Reese sat in his car and watched Essex sit in her car and look at the empty blue convertible. They were outside the same apartment building they’d been at the night before, and presumably the same rigged poker game was going on inside. Julie hasn’t gone inside to watch this time. Reese could guess at the calculation she’d made: It was still daylight; the risk of being seen by Ingram was too high. She knew where he was and who he was with, and they presented a threat to his money, but not to his life.
He agreed with her assessment. Not that she’d asked.
He’d given her some extra space, but Reese still had the uneasy notion that she knew he was there.
Maybe he was just paranoid.
In his ear, Finch said, “Mr. Reese?” He sounded more urgent than usual.
“I’m here, Finch.”
“I’ve been able to identify the blond man in your pictures. It’s likely that he is in fact the same man that alarms Ms. Essex. His name is Rudolph Gund.”
Reese sat up straighter. “Rudy Gund?”
“You know the name. I thought you might. Mr. Gund used to be with the NSA. Now he’s a professional assassin. And a quite expensive one at that.”
Reese got out of his car and stood next to it, took a long slow look all around the neighborhood. “I know his reputation, Finch. He likes elaborate scenarios. Likes to plan things out. To stalk his prey, toy with them. Torment them. And to get someone else to kill them, when he can.”
“He’s a psychopath,” Finch said with quiet horror.
“And he’s after our girl,” Reese confirmed. “What have you got on him?
Finch took an audible breath. “He entered the country under a false identity, of course. A Mr. Thomas Bailen. His most recent passport stamp is from Mali.”
“He set the girl up there,” Reese said. “That’s his style. It wouldn’t be hard. The right word about a rich American to the right militant. It’s a safe bet that the girl would stay right beside him. Gund just had to clear out the security detail and make sure she was killed in the crossfire.”
He raised his head and scanned the many, many windows that overlooked Julie Ingram’s car.
“A tragic loss of a federal agent,” Finch said tightly. “And Will would have just been …”
“Collateral damage,” Reese finished for him. “Who hired him?”
“Still working on that. The question is, who benefits if the girl dies before she inherits?” Finch tsk’d softly. “There are no secondary provisions in the grandmother’s will. No contingent heirs. I wouldn’t have let her write it that way.” The keyboard clattered furiously. “None of this makes any sense. If Julie Essex doesn’t survive to inherit, the entire estate will be thrown into escrow. It will take years to sort it out. Even if there’s an earlier will to fall back on “ assuming it hasn’t been destroyed and can be authenticated “ there would certainly be claims and counter-claims by the surviving heirs. The legal battles could take decades.”
“So in the short term,” Reese said, “if Julie doesn’t get the money, nobody gets the money?”
“Exactly. It benefits no one …” His voice trailed off.
“Finch?”
“Stay close to the girl. I’ll get back to you.”
Reese shrugged to himself as the call went dead. Finch in the grasp of inspiration frequently abandoned social niceties; he didn’t take it personally.
He didn’t see Gund anywhere. But the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was here, somewhere.
Reese moved into the shadows and got closer to Julie’s car. The kidnapping in Mali. It should have been clean and simple. As Finch said, a tragic death of an agent, vastly overshadowed by the murder of a handsome young billionaire. Probably no one would have connected it to the girl’s pending inheritance. Even the family would have thought it was no more than tragic coincidence.
But Julie’d been too quick for them, too alert. Gund had had to get Ingram’s security team out of the way, and the minute they vanished Julie Essex sounded the alarm. It had been close, but he’d failed.
Gund was a hunter. He hadn’t counted on his prey’s instincts.
Reese thought about the sedan on the street that had almost run her down the day before. A tragic traffic incident, all too common in the city. Hit and run driver never found. Or, more likely, found dead by his own hand, with a remorseful note left in his damaged vehicle. He shook his head. That would be too simple for Gund. He liked things to play out slowly. He liked to watch.
The speeding car had probably been a coincidence.
But now what? He glanced at his watch. It was getting late in the afternoon. The goal seemed to be to stop her from inheriting the grandmother’s money, for whatever reason, and to do that, they “ Gund and whoever hired him “ needed her dead before noon the next day. They were running out of time.
If I were trying to kill her, Reese thought, I’d go with something simple. An auto accident. A senseless street crime. Something quick and clean. Nothing elaborate.
For one moment he let himself hate that he could think that way. A small part of him rejoiced that he could be repelled by the thinking; there had been many years when it wouldn’t have provoked even the smallest emotional reaction. When he had simply been a killer among killers. But his humanity was starting to reassert itself, in small ways, little sparks. Sometimes more. Right now, though, he couldn’t let that distract him. He needed to think like a killer to stop one.
Reese would go simple. But Gund wouldn’t, not until he had to. If it came down to tomorrow morning and she was still alive, he might simply shoot her on the street. But for now he’d still want to play with her.
He wondered how long the assassin had been watching the girl. And how times he’d let her catch a glimpse of him. Just a quick look, enough to keep her on edge. And just her; no one else would ever see him. Many, he was sure. Playing games. Tweaking her perception, but never giving her quite enough to act on. Toying with her. Pushing her to panic.
You picked the wrong girl, he thought with grim satisfaction. This one learned about head games in the bed of a master manipulator while she was still in college, and she’d come through it just fine. Reese never thought he’d credit him for it, but Mark Snow had taught this girl exactly the lessons she’d needed to handle a sick bastard like Gund. If Snow couldn’t drive her crazy, he thought, you’ve got no chance in hell of doing it.
But if Gund couldn’t make her frantic and fearful, though, he could still certainly make her dead.
And his time was running out.
Reese touched his earwig. “Finch, I’m going to …”
Julie Essex got out of her car, and Reese slipped into a doorway to watch her.
She look a long, slow look around. Looked up at the windows, too. Then she crossed the street and went into the apartment building.
“Mr. Reese?”
Reese frowned. “Julie’s gone into the building.”
“Do you think there’s a problem?”
“She wasn’t in a hurry. I think she’s just checking on Will.”
“I have more information about Mr. Gund,” Finch said. “He’s being paid though a shell company, rather well-concealed, but I can say with some certainty that I know who’s behind it. The executor of Angela Smith Carson’s estate is also the trustee of the blind trust that currently holds the estate’s assets. There are certain stipulations on the trust, limitations on what sorts of investments can be made, the level of risk acceptable to the …”
“Finch.”
He took a breath. “Lawrence Schaeffer’s been playing outside the rules, making high-risk investments with the funds in the trust. Until two years ago he was highly successful at it. It looks like he was skimming off the dividends of those high-risk ventures, but maintaining the principal of the funds.”
“And then it went south,” Reese guessed.
“He lost part of the principal. Then he took increasingly larger risks to try to recover his losses.”
“Bottom line?”
“The trust is missing roughly fifty million dollars.”
Reese whistled softly. “That’s not a number Daddy’s accountants are likely to overlook.”
“No, it certainly is not.”
“But if the girl’s dead …”
“As I said before, it will be years, perhaps decades, before the inheritance is sorted out. And in the meantime, Mr. Schaeffer will very likely remain executor and trustee. He has time to cover his tracks, or to take a sizeable chunk of the fund and simply vanish.”
Reese nodded. “We know who, we know why, and we know it has to happen before noon tomorrow.”
“The only thing we don’t know,” Finch agreed, “is how they plan to do it.”
“Whatever they’ve got planned, it’s not happening. When Julie comes out, I’m going to button her up and stash her somewhere.”
“She won’t like it.”
“She doesn’t have to like it. Gund’s running out of time.”
“Whatever you think is best.” Finch’s lack of hesitation told Reese that he completely agreed. “I’ll send you the address of a safe house nearby.”
“Thank you.” Reese checked his phone for the address, mapped a quick route in his head. Patted his pockets; he still had both sets of handcuffs. He’d probably need them, at least initially. But from what he knew about Julie Essex, once she understood what was happening she probably wouldn’t be much of a problem.
As long as Will Ingram was safe.
Reese shook his head. That was going to be the rub, of course. “Finch?”
“Yes, Mr. Reese?”
“Did you already call Skydd about getting a new team on Ingram?”
“Yes. They’ll pick up surveillance on him by six a.m. tomorrow.”
“Can you move that time up?”
“I’m sure I can, for a fee.”
“Do it.”
“Right away. Do you think Will’s in danger, too?”
“No. But I think his girlfriend will.”
There was a very brief pause, and he could tell Finch was debating whether to argue over his use of the term girlfriend. In the end, he didn’t. “I’ll take care of it right now.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
Finch made the call and gave the Skydd dispatcher Will Ingram’s current location. He understood Reese’s reasoning perfectly; there was likely no danger to Will, but the girl was would probably be much more cooperative if she knew he was protected.
No matter how much she complained, Finch thought, he’d be relieved when Reese finally had her in close.
He could hear the soft murmur of motion over the woman’s phone, fabric against plastic as she walked. Footsteps, soft and distant. Breathing, equally faint. He’d listened to enough phones for enough hours to be able to identify every nuance without thought. It had gotten so routine that the library seemed eerily silent without the background noise of someone’s privacy being gently, passively violated.
Finch turned his attention back to the accounts. The flagged transactions, the things that he would never have allowed his own money to be invested in, made a pretty little pattern now. Bigger risks, bigger rewards “ or bigger losses. In the end, Schaeffer was just as much a gambler as Will Ingram was. The difference was that he gambled far more than he could afford to lose “ and it wasn’t his money.
Julie Essex said, very quietly, “Son of a bitch. Where did you guys go?”
Finch sat up straight. “Mr. Reese?”
“I heard her.”
Faster footsteps, louder. Running, as quietly as she could. A moment of hesitation, another curse of frustration, and then a soft knock on wood.
A soft metallic scrape, a click. A lock being picked.
A door creaked.
And then silence, for a very long moment.
“I’m going in,” Reese said.
The girl said, “Oh, my God.” And then, softly, “Will?”
Louder, moving faster. “Will? Will?”
Footsteps, doors opening and closing. She called for him a couple more times. And then more running.
Finch felt cold familiar panic fold over him. “Mr. Reese?” he asked frantically.
The door creaked again. An instant of pause. Reese said, “Will’s gambling buddies are dead. They’ve been shot.”
“Will’s not there?”
“No.” Reese hesitated. “If he is, the girl didn’t find him. Hang on.”
There was the sound of searching, a good deal louder than the girl’s search had been. “He’s not here, Finch. Where’s the girl?”
Finch forced himself concentrate, to listen to her feed. “On the stairs. You’re sure …”
“He’s not here, Finch.” Reese was running, now, too.
“Cameras,” Finch said, mostly to himself. No time for panic. No time for fear-clouded thought. He’s not half-way around the world this time. Find him.
A car door slammed; an engine started; tires squealed.
Reese said, “Finch … I lost her.”
“I’ll track her GPS …”
Julie’s phone activated. “C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered while the outgoing call rang.
After the third ring, her handler answered. “Kemp.”
“It’s Julie. I need you to do something for me.” Her words were fast, but not frantic.
“Oh, so now you’re speaking to me again?”
“I don’t have time for any shit, Joe. I need a trace on Will Ingram’s phone.”
“What? What the hell are you doing, Jules? You can’t be following him around …”
“He’s in trouble.”
“You don’t know th..”
“Joe. Trace the phone. Now.”
“Or what? You’re going to tell on me?”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“You better make time,” Kemp snapped. “Stop and think about what you’re doing. You’re not on assignment any more. What are you doing, stalking him? If you think he’s in trouble, call the local police and let them find him. That’s how we do things, Julie.”
“God damn it, Joe …” She stopped, took a deep breath. “Joe. Please.”
He hesitated. “Fine. Fine. I’ll get a track right now. And then I’m coming out there. And when we find him, he had better damn well be in trouble. You got that?”
“Thanks, Joe.”
“Shit. Crazy broad.” The phone went dead.
In the silence that followed, Finch said, quietly, “I’ve got her GPS. She’s headed north. Although, obviously, that may change.”
“I’ll get him back, Harold,” Reese promised.
“If he’s still alive.”
“He’s alive.” There was great and reassuring certainty in Reese’s voice. “Gund’s a hunter. He knows live bait is always more effective.”
Finch nodded. He was numb now; the worst of the panic had washed over him. He could think, though it was through a cloud. You know how to do this, he told himself. You’ve done it a hundred times before. Run the tracks, run the traces. Find the boy, keep track of the girl. Trust your partner. Think. Move.
He reached for a second keyboard to track Will’s phone.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Kemp sent the address before Finch did. “There you go, Jules,” he said. “You want me to call the cops?”
“Not yet,” she answered. “Let me see what we’re dealing with.”
Reese watched as she threw her rented car through a U-turn without ever hitting her brakes. A block later he followed her.
“I’m comin’ out there,” Kemp said. “Don’t so anything until I get there. You hear me?”
“We’ll see.” The woman’s voice was very quiet, calm. Reese recognized that tone. It was his own.
“I mean it, Julie,” her handler warned. “Wait for me. We’ll figure this out.”
Her phone went dead without a reply.
Reese looked down at his phone briefly. “How did he get the trace before you, Finch?”
“He didn’t trace the phone,” Finch answered tightly. “He didn’t have to. He’s already there.”
“Kemp sold her out?”
“Nine deposits of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety dollars.”
Reese nodded to himself. “I need schematics of the location.”
“I’ll get them for you when I get there.”
“No chance I can talk you into staying at the library?”
“No,” Finch answered flatly. “You have all the useful information I can provide. I’ll bring my laptop, just in case. But I’m coming out there.”
Reese didn’t try to argue. “When you get there, you stay in the car, Finch.”
There was a very long pause. “Fine.”
“I need you to bring me a few things.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
The girl was quick, fluid, very quiet. Reese was just a little quieter. He grabbed her from behind, his right arm completely around her shoulders, pinning her arms down, and his left hand over her mouth, holding her head tight and still against his shoulder. He moved his right leg to the side just in time to avoid the vicious donkey kick she aimed at his kneecap. “Stop it,” he said in her ear. “It’s Reese.”
She bit his hand hard enough to draw blood. He shook her, but he didn’t remove his hand. “Stop it,” he repeated.
She bit him a second time. Then she tried to kick him again.
Reese growled softly. He slid his injured hand up just enough to pinch her nose between his thumb and forefinger, pressed his bleeding palm against her mouth, and smothered her. Julie struggled wildly, fighting for air. He didn’t let her have any.
She tried for one last kick, one last bite.
Finally she slumped in his arms.
Reese kept his hand in place for five more seconds, then removed it just enough to let her breathe. “Nice try,” he murmured, “but I know you’re still with me.
She took a couple deep breaths and tried to lunge away from him. Since he hadn’t loosened his right arm, she went nowhere. “Are you going to stop,” Reese said, “or are we going to waste time going another round?”
Julie stopped struggling and stood very still, very tense in his grip. “Where’s Ingram?”
“I don’t have him,” Reese answered. “But I’m here to get him back.” He held his left hand out in front of her face. Her teeth had sliced into his palm, leaving two short, very deep incisions. Blood dripped from his hand onto the ground. There was probably more on her face and mouth.
She wriggled a little. “Let go.”
If he did, he knew, she’d either run, probably right into danger, or turn on him and try to claw his eyes out. “Not just yet. Let’s talk. You know this is a trap, right?”
“I know.”
“You saw Ingram’s friends?”
“Yes.”
“Did you call the cops?”
Julie shook her head. “They’ll get him killed.”
“So you just blew off all your training and came out here to get him by yourself?”
“Yes.”
Reese nodded. “That’s the kind of thinking I like in a girl. Do you have any back-up at all?”
“My handler’s coming.”
“Your handler,” John informed her, “sold you out to these guys.”
She went quiet for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Julie stood very still. Reese loosened his grip some, but she didn’t try to move away. She pulled one hand free and wiped her mouth, then wiped it on her jacket. “Who are they?” she asked.
“The blond guy you’ve been chasing is Rudy Gund. He’s a pro. The other five are just his flunkies.”
“What do they want with Will?”
“He’s bait. I told you, they want you. Dead. Tonight.”
The girl didn’t panic. She just stood in his arms and continued to gather information, calmly, methodically. Reese liked that about her. “Why?”
“So that no one finds out that Grandma’s trust fund is fifty million dollars light.”
The young woman shuddered, just once. “Schaeffer hired them?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s all about the money.”
“It usually is.”
“Please let go now.”
Reese dropped his arms. Julie turned, but stayed close. Studied his face. And didn’t try to rip it off. She took a tissue out of her jacket pocket and pressed it against his palm. “They won’t let Will go.”
It wasn’t a question, but Reese answered it anyhow. “No. They need you to die in the line of duty, trying to save him. Gund will drop a few of the hired hands, make it look like some kind of half-assed terrorist thing. But Will Ingram will not survive.”
Julie nodded. “Then I’ve got to go get my boy back.”
Reese put a hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t precisely restraining her, but they both knew he could. “Once they have you, they’ve got no reason to keep him alive. Stay here. I’ll get him.”
“No.”
“You don’t trust me.”
Her eyes never wavered. “I would trust you with my life just because Mark Snow wants you dead. With my life. But not with his.”
“His life is worth more than yours?”
“Oh, God, yes.”
Reese nodded. “I thought you might feel that way.”
“Mr. Reese,” Finch said in his ear, “this is a bad idea.”
Reese ignored him. He’d already made the calculation. Reese against six armed men: No problem. One of the six was a highly-skilled assassin: Still no problem. But Reese with a frightened and possibly resistant hostage against five guns plus one expert, and suddenly he didn’t like the odds. The girl could get to Ingram to go with her far more easily than he could. Essex with Ingram, and Reese’s hands were still free. Back to no problem.
If she’d been a civilian, he would have left her handcuffed to a radiator somewhere, complaining bitterly behind a gag while he rescued the young doctor. But Julie Essex was a professional. She wasn’t as well-trained as he was, nor as skilled, but she was a professional nonetheless. She knew the risks and the odds. And presumably she knew how to use a gun.
If the girl stayed outside, she was safe, but he might lose Ingram. If the girl came in with him, she was much less safe, but Ingram was much more likely to survive.
There was a final calculation, and it was a cold and brutal one that Reese made without hesitation: If they lost the girl, Finch would be distraught. If they lost the boy, Finch might be destroyed.
Finch had lost enough.
It helped that Julie was not only willing but adamant. He wouldn’t have ordered her to go, or even asked her to. But the way the odds stacked up, he certainly wasn’t going to force her to stay behind.
He released her shoulder and reached behind him for the pack Finch had brought. “Put this on.” He held a bulletproof vest out to her.
The woman took it, retreated half a dozen steps, and put it on without taking her eyes off him. Reese watched her with some amusement; clearly she knew exactly what the civilian treatment plan was and she wasn’t giving him a chance to grab her. “Relax. You can come along. I promise.”
She strapped the vest on tightly. “Why are you here?”
“Same reason you are. To get the boy back.”
She didn’t ask any more questions. Reese liked professionals. He handed her the pack, helped her slip it over her shoulders. “There’s a second vest in there. When you get to Ingram, put it on him and get him out. There will probably be zip ties. Have you still got a knife?”
“I’ve got one.”
“Good girl.” He reached for her head and she reared back. “Calm down. It’s an earwig.”
Julie took the device and put it in her ear. “How can you hear me?”
“Over your phone.”
“How long have you had my phone bugged?”
“Since you landed at the airport.”
“Fantastic.”
He checked the link. “Come on.”
They slid through the shadows around the side of the building, past the gate and into the work yard. “Can you prove it?” she asked.
“What?”
“The assassin, the money. Is there proof out there, somewhere?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“If we both die here, will they get away with it?”
Reese shook his head. “No. They won’t.”
“Good.”
“But let’s not die here, anyhow.”
“Okay.”
Reese reached the dumpster and climbed up, almost silently. He was not surprised when Julie followed him without assistance. Here at the back of the buildings the windows had only been installed on the first two floors; above, there were unfinished openings. He pointed to the third floor. “You’re going in there,” he said. “Ingram’s probably on the top floor. Find him, get him and then get down the northeast stairs. I’ll make sure they’re clear.”
“Six against one?”
Reese shrugged. “I’ll keep one hand behind my back, if you think that makes it more fair.”
Julie raised one eyebrow at him. “Do they just install some kind of ego chip when you join the Agency, or how does that work?”
He grinned crookedly. “Just get the boy. Don’t worry about me. I’ll try not to shoot anybody until you’re got him.” He checked his gun, watched while she checked hers. He’d had Finch bring heavier firepower, but after one look at the building he’d left it in the car. The interior walls were nothing but drywall; his odds of shooting right through and killing a friendly were too high for anything but handguns.
“Speaking of ego,” he said, “I have to know. Did you really sleep with Mark Snow?”
Julie nodded. “Well, no. Technically. I don’t remember any sleeping that weekend.”
Reese groaned.
“Mr. Reese,” Finch scolded in his ear, “Will Ingram’s life is still in danger. Is this really the best use of your time?”
It was, actually, Reese thought. He wanted Snow in the back of her mind. Their target had much the same mindset as Mark; he wanted her to have instant access to that way of thinking. He didn’t plan on letting Gund have enough time to toy with her, but the best-laid plans sometimes went wrong. A bit of mental defense never hurt.
“And to answer your next question,” Julie continued, “yes, the sex was really that good.”
“You could have lied about that.”
“You could have lied about the phone.” She looked up at the opening where the third floor window should have been. “Let’s do this.”
Reese set his feet, then locked his fingers together and bent slightly to offer her a boost. She put her right foot in the stirrup of his hands, pushed up swiftly, put her left foot on his shoulder, and then she was gone. Reese looked up in time to see her roll over the open windowsill and disappear into the building. He climbed down and went around the side of the building, in search of the first sentry.
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