Running Hot

TWENTY

“You ran into Harry Sweetwater in Eubanks’s hotel room?” Fallon sounded genuinely startled, a rare state of affairs. “Son of a gun. What are the odds?”

“You keep saying that.” Luther reached the sliding glass doors, turned and started back across the suite. The cane thudded heavily on the carpet. “Here’s the thing, Fallon. You’re supposed to know the damn odds. That’s your job, remember? Figuring the odds? Connecting dots? Running probabilities? This is a major screwup. What the hell is going on? Did you forget to mention that you’d sent a pro after Eubanks?”

He was very aware of Grace sitting on the sofa looking concerned. The aftereffects of using such a heavy volume of energy to keep Sweetwater planted on the bed were hitting him hard and she obviously knew it. The adrenaline and other biochemicals that had flooded his bloodstream had worn off, leaving him jittery and cold. He hated this part, hated looking exhausted in front of her. The damn cane was bad enough.

“I didn’t send Sweetwater after Eubanks,” Fallon said.

“Who else besides J&J would want Eubanks dead?”

Grace raised her hand. “Someone who wants his job?”

“I heard that,” Fallon said. “I like it. Makes sense, given what we know about Nightshade. It’s a tough outfit.”

Luther stopped and looked across the room at Grace. “Sweetwater said his scheduler thinks that the person calling herself Winthrup was a woman. Evidently the real Winthrup is a man.”

“Sweetwater’s scheduler is his wife,” Fallon said. “She’s probably right. High-level intuitive.”

“I don’t believe this. His

wife schedules the hits?”

“Sweetwater is a family business,” Fallon explained. “It was founded shortly after J&J was established. There’s been a connection between the two firms ever since. Should be another generation of Sweetwaters coming along soon. Harry’s oldest son got married a while back.”

“He did say something about having to get home for the birth of a grandchild.”

“It’s a very close family.”

“The family that whacks together, stays together?”

Over on the sofa Grace raised her brows.

“Guess it makes for strong family bonds,” Fallon said.

“Just out of curiosity, how often does J&J employ the Sweetwater clan?”

“As infrequently as possible and only when there’s no other option. We always make an effort to put together a case that will hold up with regular law enforcement and the courts, you know that. You’ve helped build some of those cases. But occasionally we find ourselves dealing with a high-level sensitive gone bad who is just too damn clever or simply too powerful. Cecil Ferguson, for example.”

“Who was Ferguson?”

“A level-ten hypnotist who was also a serial killer. Murdered twelve people before he came to our attention. Took us that long to realize he was one of us, a sensitive. High-grade hypnos are so rare that I’ve often wondered if he was formula-enhanced.”

“Nightshade?”

“Maybe. But we were never able to prove it. This was back in the early days of dealing with Nightshade. We were just beginning to realize that we were facing a full-blown criminal organization, not just another renegade scientist who had decided to play alchemist. At any rate, I knew we couldn’t give Ferguson to the cops, not even with plenty of evidence. Anyone who got within a few feet of him was at risk of being put into a trance. He would simply have walked away from the arresting officers.”

“So you sent Sweetwater.”

“Who took him out from a safe distance. For the record, I use Sweetwater only as a last resort and then only with the full approval of the Council and the Master. And we sure as hell didn’t send him to Maui.”

“Whoever did send him knew how to make herself look like she was Client Number Two. Sweetwater said she used all the right codes.”

“Interesting,” Fallon said, grim and thoughtful.

“All right, getting back to our little problem here, how are you doing getting your long-term surveillance people in place? These guys might leave at any time.”

Over on the sofa Grace raised her hand again. “I could follow one of the Nightshade operatives.”

He gave her his most intimidating stare. She did not appear to notice.

“Heard that, too,” Fallon said. “Unfortunately, Grace isn’t trained for that kind of work.”

Luther smiled at Grace. “He says you’re not trained for that kind of work.”

She grimaced and flopped back against the sofa cushions.

“I’m working on the surveillance issue,” Fallon said. “I’ll have five agents there within the next twenty-four hours. You and Grace will have to keep an eye on things until then.”

“We don’t need Grace on the scene any longer. I want her out of here.”

“More Nightshade people might arrive,” Fallon said.

“I can ID them for you.”

“Yes, but you can’t profile them. Which reminds me, tell Grace I got the profiles she worked up this afternoon. They look very thorough.”

The phone went abruptly silent.

Luther looked at Grace. “He liked your profiles.”

She brightened. “I’m so glad. I take it we’re still partners?”

“Yeah.”

“Your overwhelming enthusiasm is so heartwarming.” She got to her feet, took his arm and steered him toward the bedroom. “Come with me. You need to get some rest. You’re running on fumes.”

“Used up a lot of energy on Sweetwater. I’m going to have to crash for a while. Pay attention. Keep all the doors locked. Do not leave this room and do not let anyone in, not even the guy who restocks the minibar. Got that?”

“Understood.”

He sank down onto the bed and contemplated his running shoes. A man on a cane probably didn’t need running shoes, he thought. Before he could decide whether or not he had enough strength left to remove them, Grace knelt in front of him, her head bent. The soft light gleamed on her dark hair. He watched her untie the laces.

“Do you think it should worry us that the best example of a perfect family that we’ve run into on this trip is a clan of contract killers?” he asked.

“Family is family.”