No Control

Page 6

But none of that bothered him nearly as much as her front door. It was a flimsy piece of construction with a lock that wouldn’t have taken him twenty seconds to bypass.
Even an amateur would have had no trouble getting through that door. A stiff wind could do the job.
Caleb didn’t have time to knock before the door was opened. Lana stepped out onto her welcome mat, blocking his path, a clear sign he was not welcome inside.
“I brought you back your dishes. The food was great. Thanks.”
Lana gave a grudging nod and took the dirty plate and glass. “Please tel me you’re not going to stay out there al night.”
“Sorry, but I’m under or—”
“Orders. Yes, I know. And I’ve got a lot of work to do. At least go where I can’t see you watching me. You’re making me nervous, and I can’t get anything done.” It was the weariness in her tone that nearly had him backing off. She looked exhausted, with dark smudges under her blue eyes and a tired droop to her shoulders.
“I can’t leave you alone, but I’l try to keep out of your hair.”
“Whatever,” she said, but it sounded like she was admitting defeat, and he hated that he’d pushed a strong woman like Lana that far.
She turned to go back into her apartment, and Caleb knew he had one more job to do before he could let her go. “Would it be okay if I used your bathroom?”
He could tel she wanted to say no, but there was that look in her eyes again—the one that told him she didn’t like the idea of him suffering. She let out a long, weary sigh.
“Go ahead.”
She held the door open for him, and he had to nearly touch her to squeeze past. He caught her scent as he passed, and something deep in his chest tightened. He remembered that scent; under the sterile, sickly stench of the hospital, she had smeled the same way. Like honeysuckle and miracles, like spring and second chances.
That scent had haunted him last spring when flowers had started to bloom and he’d caught a whiff of honeysuckle. He’d remember Lana lying in the hospital bed and wish that he could have saved her, too.
If only.
Caleb shoved the thought away and took in her smal apartment with one sweeping glance. It was like countless other rental places, with white wals, matted gray-brown carpet, and cracked vinyl floors. There was an open living/kitchen area that took up most of the apartment and a single bedroom and bathroom off to one side. A sturdy plaid couch in front of a tiny TV filed most of the living area, with heavy wooden bookcases filing the rest. The shelves nearly bowed under the weight of dozens of travel books, as wel as thick guides on fundraising and how to build your own business.
The wals were decorated with sketches where other people used photographs. The art was good—lifelike enough that it captured the emotion and personality of each subject. A much older version of Lana, which Caleb guessed was her mother, was holding a newborn who stil wore the tiny hospital band on his chubby wrist. Pride filed the older woman’s face, and Caleb swore he could almost see the tears of joy running down her cheeks. Another sketch showed a teenage girl in a soccer uniform holding a trophy while a crowd of other girls hoisted her high overhead. Cheers and praise were frozen on their lips, and it was easy to imagine the sound they had made. Another sketch was of a man in his sixties, pruning shears in hand, tending a rosebush. The look of contentment on his face was nearly palpable, and the roses were so intricately drawn that Caleb was sure he would feel the velvet texture of rose petals if he ran his finger over the paper. He had to force himself not to keep staring at the artwork and move on.
On the smal dining table sat an outdated PC and piles of bils and paperwork. The kitchen counters were nearly bare, with the exception of a coffee pot and a toaster sitting out, ready to use.
Caleb made quick use of the bathroom and came back out. Lana was at the sink washing the dishes, and he took the opportunity to mount the minuscule wireless camera on the frame above her bathroom door. No one was getting in through her front windows or door without him seeing it. When no one came through, he could prove to Monroe that Lana wasn’t in danger and get out of this blasted assignment. Anyone who wanted to do Lana harm could walk right in here and do it. Once Monroe saw how easy it would be to get to her, he’d be satisfied that she was safe. Anything that was going to happen would have already happened by now.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on Caleb’s part. Maybe he wanted to believe she was safe too much.
“Thanks,” he told her.
“You’re welcome.” Perfect politeness, but Lana didn’t turn around. The line of her back was straight and stiff. He needed no further reminder that she didn’t want him here. The least he could do was get out and leave her in peace.
“Don’t forget to lock the door when I leave.”
She turned then, and Caleb thought he saw fear flitter over her eyes for just a split second before it vanished. “I never forget to lock the door.”
CHAPTER THREE
Denny Nelson jumped when his cel phone rang, causing beer bottles to topple over and crash onto his kitchen floor.
He’d been waiting for this cal for so long he was beginning to think his new boss had forgotten him.
“Helo,” Denny answered, hoping he didn’t sound as drunk as he felt.
“I have a job for you,” said the man on the other end of the phone. His voice was creepy—a metalic monotone that was artificial and emotionless. It sounded like a robot was talking, but Denny knew better. The man just didn’t want Denny to recognize his voice, which was fine with him. The less contact he had with his boss, the better.
“I’m ready,” Denny said, scrambling for a notebook and pen.
“Go to Meg’s Diner. In the restroom, behind the prophylactic machine, you’l find instructions for the job I want you to do. When you’re finished, go home, turn on your porch light, and wait for my cal.”
Denny felt the spidery legs of paranoia crawling up his back. “You can see my house?”
“I can see everything you do. Remember that.”
Denny swalowed a lump of fear and peered out of his kitchen window. It was too dark to see anything out there, but suddenly he could feel his boss’s eyes on him. He needed another beer. Bad. “What’s the pay?”
“Same as it was for the last job,” said the robot voice.
“What if that’s not enough?”
“We both know it is. Your father’s debts increase daily. I’m sure you’d like to start paying them off before the interest rate increases to broken bones.”
Denny shoved that thought out of his mind before he got sick. He’d seen what the men who held his dad’s debt had done to him before they’d finaly kiled him. Denny had no fondness for the man, but he didn’t wish that kind of punishment on anyone. Especialy himself. “Okay. I can be at Meg’s in fifteen minutes.”
Denny opened the fridge and puled out a beer to settle his nerves.
“Good boy. I knew you’d make the right decision.”
Denny tightened his jaw over the caustic words that wanted to spew out. He was twenty-two, hardly a boy, yet his boss insisted on saying that every time they made a deal. It was enough to make a man crazy.
“And Dennis?”
Not Denny, Dennis. He hated that, too. “Yeah?”
“You’ve had enough beer tonight.”
Caleb was getting angrier by the minute. It was after one in the morning, and Lana’s lights were stil burning bright. He opened his laptop and puled up the image from the camera he’d planted. Along the far edge of the image, he saw Lana sitting at her computer, working. Her body was slumped with fatigue, but her fingers continued to fly over the keyboard. He heard the buzz of some infomercial in the background spewing something about building better abs. Beside her sat a steaming cup of coffee that she must have just poured.
He wanted to bust into her apartment and demand that she go to bed, but he didn’t dare. He wasn’t ready to let her know about the camera he’d planted, nor was it realy any of his business. If she wanted to work herself sick, he just had to live with it.
Caleb closed his laptop before he could change his mind about barging into her life.
His dashboard clock read one-eighteen. The perfect time to cal in and report to Monroe. Waking his CO up from a nice, cozy bed with the missus was the perfect way for Caleb to let him know just how much he was enjoying this job.
The colonel picked it up on the first ring, and there was no hint of sleep in his voice. The bastard.
“Monroe,” greeted the colonel in a terse voice.
“Sir, it’s Stone.”
“About time you caled. Report.”
“I’m at her place.” Caleb didn’t use Lana’s name, on the off chance that someone would monitor the cal. Even though they’d taken every precaution to secure his cel phone, there was always new technology out there that could thwart their efforts and countersurveilance.
Caleb could hear the smile in Monroe’s voice. “That’s quick work. The closer you are to her, the safer she’l be.”
“It’s not like that, sir. I’m outside. In my car.”
“Grant would have already been in the woman’s bed.”
“I am not Grant,” growled Caleb, hating the thought of another man in her bed more than he should have.
“Sitting outside isn’t good enough. Do whatever you have to do to stick by her side. She knows something she didn’t tel us when we debriefed her. Find out what it is.”
Anger swirled in Caleb’s gut. He didn’t like the colonel implying that she’d lied, even though he knew that it was a possibility. “How do you know there’s anything to find out, sir?”
“Just a hunch.”
Fuck your hunch, is what Caleb wanted to say, but he bit back the remark and showed the colonel the respect he deserved. “I’l feel her out and see if I can get her to talk, but I’m not going to go dragging up bad memories if I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by it. She doesn’t need me to force her to relive her torture.”
“Would you prefer to see her dead, son?”
Caleb snarled, and his hand tightened around the phone until he heard the plastic groan in protest. “Of course not,” he bit out.
“Then you damn wel better find out what she’s hiding. I never did buy her story that she didn’t hear or see anything over those three days.”
“You spent five days interrogating her. Are you saying that our men aren’t good enough to break one weak, bedridden woman?”
“We thought we had the whole story, son. We were wrong.” There was no smugness in Monroe’s tone, only the heavy weight of responsibility.
“How do you know that?”
“If we weren’t wrong, then why is her name being tossed about by men we know were linked to the Swarm before we took them down? Men they hired to do some of their dirty work?”
Caleb had no answers. “The good news is that if she did witness something, then we got al the terrorists that day. If any of them survived, they would have already tried to capture or kil her.”