Kitabı oku: «The Equalisers», sayfa 8

Withdrawing the Beretta, he burst through the shop door. It wasn’t like they couldn’t see him coming. But he couldn’t not go in… Willow was in there.

Other than the whoosh of the door closing behind him the shop appeared dead silent.

No signs of a struggle.

No milling customers.

Nothing.

He moved deeper into the gallery, around sculptures, beyond complicated displays of smaller pieces of artwork comprised of various mediums.

As he moved past the counter, a muzzle rammed into the back of his head.

“Mr. Anders.”

Spencer froze. He analyzed the voice. Male. Western… almost.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Three more men stepped out of the shadows of the farthest recesses of the gallery, weapons trained on one target… Spencer.

The man who’d spoken moved in closer behind Spencer. “Before you die,” he said, his words uttered softly now as if he were speaking for Spencer’s ears only, “I have only one question.”

He jammed the barrel of his weapon harder into Spencer’s skull. “Where is my wife?”

Chapter Nine

He’d found them.

Willow’s heart sank a little more as she watched Khaled and his men force Spencer Anders into the waiting limousine. Someone from the airport or the hotel had to have tipped him off, had to have been monitoring Anders’s calls from the hotel.

The vehicle pulled away from the curb. Two black cars, windows heavily tinted, moved into place, one in front of the limo, the other behind it. Her ex-husband’s security detail.

She shivered.

Her next thought made her sinking heart shudder painfully.

Spencer Anders was as good as dead. “Where would you go?”

Willow sucked in an anxious breath and wrestled her attention from the caravan disappearing in the distance to the woman speaking to her.

“Where would you go?” the woman repeated.

Three sets of eyes watched her from above dark veils, anticipating her answer. Though she didn’t know their names, nor they hers, all in the car understood what had just happened.

What did she do now? She was unarmed. It wasn’t as if she could try to stop Khaled and his men.

Jim Colby.

She needed Jim Colby.

Willow looked directly at the driver, infusing her expression with all the hope she could summon. “If you would be kind enough to take me back to my hotel, I would appreciate it.” Willow gave the name of the hotel where she and Anders had spent the night. Her things were there and the telephone in the room would allow her to call the United States.

The woman behind the wheel, the one who appeared to be the leader of the group, nodded and turned her attention forward. The others watched in silence as their friend merged into the growing traffic.

Willow understood what they were all thinking. Her presence in this car could get them arrested… or worse.

The woman driving, the most outspoken of the group and the one who’d taken charge at that pivotal moment, had more than likely saved Willow’s life.

She blinked back the tears that burned in her eyes.

When she’d realized who the man pretending to be a real-estate agent actually was, she’d rushed to the front of the shop. She’d seen Khaled’s limo coming… she had known he was coming for her.

Since the shop owner had been preoccupied with a customer, Willow had gone for her only option: the rear entrance of the gallery.

The three women she’d noticed entering the shop a few minutes earlier had watched her flight. One of the women, the one driving now, had followed Willow outside and offered her assistance.

For the first five or so seconds Willow hadn’t been sure what she should do. She’d almost been afraid to trust these strangers. But desperation had driven her. Anders would die and the hope of ever seeing her son again was fading fast.

She’d had no choice.

Moving as quickly as they dared without drawing unnecessary attention, the women had led her down the back alley for a considerable distance. Then they had slipped between two buildings and moved back to the street well beyond where the limo and its entourage were parked. Surrounding her in a wall of black, the women ushered Willow to the car. They’d stayed out of view there until Khaled and his men had driven away.

Willow couldn’t be sure why these women had decided to help her, but she was immensely grateful.

Keeping low in the backseat, she couldn’t help turning to look from time to time to ensure they weren’t being followed.

“No one is following,” the driver said, evidently noting Willow’s furtive glances out the rear window.

Willow told herself to relax. She wouldn’t be able to think rationally if she didn’t calm down.

Slow, deep breaths.

Jim Colby would know what to do.

But could he do anything in time to save Anders?

Willow’s chest tightened.

Probably not.

This was her fault. Her desperation was already responsible for one missing investigator. She should have stopped when Davenport had warned her of his suspicions about his missing investigator.

But her heart just wouldn’t allow her to let go of the hope that she would get her baby back.

The name of the street they had just passed snapped Willow back to the present. Wait. This wasn’t right. The driver had missed the turn for the hotel.

A new rush of worry ascended upon her.

What if these women weren’t helping her… what if they were taking her to her ex-husband’s home? There were rewards for people who showed extraordinary respect for the rich and powerful.

Stop.

Don’t jump to conclusions right away. There could be a logical reason for choosing a different route than the one Willow knew. Right now she had every reason to believe these women were helping her. With that in mind she waited until they reached the next intersection to see if the driver was simply taking a different route.

Definitely not.

“We’ve passed the hotel,” she said aloud, trying hard not to sound accusatory or nervous.

“The authorities may be looking for you.” The driver glanced in the rearview mirror as she said this. “You should be properly prepared.”

The woman sitting next to Willow in the backseat touched her arm. “You look like an American.”

The realization that she wore a white blouse and khaki slacks bulldozed its way into Willow’s awareness.

The women were right.

She would be easy to spot dressed like this. The man posing as the real-estate agent and the clerk at the desk of the building they had visited had probably given descriptions of her attire. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Willow placed her hand on that of the woman next to her. “Thank you.” She met the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror then. “I don’t know why you’re taking this risk, but I’m sincerely grateful.”

“If we do not help each other, then who will help us?” the driver said bluntly.

Truer words had never been spoken.

Obviously things were changing in this intensely male-dominated society. Slowly, very slowly, but they were happening.

The home they visited briefly belonged to the driver. Willow learned that the three women had been best friends since childhood. They used every opportunity to encourage other women to stand up for themselves as well as others in order to facilitate change.

Food and drink were offered, but Willow couldn’t accept the hospitality since every minute she wasted might be Anders’s last. Not to mention that the longer she stayed in the company of these generous ladies, the more risk she brought to them.

Once at the hotel Willow said good-bye to the good Samaritans who had rescued her from certain death. With their help she was now clothed in full traditional dress, from black veil to long black abaya and no-nonsense black shoes. She’d pinned her shoulder-length blond hair back as tightly as possible to ensure no telling strands slipped loose.

Careful to scan the hotel lobby as she went, she moved toward the bank of elevators. Half a dozen arriving guests were crowded around the check-in desk. Two others had moved on to the elevators.

Despite being fully camouflaged, Willow found herself holding her breath as she waited for one of the elevator cars to arrive. She kept her gaze appropriately lowered so as not to make accidental contact with the other guests standing close by. There were so many rules for public conduct… failure to adhere to even one would attract attention.

The elevator doors slid open, offering entrance and sending a surge of relief gushing through her. She followed the other guests into the waiting elevator car and then selected the floor above the one where her room was located. Since she had no way of knowing what might be waiting for her at the room registered to Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Anders, she needed to take precautions.

The floor she’d selected was the first stop. She emerged from the elevator and moved down the corridor toward the stairwell exit, thankful that she didn’t run into any other guests.

At the exit to the stairs, she listened a moment in an attempt to hear anyone in the stairwell. Sounded quiet. She pushed through the door and listened again. Still quiet. Moving as noiselessly as she could, she hurried down the one flight.

Bracing for the worst, she cautiously eased the door open and peeked into the corridor. What she saw had her swiftly drawing back into the shelter of the stairwell. The urge to run quivered along her limbs.

Suppressing the flight impulse, she leaned against the wall next to the door. She had to think. Think! Forcing herself to recount the details, she analyzed what she’d seen. The door to their room stood open. Men in uniforms that she recognized as the local authorities were moving in and out of the room. She’d seen at least five in the fraction of a second that she’d dared to look.

What did she do now?

If she couldn’t get to their room she couldn’t call.

Sure she had her purse, but no working cell phone. She had a small amount of cash and a credit card, but she couldn’t use the credit card without having it traced right back to where she’d used it.

Going back to the airport with the return ticket in her purse wouldn’t help. The moment she presented her passport she would be taken into custody. Not that leaving was actually even an option.

The bottom line was she was unarmed… and unprepared for a situation like this.

She had to call Jim Colby.

Waiting for the authorities to finish their work and clear out was out of the question. Anders would be dead well before then… if he wasn’t already.

She had to do something.

If she’d asked to use the telephone in the home of the woman who had helped her escape the gallery the call might have led the authorities back to her and her friends. No way could she have done that. Acts of defiance were not tolerated, especially those carried out by women.

But she had to do something.

There had to be a way for her to do this.

If she didn’t figure out something fast it would be too late.

Willow closed her eyes and fought the defeat sucking at her. She wanted so badly to get her baby back. To escape the reach of her devil of an ex-husband.

Right now it felt exactly as if she had failed already. Failed her child and herself.

Maybe it was already too late and she’d been too blind to see it.

Davenport could have been right, and she’d refused to accept it.

What if she was looking for a miracle?

And what if she wasn’t going to find it?

Chicago

Friday, February 25, 8:15 a.m.

“CONNIE, have you heard anything from Anders?” Jim hesitated in front of his receptionist’s desk. “He was supposed to call with an update last night.”

Connie looked up over the rim of her coffee mug. “Technically, I don’t start to work until eight-thirty, but the answer to your question is no.”

She promptly returned her attention to the newspaper.

Jim wondered if she thought her prickly attitude would keep the world around her at a distance. The MO was classic. Don’t let anyone close and you won’t lose your focus and you damned sure won’t get hurt, betrayed or otherwise screwed.

There was a thing or two he could tell the lady about keeping the world at a distance, but that would have to wait. At the moment he had bigger problems to deal with, like where the hell his associate was and just how much trouble he might be in.

When a guy was halfway around the world in a country that didn’t necessarily play by the same rules as his home base, and he went missing, the best course of action was to call an expert.

Jim knew only one man who could reach out and touch just about anybody, just about anywhere.

Lucas Camp.

“Put Anders through if he calls,” he said to his quirky receptionist.

Connie glanced at her watch. “Yeah, okay.”

As Jim started up the stairs, she called after him, “Don’t forget you’ve got that new guy, Sam Johnson, coming in at nine.”

Surprised that she would bother to remind him without him specifically asking her to do so, Jim tossed her a thank-you and decided that maybe she would grasp the concept of teamwork after all.

He double-timed it up the stairs and put in a call to Lucas. If he was in town he would be at the Colby Agency with Victoria by now.

Mildred, Victoria’s secretary, patched him straight through to Lucas.

“What can I do for you, Jim?” Lucas asked in lieu of a greeting. “Victoria had an early staff meeting, but I’m manning her office.”

Jim smiled at how this powerful man catered to the woman he loved. “Actually it’s you I want to talk to.” He grabbed a pen and pad in case he needed to take down any names or numbers.

“Shoot.”

“I sent Spencer Anders on his first case and there may be a problem.”

A brief hesitation preceded, “He’s had a rough go with the bottle. We discussed that issue if you’ll recall. I was sure he wouldn’t let you down.”

The depth of disappointment in Lucas’s voice gave away just how badly he wanted things to work out for Spencer Anders.

“No, it’s not that kind of problem,” Jim assured. “I’m concerned I may have underestimated the need for a two-man team on this one.”

“I see.” The sound of movement rasped across the line as if Lucas were gathering pad and pen as well. “Give me the details.” The disappointment had morphed into brutal determination. No one messed with Lucas Camp or his people.

Jim quickly explained the child-custody battle between Willow Harris and her ex-husband. “When Anders didn’t call in last night I knew he’d run into trouble.”

“I have a couple of contacts in the area I can reach out to,” Lucas offered. “Let me make some calls and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Lucas.”

Jim asked the other man to say hello to his mother for him, then he dropped the handset back into its cradle. Had he made a mistake sending Anders on a case like this as a first assignment? He could have gone himself, but he didn’t have the geographical or cultural experience necessary to consider himself the best man for the job.

Spencer Anders had the experience.

He also had some hefty baggage. Jim would have recognized Anders’s love affair with things eighty-proof or better even had Lucas not warned him. Jim noted the signs with the same ease as a well-trained physician observing the symptoms of an everyday illness.

But he’d also comprehended that Spencer Anders had the courage and grit necessary to set all else aside in order to accomplish his mission. Jim had done that himself many times in the past.

No. It wasn’t Anders’s preoccupation with booze that worried Jim right now, it was his enemy—Khaled al-Shimmari.

Jim’s intercom buzzed and he picked up, hoping like hell it would be Connie informing him that Anders was on the line. “Yeah.”

“Sam Johnson is here. I sent him up.”

Not Anders, but an appointment he definitely looked forward to. “Thanks, Connie.” Jim hung up the phone and stood as his appointment arrived at his door.

“Jim Colby.” Jim extended his hand as Johnson reached his desk.

Johnson gave Jim’s hand one quick but firm shake. “Sam Johnson.”

“I’m glad you’ve decided to join the Equalizers.” Jim gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk, before settling into his own.

Sam Johnson was a forensics scientist by training even if he was currently employed as an orderly at a local hospital. He’d grown up, gotten educated and worked in Los Angeles County until one year ago. Like Jim and the rest of the new staff at the Equalizers, things had abruptly changed for Johnson and his life hadn’t been the same since.

His visitor glanced around Jim’s office. “Looks like you’re getting settled.”

Jim had visited Johnson at the hospital, but this was Sam’s first time at the office. The way-over-qualified orderly had read the ad in the classifieds and called to inquire, but then he hadn’t shown up for his initial interview. After doing some research on the guy Jim had decided to take the necessary initiative.

Jim surveyed his office as Johnson had. At least the boxes had been unpacked and discarded. More organizing would come later. “We’re getting there.”

Johnson’s gaze met his once more, the hesitation there impossible to miss. “You mentioned two other associates.”

Jim nodded. “Spencer Anders, former military, and Renee Vaughn, former district attorney. I’ll introduce you to Vaughn after we’ve had a chance to talk, but Anders is out of the country on a case.”

“I’m gonna say this right up front.” Johnson leaned forward slightly, all signs of hesitation gone from his expression. “I come with major issues attached. You might live to regret your decision.”

Jim relaxed more fully into his chair in hopes of setting the other man at ease. “I’m aware that there were rumors related to your resignation from your position at L.A.’s premier crime-scene investigation unit.”

Unlike most employers, Jim wasn’t hung up on the past. If a candidate had the right training and a desire to get the job done, that was what counted. Coming onboard with the Equalizers was a fresh start, a clean slate. History was just that, history.

“The case is cold, but it isn’t closed,” Johnson warned. “There are a couple of homicide detectives who will always be convinced I executed those scumbags. I can’t guarantee they might not dig up some new evidence and decide to reopen the investigation and show up at your door one of these days. The potential to get ugly is there. You should know that.”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Jim propped his forearms on his desk and leaned forward to match the other man’s stance. “Three lowlifes brutally and repeatedly raped then murdered your fiancée right in front of you. Personally, I don’t care how they died. They got what they deserved. If you took the law into your own hands, then that’s between you and whoever you pray to when times get tough. This position is yours if you want it. We start our business relationship today, no looking back, no questions about the past.”

Johnson’s gaze held his in a long, blatant moment of assessment. “Forgive my bluntness, Mr. Colby. But you’re either a very gullible man or you were misinformed as to the manner of death in the three homicides for which I am still the only person of interest. In fact, there’s some question as to the sanity of a man who would commit such heinous crimes, cloaked in vengeance or not.” He drew in a deep breath. “If you need some time to reconsider your offer I won’t be offended or even surprised.”

Jim felt his lips spread into an outright grin. The reaction was still a little startling. “Johnson, I’m beginning to wonder if you really want this position.”

The glimpse of desperation in the other man’s eyes before he banished it was answer enough. “I’m here,” he said, his tone trenchant, “because I want the position. I just want to make sure you understand what you’re getting in the deal.”

“Then we don’t have a problem, Johnson, because I can assure you that you haven’t done anything that would surprise me.” He turned on the intimidation factor in his gaze to underscore what he was about to say. “And I can guarantee you that some of the things I’ve done would scare the hell out of you and your two detective friends out in L.A.”

Jim wasn’t sure whether Sam Johnson was relieved or startled, either way, the man didn’t offer any more protests against his employment. With that hurdle out of the way, Jim showed him to his office on the first floor.

Only one other office remained once Johnson was settled, but Jim wouldn’t fill that one right away. He hoped, at some point when their daughter was older, that his wife would come to work with him, if only for a few hours a week.

He missed her now that he worked away from home.

He needed her close… if only for a little while each workday.

Jim returned to his own office on the second floor and stared out the front window that overlooked the park across the street. Life was definitely harder for some people than it was others. Too many people didn’t understand that concept, resulting in far too many negative labels.

Every single person he had hired had been labeled, maybe wrongly, maybe not. Traitor, hacker, murderer, incompetent… none of which was any better or worse than the labels he’d amassed. The question was, did these individuals get tossed away for their mistakes, real or imagined, or offered a second chance to rise above the challenges fate had thrown at them? And he wasn’t talking about some conditional opportunity based on whether or not they measured up to somebody’s idealistic image of good or bad.

No, not at all.

The only condition of employment at the Equalizers was very simple—can you get the job done?

Jim’s vision was the same when it came to the kinds of cases he intended to take. He wanted the ones no one else would touch. Not easy, not glamorous, desperate.

He wanted to be the place people came when they had nowhere else to go.

That was the job he wanted to do.

No, not wanted, needed.

The thought ushered his attention back to this morning’s primary problem.

Where the hell was Spencer Anders?

If he’d gotten himself killed already, Jim was going to be seriously disappointed. He’d expected the guy to last longer than twenty-four hours.

The real worry, though, was Willow Harris. If Anders was in trouble, where did that leave Willow and her child?