Jessica Andersen - Under the Microscope

Forsythe snorted. “Not a chance. If you know about our little group, then so does lover boy. And he’ll follow you, guaranteed. There’s no way you can keep him from interfering.”

“There is one way I can do exactly that,” Raine said, pulse pounding with sick dread at what she was about to propose.

“How’s that?”

“I’ll break his heart.”

Max awoke slowly when the lights came on, aware of the whole-body lassitude that came from good loving. His brain echoed with the words I love you. Had she said them, or had he merely thought them?

Either way, they were true.

He smiled and opened his eyes, then frowned when he realized the light wasn’t coming from the hotel room lights, as he’d assumed. It was coming from the window. It was daylight, and the clock radio was blaring.

And Raine wasn’t there.

She’s in the bathroom , he told himself on a sudden spurt of panic. He craned his neck to see her, but the adjoining room was dark, the door ajar. No sounds came from within, no signs of life.

She went downstairs for coffee, he tried instead. But logic told him it was well past sunrise, well past the time they’d agreed to leave the hotel for Boston. She’s-

Then he saw that his clothes were laid out beside the sodas and snacks.

And his duffel was gone.

“She didn’t, did she?” He sat up in the bed, sick incredulity echoing in his head. “I didn’t, did I?” He hadn’t fallen for it again, hadn’t trusted it again, had he?

He cursed, very much afraid that he had.

But where had she gone? Why? She still needed him to help build the case against The Nine.

Didn’t she?

An awful suspicion struggled to form in Max’s gut. He shoved it aside and climbed to his feet, cursing himself for having been exhausted, for having slept too deeply for far too long.

He dragged his clothes on and felt in the pockets of his jacket. “At least she left me the gun and the cash.” The truck keys were gone, though, along with the duffel. He tried to find humor in the irony. “Cheaper to replace the bag than five rooms worth of furniture, at any rate.”

But there was no humor to be had.

Fool me thrice and I’m an idiot, he thought on a burst of anger. He skipped the elevator, thundered down the stairs and shoved through a side door that dumped him straight into the parking lot.

The sight of the truck still parked in the far corner brought him up short. “What the heck?”

She’d taken the keys and left the truck? That didn’t make any sense.

Instinct prickled along the back of his neck as he approached the vehicle. The morning sun had melted the snow to water, which held no tracks. There were a few fresh-looking scuffs in the salt scum that covered the side of the truck. Maybe a sign of a struggle. Maybe a sign that she’d tossed the duffel onto the hood and it had slid off.

When he reached the truck and looked inside, he nearly sagged back at the gut-punch of emotion. Of anger.

The keys were in the ignition.

And a note lay on the seat.

He yanked the door open and grabbed the single sheet of paper. He was tempted to wad it up and throw it away unread, but some optimistic part of him wouldn’t allow the gesture, just in case it was an explanation that meant something other than gotcha.

Dear Max, it began, wringing a snort from deep within his chest.

Go back to New York, the job is over. I’ll wire payment from wherever Frederic and I wind up. You were right the first time-the plane tickets were mine. It was my idea in the beginning, everything except the dead women. I didn’t sign up for that, which is why I ran, and why my so-called partners tried to kill me. There’s no such thing as The Nine, that was all in poor Charlie’s mind, though Frederic was one of my partners. When it came down to the wire, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let the others hurt you. I love you-believe that if you believe anything. So I’m leaving. Let them have the drug. Tell Detective Marcus everything-it doesn’t matter anymore. Regardless, we’ll always have that night in Philadelphia.

She had signed it with her first initial.

I love you. The words danced on the page, mocking him. He cursed bitterly, wadded the paper and tossed it in a puddle of slushy water before he threw himself into the truck cab and cranked the engine. Then he cursed again, retrieved the note and flung the dripping mess into the foot well.

He drove to New Bridge, to her house, which was now nothing more than a deserted pile of blackened, charred rubble.

He left the ruined rental truck parked crosswise in the driveway and climbed into his own vehicle, figuring he and Detective Marcus would settle up later. Then he headed for the highway and took the westbound ramp, headed for New York City.

Headed for home.

DURING THE THREE-HOUR RIDE into Boston, there was only silence in the limo passenger compartment. Raine stared out the window, unable to look at Jeff, unwilling to converse with Forsythe. The men worked on cell phone-connected laptops instead of talking to each other, maybe because she was there, or maybe because there was nothing to say until they reached Logan Airport.

Once they were on the circular, convoluted network of airport roadways, an intercom clicked on and the driver’s voice said, “Which terminal, ma’am?”

“I don’t know.” Without conscious thought, she turned to Jeff. “Find out which terminal has a Thursday’s Restaurant, will you?”

“Sure thing.” He opened a new window on the laptop and tapped in a quick search. “Terminal B. Arrivals.”

Forsythe chuckled. “Seems like she trained you well, Jeffrey. You’re still wired to jump at her command.”

Jeff’s face flushed a dull red and he glanced at Raine. She couldn’t read his expression, but what ever was there, it didn’t seem to be remorse. More like self-satisfaction.

“So, we’re going to Thursday’s, are we?” Forsythe glanced out the window, where jersey barriers signaled the edge of yet another construction zone. “Crummy little place. I hope for your sake the disks are there.”

“They’ll be there,” she assured him, fingers crossed that Ike’s care package included the database copy.

“And Vasek better not be there.”

“No way. He’s back in Manhattan by now, cursing my name.” She forced a laugh, but worry was a sick coil in her stomach. What if he’d believed the note? What if the love she’d felt, the love she’d thought they’d shared, had all been on her side?

No, she told herself, he’d be there.

If he loved her, he’d trust her. If he trusted her, he’d read the note carefully and grasp the buried clue. He’d come for her.

But what if he didn’t come?

What if he didn’t love her?

Forsythe sent her a long, measured look, but didn’t press.

Moments later, the intercom went live and the driver’s voice said, “Terminal B, Arrivals.”

“Wait for us here,” Forsythe ordered. “We won’t be long.” He waited for the driver to open the passenger doors, then gestured Jeff out first, followed by Raine. As she passed, Forsythe made a show of tucking a small handgun into the pocket of his wool coat. “For insurance purposes only, of course.”

Too bad we don’t have to go through security to get to Thursday’s, Raine thought as she climbed out of the limo and stood shivering in the cutting wind coming off the ocean. With both Jeff and Forsythe carrying concealed weapons, they wouldn’t make it three feet past the checkpoint.

Which was probably why Ike had chosen Thursday’s. No doubt she walked around with a pistol strapped to her ankle on a daily basis.