No One But You. Carly Bishop

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      A sudden memory rose up in his mind, of another night he had experienced just such a chilling, powerful presentiment—the night the TruthSayers had snatched his best friend’s young son, Christo.

      Matt dragged in a deep draught of air and blew it out slowly, letting his breath carry off the adrenaline rush and the tension the memory evoked in his body. At least no child’s life was at stake this night.

      He took a couple of powder-free latex gloves from the back pocket of his jeans, pulled them on and began going through the house, taking it apart, studying the interior and furnishings in earnest. He wanted to become as familiar with Everly’s possessions as if they belonged to him. As if he were Kyle Everly.

      Tension lingered inside him. He sat down at Everly’s computer at twelve-thirteen and set to work against the subtle ticking of an antique grandfather clock.

      He spent half an hour at the computer, finding detailed maps. He suspected these would match up perfectly with the shipments of illegal arms Interpol had meticulously tracked. In spreadsheet format he found timetables he knew would match thefts and bombings and murders carried out all over creation.

      All of these files could be explained away by a defense attorney, but the information gave Matt the leverage he needed to blackmail his way into Everly’s affairs. Tomorrow he would be back, a dangerously renegade cop, formerly of the Anti-TruthSayers squad, ready now to go on the take. Matt Guiliani would become Everly’s new best friend and partner in crime.

      He printed key files, then a household inventory as well. One never knew when it would come in handy to know the exact worth of the Renoir on the bedroom wall or the bronze sculpture in the living room. An eagle in flight, clutching its prey in fearsome claws, it was a perfect metaphor for Kyle Everly, the predator who owned the bronze.

      The psycho profilers described Everly as a narcissist sociopath, a blond, blue-eyed pretty boy that no one had ever given nearly enough credit for having a brain.

      A mistaken prejudice, Matt thought now, that physical beauty such as Everly’s inevitably went unmatched by intellect. Everly sat out here in the middle of big Wyoming thinking himself safe. Thinking he slipped with ease under the radar of law enforcement. He expected to get by with whatever pleased his twisted fancy because he always had.

      But Everly hadn’t met Matt yet.

      He checked his watch. He had no more than five minutes before he needed to clear out. He had one last task, just in case Everly balked at taking the renegade Matt Guiliani on as his new best friend.

      He took a floppy disk from his pocket and planted on Everly’s computer documents that would make it appear that Everly had conspired against his brothers in The Fraternity. That with the brilliant assistance of a powerful Phoenix attorney, Everly had siphoned millions of dollars off the deals The Fraternity made providing illegal arms and hired killers. The guy in Phoenix routinely played such undercover roles for the Department of Justice.

      Everly was about to find himself between a rock and a very hard place.

      ELLIOTT BRADEN BOARDED his flight at Heathrow, brimming with a certain bonhomie. The Americans had already deployed their undercover cop into international affairs that did not concern them. Braden had been assigned the watchdog job of Interpol “liaison.” Surely the most glorified term for the thankless and impotent position of making sure the Americans did not screw it up.

      In fact, he knew they would. He knew they didn’t know when to quit. Americans prided themselves on their never-say-die attitude.

      In a haze of contempt, both for his superiors in Interpol and the necessity of involving the Americans, Braden took his first-class seat, graciously accepting the crystal goblet of Chenin Blanc from the flight attendant. The aircraft took off after a delay of only seven minutes.

      He had no desire to embroil himself in the Americans’ doggedness, but he supposed his sacrifice might pay off handsomely in the not-too-distant future. Very soon now he would meet them.

      Garrett Weisz. J. D. Thorne. Matt Guiliani.

      These were the players, the heart of the U.S. Attorney’s Anti-TruthSayers task force, the men running the current undercover operation against Kyle Everly. And as touchingly loyal to one another as blood brothers, all incapable of minding their own petty, provincial business, even when their loved ones were threatened.

      The small son of Garrett Weisz, for instance, a child named Christo. He’d been kidnapped by leaders of TruthSayers when Weisz, Thorne and Guiliani’s undercover operation threatened them. The threesome prevailed and the child was restored to the bosom of his family. The TruthSayers were left without much leadership.

      Months later, their numbers greatly reduced, the rabid TruthSayers made an attempt on J. D. Thorne’s life. And then on the teenage son of Thorne’s girlfriend, a Seattle detective named Ann Calder. Enter Kyle Everly. The wealthy local rancher and Truth-Sayers sympathizer had, for some inscrutable, arrogant reason, lent his considerable resources to the straightforward attempted assassinations of J. D. Thorne and Ann Calder.

      The trained killers failed. Guiliani rescued the teenager. Everly, however, proved untouchable. That fact had done nothing to faze the dogged investigations of Weisz or Thorne, least of all Mateos Guiliani.

      Such a hero, Braden thought.

      But Braden was stuck. Interpol had enough to move on a few of the other suspected members of La Fraternité but nothing concrete on its wealthiest and therefore most powerful member, the wily, wealthy, twisted rancher. To make a clean sweep and put an end to their scattered reign of terror, Everly must be caught up in the sting, and the other unconfirmed members with him. But he was an American citizen, and it was Guiliani who could, if all went as expected, force Everly’s hand.

      Such an unexpected bit of luck, Braden reflected.

      He allowed himself a vinegary little smile. Perhaps the stars and the planets had aligned themselves in just the most pleasing configuration. Perhaps Guiliani would give him the most amazing coup de grâce.

      He blinked, and lifted his goblet in silent salutation.

      SATISFIED WITH HIS night’s work, Matt shut down the computer and turned soundlessly in Everly’s leather chair. Staring off into the night, he took a few moments more to visualize his first face-to-face meeting with his quarry. In his mind’s eye, he watched Everly’s trademark, guileless smile fade dead away.

      Matt left the computer and started toward the back of the house when he heard a vehicle approaching. His senses went on high alert, his pulse slowed. He had no fear of being caught. He could still slip away unseen in a matter of seconds. But his thirst for the chase had been whetted.

      He decided to go back and let the sting begin. To let Everly find him here now rather than in the morning. He moved silently as a ghost back into Everly’s study and took up a position to the side of the picture window looking out, within several feet of the front door.

      It was Everly who had driven into the yard. Matt watched him turn toward the garages, cut the engine, get out and shut the door on his shiny black Lexus four-wheel-drive. Deep in conversation, he had a cell phone plastered to his ear.

      He turned back momentarily, clearly expecting Geary to have appeared by now to put the Lexus away. Still talking, his breath making puffs in the freezing air, he strode back to his vehicle, jerked open the passenger door, leaned in and laid on the horn.

      Interesting, СКАЧАТЬ