Iris Johansen - Dead Aim

But why should anyone pity Powers? He'd not taken pity on Ken that night he'd brought down the helicopter. Still, Morgan's hardness had managed to shock her again.

Morgan glanced sideways at her as they neared the motel. "What are you thinking?"

"What do you think happened to Powers's wife? She looked…"

"Like an animal had torn her throat apart," he finished. "I've heard Runne is usually much cleaner. I'd say that something went wrong with his plan and Powers managed to hurt him. He ran out to lick his wounds and she was in his way. He was hurting too much to be neat. He just wanted to get rid of her."

"You seem to understand him."

"Oh, yes." He stopped the car in the parking space in front of the motel and opened the door. "I'm leaving the car running. Don't be neat. Just bundle everything in your duffel. I'll give Galen a quick call, but I want to be out of this motel in five minutes and out of this town in twenty."

She nodded jerkily. "I won't be long." She left her camera in the car and moved toward the door. "What did Powers tell you?" "I'll tell you when we get on the road." He had the door open and was grabbing his duffel and throwing everything into it. "Be sure to take the computer."

"Roadblock."

Morgan turned left at the first corner when he saw the string of cars stretching two blocks ahead. He parked the car in a Target parking lot. "Come on, get out. We're on foot until we're out of town. Grab your camera bag. I'll get your duffel." "Right." She fell into step with him. "I suppose you know how we're going to get out of this town?"

"I called Galen when you were packing. He has a man with a moving truck coming from Fort Wayne. We'll meet him at the rest stop five miles out of town."

"A moving truck?"

"It will be easy to hide among the furniture if we're stopped. The driver will have documents that say his load is being delivered to Charleston, West Virginia, from a house in Fort Wayne. Most cops don't want to climb around in the back if the paperwork looks okay. It's too much work." He turned right, his pace quickening. "We should be out of the city in about five blocks, and then we cut into the woods."

"I can hardly wait." "It will be safer."

"I'm not arguing. I'm only asking one thing."

"What's that?"

"If I'm going to be doing all this walking, can I take this damn pebble out of my shoe?"

The name of the driver of the moving van was Chuck Fondren, and he was distinctly nervous. "Get in." He jerked open the back of the truck. "I was stopped once already on the way here, but that doesn't mean I'm out of hot water. Climb over that mattress and hunker down behind that couch."

The door slammed behind them as soon as Morgan and

Alex climbed into the van. Darkness.

Morgan tossed the duffels across the van, behind the couch. "Come on. Let's 'hunker down.'" He climbed over the mattress to the couch and then reached out a hand to help her over the back of the couch. He followed and settled down beside her.

She felt the throbbing vibration as the truck pulled out of the rest stop, and she leaned back against the wall. She should have felt safer than she had when they were running through the woods, but she didn't. The darkness was claustrophobic and she felt… helpless.

"Like being sealed up in a metal box," Morgan said quietly. "But a box isn't a coffin. There's always something you can do."

She should have known he'd realize what she was feeling.

He seemed to have the knack. "Like what?" He chuckled. "Damn if I know. I just thought I'd make you feel better. I should have known you'd call me on it." She smiled. She did feel better. His honesty made her feel a sense of companionship and she was no longer alone. "Are you saying you'd be stumped if we had to get out of here?"

"No. I'm saying I'd have to stretch my capabilities and borrow some of yours." He leaned back beside her. "So let's hope nothing happens and try to get our minds off it. Want to have sex?"

She went rigid.

"No, I didn't think so."

"And you thought it safe to offer since you knew this wasn't the time or place I'd take you up on it."

"Oh, I don't know. And neither do you." He reached over to her duffel, pulled out the laptop, and gave it to her. "I'm going to go over my conversation with Powers before he died. I've been trained to remember details, but I want them down in black and white." He flipped open the laptop, and a gray glow lit the darkness. "You type them as I give them to you, word for word. Here we go."

He closed his eyes and said, "The first thing he said to me was 'Save me… Don't let me die.' " For the next five minutes Alex typed quickly, occasionally asking a question, but Morgan's memory was amazing. He remembered everything, including pauses and breaks in the flow of conversation.

When he stopped, she looked up at him. "Is that all?"

He made a face. "Not much, is it?"

"More than we had." She saved the document. "So that's why we're going to West Virginia. You think something's going to happen there."

"I don't know. Powers seemed to think that whatever was going to happen wasn't nearly as important as Z-3. He said it was bunk. But Powers doesn't give a shit. Arapahoe Junction was only a mistake to him."

"So West Virginia could be another Arapahoe Junction." "And if Arapahoe Junction was only a minor mistake, it makes you wonder what Z-3 is going to be…" He closed his eyes. "It's a long way to West Virginia. Think about it. Vents. Lontana. Z-2…"

There was no question she'd think about it. Her head was awhirl with information and the ugliness of Powers even at his death. She closed the computer, and the dim glow of the screen disappeared.

Suffocating darkness.

Morgan's arm suddenly went around her, and he pulled her close so that her head rested on his shoulder. "Shh, you're not alone. I'm here. I'm not going away."

Comforting words, but not true. It didn't matter. In the darkness she could pretend they were true. In the darkness she could take comfort and healing.

After all, in this day and age nothing was permanent. Fire came from the sky and quakes ripped the ground from beneath your feet.

And always was only a word.

"We've closed all the roads," Jurgens said. "And we've run fingerprints in the Powers house. Morgan was there and I'm betting so was Graham. We found a knife under Powers's wife's body. But it's not Morgan's prints that are on the knife." "Runne."

"Yes. Morgan must have come before or after."

"If he'd come before, those would have been his prints on the knife: He wouldn't have let Powers live. The question is, how much later? Could Powers have been alive to talk?" "It's doubtful. The wound was-"

"I need more than doubtful. I need to know."

"Then you'd better ask Runne, don't you think?"

Hell, yes, if he could get in touch with the bastard. As usual, Runne hadn't answered his phone. "As soon as I make contact with him."

There was a pause. "There was blood on the front porch.

Neither Powers nor his wife could have been out there." "You think Runne was wounded?"

"The police say a local intern, Richard Dawson, has been reported missing from a hospital a few miles from the Powers house. His car is in the parking lot, but he never showed up for his shift." Another pause. "So maybe Runne isn't as good as you thought he was."

"And maybe he is." Betworth wasn't going to admit his own doubts to Jurgens. "He didn't get Morgan, but he managed to rid us of Powers. And you haven't gotten Morgan yet either."

"If you'd let us spring the trap, there wouldn't have been this problem."

"I needed Runne to spring it. I needed him to owe me." "You believed he'd keep his word?"

"The psychological profile I have on him indicates that he'd rather be burned alive than break his word. It's part of the brainwashing he underwent in the camps. And it's a job he's been trained to do every minute since he was fourteen."