Striking Distance

Tugging the silk belt free she shrugged out of the robe, allowing it to puddle around her feet. She studied her nude body then. Her skin was still slightly flushed from her long, hot soak in the tub. Her dark hair, even with the silver streaks, contrasted sharply against her pale flesh. She’d never really noticed that before. Would the contrast please Lucas? Or did it only make her look pale and haggard?

Pushing that worrisome detail aside, she moved on to other features. Her breasts were still reasonably firm and high, not that they’d ever been that large, but they were presentable, she supposed. Her husband had never complained, but then, that had been a very long time ago.

Her waist narrowed nicely and her hips flared just enough, though she couldn’t quite claim a flat tummy. Time and gravity had taken its toll there as well as behind, she noted as she turned slightly. Her legs were fairly toned, mostly from the treadmill she used every morning.

She wondered what kind of women Lucas had been involved with in the past. Though he’d never been married she felt certain there had been numerous lovers; after all, he was a very handsome man with endless charm. A smile relaxed across her lips and affection twinkled in her brown eyes. Did her eyes glitter that way when she smiled at Lucas? She sighed, anxiety gnawing at her insides. Just something else to wonder about. She would know soon enough.

Locating panties and a nightgown, she dressed for bed, then turned off the lights except the one on her bedside table and crawled beneath the covers. She didn’t have to bother with turning off the music, it was on a timer. An hour from now it would end on a graceful note and, if she were lucky, she would be fast asleep. The day had been long and tiring. Going to the cemetery always affected her that way. She thought of the way she’d buried her wedding band and took a moment to search her heart now for regret or guilt but found none. She stared up at the ceiling and wondered at the lack of the emotions she’d fully expected to experience. Fifteen years was certainly long enough to grieve. She needed to move on. Living in the past had taken a heavy toll on her in the past few months.

It wasn’t really moving into a relationship with Lucas that weighed so heavily upon her, she felt reasonably sure. James would want her to be happy, there was no question there. It was her son.

He’d been gone for eighteen years. His twenty-fifth birthday would have been last month.

Her heart felt like a load of bricks in her chest as she sat upright and struggled for breath. Tears burned her eyes even now, after all those years. If only she could have had closure. The not knowing was the worst. She could only imagine the horrors her child had suffered before his death. Oh, she’d tried to pretend that some kind family had found and raised him. A couple who had been desperate because they couldn’t have a child of their own. But that wasn’t likely. She didn’t need an FBI profiler to tell her the score. She was all too well aware of what happened to most children who vanished into thin air.

She closed her eyes and forced away the thought of Leberman. Both she and James had been certain he had had something to do with Jimmy’s disappearance, but they’d never been able to find any proof. And as the years had dragged on that possibility had diminished. Leberman wanted to hurt them. If he’d been the one to take their child, wouldn’t he have used him to wield the ultimate pain? Another part of her was utterly convinced that Leberman was indeed the culprit. But she would never be certain.

They’d searched the lake for weeks. James had hired special diving teams even after the authorities had given up. He and Lucas had worked personally with those men. If he’d somehow ended up in the water, surely they would have found something...anything. But there was always the possibility that he was out there...beneath the glassy surface of that lake near the house she’d once called home. She shuddered at the thought.

She hadn’t been able to stay in that house after James had died. It was a splendid home. They’d planned its design together, had enjoyed every moment of the work involved in bringing it to life. The place was beautiful still...but she couldn’t go back there. Too many memories. Yet she hadn’t been able to part with the property, either. Too much of James was there, and then one of the FBI agents working her son’s case had told her that sometimes when stolen children grew older, assuming they survived, they found their way back home...to the last home they’d known with their families. So she’d kept the house. The agency used it as a safe house or for the occasional VIP since it wasn’t that far outside the city. But she never went there...never.

She didn’t like thinking about it. The memories were too painful.

Victoria threw the covers back and climbed from the bed that had felt like heaven on earth a few minutes ago but now closed in on her like a prison. She padded to the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator to see what looked good. She wasn’t really hungry, but she’d do anything to take her mind off the past. Lucas crossed her mind briefly, but she dismissed the idea. Too late for coffee and conversation...too soon for anything else. Food would have to suffice. Carrots, salad fixings. She made a face. Not in the mood. Yogurt. Not tonight.

Ice cream. Now that was more like it.

She pulled the freezer door open and reached inside, spotting her favorite flavor right off the bat. Her hand stalled halfway to its destination. A box of chocolate ice cream sat next to her vanilla. The bright yellow smiley faces drawing and holding her attention.

Why would there be chocolate?

She never ate chocolate. It gave her hives.

She frowned, but then remembered that her housekeeper sometimes brought along snacks on cleaning day...but she was on a diet. The carrots and celery in the vegetable bin were hers.

Victoria picked up the full quart of forbidden indulgence and studied it. The cold from the open freezer door, from the package, leeched through her skin, settling deep inside her. She shivered...tried to think why this carton’s presence should disturb her. She hadn’t seen those smiley faces for years....

Jimmy had loved chocolate anything...ice cream...milk. Especially the kind that came in this carton.

Just as Beethoven’s sonata reached a crescendo the box slipped from her limp fingers.

She backed away from the refrigerator.

Her head moving from side to side, she told herself it couldn’t have anything to do with him.

She should call Freda and see if she had brought it...if she’d gone off her diet—

The security alarm wailed, jerking Victoria from the unsettling thoughts.

Confusion pulled her in different directions before she gathered her wits. She should turn the music off. Pick up the box of ice cream that lay on the floor. Needed her robe...

Shaking off the confusion, she rushed to the keypad near the front door. She’d set the alarm before her bath. It was habit...she scarcely remembered the act. The display flashed a warning that a failure had occurred in area fifteen.

The den. Grabbing the closest object for protection, which turned out to be a long-handled umbrella from its stand, she moved quietly toward the den, the siren wailing in the background, drowning out Beethoven. She wasn’t really afraid. The community security guard would arrive almost immediately. As if to punctuate that thought the telephone rang. She ignored it. If she didn’t answer, the authorities would arrive post haste, as well. Any burglar worth his salt would know that and run like hell. She huffed under her breath, any burglar worth his salt wouldn’t have tripped the alarm in the first place.

The den stood in complete darkness. It was past midnight and any moonlight there might be was blocked by the trees shading this side of the house. She stood very still, listening, watching, but sensed no movement...no presence. Holding her breath, she reached for the wall switch by the door and flipped on the lights.

The problem wasn’t immediately evident. All looked as it should be. The sheer panel hanging between her drapes suddenly shifted. A new kind of tension climbed up Victoria’s spine. Moving cautiously, listening for any sound besides the insistent alarm and the rushing piano notes, she edged toward the window. Another slight shift of the sheer fabric. Every muscle tensed for battle, she jerked the panel back. The window was open only four or five inches. Just enough to allow a breeze to drift into the room. Just enough to break the connection of the security contact.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and peered down at the open sash. How had that happened? It had to have been closed when she set the alarm, otherwise she’d have gotten a default message. When she would have reached to push the sash down she saw a small black, mangled object, not much larger than a quarter on the sill. She leaned closer and visually inspected the object. Knowing better than to touch it and contaminate any evidence it might offer, she stood back and considered the possibilities.

She always kept the windows locked. Always. Unlocking it from the outside without breaking the glass would be impossible. Plus, this was a gated community, it wasn’t as if vandalism or burglaries were commonplace. Had someone intended to open her window earlier, before she came home, and somehow failed? That didn’t make sense. How would they have gotten in with the alarm set?

Pounding on the front door startled her from her thoughts. Surprised that security had arrived even more quickly than she’d anticipated, Victoria disarmed the security system as she passed the keypad on the way to her front door. Perhaps the police had arrived, as well.

“Mrs. Colby!”

She hurried to the door and peered through the peephole. Better to be safe than sorry. She drew back at what she saw. “Identify yourself, sir,” she demanded. This was no policeman. At least, not one in uniform. Nor was it the grounds security who donned clearly marked blue uniforms.

“Mrs. Colby, my name is John Logan. I work for Lucas. I need to know that you’re all right.”

He worked for Lucas? She remembered the name John Logan from that nightmare on St. Gabriel. She looked again. Her breath caught as she recognized the young man this time. What was he doing here?

She unlocked the door and jerked it open. “Is Lucas here? Has something happened?”

John Logan looked worried...or maybe upset. “No, ma’am, he’s not here, but he’s on his way.”

A frown furrowed across her brow. “Why are you here?”

“Ma’am, if you’ll let me come inside so I can ensure that the house is secure, Lucas will explain everything when he arrives.”

Irritation wiggled its way up her backbone as a scenario formed in her mind. Oh, he would explain all right. She’d known he’d been keeping something from her. She just hadn’t expected it to include John Logan.

“Come in, Mr. Logan,” she said with a welcoming, utterly fake smile pushed firmly into place. “Look around all you’d like. There’s an open window in my den. That’s what triggered the alarm.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded and walked right past her in the direction of her den.

Her mouth dropped open as she realized that he knew the layout of her home. But then, why was she surprised? Lucas always was thorough.

The golf cart security used to buzz around the small exclusive community came to a bone-jarring halt in her drive. Beyond that blue lights flickered, drawing her attention farther down the street. She knew without taking a second look that the SUV on the police cruiser’s tail was Lucas’s.

She left the door open and went in search of her robe. Dignity was required when exerting power over one’s own domain. Lucas was about to find out just how much indignation she could rally.

* * *

“Just how long were you going to wait before you told me?”

Lucas thought about that for a moment but one glance at Victoria told him he’d be better off just to tell her the truth rather than some concocted story. “Until we were safely away on our vacation.”

She blinked, fiddled with her robe a bit more, then looked up at him again. “So this man, this assassin, has been following me for two weeks.”

Lucas nodded. “At least. We’re trying to identify who he’s working for.”

She looked heavenward and made a disgusted sound. “Please, Lucas, spare me the supposition. You don’t need evidence. You know it’s him.”

He sighed. It was after 3:00 a.m. They were both tired. Pursuing this discussion was pointless, but she wasn’t finished punishing him just yet. “Yes, Victoria, I believe it’s him. But I have to be certain.”

“How are you planning to pinpoint his involvement?” Her expression boasted her considerable doubt. “You know how he is. He can stay underground for months—years even. He could be anywhere, posing as anyone, providing this assassin with his instructions over the Internet.”

That was all true. She knew it and so did he. “I’m moving someone into position to get close to this assassin as we speak,” he explained. “Once you and I have disappeared, he’ll have no choice but to report to Leberman, leading our source straight to him.” Lucas couldn’t help glancing around the room even though he knew his own man had swept the entire house for surveillance bugs. Still, it was habit.

Victoria stood, abruptly announcing she’d heard enough. She was furious and he couldn’t blame her.

Lucas supported his weight on his cane as he got to his feet. Damn, he was exhausted. “Logan has removed the device from your windowsill and locked the window. The house has been swept for bugs and any other sort of foreign gadget or substance. Are you sure you’ll feel comfortable here the rest of the night?”

He would like nothing better than to take her back to his hotel with him. But she would refuse. He knew her answer before he asked. He didn’t really like her being here after what happened tonight, but his men would be watching.

The intruder had obviously gotten in while Victoria was at the office today. He’d disarmed her security, since she said she always set it before leaving for work, and then planted the device that contained a small explosive charge—just enough to push the unlocked window up at a later time, breaking the security mechanism’s contact. Then he’d reset her alarm and left. Lucas assumed that the small explosive had been coated with a substance that deteriorated when subjected to air. The slow deterioration, likely calculated to the very minute, had allowed for the timing of the explosion and thus the security breach. Ingenious. Lucas knew before he looked there would be no prints. This intruder was a professional.

It was him.

The assassin who feared no one—not even Lucas and his men. Lucas wasn’t stupid. He felt certain the guy was well aware his men had noticed his presence. And still he stalked Victoria. Fearlessly.

The idea that he could have left more explosives in the house tied Lucas’s gut in knots. There was no end to the damage he could have done—poison and any number of other booby traps. He should have had someone watching the house at all times...but he hadn’t even considered that avenue. His only concern had been keeping Victoria safe in real time. He’d failed to properly evaluate the threat. He was too close to this...not thinking clearly. It wouldn’t happen again.

“No, thank you, Lucas,” she said finally, the annoyance she’d felt at his deception visibly draining away. “I’ll be fine here. Besides—” she gestured to the door “—your capable men are right outside.”

That reminded him. Ian and Simon were still waiting outside with John Logan and Vincent Ferrelli. Lucas imagined the two of them would be dressed down next. Victoria had already told them in no uncertain terms that she would speak to them later.

Lucas nodded his understanding of her decision to stay home. As he had known, Victoria Colby would not run from any sort of threat. “We’ll talk again later this morning. We still haven’t reached a decision on where we’ll take our vacation.”

One brow winged higher than the other. “Do you really expect me to believe that you haven’t made that decision already?”

He tugged at his collar. Even without a tie binding his neck she could make him squirm. “We can discuss it over lunch.” He wanted her a lot calmer and more cooperative than she was right now before they made any decisions.

Damn, this was too close.

He hoped like hell Tasha could move in on their guy in a hurry. She’d be settled into her apartment by noon today. Maverick and Ramon, two more of his specialists, would serve as her backup, and bring her up to speed. She had to get next to this guy. Lucas needed something...anything to go on. He was counting on her to move quickly. He just hoped it didn’t get her killed.

He swallowed hard. If it did, it would be entirely his doing. She was young and reckless. Far too reckless to fully comprehend the level of danger involved. But he’d needed her, and Lucas had never failed to take whatever risk required to accomplish his mission. For the first time in his career, he wondered if he had done the right thing.

Victoria squeezed his arm. “I’m okay, Lucas. Really.”

He snapped back to the present. She’d mistaken his preoccupation for concern. And he was concerned. About a number of things. “That’s all that matters,” he said as much for his own benefit as hers. Keeping her safe was all that really mattered. He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Good night, Victoria.”

He didn’t want to leave her. She looked so vulnerable in that white silk robe with her dark hair falling down around her shoulders. He’d never seen her like that and it was all he could do not to stare in awe.

Allowing her one last smile, he turned away and started for the door.

“Oh, dear God,” she gasped.

He turned back to her, performed a quick visual inspection. Had she only now realized she was injured in some way? “What?”

“In all the excitement I completely forgot,” she murmured. Her frightened gaze collided with his and she gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. “I don’t eat chocolate ice cream.”

Chapter 8

The insistent throb of the music from the Metro Link nightclub kept a rhythmic pace with her confident stride as Tasha made her way to the entrance. Black thigh-high leather boots and skintight, cheek-baring silk shorts gave the illusion of legs that went on forever. Legs toned from all those five-mile runs, making every guy she passed stop and stare.

The strappy halter top showcased her flat belly and the contour of her spine, covering nothing except her breasts, and even then the gossamer-thin, lacy fabric scarcely left much to the imagination. A small leather bag, hardly large enough to hold some cash, a couple of loose cigarettes and her car keys, hung from a long, delicate gold chain that draped over her shoulder. The bag bounced against her hip with every step she took. An ankle-length jacket that was as sheer as air and designed from black netting so thin and fragile that it felt like a midnight fog against her skin completed the daring ensemble.

She possessed all the bait and weapons required for a manhunt.

At the main entrance she paused for the bouncer to wave his security wand around her body. She opened her purse to show her keys when the wand passed over it and hummed a warning.

She smiled wickedly at him. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about me,” she crooned. “The only thing I’m packing is a raging desire to find just the right guy.”

His slick bald head stilled, his eyes level with her waist when the wand hummed another warning at the top of her right boot. He looked up at her, one eyebrow cocked in question.

“It’s just my cell phone,” she insisted. She reached into her boot and tugged out the slim communicator that had triggered the metal detector. “See.” She waved it in front of his face before slipping it back into her boot. “Anything else you need to see?”

He straightened, glanced at the crowd lining up behind her and then back at her. He wanted to see more. No doubt. The gleam in his eyes gave away his every thought.

“Come on, man, we don’t got all night,” his co-worker groused. He waited impatiently, the official Metro Link stamp in his hand. A veteran on the job, she surmised. One who wouldn’t be impressed by a half-naked woman and a sexy come-on line.

The guy with the wand waved her through. “Have a nice night,” he offered, his tone chock-full of innuendo.

She leaned close to him and whispered, “Believe me, baby, I will.”

“Let’s go,” the other guy grumped.

Tasha squared her shoulders and gave him a look that said, Buddy, you need to get laid, and held out her hand. He glared at her then smacked the stamp in place. An eerie ML glowed on her skin between her wrist and knuckles. She flashed him a “bite me” smile and moved on.

Heavy-metal music blasted from the surround-sound system as she strode into the crowded club. The maximum occupancy posted was five hundred, and she’d bet Martin’s Jag that they’d long passed that limit. Patrons were jam-packed into every available square foot. A long, sleek bar of black-and-mirrored glass flowed along one wall. Up front the crush of the crowd made it difficult to distinguish one couple from another on the dance floor. It more accurately resembled a sea of body parts, all connected somehow like a scene from a gruesome horror novel as they gyrated to the beat.

A laser light show splashed across a screen high above the band jamming on the stage. Booze and beer abounded like manna from heaven, and she quickly spotted a number of other less-than-legal stimulants. Leather, lace and tattoos. Smoke, heat and sex. Women with men and all variations in between. It was all out there. Just like Sodom and Gomorrah.

So this was his favorite haunt, she mused, scanning for her target. Tall, blond and deadly liked it trashy. Well, she could play any way necessary. Backup knew where she was at all times. The handy dandy tracking-monitoring device looked just like a skin patch, the kind people used for kicking the nicotine habit or for birth control. Skin colored and shaped like a small round bandage. Rafe “Maverick” Scott, one of the two men Lucas had assigned as her backup, had instructed her to place it under her left breast. The device would send out a constant signal providing her location as well as her cardio stats. If her heart rate escalated to panic level Maverick would come to her rescue.

But she wasn’t going to need that kind of backup tonight.

She did a double take, her gaze landing on Mr. John Doe himself.

“Mmm-hmm,” she muttered under her breath. “You are one amazing Y chromosome.” For a killer, she added.

John Doe sat on a stool about center of the long bar, those ice-blue eyes scanning the dance floor like a hungry panther ready to pounce on his dinner.

Looking for a little action, big boy? Taking her time as she crossed the room, she took stock of his numerous physical assets. Whoever had estimated his height and weight had done a stellar job. Those broad shoulders tested the seams of his black shirt. Powerful thighs filled out a well-worn pair of jeans. Black ankle boots, the kind made for walking and climbing, soft leather uppers, ribbed soles. For stealth and traction. Smart.

He wore a watch, but no other jewelry that she could readily see. The slight bulge at his left side about midway of his torso would indicate a shoulder holster. She wondered how he’d managed to get in here with a weapon. Official ID, perhaps? Just something else she’d need to check out.

The couple sitting next to him got up and headed for the dance floor, presenting the perfect opportunity for her. “The gods are watching over me tonight,” she murmured.

She slid onto the stool next to J.D., John Doe just sounded too cliché. “Great band,” she said when he glanced in her direction.

He didn’t respond.

Okay. She crossed one leg over the other, offering up a length of thigh for his perusal. He never even looked her way. She leaned toward him. “What time it is?” she asked, ensuring she spoke loud enough for him to hear her.