Release, page 5
Without a word, they got out of the truck and headed toward the house, but they went via backyards and, briefly, across an alley. It was a little tricky to pick out the right house, as Vince had only come through the front door before.
Once they’d scaled the fence, Vince knew he’d found the right place. What bothered him was that he couldn’t remember if Baker had a dog. He remembered the kid, about eleven, cute, which meant he must have taken after his mom.
Nate pulled out a penlight, small but strong, and led them past the swimming pool. It was covered over for the winter, and leaves from the nearby trees had settled on the plastic.
Before they even attempted to get in, Nate did his thing with the alarm system. Vince waited by the back door, trying to come up with a reason Baker wouldn’t have called, but none of the excuses held water.
Vince would have told him to forget it if they hadn’t needed him so badly. Truth be told, Baker was turning out to be damn good at his job. Go figure.
“The alarm’s not on,” Nate said quietly. “And it’s not broken.”
“Shit.” Those bad feelings had been right on the money. Dammit. “Let’s do this.”
Despite what he’d told Kate, it was Vince himself who broke in. He had a nifty lock-pick set he’d gotten from a lifer he’d sent up three years ago. It took all of about ten seconds before the lock clicked and they were inside the dark, quiet house.
Once they’d closed the door, Nate got out a special little gadget that Vince had heard about but never seen. It was a monitor, the size of an iPod, that searched out video and audio signals. The little gizmo would alert them if there was a camera or a mike anywhere in the house. He watched intently as Nate pressed some buttons. It didn’t take long for Nate to give the go-ahead.
Vince got his own flashlight out and led Nate past the big grand piano and the long glass coffee table until they were just outside Baker’s office.
A light bled under the door.
Vince looked at Nate, who shut off his flashlight and undid the safety on his Glock. Following suit, Vince prepared himself for a fight.
He waited until his breathing evened, then he opened the door fast, rushing inside.
A kid he didn’t recognize sat in Baker’s swivel chair. He looked to be in his twenties and scared spitless.
At his feet, next to the small couch, lay Corky Baker in a pool of congealing blood.
Vince’s stomach lurched and he thought he might puke. Not because he’d never seen a murder victim—hell, he’d been a homicide detective for years before he’d hooked up with Kate—but because Baker was dead because of Vince.
He’d always hated the bastard, but he’d turned to Baker with the Omicron story because he got the job done. Vince had known it was dangerous. He’d been there when Seth had had his hand blown off. But somehow seeing Baker in his own home, his office, cemented the reality in a way nothing had. In all likelihood, Vince was going to die, just like Baker. Kate would die, very possibly in front of his eyes. As would Nate, Harper and Seth.
Nate had the kid up and in a hammerlock when Vince looked up. “Who are you?” Nate asked, keeping his voice low and threatening.
“Eli Lieberman,” the kid said, although it was hard to understand him what with the arm pressed against his vocal cords. “I work with Mr. Baker.”
“Why’d you kill him?”
“I didn’t.” The kid was visibly shaking and his pale face grew pasty. “I was supposed to meet him at eight—”
Nate loosened his grip. Eli coughed, then started again. “I was supposed to help him transcribe some notes on an old case he’d worked on. But he didn’t answer any of my calls. So I came over to see if he was okay.”
“How did you get in?” Vince asked.
“The front door was open.”
“Open as in ajar or just unlocked?”
“Ajar. I knew his wife and son were out of town. So I thought maybe Mr. Baker had fallen or…”
“What was the old case?”
“A triple homicide in Compton. It’s coming up for trial and they’ve subpoenaed his records.”
Still holding the kid by the neck, Nate holstered his weapon, then reached into the back pocket of Eli’s jeans. He pulled out a wallet and tossed it to Vince.
The ID matched the name the kid had given, and so did the employee badge from the L.A. Times. Which probably didn’t matter, because Vince believed him. There was still one big unanswered question. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“I thought about it, but—”
“But what?”
“I knew he’d been working on something big. Something that he was scared about. If I called the cops, they would have taken everything. All his notes. Only, I think that would be the last thing Mr. Baker would have wanted.”
“So you’ve been going through his papers?”
Eli nodded.
“You know who we are?”
“I don’t think you’re with Omicron,” he said. “I think they—” he nodded at Baker with closed eyes “—they did that.”
Nate let him go and he stumbled forward a couple of steps. His hand went to his neck. “I think you’re the one’s who are supposed to have made that nerve gas.”
“You don’t believe we didn’t?” Nate asked.
“Mr. Baker didn’t. I don’t know.”
Vince walked over to the desk, to the strewn papers and small audiotapes. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would they kill Baker and leave his notes?”
Eli’s gaze moved to the floor by the bookcase.
Vince didn’t understand until he moved over and saw the safe open. “How the hell did you know about that?”
“I’ve been Mr. Baker’s assistant for the last six months. He’d told me he was doing something dangerous and that if something happened to him…”
“He gave you the combination?”
Eli dug under the papers on the desk and pulled out an envelope. It was addressed to Eli Lieberman and it gave his address. It even had a stamp. Inside, the letter was brief. Three sets of five numbers. Nothing else.
“What are the other numbers?”
“I don’t know. I just kept trying until the safe opened.”
Vince looked to Nate, who gave him a shrug, then turned to the kid. With his stomach queasy once more, he said, “These notes got your boss killed. Now that you’ve read them, you’re on the list.”
Two red splotches appeared on Eli’s cheeks. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, except that he was so damn skinny. He was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. Definitely not a jock. “I don’t think they should get away with this,” he said, his voice tight and quivering.
“They already did,” Nate said. “We’d better get out of here.” He joined Vince at the desk and started picking up papers and tapes.
“You can’t do that.”
“We’re already wanted,” Nate said. “Adding tampering with a crime scene won’t hurt.”
“No, I mean I should.”
Vince stopped. “You should what?”
“Take his notes. Go on from where he left off.”
Vince smiled. “You don’t need that in your life. What are you, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-three. I skipped some grades.”
“You want to live to twenty-five? Get the hell out of here. And don’t even think about Omicron. Ever.”
Eli shook his head. “I understand it’s dangerous. But I’m not just going to walk away. And, frankly, you’re in no position to argue with me. I’m the only one who can decipher his notes. Besides, you need someone on the outside if you ever want to get out of this mess.”
Vince turned to Nate, but he didn’t expect to see the agreement on his face. “Are you kidding me? This kid?”
“This kid is all we’ve got.”
“He won’t last a day.”
“I don’t know,” Nate said. “Omicron would probably think that, too. He might just be the perfect one for the job.”
“I don’t want his blood on my hands,” Vince said, lowering his voice, although he suspected Eli heard him just fine.
“I do believe that ship has sailed,” Nate said. “They know he came into the house. And they know he didn’t come out.”
“Shit. You think they have the office wired?”
Nate shook his head. “I think we broke up the party early. But you know damn well they’re watching.”
Vince let that sink in. Then he turned to face young Eli. “Do you own a gun?”
Eli shook his head.
“You’d better get one.”
Chapter 5
Noah had pretty much taken over Harper’s office with all his equipment. To Seth, it looked more like the man was there to repair a car than to fit him with a hook.
Despite having seen prosthetic hooks before, some part of Seth’s psyche had fixed on a Captain Hook type deal, one that would look right at home in a pirate movie. Of course, the one Noah had on the table wasn’t anything like that.
“Come on and take a look,” Noah said, holding the metal claw with obvious pride. “This’ll do more for your dexterity than anything else out there. And here’s the cool thing—we put on this wrist here….” He lifted up what looked like a coupling device. “That’s static, but the center piece can turn. You can adjust that according to the task.”
He picked up the claw again, and Seth could see right away where it would fit into the wrist. “This is the basic model, although I’ve done a few things to make it right for you. You’ll wear this for most of your daily tasks. It grips with the thumb and two fingers, and you adjust the strength of the grip by the muscles in your shoulder. It’s great for picking up a piece of pipe or a mug or what have you. Doorknobs. Things like that.
“Brooms,” Seth said. “Mops. Buckets.”
“Yeah, sure,” Noah said, not noticing his sarcasm, which was probably a good thing.
“But look here.” The older man lifted a metal piece that was about the same size as the claw, only instead of the gripper there was a screwdriver. “There’s quite a number of pieces that you can swap out for the hook. Silverware, for instance. All kinds of tools.”
“I think I saw this stuff on Inspector Gadget.”
“What’s that?”
“A kids’ TV show.”
Noah nodded. “It wouldn’t surprise me if this whole idea came from a cartoon. It’s just that cool.”
Seth laughed at the unexpected words. He was beginning to see why Noah had quit the CIA. He’d stick out there because he’d want to be his own man. Not that every CIA agent he’d met was like the goons from Omicron, but enough were to make him suspicious.
Way before Kosovo, his unit in Delta Force had had to deal with the Company. It was never a smooth union. Different styles, different objectives, even on the same missions.
“How long were you with the CIA?”
“Sixteen years.”
“I hear you saved a lot of lives.”
“Funny,” Noah said. “That’s what I heard about you. Now you want to try this contraption on or what?”
Seth nodded and sat down in the chair in front of Noah. It was early, not quite seven, and knowing he was going to get the hook, Seth had come in to the clinic without his prosthetic hand. As awkward as the fake hand was, it made him even more uncomfortable to be without it. To have just the stump sticking out of his shirt. So much so that he’d made Harper wait while he ran back to the house to fetch the thing and put it in the car. Just in case.
Noah showed him how to put on the wrist, which was a more streamlined version of how he put on the hand. Then he attached the hook. A moment later, Seth moved the digits. It took all his concentration, but he did it. And he could already see how this claw was going to be a hell of a lot more useful. The only question he had was about the weight. It was heavy, and he’d have to wear it a lot to get his body used to it. In order to fight again, he had to get to the point where he didn’t think about his body. That his weapon and his arms and his eyes all worked as a unit.
“It’s gonna take some getting used to, but that’s to be expected.” Noah picked up his arm and studied the connection between man and metal. “It looks like a real good fit from here, but you let me know if you have any chafing or bruising. We can fix you right up.”
“Those other gadgets,” Seth asked. “Do they cost a lot?”
He nodded. “They don’t come cheap. I’m gonna leave you with a couple of brochures. You see if there’s anything that looks to be particularly useful. We’ll see what we can do.”
“Harper says you’re not getting paid for this.”
“I’ve been paid.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it. I know what you do and I know what you’ve lost.”
Seth shook his head as he looked at his new claw. It was cooler. Made of titanium, it would last forever. And it was heavy enough to do some real damage should it come to that. “Thank you.”
Noah was already packing up. “I was going to ask if you wanted to try some other models on, but I think this is the one.”
“When will you be back?”
“If you need me, call. If not, I’ll check up on you in about six months.” He lifted a large box to the table in front of Seth. “Those are your facial pieces. I made you enough to last a while. You look like you’re not having any trouble on that score, so we should be set.”
Seth stood. He let his arm hang down loose against his body. It made him lean a bit to compensate, which he’d have to work on. But it was the right model. Which didn’t mean he was going to be the way he was. It was still a poor substitute for flesh and blood. And yet he felt something in his chest. Hope? Nah. Well, maybe just a little.
* * * * * *
Harper was anxious to see Seth’s new prosthesis, but she hadn’t had a breather since she’d walked in the door. The flu was hitting the area hard, and the kids were stacked up in the waiting room. She wished there was more to be done to help them, but with the flu the best thing was to get the vaccine before you got sick. Most of the people who came here wouldn’t even think of getting their children vaccinated, let alone themselves. The tragedy was that she’d had to send two babies to the hospital this morning, and it was fifty-fifty if they’d check out again.
She finished putting her notes on the chart for a seventeen-year-old who’d caught the bug from her little sister, then headed for the coffee room. As she stepped to the door, she heard Seth’s voice, and something in his tone made her stop. He sounded as if he was smiling. Not that she had a lot of experience with that particular sound, but she recognized it nonetheless. A second later someone laughed. A woman. When she spoke, Harper realized it was Karen.
Stepping even closer to the door, she felt a little guilty for eavesdropping but too curious to stop.
“Come on. I’ve got a bunch of great movies on TiVo.”
Harper stopped breathing to listen better.
“I don’t know….”
“Pass me that, would you?”
Silence. Should she go in? Or would Karen keep pressing? Actually, Harper liked Karen. She was a good doctor. Or, rather, was becoming one. The clinic had been the best thing she could have done. Born and raised in privilege, Karen had little idea how most people lived, and when she’d first arrived she’d been pretty bitchy about it, not bothering to see the people behind the addictions and the poverty. But in the last few months she’d really come around. She’d even gone to a couple of the street fairs where the clinic set up a booth to hand out condoms and educational material.
“I’m a really good cook,” Karen said, her voice lower and more provocative. “Seriously. I went to a culinary school in Napa for a whole summer.”
“Culinary school, huh?”
“I learned a lot, but I don’t like to cook for just myself. That’s no fun.”
“You must have friends.”
“I never see anyone except at the clinic. If I’m not here, I’m studying. I’m desperate for some actual fun. You know, fun?”
“Not really.”
“My point exactly. You need to come over and eat a good meal and then—who knows?—maybe I’ll let you play with my pussy…cat.”
Harper put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, wishing she could see his face.
Seth cleared his throat. But before he had a chance to answer, Mary Lee tapped Harper on the shoulder.
“Patient in three. Not the flu.”
It was no use. She couldn’t think of a good excuse to linger where she was, so she took the chart and headed for exam three. But, man, she wanted to know.
* * * * * *
SHE STARTED THE CAR at six forty-five. Not too bad for a Wednesday. She pulled out of her parking place thinking about what she had to get at the market, when she caught sight of Seth standing by the back door of the clinic. He looked pissed.
She stopped and waved him over.
The way he slammed the door when he got inside let her know that he didn’t care for being left behind.
“Sorry,” she said.
“What was that about?”
“I, uh, thought you had other plans. My mistake.”
“What kind of other plans?”
Her cheeks heated as she tried to come up with an appropriate lie. Unfortunately she sucked at improv, and the few ideas that flitted through her brain were ludicrous. “I thought you might have dinner plans,” she said, concentrating on driving and not the waves of anger coming at her.
“Why would you think that?”
She sighed. “I heard Karen ask you, okay?”
“You listened in?”
“I just happened to want a cup of coffee, but before I could get one, I was called to work. So don’t be so pissy about it.”
“You were eavesdropping.”
“A little.”
He turned to his window, but she knew he was scowling.
They drove in silence all the way to the market, and Seth stayed in the Ford while she shopped. She was tempted not to buy him any ham or cheese, but she did. And when she got back behind the wheel, she turned to him as she cranked the ignition. “So why are you here?”
