Twin Targets (11 page)

Pastor Davison’s people had probably cleared Ruby’s apartment by now. He’d see that her things went to people who needed them. She should call him and thank him again for all his kindness. In the rush and sorrow of Ruby’s funeral, she hadn’t said enough to him. But she couldn’t even call him now, not without checking with Micah first. He said he didn’t want any former connection with Ruby’s life. Tears stung her eyes. She was cut off, isolated from everyone and everything familiar, until this was settled.

A tear splashed on the dark red cover of the Bible. She wiped it away with her fingers, hesitated a moment, and opened the scriptures.

In times of trouble, turn to the Psalms.
Sister Sally’s voice echoed in her memory.
You’ll find the strength you need there.

Strength, she’d said. Sister Sally had never been one to offer easy comfort. Strength to face the burdens of the day—that was what she’d asked, for herself and for the children she brought to Jesus.

Jade began to read, turning from one familiar Psalm to another, feeling the words sink deep within her. Touching the painful places, bringing healing. Dropping onto her fears, bringing strength.

Finally she turned to the much loved words that had been read at Ruby’s funeral.

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…

A sob ripped through her. She sank from the chair to her knees, turning back to her Heavenly Father and feeling His arms welcome her. Micah knew something was wrong the instant he walked into the office. The atmosphere of tension was palpable, showing itself in averted gazes and rapt attention to computer screens or reports. Mac jerked a nod at him. “You’re wanted upstairs. Right now.”

“What’s going on?” A summons to the office of the U.S. Marshal in charge of the region didn’t come along every day of the week.

Mac shrugged, looking annoyed that he didn’t have an answer. “Just get up there.”

He turned on his heel and headed for the elevator, stomach churning. This had to be something bad. Jade?

His heart skipped a beat. But he’d spoken with her not half an hour ago. If something had happened to her, he’d have been contacted via radio or cell.

When the elevator doors opened, the secretary at the nearest desk nodded toward the door to the conference room. He was expected, apparently.

Those who were seated around the polished table looked up as he entered, wearing similar expressions of gravity…the chief, Jackson, Arthur Phillips and two other criminal investigators who’d been working the Ruby Maxwell case.

He focused on Phillips, his immediate boss. “You wanted to see me?”

“We’ve had another killing.” Phillips’s tone was harsh. Micah’s heart stopped. Jade…

“A woman named Carlie Donald.” He shuffled through the files in front of him and pulled one out. “It went down last night. Harper took it.” He gave a crisp nod to one of the investigators.

Dave Harper probably hadn’t had any sleep, and his usually wry, amused face held a serious expression. “The locals didn’t call as quick as they should have. Apparently thought it was a domestic gone bad. She and the boyfriend had gone at it before. He’d been out drinking, came home to find her dead. Strangled.”

Micah slid into a chair, pushing thoughts of Jade to the back of his mind. “Carlie Donald.” He repeated the name.

“I’m not familiar with her. Any Mafia connection?”

Someone must think so, or else why was Jackson sitting in on this meeting?

“She testified against a small-time Mafia soldier,”

Jackson said. “She went into Witness Protection, but didn’t change her lifestyle, apparently.”

“Liked to live on the edge,” Dave said. He handed a sheaf of photos to Micah. “Could be she picked up a guy and it turned violent. Or could be the boyfriend, if he got home earlier than they think.”

“A coincidence,” Jackson said the word as if it were a curse. “That’s hard to take.”

“Everything isn’t connected to the Mob,” Phillips snapped. “If you think…”

Micah stopped flipping through the photos, staring at one. “That mark on her palm. What is it?” He was vaguely aware of having interrupted his boss.

“Graphite, according to the lab.” Dave consulted a report. “Lot of places she could pick up something like that. It doesn’t necessarily relate to the murder.”

He flattened the photo on the table. “I’m afraid it does.”

He looked, not at his boss, but at his brother. “Ruby had the same black mark on her palm.”

Jackson’s breath hissed. “The black hand. The Mafia.”

Phillips held out his hand for the photo, and Micah gave it to him. He studied it for a long moment. Then he looked at Jackson. “I owe you an apology, Agent McGraw.”

“So this is Mafia-related.” The chief marshal spoke for the first time. Former military, he didn’t get rattled easily, and he didn’t show alarm now. “This is your area, Agent McGraw. What are they doing? Do these killings relate to the Bureau’s case against Vincent Martino?”

“Could be.” Jackson’s mouth clamped on the words.

“More to the point right now, how did the Mob find two unrelated female federal witnesses who have both been relocated to Montana?”

Silence, for a long moment. Micah’s gaze went from face to face as each person in the room assimilated the unpalatable truth.

“So.” Arthur Phillips’s face tightened to a rigid mask and said what they were all thinking. “There’s a leak. Here. In this office.”

ELEVEN

“Effective immediately, the investigation into the deaths of Ruby Maxwell and Carlie Donald, and the attacks on Jade Summers, will be turned over to FBI Special Agent Jackson McGraw.”

The chief marshal stood as he spoke, an intimidating figure at the end of the conference table. Silence greeted his words. He spun on his heel and walked out of the room, looking as if he barely managed to refrain from slamming the door behind him.

Everyone in the room knew how he felt. It was how they all felt. Someone in their office, one of the very people they trusted to watch their backs, was in the pay of the Mob. That deed dirtied every single one of them. Even worse, how could they look at each other without wondering if the person they were looking at was the one?

Micah read the question in the averted gazes and the mumbled responses of the others as they filed out of the room. They’d been shamed by the realization, then shamed again that the investigation had been taken out of their hands.

Finally Micah was alone with his brother. A wave of indignation rose in him. “I’d trust any of those people with my life.”

Jackson stared at him for a moment, expressionless.

“Would you trust them with Jade’s life?”

That question punched him right in the gut. “I…I don’t know.”

Jackson’s face was hard. “Then you should understand why your chief had to do what he did.”

He understood. But somehow that didn’t seem to make the humiliation any better. He murmured a quick, silent prayer for guidance.

“Okay.” He took a breath, steadying himself. “I get it. One person in this office is a traitor, so everyone is suspect. You think I don’t understand how serious that is?

Jade’s location at the hotel could already be compromised. You have to—”

Jackson held up a hand, shutting him off. “I can’t discuss the case with you, Micah.”

He opened his lips to argue. Shut them again. Jackson wouldn’t bend. Everyone who knew him understood that about Jackson.

For a long moment they stared at each other, while a chasm grew between them. There was nothing left to say. Micah walked out of the conference room. He got on the elevator, trying to focus. One thought kept blanking everything else out. His brother didn’t trust him. No, that wasn’t fair. Jackson trusted him as a person. He knew that. But Jackson didn’t trust his judgment in this case, or his ability to act impartially. He should go straight to his office and find out what Phillips wanted him to do. He had no choice but to walk away from the case that now belonged to the FBI.

Jade was in danger. The traitor could be giving away her location right now.

Jackson would act to safeguard her, but would it be soon enough? He would have to wait for his own team to arrive, hamstrung by the fact that there was no one here he could trust. And in the meantime, who was keeping Jade safe?

The elevator doors opened on his floor. He glanced in at the desks, listened to the dispirited silence. Then he punched the button to take himself down to the parking garage. He couldn’t take the chance. If he did nothing else, he’d move Jade to a different hotel and then let only Jackson know where she was. There would be repercussions, but he couldn’t help that now. Acting on instinct, he thought wryly. His big brother would have a few sharp words to say about that. Minutes later he was in his vehicle and covering the few blocks to the hotel, eyes flickering to his mirrors to be sure no one followed him. He yanked out his cell phone and punched in the hotel number, then Jade’s room number. He should give her a heads up that he was coming, tell her to get packed and ready to move. Every wasted minute meant that the killers could be getting closer. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. His tension ratcheted up with each unanswered ring. Where was she? She should be there. She’d been told not to leave the room without an escort. He let it ring until the line switched over to the hotel’s answering system. Frustrated, he ended the call, not wanting to leave a message that someone else might hear.

Where are you, Jade? Where are you?
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She could be in the shower, unable to hear the phone. That must be it. She wouldn’t leave. At least—

Could Jackson have already moved her? Possible, but if so, wouldn’t he at least have told Micah that she was safe?

Probably not. Jackson followed the rules, and right now the rules said that Micah was shut out of the case. But his instincts were riding him, just as they had when he’d rushed to find Jade unconscious from the gas leak. Telling him that Jackson wouldn’t have had time or manpower to move her. Telling him that she was in danger.
Please, Father.
His mind fumbled for the prayer.
Wherever Jade is, be with her now. Surround her with Your protection. And get me there quickly.
Around one more corner, cutting it short, and then he was driving down the ramp into the underground parking garage. He headed for the back, where the elevator was. A few more minutes, and he’d…

Jade. The sight jolted him like a physical blow. Jade, alone, stepping off the elevator. Alone. What on earth was she doing?

She paused for a moment, glancing around the gray, echoing interior of the garage, and then started walking to her right, where a rank of parked cars sat. He accelerated toward her, touching the horn to draw her attention. She spun, that banner of red hair swinging out, vivid against the forest-green jacket she wore. She saw him. Recognized him. And then she whirled and ran in the opposite direction.

Panic ripped through Jade like an earthquake, tearing apart pieces of her heart. It was Micah. She could trust Micah, couldn’t she?

Trust no one.
That was what the FBI agent had said when he called. Trust no one. Not Micah. Not anyone who said they’d come from the marshal’s office. Her running feet took her along the rows of cars on the right side of the garage. The agent had said Jackson McGraw would be there. He’d said he’d be waiting. Where was he?

Micah was coming. She could hear his vehicle, bearing down on her. Her instincts urged her to turn and run toward him, but the fear was too strong. It propelled her feet, stumbling now as she scanned the ranks of cars. A maroon sedan pulled out of a parking space toward the end of the row, turning against the lane markers to accelerate toward her. It must be Jackson—

Then she saw. A hand, a gun, extended from the window of the car. Pointed toward her. She veered, hearing a muffled report that echoed from the concrete walls of the garage. No time to think. Just run, dodge behind the nearest car, find shelter. She crouched behind a car, heart thumping loudly in her ears. Safe for a moment, but they’d pull up parallel to her and have a direct shot. She couldn’t stay here, but where could she go?

She heard the roar of a motor, the screech of tires—too late, too late to evade—

Micah—it was Micah, leaping from his vehicle. He reached her in a heartbeat, grabbed her by the arms. She felt his strength as he lifted her, practically carried her over the few feet to his truck. He threw her into the vehicle, shoved her to the floor and slammed the door. In an instant he’d slid behind the steering wheel, stamping on the accelerator without even closing his door. She was thrown against the dash as the vehicle veered, making a U-turn. Metal shrieked—they must have hit one of the pillars. The door slammed shut even as something pinged against it.

A bullet, her numbed mind acknowledged. The person in the other car was shooting at them.

Tires screamed. Micah rounded the turns, heading for the exit. There’d be a bar across the lane; he’d have to stop. The pursuers would be on them before he’d identified himself—

A crash, and the vehicle shuddered but kept going. Pieces of the barrier flew in all directions. She thought she heard someone yell.

They surged up the ramp to the street, taking the turn into traffic on two wheels as horns blared and brakes shrieked. Bracing herself against the seat, she looked up, focusing on Micah’s face—stern, unyielding, intent. He’d saved her, yet again. She could trust him.
Trust no one.
But she had to.

He didn’t shift his eyes from the street ahead, but she sensed his attention on her.

“Get into the seat. Buckle up. I need you to watch for them.”

She hesitated, fear riding her.

“Do it,” he snapped.

Choking down the fear, she slid into the seat, fastening her seat belt. “I’m in.”

“Where are they?”

She turned, scanning the crowded street behind them.
Trust no one.
But she had to trust someone, and the other men had guns. Besides, this was Micah.

“I see them. They’re a half block back, maybe more. In the far right lane.”