Page 85 of Dangerous Liaisons

“Morales,” Jesse murmured.

“I can make this end the way it should,” he said. “I’ll get OIA off your back. If you’re worried about Cole Murphy, don’t be, I can deal with him. I put him on your—”

“What did you say?” Jesse demanded.

“I said, I can make this end—”

“No. Murphy. Who—” But she understood. Both files from Juanita and Michael had been on Cole Smith. Cole Smith was Green Team Leader and had died in Colombia. Cole Murphy was the man lying on the concrete floor behind her. Disbelief washed over her in a wave of nausea. She’d trusted him. She’d cared.

How could she have been so stupid?

Jesse pointed the Beretta at Lanton. “You’re going to make a fast phone call to release my sister’s money—and hand over my belongings.” At least she could save Tom. He’d put himself on the line for her. “Fuck with me, and I’ll bury you alive—where no one will hear you scream.”

“I agreed—”

“Move,” she hissed.

He started forward and Jesse cast a glance at Cole Murphy. He lay just as he had moments ago, right arm sprawled over his head, legs spread. He looked dead. And why not? He was a damned good actor. He had lied to her—and oh, so convincingly made love to her as if he really cared. Her pulse spiked with memory of his hard thrusts deep inside her channel. She tore her gaze from him. She had to get out—and fast.

A moment later, they reached the back door. Jesse stopped Lanton. “How did you alter the transcript of my call?”

“What difference—”

“A show of good faith,” she snapped. “Give me something now or kiss your ass good bye.”

He hesitated, then said, “Morales has some dirt on Gloria Knowles. He made the transcript disappear, and she kept quiet.”

Jesse gave a low laugh. It really came down to who you knew. Gloria had eighteen years with OIA as Head of Communications. She was a fifty-five year old female geek. What the hell could Morales possibly have on her? She probably dated a Colombian mobster’s nephew in college.

Jesse motioned Lanton forward and he opened the door. Rusty hinges squealed. Light poured in as the door swung outward. As he stepped into the sunshine she reached inside her shirt, yanked the wire free, and tossed it aside.

“Nail his ass, Tom,” she silently said, then closed the door behind her.

Lanton’s silver Mercedes sat parked a few feet away.

“Hand over the keys,” she ordered. “Now.”