Smokescreen Read online

  Jeth nodded at the house, two doors down. “Maybe they did.”

  Yeah. Point to him. Maybe she and Jeth had wasted all this time in the car while those in the refuge house were hurt or even dead. Sam hoped Gretchen Scalpucci had been moved out of the city by this point, but she didn’t know. The woman might well be inside that house. “Let’s go,” she told him. “But don’t come up the drive. You understand that if you alarm the woman who runs this house, she’ll close the door and we won’t learn anything one way or the other.”

  He nodded, and she reached for her door handle—but didn’t quite open it before reminding him, “Either way, you won’t find your sister here. And that woman won’t tell you anything even if she knows it. She won’t tell me, either. That’s the way we work.”

  His jaw tightened at that; she saw the resistance in his expression. He wouldn’t argue, but he still didn’t quite believe it.

  He’d learn.

  They exited the car together; Sam stood in the crisp night air a moment, feeling out all the aches and pains that had settled in after the inactivity of driving. Nothing more than pavement bruises and of course her hands; she flexed them inside the gloves and reaccustomed herself to the sting of it. “The sidewalk,” she reminded him, and strode off toward the house.

  Just another home on the street, complete with late-season marigolds in the front landscaping and a lawn ornament or two against the bushes lining the house. She approached the three-step landing, a little concrete number with a short wrought iron railing; the house looked dark inside, showing only a diffuse glow from some interior night-light. A glance back at Jethro showed him slowly strolling away down the sidewalk, as obvious as ever. She bit her lip on a grin, surprised by the sudden affection the sight gave her. And it didn’t matter how obvious he was—if Scalpucci’s men were here, then all the better if they thought the underground had put a watch on this place.

  And then she looked up into a silent rush of darkness and realized that oh, yeah, Scalpucci’s men were here. At least one of them. This one. He loomed up from the bushes and grabbed her before she truly registered his presence, one hand clamping tightly on her wrist. Way too tightly—it hurt, dammit. She gave an involuntary hiss of anger and protest, jerking her hand within the grip and giving herself a good hard internal kick. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that Scalpucci would send anyone to lurk. To bully and break in and cause havoc, yes. But to lurk?

  Unless he’d already been inside and she’d merely interrupted his departure. She gave the house a wild glance, hunting for hidden signs of distress and disturbance within. Its implacable exterior stared back at her, telling her nothing.

  Her knee-jerk reaction to break free had gained her nothing; he hadn’t even readjusted his hold. Damned gorilla. She’d barely gotten started—

  He gave her a little shake. “You’re one of them.” It wasn’t a question.

  “And you’re one of them,” she retorted, glaring at him through the darkness. She couldn’t pin down so much as a single feature; she might recognize him again from his movement, but not from his face.

  He gave her another shake, rattling her from wrist to shoulder to neck and jaw. “Where’s Gretchen Scalpucci?”

  She shrugged ever so slightly, deliberately not thinking about the moment—not thinking about escape. If she thought about it, if she tried to plan her move, she’d only stumble over herself. But if she just waited, if she just was, then when the right moment came she’d take it.

  She only hoped Jethro didn’t turn around and notice them before then.

  “Listen, you little bitch—you give me what I need and I won’t have to throw you through that window to get the attention of the women in that house. They can sleep right on through the night.”

  “What makes you think they’re sleeping now?” she asked. “What makes you think anyone’s there at all, after what you people pulled in the west end?”

  “A bitch who thinks she’s cute. Just what I need.”

  She got only a glimpse of his scowl, but it was enough. And his shift of weight—enough. He’s going to do it, the son of a bitch—right through the window—

  He pulled her in closer, bent to pick her up; he lifted her off the ground with no apparent effort and she let him, snarling inside at his carelessly rude touch and managing what sounded like a startled and helpless squeak. He didn’t straighten, but repositioned himself, preparing to toss her like a discus. Right through the window—

  The instant he started to unwind, Sam took advantage of the energy and movement he supplied, flipping herself backward out of his arms.

  In a perfect world, she would have landed on her toes, maybe with a little support from her fingertips. In this world, this night, she fell heavily forward, hitting her knees and sprawling onto her hands. The abraded skin lit like fire within her borrowed gloves, tearing open scabs and tipping off her temper. She snarled, abandoned any thought of tackling this ape on her own, and twisted to leap for escape and those front steps. It wouldn’t take much to alert whoever stood vigil here, even a good scream—

  Maybe he read her mind. He threw himself after her, belly-flopping atop her hard enough to knock every bit of air from her lungs. Son of a— She might as well have left the Kel-Tec at home. It might be meant for just this kind of encounter, but there was no way she’d reach it, not with her hips grinding into the thin lawn and the holstered Kel-Tec trapped in her back pocket between them. She flailed around the edges of the landscaping, hunting something, anything, that she might use against him.

  That’s when she realized he’d done more than flattened her; he shoved his distinctly hardened anatomy against her bottom with discovery and purpose. “You!” she spat, hunting air. “You—disgusting—”

  He lowered his face to her ear, his hands braced against the ground on either side of her head. “Two orders,” he said, as though whispering sweet nothings. “Find Gretchen Scalpucci. Leave the rest of you humiliated. I’d had other plans for the house, but this—” he grunted slightly, pushing against her, intrusive even through their clothing. “This is good, too.”

  “Not good!” she panted, what little air she had disappearing under his increasing weight. “Wasn’t Madonna enough fun for the night?”

  He laughed, an ugly sound as good as a confession.

  “That’s—it!” She slammed her head back into his nose, too restricted to do much damage but not expecting to, because her real goal—

  Her real goal gleamed palely at ground level next to her own nose, and she went for it. She sunk her teeth into the strip of skin exposed by his ridden-up jacket sleeves and this time she got a surprised bellow, and then everything happened pretty much at once. House lights came on, Jethro shouted her name from what seemed a very long distance and Sam’s flailing hands found a flat cut-out lawn ornament jammed into the ground on a thick piece of rebar. She yanked it out, spat out the flesh of his arm, and laid into him with the lawn ornament, awkward but unrelenting as he jerked his arm out of range. She shot forward, rose to her knees and cocked the flat, heavy wood back like a bat, swinging to the bleachers just as he sent a big ham fist in her direction. She ducked.

  He didn’t.

  He reeled backward, barely catching himself with one hand, and Sam surged to her feet, throwing so much energy into her next blow that the impact lifted her feet off the ground by a grass blade or two.

  “Sam!”

  And suddenly Jethro was right there, rolling the stunned heavyweight to his stomach and cranking an arm up behind the man in a way those beefy muscles barely allowed. He yanked a couple of stout Velcro tie-downs from his pocket as Sam watched in disbelief, wavering slightly on her feet. Dammit, she felt like she’d been trampled by a whole herd of gorillas and not just this one and it made her seriously cranky. “What the hell are those?”

  “My geek straps,” Jethro said, intent on his task; the effort it took left her with no doubt that the Velcro would hold. His words came in little rushes between hi
s movements. “For my pants. When I’m biking.”

  “Perfect,” she said numbly. In the light from the refuge house windows she got her first good glimpse of her own improvised weapon and discovered a little old lady bending over to weed, her petticoats and undies bared to the world. Okay, there was something appropriate about that. She gave a little laugh and threw the wooden figure on top of the trussed man. As Jethro stood, the man rolled partway to his back, stopped there by his own beefy arms behind him, and Sam prodded his soft groin with her toe. “All gone,” she noted with satisfaction. “I hope you’ll think of your current stunning performance any time you get a notion to use this again.”

  Jethro made a strangled noise. And then he said, “Why didn’t you call me? You think I wouldn’t have been of any help? You and my sister—”

  “Shut up,” she told him, blunt and unable to muster any kinder words for him as she nursed all her new owies. “What makes you think I had a chance?”

  “I—”

  “Shut up,” said an entirely new voice. “And drag that trash off my lawn. Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? Better talk fast, because the cops are on their way.”

  “No, they’re not,” Sam said, calm enough as she finally caught her breath. She looked up at the woman on the front stoop, finding an African-American version of the Captain. Short, stout and damned tough. “Not unless someone else called them, and I don’t see any other house lights on down the street. You don’t want them here any more than I do.”

  The woman grunted something uncomplimentary and held up a cell phone. “Got my finger on 9-1-1.”

  “Sure,” Sam agreed. “But let’s talk before you use it. I’ve come from the Captain’s end of town. You’re gonna want to hear this.”

  For the first time, the woman hesitated; in the darkness she nodded at Jethro. “And him?”

  “He’s going to stand out here and make sure this guy doesn’t have any pals trying to finish what he started.” Sam rubbed her hip where it had hit the cold, hard ground.

  Jethro leaned in close to her. “Why wouldn’t there be?” He glanced at the house as if he weren’t sure he wanted her to overhear. “If Scalpucci is behind this trouble, why would he send only one man? Why not send a posse?”

  “Huh. Good point.” The bomb had been more Scalpucci’s style—unmistakable, in your face, getting the job done with a bang. She looked down at the conquered mound of muscle and asked it, “How about that?” But she didn’t wait for the answer she knew wouldn’t be forthcoming. “I think we’d better get out to that other house. But I’ve got to talk to her first.” Sam nodded at the house. “I mean it about staying out here. I need her to trust me.”

  “And I’m not part of your little organization.”

  Sam gave him a sweet smile. “You’re a man. That’s enough.” She patted his cheek, counting on the gesture to put him off long enough so she could make her getaway without further discussion—and though she couldn’t quite decipher the startled look on his face, she made her getaway nonetheless.

  Whew. Just in time. Traitors, those fingers of hers, wanting to linger. Pure and simple traitors.

  The house guardian met her with hands impatiently propped on her square hips. “What the hell is going on? Who are you? I’ve already asked once and by my way of thinking you’ve had far too long to answer.”

  “My name is Sam.” Sam stood at the bottom step of the tiny porch, one hand on the rail, knowing she wouldn’t be invited inside. “I watch the Captain’s house. Earlier this evening a van blew up in front of it.”

  The woman stiffened. She hadn’t heard. Sam wasn’t surprised. The Captain was probably still dealing with the cops and no one else had the contact info—and wouldn’t, not unless the Captain’s death set into motion the events that would bring her successor up to speed. But for now…

  The woman’s voice turned quiet. “And she’s all right?”

  “She’s tied up with things. But we think your location has been compromised. That’s what I came to tell you—to warn you—and given what we found…” She nodded at the dark lump on the grass that had so recently been trying to hurt her.

  “She gave you this location?” the woman asked suspiciously.

  “No,” Sam said dryly. “That’s the point. I got it from the same person who was beaten into revealing it to Scalpucci’s people. I don’t suppose you have Gretchen Scalpucci here.”

  The guardian snorted. “I don’t suppose I’ll tell you. And what’s his story?”

  “He’s looking for someone.”

  “And you brought him here?”

  Sam shook her head, somewhat bemused herself. “That I did. Of course, I don’t believe his sister’s even in the city anymore, and your location is blown anyway—you need to pack up and get out of here even if Gretchen Scalpucci never got anywhere near you. She wasn’t at the refuge, either, and Scalpucci still left us a bomb to make sure we know he’s peeved at us. My guess is that he’ll try to take out the entire underground. I hope you’ve got a fallback.”

  The woman snorted again. “Of course. We started evacuation procedures as soon as you got noisy out here. Another half hour and no one will ever know anyone was here.”

  Sam looked at their prisoner. Jethro had left him in an ungainly huddle on the grass to return to the sidewalk, somewhat more vigilant than he’d been the first time. “I’ve got another house to warn. I’d rather not stick around to deal with him.”

  “Not a problem. The cops can get a tip once we’re outta here. I’ll make sure they know he beat on someone once already tonight.”

  Sam nodded, gave her the quick details of Madonna’s situation, and saw the first signs of sadness in the woman’s eyes. “I remember her. I had hoped she would make it. She was taking her meds when she was here, and she’s really quite a smart young lady.”

  Sam felt the same twinge of regret, thinking of the vacant lot where Madonna had set up house. “I guess she just has to make it her own way.”

  “And him?”

  Jethro, that’s who the woman meant. And Sam didn’t blame her for the hard note that came into her voice. “His sister came through. He can’t let go. He’s been helpful this evening.” She hadn’t realized it until she said it…so used to being on her own, so used to simply handling things as they happened.

  “Do you believe him?” the woman asked abruptly.

  “You know, I do.” That, too, came as a surprise. At first she’d easily assumed Jethro had been lying, that he’d been the abuser behind one of their refugees. But Sam was a people watcher by nature…and by profession. And in spite of the violence of this evening, she’d never seen anything of it reflected in Jethro. Nothing but honesty and persistence and more than a dab of deliberate blindness when it came to his sister’s decision. “I don’t agree with him, but I do believe him.”

  Another snort. And a hard directive. “Don’t compromise us.”

  And that raised Sam’s hackles but good. “The whole system is already compromised. He’s not learning anything that will hold true within fifteen minutes after we walk away from here.” She felt her own surprise at the strength of her response, saw it reflected in the other woman’s face. She grasped for annoyance to cover the moment. “Don’t worry about us. But see if you can reach the Captain. She doesn’t know Madonna talked.” And as she stepped away from the landing, her thoughts went unbidden to Jeth’s earlier question…why only one man? Why hadn’t she run into a whole group? They could have bulldozed through her and right into the house.

  Unless they were otherwise occupied.

  Unless they already knew the other house held Gretchen, and had sent this one man here to deliver the same kind of message Scalpucci had given the Captain.

  Great. The thought put spring back into her step; she broke into a run as she headed for the car, swooping up behind Jethro to grab his arm. He hesitated, gaze on the house, thoughts on his sister. Sam shook her head, more sharply than she truly felt. “I told you it
wouldn’t happen. She’s not there—and if she was that woman would shoot you and put you out to the curb before she let you in.” Not quite. Stun guns were just as effective and not as problematic. But he didn’t need to know that. “Now let’s go.”

  He still hesitated, hope lingering. And then he visibly steeled himself. “You’re sure—”

  “Yes. Now get in or get out of the way.”

  He finally caught her urgency. He finally tore himself away from the house, even if not quite convinced. “What’s the big hurry?” he said as they slid into the car on their respective sides.

  “You said it,” she said. “Only one man. So where are the others?”

  He snapped the seat belt buckle together, a noise somehow made grim by the circumstances. “One step ahead of us.”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter 5

  “How far?” Jethro asked, but it wasn’t the thing foremost on his mind. Had he just walked away from Lizbet? Would he ever have another chance?

  Or maybe she was just ahead. So hard to know…so hard to trust.

  “Ten minutes,” she said shortly. “More or less.”

  He watched her profile, still expecting to see something other than the moderate and unremarkable nose…something with a bump just below the bridge and more expressive nostrils. And the mouth…the lower lip should be fuller and distinctly undercut, the chin below more stubborn.

  But it wasn’t. And he couldn’t figure out how he thought it could or should be. “Holy Velcro handcuffs,” he said. It wasn’t what he was really thinking or what he really wanted to say, but for once Jethro Sheridan didn’t know how to say all the things on his mind. “Looks like you pulled a real superhero trick—leaving the bad guy trussed up at the scene of the crime.”

  She took the exit from the inner to the outer loop and didn’t respond. But she must have felt him watching, because she finally gave him a hard glance and said, “I didn’t ask about your sister. She wouldn’t have told me anything if I had. I don’t even know that woman’s name—that should tell you something.”