Page 81 of Dangerous Liaisons

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Jesse glanced at the digital clock on the van’s dash as Cole shifted to the aft seat.

“Two o’clock," he said. “Time to execute part three.” He dialed Lanton’s number.

Before Tom left, he made sure the GPS message buried in the next call would pinpoint a location outside Lanton’s Georgetown home.

Lanton picked up on the first ring this time. “What do you want?”

“You broke our agreement.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sent two agents to kill me. I’m here to take back my money.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lanton repeated.

“Do you recognize the address 3562 Willow?” Cole asked. “Trace the call, I’m there now.”

Lanton paused. Jesse imagined him catching his breath.

“Are you threatening my wife?” Lanton demanded. “I’ll send the whole God damn U.S. Army after you.”

“Haven’t you heard, Senor? I am already dead. Not only do I know where your wife is, I have proof you sold classified information. You will meet with me.”

Another pause, then Lanton’s voice cracked, “Where?”

“Thirtieth Avenue East, at the former Drake Brazing Company. One hour. Come alone.”

Lanton cut the line.

Cole pulled off his headphones. “Go get the minivan while I get into costume. As soon as Tom shows up, we’ll head to the warehouse.”

Chapter Sixty

Jesse strode up to the warehouse door, Cole close behind. A sign riveted to the tin announced Employees Only. Another mission she was flying blind. There hadn’t been time for her to investigate, so she had been forced to trust Tom’s analyses. For the first time, she understood what the team members who depended on her went through. She’d always taken her job seriously, understood their lives depended on her intel, but, until now, she’d never felt what it was like to so completely depend on intel from another human being. She could depend on Tom. Analysis is what he did best.

She pulled the door open. Its rusty hinges squealed. Cole brushed past her. She smiled. Maybe there was something to this knight in shining armor bit. When Tom told her she wouldn’t be doing recon, she had looked up to find Cole watching her intently. His entering first was a way of letting her know she wasn’t alone.

Jesse entered, pulling the door shut behind her. Fifteen feet into the room, she stopped beside him and scanned the interior: a large open area divided by rusty shelves, with a concrete floor stained by chemicals, dirt and age. Windows set high in the wall formed an unbroken line along the building’s flanks. Sunlight illuminated dust motes engaged in a silent, lazy dance.

She approached a squat, rectangular concrete plating tub. The tub, big enough to swallow a mid-sized car, was one in a line of five. Beer cans, fast food containers, and other assorted trash lay at the bottom of the nearest waist-high tub. With its foot-thick concrete sides, the tubs would provide excellent cover if things went bad.

Despite the blanks loaded into the 9mm Beretta worn in the waistband of her jeans, the weight of the weapon gave her a sense of security. She reached inside her shirt to reassure herself the microphone was securely taped between her breasts.

Cole raised a brow and Jesse was surprised when warmth crept across her cheeks. She ducked her head, pressed the radio ear-bud and said, “We’re inside. You getting the signal?”

“Loud and clear,” Tom came back over the radio.

The delivery truck parked across the street had been a stroke of luck. Tom sat in a surveillance van, nestled out of sight behind the truck.

Jesse gave Cole an affirmative nod, then replied, “Roger.”

Cole crossed to a row of flat-topped offices built against the far wall. Wide windows, complete with mini-blinds, faced the production floor where she stood. Farther right, industrial-sized boilers lined the wall, next to an oven the size of a three-car garage. In between, sat abandoned steel shelves, three or more overhead pulleys with dangling chains, and several dirt-crusted workbenches.

She inspected Cole’s outfit with a critical eye. This time, Lanton would be up close. Even in the muted lighting, Cole looked too tall and too wide in the shoulders to be Perez. The body-armor and special effects blood gear he wore wasn’t helping. If Lanton made any calculations on Perez’s growth in the ten years since the picture, he might wonder.

“He’s here and he’s alone,” Tom’s voice crackled over the radio.