Midnight Vengeance Page 8

  “For dinner,” he said. “Tonight.”

  “Oh!” A spear of grief, sharp and uncontrollable, shot straight through her heart. Tonight she’d be as far away as she could drive. Out of his life forever. Tonight would never happen. “Sure. Six, say?”

  He nodded, stepped forward.

  She stepped back.

  She didn’t want a goodbye kiss, because it would really be goodbye and she didn’t want to burst into tears in the middle of it. Jacko was unnaturally perceptive. Already he was looking at her in unlover-like terms, head tilted, eyes sharp. Like he was studying her.

  “Okay!” she said, her voice suddenly loud. She clapped her hands, hoping she wasn’t behaving like a loon. “See you this evening.”

  One last, slit-eyed look and Jacko nodded. He turned and walked to his huge SUV, which he’d parked right outside her garage door, blocking her. She couldn’t leave until he drove away.

  God, he was enticing even from the back. Insanely broad shoulders, thick strong neck rising incongruously from the satin collar of his tux, huge hands surrounded by an inch of white dress shirt cuffs peeping from under the fine black wool of the jacket sleeves. Hiding the barbed wire tats around his wrists, but she knew they were there.

  He looked like he was walking slowly but in an instant—far too soon, in fact—he was at his vehicle’s door. Once he was behind the wheel he paused for a second with the door open, looking across her small front yard at her.

  She turned her lips up and made a little wave like a kid going bye-bye. Jacko nodded, got in, slammed the door shut and she lost all view of him behind the smoked glass.

  Lauren swallowed, feeling suddenly sick. This was it. She’d never see his face again.

  Jacko backed quickly out of her short driveway and drove off fast. She stood stupidly on the porch until she couldn’t even pretend to see his vehicle, the unshed tears finally pouring down her face.

  Inside she stood for a long moment, unable to summon the energy she needed to do this. It felt like her feet had been nailed to the pale hardwood floor. She couldn’t move, could only sway there, tears dripping down her face. Her living room, which she’d lavished such love and care on, became a blur. Her heart, which had started beating hard as she said goodbye to Jacko, slowed, became a cold hard stone in her chest.

  She swiped at her cheeks, trying to relegate Jacko to the back of her mind. There was no time to think of him, to mourn his absence. There was a life to end and another to begin.

  She stared at the ceiling, willing the tears to stop. Finally, finally, they did.

  Jacko was gone. Soon she’d drive away from this pretty little house and never come back. When he stopped by at six to pick her up for dinner she’d be at least four hundred miles away.

  This was so hard. Yet this was going to be the rest of her life. Not making ties so it wouldn’t be so painful leaving.

  Even leaving her things behind hurt.

  The curtains she’d made from Italian cotton bedspreads, the rescued coffee table she’d restored herself, the battered silver bowl from a garage sale she’d polished to a high sheen and filled with homemade potpourri. Small inexpensive things that had turned the house into a home. All wasted efforts, it turned out, because she was going to turn her back on them. She’d leave with the bare essentials for a new life—clothes, laptop and artwork—and that was it.

  But first there was someone she had to tell. Someone she’d never met but who had saved her, and was her friend.

  Opening her laptop, she found Tor and keyed in the steps necessary to access the darknet. At times it felt like descending down, down, down into another world. An even darker and more dangerous world than this one. Except for one small corner of it.

  Felicity.

  It wasn’t her real name. Steeped in pop culture, Felicity loved Arrow and named herself for Felicity Smoak. It seemed apt. Felicity Smoak always saved the day with her smarts, and so did Lauren’s Felicity.

  She had no idea who Felicity was in real life, where she lived, even what she did for a living. But she felt as close to her as she would to a sister. Though she never spoke about the details of her life, Lauren had the distinct impression that Felicity was as alone in the world as she was. And that Felicity knew trouble, firsthand.

  The secret impregnable chat room had an orange-and-teal header because Felicity was a film buff. On the right-hand side of the header was their symbol. Two feminine hands, fist bumping. Bright orange fingernail polish on one hand, bright blue polish on the other. Lauren had designed it.

  She saw that Felicity was online, as usual. She never seemed to sleep.

  Lauren signed in.

  Runner: Runner here. Pulling the plug on this life.

  The reply came almost instantaneously. Felicity didn’t ask any questions. Lauren had chosen the handle Runner for a reason. She was on the run. Felicity knew that if she needed to pull the plug, she needed to pull the plug. Felicity also knew that she would need to change identities. Lauren Dare was a Felicity construct. Felicity had done it before; she’d do it again.

  Felicity: Tell me what you need. Let me know when you get to where you’re going then contact me. I’ll get you whatever you need.

  Runner: Not sure where I’m going. Doesn’t matter as long as it’s far away. And I need a new life.

  Felicity: You need the TARDIS. Failing that, how about an eye in the sky? Who’s on your tail?

  Lauren sometimes wondered whether Felicity worked for the NSA. Several times she’d been able to provide overhead surveillance. Though she was good enough that maybe she’d hacked the NSA.

  Runner: No one’s after me right now. But it’s time to go. I made a mistake last night. Let my guard down.

  Felicity: A preventive bail. Smart choice. Nowhere is safe for long.

  Runner: No, nowhere is safe for long.

  She closed her eyes. Somehow Felicity knew, understood. Lauren could feel the sadness coming off the monitor.

  Felicity: Docs. You’ll need new ID. I can get you anything you need, girl. Just say the word. You want to be a PhD in quantum physics? Done. You want to be a surgeon? I’ll have you in the operating theater in no time.

  Lauren smiled. She was Lauren Dare thanks to Felicity, who could make her a doctor or a physicist or Italian. She was brilliant.

  Runner: Thanks. Will ask for new docs when I get to where I’m going. Probably be best if I don’t operate on anyone.

  Felicity: If you’re going to go, do it fast. Speed is life.

  Runner: Don’t I know it.

  Felicity: Sorry you’re ejecting. Sounded like you had a really good deal going there. Hard to give it up.

  Runner. A very good deal. V sorry to go. Breaks my heart.

  She wiped wet eyes. The screen was blank for a moment.

  Felicity: OMG. A guy! You found a guy and now you have to dump him and run! Bummer!

  Pity Felicity was so very smart. Lauren had to put a spin on it to save her heart.

  Runner: Probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Hard to be with a guy when you’re on the run.

  Felicity: So how was the sex? On a scale of one to ten?

  Lauren typed before thinking.

  Runner: 100

  Felicity: sigh. You can’t take him with you?

  Taking Jacko with her. Heat shot through her at the thought. Heat and hope. Feeling safe all the time. Hot sex at night. Oh yeah. She’d give anything to take Jacko with her. But of course that was impossible. In another life, in another universe, maybe. But not in this one.

  And, frankly, she couldn’t imagine Jacko wanting to abandon his excellent job and his life here to follow her into exile.

  Runner: Double sigh. No.

  Felicity: Take a lock of his hair with you. For memory’s sake. And maybe I can clone him from the DNA. Make sure to get follicles.

  Lauren laughed and wiped away a tear. Felicity probably could clone him. All this time she’d imagined Felicity as some super analyst somewhere but maybe she wa
s a lab rat in a white coat who could pipette a new Jacko into life. Of course Lauren would have to wait for Jacko to be born and grow up and she’d be sixty when he was thirty. That would totally work for Doctor Who but not for her.

  Runner: Can’t. Shaved head.

  Felicity. Yum. Tats?

  Runner: Tribal. Shoulder. Barbed wire around wrists. V sexy.

  Felicity: Take some pubes with you. That guy definitely needs cloning.

  Runner: I wish.

  Felicity: Get going. Like I said, if you have to go, do it fast. When you land, get in touch. I’ll be here.

  Runner: On my way. And thanks.

  Felicity: np

  Their chat page blinked out. Lauren powered down her MacBook Air, resting a hand on the cover, fingers caressing the smooth Apple logo. It felt, for just a moment, as if she were still connected to her virtual friend. It was crazy but she could feel Felicity’s support coming over the ether. Pixels and digits and friendship. She knew nothing about Felicity except for the important things. Felicity was smart, she had secrets too, and she was on Lauren’s side, always.

  At least Lauren could plug back into the chat room when she finally landed. Jacko and her friends here were already in the wind, lost. This virtual friend on a secret network was the only constant in her life now.

  God, it was already nine and she hadn’t packed yet.

  Good thing her wardrobe was deliberately small. Good pieces, but not many of them. Everything she owned fit into a midsized suitcase. She wheeled it out to the garage and went back in for her artwork. Her artwork could possibly be used to track her down if any of Jorge’s people searched her house so everything she had went into the car. All her computer-generated graphic work was stored in the cloud under a fictitious name.

  By ten she was ready to walk through the house for the last time, hand lingering over various items, as if touching them would store them better in her memory. The house was so pretty. She’d fallen in love with it immediately. Basically, a living room/kitchen, bedroom and a huge room with a skylight where she worked. More than enough. Snug and cheerful. The place where she’d hoped to make a life for herself, and damn it, she had. She’d made a wonderful life for herself.

  Lauren angrily wiped a tear away. She never cried, never allowed herself to, and this morning she was leaking water like a faucet.

  At the door to her bedroom she stopped. This was the last time she’d see where she’d made love with Jacko. It had been the best thing to happen to her since her mother and stepfather had died and this whole mess started.

  She looked at the bed across the room, reliving some of the highlights of last night. Maybe the memory of last night would fade, as memories did over the years. Right now, though, the memory was vivid, hi-def, 3D.

  Never again. Never again a mind-blowing love affair. Never again would she have friends in the flesh. Never again warmth and closeness with others.

  Goodbye house.

  Goodbye life.

  Goodbye Jacko.

  It had started snowing again, light flakes that drifted down like afterthoughts, the world outside light gray, nebulous. Pretty. Dangerous. She wasn’t a good driver. Driving in the snow was terrifying, one more horror.

  South. She’d head south. Maybe somewhere with a beach. San Diego would be perfect but it was still West Coast. Maybe it was best not to repeat herself. Florida was out, of course. Texas, Louisiana? Time enough on the road to decide.

  Lights out, heat off.

  She shivered in the garage, cold seeping into her bones. The car was packed, ready to go. She was lingering, not wanting to take off. Wanting a few minutes more here, in this magical city where she’d met some magical people.

  She was going to hurt them by disappearing. For a second, crazily, she thought of going back in to leave a goodbye note.

  No. That was dangerous thinking. No more stalling. It was time.

  She reached into her purse for the keys and didn’t find them. She scrabbled a bit around the bottom, frowning. She kept a neat purse. Car keys in one internal pocket, house keys in another. The house keys weren’t there because she’d left them on the kitchen table. And...the car keys weren’t there, either.

  She searched again, more thoroughly. Clearly, she’d missed the car keys because she was hurting, worried. So she looked again. But they weren’t there.

  Sighing, Lauren opened her purse wider, angling it so it would catch the meager light of the overhead bulb.

  No keys.

  How could she leave if she didn’t have car keys?

  Search one more time.

  This time she carefully placed the contents of her purse on the car fender. Wallet, fake driver’s license, fake ID, makeup case, her ereader with a thousand books on it. No keys.

  This was a disaster. The snow was falling more heavily now. If the keys weren’t in her purse—which they should be—then she had no idea where to look. It could take her hours to scour the house, hours she didn’t have.

  Now that she wasn’t in the Jacko Force Field of Safety, danger was drumming in her head. She’d made a huge mistake last night and she was going to pay. She could feel it; she could almost smell it. Her neck prickled with the sense of impending danger. Jorge’s goons could be coming for her right now.

  She had to leave right now.

  She huffed out an angry, scared breath, turning to walk back into the house, when a huge hand appeared in front of her, car keys dangling from thick fingers.

  “Looking for these?” Jacko’s deep voice asked.

  Chapter Five

  Palm Beach, Florida

  The next day Frederick found it on the front passenger seat of his car. He was on his way to the airport where he’d fly under another identity to George Town. His Caymans’ banker had contacted him for an “interesting proposal,” which would have to be discussed in private and in person. He suspected the banker had somehow discovered Frederick’s gifts and was proposing a money laundering scheme. This was perfect. The profit potential would be huge and above all, Frederick wouldn’t get his hands dirty. He knew how to cover his traces. And it probably meant several trips to the Caymans a year, which was a pleasant thought. What was wealth in the United States was unimaginable riches in the Caymans. He could live like a king, outside the jurisdiction of the United States.

  Finding something in his car was interesting in and of itself. Frederick’s security everywhere was superb, and that included his car, a Lexus LS whose already-strong security system had been tweaked. The car door opened to his electronic key but it also required his thumbprint.

  So if someone left something for him in the front seat of his car, that someone was serious.

  A sat phone. Bigger, bulkier than most smartphones. He recognized it immediately. The latest Thuraya. Guaranteed non-hackable because it operated off a Saudi-owned satellite and the Saudis were not in the habit of sharing intel with the NSA, or anyone else for that matter. The Thuraya was an expensive, difficult-to-obtain piece of tech.

  A small slip of paper with laser-printed words was on top of it. Password: money.

  Okay. Good password.

  He fired it up, put in the password and saw that it was preprogrammed with one long number. He didn’t recognize the prefix and was sure that it didn’t correspond to any specific geographic location. It was a connection to a forwarding service. The number itself would be of no help in understanding where the person on the other end was located.

  Someone had gone through time and trouble to talk to him.

  Frederick made his considerable living helping those in trouble. He pressed the call button and waited.

  “Hello.” The voice at the other end was mechanically altered. There were no hints as to identity. He couldn’t even tell the sex.

  “Hello,” Frederick answered. “I’m listening.”

  “I understand you work for Jorge Guttierez.”

  “In a manner of speaking,” he hedged.

  This was tricky. Was this one of Jor
ge’s many enemies? Was he going to get an offer to work against Jorge? Frederick had no loyalty to Jorge at all, but generally speaking it wasn’t a good idea to get a reputation as someone who’d betray a client. If this was Jorge’s enemy, though, he wouldn’t play by any sane rules and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Damn. Why did Alfonso go get himself killed?

  “This is not about Jorge. It is not even about Alfonso. It is about his wife, Chantal.” Mechanical Voice dropped the little bombshell.

  Frederick wasn’t an easy man to surprise but this did. Chantal? To his knowledge Chantal had been a beautiful clotheshorse whose only real talent was spending money, and nothing more. What would some Mafioso want with Chantal?

  “What about Chantal?”

  “She had a jewelry collection. A famous one. Some pieces are designer classics.” The mechanical voice all of a sudden sounded pained. “My wife wants the collection. Badly.”

  “I’m sorry,” Frederick answered. He was sincere. He was very sorry. If there was money to be made knowing where Chantal’s jewelry collection was, he wasn’t going to get it. “I have no idea where that collection is.”

  “Chantal’s daughter does,” the voice said.

  Frederick blinked. “Anne?”

  “Yes. Anne. Chantal said that her collection was in a safe place and only she and her daughter knew where.”

  Ah. Frederick straightened in his seat. This was getting interesting.

  “I am actually looking for Anne.” He put that forward cautiously.

  “Yes, I know. For that moron Jorge. Jorge wants her dead. I don’t want her dead, certainly not before she has revealed where the jewelry collection is. I don’t know how much Jorge is paying you, but I’ll make it more than worth your while to find her, so long as you remember that a live Anne trumps a dead Anne.”

  Who will become a dead Anne as soon as wifey gets her bling. The subtext was unspoken but there.

  “I can’t start right now. I can only start in three days. Seventy-two hours, take it or leave it.”

  He couldn’t do anything on the road; it would never be secure enough. He traveled clean and he always worked from home.