Pandora's Box Page 9

  She stiffened.

  The sudden intimacy made her uncomfortable. Dealing with a maniac assassin was easy compared to walking over the burning coals of a budding relationship. She’d rather fight a pack of well-trained foreign agents.

  She almost pushed Tyler away. She hesitated. Then she changed her mind completely. She had to admit it felt kind of nice walking down the sidewalk with a handsome man who had just saved her life. In the dark on a night like this they could be just another couple. She didn’t have to play the part of the hardened spy, didn’t have to be tough.

  “I still want to see that file,” she announced.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  She stopped walking abruptly and knocked his arm off her shoulders. Turning to face him with a steady glare, she said, “For a man who thinks we should share information, you’re being extremely vague. Now where on earth did Warner get his hands on a file about the Pandora’s Box project? And who killed him? Agents with microchips in their brains?”

  “Not every bad guy can blame the chip for their misdeeds.” He sighed. “Okay. I’ll tell you this much and it will have to be enough for right now because I’m not working alone and certain people have been assured they can trust me to keep quiet.”

  Madison waited for him to tell her what he knew about the file with a building curiosity. However, she knew whatever he told her it wouldn’t be enough. She wanted the whole damn story.

  “I compiled the file under orders from someone at the top.”

  “Who?” She scowled at him. “Don’t you dare leave me hanging.”

  He showed her his palms. “Sorry. I’ll have to get permission before I take you any deeper into this...conspiracy, for want of a better word.”

  He started to walk again and Madison fell into step beside him. Her mind reeled with unanswered questions. She went over every twisted scenario she could come up with. None satisfied her. How could she get him to tell her the whole truth? Unfortunately they were too much alike. He wouldn’t spill the beans under torture, no matter how severe. Of that she was sure.

  She looked sideways at him. He had the most incredible mouth. The two kisses he’d planted on her had been too brief. She wanted more. But did she dare?

  She panicked.

  “I need to get home,” Madison blurted out. She put some space between their bodies. His arm fell away from her. The cold air hit the warm side of her body hard.

  “Are you sure?” He frowned at her.

  “Yeah. I need to water my plants, and I have a great deal to think about. Microchips, my father and his old friends, the Blonde Assassin and her part in all of this. The list goes on and on. I feel like I’m drowning in a ton of partial facts. Call your friend now before he interrupts something important.”

  She smiled at him before turning for home.

  ******

  Twenty-five minutes later, Madison stepped into her apartment and found DeMarco casually sitting on her couch as if he had every right to be there. This was the second time he’d entered her apartment uninvited. Only this time there wasn’t a beer in his hand or an easy grin on his face.

  A twisted thought raised its ugly head now that she knew about the microchips. DeMarco could have been sent to kill her. He could have a chip in his brain and not even realize what he was doing. Or he could be in on the conspiracy.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I came to warn you. The powers-that-be have a new theory now. They think you’re trying to get close to the president’s son so you can use him to get a clean shot at his father.”

  “That’s so stupid!” She forgot to be wary of him and took a step closer. “They have no proof of anything. How can they just make up crap about me and tell it as fact? I am sick and tired of defending myself to those boneheads.”

  “There’s more.” DeMarco waited for her to look directly at him again. He said, “They plan to come after you. They’ll send someone you trust.”

  Like him.

  “To do what? Arrest me? Kill me?”

  DeMarco’s mouth tightened. He didn’t deny a word of it. The question reining in her mind was how would DeMarco play it if he had been given the assignment? Would he give her the information, pretend to be on her side long enough for her to drop her guard?

  Uneasy, Madison walked around the breakfast bar into the kitchen and opened the freezer, her back stiff. Tension wound her nerves so tight she thought they might snap at any moment. It would be just like the CIA to send her ex-lover to kill her. She was certain she could take DeMarco in a fair fight. Although they’d been equally trained, he hadn’t been in the field in a long time. The man rode a desk, pushed papers, and handled the red tape. She’d beat him senseless if he attacked her with his hands.

  But if he had a gun, pointed it at her back now, and pulled the trigger there wasn’t anything she could do to stop him. She had no defense. At least not yet.

  DeMarco followed her to the kitchen, hands in pockets.

  She pulled a half-gallon of ice cream from the freezer. Chocolate chip. Her favorite. She tracked DeMarco’s every move, waiting for his gun to make an appearance. Opening her utensil drawer without looking, she dipped her hand inside. Instead of a spoon, her fingers caressed a 9mm. The clip was in place, safety off. It was her emergency back-up weapon.

  “You need to lay low for a while,” DeMarco said. “I know you aren’t the type to run from anything, but this is one fight you can’t win. Let me handle things. Go on vacation. Mourn your father in private. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to return.”

  Relief flooded her system. DeMarco hadn’t come to kill her. Smiling, she grabbed a spoon and ate a mouthful of ice cream. Nothing had ever tasted so good. “Do you really think running is necessary? I can talk to President Law again. He understands that his son has been following me and not the other way around. He knows I’m innocent. I’m sure he’ll call the dogs off.”

  “Law is listening to them. He signed off on it. He isn’t sure if you’re guilty or not, but he isn’t willing to take the chance.”

  Madison rolled her eyes. She really couldn’t trust anyone. The president had assured her that he thought her father was innocent. What had changed his mind?

  DeMarco continued, “They think you have something. I don’t know the specifics. But if you do have something they want, give it to me, and I’ll hide it for you. Or if it’s information, then tell me what you know.” He scratched his head, a habit she used to find endearing. “I can’t help but feel this has something to do with your father’s last words. First you said he told you he loved you. Then you changed your story and confided in me that he wanted you to get something out of his safe deposit box. Which is it? Or is it something else altogether that you haven’t shared with me yet?”

  She gazed into his eyes, saw the darkness in them. Her original fear resurfaced. He had been sent to charm information out of her. Then he’d kill her.

  She accidentally bit her tongue. The taste of blood mixed with ice cream, making her nauseous. Killing him would break her heart, but she would do it if she had to.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Would you like some ice cream?”

  Her hand returned to the drawer. Her fingers grasped the butt of her gun. She maneuvered it until it was ready to pull out, aim, and fire.

  DeMarco pulled his hands from the pockets of his jacket. He laid them flat on the surface of the counter and said, “No, I don’t want any damn ice cream! I want you to pack a bag and get your beautiful butt out of town before it gets shot off.”

  His expression was sincere. He wanted to save her life, end of story. He was the last person she should suspect.

  Tiny poison darts hit her heart, each one the result of guilt. He would hate her if he ever found out she’d doubted him to such an extent. Her lack of trust had reached an all time low. It made her sick to think of how close she’d come to pulling a gun on him.<
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  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll go underground for a while.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “Good girl.”

  He left without a glance back at her. He missed the tears glistening in her eyes as she wondered what sort of person she’d become. The job had finally turned her into a paranoid mess.

  The phone rang, interrupting her pity party. Tyler wanted her to meet him at the hospital first thing in the morning. She put the ice cream away before tossing a few items into a bag. The least she could do for DeMarco was heed his warning. She was going to disappear for a while, although she wasn’t sure where she should go.

  ******

  “Are you going to tell me why we’re here?” Madison asked as she followed Tyler down a sterile white corridor. They’d met in the hospital lobby at the break of dawn. She’d told him about DeMarco’s visit and her plan to leave town for a while, being America’s most wanted now. Tyler had merely grunted at her statement.

  “Do I need to remind you I’m supposed to be laying low for a while?”

  The taxi had dropped them at the front doors of CountyGeneral. Madison fumed beneath the surface. She hated the feeling of being out of control, of allowing someone else to take the lead. Although Tyler didn’t ask for her permission; he simply took over.

  Tyler rushed the hallway like a wide receiver taking the ball to the goal line. He dodged hospital personnel, weaving in and out of human traffic until she grew dizzy trying to keep pace with him.

  Finally, he stopped.

  “Grainger’s wife was admitted to the hospital last night with chest pains,” Tyler said, gesturing to room 315. “She’s in there. We’re going to ask her some questions. Maybe she knows who her husband sold his invention to.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  Madison hadn’t seen Betsy Grainger in years. As a little girl she had visited the Grainger’s home a few times with her father. Betsy had always been kind, a grandmother type even back then. She’d baked cookies for Madison, braided her hair and read books to her while the men had their secret meetings in the cellar. She’d been sort of a stand in mother for her.

  The years had been kind to the woman. She had to be in her eighties—at least. She was at least fifteen years older than her husband. Her blue eyes still twinkled with a mischievous light, and her skin was radiant. It glowed. Of course there were wrinkles on her face, mainly around the eyes and mouth. Still, she looked incredible. Madison could only hope she looked half as good at that age.

  When Betsy Grainger saw Madison, she held her hand out. “Child, it’s been a long time, far too long.”

  “You recognize me?” Madison carefully took Betsy’s frail hand in hers. It seemed like the slightest pressure would crack the woman’s bones.

  “Of course. You look just like your mother.” Betsy patted the back of Madison’s hand. “I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man. I always thought so.”

  “Thank you.”

  Madison’s gaze drifted to the large bouquet of red roses on the corner table. Those had to be from Betsy’s missing husband. She casually drifted closer to them. No card. Damn. She’d been so sure there would be some sort of note, a clue as to where they could find him.

  Tyler stepped forward and said, “Mrs. Grainger, I’m Agent Law. I work for the CIA and I’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband if you don’t mind.”

  The woman’s eyes widened with obvious fear, but Madison assured her it was okay. She told Betsy that Tyler was with her, helping her to clear her father’s name. She promised Betsy that Tyler could be trusted.

  Betsy finally nodded and gestured for Tyler to ask his questions.

  “Do you know who your husband sold his microchip idea to?”

  “No one. Elias would never sell it. He created the microchips to save people from Alzheimer’s. He told me there were people who wanted to use it for evil purposes, so Elias went into hiding to keep it out of their hands. First the CIA wanted it. But it’s gone way beyond that now. Foreign governments are involved.”

  “Are you saying you don’t know where he is?” Tyler’s clipped tone warned the woman he didn’t believe it even before she answered the question.

  “That’s right.” Betsy’s eyes narrowed on him, daring him to argue the point. “He warned me he wouldn’t be in touch, said it was too dangerous. Apparently he thought people would come looking for him.”

  A blanket of tension settled over the room. Tyler’s jaw tightened,and Betsy’s lips looked like a thin slash of red. Neither of them seemed ready or willing to back down, so Madison intervened, changing the subject. For years she’d been curious about something.

  “Why did you stop visiting us when I was a child? Did your husband and my father have a falling out?”

  “I don’t know what happened.” Betsy shrugged thin shoulders. “One day the four men were friends and the next, Elias seemed afraid to even mention their names. He wanted nothing to do with them, any of them. I thought the whole thing was silly. I wanted to visit you still and I didn’t see why I should stop just because he wasn’t getting along with the others, but he insisted I stay away.”

  Madison forced herself to listen objectively. Thinking about how much Betsy Grainger’s vanishing act had hurt the little girl she’d been would only muddy the issue and distract her from the important task at hand: clearing her father’s name and getting herself out of trouble.

  Betsy went on. “It broke my heart, not seeing you again. You know Elias and I couldn’t have children. You were the closest I ever came to having a daughter. After you’re mother died, I felt sort of responsible for you. It killed me to stay away, but Elias put his foot down, and he wasn’t the sort of man to do that. I’d never seen him so scared and angry, so I listened.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Madison smiled softly and nodded. “I’m sorry too. I enjoyed your visits.”

  Before either of them could say more, Tyler stepped forward with more questions. “When was the last time you saw your husband? Has he called you? Is there an emergency number? Surely he didn’t leave you without any way of contacting him.”

  While Betsy defended her position, Madison’s gaze fell on a gum wrapper. It had been carefully folded and placed next to the Get Well cards. Grainger loved to write on scraps, whatever he could find. Madison felt like she’d struck gold. The wrapped had to be from Grainger. Otherwise it would be in the trash.

  Madison took advantage of the argument taking place between Tyler and Betsy. She quickly swiped the wrapper off the table. It vanished into her palm. Her other uncle, Boracci, had taught her a few little magic tricks. Fortunately she still remembered them. She slid the wrapped into her pocket. If Betsy wouldn’t tell them the truth, perhaps Grainger’s obsessive habit of writing on scraps would.

  She looked up and froze. A small television set hung in the corner of the room high up on the wall. Her eyes would have continued on if it hadn’t been for her picture hanging over the news anchor’s shoulder. She grabbed the remote and turned the volume up.

  “…father, Duncan Grey was shot by the Secret Service on Friday night when he tried to assassinate the president at a charity event. Madison Grey is believed to be a threat to national security. If you see this woman, please call authorities immediately. Do not try to apprehend her on your own. She may be armed and is considered dangerous.”

  A few other things were said about her, including the word ‘terrorist,’ but she barely heard any of them. Her mind reeled from the implications. She was traveling with the president’s son. Why would President Law allow her to be painted as a terrorist? She’d just been with him at the White House. If they’d wanted to arrest her, they should have done it then.

  Plastering her picture on the morning news as if she was the FBI’s number one most wanted had been a huge mistake. They had no idea what she was capable of. Before she might have come in quietly, answered their insulting questions, but not now. Heaven help anyone who tried to
grab her.

  Tyler said, “We need to get out of here. Everyone and his brother will be looking for you.”

  “How did this happen?” She shook her head. “I’ve served my country for years. Doesn’t that mean anything to these people?”

  “Apparently someone high up doesn’t want us digging into the Pandora’s Box thing.”

  Madison had one more question for Grainger’s wife. She went to the bed, lightly touched the woman’s arm, desperately wanting to feel connected to the happier times in her life. “Could my father have had an implant? Is it possible that he tried to kill the president because he was programmed to do it?”

  Betsy nodded once.

  That was all Madison needed to know. She bent down, pressed her lips to the woman's forehead and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Tyler was already at the door. He stuck his head out and glanced both ways. Then he motioned for Madison to hurry.

  Betsy said, “Take care of yourself, sweetie. Keep your head down.” Her dark eyes hardened. “And don’t trust anyone.”

  For a second Madison could almost see her father’s ghostly image imposed on Betsy’s face, could hear her father’s voice instead of the old woman’s. It was like her father had possessed Betsy Grainger’s body long enough to give her one last reminder that trust wasn’t an option for her.

  “What’s the plan?” Tyler asked.

  “No plan.” She shrugged. “I’m going to walk out of here and God help anyone who tries to stop me.”

  And with that they abandoned the hospital room for the well-lit hallway.

  They stepped into the elevator, alone again. Tyler leaned against the back wall and said, “Something has been bothering me. I know how to spot a tail when I’m being followed, and I’m sure I didn’t have one when I took you to Skinner’s hiding place. Seems odd the bad guys would find us right then and not before.”

  “What are you saying?” She glared sideways at him.

  “Just wondering how they found us. Thinking out loud. That’s all.”