Stolen Heat Part 25

"He wasn't your friend, Kat. He was using you."

Pete's words hung in the air between them, and he realized in the silence, she was thinking the same thing about him. That he'd used her, lied to her. That when it came right down to it, he was no better than Sawil Ramirez.

And why that suddenly left a hole the size of a baseball in his chest, he didn't know. He reached for the key in the ignition to give him something else to focus on.

The front windshield shattered with a deafening crack that sent gla.s.s raining over both of them before he had a chance to start the engine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

"Pete!"

Kat was lying across the console underneath him, the backpack clutched to her chest, pure terror in her voice.

"I'm okay." He lifted his head just enough to look through the now missing windshield and spotted a man stepping out from behind a nearby tree with something metallic glinting in his hand beneath the streetlight.

"Go, get out of the car right now!"

He half pushed, half pulled her out of the car. They both hit the pavement on his side of the car just as another shot fired off, flew through the rental and took out the back windshield.

Bits of gla.s.s littered the street and felt like they were stuck in his clothing. He looked up at Kat's wide, frightened eyes, and realized, yeah, they were both dead if they didn't get out of here ASAP.

"Are you hit?" she asked in a frantic voice.

"No. I'm..." Fuuuuck. Fuuuuck. "...okay. Are you?" "...okay. Are you?"

She shook her head fiercely as she scrambled to her feet, careful to keep low behind the car. She stuffed the journal they'd taken from Latham's house into her backpack. One quick glance around and he knew they'd have to make a stand or hoof it. He grasped the gun at his back, racked the slide to chamber a round and inched around the vehicle to get a good shot. "When I say go, go."

"Pete-"

"Don't argue with me." He saw the man, ten yards closer than he'd been before. And oh yeah, this one had been at the farm in Pennsylvania. No doubt about it. When the guy lifted the gun and pointed their way, Pete let off a round and yelled, "Go!"

She must have listened, because before he knew it, she was gone. He got off a couple more shots, heard a yelp, followed by a string of curses, and said a prayer he'd hit the SOB someplace where it did serious damage.

Then he took off after Kat, heading for an open gate he spotted between two houses. Something whooshed by his ear a fraction of a second before wood splintered in the fence directly in front of them.

s.h.i.t.

He ducked to the side. Realized he'd never be able to stop and set up again before the guy got off more shots. If their pursuer was injured, though, they could outrun him. Ahead he could just barely see Kat racing in the shadows. Good idea.

He kept running. They streaked through backyards, avoided barking dogs, up over fences and down the other sides. His shoulder hurt like a b.i.t.c.h where he'd hit the pavement, but he had to hand it to Kat, she didn't look back once, not even to see if he'd gotten away or if he was with her now.

When they were a good mile away, she finally slowed and leaned against a tree to take a few breaths.

"I think...we lost him," he said, sucking back air. d.a.m.n, but the woman was in good shape. Better than him.

"Did you get a look at him?" Her chest rose and fell as she glanced around the quiet street they'd just crossed, but she wasn't huffing nearly as badly as he was. "Was it Busir or Minyawi?"

He shook his head and leaned forward on his knees. Okay, he was starting up his running program again. As soon as this whole nightmare was over. "It was...one of the guys from the park. I think I may have hit him. I'm not sure."

"They couldn't have followed us. They must have figured I'd try to see Latham."

He nodded and continued to breath deep. "Yeah...that'd be my guess."

"Are you sure you're okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm...fine," he said again, just as the disposable cell he'd bought rang. He pulled it from his pocket, knowing only one person had this number, and took another long breath. "Talk to me."

"h.e.l.lo to you, too," Hailey said smugly. "Bad day?"

"You don't want to know."

"For some reason I believe you. Word to the wise, though. I think your day's about to get even worse."

"Wonderful. Lay it on me."

"I finally heard back from Jill Monroe at INTERPOL."

As Hailey talked, Pete glanced at Kat, who was studying him with intense eyes. "And?"

"Egyptian Liberation Army. Mean anything to you?"

"I've heard the name in the news," he said warily. "What's that got to do with this?"

Hailey blew out a long breath. "Aten Minyawi is a known hit man for the ELA. They're thought to be an offshoot of the Egyptian Islamic Jihad. Al-Jihad, the EIJ, the Jihad-group, the Jihad-organization. Call it what you will, anyway you say it, it adds up to really bad news."

"Christ," Pete muttered, rubbing a hand over his hair.

"Yeah, well, you might want to think about saying your prayers, Pete. Because it looks like your girl there is the only witness to what could possibly be a major international fiasco."

Kat reached up to play with the medallion at her chest as she watched Pete on the phone. He was looking at her, but the way he'd gone on alert as soon as he'd answered told her whatever he'd just learned couldn't be good.

He motioned for her to keep walking as he continued his conversation. "Yeah, I got it. What else?"

They walked another block, then approached a major thoroughfare. As if luck were on their side, a cab approached. Kat waved it down, and they slid inside.

Pete eased the phone away from his mouth and gave the driver directions, then went back to whoever was on the other end of the line.

Kat tuned out his conversation and stared out the dark window and the blur of lights rushing by. Her heart was still pumping a mile a minute.

The cab pulled into what looked like a small munic.i.p.al airport. Without a word to her, he paid the driver, popped the door and gestured for her to join him, all the while talking into his phone. "Yeah, I'm sure, Hailey. See what you can find out about his contacts. And see if you can get a photo. This cheap phone I got can accept photos, just can't send them."

Kat had to pick up her pace to keep up with him. They moved across the parking lot, into the small terminal and out through another set of double doors onto the tarmac. A thousand questions fired off in her brain, but she didn't have the strength to ask them. Was simply thankful they'd lost whoever was taking potshots at them through the trees.

Pete pointed toward a streamlined jet, lights flashing, engines running, and tipped the mouthpiece of his phone away from his lips. "Climb aboard," he said to her. "I'll be right there."

Kat stared from him to the shiny Bombardier Challenger 850 and back again. He pushed her forward when she would have kept standing there gaping and went back to his conversation.

Alone, Kat climbed the steps of the plane. Creamcolored leather chairs, a long couch, teak woods and wide windows greeted her eyes.

She dropped her pack on a seat and bent over to look out the window. Pete was still talking on his cell. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was covered in grime. He'd lost the jacket somewhere along the way, and sc.r.a.pes ran across his face from where he'd hit the pavement, but he wasn't seriously hurt. And he was alive.

This time. No thanks to her.

That thought churned in her stomach as she walked down the small aisle, past a set of four chairs with low tables between them. At the end of the corridor was a door. She eased it open. To the left sat the galley, complete with any kind of liquor a person could want and an a.s.sortment of snack foods. To the right, the lavatory. Ahead there was another door.

Her jaw nearly hit the floor when she looked inside. What could have been extra seating was in fact an elaborate bedroom suite, complete with overstuffed mattress and pillows, two dark teak side tables and a large beveled mirror hanging on the back wall.

The entire plane was bigger than the house she'd grown up in with her mother in Washington. This one room probably cost more than her apartment back in upstate New York. Definitely more opulent, way more comfortable. And very, very enticing. Her mouth went dry as she thought about the next few hours trapped on this plane, alone, with Pete.

"We're about to take off," he said at her back.

Startled, Kat whipped around. "I didn't hear you come in."

He looked from her to the bed, then headed back to the main cabin. "You need to take your seat so we can get out of here."

For a moment she stood there. Wondered what he'd thought when he'd looked at that bed. Wondered if he'd remembered what they'd done in that motel last night.

Yeah, right. He'd nearly been killed because of her. Only an idiot would be thinking about s.e.x at a time like this.

Kat followed him out into the main cabin and sank into a chair at his right. "Where are we going?"

He pushed a b.u.t.ton on the console to his left. "We're all set, Steve. Whenever you're ready."

"Roger that, Mr. Kauffman," a voice replied over a speaker in the ceiling. "We've already been cleared for takeoff. We should be in the air momentarily."

Pete finally looked her way. "That was a business colleague on the phone. I asked her to do a little research for me before I tracked you down today. This is her company plane."

Kat had a handful of questions about what, exactly, "business colleague" meant and what kind of person owned their own luxury jet, but she shelved them in favor of what she was most curious about. "What kind of research?"

He used a towel he must have picked up in the galley to wipe his dirty face. "Background."

She watched for any sign he was more hurt than he looked. She didn't see it. "On who?"

He reached over and cinched her seat belt tighter, then handed her the towel. "Your friend Minyawi. Turns out he's with the ELA."

His unconscious action would have touched her, but Kat's skin went cold at his blunt revelation. The other questions floating around in her head vanished into thin air as she gripped the towel in her hand. She barely felt the plane rocketing down the runway or the landing gear lifting off the ground as she thought back to what she'd heard about the terrorist organization when she'd been working in Cairo. "The Egyptian Liberation Army."

"Yep. They're thought to be closely affiliated with the Egyptian Islamic Jihad, whose-"

"Part of the Muslim Brotherhood," she finished for him. "The largest political opposition party in Egypt."

Pete nodded. "And a close ally of Al-Qaeda. I don't know if you've watched the news lately, but several members of the Brotherhood-some upstanding businessmen even-are on trial in Egypt right now for money laundering and what the press is calling 'financing of an illegal group.' "

"The ELA," she said quietly as links fell into place.

"That'd be my guess. The Brotherhood holds over a fifth of the seats in parliament. They'll do just about anything to undermine the Egyptian government."

Kat's eyes lifted to his. "Even to go so far as to raid their country's archaeological treasures to make their point."

"Bingo," Pete said. Frowning, he took the towel from her hand and leaned over to wipe her cheek. "And if that's the case, it means someone high up in the government is aware this is going on and either doesn't care or is making a b.u.t.t-load of money through the exchange. It's the only way it could happen."

"Possibly someone with the Supreme Council of Antiquities," she said, "which is why nothing ever came of my reports."

"Yeah, that would make sense, too." He tossed the dirty towel on the couch across the cabin.

She was silent as she thought through everything he'd told her. Then looked up. "If that's true, then who was the man in the park?"

Before Pete could answer, the pilot's voice came over the intercom again. "We've reached cruising alt.i.tude. Weather should be pretty calm all the way up the coast, so feel free to move about the cabin. I'll let you know if we hit any turbulence."

Pete unsnapped his seat belt and rose. "Another bit of interesting information my contact was able to dredge up." He pushed the galley door open. Kat twisted in her seat and watched as he added ice to two gla.s.ses, poured amber liquid into each and came back. He handed her one as he sat. "The man in the park was identified as Dean Bertrand."

She took the drink he offered. "I don't recognize the name. Should I?"

"I doubt it. He's ex-INTERPOL. Used to work out of their London Branch. Three years ago he was aiding the British government after a terrorist subway bombing in London. Remember seeing that on the news?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Guess who INTERPOL thinks was involved in that hit?"

Kat's gla.s.s hesitated halfway to her mouth. "Minyawi?"

"Yep. And according to INTERPOL's records, Bertrand was the only agent who's ever gotten close to the SOB. Nearly brought him down, but the op went south, and Minyawi got away. And this part you'll love. In return for getting close to him, Minyawi tracked down Bertrand's wife when the man was out of town. Raped and murdered her, then sent the photos of what he'd done to Bertrand via FedEx."

"Oh, my G.o.d." Kat closed her eyes.

"Not a nice guy, this Minyawi," Pete said quietly.

No, not nice at all. She remembered seeing pictures of what they'd done to Shannon. Pete's description of Bertrand's wife was too close. Kat's stomach rolled.

She tried to focus on the facts and not a past she couldn't change. "How did this Bertrand know where to find us, though? Is he a friend of Marty's?"

Pete tossed back his whiskey, shook his head. "No. That's where it gets even more interesting. Late last night, a woman in Philly reported something strange from the apartment across the hall. Cops went in, found a body. Identified the victim as retired FBI agent David Halloway. He'd been shot in the head. Authorities don't have a suspect yet, but my contact's link at INTERPOL said Bertrand had routinely worked with the FBI's Art Theft Crime Team, which Halloway was a part of before his retirement."

It all started to make sense to her. "Marty was working ant.i.terrorism in North Africa. If he suspected this link between the smuggling and the ELA, that explains how he knew Halloway. They'd worked together."

It also explained why Marty had started dating her. Though she didn't want to think about that in too much detail. The knowledge she'd been used by three men she'd cared about was a little more than she wanted to deal with right now.

"Possibly."

"And Halloway and Bertrand?" she said. "They were what, working together now? That doesn't gel."

"Or pa.s.sing information back and forth on unsolved cases. For whatever reason, neither of these guys were out of the picture even though they weren't on the payrolls anymore."