John Miller - Side by Side

He speed-dialed Alexa on the cell phone she’d furnished him.

“Yeah?” she answered.

“I’m here.”

“You sure you want to go this route? Not too late to change your mind.”

“I’m here, Lex. Unless you have something from Able that makes this unnecessary.”

“Anything I can say to stop you?”

“I can’t think of a thing.”

She was silent for a few long seconds. “Don’t do anything without weighing it against possible consequences. You’re wide open, Massey.”

Winter ended the call, reached behind his seat, and pulled out his hooded foul-weather camouflage jacket.

He set the cell phone Alexa had given him to vibrate and dropped it into his shirt pocket. He put the coat on, took the SIG out of his shoulder holster, and slipped it into the right front pocket of the coat. He opened the door and climbed out, locking the truck and pocketing the keys.

Winter decided that with current events under way, the lawyer might have special security measures in place, so Winter needed to be extremely cautious approaching the property. He had to let his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness so he could see using what little ambient light there was.

He used the stand of bamboo as a shield, waiting several minutes before he crossed the street and dodged behind a big home that backed up to the alley that ran behind the Laughlin house. Winter moved the way he stalked deer-slowly and deliberately, using the shadows and foliage and avoiding open spaces. Unlike deer, humans didn’t have a sense of smell that would allow them to pick him out. The falling rain covered the sound of his footsteps. He reached the back of Laughlin’s property, which was protected by a brick wall. Going over meant exposing himself and dropping into an area he didn’t know anything about.

His eyes lit on a section of ladder leaning against an oak tree in the backyard of the home closest to Laughlin’s. It was a godsend. He could climb up high enough into the tree to reconnoiter Laughlin’s property from a safe place.

Question coincidence, his inner voice reminded him. Anything that seems too good to be true. .

Something about this conveniently abandoned ladder that had looked so perfect now chilled him. Slowly, he backed deeper into the shadows. He put his hands in his pockets, froze completely, and concentrated on the ladder, his mind drawing lines and angles around it.

Long minutes passed while Winter closed his eyes and focused his ears until the normal sounds of the night were filtered out.

Sound betrayed them.

A muffled cough. Probably into a gloved hand.

A sniffle.

A twig snapped as someone shifted his weight.

Winter opened his eyes slowly.

Two or three invisible men trained in techniques of ambush had a kill zone set up around the bait-the ladder. A shadow beside a garden shed shifted and Winter made out the shape of a man giving hand signals.

They were communicating, which might mean nothing, or it might mean they were growing restless. Winter was positive the men hadn’t been there in the neighbor’s yard since dark in case someone decided to drop in on Laughlin. He was certain that they had known he was coming, and had become increasingly uneasy because he hadn’t arrived yet, long after he was supposed to. How many times had he been in a similar position when an informant’s tip about a location or a time had been wrong, and the fugitive recovery team had grown antsy, fearing their target had changed his mind or had made them? And when that happened, the team had communicated.

He wondered if Max Randall was waiting, finger on the trigger of a silenced MP5, its barrel still reeking of cordite from the assault at Click’s house. There wasn’t but a couple of ways they could have learned he was coming here.

The cell phone inside his coat vibrated.

Judas calling.

According to his watch, Winter Massey reached the truck an hour after he’d left it. He got in, cranked it, and drove away. As he was driving down the street away from the area, the cell phone vibrated again. With a fire burning inside him, he answered it.

“Winter?” Alexa said.

“Who else would it be?”

“Did you see him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His mind was stringing together a lie even as he spoke. “You won’t believe it.”

“Won’t believe what?”

“I parked and decided to take a catnap so I’d be sharp. My alarm didn’t go off, or if it did, it didn’t wake me.”

Winter fought hard to keep the anger he felt out of his voice. Alexa knew him pretty well, and she had a sharp ear for deceit. He yawned to flavor the lie.

“What now?” she asked him.

“Why don’t I come by there and we can put all three of our heads together, try and come up with a plan?”

“Clayton’s here. We’ll be expecting you in, what, ten minutes?”

“About that,” Winter said. “I’m going to stop by the store and pick up some things first. Need anything?”

“No.”

Winter ended the call. His mind was swarming. Why hadn’t Alexa parked at the house across from Click’s where Winter had been parked? Why cut through yards on foot when she didn’t have to? How could she have crossed over to Click’s and not seen the assailants’ vehicle waiting on the street? Was it possible that she didn’t want to find the Dockerys? That was insane. Alexa was his friend, his closest friend-well, she had been once. What could change her like this? How could she set him up to be killed?

What could explain her behavior? Could she resent him for something he was unaware of to the point where she wished him harm? And as he went through the possibilities, he saw it. There was only one person on earth he could think of who was important enough to Alexa to explain her betrayal. There was only one person who hated him enough. .

Winter pulled up at a Quick Mart, got out and used the pay phone-the only way he could be sure nobody could eavesdrop on him. He dropped the coins in, dialed Information, asked for a number. He fed the phone and called the number.

“Westin Charlotte,” a voice said.

“Yeah, this is Scott Keen, can you connect me with my wife’s room? Probably under A. Keen.”

“Just a minute,” the clerk said. Winter heard him typing on his keyboard.

“Alexa Keen?”

“Antonia.”

“I’ll connect you.”

“Oh, never mind,” Winter said. “She’s calling me on my other phone.” He hung up.

Precious. Antonia Keen. How had he forgotten that she began as an MP, had trained in cryptology? He suddenly remembered a conversation with Alexa years earlier: She had mentioned something about someone maybe contacting him to ask about her younger sister because of a security clearance. Nobody had called, probably because Winter hadn’t been enthusiastic about the prospect of giving Antonia a reference. Clayton Able had worked with M.I., too. Winter saw now that he had just been window-dressing. There was another agenda-typical agency-style sleight of hand.

If what Alexa had told him wasn’t true, what was? Was it possible they didn’t want the Dockerys found until the last minute, for added dramatic effect? If that were the case, why would they try to kill him?

He remembered what Clayton had said-that Colonel Bryce couldn’t operate his weapons dealing without the assistance of people in the Pentagon. Clayton had told them that some people in M.I. wanted Bryce convicted and others didn’t. Able had told him the truth, but the man had swapped sides on him. Tell enough truth so that it holds water.

Alexa was working with Antonia, her only blood relative-probably the only person she had truly ever loved. Was it because Antonia was in danger? Alexa might do something this insane to save Antonia, and to do so, she might let Winter suffer the consequences of being in the middle. Maybe they were blackmailing her. Or maybe it was more basic. Maybe it was just about dollars and cents and security.