Lethal Lover. Laura Gordon

      Chapter One

      “Hey, Mac! It’s me, Charlie. Pick up the phone! Wake up, Mac. All hell’s broke lose out here!”

      Reed McKenna swore softly under his breath and reached across the darkness and the pretty blond woman lying next to him to grab the phone.

      “I’m here, Charlie,” he said, bracing himself for the news he’d been half expecting and half dreading for the past week, ever since Andy Dianetti turned state’s witness.

      “They got him, Mac. Dianetti’s dead.”

      Reed shifted the cordless receiver to his other ear as the implications of Charlie’s grim pronouncement washed over him like tainted water. “When did it happen?” The glowing green digits on his clock radio read 3:29.

      “About fifteen minutes ago.” The sirens Reed heard wailing in the background were no match for Charlie Franklin’s booming baritone. “The firemen found pieces of the car two blocks away. It isn’t a pretty sight down here, Mac.”

      “It never is.” Reed clicked on the reading lamp and fumbled with a pack of gum. He hadn’t had a cigarette in almost three weeks, but his craving for that nicotine rush seemed more intense than ever. His jaws ached from chewing gum and his tongue felt raw from sucking Life Savers. “Anyone else hurt?” he asked.

      The blonde stirred beside him, but didn’t open her eyes.

      “The officer who was escorting Dianetti is still alive. Poor bastard. They don’t think he’ll make it through the night.” Charlie hesitated before adding, “I just heard they’ve found the kid and will be taking her into custody tonight.”

      A feeling of raw discomfort landed in the pit of Reed’s stomach as he stared into the wintry darkness beyond his bedroom window. When he and his companion had come in around midnight it had been snowing; now all he could see when he stared at the glass was his own reflection staring back—dark-haired, dark-eyed, a shadowy silhouette of a man whose heart felt as empty and cold as the night. “And just who was responsible for that brilliant decision?” Reed asked, his tone caustic.

      “We have to have the bookkeeper’s testimony, Mac. With Andy Dianetti dead, Morrell will walk out of that courtroom free as air if we don’t bring her in.”

      “Then go get her.” Reed’s suggestion was flatly unsympathetic. “Why drag an innocent kid into the middle of it?”

      “If it was that easy,” Charlie grumbled, “we wouldn’t be calling you and you know it.”

      Reed scooted to a sitting position, leaning his bare back against the brass headboard. “Just why did you call me?” he demanded. “You’ve got your leverage, use it.”

      “And take a chance on the media finding out we used the child to blackmail her mother into testifying? That kind of damage would be beyond control. The press would eat us alive!”

      Reed could think of worse things. “So what do they want from me? Spell it out, Charlie.” He draped his free arm over the woman sleeping beside him. Her skin felt warm and reassuringly alive beneath his hand.

      “They want you to bring her in—quietly. No international incidents. Just one civilian to another. Convince her to cooperate, Mac.”

      Reed ran a hand through his hair. “We’ve had this conversation before, remember? You told me your guys had it covered.”

      “Yeah, but that was before Dianetti got himself blown to kingdom come. The stakes just got higher.”

      “As did my rates.”

      While Charlie swore, Reed held the phone a few inches from his ear.

      “How much?” Charlie asked finally.

      “Twice my regular rate,” Reed replied, completely refocused on the business at hand. “And since I’ll be traveling, my per diem expenses will double, as well.”

      “Twice!” Charlie exploded. “Think what the hell you’re doing to me, Mac! You know what kind of hoops I’ll have to jump through to get that kind of money?”

      “Like I’ve told you before—”

      “I know, I know. It’s not your problem.” Charlie sounded exasperated; his ulcer was probably raging again. Too bad, Reed thought. He had no quarrel with Charlie Franklin. The problem lay with his superiors, those white-collared hypocrites on the Hill who demanded results, but kept their own hands lily-white.

      He’d worked for them in the past—on both sides of a badge. And he’d work with them now. With luck, this would be the last time.

      “Fifteen thousand up front,” Reed stated plainly. The kind of answers that could cost a man his life didn’t come cheap. “Two hundred thousand on delivery.” It was an outrageous demand, but one he knew they’d meet. They wanted the witness, wanted her badly enough to turn Uncle Sam into a kidnapper.

      What he didn’t know was if two hundred thousand would be enough to give him a fresh start away from the rotten business that he’d become so damn good at. He could only hope so.

      “You’re crazy, Mac,” Charlie grumbled.

      “And you’re desperate,” Reed countered. “Two hundred thousand,” he said again. “Cash on delivery. And I want your leverage turned over to me, as well.”