Power Play (FBI Thriller 18)

Perry had wondered the same thing, but only for an instant. She said now, no doubt in her voice, “You know to your gut whoever is behind this wants you destroyed, and that includes your career, your good name, even your life, and”—she paused for a moment—“and me. A very thorough revenge indeed.”

“Revenge—but why? I can’t think of anyone I possibly hurt so much to bring on this sort of—madness.”

Davis stood outside the Beemer as they talked. He’d checked all around the building, seen no one. He waited for another moment, then opened the door. Slowly, the women separated.

“No one’s around,” he said matter-of-factly. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

Ten minutes later, the condo was silent. No one had bothered with an alarm clock.

The call with news about Hooley woke them up at ten minutes before eight in the morning.

Washington Memorial Hospital

Saturday morning

Connie waited as long as she could manage before she called everyone with the good news. Hooley survived the night. They’d pulled his breathing tube out at the crack of dawn and he was breathing on his own. He was stable, the nurses had said. She repeated every positive word she’d heard.

She stood over him, lightly tracing her fingers over his still face. His breathing and heart rate were steady, and he seemed comfortable. There was still a clear tube coming out of his chest to draw off fluid, and that had to hurt, but he was on heavy-duty meds and only sort of awake. She really didn’t want him to wake up anytime soon, because she knew he’d be in pain. And sleep healed. He was so strong, she thought, so strong. He would pull through this, he had to.

But he did wake up. When he opened his eyes, Connie saw first blankness, then confusion, and she said quietly, “Mark, it’s me, Connie. You’re safe, you’re going to be fine. You don’t have to try to talk. Go back to sleep, it’s the best thing for you.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she’d said, but her face and the sound of her voice so close reassured him. She was smiling, and surely that was a good sign. He didn’t feel much of anything, no pain, and he wasn’t about to test that out by moving. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton—heavy and thick, with strange blurred thoughts that ricocheted here and there. He blinked, trying to clear his mind; it did, a bit. His mouth was so dry, but he couldn’t say her name, but he tried, a small sound, but it got her attention.

“You’re thirsty. I’m sorry,” Connie said, and held a straw to his mouth. “Only a little bit, okay?”

He took a few sips, managed to whisper, “Connie.”

“Yes, I’m right here. No one’s going to get near you, Mark. You’re perfectly safe with me.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s good. I’m really glad I’m not dead,” and he drifted away, his brain closing down, and everything was fine.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Davis Sullivan standing over him. He was saying his name over and over. Well, not his name—

“That’s right, Beef, open those baby blues because you and I have got beers to drink, hoops to shoot, wrestling to do, unless you’re afraid of me.”

Out came a thin gruff voice. “Afraid of you, pretty boy? In your dreams. You’d last five seconds.” Was that skinny little voice really his? He sounded pathetic.

He must have barely made a sound, because Davis was leaning close to him now. “Yeah, maybe. Right now, though, you can’t even pee on your own, so save your strength for the pretty nurses.”

Hooley started to laugh, but it hurt so bad he gasped. He felt Sullivan’s hand tighten on his forearm.

“I’m okay,” he whispered. “Connie says I’ll be okay.”

“You’d better be okay or I’ll sic Savich on you. Talk about the big mean dog, he’d put you on the mat in under five seconds at the gym. You scared the crap out of us, Beef.”

Hooley wanted to laugh, this time simply because he was alive, but he knew better. He did manage a small grin without the pain slamming him again. “My older brother called me Beef—short for beef on the hoof.”

“I thought you only had a sister. Did Connie tell you she’s on her way from Denver to coddle you?”

It wasn’t pain that made Hooley want to groan. Margie was a sweetheart, but she would fuss and bother, treat him like he was eight years old again. “Aren’t you a thoughtful bastard.”

“I do my best. I didn’t call her, Connie did, your doctor insisted. Now, what’s this about a brother?”