CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Charlie Mead had talked to Peter McMahon, aka Gray Manning, and arranged for Sean to meet him at a neutral spot in Brooklyn.
Sean felt exposed, especially in light of the information Suzanne had shared and what Noah had sent to him about Alexis Sanchez. If she and Todd knew where Peter was, why wait to go after him? What was their game? Already Sean was on alert. He’d been trained in personal security, but it wasn’t his primary responsibility at RCK. He didn’t like going on a job with virtually no intel on his client or the people out to get him.
Peter McMahon had disappeared and reinvented himself because he had to, and Sean didn’t blame him. He deserved to be left alone. But if the Todds knew where to find him, he was in immediate danger, especially now that the Todds were on the run.
Sean had no idea why. It bothered him because it was illogical. If the Todds felt law enforcement had mishandled their sister’s case, Sean could see the logic in targeting those involved. But Peter had been nine when the events that tore apart the two families had occurred. There was no connection between the crimes; the only big difference, as far as Sean could see, was that Rachel McMahon’s murder got more attention in the media.
It was nearly eight and Lucy and Noah should be landing at LaGuardia any minute, if they weren’t already on the ground. Lucy would have a theory about it, and hopefully it would help them figure out Kip and Alexis’s next move.
Psychopaths, even if smart, didn’t always think logically. Maybe logically to them, but not to an average person. That Lucy could understand these people sometimes unnerved Sean, but then again there was nothing average about Lucy.
Peter had never been safe. If Suzanne was right, Todd had located him several months ago. Now that the Todds were exposed and the FBI and NYPD were on their tails, they would go directly to their endgame.
Sean spotted Peter walking down 3rd Avenue toward Sean’s rental. Peter was tall, an inch taller than Sean, and too thin. Though Peter was only twenty-four, his hair was dotted with gray.
Sean didn’t like having a car in New York—he wasn’t familiar with the streets, and traffic could be a problem. But he didn’t want to be without transportation. His sole task was to get Peter to safety, then contact Suzanne and Noah. He hadn’t been lying to Suzanne—he’d sworn to Charlie Mead that he could protect Peter, and he wasn’t going to fail either of them.
Peter had picked the meeting spot, but it was only four blocks from his residence and Sean didn’t like that. He had to assume that the Todd siblings knew where Peter lived. Sean had wanted to grab him at his apartment, but Peter was too nervous to give him the address. Sean had researched it while flying back to the city. Once he had Peter’s new name, it was easy to learn everything about him: his residence, his employer, where he liked to shop.
Peter glanced over his shoulder and Sean’s instincts buzzed. He surveyed the area but didn’t see anyone following Peter. Unfortunately, there were a lot of people on the street. This must be Brooklyn’s version of restaurant row.
Sean got out of his car and crossed the street to meet up with Peter.
“Charlie sent me,” he said.
Peter seemed both relieved and apprehensive.
Sean took his elbow and steered him toward his car. “Are you being followed?”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“But?”
“I felt something.”
Sean didn’t dismiss Peter’s concerns. Lucy had the same sixth sense about being watched, born of violence, and Peter may have developed the same instinct.
“I have a place; I just need to get you there. Do exactly what I say.” Sean handed him a burner phone. “If we get separated for any reason, get to a safe place and call the last dialed number.”
Peter pocketed the phone. He glanced at Sean and said, “Thank—” then stopped. He stared over Sean’s shoulder. “Cami?”
Sean didn’t look; he acted. His job was to protect Peter, not confront the Todds. He pushed Peter into the first storefront. It was a delicatessen and the patrons all stared at Sean when he walked straight through to the back ushering Peter in front of him.
He glanced once over his shoulder and saw a woman walk into the shop and glance around. He hadn’t met Alexis Sanchez, aka Alexis Todd, when he’d visited Quantico the other day, but he had to assume that it was her—the same woman who’d passed herself off to Peter as Cami Jones for over a year.
The staff in the back yelled at Sean, “Get out! We’ll call the police!”
Sean ignored them and continued maneuvering Peter through the kitchen, then the crammed supply room to the back door. He glanced through the security screen before opening it and slipping out with Peter.
“I should talk to her.”
“No,” Sean said.
“There has to be a reason.”
She’s a nut job. “Let’s get you safe. Then I’ll tell you everything.”
Peter hesitated, and Sean grabbed his arm and pulled him along. It was like he was in a daze, unsure what was going on or who to trust.
“Do you trust Charlie?”
“He saved my life.”
“Then trust me.”
Sean didn’t know if both of the Todds were trailing them or if they had spotted him when he got out of the rental car. He couldn’t risk going back to 3rd Avenue, so he asked, “Where’s the closest subway station?”
“Ninety-fifth. It’s only two blocks away.”
“Let’s get moving.
Sean monitored their surroundings, assessing anyone who looked out of place. It was getting darker, which would help them disappear in the streets if necessary. But right now at dusk he felt too exposed.
He saw Alexis emerge from the shop and look both ways before she saw them. She picked up speed in the alley.
Sean waited until he and Peter turned the corner from the alley to the street, then said, “Faster.”
Sean had pre-purchased two MetroCards when he and Lucy were in New York on Saturday. He hadn’t thought they’d need them but didn’t like to go unprepared. He was glad he had them now.
He rounded the corner and they rushed down the steps to the 95th Street subway station. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a church and considered detouring there but dismissed it—he didn’t know the layout, and considering it was near dark, the church might be locked. Sean didn’t see Alexis, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there or that she might not assume they went to the subway.
“Is there another entrance to the subway?”
“Yes.”
Either they could exit from the other side or Alexis could come down the other entrance and trap them. In fact, if both Alexis and Kip were trailing them, they could be boxed in. Damn, he shouldn’t have come down here!
“Stay close.”
Sean glanced at the subway map. They were at the end of the R Line.
He said, “We’re taking the first train and getting off at the next stop.”
“How did they find me?” Peter asked. “Did they follow you?” He didn’t seem hostile, but there was an accusatory tone.
“They’ve been tracking you. Have been since March.”
Peter shook his head, but his eyes told Sean he believed him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He moved Peter to behind a pillar. Sean could see one of the main staircases, and the other was partly in view.
“I think I knew,” he said quietly.
Sean sent Lucy and Noah a quick text message.
At 95th St. Subway, Brook. Have PM. ATS pursuing.
“A couple of times I thought someone was watching me,” Peter continued, “but I’d been hiding for so long I didn’t trust my instincts anymore. Do they know where I live?”
“Assume they do. No one followed me.”
“Charlie told you everything?”
“I needed to know what you faced in Syracuse, why you changed your name.”
“I don’t understand why these people are coming after me.”
“You and me both.” Sean heard a train coming far down the tunnel. He didn’t see Alexis or Kip on the stairs. There were only two people waiting, together, for the train. It was a quiet Monday night.
“Get ready,” he whispered. “Follow my orders.”
The train was closer, ten seconds or less. Peter took a step toward the platform and Sean grabbed his arm. “Stay.”
“FBI! Don’t move!”
It was a female voice. Peter looked perplexed and turned to look toward the voice.
“No,” Sean said, but it was too late.
Alexis was running down the stairs, gun drawn.
“FBI! Everyone down.”
Shit.
The train was pulling fast into the station. Alexis glanced at it, and Sean pictured the attack against Theissen at the subway station in Queens. Was she planning on using the train as a diversion or a weapon?
Sean stayed behind the pillar, gun drawn.
“You said the FBI was helping,” Peter said.
“She’s not FBI,” Sean told him.
Peter looked around the pillar. “Cami,” he whispered.
“Peter,” Alexis said. “Come to me. I’m here to help you.”
“Don’t,” Sean said. He squeezed Peter’s arm. “You can’t trust her.”
Alexis shouted out, “Peter! We have to hurry or it’ll be too late. Please, trust me.”
“Remember what Charlie found,” Sean said. He didn’t know what Alexis’s game was, but she’d most likely killed Tony Presidio and put Hans in a coma. “She lied to you. She killed an FBI agent.”
The train stopped at the platform. Several people got off. Alexis moved toward Sean and Peter. She didn’t seem concerned about her own safety. Sean couldn’t risk hitting an innocent bystander by firing in the station. He glanced toward the train. The warning to clear the doors alerted them that the train was about to depart.
Sean said, “Now!” He grabbed Peter and propelled him toward the open door.
“Peter!” Alexis shouted.
Sean heard gunfire and a searing bolt of pain shot up his calf. He rolled into the car; Peter stumbled and hit his head on the pole.
“Stay down!” Sean shouted.
Sean pushed back the pain and trained his gun toward the closing door. He saw Alexis’s stunned expression. Then she raised the gun to fire again, aiming at Sean, not Peter. Two teenagers ran behind Alexis toward the exit, preventing Sean from having a clear shot.
Sean rolled away from the door as Alexis fired again. The bullet hit the side of the train as the doors closed.
No one else was in the car. Peter lay on the floor, unmoving.
“Are you hurt?” Sean asked.
Peter didn’t say anything.
“Peter! Are you injured? Dammit, were you hit?” Sean crawled toward him.
“I’m okay,” he said, voice cracking. Shock.
“Are you sure?” Sean looked for visible signs of injury. Peter had a bump on his forehead from hitting the pole. Other than that, he was fine.
Sean waited until they were in the tunnel before he examined his own wound.
“You’re bleeding,” Peter said.
Sean took out his pocketknife and cut off his jeans at the knee. The bullet had gone through the muscle in his calf, straight through. Not serious, but he needed to stop the bleeding.
He cut the jean scrap into strips and tied one as a tourniquet right below his knee. Then he took off his T-shirt and tied it tight around the open wound.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been shot, nor would it be the worst, but damn, it hurt like hell. He pulled out his cell phone. No signal. He typed in a message to send as soon as he had one bar.
PM and I are on R train, will exit at Whitehall. Please meet there with first-aid kit.
“Peter, listen to me. Alexis Sanchez is not an FBI agent. She was at the FBI Academy for the past four weeks in training. Why, I have no idea. It may have been to collect information, or to target someone. She may have killed a federal agent, tried to kill another. Her sister was Camille Todd, who was kidnapped and murdered around the same time as your sister. I don’t have all the answers, but if she has the chance, she will kill you.”