Deep Disclosure Page 11

  “I’m telling you he’s got special training. I don’t know if he’s working inside or out. But he’s definitely got the moves of an operative.”

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Just the photo I gave you. And it’s not very clear. The guy moves like a ghost. Took out Fogerty, damn near got me when I opened fire trying to save him. And I just got word that he wounded a second man this evening when they managed to jump surveillance.”

  “Any idea where they’ve gone?” Bastion asked, closing his eyes in an effort to calm the churning in his gut.

  “No. Not for certain.” Dryker shook his head, not quite meeting Bastion’s gaze. “But if you’re right and the old guy is dead, then my guess is she’s scrambling to get the deal done before any more hell breaks loose.”

  “Like maybe a bunch of half-assed old security geezers screwing up their orders to take her out?”

  “You didn’t want her dead in the beginning, remember?” Dryker said, a flash of anger in his eyes. “Fogerty would still be alive if he’d been allowed to kill her. It was trying to kidnap her after we’d searched the house that got him killed.”

  Bastion shrugged. “Probably a mistake on my part. I thought I’d be able to reason with her. But clearly she’s called in reinforcements, so obviously we can’t take a chance on keeping her alive.”

  “So you want me to track her down and kill her?”

  “Third time is the charm?” His grin lacked humor, and Dryker at least had the good sense to look uncomfortable. “No. I don’t want you to do anything to her until we find out who it is that’s helping her. If you’re right and he’s a government operative, then he just might pose more of a danger than she does. The last thing we need is to turn his attention to us. That’s exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”

  “So how do you want to handle it?”

  “I’ll call in some favors.” Bastion turned for a moment to look out at the city again. “Use the photo you got and see if we can ID this bastard. Make sure he’s not connected to an investigation into Atterley’s death.”

  “You’re sure the guy’s really dead? I mean, maybe he’s the one pulling the strings. Maybe he was playing us from the beginning.”

  “It’s possible, but if that were the case, he isn’t playing anyone anymore. He’s definitely dead. Died in an explosion right here in California. Redlands.”

  “So how long have you been sitting on this?” Dryker was back to being angry. Fogerty had been an old friend.

  “Not long. I had to do some real arm twisting to get the truth. Someone’s hushed the whole thing up. I still haven’t been able to verify who. Or why.”

  “Maybe the deal’s already gone down and the buyer is trying to tie up loose ends. It’s what you’d do.”

  Bastion smiled. “Yes. It is. But I don’t think the formula’s surfaced. If it had, we’d have heard more chatter. My guess is that the deal is still in play. And my hunch is that Ms. Markham will make her move soon. Atterley was certain it was her.”

  “Like I said, it could have been a trick,” Dryker reminded him.

  Bastion resisted the urge to slam his hand on the desk, reaching instead for a ball he kept beside his in-basket. Squeezing it in the palm of his hand, he waited a moment as he regained his composure. “He was telling the truth. He was devastated by her betrayal. That’s the kind of emotion a man can’t fake. He said she was the only one who could possibly have it.”

  “So you think she’s on to us?”

  “I think whoever’s helping her is going to start digging. And thanks to you and your team, there’s probably a trail of evidence leading right to me.”

  “You know I’m always careful. Hell, Bastion, we’ve been in this together from the beginning. Since the day they shut down Omega and Baker stole the formula. I thought when he died it was all over.”

  “Yes, well, that’s what we get for letting our guard down. But at least now, thanks to Atterley, we know she’s out there. And once I verify who’s helping her we’ll be able to figure out our next move.”

  “And until then?” Dryker asked, a frown creasing his face.

  “Until then, you go home and sit tight. I’ll be in touch.”

  Dryker nodded and, still frowning, left the office.

  Bastion sat down, his mind spinning as he considered his options. The girl had proved to be far more resourceful than expected. And if Dryker was right and the man helping her was with the government, it wouldn’t be long before he found Dryker. Bastion sighed, releasing the ball to pick up the telephone. It was a shame, really. Peter had been right. The two of them went back a long way. But there really was no other choice. He couldn’t afford to leave loose ends, especially volatile ones like Peter.

  “Hello?” he spoke into the phone, his voice automatically lowering to a whisper. “The discussion we had the other night?” He waited a beat, then continued. “I’m afraid it’s time.” He swiveled around to stare out into the fading twilight, wondering when the price for success had gotten so fucking high.

  CHAPTER 11

  The cabin was nestled into a grove of aspen at the foot of a rocky precipice. A stream cut through the rocks below, the sound of rushing water filling the air. Lupines mixed with Indian paintbrushes, orange and purple rioting together to fill the meadow in front of the little house with color.

  In her mind’s eye, Alexis could see George and her father laughing over a beer after a day on the river. Waders on the porch, rods angled against the outside wall, and creels overflowing with trout. She could hear the porch floor squeak as George went inside, her mother’s laughter floating through the screen door, her father’s arm warm as he pulled her close, smelling of cedar, and river, and fish. It had been a wonderful trip. She and her brother, Frank, had actually gotten along. Which was huge, considering she was younger and usually a pest.

  She sighed, letting the warmth of the memory soothe her. Her family was gone. But she’d always remember.

  “You okay?” Tucker asked, his concerned voice cutting through her thoughts.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just remembering. The time we spent here was special. We were complete here, if that makes any sense. It was almost as if the rest of it—the running, the lies—couldn’t follow us here. We were happy.”

  “I know just what you mean,” he said. “With us it was baseball games. My dad loved the Angels. You know, the devoted, throw-things-at-the-TV-when-we’re-losing kind of fan. And so when things got rough, he’d take us to a game—our own private retreat.”

  “ ‘Us’?” she questioned, knowing she shouldn’t ask but craving more insight into her self-appointed protector.

  “My brother,” he said. “It was a long time ago.”

  Alexis nodded, picturing Tucker as a boy with a crooked grin and a baseball cap.

  “You guys want to go down memory lane or maybe see if there’s something in the house that can help us figure out what the hell this is all about?” Harrison asked, coming to a stop beside them.

  Alexis shook her head, banishing the image of little Tucker. “There should be a key under the flowerpot by the railing.” Again her mind presented a picture—her father laughing as her mother reached beneath the pot of geraniums for the key.

  They walked up onto the porch, the floorboards still squeaking. Harrison lifted the empty pot, the flowers from her memory long faded. “There’s nothing here.” He ran his fingers along the floor underneath to be certain.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Tucker frowned. “The door’s already open.” He nodded toward the screen door, which on closer examination was slightly askew, the door behind it ajar.

  “They’ve already been here,” Alexis whispered, reaching for the screen-door handle.

  “Wait,” Tucker said, moving to stop her, his hand gripping her upper arm. “It could be a trap.”

  Harrison agreed, and together the two of them searched the door frame and the surrounding wall. “I think we’re clear,” Harrison pronounced.r />
  “Seems so,” Tucker said, reaching out to pull open the screen.

  Alexis flinched as he pushed open the door but nothing happened, the only sound the wind rustling the aspens.

  “You ready for this?” he asked.

  Alexis nodded and, after sucking in a deep breath, walked inside.

  It was like stepping back in time. Nothing had changed. The linoleum floor. The yellow kitchen table. Even the old plaid sofa. It was almost as if they’d all just gone out for a walk or dinner in town.

  “It’s just like I remember,” she said, pulling away from the past to face the present. “Well, maybe a little more run down. But, essentially, it’s the same.”

  “Except that someone has been here,” Harrison said, pointing at the footprints covering the dusty floor.

  Tucker drew his gun. “And not too long ago at that.”

  “What makes you say that?” Alexis asked, her skin prickling at the thought that someone might still be here, watching.

  “The dust hasn’t had time to cover the tracks,” Harrison said, squatting down to have a closer look. “I’m guessing it’d be a good idea to check the rest of this place.”

  Tucker nodded as Harrison pulled out his gun. Then, after motioning for Alexis to stay back, the two of them moved forward, quickly searching the cabin. It didn’t take long. There was only the living area, bathroom, and two bedrooms.

  “We’re clear,” Harrison said, holstering his weapon as he came out of the first bedroom.

  “Good here too.” Tucker emerged from the second bedroom, the one her parents had used, lowering his gun. “But we’d best keep our eyes open.”

  “Why don’t you guys look around in here and I’ll check outside,” Harrison said, already headed out onto the porch, the screen door squeaking in protest as it closed behind him.

  “Doesn’t look like George has been here in ages,” Alexis said, running a finger through the thick dust that had accumulated on the kitchen counter.

  “And whoever was here didn’t toss the place, so my guess is that it was either a vagrant or maybe someone who was looking for George and not the formula.”

  Alexis pulled open the kitchen cabinet to find only remnants of what had once been a full set of dishes. She remembered the pattern well. It had been a favorite of her mother’s. Heavenly Daze. She closed the door on her memories and opened the next cabinet door, to find some old cans of beans and a stockpot. The rest of the cabinets were empty, and none seemed to have been disturbed before their arrival, supporting Tucker’s assumption that the intruder hadn’t been looking for anything.

  “There’s nothing in the living room or bedrooms,” Tucker said, coming to stand beside her. “You’re right. It doesn’t look like anyone has lived here in a while. Maybe even longer than the six years George was in the pen.”

  “We never came after my mom and dad died. I always figured it was because he wanted to spare me the memories. But maybe it was that way for him as well. They were all really close.”

  “Is there anywhere else? An outbuilding or a cellar or something?”

  She started to say no, then stopped. “There is something, I remember. It’s nothing really special—just a place in the back of one of the bedrooms. A space behind a loose log. A place for treasures, George called it. But I don’t think he’d have kept anything in there that was important. It was more for us kids.”

  “Won’t hurt to have a look, though, right?” Tucker asked. “Which bedroom?”

  “The one on the right. That’s the one George always slept in.” She followed him through the door, stopping at the sight of the faded quilt on the bed. Like the rest of the cabin, it had seen better days, but Alexis smiled anyway.

  “What?” Tucker prompted.

  “My mother made that quilt. I’d forgotten it was up here. She used scraps from all the other sewing she’d done over the years. This was from my first party dress.” Alexis touched the faded cotton. “I loved that dress. I wish I’d known the quilt was up here. I could have preserved it.”

  “Maybe George thought it was best to keep the past in the past.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I doubt he even knew what the quilt represented.” She smoothed the old quilt and then pointed to the far wall. “It’s over there. Where the floor meets the wall, behind that nightstand.”

  She followed him over to the corner, feeling as if she were being followed by ghosts, a memory of a family that existed now only in her mind.

  Outside, leaves crackled as someone moved beneath the window. Tucker spun around, gun in hand.

  “Wait,” Alexis said from her vantage point near the window. “It’s only Harrison. ”

  Tucker relaxed, holstering the gun and then reaching out to move the nightstand out of the way. Alexis dropped down on her knees, feeling for the crevice that marked the loose wood. With a satisfying click, the molding pulled away. “It’s here. Just as I remembered.”

  She reached inside, expecting to find nothing, but her hand closed around a metal padlocked box.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Tucker said. “Maybe this is what everyone has been looking for.”

  Alexis picked up the box, cradling it as if it were precious. But then again, maybe it was. It belonged to George, after all.

  “I should have something in the car to get that lock off,” Tucker said, but Alexis was already turning the dial.

  She moved it first left, then right, then left again, and the lock clicked open. “I’ve got it,” she called.

  “I thought you said you didn’t know there was anything in there.” His brows had drawn together, suspicion coloring his expression.

  Alexis allowed herself a smile. “I didn’t. It’s just that George is a little predictable. He always used my birth date for combinations and passwords.”

  She laid the box carefully on the bed and lifted the lid. Inside, there were a couple of faded pictures, a dried Indian paintbrush, and a book of some kind.

  “What have you got?” Tucker asked, coming back to stand beside her as she reached for the pictures.

  “I’m not sure. But I’m thinking this isn’t worth killing over.” She lifted the first photo. It was her, as a baby, in a playpen outside the front of the cabin. Her mother was also visible in the shot, wearing Bermuda shorts and sunglasses. She was holding a drink and laughing. “It’s my mom,” Alexis said, holding out the picture. Tucker took it from her and held it up to the light.

  “Nothing but a photo, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s a lot more than that,” Alexis murmured. “I thought all the photos were gone. I’ve only got one of my family. And it was taken before I was born. Before my father was forced on the run. So this picture is worth a great deal to me, Tucker.”

  “I didn’t mean…” he started but trailed off, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  Alexis reached over to touch his hand. “I know.” She held the contact for a moment, her nerves all firing at once. Then she shook her head and pulled away, reaching instead for the next photo inside the box. In this one she was dressed for her first school play.

  She’d been the moon. Not a particularly challenging role, but her father had said the moon was the most beautiful star in the sky. It hadn’t been until she was older that she’d learned the moon wasn’t a star at all. Not that it mattered. The only important thing was that her father had thought she was beautiful.

  There were three more photographs, all of her at various key times in her young life. Testaments to the worth George had placed on her role in his life. She fought a surge of tears.

  “What about the book?” Tucker asked, clearly impatient with her trip down memory lane but, to his credit, trying not to show it.

  “I don’t know,” she said, picking it up. The cover was spotted with mildew, the spine starting to split. She flipped it open. “Looks like a journal. Only the handwriting isn’t George’s.” She flipped through the pages, stopping as a familiar smell filled her nostrils—Chanel No 5. Her moth
er’s scent. Suddenly the tears were impossible to hold back, the handwriting swimming in front of her as recognition dawned. “This was my mother’s.”

  She sank down onto the bed, holding the journal as if it might suddenly take wings and fly away. “She must have left it here, and George kept it for me.” She wiped away the tears, wondering why he’d never mentioned it. They’d talked about her family so often. Especially her mother. Having her journal would have meant everything. But it would have broken the code. Maybe that was why he’d kept it hidden away all these years.

  She drew in a breath and started reading midpage.

  I think Randolph knows. Though I can’t imagine how. We’ve been so careful, stealing moments when we can, but only when it’s safe—when Randolph’s away or the children are there to keep him occupied.

  Alexis frowned as she continued to read.

  I never knew love could feel like this. That I could feel like this. It’s amazing and frightening and so wonderful I can’t even find words. I wish there were a way I could leave Randolph. But he’d never let the children go. And I couldn’t bear life without them. So I pretend that there is nothing between us and live off of stolen moments. Kisses and touches and nights spent dreaming of George.

  George.

  Alexis whispered the name, anger and grief flooding through her.

  George.

  He’d betrayed her father. Seduced her mother. And all these years he’d lied to her. Pretended he’d been part of her family when, in truth, he’d been trying to destroy it. She threw the book across the room.

  “What is it, Alexis?” Tucker asked, hovering so close that she could feel his breath on her skin and see the worry in the blue of his eyes.

  “My mother was sleeping with George.” She spat the words, the taste of them bitter against her tongue. “They were having an affair. She was cheating on my father.” Suddenly all of the memories took on new meaning. Her mother’s quilt on George’s bed. The secret smiles. The photos. She grabbed the pictures again, realizing this time that every one of them had her mother in it. Usually in the background, but always visible. George hadn’t kept the pictures because they reminded him of Alexis; he’d kept them to remember his lover.