“I don’t believe this. His wife schedules the hits?”
“Sweetwater is a family business,” Fallon explained. “It was founded shortly after J&J was established. There’s been a connection between the two firms ever since. Should be another generation of Sweetwaters coming along soon. Harry’s oldest son got married a while back.”
“He did say something about having to get home for the birth of a grandchild.”
“It’s a very close family.”
“The family that whacks together, stays together?”
Over on the sofa Grace raised her brows.
“Guess it makes for strong family bonds,” Fallon said.
“Just out of curiosity, how often does J&J employ the Sweetwater clan?”
“As infrequently as possible and only when there’s no other option. We always make an effort to put together a case that will hold up with regular law enforcement and the courts, you know that. You’ve helped build some of those cases. But occasionally we find ourselves dealing with a high-level sensitive gone bad who is just too damn clever or simply too powerful. Cecil Ferguson, for example.”
“Who was Ferguson?”
“A level-ten hypnotist who was also a serial killer. Murdered twelve people before he came to our attention. Took us that long to realize he was one of us, a sensitive. High-grade hypnos are so rare that I’ve often wondered if he was formula-enhanced.”
“Nightshade?”
“Maybe. But we were never able to prove it. This was back in the early days of dealing with Nightshade. We were just beginning to realize that we were facing a full-blown criminal organization, not just another renegade scientist who had decided to play alchemist. At any rate, I knew we couldn’t give Ferguson to the cops, not even with plenty of evidence. Anyone who got within a few feet of him was at risk of being put into a trance. He would simply have walked away from the arresting officers.”
“So you sent Sweetwater.”
“Who took him out from a safe distance. For the record, I use Sweetwater only as a last resort and then only with the full approval of the Council and the Master. And we sure as hell didn’t send him to Maui.”
“Whoever did send him knew how to make herself look like she was Client Number Two. Sweetwater said she used all the right codes.”
“Interesting,” Fallon said, grim and thoughtful.
“All right, getting back to our little problem here, how are you doing getting your long-term surveillance people in place? These guys might leave at any time.”
Over on the sofa Grace raised her hand again. “I could follow one of the Nightshade operatives.”
He gave her his most intimidating stare. She did not appear to notice.
“Heard that, too,” Fallon said. “Unfortunately, Grace isn’t trained for that kind of work.”
Luther smiled at Grace. “He says you’re not trained for that kind of work.”
She grimaced and flopped back against the sofa cushions.
“I’m working on the surveillance issue,” Fallon said. “I’ll have five agents there within the next twenty-four hours. You and Grace will have to keep an eye on things until then.”
“We don’t need Grace on the scene any longer. I want her out of here.”
“More Nightshade people might arrive,” Fallon said.
“I can ID them for you.”
“Yes, but you can’t profile them. Which reminds me, tell Grace I got the profiles she worked up this afternoon. They look very thorough.”
The phone went abruptly silent.
Luther looked at Grace. “He liked your profiles.”
She brightened. “I’m so glad. I take it we’re still partners?”
“Yeah.”
“Your overwhelming enthusiasm is so heartwarming.” She got to her feet, took his arm and steered him toward the bedroom. “Come with me. You need to get some rest. You’re running on fumes.”
“Used up a lot of energy on Sweetwater. I’m going to have to crash for a while. Pay attention. Keep all the doors locked. Do not leave this room and do not let anyone in, not even the guy who restocks the minibar. Got that?”
“Understood.”
He sank down onto the bed and contemplated his running shoes. A man on a cane probably didn’t need running shoes, he thought. Before he could decide whether or not he had enough strength left to remove them, Grace knelt in front of him, her head bent. The soft light gleamed on her dark hair. He watched her untie the laces.
“Do you think it should worry us that the best example of a perfect family that we’ve run into on this trip is a clan of contract killers?” he asked.
“Family is family.”
TWENTY-ONE
He awoke with an awareness that she was in the room. He did not have to open his eyes to see her. He knew in some way that he could not explain that he would always be aware of her when she was close. The sense of recognition that had hit him full force when he saw her walking toward him along the airport concourse had become a hundred times more intense when she shivered through her first release in his arms; a thousand times stronger that morning when it seemed to him that their auras had somehow fused for a timeless moment in a bond that would never be severed.
Hell, maybe she was right. Maybe he was a romantic.
“You’re awake,” Grace said. “How do you feel?”
He did open his eyes then and levered himself up on his elbows. She stood near the sliding glass doors. The curtains were drawn open a couple of feet, giving him a view of the bright morning.
He noticed that she was still dressed in the same clothes she had been wearing the night before. There was an air of unnatural alertness about her. He recognized it immediately. He’d experienced the same sensation on more than one occasion after a sleepless night.
“I’m fine.” He surveyed her. “But you look like you never went to bed.”
“You were sleeping very deeply. I thought that, under the circumstances, it might be a good idea if one of us stayed awake.”
He turned away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “In other words, you were afraid that I wouldn’t be able to do my job, that I wouldn’t be able to protect either of us if someone broke in while I was out of it.”
“We’re a team, remember?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. He might be linked to her in some special way, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get pissed off at her.