Under the Microscope

voice said, “Which terminal, ma’am?”

“I don’t know.” Without conscious thought, she turned to Jeff. “Find out which terminal has a Thursday’s Restaurant, will you?”

“Sure thing.” He opened a new window on the laptop and tapped in a quick search. “Terminal B. Arrivals.”

Forsythe chuckled. “Seems like she trained you well, Jeffrey. You’re still wired to jump at her command.”

Jeff’s face flushed a dull red and he glanced at Raine. She couldn’t read his expression, but what ever was there, it didn’t seem to be remorse. More like self-satisfaction.

“So, we’re going to Thursday’s, are we?” Forsythe glanced out the window, where jersey barriers signaled the edge of yet another construction zone. “Crummy little place. I hope for your sake the disks are there.”

“They’ll be there,” she assured him, fingers crossed that Ike’s care package included the database copy.

“And Vasek better not be there.”

“No way. He’s back in Manhattan by now, cursing my name.” She forced a laugh, but worry was a sick coil in her stomach. What if he’d believed the note? What if the love she’d felt, the love she’d thought they’d shared, had all been on her side?

No, she told herself, he’d be there.

If he loved her, he’d trust her. If he trusted her, he’d read the note carefully and grasp the buried clue. He’d come for her.

But what if he didn’t come?

What if he didn’t love her?

Forsythe sent her a long, measured look, but didn’t press.

Moments later, the intercom went live and the driver’s voice said, “Terminal B, Arrivals.”

“Wait for us here,” Forsythe ordered. “We won’t be long.” He waited for the driver to open the passenger doors, then gestured Jeff out first, followed by Raine. As she passed, Forsythe made a show of tucking a small handgun into the pocket of his wool coat. “For insurance purposes only, of course.”

Too bad we don’t have to go through security to get to Thursday’s, Raine thought as she climbed out of the limo and stood shivering in the cutting wind coming off the ocean. With both Jeff and Forsythe carrying concealed weapons, they wouldn’t make it three feet past the checkpoint.

Which was probably why Ike had chosen Thursday’s. No doubt she walked around with a pistol strapped to her ankle on a daily basis.

Rather than bringing her down, the thought buoyed Raine. Ike was tough enough to survive, and she was as tough as Ike, damn it. She might not be wearing all black or packing heat, but she could pull this off.

Provided her backup, her partner, came through for her.

Come on, Max, she thought, the words nearly a prayer. Give me the benefit of the doubt. Really read that note. Think about it with your heart, then with your head.

And get your butt to the restaurant, or I’m in big trouble.

But there was no sign of him as Forsythe, Jeff and Raine entered Terminal B through baggage claim on the lower level and took an escalator up to the arrivals deck.

Sure enough, there was Thursday’s Restaurant, in all its green-and-white striped glory.

A yawning pit opened up in the center of Raine’s stomach. She didn’t have a backup plan. What would she do if Max didn’t show, or came too late? If she gave the disks to Forsythe, that would be the end of their efforts to gather evidence against The Nine, and it wasn’t as if she would actually go through with her supposed alliance.

If they didn’t kill her outright, they’d no doubt find a way to get her charged and convicted on the outstanding warrant.

Unless, she thought, scrambling madly for an idea. What if I get Forsythe to pull his weapon in Logan Airport? That’d bring security. It wouldn’t take care of the rest of The Nine, but it’d buy me some time. Buy us some time. I could-

“You waiting for someone?” Forsythe inquired with a thread of steel in his voice. He moved up beside her and she felt the barrel of his gun dig into the point of her hip.

Panic licked past her defenses at the realization that he could put a bullet in her without removing the gun from his pocket, then disappear in the ensuing melee.

Even if he were caught, he’d already proven that he had friends in high places.

What had she been thinking? Raine looked toward the exit, instincts screaming for her to run. She couldn’t do this, wasn’t tough enough, wasn’t smart enough, just wasn’t enough.

Yes you are, partner. Max’s imagined voice came out of nowhere, out of the little core of warmth in her midsection, the warmth he’d put there the night before. You can do this.

She took a breath and nodded to Forsythe and Jeff. “Okay, boys. Follow my lead.” She marched into the restaurant, waved off the hostess’s offer to seat them at a table and sat at the bar. Though it was barely 11:00 a.m., several of the other stools were occupied with travelers who either didn’t think it was uncool to drink before noon or were in another time zone.

The bartender-late twenties, prominent Adam’s apple-wandered over. “Get you something?”

“Gin and tonic with an olive, please.”

Forsythe leaned close to her. “No funny stuff, Ms. Montgomery. We clear on that?”

She manufactured a haughty look. “Same goes. We both know this could be a very good deal for your people. Don’t mess it up for them.”

He stared at her for a long minute before he nodded and leaned back. “Fair enough.”

But his hand remained in his jacket pocket, which was roughly in line with her right kidney.

“Here you go.” The bartender slid a glass in front of her. “Anything else?”

She frowned at the drink. “Where’s the umbrella? This is supposed to come with an umbrella. What kind of a place is this, anyway?”

He nodded. “Of course, I’m very sorry for the oversight. One umbrella coming right up.” He dropped down behind the bar, but instead of a brightly colored decoration, he came up with two sturdy envelopes. “Tell her hey from Rudy.”

“Will do. Thanks, Rudy.” Raine took the envelopes and nodded to Jeff, who was lurking behind Forsythe like a shadow. “Pay him for the drink and don’t stiff him on the tip, will you, Jeffrey?”

She moved to open the first envelope, but Forsythe took her arm and nudged her along with the hidden weapon. “We’ll have a look at those in the limo, if you please.”

Raine felt the walls closing in on her, felt her time count down and then expire as they left the restaurant. Crushing, overwhelming disappointment flooded her as they crossed the marbled lobby and headed for the escalators.

“Hold it right there, Ms. Montgomery. Mr. Forsythe. Police!” Detective Marcus suddenly appeared in front of her, flanked by a pair of airport cops. All three had their guns out and at the ready. Agent Bryce of the FDA stood behind them and off to one side.

Before Raine could process Marcus’s appearance so far out of his jurisdiction, and Bryce’s presence at all, Forsythe turned on her. “You set me up! Bitch!” He grabbed her, spun her around and clamped an arm around her throat. Then pulled his gun and pressed it to her temple. “Everyone stand back! Back! I mean it!”

Raine froze, panic congealing in her blood. Forsythe nudged her toward the escalator. “Start walking. You got me into this, you’re going to get me out of it.”

She stumbled, dragging on numb legs. Oh, God. Oh, help. Oh-

Max!

He appeared from behind a marble upright beside the escalator, lunged at them and knocked Forsythe away from Raine in a move that was part football tackle, part rage.

They went tumbling down the up escalator, triggering screams from startled tourists. Raine staggered and fell to her knees, then struggled up and ran toward where the man had disappeared. “Max. Max! ”

They came back into view, rising on the ascending escalator. Max’s eyes gleamed with battle lust, Forsythe’s with rage as they struggled for possession of the gun.