All My Strength (5) (The Mile High Club) Page 4

  “The men you hired in Denver, Santa Fe, and San Francisco were all implicated in human trafficking and experimentation. I have proof of everything you’ve done. I’ve already sent copies to a dozen agencies.”

  Wendy watched Temper shake her head. She hissed at Wendy to be quiet. Wendy was on a mission and could care less if she enflamed an already bad situation. He wanted to kill her? She’d give him a reason.

  “I had nothing to do with anything you’ve just said. I’ll prove it to you. You’re in danger there. Come to New York. Bring a copy of the files. I swear I had no knowledge of the problems in Denver. It came to my attention shortly after your husband’s death,” McFarland said. He sounded reasonable.

  Wendy didn’t trust him. She wouldn’t. But she was ready to confront him with his crimes, “I’ll be on the next flight. Give me your address. And don’t think to disappear me. I’m recording this conversation. If I die, you’re first on the list.”

  She only wished the conversation was actually being recorded. In reality, there was no tape. Wendy hoped the threat would be enough to stop McFarland from hurting her.

  McFarland gave her his address and two numbers. He said, “Take a taxi directly to my address. Don’t tell anyone you’re coming. My security has been compromised. I will make this right.”

  Wendy had a strange sense of urgency and excitement when she hung up the phone. Finally, she would confront McFarland and discover the truth behind John’s death. It was foolish and terrifying. Even while her conscious mind knew this, her sense of strength and unwavering belief that justice would be served led her to a sense of security and the idea that no matter how dangerous McFarland might be, she would survive and come out okay.

  Temper lashed at Wendy the minute she hung up the phone, “Are you crazy? You have work tomorrow. Why would you meet the guy you suspect of killing your husband? What gives?”

  Wendy didn’t know. She had been living in a shadow world for months. For the first time she felt alive. She felt strong. She said, “Temper, it’s fine. I need to know what happened to John. I’m going.”

  Temper’s disapproval only cemented Wendy’s decision. She booked a flight to New York for the next day. Having never been to New York City, Wendy felt it an overdue adventure. She called Shelly, the owner-manager of the store where she worked and asked that her three weeks leave start tomorrow. Shelly spent ten minutes trying to talk Wendy out of it, but Wendy was adamant.

  A few hours later, Temper’s phone rang. She and Wendy had gone from best friends to icy acquaintances in a few hours. Nothing Temper said could change Wendy’s mind. And now Temper wasn’t talking, just slamming dishes in the dishwasher as a show of anger. Wendy had never been the kind of passive aggressive person to do that kind of thing. That aspect to Temper’s character baffled her.

  Stomping to the phone Temper answered. She held the phone to Wendy and said, “It’s for you.”

  Surprised, Wendy said, “Yes?”

  “This is Ulysses Rodgers. I’m General McFarland’s bookkeeper. I know McFarland told you to take a taxi, but I’ve been asked to arrange for a car to pick you up at the airport tomorrow, in case of trouble. What flight are you coming in on?”

  “Prove it,” Wendy said.

  “Ma’am, I was told to call you regarding a pick up from the airport. If you won’t tell me when your flight arrives, I am instructed to have a car on standby at the airport all day. An hour ago one of our assets was killed. If you don’t accept our help, please stay home. You won’t be safe coming out of that airport alone.”

  Wendy closed her eyes. Her first impulse was to tell him where he could shove his car and his plans and everything else. But she wanted something from McFarland. She deserved the truth. Finally, she relented and told him her flight.

  Temper and Wendy ate in silence. The longer the stretch, the harder it was to say the first word. Now if Wendy could just get through this fight with Temper.

  Chapter 4

  WENDY STRAPPED ON HER seat belt. This was the most singularly willful and stubborn thing she’d ever done. It felt right, the right time, the right decision, other than her call with McFarland’s man. The whole airport car thing felt a little too convenient, like McFarland was trying to butter her up, as if she’d be so grateful that she wouldn’t question him about John. Even if her boss and Temper thought she’d gone off the deep-end, Wendy was hopeful.

  Nothing could prepare Wendy for New York. Sure, she’d seen the city a million times in the movies. But to actually step off a plane alone in a city like that took all of Wendy’s courage. The morning of flight gave Temper’s words plenty of time to percolate. As Temper had said to Wendy...You’re basically handing yourself over to the enemy and saying, ‘Have at me’.

  Temper wasn’t wrong, which made Wendy wonder what exactly she was trying to accomplish with this wild journey. She wanted to see the look on General McFarland’s face when she met with him. She wanted to greet him head on and ask if he’d killed John.

  But first, the flight.

  Once she landed, Wendy hurried to the baggage area. She dragged her single suitcase off the roundabout, hauling it behind her while she also carried her purse and a carry-on bag. Her purse was a three ton monstrosity that held all the bits and bobs, odds and ends that a woman might need—Lip gloss for that late night escapade, not that there had been any of those for years, a brush, comb, three kinds of gum, paper clips, a sewing kit, a teeny tiny angel statue, and a small bottle of lotion, which was a fair accounting if not everything in her purse. Wendy was disgruntled that she hadn’t dumped out the non-essentials and brought the tiny purse. Had she been at her own house, the small purse would have been first on her list.

  Dragging her suitcase to the limousine, Wendy felt a cold rush of irrational fear. For the first time since she’d decided to come to New York, Wendy realized at a gut level how deeply stupid it was. Temper’s argument that she was walking into the enemy’s camp had been words, just words, ones that Wendy ignored. Now, she felt the reality.

  A man stood outside the car, ramrod straight and dressed in clothes that probably cost more than her car. He saw her pause at the limo and said, “Ma’am, are you Wendy Bartlett?”

  He wore sunglasses. Wendy wished that she could see his eyes, that she could find a way to judge his character. Right now she was facing an emotionless automaton, completely unreadable.

  Wendy nodded. He opened the back seat car door for her and said, “I’ll take your luggage.”

  She slipped into the back of the car, feeling completely out of place. The whole world had changed from mountain vistas and pine trees to concrete and glass. But she would have answers soon. Wendy comforted herself with that thought.

  MCFARLAND RUBBED HIS temples and watched the clock. Wendy Bartlett’s flight was due today. She should be arriving at his doorstep demanding explanations that he couldn’t give at any minute. It had been a temptation to escort her here by limo. Certainly he could have arranged for her transport, but that would have been a sign of weakness, and kowtowing might make her fearful or suspicious.

  God knew, McFarland didn’t need any more arrows pointing in his direction. He called to the front desk, “Suze, are you out there?”

  Susan Wright was McFarland’s personal assistant on social matters, which was to say the member of his staff who didn’t know about all of the top secret technology and the strange requests from heads of corporations, nor was she aware of the complex spy network McFarland had set up in over a dozen cities. But she was as smart as a whip, and McFarland trusted her more than his military PA who was aware of top secret meetings and knew in depth the corporate heads who acted like sociopaths. He had trusted Jonas Bertrand once, but lately too many problems were tied to his name, not conclusively. It could very well be Rodgers or Gentry, or even one of section leaders. The problem was that McFarland had farmed out too many responsibilities. And someone close had breached his trust.

  “Yeah, boss?” Susan smiled at the door
. She was efficient, married, and a no-nonsense woman. McFarland didn’t know if she was ready for the inner sanctum. He needed someone he could trust implicitly, someone not already bound up in half a dozen different messes associated with all of those projects. No time like the present.

  “If you have a half-hour, I need to bounce a few ideas,” McFarland said.

  Susan joined McFarland, sitting in the seat across from his desk with a caution that reminded him of a zoo keeper about to approach a lion. Her expression was one of pained acquiescence more than anticipation or excitement. She said, “I’ll do my best. I’m more administrative than creative.”

  She certainly didn’t give herself enough credit. But then again, McFarland had carefully chosen her for this reason. Susan wasn’t the type to spend her evenings wondering what was going on behind closed doors. She was happy to organize events, buy the perfect gift, set up meetings, and keep McFarland’s schedule clear for his wife’s anniversary, which she had just reminded him was in three weeks. He said, “That’s exactly what I need. There is a leak in the company.”

  Susan’s eyes went round, her mouth dropped open, and her face flushed. She swallowed and said, “Sir, I swear I’ve never shared information that seemed important.”

  McFarland could have laughed. Of all the people in his circle, Susan was the last person he suspected as the leak. He’d already tested her with several key meetings that Susan as the organizer wouldn’t care about while Susan the spy for his competitors would. None of the information about those meetings had leaked, nor had the discussions within. Which meant that one of the men with top secret clearance, men he had trusted for a decade had betrayed him. Rodgers and Bertrand were both present at leaked meetings.

  “Susan, I’m not accusing you. I need your help. I have a woman flying in who believes her husband was murdered. I want you to set up her hotel accommodations and help her with any logistical details she has. Don’t tell a soul, not me, not my wife, not my best friend, where she is staying. I need this woman alive, because if her husband was killed because of someone in this office, I need to make it right.”

  Her deer-in-the-headlight expression didn’t change for hearing the news. Susan grew more perturbed, her mouth opening and closing as if she didn’t know exactly what to say. This was far outside her normal spate of responsibility. She said, “Why would anyone kill a woman’s husband? I’ve never asked. I don’t even really want to know. It’s just. Are you the mafia? Is that what we’re doing here?”

  Now McFarland really did laugh. The Mafia. And yet, if rumors about what went down in Colorado and Miami were true, he was being played by someone close. In a way that was very much like the mafia, he said, “No. We’re doing top secret government contracts. I think the mob might be safer.”

  It was a sarcastic truth, but he had given Susan the warning. She could quit or she could help. Tilting her chin up, Susan said, “Is this woman in danger?”

  With a sharp nod, McFarland pushed a file across the desk. He said, “Yes. And I have reason to believe that someone else in this office wants her dead. Don’t call from the office. We’re compromised and I don’t know how deep.”

  Susan opened the file. She frowned, “When is she due in?”

  “Today. She should be grabbing a taxi from the airport at any minute. I’m sorry for cutting it so close. I almost made the arrangements myself, but I think she would call you if she got into trouble. I have doubts that she would trust me that much. I gave her the address to the offices here. She should be arriving in a half hour or so.”

  Susan nodded. She tugged on her skirt, and it was the kind of nervous tic that Susan had when she was worried. In an uncertain voice, she said, “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the limo was already scheduled to pick up a guest at the airport twenty minutes ago. I wanted to use it for your wife’s benefit. I called a rental company instead.”

  McFarland lifted his head. There was something of the hawk in his expression, and his eyes narrowed. He said, “Thank you, Susan. If you would excuse me...”

  Recognizing the urgency in his voice and the sudden concern in his expression, Susan left the office. She glossed over it with a professional smile, shutting the door behind her as she returned to her desk.

  McFarland grabbed the phone and made the first phone call directly to the limo. The call would implicate him in an act that he had not arranged. He could only hope that it wasn’t too late...

  WENDY CLUTCHED HER purse tightly, staring out the windows at the traffic, the honking, the people moving like minnows, darting and shifting in a huge cluster as they crossed the street en masse. She watched the driver. Her few attempts toward conversation had ended in grunts and silence. Apparently drivers and passengers didn’t communicate.

  The address was written on a slip of paper in her purse. Wendy was tempted to pull it out and look at the street name again. She felt adrift in New York, uncertain. She didn’t trust the driver, but then she couldn’t trust anyone at the moment. Wendy carefully marked the passing of subway entrances and the feel of the buildings. The longer they drove, the deeper her sense of foreboding. She knew the minute Rodgers had spoken that she should make her own way through New York. There was something off with the conversation. She should have trusted herself.

  Her first real thrill of fear erupted when the driver glanced at her in the mirror, watching her. That was unusual, at least Wendy thought the behavior strange, but it was the way he was looking at her that felt wrong. It scared the crap out of her. Wendy noted that he glanced at her like that before making turns, as if checking to see if she knew where she should be going in relation to where they were going.

  The signals the driver gave off creeped Wendy out, but not as much as that last look while they drove a side street before he turned down an alleyway between brick buildings. It was the glance of a predator over his sunglasses, hungry and dismissive at once. Looking ahead, Wendy saw only a wall. They were slowing to a stop.

  Wendy acted without thinking. Her adrenaline and fear had been rising for the last ten blocks, and her sense of preservation screamed at her to run. So she did. She threw herself out of the moving car, her purse swinging wildly, and she sprinted away.

  Thank goodness she’d been paying attention. She knew that a dash to the left and several blocks up the side street and then to the right and she’d find a subway stop. She had no idea how long five blocks would seem on the run. The limo squealed back in the alley and Wendy almost ditched her plan and jumped into the shadows. She ran down the sidewalk. When she looked over, the limo driver was keeping pace. Worse, he’d pulled out a gun.

  Wendy knew better than anybody that a gun could pierce cars, plaster, walls, and furniture. John, bless his soul, had tutored Wendy until she was sick to tears of hearing about how to protect herself and what wouldn’t work if she had to hide from gunmen. The world was scary enough, but it was John, who knew how to shoot, how to wield a knife, how to sweep a man with his feet and destroy him barehanded. It was John who had died.

  The limo driver was moving forward, so Wendy suddenly changed directions, sprinting the opposite way so that the driver would have to back up to accurately target her. She heard the gun shots and then the driver put the car in reverse. Her instincts had proven her right. The crazy situation had also proven Temper’s warnings true. She couldn’t wait to hear Temper say I told you so. Because that would mean she survived.

  Wendy didn’t wait. She dashed forward, grateful for the cars that lined the street. While they might not provide enough cover, they did make it harder for the driver to see her. Also, he had to focus on both driving and shooting. Another car turned onto the side street. Saved! Wendy ran with all her might. She didn’t turn and didn’t stop until she was safely down the subway stairs, her sides heaving and her t-shirt was wet with sweat.

  She hurried to a kiosk, dropping her purse and fumbling for her wallet. The crowds were enormous, and Wendy felt overwhelmed and terrified. She finally managed to pull
out her credit card, all the while glancing every few seconds to the entrance.

  “Come on, Lady. Hurry it up.”

  Wendy nodded and made a non-committal sound. The last thing she needed was to make anyone notice her.

  The crowds were oppressive, but in this, Wendy thought she might have a chance. She weaved through the crowd, keeping her head down and putting people between herself and the stairs. She tried to avoid the line of sight of anyone who might take up a position at the top of the stairs.

  The trains were crowded and confusing. People in New York were insular. Wendy didn’t feel as if she could just walk up and ask a question, not like when she was back home in Arizona. Maybe it was the same here. Maybe she just needed to ask.

  It took five minutes and a few practiced speeches in her mind before Wendy approached a pair of women. They wore casual business suits and seemed more approachable than ninety percent of the rest of the car.

  “Excuse me?” Wendy steadied herself with the hand rail. The subway trains squealed and roared. There was no way to speak loudly in a soft way, so she just tried to outtalk the train noise. “Is there a place with safe hotels for tourists anywhere along this stop?”

  One of the women had a pocket notebook. She said, “Let me write it down for you.” Scribbling a few lines on the page, she ripped it out and handed it to Wendy. It was just what she needed.

  “Thank you.”

  What really bugged Wendy was the fact that she was set up. She should have known better, but McFarland sounded so truthful. It shouldn’t have surprised her at all that McFarland had arranged the limo driver to kill her...and yet it did. She had met McFarland once, and Wendy prided herself on being a good judge of character. She figured McFarland was overpuffed and self-important, but not threatening. Now she knew how wrong she was.

  Chapter 5