Lethal Lies. Lara Lacombe
their fault he was in the damn chair in the first place.
No, he corrected silently, not their fault. Not the faceless entity that was the FBI. One man was responsible for the paralysis that had rendered his legs useless and made him a prisoner in this chair, and now, after too many years, Dan had decided to enact his revenge.
I set the wheels in motion.
Shaking his head at the awful pun, he dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved his burn phone. Time to check in with his friends on the other side; find out just what the hell had happened out there tonight.
He hesitated a brief second, debating who to call. That punk kid Tony or someone a little higher on the food chain? Tony was his eyes and ears on the ground, but he was always a little too brash, too cocky for Dan’s liking. Although he provided good intel, he was still just a seventeen-year-old kid with a big mouth and a hot head. Like all teenage boys, Tony thought he was immortal, a testament to the power of denial, since he saw his friends gunned down on a regular basis. He was on his way to a gang leadership position, but he wasn’t there yet. If he’d managed to keep himself alive during tonight’s fiasco, he’d be one step closer to the position he craved.
No, Tony wouldn’t provide him with the information he sought. If he really wanted to know what had happened tonight, he needed to go all the way to the top.
He dialed quickly, loosening his tie as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end of the line. Hopefully his contact hadn’t been killed in the shootout. He frowned at the thought, but dismissed it quickly. Despite their reputation, the leaders of the 3 Star Killers were not brainless thugs. They were too smart to get in the middle of a firefight between the government and the gangbangers. But as the phone continued to ring, cracks of doubt began to mar his conviction. Why weren’t they answering?
Finally someone picked up. They didn’t speak, but he could hear the raspy sound of their breath on the other end of the line. “What happened?” Dan didn’t bother with preliminaries, nor did he offer any kind of identification. He thought of the gang as a tame beast—under his control for now, but capable of turning on him in a heartbeat. He wasn’t stupid enough to give them the ammunition they’d need to ruin him.
There was a scratching as the phone was passed and then a familiar voice greeted him. “Mr. Hoover.”
It was the gang’s pet name for him, something he’d suggested they use. It was nice being called by the same name as the father of the FBI. He usually got a small thrill out of it, but tonight he was too wound up to notice.
“Why’d you call? We’re busy.”
Dan bit his bottom lip, refusing to give voice to his thoughts. I know you are, you little shit. And the only reason you’re busy is because I saved your ass tonight. Instead of pointing out that they should be thanking him for the fact they were still alive, he silently counted to five before he spoke again. “Did you take out Malcom?”
There was a pause, which made him grit his teeth. He started counting again. One... Two... Three...
“Haven’t seen him yet.”
“Which means he’s still alive.”
“Nah, man, it means I haven’t found him yet. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”
“You’d better hope he is, because that was the price for the information I gave you.” When there was no response, he hardened his voice. “Do I have to remind you of the terms of our deal?”
“Nah, I got it. Look, he’s probably dead. We’re out looking for him and Tony now, to make sure.”
Tony was missing, too? That was disturbing news. Although the kid couldn’t identify him, Malcom could still get information from him. Information that would have him asking questions and stirring up trouble.
Why couldn’t you just die?
“I’ll call back in an hour. You’d better have good news for me.” He hung up before the man on the other end of the line had a chance to respond. Things were even worse than he thought.
Dan tucked the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. He knew better than anyone that life didn’t always go as planned. While he hoped the gang would turn up Malcom’s body, he had to prepare for the very likely possibility they would not. It was a setback, but he wasn’t about to let Alex go that easily, not after all these years.
Not when he was so close to getting his justice.
* * *
Jillian stared up at him, her heart pounding so hard she felt as though it might beat right out of her chest. So much for her grand escape plan. She’d only managed to fill the syringe halfway before he’d barged in. She glanced down at it now, still clutched in her right hand. With a sigh, she set it on the sink. It wouldn’t do her much good, and she didn’t want to antagonize him further.
He was already intimidating enough, taking up the width of the doorway as he leaned against the jamb. He blocked her exit, but he didn’t seem threatening. His stance was casual, arms and ankles crossed, like they were having a normal conversation and he hadn’t just caught her making preparations to drug him. His expression was open and curious, and as she watched him, she could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched. She focused on his lips, caught the movement again. Was he—? He was! The jerk was laughing at her!
“This is funny to you?”
He sobered at that, his gaze sharpening as he regarded her. “Not at all. But I admire your determination. Not many people would be so resourceful.” His eyes cut to the syringe, then back to her. “Or so brave.”
“If you’d just let me go, I wouldn’t have to resort to such desperate measures.”
He shook his head before she’d even finished speaking, which had her temper flaring.
“Why not? I’ve done what you asked. I saved your friend, and now I want to go home.” Her voice broke and she bit her lip, blinking furiously. She would not cry, especially in front of him.
“Not yet.” His voice was flat, his jaw clenched. She could see that he was upset, but she pressed on, hoping she could get through to him.
“Is it money? Is that what you want?” When he didn’t respond, she took a deep breath. He needed to know the truth, even though it would probably upset him. “You should know I don’t have any money. Residents don’t make much, and most of what I do make goes to paying off my school loans. I can barely afford my apartment, much less pay you.”
“Don’t you have family?” There was a flash of something in his eyes—Interest? Calculation?—but then it was gone, making her wonder if she was imagining things.
“No.” She didn’t like to talk about her brother on the best of days, and she certainly wasn’t going to discuss him now. “So if you were hoping to use me to get rich, I’m sorry to disappoint.”
He smiled then, a brief curve of his lips. It transformed his face, making him look friendly. In other circumstances she would have found a smile like that on a man like him attractive.
“I’m not interested in money,” he told her.
“Then let me go.”
He shook his head, shifting slightly. “Can’t do that. It’s not safe.”
“What do you mean?” She felt a chill on the back of her neck and reached up to rub the sensation away. What could be worse than this?
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. “There are some bad guys after us,” he said, uncrossing his feet and scuffing the toe of his boot on the stained linoleum. “We need to lay low for a while.”
“Bad guys?”
He nodded. “Have you heard of the 3 Star Killers?”
Heard of them? Oh, yes. She saw the results of their handiwork