He’d burst out laughing when he first saw her, but now that the only light was from the car’s dash lights, the getup looked much more genuine. She looked masculine and scary. She had started to trim her eyelashes shorter so they wouldn’t look so feminine after she put mascara on them to darken them, but Swain had stopped her. If anyone looked at her closely enough to notice her eyelashes, they were in trouble anyway.
She was holding her pistol in her hand. If she needed to use it, the seconds it took to pull it from her boot or from a pocket could be too long.
Swain was in a sweat about her stepping foot outside the car. If he’d had his way, he’d have had her encased in body armor, and maybe worn a vest himself. Unfortunately, he’d lost the argument about whether she should come with him or stay in the hotel, and now he’d lost the one about her staying in the .car. It seemed as if he was losing every argument with her lately, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He’d thought about tying her to the bed at the hotel, but he’d have to untie her eventually-and this was Lily Mansfield, not some soccer mom on vacation. He didn’t know what she’d do, but he was sure he’d be in pain because of it.
A cold front had rolled in during the day, and what had been cool but pleasant had turned cloudy and downright cold as the sun set. Nevertheless, Swain had the windows partially down so they could hear anyone approaching the car, and he had angled the outside mirrors down, to catch anyone coming in low. As for the rest of the area, he and Lily just had to keep watch. The only direction from which he didn’t expect attack was straight up, but that was only because he’d parked far enough away from the derelict buildings that no one could jump the distance.
He turned off the dash lights so there was complete darkness in the car, and reached for Lily’s hand. She was wearing gloves, because her hands were another giveaway that she was a woman-and that was a problem they’d have to solve if she entered the laboratory as a man. He squeezed her fingers. She was steady as a rock, not showing a hint of nerves. When it came down to it, he’d rather have her at his back than anyone else who came to mind.
A car turned a corner, moving slowly toward them. The headlights were on bright, and he heard a familiar high-pitched whining noise. Bernard, the son of a bitch, was driving a Fiat.
Swain immediately started the engine and turned his headlights on bright, too. If Bernard didn’t want them to see how many others were in the car with him, Swain returned the sentiment
Since he had turned off the car’s interior lights, too, there was no telltale light when Lily opened her door just enough for her to slide out; she sort of slithered, rather than getting out and standing up the way she normally would. With his brights blinding the occupants of the Fiat to that slight movement, they didn’t see her leave the car and, still crouching down, move around to the rear.
Swain slipped low behind the steering wheel, positioning it so it blocked the top part of the headlights shining in his eyes. With that small difference in the glare, he could see the shapes of three heads in the Fiat.
The Fiat crept closer. When twenty feet separated the two cars, it stopped. To see if he could get Bernard to follow suit, he killed the brights on the Mercedes. The bright headlights had played a part, but now that part was finished. A few seconds later, the lights on the Fiat dimmed.
Well, thank God. At least now they weren’t all blinded. He checked his rearview mirrors, but couldn’t spot Lily anywhere.
The passenger door of the Fiat opened and a tall, heavyset man with a short dark beard got out. “Who are you?”
Swain stepped out of the Mercedes, George Blanc’s briefcase in his left hand. He didn’t like not having the engine block for cover, but took some comfort in the fact that the other guy had only a car door between him and a bullet, too-which wasn’t saying much. A bullet went through a car door like a hot knife through butter. The only part of a car that provided much protection was the motor. “Swain. Who are you?”
“Bernard.”
Swain said, “I have the money.”
Bernard said, “I have the merchandise.”
Jesus. It was all Swain could do not to roll his eyes. They sounded like a bad spy movie.
He wore his weapon in a shoulder holster under his leather coat, which was why he’d kept his right hand free. He was acutely aware, though, of the two other men sitting in the Fiat.
Bernard didn’t have a weapon in his hands, but Swain was damn certain the two men in the car did.
Bernard didn’t have anything in his hands. “Where’s the merchandise?” Swain asked.
“In the car.”
“Let’s see it.”
Bernard turned back to the car and opened one of the passenger doors. He pulled out a small duffel bag that was bulging with something. Until Swain saw for himself, he wasn’t assuming the bag was full of plastique.
“Open the bag,” he instructed.
Bernard grunted and set the bag on the ground, then unzipped it. The headlights from the two cars plainly showed the bricklike contents, wrapped in cellophane. “Take one out,” Swain said. “From the bottom, please. Then unwrap it.”
Bernard made an impatient sound, but he reached into the duffel, scrabbled around, and pulled out one of the bricks. He tore off the cellophane covering.
“Now pinch off a corner and roll it between your fingers,” Swain instructed.
“It’s new,” Bernard said resentfully.
“I don’t know that, do I?”
Another impatient noise. Bernard tore a corner from the brick of plastique and rolled it into a ball. “There, you see? It is still malleable.”