18

It seemed like a long time since the cell door had closed behind her with a final-sounding clang. She wouldn’t be here for long, her mind said, but her heart wasn’t so sure. She was alone in this part of the jail. There were no sounds besides her breathing. No window to the outside world, no way to track time or assess its passing after being stripped of her belongings and all contact with the outside world.

Of course they wanted her to be anxious. She was more likely to make a mistake if she was on edge. They didn’t have much time to crack her before she was out on bail. Despite the unrelenting stare of the surveillance camera, she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’d expected to be. It was kind of a relief to be alone, her options narrowed to so few and nothing to do. Nothing she could do. Wouldn’t be too great for the long haul to have her world narrowed to three walls and a row of bars, but right now the breathing space was nice. There was nothing to distract her. Nothing to remind her of anything familiar.

She was tired, she realized, and not just in the physical sense. Her soul was weary, too. She stretched out on the narrow iron bed, the odor of the same disinfectant they’d used on her engulfing her. Would it hurt them to add a little lemon scent to it?

At some point she fell asleep, her dreams spent in a fruitless search for a coat. When she woke and found she was chilled, she knew why. The orange jumpsuit, besides not being even close to her color, wasn’t warm. A coarse blanket was folded at the foot of the bed, so she wrapped up in it, feeling the first stab of homesickness for her lost house in Estes Park.

To her surprise, they hadn’t taken her harmonica, so she pulled it out. It seemed natural to do, since she didn’t smoke—the only other logical solitary prison activity. Sad, plaintive tunes suited her surroundings, suited her new role as prisoner. Something to put her in the right mood.

She didn’t try to think or plan. Planning would come later, when she had a better sense of what moves had been made by the other players in the game while she slept. Right now she didn’t care. Drifting from song to song, she felt suspended in time, in space, even in identity. Who was she?

She didn’t know and wasn’t sure she cared. That was for later, too. She’d been so many different people, she didn’t know who to be now. As if her soul had been set adrift. Or maybe—she paused in her song—she was like the chemical ice pack she’d given Dewey, waiting to be twisted by this final game, waiting for all the people she’d been to mix into someone entirely new. She liked that idea. Why not blend all the people she’d been? The past, the present, all the roles she’d played in all their games? Maybe when this was over she could put all those pieces together and be a single, whole person. Maybe, just maybe, she could lay her burden down and have, if not a real life, something that looked and felt real if not examined too closely.

Someplace warm. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around her and tried to think of warm things. Like how hot it felt up there on the tiny stage at JR’s when she was performing.

She’d miss being Phoebe. Miss the bar, the guys, and the music. If she left Phoebe behind, would she also lose her feelings for Jake? What she felt with him, for him, made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. She didn’t want to go back to her former dormant state.

In playing the game, in keeping her distance, she hadn’t lost touch only with other people. She’d lost touch with herself. In a way, she’d given her stepfather a partial victory. She didn’t know the psychology of his need for power over her and Kerry Anne, his need to destroy lives, but her gut was telling her, if she retreated from these feelings, he’d win, even if they managed to take him down.

Love, she was coming to understand, could heal even as it hurt. That’s what Kerry Anne had been trying to tell her the night she died, but Nadine hadn’t understood. Maybe she couldn’t have understood without meeting Jake. Maybe love’s lessons could only be learned in its furnace.

And maybe she was heading just a tad too far into the philosophical zone? At this rate, she’d be a pathetic puddle of pure angst by the time they made their move.

Time to lighten up.

She played a jazzy riff, then stopped when she felt him watching her.

She looked up. He wasn’t alone. A couple of guards were with him. One had two chairs, one a small table and another what looked like bags of—Chinese food? She held back a grin. The boy did not know when to give up.

Jake saw her half grin as he signaled for the guard to open the door, then waited outside until the table was set up. The guard locked him in with her. A sudden case of stage fright held him by the door, but she looked so ordinary, so innocently pleased as she got up to investigate the cartons of food, he relaxed.

“I didn’t even realize I was hungry.” She smiled. As soon as her gaze met his, a current of heat did an end run around his resolve before he could close the circuit. His first thought was he was glad his back was to the camera and the people at its other end. His second was this was going to be much harder than he’d expected it to be. His third, had he really expected anything to do with Phoebe to be easy?

He returned her smile, holding back as much of himself as he could. He sat down opposite her and watched her help herself to the sweet and sour pork. She chose chopsticks instead of the plastic fork, wielding them expertly.

“Am I allowed to know what time it is?”

Jake looked at his watch, even though he knew exactly what time it was and how many hours he had left. “It’s after midnight.”

“No wonder I’m awake. I’m usually singing right about now.” She tried her drink. “Diet Coke. You remembered.” Her lashes lifted, and for a moment something intimate arced between them.

“Yes. It’s a gift, or a curse. Haven’t decided which. It’s useful in my line of work. It’s the little details, unnoticed habits, things people can’t give up, that trip them up.”

“So if I wanted to say, disappear, I should probably give up Diet Coke?”

“If you don’t want to get caught.”

She looked thoughtful but didn’t say anything more until she pushed the carton back and patted her tummy.

“That was great, thanks.” The spark of mischief in her eyes gave him a brief warning the games were about to begin. “Interesting interrogation technique.”

“What?” Jake cleared the debris, setting it on the floor by the table.

“Let the suspect get rest and food.” Her accent was getting more Southern. “You trying to kill me with kindness, cowboy?”

Jake grinned, gave a half shrug. “I knew the typical wouldn’t work with you, Reb.”

She laughed, a throaty sound that sent quivers through his mid-section. Knowing Bryn and others were watching him kept his blood supply moving up instead of down. With a smooth motion, she got up, reversed her chair and straddled it. She did that, Jake had noticed, when she was on the defensive.

“Are we waiting for Calvin to join us? You weren’t going to question me without my lawyer present, were you?”

“I’m not going to question you at all.” Her eyebrows shot up. Seems he’d finally managed to surprise her. “This little session is completely off the record.”

He turned toward the camera and made a slicing motion across his throat. After a pause, the red light went out.

“Interesting opening gambit, Cowboy. Unexpected. Curious.” Her smile was all mischief reminding him of that morning in her kitchen.

It was a good diversionary tactic. He’d been more than curious in her kitchen. His mouth twitched with a suppressed grin as he took a file folder out of the briefcase he’d brought with him and laid it on the tabletop.

“I’ll begin with a broad outline of what I know.”

“The facts, just the facts, ma’am?” She propped her chin on her elbows and gave him her attention with a look that shouldn’t have made his toes curl in his shoes. “By all means, put the rest of your pieces in play—or would that be cards on the table? Are we playing chess or poker?”

“Might be blind man’s bluff.” This was either a brilliant strategy or the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

The lift of one eyebrow acknowledged the hit. A slight nod gave him tacit permission to begin.

“You were born Nadine Beauleigh, formerly of Valdosta, Georgia. We were able to match your fingerprints with a set done at a mall, in one of those protect-our-kids-from-abduction booths. Possibly the same day you choose the red shoes over that boy?”

If she could lob personal-moment bombs, so could he, although he wasn’t immune to the collateral effects of them. What would she choose today? Would he be able to reach her? Her eyes gave away nothing, though a tiny pulse beat in her neck.

“When you ran away from home following the suicide,” Her eyelashes flickered at this, “of your sister, Kerry Anne, your stepfather, Montgomery Justice, turned over your prints. Your mother took a fatal tumble down some stairs not long after, and Justice seems to have dropped off the face of the earth.”

He paused, but she didn’t fill the silence, just stared at him as if what he was saying, while interesting, had nothing to do with her.

“We found Dewey Hyatt’s fingerprints in your home and at Smith’s, where you were apprehended.”

For a moment, he thought she might speak. He admired her control. He knew the flaws in his case as well as she did. Suspicions without proof were just sound and fury.

He moved on, detailing the links they’d made between her and Dewey Hyatt. Why he believed they’d both been present during the heist at TelTech. Touched on areas of investigation he believed were vulnerable for her, like the answering machine tape they’d taken from Ollie Smith’s crime scene.

“You’re Pathphinder, Phagan’s strategist.” He watched her for a long count, then said, “We could probably uncover all your secrets, given enough time and attention. You haven’t been under the big microscope yet. Once you are, there’s no turning back. If we put the time and resources into investigating you, we will press charges on anything we turn up. And we’ll make them stick. This could be the beginning of a long incarceration.”

“I’m not a lawyer, but—”

“—you’ve played one,” Jake inserted.

Her gaze met his without flinching, but it did narrow to wary. “Which makes me think you’re being overly optimistic about your chances of linking me to anything substantial.”

“We could find out.” He waited a long beat, then said, “Or...”

Against her will, Phoebe felt her curiosity rise. There was danger in listening to him, because she wanted a way out.

“What if I told you that you’re not our primary interest?”

She arched her brows. “I don’t know whether to be pleased or offended.” She’d been expecting this and knew her next line. “What—or is it a who—do you want?”

“What and who.” Jake relaxed in his chair, giving her plenty of space. “You’ll have to give RABBIT back, of course.”

“Rabbit?”

He ignored this. “And you’ll have to be debriefed on Phagan and Hyatt, tell us what you know about their organization. Tell us if you know where they are.”

This she also expected. Her freedom for theirs—some choice.

“And we want Harding—or whoever it is you’re after at TelTech.”

She hadn’t been expecting that.

“We’re not stupid, Phoebe.” She noticed he didn’t call her Nadine. “We know what you’ve been doing. Believe it or not, we are the good guys. If it is Harding, if he’s done something to you or someone you know, it needs to come out. Not only has he been working on a sensitive military contract, he’s making a run for governor.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Call it the public’s right to know.”

“I can’t see that the public cares or wants to know what their leaders are up to in private.” Phoebe felt bitterness slip her leash for a moment. She reined it in. “Is that it?”

“You will, of course, cease and desist all illegal activities. If you work with us, I think we can arrange a sentence that doesn’t include jail time. You’d probably have to do some community service.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling that what he hadn’t said was the one thing she wanted to hear.

“I don’t know, cowboy. Your deal seems pretty lopsided. Lot of maybes there. And, frankly, I think I could get a suspended on what you’ve got, with a good lawyer and a bit of remorse.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“But you might not get Harding. The game will be over for you.” He hesitated again, then said, “People with your skills are in demand in law enforcement. It’s not uncommon for, say, really good hackers to be...recruited after being caught. I can’t promise anything, but Internet criminals are tough to catch. Why not try justice on the right side for a while? Come out of the shadows?”

This she hadn’t expected either. Before she could stop it, hope tried to get a foothold in her heart. He was good, dangling a bright and shining new world in front of her and the offer to help her take out Harding. All she had to do to get it was betray the two men who’d saved her life all those years ago.

He must have a real high opinion of her integrity.

If only he understood the irony. She didn’t know where Dewey was. Didn’t know Phagan’s real name or location. And once he got word she’d been taken, no information she had would lead to him. He’d already have moved to make sure of that. As for Montgomery Justice a.k.a. Peter Harding, she knew what he’d done to her sister, but any physical evidence—as well as Justice’s face—were lost in the past.

That left RABBIT. Yeah, that piece of crap would buy her a bright new future.

She was cool, but Jake could see her inward struggle playing out in her eyes.

Do your job and let love find the way. He’d given her a chance, now she had to have the courage to take it.

“If I were this...Pathphinder,”—she smiled as if the notion amused her— “do you seriously think I could, or would, betray my friends? For any reason?”

It was the opening he’d been waiting for. Her hand, the one not gripping the chair back, trembled before she could pull it out of sight. Poor baby. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her it was going to be all right. That she wasn’t alone anymore. He was there and he’d always be there for her, but she had to help him.

“I have to have something...”

“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

Her voice resonated with certainty. He frowned. What was she trying to tell him? She didn’t have RABBIT? Had the other thieves beaten them to it? He was tired of move and countermove. Why couldn’t she just tell him?

“Then why are you here?”

A pause. “Because you arrested me?”

“You let yourself get caught, Phoebe. What is it you want from me?”

Harding wanted a drink more than he wanted a girl. He couldn’t have either. Not tonight. He needed to keep his wits about him. Couldn’t afford to let his guard down now, or Stern would take him out. He wasn’t going to win this one. No one screwed his pooch and got away with it.

He rubbed his aching head, realized his hand was shaking. He was used to telling others what to do and having them do it. He was a leader, a director of events, not some stupid peon. Stern was already suspicious. He’d seen it in his eyes when they ran into each other outside the building.

“Any action?” Stern had asked.

Harding had shrugged, all the while wanting to leap on the man and pound his face to a bloody pulp. Only no one pounded Stern, not without immobilizing him first. He’d have to take him out quick. Shoot him in the back or drug him?

Harding liked that idea. A quick kill was no fun. Gloating was half the pleasure of a kill. Kerry Anne had taught him that. He really needed to show Stern who had the power. He’d gone too long without a fix.

Stern had taken away everything: his women, his videos, even tried to keep Nadine for himself. He’d pay for it. Oh, yes. First Stern. Then Nadine.

Nadine. He stretched out on the bed and thought about Nadine.

It was almost as good as a video. Almost.

He wasn’t sure he could give her up, even for the chip.

Dewey hunched over the computer screen in the tiny room he’d rented on the dark side of town. It was small and austere as a sort of penance for Phoebe’s current incarceration. Until she was free, no five-star hotels for him. He’d been typing for so many hours the tips of his fingers were numb. He gave them a shake, then rubbed his eyes. It didn’t help the blurring, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t have time to stop. The illusion had to be perfect or they were dead. Might be dead anyway, but he didn’t want it to be because of faulty work on his part.

Harding was balanced on the knife-edge of sanity. It showed in the trembling of his hands, in the twitch in one cheek and in the expression in his eyes. Dewey wasn’t sure any illusion would be enough to get them clear. There were too many variables without solutions in this last play of their rapidly unraveling game.

Harding was obsessed with Nadine. Who knew if she’d survive until Dewey could get her clear? Would Harding would be able to choose his chip and his political career over his obsession with her? Dewey wasn’t sure the bastard was thinking clearly enough to choose anything. If it were his call to make, Phoebe would be long gone from this place. But it wasn’t. As she’d pointed out, it was her game, her risk. He just hoped that Harding would do what he should, not what he wanted. Though it was nice to know their gas lighting had worked so well. But what a time to be effective.

Then there was Bryn, who could throw a spanner into the works by getting Phoebe’s bail denied. It was a long shot, but Bryn was good at delivering long shots. If the authorities managed to hang on to her, he’d have to deal himself in to get her out. He was not letting Kerry’s little sister rot in jail protecting his sorry ass.

And then there was Phoebe. If Harding was balanced on the knife’s edge, well, she was balancing on top of him. Worse, she was on the hop, acting on instinct instead of brain waves. In a way he understood why. She wanted to get Harding, but she also wanted it to be over. So did he. Kerry’s death had weighed heavily a long time. Retreat wasn’t an option. They’d given too much of their lives to this moment to stop now. The cat was in the pigeons, fur and feathers were flying.

Some things you didn’t walk away from. Sometimes you could only do or die. Be nice if the odds were a little more even, but, what the hell? If they failed, their lives wouldn’t be worth living anyway.

He looked at his watch. Time to give Harding’s chain another jerk. He dialed his number, waited for Harding to answer, then said, “Tick, tock, tick, tock. What do you think Nadine’s saying to the Feds about you right now? Maybe they’re digging around in your past even as we speak? Ooh, I wonder what they’ll...dig up?”

Stern didn’t sleep well, so he wasn’t happy when his phone rang after three a.m.. Even less happy to hear Harding’s voice in his ear.

“I got the call.”

Stern sat up and rubbed his face.

“You there?”

“I’m here,” Stern said. “Where?”

“My office. Five o’clock tomorrow. He wants Nadine there for the exchange.”

Stern frowned. Awfully confident of him. Of course, he thought he had a friend on the inside. It was almost too easy. “I’ll arrange security. Once the girl is out—”

“I want to be there.”

“Not smart. If the Feds are tailing her—”

“Arrange a bait and switch. I need to talk to her.”

Stern bit back what he wanted to say and gritted out, “Talk to her? About what?”

“Old times.”

He’d known killing her wouldn’t be enough for Harding. It never had been. It was stupid, but so was screwing over his right-hand man. Before tomorrow was over, Harding would be smarter. And then he’d be dead.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Stern said. It didn’t really matter in what shape the girl arrived. By then it would be too late for complaints from his new “partner.” The man had been moderately clever, but clever wasn’t enough. You had to be invulnerable, too. He was attached to Nadine. That was his weakness and it would be his downfall. Stern looked at his spartan surroundings with detached amusement. He didn’t care about the money. Not really. He just liked to win. Any way he could.

He lay back in the bed, his arms behind his head, reviewing the various moves planned by his opponents, planning his countermoves and looking forward to a day that promised many deaths. Maybe the death, the one that answered his question.

Do men have souls?

After that first night at Jake’s mom’s, Bryn had opted for a hotel room. His mama’s eyes were a tad too penetrating for comfort, and this way she’d be easier for Phagan to contact. Not because she was missing his gifts, of course, she was just interested in any leads he might be inclined to share.

She hadn’t gotten either since her move to the hotel. That wasn’t the reason she was tossing and turning in her bed though. She had too much to think about. What had transpired during Jake’s off-the-record meeting with Phoebe Mentel? All Jake had said was, “She’s considering our offer,” before trotting off to his mom’s.

She’d been tempted to pay Phoebe a visit but was still licking her wounds over the “Holly the Horror” incident. Not her finest hour, she had to admit as she punched up her pillow and tried to quiet her mind. Phagan had taught her well.

Phagan. What was she going to do about him? Assuming she could do anything about him. Here, alone in the dark, she could admit she was worried about him. He’d never let this much time pass before without some kind of contact. He played a dangerous game, and no one was invincible. If he’d formed a partnership for his run on TelTech, he hadn’t chosen well. That scene of cold-blooded murder had been playing over and over in her head, along with the question, had Phagan been part of the violence?

She knew in her gut he was in this mess somewhere, unless he was dead.

She’d studied the faces in the crime-scene photos, but none of them seemed right for the man she thought she knew. Or, she didn’t want them to be right. She wanted Phagan to be the bad-boy-champion myth he’d created for himself. He’d wormed himself into her thoughts, maybe even into her heart. If the bastard was just another scummy bad guy, well, the fool was one role she hated to play. Love and hate were two sides of the same coin, and she hadn’t liked finding out she had a heart. Hadn’t liked it one bit.

She rolled onto her stomach. It was hopeless. Even if they did meet, she’d have to toss his butt in jail. She punched the pillow again. At least she’d know where he was.

She sagged into the pillow, forcing her thoughts off the maze, but they shattered when her cell phone shrilled a summons. A brief fumble across the nightstand, then she had it.

“Bailey.”

“Did I wake you?” The voice was muffled, husky.

“If this is an obscene phone call—”

“Much as I’d like to talk dirty with you, this is business, darlin’.”

“Phagan?” It was as if her thoughts had summoned him. It was a bit creepy, and yet comforting, too.

“Afraid so.”

She sank back against the pillows, clutching the phone like a lifeline. Their first, real-time contact. And she felt as uncertain as a teenager. Jeez, Louise. Before she could check herself, she asked, “Where’ve you been?”

“Here and there. Don’t tell me you’ve been worried about my sorry ass?” He sounded pleased.

To her own surprise she said, “Actually, I have. There were a lot of bodies at TelTech. You usually pick your partners better than that.”

Silence. She’d surprised him. She smiled, feeling the balance of power between them shift her way.

He chuckled. “You’re my only outside partner, darlin’.”

The cheeky devil. Why did he have to be on the wrong side of the law? She sighed. “I wish—”

“I know.” He got quiet, then said, “I need your help.”

Bryn sat up. “You need my help?”

“Stay online tomorrow, and be ready to move.”

“Okay.” She wanted to ask more but knew he wouldn’t give it to her.

“You’ll know what to do with it when you get it. Sleep well...”

His last words were muffled. Had he added my love at the end? Or was it only her imagination?

It was probably better not to know. Sighing, she settled back against the pillows. What was he up to now? A thousand questions without answers started trekking through her brain. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.