Sherrilyn Kenyon - Whispered Lies

Who had beaten him here?

He paused at a curve in the driveway where an open area-the front yard-appeared in the next twenty feet.

He turned to Lee. The young guy’s sharp hazel eyes burned with determination. Not quite eye level with Carlos or as heavy-built, Lee stood just over six feet tall, trim, muscular body dressed for the task in camo pants and long-sleeved, dark green shirt.

In spite of all that, this kid was too clean-cut for Carlos’s taste. What were Joe and his codirector, Tee, thinking these days?

Joe had given Lee strict marching orders about following anything Carlos said, without question. To that, Carlos had added one simple order-if things went bad, he wanted Lee to back off and contact Joe.

Do not, under any circumstances, play hero.

Voices approached from the open area just beyond them, too soft for Carlos to make out what the two people said.

He signaled with his hand for Lee to stop and back him up, but stay out of sight. Lee palmed his weapon and nodded. Carlos pulled his own 9 mm from the small of his back, and silently edged forward toward the pair talking.

“I D-DON’T KNOW what you’re talking about.” Gabrielle tried to chuckle, but the sound skidded close to hysterical.

Special Agent Morton wasn’t smiling. “You’re the one who sends information on Durand signed ‘Mirage.’ We’d like to talk to you.”

“I really don’t-”

“Miss Parker. Right now you’re considered an ally of the United States, but if you refuse to help, your status might change to being considered an accomplice to the Anguis crimes. We’ve obviously tracked you as the Mirage to this point electronically.” He stopped speaking, wisely allowing time for that little warning to settle in.

Accomplice? She swallowed, panic quivering just under the surface of her practiced calm. At least he was with U.S. authorities, not Durand, but leaving here with him would not end well. “C’est des conneries!”

“What’d you say?” His thick eyebrows bunched in confusion.

She clutched the shoulder strap of her bag in a tight fist. “This is bullshit. I have done nothing wrong.” After years of shielding her identity from the Anguis, she’d lose her anonymity the minute the DEA processed her. Roberto’s attempts on her life would pale compared to what she believed Durand would do. “Can we just talk here?”

He shook his head.

“Do I need an attorney present?” Not that she had one, but she could buy time hunting one.

“No. We want to keep this as quiet as you do and protect your anonymity.”

Who could argue with that?

She looked past him. “Where’s your car?”

“At the entrance to your driveway. Saw the warning. Figured I might risk a flat tire by coming down the drive.”

“Is the house really surrounded by agents or police?”

“No, but I do have backup.” The gruesome smile appeared again. Why did he even try?

She reached around and pulled the door closed. “I don’t know what you are talking about, but I’ll cooperate. I’ll follow in my car.”

Special Agent Morton shook his head again. “We ride in mine. I’ll have you driven home.” He moved an arm to point toward the driveway as if the way to the car wasn’t obvious. When he did, his jacket shifted open, exposing a shoulder holster with a gun.

If she made too big of a fuss, he could just arrest her.

She fumbled with the key, finally locking the dead bolt after two tries. As they said here in the States, just go with the flow for now.

He waited as she walked down the steps ahead of him. Each pace away from the house hurt. This had been the best place she’d lived. She couldn’t come back here. Harry’s rental house was one of the original homesteads in this planned community, with a paved drive a quarter mile long and hidden by trees on both sides. She trudged through a fresh layer of leaves covering the front yard she’d raked just yesterday.

Striding alongside her, the DEA agent flipped his phone open, punched a key, and waited.

“Why do you think I’m some Mirage person?” she asked. Where had she screwed up, and who else might have caught her mistake? When he didn’t respond, she looked over her shoulder. He’d slowed, but extended those long legs twice, then stopped next to her so she stayed put.

He punched buttons on his phone again, and since he used it like a two-way radio, she could hear the ringing at the other end. No answer.

The flash of suspicion he turned on her now twisted his ugly features to truly evil.

Chill bumps spiked along her skin.

CARLOS WAITED SILENTLY as the two men walked side by side toward the driveway. The tall one could have played Lurch on The Addams Family. The smaller guy was maybe a couple inches over five feet tall. He wore a khaki trench coat and carried a laptop shoulder case plus a backpack.

And little guy’s voice had been high when he said, “Why do you think I’m this Mirage person?”

Damn. Could he be the informant everyone in the intelligence world was searching for?

Carlos slowed his breathing, completely silent so he could hear the conversation. Lee had become perfectly still.

The mismatched pair paused ten feet from where Carlos stood without moving a muscle. Lurch had punched his cell phone and waited. When no one answered, something registered behind that flat forehead that flipped his pissed-off switch.

Two things hit Carlos at the moment Lurch snarled, “Who did you alert that I was here?” at the little guy.

Lurch was Baby Face Jones, a master electronics felon who contracted out for special side jobs, such as kidnapping and torture, when the coffers ran low.

And the little guy-the possible informant-was a woman.

Her face turned a pasty white. She mumbled, “No one.”

She sure wasn’t what Carlos had imagined.

Baby Face grabbed her by the arm. “Come on.” He lifted his phone with the other hand to key it with his thumb.

Now for the train-wreck part of this operation since Carlos couldn’t risk that Baby Face would bring in more men.

“Stop right there.” Carlos stepped from the brush, his weapon pointed at the pair.

Baby Face’s head whipped to Carlos. He released the woman and his phone in one movement and drew a weapon, finger on trigger. Firing.

Carlos shot first, catching Baby Face in the shoulder, the only option he had to knock the incoming bullet wide and not kill Baby Face or hit the woman. But the bullet passed close enough for Carlos to feel heat brush his ear.

The woman screamed, eyes startled in horror at Baby Face, who hit the ground, howling.

Lee jumped into view.

Carlos spun to Lee. “I hit his shoulder. Stop the bleeding and-”

“She’s running!”

Carlos whipped back around to see her legs chewing up ground toward the far end of the one-level brick house. “Son of a bitch.” He ran after her.

She was quicker than he’d have guessed. She raced around the corner, disappearing.

When he made it to the backyard, she’d already reached a long dock and flew down the wooden walkway, skidding to a stop before the bench at the end. She tossed her computer bag and backpack into a small runabout and jumped in. He could see her now, but in another fifteen minutes the twilight would fade into night.

Without slowing a step, Carlos shoved his weapon inside the waistband at the small of his back, freeing his hands since she hadn’t appeared to be armed. He reached the spot where the boat had been tied just as the outboard she was yanking on caught with a low growl. She shoved off and stood, heading for the steering wheel while the boat floated in neutral.

When his foot hit the last section of dock closest to her, he used that step as a springboard, going airborne. He cleared the six feet of space to the boat, catching a handful of her on the fly, knocking her overboard with him.