Midnight Caller Read online

  “You told Tommy I’d call,” she reminded Glenn. “I should do that.”

  “There’s a phone around the corner in the lounge. Dial nine to get an outside line,” he answered brusquely, then addressed the guard. “Gady, keep an eye on her.”

  She saw the guards take in Glenn’s demeanor, and the obvious tension between them.

  “Yes, sir,” he answered smartly, and he stayed only a pace behind her as she turned and hurried away.

  She should have asked Glenn what he’d said to Tommy, she realized after she’d dialed the number. But that would have meant getting into conversation, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want to talk to her.

  As the phone rang, she clamped her hand around the receiver, her nerves tightening as she waited for her brother to answer. Sometimes he was slow, but after ten rings, she felt panic rising in her chest. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty. Something was wrong.

  She pictured him lying on the floor, struggling to get to the phone, or in bed, unable to raise his arm, and a violent shudder racked her body.

  God, she never should have left him alone in his condition. She should have arranged for someone to stay with him while she was gone.

  The tears she had been struggling to control welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She’d kept herself from crying for Glenn, but she couldn’t hold back her anguish over Tommy.

  Jumping up, she ran from the alcove and made a frantic dash toward the area where she’d left Glenn. The man named Gady grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt, his face angry and challenging.

  “What was that? Some kind of code call?”

  “No!” She tried to wrest herself from his grasp, but he held her fast. “Please. I have to leave!” she gasped out, frightened now as well as desperate.

  When she pushed frantically at him, he twisted her arm behind her back.

  “That’s enough crap out of you,” he ground out, slamming her against the wall with enough force to make her head ring. She screamed in pain and terror, then gasped as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and grabbed her wrist.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall.

  With her face against the wall, Meg could see nothing. But she could hear Glenn’s angry voice as he skidded to a stop behind the guard.

  “Back off, Gady!” he ordered, moving into her line of sight, so that her terrified gaze collided with his.

  For heartbeats, there was no response from the man who held her against the wall.

  Glenn’s hand slid to the pistol at his waist. “Back off,” he repeated, “before somebody gets hurt.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gady wheezed.

  The menacing hands dropped away from her, and she twisted to the side, fighting the need to slide to the floor and curl into a ball.

  Instead, she turned slowly, her eyes riveted on Glenn as he stood over the guard.

  “What the hell were you doing?” he growled.

  “I thought she was going to attack you, sir.”

  “She’s not going to grab a gun and shoot me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Sir—”

  “Leave us alone,” he ordered. “Both of you.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and Meg wondered if the guards were deciding whether Glenn was competent to make a decision about his safety where she was concerned.

  Finally they complied and her gaze rose to Glenn’s, willing some kind of understanding. When his eyes remained hard and flat, she pushed away from the wall. She thought she could stand on her own, but when she started to pitch forward, he caught her. A sob welled in her throat as she wrapped her arms around him and held tight.

  She felt a surge of hope when his hands came up to cradle her shoulders. Then, perhaps realizing what he was doing, he let his arms fall back to his sides.

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he asked gruffly.

  Always the gentleman, she thought. He’d kept her from falling on her face, but that was the extent of it. Her eyes swam, but she held back the tears by force of will.

  “He didn’t hurt me,” she lied, controlling the impulse to flex her arm so she could judge the extent of the injury.

  He lifted her wrist and looked down at the place where a bruise was forming. “You should put some ice on that,” he said, his face a strange mixture of concern and medical objectivity.

  With a little nod she stepped back, then turned her head and quickly swiped her hand across her eyes.

  Once again, the impact of what she’d done to him hit her like a runaway freight train. And with her shame came the overwhelming need to make him understand.

  Perhaps the general’s words had given her the courage she needed. When Glenn took a step back, she grabbed his sleeve.

  “Wait!”

  The plea stopped him.

  “Up in your quarters, I was too shocked to tell you what I was feeling. Too shocked to sort it all out Now I want to explain—” Trembling, she raised her gaze to his again.

  His eyes were glacial. “I don’t think that would be productive.”

  His frigid stare cut through her flesh to her bones, turning them brittle. He was silently telling her to back off. Risking everything, she tightened her hold on his arm and kept talking. “I know it’s difficult for you to give your trust to me again. I worked hard to get close to you, and you learned that everything about my background was a lie. You found out I came here to—to subvert your mission. Now you think my feelings for you couldn’t be real. But you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t appreciate having someone else explain to me what I’m thinking,” he ground out, the delivery like a slap in the face.

  She felt her cheeks burn, wondering why she’d harbored any hope of reaching him again.

  She couldn’t look at him now, but she still couldn’t turn away—even if there was nothing left to say but goodbye. Taking a small step closer and then another, she rested her cheek against his shoulder, feeling him stiffen in reaction.

  While he was still within her reach, she moved her hand, stroking his forearm, feeling the rigid muscles clench under her touch. On a sigh, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his collarbone, absorbing his physical presence, memorizing the fit of his hard body against her softer curves.

  “Glenn,” she murmured. “You gave me something I never dreamed I’d have—something to cherish. I’m willing to admit that it might not have been possible for the two of us to get so close so quickly in the real world. But that closeness wasn’t an illusion, and while it lasted, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  She swallowed, willing to bare her soul, because honesty was the only thing she could give him now. “I want what we had back. But I understand why you don’t.”

  He stood like a marble statue about to shatter. Yet she could see a pulse beating wildly in his neck. She gave herself a few more seconds of contact, her own pulse pounding. Then she stepped away, the shock of cold air against her body like a frigid wind against her flesh. Stiffly, she turned so that he couldn’t see the anguish on her face and gave herself a few moments to regain her composure.

  But then, perhaps she was still standing there with her heart pounding because she hoped against hope that he’d reach for her.

  Seconds stretched—each one a year of her life dragging by. When she couldn’t bear it any longer, she started stiffly down the hall.

  “Meg—”

  Dimly above her footsteps echoing on the tile floor, she thought she heard him call her name. But she knew she had conjured it up from her own wishful thinking.

  Swiftly, she approached the desk where Dylan Ryder was still working.

  “I have to go back to Baltimore. Something’s happened to my brother,” she told him.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t answer the phone. That’s how I know something’s wrong.”

  “He could be out,” Ryder suggested.

  “In the middle of the
night?”

  The physician blinked. “The middle of the night?”

  “It’s been a long day,” she said wearily, then continued, “Tommy doesn’t go out of the apartment. A nursing service brings in groceries—or I do. He’s always there. That means he’s too sick to answer the phone. Or he’s fallen down or something. I have to go see what’s wrong.”

  “The Jackal will come after you,” Glenn said, and she realized he had followed her around the corner.

  She kept her eyes away from him. “That’s not your problem.”

  “Maybe not. But Tommy is my problem. We can fly to Baltimore. If he’s too sick to be on his own, we’ll bring him back here by medevac.”

  “You’d do that for me?” she whispered.

  “I made a commitment to him a long time ago,” he replied, sidestepping the direct question.

  She was about to thank him, when the phone interrupted once again. Ryder picked it up. As he listened, his brow wrinkled.

  “Meg tried to call you,” he said. “She was worried.”

  “It’s Tommy?” she asked, her mood swinging wildly again.

  “Yes,” he mouthed, giving her a reassuring look. It faded as he kept listening to the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Let me talk to him,” Meg demanded.

  Ryder handed over the phone, and she spoke into the receiver. “Tommy? Are you all right, Tommy?”

  “Meg! Thank God,” he gasped.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “I was taking a nap…and men burst in,” he said, his voice slightly bewildered. “The guy who has me, he says his name is Mr. Johnson, and he hired you to do some work for him. What were—?” Tommy’s voice stopped abruptly.

  Frantically, Meg called his name.

  Someone else answered. “Ms. Faulkner. I see you’re coping with life at Castle Phoenix. Congratulations.”

  A chill stirred the hair at the back of her neck.

  “Ms. Faulkner, are you there?”

  “Mr. Johnson,” she said. “What are you doing at Tommy’s?”

  “I’m not at your brother’s. I have him with me—in custody. If you don’t do exactly what I tell you, I’m going to kill him.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, yes. Let me speak to Bridgman,” he ordered.

  She raised her eyes to Glenn and handed him the phone.

  “Tommy Faulkner had better be all right,” was the first thing out of his mouth as he pushed a button on the console.

  Meg heard a loud static buzz as a speaker leaped to life and began to broadcast Johnson’s voice. “You’re not in a position to make demands,” he was saying. “And I’m aware that your automated system has initiated procedures to trace this call. I don’t mind in the least. In fact, I’m going to tell you where I am, because you’re coming here, with a laboratory-pure sample of the virus you call K-007.”

  “The hell I am!”

  “You don’t have any options. I have Tommy Faulkner with me. And twelve other men from Operation Clean Sweep. If you’re not here in two hours with the sample, I’m going to start killing them—one every hour, beginning with Faulkner.”

  “No!” Meg breathed.

  “I need time to think about it,” Glenn answered.

  “In case you need further incentive,” Johnson continued, “I have a man on your estate. He’s set explosives at various strategic locations. If you don’t comply with my orders, he’ll blow up your whole operation.”

  “And then you’ll never get what you want,” Glenn growled. “So I think you’re going to give me some time to consider your proposition. I need a few hours.”

  “One hour.”

  “Three.”

  “Two. I’ll call you back then,” Johnson said before slamming down the receiver so hard that the noise reverberated through the hallway.

  Meg couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  But Glenn was already considering his options. “I can’t give the virus to Johnson.”

  “But what about Tommy?” Meg pleaded. “He’s going to kill my brother and the other men if you don’t.”

  “I won’t let him.” He looked at his watch. “It’s 2:32,” he announced. “‘We need to be prepped to deploy a code-D action by 4:32.”

  Meg didn’t have a clue about what that meant. But Ryder’s eyes brightened. “Code D,” he repeated.

  “And we’ve been assuming that the intruder escaped,” Glenn went on with lightning speed. “Now we can’t take a chance on his still being on the estate and still being active. I want a bomb squad with dogs at the level-four biohazards lab on the double. Next I want other teams equipped with night scopes at the power plant, the watertreatment plant, the barracks, the office complex.”

  “We can’t cover all of them at once,” a voice answered. It was Blake Claymore, who looked as if he’d run all the way from the security center—with his arm still in a sling, his face slick with perspiration. “We’ve traced the call,” he added. “It’s from his compound on Long Island.”

  “Get me a map of the location—and a map of the grounds. A schematic of the building would be good, too.”

  Meg expected to hear that the request was impossible. Instead Blake said, “We’re already on that.”

  “What’s a Code-D action?” Meg asked, allowing hope to seep into her.

  “A little something Glenn cooked up for just such an emergency,” Claymore told her smugly, then launched into a quick explanation.

  When he finished, she shook her head. “No.”

  Glenn’s angry gaze focused on her. “What do you mean—no? You don’t have a vote on this.”

  “Your plan involves a face-to-face confrontation with Johnson. I say you’re too valuable to risk.” She raised her chin. “If someone has to take him what he thinks he wants, then it’s going to be me,” she said.

  “That’s crazy. We’ve practiced the drill half-a-dozen times. You can’t just come in cold.”

  “I’m a quick study.”

  “You’ll screw it up!” Glenn growled.

  “I don’t think so,” Claymore chimed in. “Not from the way she’s reacted to every situation we and Enders and Sparks threw at her.”

  She gave him a grateful look. Glenn shot him an angry scowl.

  Ignoring them both, Claymore plowed on. “Don’t overlook the most compelling factor of all. If you go, Johnson will be prepared for you to pull a fast one. If she goes, he’ll think you’re giving her exactly what she deserves. And since he’s already tricked her into cooperating once, he’ll think he has the upper hand with her.” He gave Glenn a direct look. “But more important, she keeps you out of the line of fire. Whatever happens, you can finish the research, because you’re the best hope for the men of Operation Clean Sweep.”

  “Dylan can do it,” Glenn snapped.

  “As a backup, I’m okay,” Ryder answered. “But we both know I’m not as good as you are in the lab. I’m a hands-on medic who’s best with patients. With me in charge of the K-007 project, we’d have delays. And delays could be fatal—to Tommy, for example.”

  Meg felt her teeth clench. In the end, everything she’d sacrificed to save her brother could be for nothing. When she turned to face Glenn, he was staring at her—and she saw a tiny spark of compassion in his eyes. His arm jerked, and she thought he was going to reach for her. She was already swaying toward him when she saw his palm was pressed to his side. Warning herself not to wish for the impossible, she grasped the edge of the desk with a steadying hand and hung on.

  “We’re wasting time arguing,” she told him. “I suggest you start briefing me on what I need to know to pull this off.”

  THE TICKING OF THE WALL clock seemed to dominate the briefing room. That and Claymore’s voice. It was flat and precise, going over details, clarifying points. Meg tried to listen closely, because she knew her life depended on following instructions. Even so, she found her thoughts straying to Glenn.

  He’d coolly turned her over to the
security chief and gone off to make other preparations—leaving no opportunity for any more personal discussion.

  But then, what had she expected from a man who was a master at pushing his emotions to some corner of his mind where they were barely a distraction?

  At 4:32 when a buzzer rang, she jumped. It was the warning signal that Johnson was calling Glenn.

  “Stay here,” Claymore ordered as he surged to his feet and stepped into the next room, closing the door behind him.

  Meg had no intention of obeying. Moving to the door, she opened it several inches and listened to the conversation being broadcast over a speaker.

  “Your time’s up,” Johnson was saying, the speaker giving his voice an eerie quality as he asked, “Should I start killing the hostages? Or should I detonate the bombs?”

  There were no bombs. At least, that was Claymore’s opinion after he’d received reports from the teams he’d sent to search the grounds. Still, he could be wrong.

  “No. I’ll trade the virus for the hostages,” Glenn retorted.

  At the sound of his voice, Meg pushed the door wider, but the security chief was the only occupant of the room. Glenn was somewhere else.

  “A wise decision,” Johnson said. “You will bring it immediately.”

  “Not me. Transporting the sample involves a certain amount of risk,” Glenn told him. After a pregnant pause, he added, “I’m going to let the woman you sent here do it. Ms. Faulkner. If anyone gets shot “by accident,’ it will be her—not me.”

  The stinging words brought a choking sensation to Meg’s throat. If Glenn was acting, he was doing a superb job.

  “I don’t want her back.”

  “Too bad. She put us in considerable jeopardy by coming here. So it’s only fair she be the one to take the risk of bringing the samples to you.”

  “Very interesting logic,” Johnson answered. “You more than live up to your reputation, Bridgman.”

  “So do you. Why did you decide to have her killed after she brought your saboteur in here?” Glenn asked, his tone conversational.