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halfway through.
Baptiste seemed unruffled. "Up awfully late, aren't you, Mr. Kessel?"
"Only because I heard people out here." He shot a glance at the other man, but kept it short. "Where's Yager?"
"Busy."
"Is that code for sleeping like the rest of the world?"
"Where's Locke?"
The abrupt query might have thrown him off-guard if he'd actually been half-asleep. He'd had enough time to put on his
best public face, and feigned confusion. "I told you guys I'd call."
"And you didn't. We called you. Now, stop playing games, Mr. Kessel. Where is he?"
Dead Eyes hadn't blinked once since Jarrett had opened the doors. Though he hadn't said a word, there was no doubt he
would resort to force if Jarrett didn't say something.
Jarrett sighed, letting his shoulder slump. "He ran, okay? I met up with him, he heard me talking to the FBI, and he took
off. I haven't seen him since." He sincerely hoped he didn't make Eli look any guiltier with the small lie, but he was
pretty sure the lawyer he got for him would be able to spin it to make it look like Eli just hadn't wanted to be
unprepared.
"Why were you up so late, then?"
"What're you talking about? You woke me up."
"Yes, but your lights were on until four-thirty. You haven't been asleep very long."
Shit. They must have been watching his apartment. That was the last thing he needed.
"I was staying up, hoping he would write me again." Sometimes, the way the lies rolled off his tongue scared him, but
in circumstances like these, it was a welcome talent. "Now, look, I'm tired, and all this noise has probably pissed off my
neighbors now, so can we please call it a night, and I'll talk to you in the morning? I promise, if he contacts me again,
you'll be the second person to know. You have my word."
His palm sweated against the doorknob as he waited for Baptiste's response. The last thing he needed was them coming
in. If they searched, they'd find Eli. No way around it.
"Fine." Baptiste ground out the acquiescence like he was chewing on glass. "But no more games, Mr. Kessel."
Jarrett nodded, holding in his relief, and without a glance backward to give him away, started to close the door.
An arm shot out and blocked him. A rigid Dead Eyes looked at Jarrett, but his words were aimed at Baptiste. "We're not
going anywhere."
The fear Jarrett thought he'd spied earlier returned to Baptiste's face. "We don't want to make a scene, Sandora."
"Then we take it inside."
Jarrett was so focused on the large, callused hand preventing the door from closing, he didn't see its mate dip inside
Sandora's coat. The gun he pulled out jabbed into the side of Baptiste's neck, the end of a long, skinny silencer indenting
the dark skin.
Baptiste froze with his hand in mid-reach. His Adam's apple bobbed once.
Jarrett didn't need a billboard to know Sandora had always been the one in charge.
"Inside," Sandora repeated, his tone flat.
Jarrett stepped back, out of the way, trying to ignore the way his heart suddenly wanted to stampede its way out of his
body through his throat. He kept his gaze firmly on Sandora. He'd never been so close to a drawn weapon before. He
insisted Venice keep it out of sight any time they were together. Though she respected his wishes, she often called him a
big girl, threatening to drag him down to the shooting range to teach him how to use it.
He really should have taken her up on her offer. Though he didn't own a gun.
Okay, then, he really should have called and asked her to spend the night. She never would have let the situation
deteriorate to this point. And she probably would have shot Sandora the second he reached for his gun.
He refused to think about what she might have said about hiding Eli from the Feds. Just the prospect of the inevitable
tongue-lashing sent his balls crawling into his body.
The door closed quietly behind them. Sandora hadn't moved the gun an inch. Baptiste had his hands slightly raised in
the air, where Sandora could see them and not feel threatened, most likely. But all Jarrett cared about was how close he
now stood to someone who seemed more than willing to use violence to get what he wanted.
"I don't know what more you want from me," he said.
"I want Locke." Sandora was the one doing the talking now. "And I know you know where he is."
"I don't."
"You were with him." He jabbed the gun harder into Baptiste's neck. "Unless you lied about that, too."
A muscle twitched in the agent's jaw, like it wanted to escape as badly as Jarrett did. "I didn't lie. Yager heard someone
say his name in the background."
Jarrett circled around, edging toward the windows and forcing both men to look away from the bedroom door. "I'll tell
you where we were. The FBI must have the resources to track where he went." It didn't occur to him until after the
words were out of his mouth that if they could do that, they could also determine Eli hadn't left on his own. But Jarrett
had to deal with the danger of this moment, not one that might not ever come.
Sandora's lip curled into a sneer. "Do I look like I got Fed resources to you? All I got is one little rat who doesn't even
know how to get out of his own fucking maze."
"Just do what he says, Mr. Kessel." Baptiste's eyes pleaded with him as much as his tone. "He's serious."
Jarrett had no doubt about that. Fear like nothing he'd ever known before crawled through his veins, leaving them
desiccated and useless except to echo his thundering heart. He also had no doubt that if he betrayed Eli's presence at this
point, neither one of them would come out of this unscathed.
His mind raced. "I don't know where he is," he repeated. "But I do know he was staying with someone near Loyola.
That's got to narrow the search down for you."
"See?" Baptiste said. "Loyola. I can work with that, Sandora. Let's get out of here."
Sandora was silent. He stared at Jarrett, his cold eyes narrowed and assessing. Jarrett did everything he could not to
squirm, but he felt like a bug under a microscope, like Sandora could see into his head and know the truth of everything
he was holding back. He wasn't accustomed to feeling so helpless. He used his wits to get out of most scrapes. What he
wouldn't do for some of Sovereign's powers right about now.
"You're like a broken faucet," he finally said. "You're just giving me drips when I want more."
"No." Jarrett shook his head. "Honest. That's all I know. Loyola." If he could just get Sandora out of the apartment, he
could call the police. At this point, it was worth getting them involved. Their lives were worth more than some heat
from the FBI.
"The thing about a broken faucet, though, is to figure out what's blocking it up."
Only his finger moved.
Jarrett jumped at the unexpected noise from the gun. Silencers in the movies always made a spitting sound. This
sounded like a car door slamming, but it was nothing compared to the way the blood sprayed out the other side of
Baptiste's neck, splattering across the beige wall and the frame of his Aagaard print.
Baptiste crumpled sideways. He landed like a broken doll at the edge of the glass end table.
Swallowing down the bile in his throat, Jarrett swung his gaze back up to Sandora. The gun was now aimed directly at
Jarrett's chest.
"How's that memory of yours now?" Sandora asked.
Chapter 6
Oh, God, he killed him. He actually killed him. In my apartment. Did the neighbors hear? God, I hope so. Mr. Curran,
if ever there was a time for you to be paranoid about noise in the building, this is it.
Jarrett couldn't control his terrified thoughts, though he was having better luck over his body. His stomach roiled at the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
