Chapter 6
Steve and Jaime had enjoyed a blissful night's sleep (having completely worn each other out and satisfied their every need), with Jaime still nestled comfortably in the crook of Steve's arm, her head still resting on his upper chest, away from the ribs that had endured such brutal blows from their captors' boots. Jaime watched him sleep (he looked like a tousled-haired little boy) and marveled at the qualities he possessed that she hoped she could gradually learn from and absorb: his strength and sense of responsibility, tempered with carefully acquired knowledge and experience. At one point during the night, Steve had been watching Jaime sleep...and found qualities he admired and longed for, as well: her exuberance, the still-innocent way she often looked at the world (although he sensed that Cobra may have broken that innocence at least somewhat) and her genuine desire to help those around her, regardless of the potential consequences. Mark Conrad had been right - they completed each other...and yes, Jaime softened him.
Oscar hadn't slept much at all. Even with the assistance of two glasses of bourbon, the best he had managed was a couple of brief dozes at his desk while he waited - prayed - for the phone to ring. And then - near dawn - a hit! Oscar's teams had spread out to check every hotel and motel in Southern California as well as the surrounding states...and a night clerk had recognized Russ's picture! They had to move carefully, so as not to spook him (or - God forbid - spur him to violence). Since it was still very early, Oscar hoped Russ would be sleeping, but he had agents surrounding the ugly little motel on all sides (from a distance, of course) while he put in calls for Mark Conrad...and Steve.
''Please be careful,'' Jaime said softly, watching Steve get dressed.
''We will.'' Steve had been relieved to hear the units who'd found Russ would be 'standing down' unless it became necessary to move in to keep him from leaving...or to prevent a tragedy. Mark Conrad would be carrying a 'knock-out' spray - far easier to administer than a shot - and although Steve didn't like what was starting to seem like a trend (of the OSI drugging their own), it was still preferable to what could happen if Russ were to become agitated.
''I wish I was coming with you,'' Jaime told him.
''Not this time...but you still have a very important role. It'll take us about 45 minutes to get there and if he calls here in the meantime, try to keep him calm. Don't give him any hint that he's being watched...or that help is on the way.'' Steve pointed out the yellow button on her datacom (again). ''And if you do hear from him, press this button right away, so Oscar knows. You don't have to transmit anything to him. Oscar'll get the message. Just keep Russ talking and distracted - and calm- for as long as you can. Okay?''
''I understand.'' She gave Steve a quick kiss, held him close for a moment (trying her best not to show him she was worried and a little frightened)...and then Steve had to hurry out the door. Jaime wasn't even sure why she was frightened; just a funny, gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that she'd learned was instinct giving her a message.
She just didn't understand why.
''Already?'' Nemesis chortled. He wouldn't be in his new location for at least several more hours...but everything was ready. He'd made sure of that. The woman was all alone...and it would be as easy as taking a lamb to the slaughter; a very beautiful - but very, very helpless - little lamb.
Russ's clothes were rumpled as though he'd slept in them, which he had...for the little time he had slept, on top of the covers with his gun within easy reach. The silence on his datacom was unnerving. What were they up to? He was starving! There'd been little to eat since he'd left the hospital as he was trying to conserve his money for as long as he could; he knew how dangerous leaving a paper trail (like credit card receipts) could be to him. Then, while he was heating a cup of watery instant coffee (which was all this motel provided)...an unexpected knock at the door! Russ cocked his gun and considered his options.
''Russ, it's me,'' Steve called from the other side of the door.
''Go away, Steve!''
''It's just me...and Mark Conrad. The police aren't with us.'' (They were within sight and earshot...but Russ didn't need to know that.) ''We just wanted to check on you - to make sure you're okay. And we brought breakfast, in case you haven't eaten yet.''
Very slowly, with his gun still at the ready, Russ opened the door.
Jaime lingered over a mug of coffee (with a teaspoon of cocoa) and tried to relax. From what she knew of Russ, he'd never purposely hurt anyone...but he didn't seem anything like himself right now...and no one could figure out why. As much as she feared for Russ, she was frightened now for Steve and Mark Conrad's safety as well. She wondered how long it would take before she heard any news. They had probably just arrived...wherever it was they were going. It would be awhile yet. She heard the sound of the paperboy's bicycle stopping in front of her house and the resultant thwack when the paper hit the porch. Deciding the crossword puzzle would be an ideal distraction, Jaime changed into sweat pants and a tank top (the neighbors didn't really need to see her nightie) and padded out to the porch.
She never saw (or even had a chance to hear) it coming. As soon as her feet hit the stoop, a strong arm snaked around her from behind, pressing hard against her solar plexus and forcing her to take a deep breath in a struggle for air. As soon as she did so, a sweet-smelling rag was pressed firmly over her face...and that one deep breath was all it took. Jaime slumped toward the ground, unconscious - and was quickly thrown into the back of a van and secured as the van peeled away from the curb, the first part of the occupants' terrible mission complete.
