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  Her head began to swim. Everything was getting fuzzy. She heard sirens in the distance. They seemed far away, yet they were getting louder. She couldn’t tell how long it took them to get there.

  Her whole world was spinning out of control. Steele down? Mr. Parker dead? It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

  Had Santana taken his body? That man was evil beyond belief.

  At last, the ambulance arrived. EMTs worked on Steele to stop the bleeding, then loaded her onto a gurney and carried her away.

  Would she live? Janelle didn’t know.

  Right now, she wasn’t sure of anything.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  In the Trauma Surgery waiting room of Tufts Medical Center time seemed to stand still.

  Holloway was treated for the wound to his wrist and was released. He took a seat next to Janelle, but didn’t say anything.

  No one spoke.

  Everyone was in too much shock. They were numb from the unbelievable series of events of this night.

  Since they were now transportation-less, Becker and Holloway had ridden in the ambulance to the hospital, while Janelle, Simon, and the others were left to handle the police who’d showed up at the pier with the ambulance.

  The officers wanted to take statements, but Simon told them it was FBI business, and they should be on the lookout for a twenty-foot box truck with scratches on its hood and rear.

  Janelle knew he didn’t want it spread to the media that his team was after one of Boston’s most prominent citizens. Or to any of Santana’s contacts on the force.

  That would only drive him deeper into hiding.

  Once the officers were convinced the case was FBI business, they wrapped things up and gave them a ride to the hospital. On the way, Hernandez had contacted Archer and Carlson and learned the plates on Santana’s truck had been stolen.

  One more strike out.

  Hernandez sent them home. After an hour, he and Rasmussen decided to do the same and found a cab. He asked to be notified of any update on Steele.

  Meanwhile Simon went to find a rental car. He was gone a long time. Janelle thought he had left, but eventually he came back and took a seat across from the Parker Agency trio next to O’Cleary, who was slumped in a chair, his eyes closed, his head bowed. Whether in exhaustion or prayer Janelle couldn’t tell.

  That seemed like ages ago.

  She tried to flip through magazines, but all she could think about was what had happened tonight.

  How could Mr. Parker be dead? What if Steele didn’t make it? What were they going to do?

  She rose, about to go to the nurses’ station to get a status update, when a surgeon in blue scrubs and a white lab coat came down the hall. He was tall and mild mannered with light gray hair and kind eyes.

  “Are you the party with Miranda Steele?” he said to her.

  “Yes, we are.”

  Becker and Holloway shot to their feet and hurried over. Simon and O’Cleary came over, too, but stayed in the background.

  “How is she, Doctor?” Becker said.

  “The surgery went well. The bullet grazed the shoulder strap of her protective vest and penetrated, but it missed the subclavian artery, though it nicked the clavicle itself. We removed bone fragments and repaired the damage to a minor artery. She lost a lot of blood, but she’s strong. She’ll recover. With physical therapy she should be good as new in a few weeks.”

  “That’s good news.” Becker looked profoundly relieved.

  Holloway closed his eyes and let out a grateful breath.

  “Yes, it is,” O’Cleary echoed.

  Behind him, Simon nodded and kept his gaze on the floor.

  That was good news, but Steele wasn’t quite as lucky as the surgeon thought. “Thank you, Doctor,” Janelle told him. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Not tonight. She’s being moved to Recovery, and she’s still under sedation. You can see her in the morning. I suggest you all go home and get some rest. You look like you’ve had a rough night. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He walked away and disappeared through a set of double-doors.

  Everyone stood staring after him.

  “We can’t leave Steele by herself,” Holloway said.

  “I’ll stay here overnight,” Becker offered. “You two go on to the hotel and get some sleep. We’ll decide what to do in the morning.”

  Janelle rubbed her brow. “I guess so. We’ll come back then.”

  “We’ll have breakfast with Steele in her room,” Holloway suggested.

  “I can drive you all back to the hotel,” Simon told them. “The rental’s outside.”

  “I’ll take a cab back to the brownstone,” O’Cleary said. The two FBI agents were bunking there while in Boston.

  “Sounds good,” Simon said. He sounded weary.

  There was a sadness in his voice that went deep. And there seemed to be something bothering him. Something other than what had happened tonight.

  As she headed toward the exit with the group, Janelle wondered if he was going to confide what it was to her or keep it to himself.

  Chapter Seventy

  The ride back to the hotel was a blur.

  After taking the elevator to their floor, Janelle said goodnight to Holloway and let Simon walk her to her rooms. When they reached her door, he surprised her.

  “We have to talk,” he said, looking graver than he had at the hospital.

  “Okay.” She opened the door with her keycard and turned on the light.

  Moving into the living area, she scanned the soft taupe sofa, the ecru armchairs, the walnut furnishings. The upscale décor of the suite Mr. Parker had provided for her looked very empty. Her heart ached with the sense of loss.

  But she was curious about what Simon had to say.

  The Parker Agency had completed the mission they’d originally come here for. Steele had told her at the brownstone the Chathams had come to Boston to take Mackenzie back to Atlanta. Her daughter was safe and sound.

  Going after Santana was FBI business now. Was Simon going to ask her to join his task force? To become one of the Custodians?

  His voice echoed behind her. “I need to ask you something.”

  She turned to face him. “What?”

  His expression was strange.

  She hoped he wasn’t going to make any romantic declaration of love. She couldn’t handle it right now. Her emotions were too jumbled. And with Simon Sloan, there was no telling what she might commit to on the spur of the moment.

  She gestured to the sofa. “Would you like to sit down?”

  He put his hands behind his back. “I’ll stand.”

  He’d been through a lot tonight, too. His sleek black hair was mussed, he hadn’t bothered to comb it since they left the pier. His dark suit needed changing. The lines in his face made him look like he’d aged a lifetime, despite his perfect features.

  And there was a funny look in his military blue eyes. Something was wrong. Something beyond the grief and disappointment of tonight.

  “What do you have to ask me, Simon?” she said.

  He inhaled. “Do you have that encrypted phone I sent you?”

  “Yes. It’s in the other room.” She hadn’t carried it with her after he’d joined them.

  “Get it for me.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to put it back into inventory.”

  She couldn’t hide her shock. “Is the FBI charging you for it?”

  With a look of pain, he ran a hand through his hair and turned away. “You don’t understand, Janey.”

  “Understand what?”

  He stared down at one of the armchairs, then decided to sit after all. He put his elbows on his knees and stared down at the carpet.

  “When I went to get the rental tonight, I put in a call to my boss.”

  Her stomach tightened. So that was why Simon had been gone so long. His boss couldn’t be happy about how things had gone on the pier.

  “What did he say?”


  It took a long time for him to answer. Finally he did. “He’s been ordered to shut down the Custodians.”

  “What?”

  “The operation’s dead. It’s been a long time coming. We hoped if we could bring in the head of Group 141, the higher-ups would see a purpose for the operation and continue to fund it.”

  Janelle didn’t know what to think. How could this be happening? “Is this the shake-up you told me about?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “But we’re so close, even with what happened tonight. We know the Man in Boston’s name. We know where he works, where he lives. We know what he looks like.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We can’t go after him without authorization. Our hands are tied.”

  She couldn’t believe he was giving up that easily. “This doesn’t make any sense. What about everyone on your team?” She meant the one in Washington.

  “They’ve all been let go. O’Cleary’s the only one left. He’s being sent to the New York office. Meanwhile, I’ll be working in the basement in Records.”

  “Not in the field?”

  “No. My boss said I should be grateful to still have a job.”

  His deep blue eyes were filled with pain. Working in a records department would have to be like a death sentence to him. It would have been to her.

  “What about Hernandez and the Boston team?”

  “They’ve been given another assignment. They’re lucky they still have jobs.”

  Janelle couldn’t believe what Simon was saying. There was something very wrong about this. The FBI was supposed to go after ruthless criminals. Not let them go. She thought about what Steele had said about Santana’s connections. Did they go that far?

  Simon stared at the carpet for a long while. Then without looking at her, he said, “Would you get that phone now?”

  She didn’t know what else to say, so she went to the bedroom and found it.

  He was on his feet when she returned to the living room.

  She put the phone in his hand. “Are you taking this back because you’ve been ordered to?”

  His jaw tightened as he locked eyes with her. “I’m taking it back because I don’t want you to contact me again.”

  His words took her breath. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m tainted, Red.”

  “Tainted? No, you’re not.”

  There was anger in his eyes now. But it was for himself. “No? Special Agent Endicott is dead because me. Special Agent Toby Shaw is dead because of me. My own sister-in-law is dead because of me. And now, so is Wade Parker. Plus, Steele was nearly killed. I can’t do this job any more. I can’t live with the guilt.”

  He turned around and started for the door.

  “They didn’t die because of you, Simon.”

  He turned back. “They died following my commands.”

  “You weren’t the one who killed them. You aren’t the one who killed Mr. Parker. Donovan Santana is.”

  He struck his chest with his fist. “But I’m the one who has to live with it.”

  “Simon.” She wished with all her heart she could comfort him, but she had no idea how.

  He stepped toward her, took her hands in his. “I’ve never met a woman like you before, Janelle Wesson. You’ve got such courage, such skill, such determination. Don’t you see? I can’t be with you. I’d just ruin you. You might be the one who’ll end up dead next.”

  “Don’t say that, Simon.”

  He touched her hair, holding her gaze with eyes filled with too much pain to bear. Then he pulled her to him, and gave her a hard kiss that sent her head whirling.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as the overpowering feeling engulfed her. Escape at last. And those overpowering fireworks. She wanted to give in to the sensation. She wanted it to go on forever.

  But it only lasted an instant.

  He let her go. “I’m sorry, Red. I wish things could have worked out better. For all of us.”

  And then he turned and went out the door.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Santana sat at the head of the table in the west conference room of his research center surrounded by Gregor, Doroshenko, Zahara, and Gogol, the men he had taken with him to the pier tonight. All of them had been top trainees of Udar in Kiev. They were his most trusted people.

  But trust went only so far.

  “I want to make sure you all understand what happened tonight is never to be spoken of to anyone outside this room. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

  Gregor smirked. “Yovenko won’t be talking.”

  Dr Ogden, the resident physician Santana had on hand at the center, had worked on Yovenko for an hour, but he hadn’t been able to save him. His head wound had been too severe. He had lost too much blood.

  “We need to get that bitch who killed him,” said Gogol.

  He was the youngest and most hotheaded of the three.

  “We will,” Santana assured him. “But not in the usual way. I have a much better plan. You’ll learn about it later.”

  Blank faces stared at him. They couldn’t comprehend his genius. But they didn’t need to.

  “Right now, we need to talk about finishing the task of moving supplies.”

  He got up and strode to a whiteboard where he had sketched out a schedule. “What happened tonight puts us behind a day. But the weather change in the head winds should help us make up the time on the first load.” He drew the route of the vessel and its return to Boston Harbor. “Once the cruise ship returns, we will continue as planned.”

  Doroshenko raised his hand.

  “Yes, Sasha?”

  He grimaced. “Please do not call me that.”

  “I think it fits. Sasha will be your name from now on.” The name Ms. Steele had called him.

  The man knew better than to grimace again. He simply touched the gash on his cheek Ms. Steele had inflicted. Santana was so glad it was Sasha who had killed that woman tonight. There was a reason he couldn’t bring himself to eliminate the man after letting her and her daughter escape from the penthouse. He was useful. Still, he had to be taught a lesson.

  “Your question, Sasha?”

  The large man regarded him with sullen eyes. “Aren’t the police going to be looking for us after what happened on the pier?”

  “I will take care of the police. You know I can do that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He tapped his marker on the whiteboard. “For the transfer of the remaining supplies, we’ll have to sleep in the day and work at night. The truck will remain in our garage. We’ll use SUVs and pickup trucks to piecemeal the rest of the containers to the ship.”

  Gregor nodded. “All the goods we picked up tonight are in the refrigeration unit on the fourth floor.”

  “Very good.” Santana put down the marker. “Everyone get some rest. We will have a busy night tomorrow. We will have to move quickly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Satisfied his men would obey his orders, Santana left the room and went down the hall to the lab. He bypassed it and stepped into the Infirmary a few doors down.

  Beyond the operating area, a lone body lay on a silver table covered with a white sheet.

  It was five in the morning. Santana had been up all night. He should be exhausted. Instead he felt exhilarated.

  What a victory he’d won tonight.

  He moved to the side of the table, lifted the sheet, and pulled it back. His plan hadn’t gone as he thought it would. He’d caught only one of them in his trap. But it was the best one.

  The one he really wanted.

  Wade Parker.

  He stared down at the features of the man’s face. Even in death he was impossibly good-looking. He’d been talented. Well-bred. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

  The inexplicable rage roused in him. What was it about this man that made him hate him to the core? That made him take risky chances? That made him think so irrationally?

&
nbsp; He took a closer look at those high class features. Once again he had the sense there was something familiar about them.

  Did Wade Parker—resemble himself?

  He dismissed the idea. It was revolting. Besides, it didn’t matter now.

  With a chuckle, Santana pulled the sheet up farther and took a look at the gaping hole he’d put in Parker’s lower abdomen below the Kevlar vest he had been wearing, giving new meaning to the phrase “spilling your guts.”

  Dr. Ogden had cleaned and patched up the wound as best he could, but he couldn’t save him any more than he could Yovenko.

  What a pity. He’d so longed to have Parker as his plaything. All those lovely plans he had for him in the basement would never happen now. A shame.

  He was about to replace the sheet when he paused.

  What was that?

  He stared down at Wade Parker’s hand. Was he dreaming?

  Leaning over he peered at the forefinger. Had it just twitched? And then it did more. The finger rose as if pointing at him in accusation.

  Santana dropped the sheet and reached for his cell phone.

  The party answered on the second ring.

  “Dr. Ogden? Yes. So sorry to wake you again. I know you’ve had a rough night, but I need you in the Infirmary right away. I think our new patient might need an IV.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Three days after the incident on the pier, Miranda lay propped up on pillows in her Boston hospital bed staring blankly out the window at the bare branches and bleak sky.

  Her shoulder was bandaged, and the painkillers they’d made her swallow were giving her a nice buzz.

  But she wasn’t too out of it that she couldn’t remember what had happened on the pier three days ago. Or what Wesson had said when she and Holloway came to see her yesterday morning before they left to go back to Atlanta.

  Sloan had told Wesson the FBI had disbanded the Custodians and ceased the hunt for the Man in Boston, even though they knew who he was now. Donovan Santana hadn’t been lying. The man had some really good connections.

  And now he’d go free without ever having to pay for his crimes.

  At the thought, a wave of pain washed over her.