Power Play (FBI Thriller 18)

Whoever had slithered in was through the front door now, his breathing the only thing she heard. And it wasn’t Davis. Odd how she even knew the sound of his breathing. Where was Davis?

She eased into the living room, her back still pressed flat against the wall. The quarter-moon shone in the windows, casting the room in a soft gray glow. Now she did hear Davis’s low, steady breathing.

She heard Davis say, his voice low and utterly calm, “Don’t move or I’ll put a bullet right through your ear. It will make a huge mess, but you won’t care.”

A sharp cry, then Davis called out, “Perry, I know you’re there. Hit the lights.”

She flipped all the switches and the living room flooded with light, bright and hard. She saw Davis had his arm locked around a young man’s neck, his Glock inside his ear.

She looked into the white terrified face of Carlos Acosta.

She said, “That’s the best alarm available. How’d you get in?”

The Glock came out of his ear, rested against his temple.

“Well?” Davis asked.

The young man licked his lips, darted a look from Davis to Perry. He didn’t move a muscle. “I had the code. I thought you wouldn’t hear me. I didn’t know he was here.”

Davis patted him down, perp-walked the young man to a chair, and shoved him down. “You’ve learned a valuable lesson: never be the amateur in a professional’s game.”

Carlos didn’t move. He stared at Perry as she walked toward him, her Kimber at her side. She stopped right in front of him. “It didn’t matter that this guy was here. I could have taken you myself, Carlos.”

She leaned over him. “Listen, Carlos, we were all worried about you, especially Mr. Sallivar. And your mother and Isabel. We were afraid you were dead.” She straightened. “But you’re not dead, you were waiting to come after me. Why?”

His eyes flicked to the gun held loosely in her hand, then back to her face. “I was supposed to leave a message, not hurt you. I wouldn’t have hurt you, Ms. Black.”

Davis said, “Where is the message?”

“In my pocket.”

It was Perry who pulled out a folded note from his jacket pocket. A condom fell out with it. She held up the packet, waved it in his face. “I see, the note to me, then what? Rape?”

He looked appalled, shook his head back and forth. “No, no rape, I swear it. I bought it and slipped it into my pocket. Isabel—”

Davis raised his hand. “Enough about safe sex with Isabel for the moment. Perry, read the note.”

She laid the Kimber on the coffee table, slowly pulled out a sheet of folded paper, and read:

RUN AWAY, BLACK. YOU’RE NOT SAFE.

“Isn’t that lovely,” Davis said. “Who gave you the note and the code to this alarm system?”

“I wrote the note. He told me to. I don’t know who. He called me on my cell, threatened us unless I did as he said. I don’t know who it was, I swear.”

“Not going to fly,” Davis said. He grabbed Carlos’s collar and pulled him straight out of the chair and shook him like a dog. “Tell me the truth or I’m going to throw your butt in the FBI dungeon. You won’t get out until you’re older than your mother. Do you have any idea how many felonies you’ve committed? You’re lucky to be alive walking in here—and all to leave a message? Has it occurred to you that the someone who sent you here wanted to get you shot? Wanted to shut you up forever? And we’d be the ones to do it, not him? No matter who’s threatening you, don’t you think you’d be wiser to let us protect you?”

Carlos’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I don’t know who he is, really,” he said again, his voice a whisper.

Perry said, “You said he threatened us. Who’s ‘us’?”

“If I didn’t put this note here, he said he’d kill Isabel.”

Perry leaned in close. “You’re sure it was a he?”

Carlos nodded. “Yes, it was a man, at least I think it was. Whoever it was had a deep voice, but it was sort of muffled, like he was talking through a wadded-up handkerchief, same as the first time.”

“The first time? Start at the beginning,” Davis said. “When did you get the first call?”

“He called me on my cell at work, the day before yesterday. That’s when he told me to write that message on the men’s room wall at the Post. I knew it was wrong, but it didn’t seem too bad. He knew all about me, about my family, and I’m not a citizen.”