Mad Powers (Tapped In) by Mark Wayne McGinnis Page B

had an almost childlike innocence when it came to forming a personal relationship. Their last week together at the embassy in Kabul, he’d asked her if she would see him exclusively, when he got back to Washington. She hadn’t answered right away—wanting to make him wait for some stupid reason. She’d fallen in love with him long before he’d begun to take their burgeoning relationship seriously. They’d kissed a few times, but she had never let it progress very far. And now she regretted that decision, too.
    Now she contemplated whether what she thought they’d once had was even real. She’d written him a note, letting him know that yes, she’d wait for him. Of course she would. But then he was gone without a trace. Thought to be dead, and after all this time she had come to terms with the loss. But now, knowing he’d been alive this whole time, she felt humiliated. Had she been played as easily as some characters he’d played while undercover? She drove in questioning silence for three hours.
    Giles had dozed off. A large sign welcomed them to Kingman, Arizona.
    “Giles, wake up. We’re almost there.”
     
    * * *
     
    Never staying in one place more than a day or two, Harland looked around his seedy hotel room. He pulled the thick inner curtains tightly together to keep any sunlight from streaming in. Even worse than the pain in his hand, he found bright light excruciating. He turned off the television set, pleased to see that each of the local networks had reported the murder. Big news around here.
    Harland had gotten quite a bit of information from the nurse before she finally bled out. He’d dumped her limp body in the culvert and had made an anonymous phone call to the Kingman PD on her body’s whereabouts. He needed her murder to make the morning news, news he was sure Chandler would see.
    The discovery that Chandler had some kind of amnesia meant that finding him would be that much easier. Chandler had already made more mistakes than Harland thought possible. Stupid, amateurish mistakes.
    Sweating, Harland wiped his brow. He’d definitely left the hospital earlier than he should have. He still had a fever, his hand hurt like a bitch, and his left knee wasn’t working quite right either. “Fucking snakes!” he yelled out. I tried to do too much yesterday, he thought to himself. After the time spent with Jill, exhausting, he’d had to hide her car and find another one. Fortunately, he’d overheard an old man talking to his son in the hospital. He was dying, being fast-tracked to hospice. Harland had little trouble tracking down the old guy’s address and absconding with his rarely-used Buick that had been tucked away in his garage for close to a year.
    His phone was vibrating on the bureau across the room. Dizzy, he got to his feet, took a few steps and almost passed out. “Fucking-fucking-fucking SNAKES!”
    Caller ID said the number was blocked, but Harland knew who it was. No one else had this number.
    “I’m here.”
    “I take it that was your handiwork, last night?” the baritone voice questioned on the other end of the line.
    “Collateral damage. It’s not like I enjoyed it or anything.”
    “Uh huh. And Chandler?”
    “I have every expectation that part of the contract will be fulfilled today,” Harland replied.
    “Well, there’s something else I’m sure you’ll be interested in.”
    “What?”
    “Rosette. She was wheels down in Phoenix this afternoon—she’s probably there in Kingman now.”
    Harland let that sink in for a beat. “Here?”
    “Apparently Chandler voluntarily gave up his prints and DNA to the local PD. So you’re going to have a whole lot of company in that hell-hole of a town in the next few hours.”
    Harland was having a hard time believing Chandler was the same man he’d known. “So what do you want me to do?”
    “We want both of them. Alive.”
    “No. That was not our deal. You know what this is about for me, Dwight!”
    “Don’t say that