Sandra Brown - Smoke Screen

She spoke the words in a whisper, as though she barely believed the news. Then she met Britt’s gaze. “You understand. Surely as a career woman, you understand, Britt. It’s a man’s world. I did what I had to do.”

Britt jerked her head, and Smith’s hand moved away from her mouth. Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, “You won’t get away with this. You’re bound to know that. Eventually-”

“Excuse me, Britt. I’d love to hear what you think will happen-eventually-but the president is due to call with his congratulations in five minutes, and the media are gathering in my office to cover the event.” She smiled sympathetically. “This would be a big story for you. I’m sorry you won’t be there among your colleagues. I mean that sincerely, because basically I liked you and admired your work ethic. If only you’d told Jay you had other plans that night.”

It didn’t escape Britt that she was referring to her in the past tense. Her heart began to hammer with fright.

But the judge was the epitome of composure as she moved toward the door, saying to Smith as she went past, “Do it quietly. We’ll take care of the body tonight.”

She opened the door to leave, but her exit was blocked by two men.

As they barged in, Britt couldn’t have mistaken them, although they were wearing black bulletproof vests over their golf shirts, shouting for everyone to drop to the floor, sweeping the room with drawn pistols, and identifying themselves as federal officers. Rushing in behind them were several SWAT officers of the PD, in full assault gear.

Bringing up the rear was Raley, also wearing a bulletproof vest.

Smith let go of Britt. She dropped to the floor as instructed by the men waving assault rifles. Smith didn’t drop, or freeze, but instead went for the gun at the small of his back. One of the SWAT officers rushed him and knocked him to the ground, then flipped him face-down and yanked his weapon from the holster. Another of the men in black knelt beside Smith and, planting a knee between his shoulder blades, put restraints on his hands.

Raley ran straight to Britt. She felt his strong hands on her arms, pulling her up. “Are you all right?”

Dazed, she nodded, then stammered, “Y-yes.”

Candy Mellors was screaming invectives at the FBI agent who had her face against the wall and was patting her down. “Are you crazy? The president is about to call me. The Senate-”

The man Raley had nicknamed Butch turned her around to face him. “The president isn’t going to be calling with congratulations, Judge. He got a call from my boss a couple of hours ago. The director advised him to withdraw your nomination, telling him that a full explanation about your alleged criminal activity would be forthcoming. The president took his advice.”

Her eyes were wide, wild, as she gaped first at him, then at Raley and Britt, then back at the agent. “But they approved my appointment. My assistant called just now and said-”

“That call was a ruse, to cover our approach,” the agent told her. “There was no vote today. There won’t be a vote. Ever.” He began reading her her rights.

Raley was still supporting Britt, caressing her upper arms as he held her close. “Is he the one who messed with you?” he asked in a quiet voice. She followed his hard gaze to the man she knew as Mr. Smith.

“Yes.”

Gently, Raley moved her aside and strode purposefully toward the man. “Raley?” she said apprehensively.

Sandwiched between two SWAT officers, Smith must have felt safe from retribution. He saw Raley coming, but all he did was give him an insinuating smirk.

He was totally unprepared for Raley to swing his foot up and kick him between the legs, a kick hard enough to raise him off the floor a couple inches. There was a second or two delay before the agony slammed into his system. Then his whole body shook, he screamed like a girl, dropped to his knees, and toppled face-first onto the floor.

“That’s enough, Gannon!” Sundance barked. “Back down.”

But Britt didn’t think Raley heard him. Or if he did, he didn’t heed him, because instead of backing down, he lunged after Candy, who had used the distraction to break free from the agent. She threw herself against the window Britt herself had considered using as her escape and plunged through the shattering glass.

Raley went through it a nanosecond behind her.

Britt stared in horror at the empty window.

RALEY LEAPED FROM THE WINDOW AND LANDED ON THE surface ten feet below.

He knew this old building because he and fellow firefighters had run practice drills in it. In this block of Broad Street, one of the oldest in the city, the buildings were jammed together, the backs of them converging to form a labyrinth of brick walls and a patchwork quilt of rooftops. He knew that a mere four inches separated this building from the one abutting it, and that a jump from the six-story window would put him on its rooftop.

The roofing material was old and spongy and made for an easy landing, but it didn’t provide good footing as he scrambled to stand up. Candy was already teetering at the edge of the roof when he shouted her name.

“Stop. Let’s talk about it.”

She turned toward him, putting her back to a drop he knew was straight down, fifty feet, give or take. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Only everything.”

The FBI agent had extended her the courtesy of cuffing her hands in front rather than behind her back. Raley saw that they were bleeding, lacerated by window glass. Pieces of glass were caught in her hair. Landing on the rooftop had shredded her stockings and left her with scraped knees. If she was even aware of these injuries, she gave no sign of it.

“There’s nothing more to talk about, Raley. You know everything. What you don’t know, your girlfriend does.” She hesitated, then said, “I’m sorta glad, you know. About you. Her. You deserve a break, after what we did to you.”

“Why’d you do it, Candy? How could you?”

“Because, dammit, Raley, you just wouldn’t stop with the questions about that goddamn fire. And the skinhead. Short of killing you, too, we had to do something. You wouldn’t give up.”

“You didn’t give up, either,” he said quietly. “You had all of them killed. Pat Senior. Jay. Your friend Jay.”

She smiled wryly. “Once I was in, I had to protect myself, my career.”

“You can give up now.” Not wanting to spook her into jumping, he moved closer an inch at a time, none of his gestures or movements threatening.

Her gaze jumped to something behind him. He took a glance over his shoulder. Two SWAT officers had rappelled out the window and down the side of the building and were crouched against the exterior wall, their rifles aimed at Candy.

“Stay back!” Raley shouted. Neither moved, but they didn’t lower their rifles. “Let me talk to her,” he pleaded in a softer voice. Turning back to Candy, he said, “Don’t give these guys the satisfaction. Surrender now. It’s over.”

“They don’t think so,” she said, looking down over her shoulder.

He couldn’t see over the edge of the roof to what was going on below, but he could imagine. He could hear police shouting for curious onlookers to move back. Sirens announced the arrival of emergency vehicles. Reporters and cameramen would have been jostling for advantageous spots from which to do their stand-ups.

Confirming what he guessed, Candy said, “This wasn’t exactly the news story I had planned for today.”

He heard the shift of boots behind him and knew that the SWAT officers had moved stealthily closer, but they weren’t charging forward. They were giving him a little more time to talk her out of jumping. But how much more time before they rushed her? How much more time before she decided to end their conversation on her terms?