William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

Her eyes burned straight into his, but she made no sound.

“Look,” he added, “I brought plenty of duct tape. I could wrap you up and leave you gagged all night, but I’d prefer not to. Will you promise not to scream?”

She continued glaring for a long time, then twisted her left wrist free, raised a finger, and tapped her wristwatch. One minute.

“Fine,” Travis said. “That’s all I need.” He removed the dishrag.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Cavanaugh shouted. “Let me tell you, mister, I’m a charter member of Women Take Back the Night, I’ve had serious martial-arts training—”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re damn right about that. My boyfriend should be back any minute. And I’ve got a Doberman in the other room.”

“Oh? He’s awfully well behaved.”

“He’s trained to keep his distance. But the second you try to get rough with me, pow ! He’ll be all over you like a bad dream.”

“Uh-huh. Look, Cavanaugh, I need someplace to spend the night.”

“You’ve come to the wrong place, you pervert.”

“I just want to hide out. With someone I can trust.”

“Then why the hell are you here? We barely know each other.”

“That’s more or less the point. Everyone I know well is being watched. Every place I would normally go is being watched. Or bugged. Or both.”

“Oh, please.”

“It’s true. Didn’t you wonder why I didn’t show up for trial today?”

“I assumed you were on the lam with your deviant client. That’s what the papers said.”

“Well, the papers were wrong. Why would I help Moroconi? You know what he is.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from representing him.”

“A judicial appointment. You were there at the time—you know I didn’t want the case.”

“I recall you didn’t object too strenuously.”

“It doesn’t make any sense for me to go on the lam with Moroconi.”

“It makes sense if you helped him escape. Which is what I heard.”

“Who’s starting these rumors? I didn’t even know about the breakout until it was already a fait accompli.”

“I heard he had inside assistance—”

“Does that mean I was the accomplice?”

“Coupled with your disappearance immediately thereafter …”

Travis clenched his jaw. “Look, all I need is a place to stay the night. I can’t go anywhere and I can’t sleep in my car—that’s what everyone will be looking for.”

“Who is this everyone !”

Travis hesitated. “I’m not entirely sure. Maybe the mob, maybe the police. Maybe both. And the FBI.”

“ And the FBI? Wait, don’t leave out the CIA. And the military-industrial complex. What about Elvis? Or Lee Harvey Oswald? Maybe he was in on this, too.”

“You don’t have to believe me. Just give me a place to crash.”

“Open my door to a raving maniac who’s in contempt of court and wanted by the police, federal marshals, and possibly a federal agency or two. Yeah, what could be simpler?”

“C’mon. For old times’ sake.”

“What old times? You mean our face-offs in countless trials during the past year? In most of which, I might add, you’ve trounced me. Let me tell you, Byrne, those old times haven’t exactly endeared you to me.”

“Just for the night.”

“No way. I’m an officer of the court. A federal prosecutor, no less. I can’t harbor fugitives.”

“I’m desperate here.” He glanced at the roll of tape inside his jacket. “Don’t make me—”

“Don’t even think about it.” She struggled to pull away from him. “And don’t try any more rough stuff. I wasn’t kidding about my martial-arts training.”

“Cavanaugh, I’m at the end of my rope—”

“I’ll scream. Man, you can’t believe how I’ll scream. What you heard before was just a warm-up.”

“I can’t let you do that.” He reached into his coat pocket, pointed a finger, and pushed it forward. “If you scream, I’ll shoot.”

“Give me a break. I used to be a skip tracer, remember? I handled guys tougher than you on a regular basis. And I know the difference between a finger and a gun.”

“Are you positive?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” And to prove it, she screamed. True to her word, this scream was twice as loud as the previous one.

Travis clamped his hand over her mouth. Cavanaugh bit down on his palm.

“ Owww! ”

Cavanaugh ducked under his arm and ran out of the kitchen. Travis whirled around and raced after her, catching her about halfway across the living room. He tackled her around the legs and brought her crashing down to the floor, knocking over an end table and a lamp in the process.

“Goddamn you, Byrne, I’m calling the police—”

Travis shoved the dishrag back in her mouth. He pulled himself directly on top of her and pinned her shoulders to the carpet. Cavanaugh thrashed her head and twisted back and forth, but he maintained his grip.

With one terrific burst of energy, she bent forward at the waist and butted her head against his. Travis pulled back but not in time to avoid the blow. He clutched the carpet and tried to maintain his bearings. Next thing he knew, she was pulling her legs out from under him. He stiffened his muscles, but not in time to prevent her knee from connecting with his groin. He shouted and his eyes watered, but did not loosen his grip. He grabbed her arms and stretched them out flat on the carpet.

“Goddamn you, Cavanaugh.” He felt her chest heaving, her breasts pressing against him. He was suddenly keenly aware of her musky perfume. “If you keep this up, you’re going to spend the night taped to the radiator.”

She continued to struggle, if anything even more strenuously than before.

“Fine, you stubborn—” Pressing her arms down with his knees, he grabbed the duct tape and began wrapping it around her hands.

34

9:00 P.M.

THE DARK-HAIRED MAN carefully slid the nightscope onto his gun. It was more complicated than it looked; a number of minute notches had to be correctly aligned. It was designed to be difficult. With equipment on this level of sophistication, amateurs were not welcome.

He checked his night goggles—perfect operating condition. He strapped them onto his belt. Ditto for the Fujinon binoculars—lightweight, waterproof, and almost infinitely powerful. He strapped on a tiny Tessina minichip camera, just in case he wanted to memorialize a license-plate number.

He searched through his closet. What else? Better safe than sorry. He added a small but powerful Xenon flashlight. An electronic stethoscope. Tiny microportable transceivers.

It had been years since he last used equipment like this. He had almost forgotten the pleasure of being able to see in the dark, being able to hear what others could not, being able to sneak up on someone unawares. He checked all the devices and made sure he remembered how each worked. He supposed it was like riding a bicycle—you never forgot.

He tugged a Kevlar vest tightly around his chest, aligned his shoulder holster, put his shirt back on, then strapped the loaded Sam Browne belt around his waist. He checked the equipment still snapped in their compartments from the last time he had worn the belt—spare handgun, Puukko knife, Bianchi handcuffs, tear gas, Mace, brass knuckles, ammunition. A travel kit for commandos. And the whole thing, fully equipped, weighed less than ten pounds. It wouldn’t slow him down a beat.

Finally he examined the new SSI tracer bug; once it was activated, he could follow someone from as much as twenty miles away. It had cost him a pretty penny; in fact, it had cost him almost everything he had. But if he tracked down his quarry, it would be worth it. He had to assume he would need everything; after all, this time he was on his own.