tailing him, one long, black-stockinged leg rubbing against his as ruby-red lips met his own.

When he realized that he was comparing the feel of her to Jillian, he cursed silently and took the blonde’s kiss deeper. When he set her back from him, her breathing was unsteady, her eyes wide with shock.

“Well, glad to see you, too, big guy.”

“Okay, Agent Carlson, that’s enough.” Frank Campbell stood up from the table in the connecting room’s shadowed corner. “I think your television show’s on.” The medium-height, fiftyish agent shook Drake’s hand, then walked over and shut the connecting door. John Alonzo, the case officer, nodded to Drake.

The rookie agent would be watching the parking lot, using the television volume to muffle any missing sounds of passion from prying ears. The noise served a purpose, but Drake didn’t get people who made love with the television blaring. They were missing out on the nuances of pleasure. Call him a romantic, but he believed his partners, however casual, deserved his full and complete attention.

“You okay, Drake?”

Damn. He’d never thought about passion at one of these meets before. Blast Jillian MacGregor.

“Yeah. Fine.” He sat down, leaned forward. “I think we might get a bonus.”

Alonzo’s head jerked up from his notes, his dark eyes narrowing. “What’s happening?”

“A big shipment coming in on the twenty-first. Hafner’s playing it very close to the vest with me, lots of phone calls on his unmonitored line. Usually he likes to puff about the size of his haul. He seems nervous, but excited. My gut tells me it’s big. A nice add to the haul on this raid.”

“I’ll alert the team to make adjustments. We’ll be in touch. Still think he’ll run it through the bayous?”

Drake nodded. “Something this important to him, it only makes sense. It’s harder to track shipments being threaded up through bayou country.” Going through major ports meant involving too many people. Hafner had always used shrimp boats to send and receive his shipments in bits and pieces. More time-consuming, to be sure, but much safer from detection. Less loss if the contraband is divided and something goes wrong.

He was also economical; the same craft that moved arms one way generally shipped cocaine in the other. No sense wasting transportation.
Just business sense,
Hafner would say.

“So tell me about the progress on your end,” Drake prompted.

Alonzo leaned forward. “We go to the grand jury tomorrow to get the indictments in place. We’ll adjust the arrest date to the twenty-first and coordinate with the Germans and Italians.” He smiled. “We’re in good shape, Cullinane. It’s going to work.”

“We’ll move to Delta phone contact system, effective immediately.” Frank rummaged through his notebook. “Here are the numbers we’ll have staffed twenty-four/seven. This one’s your primary get-out number if anything goes wrong before then.”

Drake scanned the printout, entering the numbers into files on his phone contact list under various women’s names. Should anyone break his password, it would look like the names of his ‘hookers’. If someone persisted enough to call, each of these would be answered with varying escort service names.

He didn’t kid himself that Hafner couldn’t have someone watching him as closely as he watched everyone else for Hafner. He’d made his quarters safe, but that was his only refuge. Even there, he still took precautions.

Finished, he settled back and waited for Frank to stop writing notes to himself.

Without raising his head, Frank spoke up. “So what’s got you so edgy?”

“This operation isn’t enough?”

Frank stared. “You don’t rattle easy.”

Drake sighed. He wasn’t ready to discuss Jillian—with anyone. He had no choice, though. “There’s someone new around. A woman.”

Frank’s gaze held steady. “Hafner’s new squeeze?”

“No.”

“Why’s she there?”

“Says she wants to be a bodyguard.” He chuckled, remembering. “She picked a hell of a job application.” As he told them where he’d finally stopped her that first night, he could appreciate his handler’s lifted brows.

“We could use her on our side.” Frank paused, head cocked to one side. “So what are you going to do about her?”

I wish I knew.
Drake studied the print of sailboats on the wall. “Something’s not right, but I don’t know what.” He straightened in his chair. “All I know is that I don’t like the distraction. Or the timing. She’s good, but I’m going to make her life difficult. I don’t want her around, not now, but Hafner’s determined.”

“Think Hafner’s got her there to watch you?”

He’d considered that. “I don’t think so. Hafner wants her, but not so she’ll spend time with me.”

“That good-looking, huh?”

Ruefully, he nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

“Going to compromise you?”

“No way.” Drake met Frank’s gaze evenly. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

“Want me to run a check on her?”

“Yeah. I’ll get you the information.” He rose, not wanting to discuss Jillian further.

“You hang in there, Drake. Maybe it’s almost over.”

He wondered if he’d ever be free of Hafner. Ever get to live like other people. “You ever take your kids to Disney World, Frank?”

The hazel eyes widened, then softened in sympathy. “Yeah, twice.” He rose, too, crossing the room and clapping Drake on the shoulder. “You wanna go next time?”

Drake chuckled. “No thanks. I might go fishing, though, when this is over.”

“I’ll buy the worms.”

Drake shook Frank’s hand, nodding toward the other agent. “I’ll go tell Lisa goodbye.”

“I don’t know if her heart’s strong enough,” Frank grinned. Alonzo laughed.

Smiling, Drake crossed to the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I hope this is it.” With a short nod, Frank turned back to the table.

Not half as much as I do.
Outside, Drake sat in the car for a minute, more conscious than usual of the split in his mind and the effort required to bridge it as he readied himself to return to the world of the man known only as Cullinane.

* * *

Jillian looked out her window at the lush grounds below, her eyes focused on nothing but the despair that dogged her. Frigid air from ducts above her fought the sultry heat of the day; hair still wet from her shower trickled moisture between her shoulder blades.

The trickle could just as easily be the cold sweat of fear.

She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pull it off. Despite all her planning, the months of training and preparation, she was going to fail. Her plan was good—that wasn’t what disturbed her so. It was that she’d never factored in how hard it would be to be this alone, to hold all the strangeness at bay with no respite.

She’d thought that because she’d been alone so much of her life, she’d find it easy to hold herself apart, but she hadn’t counted on Cullinane. Hafner gave her the creeps, but Cullinane scared her to death. He was real, and he was serious. And how he got beneath her skin could ruin it all.

Pushing away from the window with both hands, fingers diving into her hair, she paced the floor. She was afraid to go out there, but she couldn’t stay inside forever. She’d never find the weaknesses of this place if she didn’t probe. If only Cullinane would give her regular duties like the others...

He didn’t trust her yet. She’d never envisioned this going so slowly. She’d hoped to be in and out of here, quick and clean.

But it wasn’t to be that easy. Luck had played a part in how far she’d made it that first night, but nothing since had worked as she’d hoped. Cullinane wasn’t a man who made mistakes, too controlled and precise, too quietly dangerous.

She almost thought he was more dangerous than Hafner.

He wasn’t vicious, though, she would swear. Somehow she didn’t think he was evil either, but if not, why was he here? Was he so morally bankrupt that Hafner didn’t bother him?

She had to get out of this room, out of her thoughts. Swift fingers braided her still-damp hair, then she slipped on her sandals, sparing no glance at the mirror. Headed for the door, she stopped suddenly.

Hafner. She could be the spider, make him be the fly, lure him in. If so, she’d better go put on some lipstick. And some earrings.

Jillian squared her shoulders and headed for her private bath. When she’d fastened slender gold dangles to her earlobes and dabbed mocha cream on her lips, she checked to see that the deep green of her tank top worked with the khaki of her shorts. Grabbing a book from her nightstand, she headed out to scout the grounds, a good reading place her ostensible destination. As she turned the doorknob, she drew in a deep breath.

Patience. And watch your back.

Strolling over the side lawn a few minutes later, she glanced back up to check the location of her room. On one balcony stood Klaus Hafner, his gaze hot on her. She turned away and kept walking.

Showtime. Come on, you bastard.

A small glade she’d passed on her way into this compound was nearby. Jillian headed for that, carefully scanning everything around her with the benefit of daylight. She might need to leave the way she came in, though she hoped not.

Entering the clearing, she saw a small gazebo nestled beneath the trees, lacy ferns hanging at intervals under the eaves. Off to her right, the clear turquoise of pool water, cool and inviting. She walked up the two steps to the gazebo and settled on flowered cushions, the lazy whir of the ceiling fan overhead. Most of the year, air conditioning was essential and being outside wasn’t much fun. In the cooler October temperatures, however, the fan was perfect.

Klaus Hafner might be an animal, but he was an animal with great amenities. Opening her book, she settled in to wait, soon deep in the story.

“A beautiful bodyguard who reads romance novels. You are, indeed, an unusual woman.”

Marking her place slowly, she raised her gaze to Hafner’s. Coolly, she responded. “Not so unusual—millions of women read them. Even some men.”