Be on the Lookout (14 page)

“What have you done with Jake?” she whispered. Her trust in Greg was nothing compared to Jake's. While he'd become a mentor to her, Greg had become a father figure to her friend.

“Getting rid of Jake wouldn't benefit me or my plan. Being responsible for the death of an FBI agent—more specifically, my handler—would bring me unwanted attention. Not to mention, his affection for me keeps him from seeing exactly what I've done.”

“He doesn't know you're behind all of this?” she asked, surprised.

Greg shook his head.

“His passion to avenge my pain and to keep you safe was getting him too close,” he explained. “I sent Donnie to retrieve him yesterday. Once this is all over, Jake will be let go. No harm, no foul.”

Kate was once again split between two emotions. Relief that Jake was okay and would be okay. Anger that Jake might never know the truth because of his love for the man standing near her.

“You betrayed us,” Kate said. Adrenaline and tears made her voice tremble.

Greg nodded solemnly.

“I know your family has already felt this particular sting before, but just know it wasn't always part of the plan.” He shrugged. “You simply forced my hand.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kate's hands fisted. Was this what her mother had felt when she'd realized her team—the people she thought she knew better than anyone—had turned their backs on her?

“What now?” she asked instead. “If you wanted to simply kill me, why bring me here?”

Up until this point, Kate had almost been certain that Greg had needed to share his narrative with her. To explain why he was doing what he was doing. Whether it was cathartic or just a way for him to brag to someone, Kate didn't know. Either way, he answered her.

“I remembered your notebook. That intrepid little thing where you kept all of your notes written down, afraid that the world might take the ideas if they left the paper and ink of its pages. Knowing you, there's something in it that you've left out of the research you shared with me. Something I need to continue. And before you say you don't have it in New York, remember that I know you, Kate. I know you hid it in the hotel room just like I knew you would come here willingly to save Jake.” Greg stepped up to the table. He lowered himself until he was pressing down on the glass top, a stance that showed he wanted her absolute full attention now. Not that he didn't already have it. “And once Donnie brings it to me, then I'll say goodbye.”

Kate's mouth went dry.

“When they say never meet your idols, they weren't kidding,” she whispered. Greg's lips pulled up at the corners.

“And when they said children were our future, how true that was, as well.”

Kate watched as the man she had once loved like family turned his back on her. He walked to the door and knocked once before it opened, giving her a glimpse of the woman named Candice.

“No one comes in or out,” he ordered. “And if she starts making too much noise, silence her.”

Candice cast Kate a quick smirk.

“My pleasure.”

Kate held her gaze, not wanting to back down until the door shut, leaving her alone inside. What had started out as a theory was now a full-blown walking nightmare. Not bringing the notebook had saved her life, at least temporarily, but now what if leaving it with Jonathan had endangered his?

Just because you're scared doesn't mean you're not strong.

Kate recalled her mother's words but, for once, found no comfort in them.

In that moment she felt nothing but weakness.

* * *

J
ONATHAN
WAS
STANDING
across from yet another hotel, still in Manhattan but worlds different from where Jett worked.

“He went in there,” Jett said, jogging up to Jonathan. He was still dressed in uniform but had taken his blazer off, draping it over his arm to look more casual. However, Jonathan looked up at the fifteen-story hotel and its glass-walled front and felt that maybe he was the one that looked too casual.

“Of course it is,” he said. “This is where the convention is taking place in a few hours.”

Jett joined his gaze and whistled.

“I applied for a job here once. It's a pretty fancy place. They have a glass atrium that makes you feel like you're not in a hotel at all.”

“So, you've been in there before.”

Jett nodded.

“Apparently I didn't have the right look, something about being too shaggy.” He shrugged. “I've only seen the lobby, though, and not even for that long. They're pretty diligent about keeping nonguests out.”

As soon as he'd been given the address of where Donnie had exited the cab, Jonathan had guessed simply walking in and asking if they'd seen Greg would have been frowned upon.

“So what's the plan?” Jett asked, gaze still turned to the hotel.

“You want to help us?” Jonathan asked, surprised. “Even though you have no idea what's going on?”

Jett shrugged again.

“If I did know, would that make Miss Spears in any less danger?”

Jonathan couldn't help but snort.

“No.”

“Then, what's the plan?”

Jett followed along as Jonathan started for the nearest crosswalk and crossed the street. When they were near the double front doors, Jonathan spoke.

“Put this number in your cell phone.” He recited the number when Jett's phone was out and made sure the man saved it. “I want you to call that number and tell the woman who answers that I told you to tell her something. Okay?” Jett nodded. “Tell her everything that has happened so far is because of Greg Calhoun. That he's trying to kill Kate and has been since we arrived. He's the one who sent her the letters, too.” Jett's eyes widened, but he nodded again. “Tell her where we are and tell her I'm sorry I didn't tell her everything beforehand. Got that?”

“Yeah, when do you want me to do that?”

“Wait out here and give me five minutes and then call. I don't want to tip them off that I'm coming yet.”

“And what are you going to do?”

Jonathan pulled out his wallet and counted out two hundred dollars in fifties and twenties.

“I'm going to go lie.”

Like the outside, the inside was the complete opposite of the hotels Jonathan was used to. Not only was it as modern as they came—modular sofas and ottomans, white and gray everything with a smidgen of bright orange or blue and smooth, rounded front desks pushed to the side under the low part of the atrium—but as Jonathan walked across the gray tile, he was trying not to marvel at the giant art installations that could be seen from every floor, all the way up to the glass ceiling. It wasn't just a hotel. It was a destination.

He'd barely made it to one of the three front desks when a woman with the nameplate Julie chirped out a scripted welcome. It was all he could do to keep what he hoped was a pleasant and very innocent smile on his face.

“Actually, you can help me and a guest,” he said, holding the money up. “I was getting into a taxi right outside when I noticed this lying in the backseat. The driver said it must have fallen out of one of your guests' pockets.” Jonathan described the dark-haired man as if he'd heard a secondhand account from his made-up taxi driver. Even as he finished his description, her eyes widened in recognition.

“That sounds like Mr. Smith,” she exclaimed. Jonathan wanted to roll his eyes at the name.

“Good! So you'll be able to return it to him,” Jonathan said, mimicking her excitement. Julie nodded profusely, picking up the phone next to her. He fully intended to stall as long as he could, pretending to look at the art installations until he could see where Mr. Smith was going, when Julie decided to change the plan without even knowing it. She slid the money he'd put on the table back to him.

“I think Mr. Smith will want to thank you personally,” she said after stepping aside to make the call. “It's not every day you find a less-than-greedy man. Most would have kept the money.”

Jonathan shrugged.

“That just isn't my style.”

Julie pointed out which elevator the man would most likely exit. Instead of skulking in the shadows trying to stalk him, Jonathan figured this bold approach worked just as well. Sooner or later he had bet he would come up against the man again.

Less than two minutes later, Jonathan watched as the elevator doors opened and none other than Mr. Smith was standing in front of him. His look of surprise was hidden quickly as Julie caught his eye and waved.

“I just wanted to return what you left behind,” Jonathan said, voice dripping with fake cheer. He smiled for the benefit of Julie just as he suspected the man in front of him was doing.

“How thoughtful,” he said, mouth stretched wide. He extended his hand and took the money before motioning for Jonathan to step inside. “To repay your kindness, how about we grab a drink upstairs?”

Jonathan kept smiling and got onto the elevator, now fully facing Julie's approving nod.

“Don't you think it's a little too early to drink?” Jonathan asked.

“Not when I'm celebrating.”

The doors began to slide closed.

“And what's the occasion?” Jonathan asked. His entire body tensed as the man pressed the button for the second floor from the top.

“I was about to leave to finish a job,” the man said, moving back to his spot against the elevator wall. The elevator doors shut as soon as he finished his next thought. “But it appears that now I don't have to leave at all.”

The man reached in his blazer and pulled out a knife just as Jonathan turned and hiked his foot up. He pushed the man away from him just as Mr. Smith swiped at his shin. The knife sliced his pants but didn't cut deeper. Had he not reacted as fast as he did, Jonathan knew that wouldn't have been the case.

Mr. Smith turned the hilt of his knife so he was holding the blade down, arcing it through the air in between them with force. Jonathan lunged forward, grabbing for the man's wrist. He caught it as the man pulled it up, ready for another swipe. Jonathan used his free hand to send a punch against the man's face, but he moved out of range too quickly. The jolt loosened Jonathan's hold on his wrist and he had to jump back, hitting the elevator wall so hard that it shook, to avoid the knife's curved, sharp blade.

Jonathan pushed off the wall, knowing the man wouldn't stop until he had gutted him in the elevator, and grabbed for his arm again. This time, though, he wasn't lucky. The tip of the knife came down before he could push Mr. Smith's arm out of the way. The blade moved across Jonathan's forearm, cutting through his long-sleeve button-up as well as his skin. He made a grunt as the pain registered, but knew the cut hadn't been a direct hit. He pivoted back, moving his left side away from another attack and used the momentum to bring up his right elbow. It connected with the side of the man's nose in a sickening crack and then a spray of blood.

The man let out a howl and swung around in an angry spiral. Once again the knife connected with Jonathan's skin—this time his shoulder.

Jonathan felt the warm liquid before he saw the blood seeping through his shirt. The elevator began to slow and Jonathan just hoped the doors would open soon.

“Fighting an unarmed man seems cowardly.” He grabbed his shoulder and moved to the corner. Mr. Smith was also in pain. All humor he'd once had seemed to have broken along with his nose. He held the knife out and wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his other hand. It did nothing but smear the red around.

“Where's the notebook?” he bit out.

“Where's Kate?” Jonathan bit right back.

It angered the man more than the nose break seemed to and he lashed out in another burst of fury just as the elevator doors opened. Without time to glance back to see where he was running out into, Jonathan backed out of the small space and into a much more expansive one. From his periphery he saw more modular couches and closed doors on either side of him. He didn't have time to investigate further.

Mr. Smith wasn't done with him yet.

* * *

K
ATE
HADN
'
T
BEEN
blindfolded when she was brought into the hotel or the small yet lavish boardroom she was currently being held in. She had given Jonathan her notebook, called a taxi, walked into the lobby and told the front desk attendant she was expected. Then Kate had taken the elevator to the fourteenth floor and walked right into the same boardroom, all without hesitation, to wait for Greg to show up and tell her of her and Jake's fates.

It had been easy to get there.

But she now expected it would be exponentially harder to leave.

She rapped her knuckles against the door and stepped all the way back to the table, trying to show that she in no way meant trouble.

The door opened slowly until the woman's annoyance was seen clearly on her expression. She sized Kate up.

“I just want to talk,” Kate pleaded.

Candice snorted, not interested.

“Then talk,” she said. Kate took a tentative step forward.

“Do you know who Greg Calhoun really is?” she asked. Candice, an exceptionally pretty woman when she wasn't trying to murder people, paused but didn't release the door handle. “Do you know who he works for?”

“If the money's good, I don't need to know,” Candice said.

“He works for the FBI,” Kate added quickly. Candice didn't move from her spot, but she did roll her eyes.

“So?”

“So, did he even tell you his plan? His endgame? Or does enough money mean you don't care about going to prison?”

Candice's eye actually spasmed, a quick pulse of hidden emotion breaking through. Once again she didn't move.

“Greg is a scientist. He wants me out of the way so he can take over my work—my research—and continue to work with the FBI after I'm dead. Did you know that?” Kate knew the woman didn't. Her lips had pursed. “My mother was FBI, my friend that Donnie took is FBI and for the last five years I've been under FBI monitoring. Don't you think if I show up dead, not to mention my friend being kidnapped, that an investigation is going to be opened? And if Greg plans to keep his job, then surely he's going to need one strong alibi or one heck of a fall guy...or woman. That case you two stole was given to me by Greg—why do you think he had you steal it back if not to help frame you?” Kate paused for dramatic effect. She noticed Candice's hand had curled into a small fist.

“Listen,” Kate began again. “I've known Greg almost all of my life. He's been my role model since I was a little girl. Now he's trying to destroy what I hoped would be my life's work and, well, me. If he's willing to kill someone he once claimed to love like a daughter, do you think for one second he'd hesitate to throw you and your partner under the bus?”

Candice put her back against the door, holding it open still, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“So, what? I should go ahead and kill all of you?” she asked, sarcasm rampant. Kate didn't back down.