“Or they’d be waiting to catch us doing something illegal.” Catch them transferring the money and releasing the data.
“But—”
“So far, we’ve done nothing.” Gary remembered the dead bodies starting to litter the ground. “Well, almost nothing.”
“You killed Pamela.”
Gary once again glanced around to make sure they were alone in the secluded area running between the noisy park and the baseball field. “You should be more concerned about me killing Sharon.”
“Please, let my wife go.” Tears filled his eyes as Kent wrung his hands together. “I’m doing everything you want.”
“She is pretty.” Gary hadn’t bothered to notice if she was or not.
“Don’t touch her,” Kent said in an unusual burst of strength. He shifted around, crossing his legs then letting them fall down. He was a breathing bundle of nerves.
Which was why Gary had blocked cell-phone signals to the spot and carried a handy little device to pick up on listening devices. Kent was clean. An embarrassing wreck, but not taping this conversation. “You are not in a position to give orders.”
“I need a few more days.”
Not possible. “You have one. I’d work fast if I were you.”
“I’m getting everything in place.”
“That’s good because your Sharon is running out of time...and air.” Gary stood up and started walking, leaving the man sobbing behind him.
* * *
JOCELYN STOOD AT the nurses’ station, scribbling notes in a folder. This was the one cleanup day she’d been granted before the team put her in hiding...or whatever they were doing. She’d spent a year of her life not being free to do what she wanted when she wanted. She’d vowed never to go back to that place, yet here she was.
She felt a presence right behind her. The body heat. The scent she recognized and could call up in her memory without trouble.
She didn’t bother turning around because she knew who hovered. “Ben, you’re making people nervous.”
“You’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.”
This time she did peek over her shoulder. Nurses and doctors shuffled in and out of the confined space in the middle of the hallway. An older woman stood a few doors down, crying while someone who looked as if he could be her son held her.
The harsh lighting, the smells of antiseptic and floor cleaner, the constant squawk from the speakers—Jocelyn let it all fall over her. It was familiar and cleansing. She thrived on the energy and no longer broke apart at every lost soul. She’d hardened because she had to, but in private she mourned each death.
Ben scanned the floor, his gaze never stopping on one thing. Some of the nurses had the opposite problem and kept sneaking glances at him. When a male nurse dragged a cart down the hall past them, Ben crowded in closer.
She fought off a smile. “I can see we need to talk about personal space.”
“I’m not hanging back and pretending I don’t know you, so don’t ask.” He made eye contact, focusing the intensity he used to guard directly on her. “Most of these people have seen me before anyway.”
“Sitting in a chair next to a coma patient.”
Ben put a hand under her elbow and guided her to the small lounge area just down the hall. The room smelled musty and magazines spilled over every table. The television on the wall provided twenty-four-hour news coverage but no one was in there right now to watch it.
“Point is, I was on this floor on the assignment where we met. There are no surprises here,” he said.
“I wouldn’t say that.” She noticed he hadn’t let go. His touch was gentle and strangely reassuring. It also silently stated he wanted her right there.
The mix of commanding and charming continued to confuse her. Her stalker had possessed that. He could convince anyone, including his commanding officer, of his innocence while attacking her in private.
She assumed that was how it worked. The evil side was real and a guy like that could turn off the other side at will. But with Ben she hadn’t seen evil and she wondered if it lurked under there somewhere.
Some of the strain left his face as he continued to stare at her. “Look, I get that you’re scared.”
He didn’t even understand what had her emotions knocking around like Ping-Pong balls. “Which Ben is the real Ben?”
He frowned. “Excuse me?”
“The sweet-talker or the grumpy one who likes to issue orders?”
“Both.” He hadn’t even taken a second to think about it.
For some reason the answer eased some of her anxiety. “Well, at least that’s honest.”