The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 48

Chapter 13

JASON slumped on the bed with his head hung. He knew he should go after Chris, but he couldn't bring himself to get to his feet. They were going to have to look each other in the eye, to converse like adults, at some point. At least, he thought, until this thing was over.

After a while, when Chris did not return, he started to get anxious.

Where had he gone? It probably wasn't safe for him to be out walking around unguarded. What if Brunner saw him?

Glancing at the clock, he realized that more than an hour had passed since Chris had stormed out. He headed to the lobby to search.

The casino was unusually crowded. Outside, the thermometer had climbed well into the red, so it seemed the tourists had sought refuge indoors. Although he scanned every face, of Chris, there was no sign.

"Looking for your boyfriend? You two have a lover's quarrel?"

"Curt," Jason said, spinning around. "Have you seen him?" There was an edge of dread in Jason's voice that Curt seemed to recognize at once.

"I knew it. I could tell from his face you had some kind of falling out."

"So you've seen him?"

"A little over an hour ago. Said he wanted to pay a friend a surprise visit. I got a room number for him."

The seed of disquiet burst into full bloom. "Did he say who the friend was?"

"Michael Blake. He's at the Bellagio in room 3615. Ex-boyfriend?"

"Worse," Jason moaned, mentally berating himself for having waited so long to give chase. He knew Chris had been out of his mind when he'd rushed out of the room. If only he'd tried to stop him. "Curt, if by some miracle he shows up back here, call me right away." He was already headed toward the door, Curt only a step behind.

"This is sounding serious. It really is a case, isn't it?"

"Serious isn't the word for it," Jason said, sprinting for the exit.

THE mad flight to the Bellagio was a blur. A building thunderstorm thickened the normally dry desert air and made the heat seem oppressive and heavy. The claustrophobic panic it inspired added to his rising anxiety. By the time he reached his destination, he was drenched with sweat.

The elevator ride seemed interminable. On the thirty-sixth floor, he burst out of the car even before the doors had completely opened. He raced down the hallway and pounded frantically on the door to room 3615. When there was no answer, he braced himself and landed a solid kick, preparing to break it down if he had to. The door rattled in its frame but held. He tried again, and just as he was about to land a third blow, a red-eyed and bloody Michael Blake answered. He was sporting a split lip and the beginnings of a nasty black eye.

Jason shoved the door open violently, unbalancing Michael. Jason advanced and grabbed hold of Michael's neck, squeezing like a vise and cutting off his air. Bodily, he shoved him backward and pressed him into the wall. Choking, his eyes wide and bulging, Michael clawed at Jason's hand. His swollen face reddened.

"Where is he?" Jason demanded.

Michael sputtered and gasped as Jason relaxed his grip enough to allow him to speak. "C-Chris?"

"No, the fucking Easter Bunny. Where is he?"

"Johan. Johan took him. They're gone."

"Gone?" Jason's grip tightened again as his eyes drilled holes in Michael's face. "Where did they go?"

Again, the vise was released. "I... I don't know," Michael managed, his voice hoarse.

"Does Brunner carry a cell phone?"

"Yes, but I don't know the number. Please, please...."

Jason directed a malevolent glare at Michael, his rising anxiety for Chris adding to his murderous ardor. The look carried the promise of death. It was not the first time that day Michael had seen it. Tears squeezed out of his swollen, bloodshot eyes, and he worked frantically to pry Jason's powerful fingers off of his throat.

"You're going to pay for what you've done. I will see to it personally."

Michael's struggles ceased. His body went limp, and he seemed to deflate. Jason expected bravado, denial, outrage. Instead, he read hopeless resignation in Michael's expression. He relaxed his grip.

"Yeah," Michael breathed, utterly defeated. "I suppose I am."

Jason was surprised by the sudden transformation. "Why did you do it, Michael?"

Michael thought for a moment and finally shrugged. "Money, drugs. Christ, I don't even remember anymore."

As Jason stood there looking at the wasted, disheveled husk of the man who had once been Michael Blake, he tried, but he could find no remorse, no pity for him, no mercy. He was beyond despicable.

Sickened, outraged, he swung his fist and connected solidly with a powerful uppercut. Michael hit the ground, unconscious. "That's for Chris."

Jason looked around the room, stunned by what he saw. Drug paraphernalia lay discarded on the end table, and empty vials that had once contained any variety of illegal substances littered every surface.

He hurried to the telephone, lifted it off the hook, and dialed the FBI field office.

"Frank Marcus, please," he asked when the line was answered.

It took several minutes, but finally Frank answered. "Marcus," he snapped curtly.

"Frank, it's Jason."

"Jason. How the hell are you, buddy?"

"Not so good right now. I need your help," he said.

"Name it."

"I'm working a case for a client, and things have gone really, really wrong. His life and his daughter's life are in danger, and I'm wanted by Seattle PD."

"Wanted for what?"

"Murder."

"You're shitting me, right?"

"God, Frank, how I wish. There's a warrant out for my arrest."

There was a pause. "You're putting me in a tough spot here. I don't have to tell you that."

"I didn't kill anyone. In fact, I believe the murder