White Lies (34 page)

Jack seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he went cautiously to the door and inched it open a crack. “Come on in, Russ. But I'm not going to promise I'm not going to shoot you.”

Jack turned to Katrina and Zach and waved the gun. “Get over to that wall, both of you.”

“Jack—”

“Now!” he shouted.

They went to the far wall and hunkered down. Jack crouched behind them. Katrina thought his motivation was to get them all out of any possible line of fire through the front window. The seconds ticked by. Katrina could hear both her and Zach's breathing, quick and shallow. Jack, however, remained perfectly quiet, despite his injuries.

Finally, the door pushed farther open. A wedge of light, nothing more than a shade of gray fainter than that in the room, spilled across the hardwood floor. The outline of a man appeared, silhouetted against the storming night.

“Close the door behind you, Russ,” Jack said.

The man obeyed. There was a sharp sound as the metallic tongue clicked home in the strike plate. Despite the shadows, Katrina could see the man named Russ was roughly Jack's size, thick in the chest and shoulders, with hard features and a bald head.
He was dressed in navy slacks and a crisp white shirt, no blazer, revealing an empty gun holster.

Jack aimed the pistol at him. “How many outside?”

“Twelve.”

“Don't bullshit me, Russ. This town's got a three-man police department. One's lying over there on the floor, dead. That leaves possibly two outside, the chief and some part-time senior citizen who's twice retired. You expect me to believe you brought a ten-man team with you?”

“The Agency's been itching to get you. At any cost.”

Katrina couldn't stand the not knowing any longer. “Are you CIA?” she asked the man.

He looked at Jack, who shrugged.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. “Special Agent Russell Nowicki. I used to work with Jack Stone here.”

“Jack Stone?” She looked at Jack. “You said your name was Reeves.”

Jack smiled humorlessly. “Guess I haven't been completely honest with you, sweetheart.”

“And you worked for the CIA as well?” She shook her head, trying to come to terms with everything. “Who are you?”

“Jack was one of our top agents, ma'am,” Nowicki said. “He began with a brief stint in the CIA's domestic station in New York. This was right after nine-eleven. His supervisors saw his potential as a rising star and sent him to serve in Egypt, Afghanistan, then as a station chief in Iraq, to oversee the oh-three invasion.”

“Go on,” Katrina said, riveted by these revelations.

“Two years ago Jack was charged with destroying eighty-seven CIA videotapes showing the waterboarding of Al Qaeda terror suspects. Unfortunately for him, the Justice Department put together a solid case for his prosecution. Nearly eleven months later a federal judge sentenced him to time behind bars. Jack escaped custody while being escorted from the courthouse. He went underground and has been in hiding ever since.”

“I was serving my country,” Jack snarled, and there was a ferocity in his voice Katrina had not heard before. “Doing what I
thought was best for the Agency. Dozens of agents and contractors had cycled in and out of Iraq to assist with the questioning. If those videos ever surfaced, the identity of those people would have been compromised. Lives would have been put in danger. And what's the thanks I get? Treated like I'm the enemy?”

“You went against standing orders from the White House.”

“Don't make this political.”

“Jesus, Jack. It is political. Your cowboy shenanigans caused a real shit storm. Because of the investigation you instigated, we had to turn over sensitive documents, including classified cables from around the world, which are now floating around on WikiLeaks. The bloody director was summoned before a grand jury. Not to mention that
Washington Post
story about the existence of secret CIA prisons overseas, which got the president in hot water. So tell me, Jack, how is it not political? What was the Agency supposed to do? Someone had to take the fall.”

“They should have given me a medal,” he said simply.

“Killing two cops wasn't the answer, Jack.”

“What?” Katrina blurted. She was still trying to come to terms with what she was hearing. It was too much, too bizarre. “What do you mean, two cops?”

“That's how he escaped custody,” Nowicki told her. “Took out the cops escorting him from the courthouse. With his bare hands. Snapped one of their necks. Strangled the other with the handcuffs on his wrists. Took their car, drove off. Went completely off our radar—until this afternoon.”

Katrina had gone numb all over. She had cared for Jack. She had slept with him.

A serial murderer. Maybe even a genuine sociopath.

“You lied to me,” she said. “About your past. About everything.”

“No, not everything,” Jack told her. “Not about my past. Not about my training in martial arts. Just about my job. And that wasn't really lying since I signed an oath not to tell anyone who I was except on a ‘need to know' basis. And I'm sorry to say, sweetheart, but you didn't classify as need to know.” He stood, yanking Katrina to her feet as well, holding her against him. “Now that's
enough talk. I want you to go back out there, Russ, and clear the street except for one car. Leave the keys in the ignition and the engine running. She's coming with me. I see anyone out there, I shoot her. I see anyone following us, I shoot her. Get it?”

“All right, Jack, if that's what you want. No problem. I'll clear the street. Just don't do anything rash.”

A squeak sounded from behind them.

Before Katrina knew what was happening, Jack squeezed off two rounds, dropping Special Agent Nowicki to the floor. Then he spun and released a firestorm of bullets through the hallway door, all in one fluid motion. The door swung open and two men dressed in black combat gear tumbled head over heels into the living room.

Just as Katrina was gaining her wits, Jack was jerked backward. He was still holding her, and she went down with him, landing on top of him. He dropped the pistol. She sprang off him and picked it up. She whirled around, holding it before her in both hands, backing up.

To her amazement, Zach had Jack in some kind of full nelson, and she realized Zach must have been the one who'd tugged Jack backward off his feet. Very quickly Jack grabbed Zach by the scruff of the neck and flung him off him like a rag doll.

“Don't move, Jack!” she yelled.

He stared at her, his eyes burning with rage.

“What are you going to do, Kat? Shoot me?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Your hands are shaking so badly you couldn't hit the blind side of a barn.”

“I swear I'll do it.”

“No, I don't think you will.” He pushed himself to his feet. “You know why I don't think you will?”

“Shoot him!” Zach said. He'd also regained his feet and came to stand beside her.

Jack's gaze flicked to him. “I'm starting to really regret not ending you in that shitty little basement of yours when I had the chance.”

“Zach,” Katrina said, never taking her eyes off Jack, “go outside and get some help.”

“Who?”

“Anybody!”

“I'm not leaving you alone in here with him.”

“Will wonders never cease,” Jack mocked, taking a step toward one of the commandos lying on the floor—toward his weapon. “The peeper actually has a backbone.”

“I said don't move, Jack!”

“You're too good to shoot me, Kat. You don't have murder in you. I've witnessed that firsthand.” He crouched down and picked up one of the two assault rifles on the floor. “Isn't that right?”

Fast as a snake, Jack swung the barrel toward her. She was faster. She squeezed off three shots. The first missed but the second plowed into his chest and the third nicked his shoulder, spinning him about. He stumbled sideways, groping the wall for balance, then sliding down it, leaving a red streak on the beige paint. He coughed, spitting blood everywhere.

“Guess I was wrong,” he mumbled, more blood bubbling from his mouth, and she knew she must have hit a lung. “You're more like me than I thought.”

He made a final guttural sound, then went quiet.

And still.

“Is he dead?” Zach asked, breaking her trance.

Time sped up. Sounds returned.

“He has to be,” she said. “Has to be.”

She looped her arms around Zach's neck and held on tightly just as the front door banged open and more men in combat gear spilled into the room, aiming their guns, shouting orders.

“You didn't have a choice,” Zach said into her hair seconds before he was tugged away.

“Yes, I did,” she replied softly. “You always have a choice.”

January 3. Four months later.

Katrina was walking with Zach through the snow- and slush-covered sidewalk along Front Street, enjoying the scenery. If possible, Leavenworth was even more beautiful when painted white and done up in Christmas lights and decorations.

They passed King Ludwig's, the restaurant Jack had taken her to on their first date, and she thought back to the night she'd been forced to shoot him. After arranging for Bandit to be taken to the town's vet, the police chief, a man by the name of William Darcy, had escorted them back to the station, which had gradually filled up with FBI and CIA agents, all of whom had drilled her with question after question about Jack and everything that had led to the deadly climax at her bungalow. When she was finally allowed to meet with an attorney, she entered a guilty plea to a single-count indictment charging her with being an accessory to murder. She hadn't wanted to go through with a trial. She knew what she did, knew it was wrong, and took full responsibility for it. At the sentencing, however, the deputy district attorney prosecuting the case recommended to the judge the minimum sentence in light of the circumstances of Jack Reeves's—or Jack Stone's—character and her own lack of a criminal record. The judge agreed, placing her on probation for one year.

Katrina did not celebrate. She knew she'd gotten off far easier than she should have. She immediately began her personal penance, dividing her free time among several charities, which required her to travel to a number of towns throughout Chelan County. She found this a rich and rewarding experience, and she
knew helping others would be a central component of her routine for a long time to come. Meanwhile, life in Leavenworth had continued with much more normalcy than she would have thought possible. Almost everyone she spoke to was sympathetic to her plight. To her great relief, when she returned to school, no one mentioned the party or Jack again. Small towns might be fertile grounds for gossip, she'd learned, but like any tight-knit family, they could also be understanding and supportive to one of their own, even one as relatively new as herself.

As for Zach, she'd become good friends with him over the past several months, compounded by the fact he and Crystal were now in a serious relationship. In fact, the three of them tried to get together at least once a week, usually a Friday or Saturday evening for dinner and cards.

“So where's this place you wanted to go?” Katrina asked Zach.

“Right there,” he said, pointing across the street to a pub.

“Ducks & Drakes?” she said, frowning. “I've been here. In fact, you were here with me for that school thing when I first got here.”

“Ah, right,” he said. “I must've forgotten.”

She gave him a curious look but followed him to the door. She went in first—to a completely dark room. Before she could say anything, the lights flicked on and a chorus erupted in: “
Surprise
!” Katrina was amazed to see all her coworkers and friends huddled together in the center of the room, holding drinks. Crystal stepped away from the crowd, restraining a grinning Bandit by the leash. She kissed Zach on the cheek, then gave Katrina a big hug.

“Happy birthday!” she said.

“My God.” Katrina felt herself glow. “Wow, Chris. This is … wonderful.”

“Thank Zach. He organized everything.”

“Thank you, Zach,” she said. “This means a lot to me.”

He nodded, color touching his cheeks.

“Come on, Kat,” Crystal said, “let's get a drink.”

Katrina started toward the bar but stopped when she noticed Zach staying behind. “You're not coming, Zach?”

“I've quit drinking.” He shrugged. “New Year's resolution.”

“Congratulations! I'm so proud of you.”

His color deepened. “Thanks. How about you? Anything?”

“I didn't make one.”

“No time like the present.”

She thought about it for a moment. “To run a background check on all potential boyfriends.”

“Good one,” Zach said, and although what she'd said was meant to be a lighthearted comment, a haunted look passed briefly behind his eyes. Like her, he wasn't over what had happened yet, and he probably wouldn't be for a long time to come. “By the way,” he added, “I've been meaning to ask you. Have you made up your mind on whether to stick around Leavenworth for a little longer? There's been talk that you might leave at the end of the year.”

“To be honest, I've been thinking about it.”

“And?”

She glanced around the cozy pub, seeing the many people who had become her close friends. “Let's just say I'm not going anywhere quite yet.”

Zach nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Hey!” Crystal called from the bar. “You guys coming or what?”

“You take care of her,” Katrina told him. “She's all I got left.”

“I will, Katrina. Of course I will.”

“Good.” She smiled. “And Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“I think it's about time you started calling me Kat.”