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Damon sat at the table in the back corner of the hotel bar and stared at the handwritten note in his hands. After a long silence, he slowly lifted his eyes to the young local man sitting across from him. The man shivered at the look of icy fury in his eyes.
“This comes from your brother?” Hawk asked softly in Spanish.
The man nodded nervously.
“He sent me to you as soon as he heard you were here,” he answered.
Hawk stared at him for a moment with those glacial eyes before folding up the note and slipping it into his pocket. He lifted the pint of beer in front of him and sipped it, watching the man across from him fidget.
“Your brother is a good friend, Marcus,” he finally said, setting his glass down.
The young man visibly relaxed and managed a smile, revealing a missing tooth.
“He says the same of you,” Marcus replied.
Hawk nodded and reached out to pull a small notepad toward him. He ripped the top page off the pad and placed it on the table before scrawling a quick note on the paper.
“Take this back to your brother, with my thanks,” he said, folding it and handing it to Marcus. “Tell him I won't stay in the city. I'll be gone by morning.”
“Si, Señor.”
The young man stood up and turned to leave the bar without a backward glance. Damon watched him go, his eyes narrowed. Santiago was his closest contact in Lima, and his younger brother was as loyal as they came. When Marcus came to the hotel looking for him, Damon knew that something was wrong. Santiago never sent Marcus unless the situation was serious. Hawk sat back and sipped his beer again. The anger that had been simmering since yesterday, waiting to boil over, was now even closer to the surface.
They wanted him dead.
That was the message tucked into his pocket from Santiago. There was a price on his head high enough to attract most of the mercenaries and assassins worldwide. They were coming after him now.
Damon stared across the dimly lit restaurant, his eyes on the door. The bounty had been issued two nights ago, but the word had gone out this morning that he was in Lima. Santiago wrote that two mercenaries from Brazil were already in the city looking for him. He could delay them by sending them into the country, but there would be more.
Damon sipped his beer, his eyes remaining fixed absently on the door to the bar. He would leave the city today and go into the mountains until he decided on the best course of action. He wasn't staying in Peru. Viper may have got him here, but she couldn't make him stay.
Viper.
Hawk frowned ferociously. Obviously her contact in Egypt had alerted her to the bounty on his head when she spoke with her that last night. Harry told him that he and Viper were trying to protect him, and now Hawk knew just what they were trying to protect him from. When Regina couldn't get to Viper through Stephanie, she had come after him.
Damon set his beer down and crossed his arms over his chest, sitting back in his chair and glaring at the door. He set aside his anger with Viper for the moment and focused it on Regina Cummings instead. She was ruthless in her pursuit of Viper and, while he understood that Viper had witnessed a very inconvenient meeting between the Vice President of the United States and a terrorist leader, Regina's viciousness indicated that there was something more. For the life of him, Damon couldn't think what it could possibly be. The broken leg wouldn't warrant such spite...would it?
Hawk was still pondering the question when a large shadow filled the door of the bar. He noted the height and military bearing even as he raised his eyes to the newcomers face. His blue eyes met hazel-green ones across the near empty bar, and Damon recognized the Secret Service agent instantly. The two men stared at each other for a moment, weighing each other silently, one suddenly amused and the other cautiously curious.
Michael studied what he could see of the man seated in the shadows at the back of the bar. He had his back to the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and he was staring right back at Michael intently. He looked perfectly at ease in the wooden bar chair, his legs stretched out comfortably beneath the dark, scarred table. In fact, Michael got the absurd impression that he was suddenly amused.
He turned to the bar with a frown and ordered a beer in Spanish, aware that the man in the corner never took his eyes off him. Once he was handed his beer, he turned toward the table in the back corner, noting the big shoulders and thick biceps as he moved closer. He sighed inwardly. If it came down to a fight, Damon Peterson would clearly be able to hold his own. Michael suddenly hoped his diplomacy wasn't as tired as his body was right now. The last thing he wanted was a fight with this brute on less than three hours of sleep in the past thirty-one hours.
“Mind if I join you?” Michael asked in English, stopping at the other side of the table.
“Not at all,” Damon replied.
Michael pulled out the chair and set his pint down on the table. Hawk watched him, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light. Viper's gunny was larger and more solid up close and in person. He moved with precision that told Hawk he would make a worthy opponent in a fight, and he suddenly hoped the gunny would pick one. He needed a good fight to blow out some of this anger and frustration.
“You're a hard man to find,” Michael told him, seating himself.
Hawk silent as Michael studied him, sitting back in his chair. The man before him exuded powerful confidence. This was a man who was capable of handling himself in any situation, and right now he was perfectly comfortable facing a federal agent across the table in a little hotel bar in Peru. Michael smiled.
“Is your name really Peterson?” he asked softly.
“No.”
“I didn't think so,” Michael murmured, sipping his beer. He grimaced slightly and set it down.
“Who do you think I am?” Hawk asked, his voice soft and dangerous.
“Does it matter?” Michael asked.
Damon studied the agent before him and saw the look of sharp intelligence in his eyes. He knows exactly who I am, Hawk thought in surprise. He's already put it all together.
“How did you find out?” he asked, dropping any pretense and uncrossing his arms.
Michael watched as Damon sipped his beer, his demeanor calm and disinterested. Yet, Michael had the impression that he was being tested.
“Do you want the long version or the short version?” he asked dryly.
Damon raised an eyebrow slightly and his lips twitched.
“Short,” he answered. “Long versions bore me.”
“A Navy SEAL was shot to death on my front porch and something had to link him to Viper,” Michael told him, sipping his beer again. “I was halfway here before the light bulb went on. The connection wasn't a something, it was a someone. Someone whose name only showed up once in connection with Jason's unit.”
“I'll have to look into that,” Hawk murmured. “It shouldn't have shown up at all.”
“Don't worry.” Michael smiled slightly. “It won't show up again.” Hawk glanced at him sharply and Michael shrugged. “It was the least I could do for you.”
“Why are you here?” Damon asked after a moment of silence. “Did she send you away too?”
“Is that why you're here?” Michael asked in surprise. Hawk stared at him silently and he sighed. “No. She didn't send me. She's disappeared again. I was sent to bring you to Washington for questioning.”
Hawk sat back, his face impassive.
“How did you find out where I was?” he asked softly.
“My boss's boss sent me,” Michael answered, watching as Damon's eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together into a hard line.
“So, that's her game,” Hawk murmured grimly, the anger surging toward the surface again. Send the Secret Service after him as well and, if the mercenaries didn't get him, she would.
“Who's game?” Michael repeated.
Hawk looked at him and Michael was confronted with icy fury in the cold blue eyes.
“Regina Cummings,” Damon replied coldly.
Michael's eyebrows soared into his forehead.
“Regina?” he repeated in surprise. Damon noted the genuine surprise in Michael's eyes before it was almost instantly replaced with understanding. “Of course!” Michael exclaimed. “That explains almost everything!”
“Well, you've clearly figured most of this mess out,” Damon observed in grudging respect.
“I knew someone close to the White House was responsible for everything,” Michael said quietly, leaning forward. “Regina is the VP's right hand. What does Viper have on her?”
“Not her,” Hawk told him softly. “Her boss.”
He watched as Michael sat back, stunned. Hawk finished his beer and set the empty glass on the scarred table, waiting for Michael to work through what he had just heard. Michael lifted his beer and drained it two swallows.
“This is not good,” he muttered, running his hand over his short hair. “Do you realize what you're saying?” Michael leaned forward and lowered his voice even lower. “You're saying the Vice President of the United States committed treason, not only aiding and abetting a terrorist on US soil, but actually bringing him here!” he hissed.
Damon returned Michael's stare impassively, his arms crossed again, for all the world looking like he was bored out of his mind. Michael sat back in his chair, hitting the chair back with a thud, and stared at him while his mind raced. He had realized it had to be someone pretty far up in the pecking order in Washington, but Michael had never once considered the possibility that the guilty party was the Vice President himself.
“Well, no wonder they want Viper silenced at all costs,” Michael finally said, breaking the silence.
“Nothing is ever easy with Viper,” Damon murmured, his lips twitching.
“Does she have proof?” Michael asked sharply.
Hawk met his gaze squarely, all traces of humor gone.
“We have proof,” he replied. Michael nodded shortly.
“I'll need to see it,” he said.
“Oh, you will,” Hawk promised, his voice still soft and laced with danger. “Don't worry.”
“You don't understand.” Michael leaned forward. “If you have proof, I need to see it now. My orders are to take you in for questioning. If what you say is true, then you're in just as much danger as she is and I need to protect you.”
“Do you really think I need your protection?” Hawk demanded, his eyes lighting up with laughter. Michael grinned in spite of himself.
“Ok. Poor choice of words,” he admitted. “Let me put it this way, I can't help you, or Viper, if I don't know the full facts.”
“You already know the important facts,” Damon pointed out, “but, in the interest of clarity, I'll fill in the holes.” Damon uncrossed his arms and leaned on the table, waiting for Michael to lean forward to listen. “Two years ago, Viper was assigned to eliminate Johann Topamari. She followed him to Cairo, where she saw him walk out of a private meeting with Senator Ludmere. Ludmere saw her. She disappeared after that, went on hiatus, and wasn't heard from again until three months ago, when Johann appeared on US soil.”
“She actually witnessed him walk out of a private room with Johann?” Michael asked. Damon nodded.
“But don't take her word for it,” he said. “I went to Cairo myself three months ago and got sworn affidavits from both the hotel manager and one of the hotel workers who were there that morning. They observed both men going into the meeting together.”
“What about what happened on Three Mile Island?” Michael demanded. “Do we have proof that Ludmere brought Johann into the country three months ago?”
“Viper was working on it,” Damon sat back. “What she got, I don't know. She was onto something the last time I saw her. She didn't tell me, but she'd found something.”
“How do you know?” Michael asked.
Damon's eyes met his and he smiled.
“She made steak.”
Regina glanced at her phone, vibrating across her coffee table. She paused the press conference she was watching and picked up the phone.
“Tell me good news,” she said, sitting back on her couch.
“Someone's in the apartment in Baltimore,” the voice on the other end told her. Regina's lips curved into a smile.
“That is good news,” she purred. “Tell me.”
“I haven't seen them yet, but someone's definitely there. Food gets delivered through a local grocery store and there's electric and cable running to the apartment.”
“Have the neighbors seen anyone?”
Regina got up and started walking around her couch slowly.
“No.”
“Well, I suppose that doesn't mean anything,” she said thoughtfully. “She was trained to be a ghost. No one ever sees her. Can you get in?”
“I think so.”
“Then do it.” Regina stopped at the back of the couch, a long red nail tracing circles on the microfiber. “And kill her.”
She hung up and stared across the room at the huge arrangement of blood red roses on her sideboard. It had to be Viper. No one else would be in her safe house. The house outside Raleigh was empty. The apartment in Baltimore was the only other logical place, and someone was living there.
Regina smiled, her lips curling cruelly. She finally found the bitch. All their worries were about to end.
The doorbell rang and Regina swiveled around to go down the stairs to the marble-floored foyer at the bottom. She peeked through the peep-hole before throwing back the deadbolt and unlocking the door.
“Art!” Regina exclaimed, opening the door wide. “What a surprise! Thank you for the lovely roses. They're exquisite.”
“I'm glad you like them.” Art stepped into the foyer and Regina closed the door. “Are you busy?” he asked, peering up the stairs.
“Just watching this morning's press conference,” she told him. “Come up.”
“I won't stay long,” Art said, following her up the stairs to the living room. “I have to make a three o'clock meeting, but I came to give you an update. We're getting closer.”
“Really?” Regina dropped gracefully onto the couch and patted the seat next to her with her long nails. “Do tell!”
“I sent O'Reilly to Peru to bring back Damon Peterson.” Art sat down and Regina turned to face him, bringing one knee up on the couch and laying her arm along the back.
“Oh good!” she exclaimed. “Did he find him?”
“He landed and called Chris about an hour and a half ago,” Art told her. “He was going to check into the hotel you gave me, the one you said Damon had gone to.”
“Have you heard from him since?” Regina asked, her nails tracing circles on the back of the couch again.
“No.” Art shrugged. “But if Damon's there, O'Reilly will bring him back. The man's a boy scout. He doesn't know how to disobey orders. It's not in his DNA.”
“Hmm.” Regina looked at him, her dark eyes narrowing. “I always rather liked boy scouts,” she murmured. “They follow instructions so well.”
“Yes,” Art agreed, his eyes glinting. “We should have the missing Peterson by tomorrow. How did you find out he was in Peru?”
“Luck.” Regina waved her hand vaguely. “Someone from DHS took off unexpectedly to Peru the other night. Upon investigation, it turned out that he checked into the hotel with someone matching Peterson's description.”
“Your information never ceases to amaze me,” Art told her with a smile. “You missed your calling when you went into politics.”
Regina chuckled and leaned forward to kiss him.
“You always know what to say,” she murmured. “You should have gone into politics.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. A long while later, Art pulled away firmly.
“I told you, I have to make it to a meeting,” he said breathlessly.
Regina looked up at him limpidly.
“I'm not stopping you,” she said with a wicked grin, her hand sliding off his thigh. Art grinned and glanced at his watch, cursing when he saw the time.
“I have to leave,” he said, getting up and adjusting his shirt and pants hastily.
“Was that all you stopped by to tell me?” Regina asked, standing up and following him to the stairs. Art turned at the top of the stairs.
“Oh! There was something else I thought you might like to know,” he said. “I heard from the Fed in charge of Billy's investigation and, since he was an employee of your security firm, I thought you'd be interested in what he told me.”
“Yes?” Regina asked, her smile suddenly tense. “Are they any closer to finding out who did such a horrible thing?”
“Possibly.” Art smiled. “The Feds found references on his laptop to an external hard-drive.”
“Oh?” Regina's smile was frozen on her face.
“Yes.” Art didn't notice her sudden stiffness or the arrested look in her eyes. “They think he may have been blackmailing someone. If they can find the hard-drive, they think it will lead them to his killer.”
“It wasn't in the apartment?” Regina choked out, her mind spinning. Art shook his head.
“No,” he answered, leaning forward to kiss her quickly before turning and jogging down the stairs. “They're looking for it now. I'll call you tonight!” Art called from the bottom of the stairs and a minute later, the front door slammed closed behind him.
Regina went blindly down the stairs after him, locking the door absently. There was another hard-drive? And the Feds thought Billy was blackmailing someone? She turned to go back up the stairs, her unease growing with each step she took. The sneaky son of a bitch! He kept a back-up drive with insurance, and there was no doubt who it was insurance against. In death, Billy had released his final act of mischief, directed at the woman who had enabled it all.
This was what she had been afraid of ever since the FBI took all his electronics. When there had been no outcry immediately forthcoming, she began to relax. After all, Billy had just as much to lose as she did in everything they had done. If he kept a record of everything and it had been exposed while he was still alive, he would have gone back to prison for life. Regina had convinced herself that she was safe.
She reached the top of the stairs, her blood running cold and her stomach dropping inside her. Grabbing the corner of the wall at the top of the stairs, she leaned against it for support. Billy had been a mean, conniving and evil man. It made him perfect for her purposes, but now she realized she should have kept a shorter leash on him. Knowing him as well as she did, she knew he would have taken perverse pleasure in documenting everything. There would be pictures, and documents, and videos. There would be audio. Billy had loved audio. He would tape his victims so that he could play back the sound of their screams later. He told her he got off on it. He would have saved everything.
And now it was all missing!
Regina released the wall and reached out blindly to snatch a glass bowl off the sideboard. Hurling it across the room, she screamed in fury, watching it shatter against the far wall.
She was ruined!
Ruined!
Viper leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and absorbed the noise around her. People milled around as the bells and mechanical music of slot machines flowed over them, drawn by the flashing lights and promising clink of coins. Time was suspended here, the lights at a constant brightness and the cascading sound of money never ending. Even in the high-roller rooms, the soft tapping of chips and murmured conversation never ceased, lending credibility to the impression of timelessness. There were no clocks and no windows, no way to gauge the passing of time. The casinos were self-contained worlds, adhering to their own schedule, and shunning the natural order of night and day. Whether it was six in the morning, noon, or midnight, the casino floors were always the same. You went there to have fun, and stayed there when you got lost in the excitement.
Frankie Solitto was at a poker table behind the door a few feet away. Alina stifled a yawn and watched as one of his black-suited henchmen disappeared through the door, carrying a message from her. He wasn't happy to be doing it, but Viper had convinced him with a few softly spoken, well-chosen words. A moment later, the man was back.
“He says he'll meet you at the bar in the lounge,” he told her grudgingly.
He motioned to the martini lounge not far away, nestled in the corner behind the roulette tables. Viper glanced at him and nodded once, turning to make her way to the lounge. When she had gone to Danny's Place for her weekday check-in, she hadn't been there ten minutes before Marty sauntered in, sat down in the booth, and ordered the Guinness burger, with extra Guinness. She had cut her scotch short and headed north, responding to Frankie's message. She debated waiting for him at his house, but followed him to Atlantic City instead. She was short on time. She had to get back to Washington to check on her target. Regina received a visit from Art at her home in Georgetown earlier, and she went straight to her office shortly afterwards. Viper knew the news from Art hadn't been good, and she was uneasy not being on hand to watch her target. Not for the first time today, she wished she had Hawk as a second set of eyes on Regina.
Alina stepped into the martini lounge and looked around. The lights were dim, mood lighting in full effect even though it wasn't even six o'clock yet. A blue LED light snaked its way along the floor in the center of the lounge, outlining a huge martini glass on the dark carpet. Two bars ran the length of the room on both sides and a stage stretched across the back wall. Tables spaced intimately throughout the lounge had votives burning in the center, and the candlelight cast an ambiance of subdued elegance.
Viper turned toward the bar on the left, which had only one customer seated midway down. She moved to the far end of the bar, away from the door, and settled herself with her back to the empty stage and a clear view of the door and the lounge.
“Ketel martini with a twist,” she said to the bartender.
The bartender nodded and turned away to make the drink as Viper watched the door patiently. She didn't have long to wait. The bartender was just setting her martini down in front of her when Frankie strode through the doors. He glanced around, spotted her at the far end and came toward her, his suited henchman following at a discreet distance.
“Scotch,” Frankie told the bartender as he seated himself next to Viper. “The usual.” The bartender nodded with a smile and Frankie turned his attention to Alina. “You got my message.”
“You have news for me?” Alina asked, sipping her martini. Frankie nodded.
“News, and a present,” he told her. Viper raised an eyebrow.
“A present?” she repeated, her lips curving. “Will I like it?”
“I hope so,” Frankie smiled at her. “Do you enjoy the casinos?” he asked as the bartender returned with his scotch. Alina smiled slightly.
“I don't usually have much time to play,” she murmured, sipping her martini again. Frankie chuckled and took a sip of scotch.
“Then I'll keep this brief,” he said after the bartender had moved away to the other end of the bar again. “You were right about the leak. It's been taken care of.”
“I know,” Viper told him, setting her glass down. “I was there.”
Frankie stared at her, speechless, and Viper smiled. The smile didn't reach her eyes, he noticed, and he swallowed.
“Where, exactly, were you?” Frankie demanded finally.
“About three feet away.”
Frankie blinked and reached for his scotch.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
Viper raised an eyebrow slightly and looked at him. The head of the Jersey Family flushed at the look in her eyes.
“If you want to...” he added awkwardly.
“Why don't you tell me how an ex-Navy SEAL came to be on your payroll?” Viper suggested softly. Frankie shrugged.
“He was at a loose end when he got out and came back home,” he told her. “He suffered from that post-trauma syndrome that most of the boys are coming back with and he needed work. I put him to work in good faith.”
“Who was he really working for?” Alina asked.
Frankie looked at her and his lips twitched.
“You already know the answer to that if you were there when he was popped,” he replied.
Alina grinned suddenly.
“I like you, Frankie,” she announced, her eyes dancing. “Yes, I know who he was working for. How did he get into your ranks?”
“That idiot Marty,” Frankie said. “He sent him here with a recommendation.”
“Ah, of course. Marty.” Alina sipped her martini. “And he was convinced of Jason's legitimacy by one of his associates outside of the Family?”
“Marty has a lot of associates outside the Family,” Frankie said carefully. “He trades in information and, as such, he comes into contact with a lot of different types down there. One of them introduced Jason to Marty, and the rest is history.”
“Billy Conners?” Alina asked. Frankie nodded, his lips curving in another grin.
“You really don't miss anything, do you?” he asked. Alina smiled slightly.
“I can't afford to,” she murmured. “What's the present you have for me?” she asked, glancing at her watch.
“I took care of something for you,” Frankie told her with a smile.
Viper raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, do tell.”
“I heard there was some trouble down in Washington with a hit and run and a car bomb,” Frankie said, sipping his scotch and watching her over the rim of the glass. She didn't flinch, but continued to look back at him with a faint smile.
“Marty said Billy was running his mouth pretty freely about it,” Frankie continued. “He said the target was a Fed who was down there from Jersey, on vacation, poking around in something Billy said didn't concern her. Well, I thought to myself, I know a young Fed from Jersey. She was involved in that incident three months ago, when you did my Family a favor. Then I think to myself, what's Billy got against her? So I had Marty poke around for me. Guess what he found out?”
Frankie smiled. Viper was staring at him, arrested.
“He found out Billy was being paid to get rid of the Fed, once and for all,” Frankie said softly. “He was told to get rid of the Fed and watch for you. He was told you would come out of hiding for that.”
Frankie nodded, sipping his scotch and watching Viper. She lifted her martini, her hand perfectly steady, and sipped it, her eyes never leaving his face.
“Marty certainly is good at information,” Alina murmured. Frankie nodded again.
“That he is,” he admitted.
“So what did you do when he told you all this?” Alina asked.
“I had it taken care of,” Frankie told her. “You and your Fed are safe from Billy now.”
Alina slowly set the martini glass down, her eyes never leaving Frankie's face. She stared at him, her heart pounding while her mind clamored to grasp what he was telling her. Frankie took care of Billy Conners? Frankie had Billy killed? Michael's warning popped into her head, 'Good, because by tomorrow you're going to be the prime suspect in the murder of two men.'
Good God, she'd left Billy tied to a chair, bleeding and unconscious, but alive!
“In his apartment?” Viper asked, somehow managing to keep her voice steady.
“Yes. Nice and clean.” Frankie set down his glass and motioned to his henchman lurking near the door. The man disappeared.
“Nice and clean for whom?” Viper muttered. It was bad enough that they were trying to pin Jason's death on her, but now she was suspected of shooting Billy Conners?
“I thought you would be grateful.” Frankie frowned. “You don't look very grateful,” he told her accusingly.
Alina stifled the sudden desire to laugh hysterically.
“I'm just overwhelmed,” she replied honestly. Frankie glanced at her suspiciously.
“The way I see it, we're almost even now,” he said.
Viper raised an eyebrow and looked at him.
“Almost even?” she repeated.
“I don't like owing anyone any favors,” Frankie explained quietly. “In my mind, this takes care of one.”
“As I recall, you don't owe me anything,” Viper said, finishing her martini as Frankie's henchman appeared again in the door to the lounge. He was carrying a shopping bag from one of the boutique shops that Alina had passed on her way through the casino.
“We all owe you something,” Frankie retorted obscurely. He turned to take the bag from his employee and the man returned to the door. “This is your present. Don't open it here. Wait until you're alone.”
“It's not a horse’s head, is it?” Alina asked, taking the bag.
Frankie laughed, the booming sound making the bartender glance over in surprise.
“Take it with peace,” Frankie told her, standing. Alina stood with him and he held out his hand to her. “Think of it as a token of my appreciation.”
“Thank you.” Alina grasped his hand and Frankie held it for a long moment, his eyes meeting hers. He stared at her, his lips curving into a soft smile.
“Vai con Dio,” he murmured.
Alina smiled, her fingers tightening briefly on his.
“Grazie amico mio,” she replied softly, her Italian impeccable.
Frankie nodded in approval before releasing her hand and turning to leave the lounge. When he got to the door, he glanced behind him for one last look at the mysterious woman who had risked so much three months ago, and continued to risk so much now.
Frankie stopped abruptly, turned around, and scanned the lounge with a frown.
She had already disappeared.