Carla Neggers [US Marshals 04 Dark Sky (v5.0) (epub)

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Ethan took a cab to LaGuardia.He’d left Juliet standing in front of George Washington, as still and unreadable as a statue herself.She was hardheaded and good at her job, and she could probably mop the floor with him, but his mention of Bobby Tatro, their clandestine meeting… Ethan had seen the dread creep into her eyes, overwhelming her questions about what he was up to, her doubts about why she’d agreed to see him in the first place.If she’d had to do it all over again, Juliet Longstreet probably would have just let Conroy Fontaine shoot him that day in Tennessee back in early May.Fontaine had convinced himself he was doing Nick Janssen a favor by meddling in his attempt to get himself a presidential pardon.In accepting the voluntary mission he was now in the process of executing, Ethan had no illusions he was doing anyone a favor.Except, maybe, Ham Carhill, whose ass Ethan was about to save.But Juliet had saved Ethan’s life that first day they’d known each other, and he’d saved hers—although she’d never admit it—when he’d found her bound, gagged and left to die in a cave above the Cumberland River.With Conroy Fontaine dying of a snakebite and the law moving in, Ethan had taken off after Nick Janssen, still a free man.He’d chased Janssen all summer.And when he found himself in New York again in August, he landed up on Juliet Longstreet’s doorstep.A dumb move.And curious, he thought, that his mission to rescue someone he knew—a wealthy, twenty-five-year-old Texan—involved someone Deputy Longstreet knew, an ex-con after revenge.President Poe himself had asked Ethan to volunteer for the rescue mission.American and Colombian mercenaries had kidnapped an American contractor, and Ethan was one of the few people who could identify him.Before he even knew the name of the man he’d be rescuing, Ethan had told the president he’d do the mission.Hamilton Johnson Carhill.Of all the names that had flashed in Ethan’s mind, Ham Carhill wasn’t one of them.The Carhills were the Brookers’ west Texas neighbors.Billionaires with a passion for privacy.Ham was his own brand of peculiar.He had a genius IQ and the common sense of a chickadee, and one or both, apparently, had gotten him into serious trouble this time.The last Ethan had heard, Ham was off to South America in search of precious and semiprecious gems, exotic birds and adventures.He had a Ph.D.from Stanford in some kind of science but had never held a real job.He’d attended Char’s funeral a year ago, his usual gawky, awkward self, lacking confidence, humble to the point of being irritating.That few people outside his family and close friends had much idea what Ham looked like these days didn’t come as a big surprise to Ethan.The Carhills shunned publicity, fearing the exploitations of tabloids and con men more than kidnappers.And Ham was self-conscious about his appearance, always aware that he didn’t live up to Faye and Johnson Carhill’s expectations of what their only son and heir should look like.Ethan had spent the past week in Colombia trying to pick up Ham’s trail.The tip came from Washington, a call out of the blue—an American ex-con who had it in for a blond, female marshal was holding Ham somewhere in the Andes.It wasn’t what Ethan had expected.Not even close.Although there were other blond, female marshals, he bet that this one was Juliet.He’d flown to New York yesterday, and now he had confirmation—as much as he needed.Bobby Tatro, Juliet Longstreet.Coincidences sometimes occurred at random, but Ethan didn’t entertain for even half a second that this was one of them.He and Juliet both had had their names in the papers in recent weeks and months, attached not just to thugs, assassins and an international criminal mastermind like Nick Janssen, but to President Poe.Ethan had a feeling his straightforward rescue mission had turned into something far more complicated and far more dangerous.He just couldn’t pin down what.And it didn’t matter—Ham still needed rescuing.When his cab dumped him off, he plodded through security and made his flight to Washington, D.C., with bare minutes to spare.It was an uneventful flight, allowing his questions to crystallize.When he arrived at Reagan National Airport, he took a cab out to Georgetown.For the past year, he hadn’t had a place of his own.The closest he’d come were the weeks he’d spent in the spring playing gardener for the Dunnemores in Tennessee.Mia O’Farrell lived in a narrow, historic brick town house on a quaint shaded street within a couple of blocks off M Street, Georgetown’s main drag.Ethan appreciated the shade, because it was hot and humid in D.C.The recent rains had moved north to New York.Dr.O’Farrell wasn’t home from the White House yet.Ethan walked down to M Street and got an iced coffee to go at a Starbucks, picturing himself as a Washington type.Some of his West Point classmates were Pentagon desk jockeys.He’d never been interested.Now? Forget it.He was damaged goods.That President Poe had asked him to volunteer for the Ham Carhill rescue mission only muddled Ethan’s status even further.It sure as hell didn’t help.Mia O’Farrell had been at the meeting with Poe two weeks ago.She’d done most of the talking, and although it was all somewhat unorthodox at first, everything had gone more or less by the book since then.Ethan had picked two veteran Special Forces sergeants—friends of his—to risk their lives with him.They could have said no, but they hadn’t.They were waiting for him in Bogotá.Whoever was supposed to know about the operation within the Colombian government had given their blessings.That wasn’t Ethan’s department.Neither was flying to New York to interrogate a deputy U.S.marshal, but he didn’t like the feeling that there was a subtext to this operation that he wasn’t privy to.He window-shopped on M Street, pretending he was an ordinary dad waiting for his kids to get home from soccer practice, sipping his coffee as he checked out restaurants and upscale shops—a black leather jacket on a mannequin in a store window display made him think of Juliet standing in the rain in New York.When he returned to O’Farrell’s street, she was on her front stoop, digging her keys out of an enormous, scuffed, soft black leather satchel, her long, straight dark auburn hair hanging over her face.Ethan said hello, startling the hell out of her.She jumped back and all but screamed.She was very smart, but tightly wound.He put up his palms in front of him and smiled.“Whoa, easy.It’s just me.”“Oh.Major Brooker.” She seemed slightly annoyed, snatching her keys out of her bag, slinging the bag over one small shoulder as she singled out one key.She had on a trim gray suit, but her silky white blouse was scrunched over to one side, and her brooch—a white lily—had turned upside down and was about to fall off.“You’re going to stick yourself,” Ethan said.“What?”“With your brooch.The pin’s come undone or something.”She glanced down, quickly pulling the brooch off her jacket.He thought she did stick herself, but she’d never tell him.Mia O’Farrell, Ph.D., was all about control.She fastened her green eyes on him, her brow furrowed as she studied him.“You shouldn’t be here.What do you want?”“Let’s go inside—”“No way, Major Brooker.Absolutely no way.” She was calm but very firm.“Okay.Let’s take a walk—”She shook her head.“No.Right here, right now.What do you want?”“You know, since I’m doing you a favor and risking my life and the lives of my friends in the process, you think you’d be nicer.”She didn’t budge.“You’re not doing me a favor.You’re answering the call of duty.”Ethan almost burst out laughing, but saw she was deadly serious and kept his amusement to himself [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Pokrewne