The Bodyguard's Assignment Page 6

  “Don’t you have a cell phone?” Grace asked. “We could call a wrecker.” She could feel the weight of her own phone in her jacket pocket, but Brady didn’t know about it, and she wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. The phone was her only link to Kane and her mother.

  He shrugged. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. A wrecker could take hours to get out here in this weather.” He turned to face her. “You stay put. I’ll go see if I can find some rocks or wood, something to wedge under the tires for traction.”

  Grace reached for her door handle. “I’ll help you.”

  “You’re not dressed for this weather.” His gaze dipped for one split second to the front of her denim jacket. “I’ll leave the heater running. You should be warm enough. I’ll try to hurry.”

  After he was gone, Grace sat shivering inside the truck. The heater was blowing steadily, but her chill had little to do with the cold. The moment the door had closed behind Brady, the idea had come to her that now was her chance to get away from him. She could use her cell phone to call a taxi to come pick her up.

  But he’d said it would take hours for a wrecker to get out here in this weather. A taxi probably wouldn’t even bother until morning, and there was no way she could hide from Brady for the rest of the night. As desperate as she was to get back to Dallas, she wasn’t an idiot. She knew she wouldn’t last long in this cold.

  The mere thought of spending the night outside in arctic weather made her huddle more deeply inside her jacket. She closed her eyes, thinking about her mother. Wherever Angeline was, was she warm? Were they taking care of her?

  Was she afraid?

  Tears smarted behind Grace’s lids, but she blinked them away. Crying did no good. She’d learned that a long time ago, when her father had walked out on them. Better to keep a cool head and try to figure out what to do.

  But the thought of her mother, alone and frightened in some strange place, filled Grace with despair. Angeline was like a child. In some ways, she and Grace had traded places, Angeline becoming the innocent, and Grace becoming the caregiver, the one who worried long into the night. It was up to her now to bring her mother home safely.

  Grace wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting alone in the truck when she spotted a faint illumination far down the highway. She watched the glow turn into twin pinpricks of light. A car was coming. A way back to civilization. A way back to Dallas.

  She reached for her briefcase in the back seat. The money would come in handy if she had to pay someone to give her a lift.

  Shivering with cold, she stood outside the truck, peering through the darkness. She had no idea which direction Brady had gone, or how long he’d be away. If he heard the oncoming vehicle, he might figure out what she had in mind and come running.

  Grace hated leaving him alone out here like this, but he had a cell phone and he had a gun. He wasn’t without resources, she reminded herself. He’d once been a cop, was still obviously in law enforcement of some kind.

  She struggled up the frozen incline, her feet slipping and sliding beneath her. Finally she made it to the top and glanced back at the truck. Brady was still nowhere in sight.

  Standing on the side of the road, she watched the lights, but the vastness of the flat landscape made it difficult to judge how far away the vehicle was. Grace started to move closer to the highway, but before she could take a step, Brady grabbed her from behind and spun her around. Startled, she lost her breath. He’d moved so stealthily, she hadn’t heard him come up behind her.

  “I thought I told you to stay in the truck.” His grasp tightened on her arm as he started pulling her toward the slope.

  Grace instinctively resisted. “There’s a car coming. I wanted to flag it down, ask the driver to take us to the nearest town—”

  “But you were going to wait for me, right?” His gaze fell to the briefcase she clutched in her hand. “Thanks, Grace.”

  “It’s not like you’re completely stranded,” she said lamely. “You have a cell phone.”

  “Which may or may not work out here.” He pulled her toward the embankment. “Come on.”

  “But we can still flag down the car—”

  “Use your head for once,” he all but growled. “Someone tried to kill us back in Dallas. The last thing we want is to go waving down strange vehicles in the middle of the night.”

  When he put it that way—

  They were halfway back down the grade when Grace’s feet slipped from underneath her. She landed with a thud and slid the rest of the way down the hill on her butt. Brady didn’t even bother to help her up. He strode over to the truck and shut off the engine. “Get up. We’ve got to get moving.”

  Grace limped along behind him without argument. She couldn’t deny they’d been shot at in Dallas, and she knew better than anyone what Kane was capable of. She’d seen him murder in cold blood. Fear for her mother’s life had made her think and act irrationally. From here on out, she knew she had to be a lot smarter. She had to get one step ahead of Brady—and Kane—and stay there.

  The only cover for miles around was a stand of cedars that grew along the dry creek bed, but Brady headed straight out into the open plain. Their footsteps crunched on the icy stems of last summer’s crop as they put distance between themselves and the highway.

  The headlights drew nearer, and finally Brady stopped and pulled Grace to the ground. “Lie flat. Don’t make a sound or a move.”

  “But they’ll see us out here. There’s no cover.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of hiding in plain sight?”

  She’d heard of it, she just didn’t put much stock in it.

  She lay still just the same. The sound of the car engine grew louder, and Grace held her breath. Beside her, Brady lay tensed and waiting.

  When the vehicle passed by, she exhaled in relief, but when she would have lifted her head, Brady’s hand on the back of her neck shoved her face ruthlessly to the ground. The frozen stems cut into her skin, and the cold penetrated her thin clothes. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t control her shivering. But the car had gone on by. They were safe—

  Brady’s hand was still lodged firmly against the back of her neck when the vehicle stopped fifty feet or so down the road. After a split second, the tires whined on the glassy pavement as the driver reversed.

  Other than to hold her down, Brady hadn’t moved a muscle. He seemed capable of lying there for hours, if need be. But it was torture for Grace. Not just the cold and discomfort, but the agony of not being able to see what was happening. How had Brady known they were in danger?

  Maybe they weren’t in danger, Grace thought hopefully. It was possible the driver had glimpsed Brady’s truck in the gully and was stopping to help.…

  Brady’s hand was no longer on her neck, but Grace didn’t dare move. Up on the highway, the vehicle slithered to a stop, and the doors opened and closed quietly. After a moment, two figures came into Grace’s line of view as they crept toward Brady’s truck.

  When one of them opened the door, she caught a glimpse of his face, and her breath lodged painfully in her throat. It was one of the men who had been in the warehouse the night Priestley was killed. She was almost certain of it.

  The truck door closed, extinguishing the light. The men conversed softly to one another, their voices carrying across the open field. They spoke Spanish, too low and rapid for Grace to make out what they were saying. She wanted to turn her head and glance at Brady, but instead she lay perfectly still, her muscles aching from the effort.

  Then, without warning, gunfire erupted, and Grace’s heart jerked in fear. She thought the men must have spotted them, and her first instinct was to get up and run. But after one terror-stricken moment, she realized they were firing on the empty truck, blowing out the tires and windows with round after round from semi-automatic weapons.

  They continued to fire as they backed away from the truck. A bullet struck the gas tank, and Grace h
eard a loud swooshing sound as a spark ignited the fumes. Seconds later, an explosion rocked the ground like an earthquake as a huge fireball shot skyward.

  Grace’s hands were in rigid fists pressed against her thighs. She forgot about the cold. The explosion drove everything from her mind but fear. These men were killers. If they saw her and Brady, they wouldn’t think twice about turning the weapons on them. Or maybe they wouldn’t shoot Grace. Not yet. Not until they had the tape. And men like that had ways of getting what they wanted.

  Men like that had kidnapped her mother.

  Her heart began to hammer in slow, painful thuds. She had almost flagged them down. She had almost given herself over to them, and worse, she’d almost given them Brady.

  She turned her head ever so slightly to make eye contact with Brady, to try and telegraph her gratitude. He was nowhere in sight.

  Grace’s insides went weak with a nauseating terror. Where was he? He’d been beside her one moment, and the next, he’d vanished as quietly as the falling mist.

  Her ears rang in the silent aftermath of the explosion, and the smell of burning rubber stung her eyes. Grace lay shivering on the ground, wondering where Brady was, wondering what she would do if he never came back. Wondering if she would be too late to save her mother. She watched helplessly as the two gunmen separated and circled the stand of cedar trees. It would be only a matter of time before they widened the search, before they spotted her out in the open.

  She tasted blood on her tongue and realized she’d bitten her lip. But the pain hardly registered. The rapid thump of her heart made it difficult to think. Grace didn’t know what to do. Lie there and wait…or make a run for it.

  How much easier her decision would be if she knew where Brady was. If she knew he was okay—

  The gunmen disappeared into the cedar thicket, and almost immediately a shot rang out, and then another. Grace half rose in terror. For an eternity, the night seemed to hold a collective breath, and then she saw a shadow emerge from the trees. Brady!

  She stood on wobbly legs. The briefcase was still clutched in one hand and as he came up to her, he reached down and took it from her frozen fingers.

  “You’re okay,” she all but whispered. It was a statement not a question. She reached out and put a trembling hand on his arm, as if to reassure herself. To her amazement—and relief—he didn’t push her away. “I thought…when I realized you were gone…”

  “It’s okay. It’s all over.” His voice sounded oddly subdued, considering everything that had just happened. He stared down at her for a moment, and though he wasn’t touching her back, something passed between them. A silent communication. She’d been afraid for him, and he understood. He’d been afraid for her, too.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he finally said.

  Silently, they retraced their steps across the frozen ground. The drizzle had stopped momentarily, and overhead, a few stars twinkled out. In the aftermath of danger, adrenaline rushed through Grace’s veins, making her senses seem more keenly alive, the silence more profound. It was strange, but she almost enjoyed the moment—safe now, with Brady beside her.

  The smoldering truck loomed in the darkness ahead of them. They stopped and surveyed the damage. “I’m guessing I won’t be getting my deposit back on that one,” Brady said without much humor.

  Grace glanced up at him. “I’d say not. So…what do we do now?”

  “We take theirs.” He nodded toward the Land Rover parked on the shoulder of the highway.

  Grace shuddered, wondering what had happened in the cedar woods but not quite ready to ask.

  He said, unexpectedly, “What’s in the briefcase, Grace?”

  She hesitated. “Nothing important.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I get rid of it.” He lifted it as if to toss it into the burning truck, but Grace grabbed for it.

  “No, don’t!”

  “Nothing important, you said.” Brady stared down at her in the darkness. “You’re not holding out on me, are you, Grace?”

  She sighed. “Okay. There’s money inside. Ten thousand dollars.”

  His brows lifted slightly. “Planning to be on the run for a while, were you? Anything else I should know about?”

  “The tape isn’t in there, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In Dallas. Take me back, and I’ll give it to you.”

  “Nice try.” He opened the briefcase, and a Neiman Marcus shopping bag fell out. He dumped the contents on the ground, and rifled through the money. Then replacing the bills, he handed her the sack. “Better hang onto this. It might come in handy after you testify.”

  The implication wasn’t lost on Grace. Once she testified against Kane and Rialto, she wouldn’t be able to go back to her old job, to her old life. She’d end up with nothing except the identity the government created for her.

  Brady rose, and before she could stop him, he flung the briefcase into the burning truck.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked in surprise.

  He glanced down at her in the darkness. “Think about it for a minute. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  He climbed up the embankment without touching her, and Grace was forced to struggle along behind him.

  “YOU HAVE TO WONDER how those men found us,” Brady mused, almost to himself.

  They’d been back on the road for several minutes, hardly saying a word. Grace was still too shaken to speak.

  He shot her an enigmatic glance. “You’re a smart woman. What’s your best guess?”

  She shrugged. “We were followed, obviously.”

  “Lot of ways to leave Dallas. How did Kane know where we were going?”

  She hesitated, glancing at him. “You think someone planted a tracking device in my briefcase? Is that why you destroyed it? Why didn’t you just search it instead? Then we’d know for sure.”

  “Because I didn’t have time to do a thorough search—take off all the hinges and latches, rip out the lining.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, alarming Grace so that she turned to study the road behind them. They seemed to be alone on the highway, but she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  “Who had access to your briefcase in the last couple of days?”

  His question snapped her head back around. “You think someone I know planted the bug?” Her mind flashed to Helen, nudging the case toward her at the café. A little while later, Grace and Brady had been shot at.

  But Helen? No way. She was Grace’s best friend. If Grace couldn’t trust Helen, she couldn’t trust anyone. “She wouldn’t do that,” Grace murmured, almost to herself.

  “You mean Helen?”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “How did you know I was talking about Helen?”

  “Because I saw her bring you the briefcase earlier tonight. How do you think I found you? I followed her from the paper.” His gaze went to the rearview mirror again.

  This time, Grace refrained from turning around to look at the highway behind them. Instead, she said, “Okay, so if you followed her, someone else could have, too.”

  “That might explain why we were shot at on Market Street, but not what just happened back there on the highway.”

  Grace turned to face him. “Assuming a bug was planted, Helen wasn’t the only one who had access. The briefcase was in my office. Anyone at the paper could have gotten to it.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  She hesitated. “I guess I’ve been wondering about Burt.”

  “Burt Gordon?” He sounded surprised.

  She nodded. “I met him in his office after I escaped from the warehouse that night. I told him everything—about the murder and the tape, everything. He got angry when I wouldn’t turn over the tape to him for safekeeping, and he wasn’t too thrilled when I called the cops.”

  Brady glanced at her. “You think he’s working for Kane?”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle, shivering. “I don’t kn
ow.”

  “You surprise me, Grace. I always figured you and Burt Gordon were pretty tight.”

  “We were. We go back a long way. We started at the paper together. He’s given me a lot of breaks, but I can’t help remembering that…” She trailed off, glancing out the window.

  “Remembering what?”

  She sighed. “He’s the one who ran that story five years ago after I told him to sit on it. Like you said, the police couldn’t touch Kane after that.”

  Brady was silent for a moment, thinking. “Did he know about your association with Priestley before you went to that warehouse?”

  “He knew everything. He’s the one who gave me the go ahead to pursue Priestley.”

  Brady paused again. “Tell me about that night. What happened at the warehouse?”

  Grace shrugged. “You already seem to know what happened.” Whoever Brady was working for had briefed him thoroughly.

  “I’d like to hear it from you.”

  She drew a long breath and released it. “Priestley wanted me to do an exposé on Kane’s alliance with Stephen Rialto and ultimately with the Calderone drug cartel. He wanted out, but Kane wouldn’t just let him walk away. He knew too much. He thought if I exposed Kane through the paper, the police would go after him. Kane would be put away, and Priestley would be free of him. But something went wrong. Somehow Kane found out about Priestley. He shot him in cold blood that night. Took out his gun and just blew him away.” She said the words almost numbly, but inside, Grace was quivering with fear. That same man, that murderer, had her mother.

  “Kane and Priestley were childhood friends,” she said. “They went to college together. But when Rialto told him he needed to prove his loyalty so they would know they could trust him, Kane didn’t hesitate to pull that trigger.”

  “You saw Stephen Rialto in the warehouse that night?” Brady asked sharply. “You can place him at the scene of the murder?”

  Grace thought back. “I can’t be sure it was Rialto. I never got a good look at his face. But the man I saw was definitely in charge. He had authority. And he was accompanied by two bodyguards. I think they were the same men back there on the highway.”