blinked away the images that immediately attempted to intrude. She didn’t want to think about the woman…the one they called the Dragon. According to Levi and Casey, she looked a great deal like Victoria—like a sister. That Lucas had had an affair with the woman made it hard for Victoria to breathe.
But that was in the past. Thirty years ago. Victoria had no right to feel jealousy about that time. If this woman was Keaton’s mother, as suggested from the results of Levi and Casey’s investigation, she clearly had no motherly feelings for her son. That part of the intelligence—the biological connection—had not been corroborated, so it was best not to speculate. Bottom line, the Dragon was an enemy to Keaton and, it seemed, to Lucas.
The idea made no sense. Why wait all these years to strike? Of course, she may have only just located Keaton. Perhaps thanks to Victoria and Lucas trolling his history. As much as she wanted the truth in order to assess any threat from Keaton, Victoria genuinely hoped she and Lucas had not triggered this tragedy.
“This has nothing to do with anything you did.”
Her husband had read her mind. The tension banded around her chest eased the slightest bit. “How can you be so sure?” She had sent Levi down to Mexico. Keaton had stirred her suspicions and she’d reacted. Dear God, what had they done?
“This one is on me,” Lucas said quietly. “You need to understand that. You have no part in that world.”
The question Victoria had wanted to ask for the past twenty-four hours pressed against her skull. She needed to know. But did she have a right to know? “Are you certain I had no part in what happened?” She held her breath. The woman looked like Victoria, after all. Had that been the reason Lucas had turned to her all those years ago?
Two, then three beats of silence passed. Lucas reached for her hand. “Let’s not do this to ourselves until we have the facts. Whatever is happening may be about Keaton only. The ordeal in Mexico may have been a way to smoke him out once our connection to him was established.” Lucas exhaled a big breath. “The fact is, we can’t rule out or confirm anything yet.”
Victoria ordered herself to breathe. Lucas had assumed her question was about the current situation. In time they would need to talk about her other question, the one she really needed to ask. But that would have to wait.
This puzzle had to be pieced together very carefully, one fragment at a time. Far too much was at stake to go about this any other way.
THE BROWNSTONE STILL smoldered when they arrived on the block. Jim waited for them just outside the perimeter of the crime scene. The cold filtered right through the thick sweater Victoria had chosen. She hugged her arms around herself and hoped for good news about Keaton and Maggie.
“Still no word on victims,” Jim said as they approached. “I called Maggie’s home number as well as the coffee shop and there’s no answer. Keaton isn’t answering his cell and his car is parked in the alley.” Jim jerked his head toward the brownstone. “It’ll be hours before we know the probable cause of the explosion and if there are victims.”
The chill invading her bones turned Victoria’s blood to ice. “What about the neighboring buildings?”
“One’s empty and the other’s a business. The owner has confirmed that no one employed there was in the building tonight.”
Thank God for that news. Victoria stared at the wreck that had been the home of the Equalizers. Her instincts warned that this was deliberate, calculated destruction. Whoever had done this either wanted Keaton dead or wanted to send him a very loud message.
Lucas and Jim discussed the steps that would be taken by the police and fire departments. Victoria tried to pay attention, but her mind kept wandering to Maggie and how all this would affect her—if she was still alive. Dread ached in Victoria’s bones.
Jim had tried to reach Keaton all night, but he’d simply disappeared. Victoria had considered calling Maggie or paying her a visit to warn her. What would she have said? I think the man you love is dangerous?
Regret settled, heavy and sickening, in Victoria’s stomach. She should have warned Maggie.
Now it might be too late.
Chapter Three
2:32 a.m.
Slade Keaton… He didn’t know why he continued to consider himself by that name. That life was over. If he’d needed convincing, the past couple of hours had confirmed that fact. Hanging on to such superficial trappings was a grave error. He knew this.
Another change wasn’t the end of the world. He’d changed his name so many times during the latter part of his thirty years on this earth that he couldn’t even remember all the ones he’d used. This was not a new scenario to him.
Yet, somehow, it felt like the end of the world…like a whole new concept. Because of her. His gaze settled on the woman behind the wheel. Slade closed his eyes and shook his head. He’d made a mistake. That, he could say with complete confidence, was a first. He opened his eyes and focused his attention on the dark road ahead. A man like him couldn’t afford careless mistakes. He’d been trained better than that.
Images from his formative years attempted to invade his concentration. He kicked them aside. The past was irrelevant. Nothing mattered except today…this moment. He would not die for her.
Rage tightened his lips. Mother. Madre. The woman who had been anything but a mother to him. He had eluded her, just as he had eluded the rest of the world, for a dozen years now. No one had cornered him. But his recent mistake had allowed her to find him. Now there was only one way this could end.
One of them had to die.
The idea of killing his own mother evoked only one emotion. Determination.
“What now?”
Slade shifted his attention back to the here and now. Maggie had stopped at an intersection. Deep, dark woods closed in on all sides, leaving the highway nothing but a black river flowing in front of the headlights. Even the moon and stars had concealed themselves as if they, too, sensed the impending doom.
“Do I go straight or turn?” Her voice was sharp but still shaky. She was scared and rightly so. Maggie James had no idea how close to death she’d already come. If he was successful in maintaining her cooperation, she would never know.
“Take a right.” Slade calculated the miles before they reached the motel. Four, maybe five more. The place was a dump, but it was close to the interstate and there was a café next door. It would fulfill his immediate requirements.
Maggie made the turn and drove onward through the darkness. She’d stopped asking questions an hour ago. Mostly because of the weapon he’d wielded. Guilt nudged him. He’d done what he had to. She might never realize it, but he’d saved her life.
“How much farther?”
It looked as if she was through with the silent treatment. “Not far now.” She wasn’t going to like the next step in his plan any more than she’d liked the last. There was nothing he could do about that. Time was of the essence.
The headlamps spotlighted a road sign in the distance indicating a ramp to the interstate. After he’d covered arrangements for Maggie, he’d take that interstate to St. Louis. From there he had private air transport to Mexico City. He had contacts in Mexico City. This war would require extensive resources. And a whole lot of something he’d been short on his whole life—good luck.
Luck, right. He had made his own way in this life. Depending on luck would have offered him as much security as counting on his so-called mother to be a parent. Not happening.
Slade hadn’t actually missed having a real parent. One couldn’t miss what one hadn’t had. But, recently, he had begun to wonder what it would have felt like. What his life would have been like had his circumstances been different. How would it feel to have a real relationship?
He