And that was so not what she was supposed to be focusing on right now, she lectured herself as the driver killed the engine and emerged from the vehicle, carrying the requisite paperwork. Moments later, the back doors swung open and two other guys jumped down and started readying the body bags for transfer into the morgue. The men were wearing drab uniforms with weapon belts, and hats pulled low over their brows, making them blend into a certain sort of samenessexcept for the blue-eyed guard, who Chelsea recognized immediately, even from the back.
He was maybe five-ten or so, with wide shoulders and ropy muscles that strained the fabric of his uniform, as though hed bulked up recently and hadnt yet replaced his clothes. His hips were narrow, his legs powerful, and though shed never really gone for the uniform look beforeshe was surrounded by cops on a daily basis, so there wasnt much novelty in itthe dark material of his pants did seriously interesting things to his backside when he bent over and fiddled with one of the gurneys, unlocking it from the fasteners that had kept it in place during transport.
As far as she could tell, two of the bodies were on gurneys, two on the floor of the van. Normally she wouldve been annoyed by the lack of respect for the dead. Not this time, though.
When the driver moved to hand the paperwork to Jerry, the assistant waved it off and pointed at Chelsea. Shes in charge. Im just the muscle.
She tore herself away from ogling the guard to reach for the clipboard. Ill take the paperwork. Jerry can help you unload and show you where the bodies go.
The driver frowned. I thought a guy was supposed to sign off on the delivery. Rickey Charles.
Chelsea flipped through the pages, nodding when everything looked good. Once all the bags were inside the morgue, she would open them up and inspect the bodies, making sure the info matched. Then, and only then, would she sign the papers indicating that shed accepted the delivery, freeing the guards to make the return trip to the prison.
Not paying full attention to the driver, she said, Rickey got held up this morning. Im covering.
Actually, her fellow medical examiner was in lockup, sleeping it off after being arrested on his third DUI, but she wasnt about to advertise the fact. Sara had made a monumental mistake hiring the charismatic young pathologist in the first place, but he was related to one of her higher-ups, and hed fit the young and innovative stamp shed been trying to put on the MEs office, so shed given him a chance despite his less-than-stellar recommendations.
Thatd come back to bite Sara, but Chelsea knew her friend would handle it quietly. There was no need to gossip.
Noticing that the driver had started to fidget, she said, Dont stress. Itll just take a few minutes.
He mumbled something, grabbed the clipboard and turned away, heading back for the van.
Hey! she called, starting after him. I havent signed off yet.
Just then, Jerry started pushing the first gurney toward the morgue, and she saw that hed acquired a smear of red on the front of his scrubs.
Jerry, stop, Chelsea said quickly as a twist of worry locked in her stomach. She crossed to the blue-eyed guard, who was facing away from her, prepping the second bag for transport. She tapped him on the shoulder. Werent these body bags surface-cleaned back at the prison?
They certainly shouldve been. Not only was it standard protocol, but it was also doubly important in this case, given that they didnt yet know why or how the prisoners had died.
Her guard turnedthat was how she found herself thinking of him, as her guard, though that was sillyand she got the full-on gut punch of his charisma. His features were lean, his skin drawn and pale, and he didnt look like he smiled much. And those eyesup close they were even more magnetic than shed thought them from afar, ice blue and arresting, and holding a level of intensity that reached inside her and grabbed on, kindling a curl of heat in her belly.
He looked more like a grown-up than most of the thirty-somethings she knew. He looked like a leader, like someone who would take charge of any situation.
Were just the transporters, he said, his voice a rough rasp that slid along her nerve endings and left tiny shivers behind. Were running late, so itd be best if you signed off on the delivery so we can be on our way. Something moved in his expression, there and gone so quickly she almost missed it, but leaving the impression that his words were more an order than a suggestion.
Nerves fired through her, warning that something wasnt right.
Not liking the feeling, or the strange effect the guard had on her, Chelsea backpedaled a step. But she stuck to operating procedures, saying, Im not signing anything if theres blood on the bags. You have no idea what killed these men. For all we know, it could be an infectious agent. She gestured for Jerry to step away from the gurney, and reached for her cell phone. Leave everything right where it is. Im calling my boss.
This is so not what Sara needs right now, she thought, but protocol was protocol, and if the medical staff at the ARX Supermax had been so sloppy as to allow the bodies to be shipped without the bags being disinfected first, who knew what other safety precaution they mightve skipped?
Wait, the blue-eyed guard said, holding up a hand. At that same moment, the guard behind him spun and grabbed for something on his belt. A gun.
Chelseas eyes locked on the weapon, and she froze.
Jerrys head jerked up and his mouth went slack, his eyes locking on the other guard. Hey, arent you
The man shot him where he stood.
Jerry jerked spasmodically as blood bloomed in the center of his forehead. Then he went limp and fell, his eyes glazing as he dropped, his mouth open in an O of surprise.
To Chelsea, the world seemed to slow down, his body collapsing at half-speed. She sucked in a breath to scream, but before she could make a sound, something slammed into her temple, dazing her.
She staggered, only just beginning to realize that the guards werent guards at all. They were convicts wearing the clothing of the guards who were no doubt filling the body bags in the van. Somehow the prisoners had played dead and then pulled a switch en route.
Heart drumming as her consciousness dimmed, Chelsea fumbled for her phone, and watched it spin out of her grasp and clatter to the ground, which pitched and heaved beneath her. The blue-eyed guard caught her as she fell, supporting her in his strong, steady arms, in a grip that shouldnt have felt as good as it did.
The last thing she comprehended before she passed out was a piercing sense of disappointment that somehow existed alongside the terror. Of course he was trouble; shed never been truly attracted to any other kind of man. Sara had even joked one time that Chelseas taste in men was going to be the death of her.
What if shed been right?
Chapter Two
Jonah Fairfax hadnt touched a woman in nearly nine months, and this was not how hed pictured ending the drought.
When Fax had imagined his reintroduction to feminine companionship from the sterile gloom of his six-by-ten cell, hed figured on candlelight, good food and soft music, and either a paid escort or a sympathetic friend of a friend. Or, hell, even his handler and sometimes lover, who called herself Jane Doe even in bed.
When Fax had imagined his reintroduction to feminine companionship from the sterile gloom of his six-by-ten cell, hed figured on candlelight, good food and soft music, and either a paid escort or a sympathetic friend of a friend. Or, hell, even his handler and sometimes lover, who called herself Jane Doe even in bed.
The womans identity hadnt been particularly important to his sexual fantasy. What had mattered were the trappings of civilization, the colors and smells, and the textures of real life.
However, that fantasy most definitely hadnt involved a prison meat wagon backed up to the morgue where theyd been stood up by Rickey Charles, the contact who was the key to the next stage in their getaway. And it definitely hadnt starred a pistol-whipped woman hanging limply in his armsand three seriously nasty terrorists glaring at him like they already regretted involving him in their jailbreak.
Not that theyd had a choice. Hed made damn sure of that, with help from Jane and some of the other agents working underneath her. She headed up a national security agency so secret it didnt even have a name, one that was organized along the lines of the very terror networks it hunted, with each agent functioning as a separate cell, not knowing who else might be involved, or how.
For this particular op, Jane had gotten Fax arrested for murder, constructing such a deep, seamless cover that even his mother and brothers had written him off. That had been the only way to make him useful to al-Jihad, just as orchestrating an escape had been the only way they could come up with to flush out the high-level terrorists suspected contacts within Homeland Security itself.
The deaths of the prison guards and the morgue attendant were regrettable, but Jane had chosen Fax for the op because she knew he could function in the bloodiest situations and deal with an acceptable level of collateral damageand innocent lives lostif it meant getting the job done. It was cold, yes, but necessary.
Jane had honed that level of detachment, perhaps, but he could thank his wife, Abby, for setting him on the path. Shed been dead five years now, and he thought she wouldve hated what hed become. No way she wouldve accepted the part her betrayal had playedshed never been big on personal accountability. But even as he thought that, Fax was mildly surprised to realize itd been some time since hed last thought of the woman whod been his high-school sweetheart, and later his wife. In the past, her memory had driven him, haunted him, made him into the bloodless man hed become, the one Jane had needed and wanted.
Now, it seemed, even the warmth of anger was fading, leaving him colder still.
You gonna kill the bitch or dance with her first? Lee Mawadi asked, nodding to the woman in Faxs arms with a sneer.
Then again, Lee seemed to do pretty much everything with a sneer. Fax was pretty sure it covered some major insecurities.
Fax didnt know any of his fellow escapees well, because the 24/7 solitary confinement at the ARX Supermax tended to cut down on social discourse. Hed met the three terrorists in person for the first time just an hour earlier, when theyd awoken from the drugs Jane had smuggled to him, which had mimicked death close enough to pass inspection for twelve hours.
Almost immediately upon awakening, Fax had pegged the thirtysomething, blond Lee Mawadi as a wannabe, a follower. Lee had grown up a rich, pampered American, but had developed a love of violence along the way, a desire to kill, and be part of a killing squad. Hed hooked up with al-Jihad and had found the leader hed been seeking. Hed played the part of a businessman, married a photographer and lived the American dream, all while working as a member of al-Jihads crew, following orders without question.
Lee was a lemming, but Fax suspected he was a nasty critter, the sort that would bite you before it ran off the cliff in pursuit of its leader.
No need to kill her, Fax said in answer to Lees question. Shes out cold. He shifted the womans deadweight, figuring on dumping her off to the side, out of harms way. The younger, male morgue attendant was beyond help, but if Fax played it right, he could probably leave the woman alive without attracting too much suspicion. Motioning to the van with his chin, he raised his voice and called to the other members of the small group, Lets get out of here. Our covers blown to hell thanks to Lees itchy trigger finger.
As planned, theyd come out of the coma-inducing meds mid-transpo. Fax had suffered a moment of atavistic terror at finding himself zipped inside a body bag, but al-Jihad had come through as promised. The bag was taped shut rather than zippered, and one of the four guards had distracted the others long enough for the prisoners to emerge from their bags and get into position. Then theyd killed all four guardsincluding their accomplice, whom al-Jihad didnt trust to stay boughtby breaking their necks, so as to keep their uniforms unbloodied. Then theyd switched places, four for four. Fax didnt know what the death-mimicking meds had contained, but theyd left him with a nasty hangover and occasional double vision. That didnt matter, though. He was still alive, his cover intact. His job was to keep it that way until he figured out who al-Jihad was working with, and what they planned to do next.
With fanatical monsters like him it wasnt a case of if; it was a case of when and where.
Hey! Slow to catch the insult, Lee spun in the midst of dragging the younger mans body into the van. The guy recognized me. I had no choice!
Maybe, Fax retorted, propping the woman up against the cold cement wall, partially hidden behind a Dumpster. Maybe not.
Knowing he was pushing it, he slid a look at the other two men, who as far as he was concerned were far more dangerous than Lee Mawadi.
Muhammad Feyds dossier pegged the dark-eyed, dark-haired man at thirty-eight, a fanatic among fanatics whod left al Qaeda in search of a more proactive group of anti-Western terrorists. Hed found exactly that in the man seated in the passengers seat of the prison transpo vana man known simply as al-Jihad.
The terrorist leaders dossier was thin, devoid of any information predating the new millennium. Hed appeared on the world stage just before the September 11th terror attacks, had slipped out of the country immediately thereafter, and had played tag with Homeland Security for the next several years. Federal law enforcement suspected that hed been the mastermind behind numerous bombings and other atrocities, but had never managed to concretely tie him to any of the attacks until hed finally been tried and convicted for the Santa Bombings that had occurred in several major Colorado cities a few years earlier.
Targeting six shopping malls all owned by the American Mall group, the bombings had been planned to coincide with the ceremonial arrival of the mall Santas to their decorated thrones. All six of the Santas had diedalong with the parents and children whod been lined up, eagerly awaiting the kickoff to the holiday season.
It had been terrorism at its most horrible, and local and federal law enforcement had worked around the clock to indict and convict al-Jihad and his henchmen. They had succeeded, but the evidence had been more circumstantial than proof-positive. The terrorists high-powered defense attorney had lodged appeal after appeal, but the filings had wound up logjammed in the legal system, which Fax figured was no accident. The courts had no love of terrorists.