Page 88 of Dangerous Liaisons

Chapter Sixty-Four

Distant thunder rolled across a cloudy sky as Jesse lowered the night-vision binoculars. She blinked away the green-speckled afterglow of the night-vision display and the darkness of the visitor’s cottage a hundred yards from Houghton House enveloped her. She cautiously placed the binoculars on the table beside a penlight, Lanton’s PPK, and a small syringe. No lightning had appeared—yet—but if a flash lit the night sky as she and Harris carried Amanda from the house, they would never make it out alive. He had reported all quiet at Houghton House today, but Jesse knew that simply meant Lanton had decided against the direct approach. Like so many others, Harris had returned from Vietnam with baggage that would have fried most civilians’ brains.

Damaged goods was what the government called men like him. Seven years ago, a flat tire on a snowy Boston night had forced her into a tavern where Harris was winning his third game of pool against a Diablo Gang member. Jesse phoned for a tow truck, and planned on toughing out the hour and a half wait in the car, but couldn’t ignore the fact the Diablos were working themselves into a nasty mood because a black man—vet or no vet—was kicking their asses.

She knew she’d miss the tow truck—hell, she knew she’d probably end up short a Mercedes Station Wagon. The E500 4-Matic was the most decadent thing she owned. But what the hell? She stayed for a beer. Manny Noriega, a white boy looking to prove he was as big a bad ass as the Panamanian gang leader, took a liking to her. Harris surprised her by intervening. He had fifty pounds on the kid, but his weight centered around his gut. Jesse leaped to his assistance and, together, they took on five Diablos, and won.

Jesse smiled at the memory of Harris collapsing on a bar stool and, breathing hard as he said, “Damn, girl, if I’d known you didn’t need me, I would have collected my two hundred bucks first.”

She got him a janitor’s job at a nearby high school. Then, two years ago, in exchange for keeping their friendship quiet and watching Amanda, she’d gotten him the maintenance supervisor’s job at Houghton House. Harris was a good man, and—Jesse gave up a prayer of thanks—Amanda liked him.

Jesse prayed that would be enough to get Amanda outside the mansion. Once there, Jesse would sedate her if needed, and she and Harris would get her to the cottage. Jesse would exchange Amanda’s pajamas for jeans and a t-shirt, then they would smuggle her off the grounds via an overgrown path on the arboretum’s east side. Harris had already freed the forgotten oak door in the eight-foot high stone wall from the contractor’s mortar that sealed it.

This wasn’t wrong, Jesse told herself for the hundredth time. Amanda wasn’t safe here anymore. The dream was over. Eight people from prominent, well-to-do families boarded on the forty-acre grounds. It was the occupants’ best hope for a normal life, and Jesse had bought into the dream. When she had found Houghton House, she believed Amanda was home.

Tonight, when they left, they would leave behind the dream, and change their names from Marietta and Helen Keene to Joanne and Cindy Miller. Anger surfaced. Maybe she should just kill Lanton. No. Then the trust fund would be frozen forever.

She could earn enough to scrape by and pay Amanda’s bills, but the idea of disappearing from Amanda’s life altogether equaled abandonment. Jesse was the only family she had left.

And Amanda is the only family you have left, an inner voice added.

She switched her thoughts to Tom, glad for the disgust that filled her. Would he stoop to using an autistic woman who couldn’t defend herself? What about Cole Murphy? Hurt stabbed through anger. How much of the background report Juanita gave her on Cole was true, and how much was part of his OIA-fabricated cover? He could be any schmuck from Texas with a barefoot wife and ten kids. He’d played her from the start, and she’d been too distracted by lust to keep her distance. How could she have thought he cared?

Oh, he cared…about fucking her brains out.

A tiny gong from the mantle clock drew Jesse’s attention. Glow–in-the-dark hands read eight o’clock. She returned her gaze to the colonial mansion. On cue, the main lights in the upper story went dark, leaving only two tiny lights in rooms four and five. Number five was Amanda’s, number four, a wealthy businessman’s niece with Down Syndrome. Amanda would read for fifteen minutes—she loved Wonder Woman comic books—then she would turn out her light. Five minutes later, she would be asleep.

As a kid, Jesse marveled how Amanda could fall asleep on cue. As an adult, Jesse envied her older sister’s ability to so easily free herself of the world’s encumbrances. Jesse figured Amanda’s peace came from not carrying around the guilt most people did. Somewhere along the way, Amanda had gotten the better deal.

Jesse picked up the binoculars and scanned the grounds. Harris would wait ten minutes, make sure the house parents were settled in for the night, then he’d go for Amanda. If her lights went out before eight-fifteen, he had succeeded.

Houghton House employed a state-of-the-art security system on the wall and two guards who patrolled opposite sides of the grounds every thirty minutes. Security was highly paid and competent. A Senator’s daughter and a wealthy businessman’s niece lived at Houghton. They kept the girls’ whereabouts secret, but mercenaries were resourceful.

Jesse stuffed the pen light into her rear jeans pocket, the PPK into the waistband at the small of her back, then slid the syringe into her bra. No ops vest tonight. If someone at Houghton House spotted her, she might have a chance of explaining why she was wandering around the grounds after dark. Decked out like a ninja would place her on the wrong end of a gun before she had a chance to give a name.

She slipped outside the cottage, then hurried down the path to the mansion, careful to stay on the narrow path, clear of motion sensors. She sidestepped behind a large elm sixty feet down the path and tugged up her sleeve. She pressed the light button on her watch. Five after eight. Another five minutes, and Harris would reach Amanda’s room.

Jesse scanned the pathway ahead. The clouds had parted and a crescent moon cast a faint glow. Right on time, the first guard left the entrance, turned right, and strode toward employee housing. Ground level lights flared to life as he paced off the grassy expanse toward Harris’ cottage. He swept a flashlight outside the lit perimeter. She waited until he disappeared around the cottage, then continued toward the house. The second guard should be on the far side of the grounds by now.

She focused on Amanda’s window. Less than a minute later, the bedroom light went dark. Jesse glanced at her watch. Eight twelve. Three minutes early. Amanda read for exactly fifteen minutes. Not fourteen, not sixteen. Fifteen. Jesse’s heartbeat quickened. Three minutes early, and Amanda hadn’t raised a fuss.

Jesse scanned the grounds. All quiet. She stepped from cover.

A tiny shift within an elm’s shadows caught her attention.