Engaging Bodyguard Page 16

  “Damn it.” Garrett’s hand gripped Cain’s. “Let the kid go, Cain. It’s not his fault.”

  Cain swore and let his hand fall away, ignoring the deep ragged breaths from Cash. “Go release your sheriff,” he ordered the deputy before turning to Garrett. “Issue an all points bulletin on Celeste Pavenic. I want her picked up now.”

  “DAMN HIM!” Celeste veered off the main street into the alley, needing the air, the space to think—not caring the wrath she’d face for climbing out the office window. The wind slapped at her, streamers of ice pricking against her cheeks. Cain had no damn right telling her to stay this time.

  Cain had made his point brilliantly. With Lassiter in jail, her role in this mission had ended. Jon was alive. And between him and Cain, they’d take care of the president. That was all that mattered, Celeste reasoned, trying to convince herself.

  Not the fact Cain had withheld the truth even after they’d made love.

  In bed they’d played at being equal. In careers, he wanted her to sit while he took care of things. Kept her safe, a token partner in a locked room.

  No, she corrected. A nonperson in a gilded cage.

  Diana.

  The truce hadn’t lasted long between her and Cain. But the fact was, it had lasted much longer than she’d expected. It had taken the phone—its ring signaling the next round.

  On the ride into town, there’d been no words left—only stony silence. In the past twenty-four hours, she had tried logic, persuasion—and when neither worked—temper.

  She gritted her teeth, acknowledging her temper hadn’t quite lifted. Stubborn idiot, she thought and kicked a small stone, vaguely registering its clank against a Dumpster.

  If Lassiter hadn’t called Cain a stupid son—

  Celeste froze, remembering the tone with which Lassiter cussed at Cain. She replayed Gabriel’s curses right along with it.

  It wasn’t the same.

  Celeste turned on her heel, the fear slipping through the temper, its edges teetering on real terror. “It’s not Lassiter, damn it,” she said aloud.

  A hand grabbed her arm, a second later cold steel touched the back of her neck. “You figured it out too late, Miss Pavenic.”

  “TIME TO WAKE UP, Goldilocks.” The words slid into the mucky haze. The timbre coaxed, even soothed, but when she tried to focus, it floated from her, leaving only confusion.

  And the cold.

  The chill slithered in and gnawed her limbs with sharp, icy teeth. From beyond the haze, she heard a low moan and realized the pitiful noise came from the back of her throat.

  She tugged at her arms wanting to cross them for warmth, but her wrists were too heavy to lift.

  “Wake up.” Stars exploded behind her eyes. The impact threw her head to the side, jarring her neck. Pain shot through her jaw, up to her temple and burst through the top of her head. She cried out, but the sound was feeble, hollow. Blood seeped across her tongue—its sharp, copper bite mingled with the rancid taste of adhesive, gagging her. With effort, she swallowed the foulness back and forced her eyes opened.

  “It’s about time you came to,” the voice quipped, its low, caressing tone contradicting the stars that continued to rake the inside of her skull.

  Celeste blinked, until her vision cleared enough to focus on a curved iron railing. Deliberately she forced her gaze up, following the spiral of wrought-iron steps.

  The lighthouse.

  She struggled to rise, fighting off the last of the drug-induced fog. Cold metal bit into her wrists, throwing her off balance onto her side.

  “Don’t bother. You’re handcuffed.”

  Celeste jerked her eyes toward the source, only to hear coarse laughter come from behind her. Celeste remembered that same laughter in the alley, then a sharp prick of a needle in her neck.

  “Remembering?” He patted her shoulder, pleased.

  She gauged from the shadow lengths that it had been a few hours since he’d kidnapped her. Gabriel wasn’t stupid. He’d stripped her down to her T-shirt and sweats, left her barefoot, then positioned her strategically so that no one could see her if they peered in through the lower window.

  “You’re no lightweight, though. I’ll give you that. It took almost the same amount to kill the prostitute. But she was already flying high on heroin.” He leaned close to her ear. “Enough about her. Let’s talk about…me.” His laugh sent her skin crawling. “I suspect you’d like me to formally introduce myself.”

  The man who stepped in front of her looked more like a lawyer than a cold-blooded killer. He was no taller than six feet and the sun streaks in his shaggy blond hair under his knit cap were too strategically placed to be real.

  With the black goose-down parka, he could have been mistaken for a yuppie jogger….

  “How’s your ankle feeling?”

  Nausea slipped through her, thick and oily. She’d seen him before.

  The paramedic at the fire.

  “I see you’re surprised.” His lips were wide, but not overly thick, with only a hint of cruelty beneath his smile. “Maybe even a little disappointed?”

  Celeste curled her fingers in her palms, trying to contain her rage.

  “I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. After all, I’ve been at my profession much longer than you’ve been at yours.” He crouched, putting his face mere inches from hers. No heavy beard line, no defining bone structure. An ordinary stranger who passed by on the street.

  “It’s amazing what roles a person can assume when he has access to the appropriate credentials. A definite flaw in our society now that we’ve become so advanced in our technology.”

  He stood, then stepped onto a nearby crate, jumping a little to test its strength before returning to Celeste’s side. “You, of all people, would understand that, Miss Taylor.”

  He pointed to a thick eyehook impaled into the circular stairs above her head. “I’ll have to position you soon, but first I wanted to thank you for making my job easier this time around.”

  Celeste tested the handcuffs.

  “I suggest you use your intelligence.” He reached over and caught her chin, his nails cutting into her jaw.

  “It’s been quite a game, hasn’t it, Celeste?” With a knowing look, he released her, then threw a second crate on top of the first. The second he didn’t test. “But it’s not quite over yet.”

  A tear escaped down her cheek.

  “Crying won’t help.” With his thumb, he smeared the drop, allowing his nail to scrape her cheek. The brown irises of his eyes remained empty, lifeless as stagnant water. “I’ve watched many cry. Men, women, children. In the end, they still died. Some sooner.” His shoulder lifted indifferently.

  The sting from the scratch fed her contempt, showing him the tear wasn’t from fear but rage.

  Gabriel’s face tightened. “Defiance won’t help you, either.” Slowly, he slipped the thick noose around her neck. The rope lay heavy against her collarbone, then squeezed her windpipe as he pulled.

  “And it certainly won’t stop your death.” He dragged her like a dog on a leash across the granite to where a large wooden lever protruded from the floor a few feet away. The rope’s coarse fiber dug into her skin and her airway spasmed, but Celeste forced herself to remain passive, understanding that if she didn’t move, she wouldn’t strangle.

  “See that switch? Here’s where the final moments of the game come into play.” He lifted her until she stood on the box, then tied the rope end through the eyehook. “I believe it’s called Sudden Death.” He wobbled the crates, causing Celeste to catch her balance. “As you can see your position’s a bit precarious, so listen up.”

  Gabriel eased the knot—just. Air rushed in, burning her windpipe.

  “I’ve given you enough rope so that if you jump and kick just right, you might hit the lever and stop the weight. Of course, you’ll snap your neck—therein lies your choice.”

  “And if you miss?” He strolled over to the lighthouse’s clockwork weight. “Don’t w
orry, because underneath is an explosive—nitroglycerin—to make things a little more interesting. I love interesting, don’t you?” He tugged on the chains. “Once the weight hits…well, you get the picture.”

  A violent shiver wracked her body—from cold or fear, she couldn’t be sure. Celeste shifted, trying to keep her blood flowing into her arms.

  “Oh, if you’re hoping Prometheus will save you…” Gabriel started toward the door. “…so am I.” He opened the door. “In fact I’m planning on it. You see, I’ve rigged the door to set off a remote detonator.”

  “Of course, to help you, he must succeed in killing President Cambridge for me. Otherwise, I won’t tell him where to find you.”

  Cain? Kill the president? She shook her head. Never.

  Seeing the gesture, Gabriel smiled. “Oh yes, he will.” His eyes grew hooded, almost languid. “You thought you understood me? Understood the type of person I am?” He leaned against the wall, his arms folded. Lights and shadows harshened his features, showing them chiseled by years of butchery. “I played you from the word go.

  “If I killed the president, I’d have to disappear per manently. Having someone else take the credit allows me to fade into the background for a while, then resurface at my leisure. This time there’ll be no signature with the kill. No political statement to link me in any way.”

  Celeste understood. Gabriel had deliberately tied himself to a certain trademark all these years so that at the right moment, all he had to do was drop the trademark—go against type. No one would suspect.

  “Nothing personal against you or Cain.” He gave a thin, dangerous smile. “To make the ruse believable, I needed the best—Prometheus.”

  Celeste clenched her jaw, her body aching from the immobility. Her ankle throbbed from taking her weight.

  “I read his government file. Found his vulnerable spot. You.”

  Celeste stiffened. That meant someone else had accessed Mercer’s records and passed the information on to Gabriel.

  “Once I realized you’d done me a favor by not dying the first time, Jonathon Mercer became my trigger and you became my bait. I’ll bet you didn’t know you were in Cain’s file, too.” Gabriel’s tone was like ice. Celeste felt its chill slide into her and freeze her blood.

  “After all, who could be more pathetic? A woman who was once Prometheus’s lover and whom the president blames for the murder of his son?” He chuckled, the cold disappearing instantly. “Yep, a plan just can’t come together any better than that.”

  His words were meant to wound, but they didn’t. She was no longer the woman he described. No longer pathetic and weak. And she wasn’t going to just roll over and die while Cain’s life hung in the balance.

  “It takes the weight almost three hours to lower completely. So you’ve got some time.” He glanced at the noose around her neck, then pushed the lever. The gears clicked rhythmically in the air. “I disengaged the lamp, so no one outside will notice anything different. I don’t want anyone disturbing you. Don’t disappoint me, Celeste.”

  THE MESSAGE was blunt. The paper taped to his windshield. “Meet me on the ridge alone—or the Pavenic woman’s dead. You have one hour.”

  The snow and sand should’ve crunched under his footsteps, Cain made sure it didn’t. What little sun there was had disappeared. The fog thickened leisurely, encouraged by the lint-gray clouds that hung low over the horizon. In the past, the lighthouse lamp would’ve been activated, its solitary signal flashing in quick, short series—casting a warning out over the water.

  Cain saw the silhouette of a man by the edge of the ridge, one foot resting on a small boulder, his back to Cain.

  That in itself was meant as an insult.

  Cain didn’t care.

  “Did you know that every lighthouse is set on a different flash sequence?” The voice floated across the distance. “To help the ships passing to chart their course.” He shrugged when Cain made no comment. “Too bad ours isn’t operational. Looks like it’s going to be a bad day for the ships.” The man glanced over his shoulder. He was just a few inches shorter than Cain, dressed in a dark parka with the hood up. What wasn’t covered by the hood lay hidden beneath a ski mask. “But a good day for a burial. Don’t you think?”

  “What I think is irrelevant.”

  “True.” Gabriel studied the lake, his hands in his pocket, his head to one side. “Did you know the word Prometheus means foresight?”

  Cain didn’t blink, didn’t move—didn’t buy into the act. “I’m not here to share tidbits of trivia.”

  “No, just making an observation.” The man chuckled before stepping toward Cain. Without a word, Cain raised his arms and Gabriel patted him down, looking for weapons, recorders. They both knew he could take his time. He was in charge, the one in control.

  But Cain was patient. This game he knew, understood.

  Gabriel stood, satisfied Cain was clean. “I’m assigning you a labor.”

  The Greek term for task was not lost on Cain. “You want me to ensure your assassination of the president succeeds or you’ll kill Celeste.” The wind blustered about, gusting with fury, spraying mists of snow from the frozen edge of the water. Still, the force of nature dimmed in comparison to the rage building in Cain.

  “Actually, you’re going to kill the president. Today at the burial.”

  Cain mentally shrugged. It could’ve been either scenario. “And if I don’t, Celeste dies.”

  “And in considerable pain.”

  Cain’s stomach clenched at the comment, but outwardly he showed no emotion.

  “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “Very little surprises me.” Cain forced his jaw to relax into a deadly smile. “Besides, you left the coins on the guards at the warehouse. Lady Liberty is Celeste. Or am I mistaken?”

  “The Cambridge burial takes place in an hour.” Gabriel laughed at Cain’s raised eyebrow. “My client keeps me well informed. But it leaves you very little time to make arrangements to attend—if you haven’t already.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “You could always ask your brother, Ian, to sneak you in.”

  Cain allowed astonishment to flicker in his expression and Gabriel grunted with satisfaction. “Don’t underestimate me, MacAlister.” The brown eyes narrowed dangerously. “I haven’t gotten where I am by being sloppy. Your choice is simple. You can kill the president and save the woman. Or they can both die. I’d just have to disappear for a long time. Not something I want to do, but sometimes sacrifices are necessary.”

  “If they die, you wouldn’t be able to go deep enough to hide from me.”

  “I wouldn’t hide from you. I wouldn’t have to.” Gabriel’s tone went arctic. “Didn’t I mention you’ll be dead, too?” The man shrugged, changing moods like a chameleon. “Frankly, I could’ve killed you several times—the lighthouse, the car chase—even on Main Street in broad daylight.”

  “Instead, you kept me interested.”

  “And we both know that protecting the Pavenic woman did the job. The woman has made you careless.”

  “Or maybe I figured the woman would lead me to you and allowed myself to be played.” He lifted a negligent shoulder. “After all, here we are.”

  “Certainly a possibility. But somehow I don’t think you wanted it to go this far.” Gabriel shifted, his eyes narrowing on Cain’s bland expression. “You understand, there’s no reason for all of you to die. I’m not getting paid for that.”

  “And the bottom line is money.”

  “Of course.” Gabriel’s tone remained matter of fact. “I leave all that patriotic crap to you heroes.” He glanced up as small flakes of snow began to fall. “Now, I have Celeste in a somewhat perilous position. If you don’t kill Cambridge by the time he leaves the cemetery, you won’t have time to save her.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s simple. Even for you. Get near enough to kill him. The how is your choice.”

  “And his Secret Ser
vice kills me.”

  “You’re a smart man, Prometheus. Utilize your brother. I don’t care. My client wants Robert Cambridge dead. Whether you survive or not doesn’t interest me.”

  “Tell me who hired you.”

  “I would except my next client might frown on the fact I can’t keep secrets.”

  “You could rely on repeat business.” Cain shrugged off the urge to attack, to see Gabriel’s blood flow. “After all, you murdered Bobby Cambridge for this client, too. Didn’t you?”

  “Did your girlfriend tell you that?”

  “She didn’t have to. It’s logical.”

  He tipped his head back and studied Cain’s face for a moment. “Maybe.”

  Cain didn’t flinch. There were different ways to play chicken. “Very few men could’ve pulled off that kidnapping and gotten away with it.”

  “Now you’re flattering me.”

  “Someone wants Cambridge out of the White House. A mental breakdown over the death of his only son should have—would have—brought most men to their knees. Unfortunately for you, Cambridge has a will of iron. The kind forged from years of war and service to his country.”

  “Yeah, he’s a regular patriot.”

  “And that leaves you only one choice now, doesn’t it?”

  “Not me, my friend. If it had been up to me, I would’ve killed the whole family. Been more profitable.”

  “Why the statement? Why not kill him in an accident?”

  Gabriel’s lips thinned into a feral smile. “My clients have bigger egos than we do, Prometheus. They prefer flash to subtlety. I please them when it suits me. Or when the money’s right. This time it happens to be both.”

  “When I kill Cambridge, I’m just supposed to take your word that you’ll free Celeste.”

  “You have no choice.” Gabriel paused, feigning astonishment. “You aren’t suggesting that I might not be trustworthy, are you?”

  “It takes a high-ranking contact in the government to forge law-enforcement files and erase phone records.”

  “You have no idea,” Gabriel said coolly. “I’ve left evidence with my client. It shows you and your friend Bazan’s involvement in not only Olivia Cambridge’s murder, but the Pavenic woman’s also.”