The Warrior. Dinah McCall
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a lot of powerful people who are friends with my father, but this isn’t information that a regular police department would even deal with. Maybe the FBI…only Dad went to college with the deputy director. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not accusing him of being in cahoots with Dad, but I’m also not certain if he’d believe me. I have this image in my head of trying to convince people of the truth while Dad finds a way to make me out to be crazy…claiming I’m trying to ruin him because he disowned me, or something. And I don’t want to wind up in some loony bin, drugged out of my mind to keep me quiet, or six feet under because I was nothing but collateral damage on his path to his personal goals.”
John was listening, but he was also distracted by the fact that from where she was standing, he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. It irked him that he’d even noticed, and he chalked it up to the fact that it had been a while since he’d been with a woman. Maybe all he needed was to take another drive down to Savannah, although the last time he was there, he’d gotten mixed up in a bank robbery and shot for his troubles.
“So what do you think?” she prodded.
That you’re not as skinny as I thought. “Uh…that it’s your call.”
She groaned, then turned away and strode to the windows.
John followed.
“Look…if you really don’t trust the powers that be, there’s always the media,” he said.
Alicia’s frustration shifted. “What do you mean?” she asked as she turned to face him.
“You know the newspapers…always ready for the next big scoop. I know a journalist who works out of D.C.—Corbin Woodliff.”
“The Corbin Woodliff who won a Pulitzer a couple of years ago?”
“Yes.”
Alicia’s pulse skipped. That might be the answer. “Can you get me in to see him?”
“If he’s in the country,” John said, watching the play of emotions on her face.
Alicia’s voice rose an octave, evidence of her excitement. “If he broke the news, then the authorities would have to follow through. They couldn’t ignore it. They couldn’t be bought off if there was a huge public outcry.”
John nodded.
A smile began in her eyes, then spread to her lips as she impulsively threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.
“Oh, John…I think you’ve just saved my life…again.”
The first thought that crossed his mind was that he’d been right. She wasn’t wearing a bra. The second was that he’d managed to keep himself involved in her business by being the go-between for her source, which was good. He would do whatever it took to get to Richard Ponte. He wouldn’t let himself care that he was using her. His agenda had been going on too long for him to care about anything or anyone but the end result.
Before Alicia had a chance to register what she’d done, an alarm began going off. She jumped back, startled, as she looked around for the source of the sound.
“What’s that?” she cried.
John’s eyes narrowed. “A security alarm. Someone just came through the gate at the end of the driveway.”
“Was it locked?”
“Yes.” He didn’t add that he had additional security in place, in case anyone tried to bypass that lock.
“It’s not possible that it’s just a delivery…or a visitor?”
“I don’t get visitors.”
Alicia looked at him strangely. “Ever?”
“Ever,” John muttered as he headed for his office to check the security cameras, with Alicia right behind him.
Within seconds of getting to the security screen, he recognized who had triggered the alarm—and so did Alicia.
“It’s Dieter! Oh God…he’s found me! That means Dad knows where I am again.” Panic set in as the ramifications began to unfold. “That means you’re in danger, too. I shouldn’t have—”
John grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stop it! Stay here. I’ll deal with this.”
“But—”
He gave her a slight shake. “No buts. Just sit here and calm down. I’ll be back.”
That was easier said than done, but she did sit down, her gaze glued to the security screen as she listened to John’s receding footsteps.
It hadn’t taken Dieter long to find where John Nightwalker lived. Ironically, his success in locating the man was entirely due to the friendliness of Southerners. After a few wrong turns, he’d come upon a farmer fixing a fence on the shoulder of the road and stopped to ask him if he knew where an Indian called Big John lived.
The man swiped at the sweat on his face with the back of his sleeve, then pointed north. “About two miles on down the road. Got two big iron gates right across the drive. Can’t miss it,” he said, and went back to his fence.
Dieter quickly located the place. But the gates he’d been expecting were something similar to what he’d seen out in the farmer’s pasture to separate one field from another, not these. Not only were they every bit of fourteen, maybe even sixteen, feet high, they locked electronically. They were made of massive iron bars and very similar to the gates at the Ponte estate in Miami. It made him wonder who John Nightwalker was, and what he was doing up in those trees that he didn’t want anyone to see. Those gates told him that further security measures were no doubt also in place, but he was too afraid of his boss to listen to common sense and take a chance of failing him a second time.
There was a call button on the gate that was meant to be used, allowing whoever was at the other end to furnish access. But Dieter didn’t intend to announce his arrival.
He popped the trunk lid, then got out. Moments later, he headed toward the gate with his duffel bag in hand. He worked his way into the wiring, bypassed the electronic switch and disarmed it. When he heard it click, he grunted with satisfaction.
Within minutes, he was most of the way up the drive, running a mental checklist of his weapons and what he might need to get Alicia Ponte into his car.
When he turned a curve and saw Nightwalker’s black Jeep coming at him at full speed from the house in the background, his mind went into a tailspin. How the hell had the man known? No time for that. He switched into operations mode. He could ram the Jeep, but if the impact disabled his own vehicle, then he couldn’t get away. He was grabbing for his handgun as he stomped the brake and jammed the gearshift into Park.
He jumped out, keeping the open door between him and the vehicle coming at him, then hunkered down and fired.
The first shot hit a tire; the second went into the radiator, sending a spew of steam into the air. He expected the man to get out, but he thought the man would run for cover, not come at him with his bare fists. He hadn’t planned on leaving a body behind, but Ponte’s orders had been plain: Bring Alicia back at all costs. And now that order was about to cost this big Indian his life.
He stood up from behind the car door and took aim.
“Stop right there or I’ll shoot,” he yelled.
But John didn’t stop.
Seeing the gun was proof enough to him that Alicia had been right about her father. He wanted her back bad, and he was willing to do anything to shut her up. When Dieter yelled, John knew what was coming. He dreaded the first burst of pain, even while knowing it wouldn’t last.
“You’re trespassing on private property,” he called as he continued to approach.
Dieter’s finger tightened on the trigger. “I came to get Alicia. Turn her over to me now and I’ll let you live.”