And Then You Die

by Iris Johansen

  “Bess, I didn't mean––”

  “The hell you didn't.” She slapped him again. “You son of a bitch.” Tears were suddenly running down her cheeks. “You did this. None of this should have happened. Emily shouldn't have died.” She hit him again. “Why couldn't you have just left us alone?”

  “I'm sorry,” Kaldak said. “I never meant to hurt you. I thought it was safe.”

  “You sent me to Tenajo. You let me take my sister. Do you know how guilty I've been feeling since she died? You did it all, you bastard.” She was sobbing so hard, she could barely get the words out. “Emily died. . . .”

  “She wasn't supposed to go with you. You were on assignment. You were supposed to go alone.”

  “And you arranged it. Ramsey said you pulled strings at the magazine and mapped out the assignment. You wanted me to go to Tenajo.”

  A muscle jerked in his left cheek. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn't Ramsey tell you?”

  “All he could talk about was how you set me up and how I should trust only him.” She took a step closer and said between her teeth, “You tell me, Kaldak. You tell me why you wanted me dead.”

  “I didn't want you dead. I knew there was a good chance you'd survive.”

  “You couldn't know that I'd––” Her eyes widened. “You did know. My God, you knew about the immunity. But how could you?”

  “Danzar.”

  She stared at him, stunned.

  “You got a very low dose of the mutated anthrax in Danzar. It was much weaker than the strain Esteban used in Tenajo.” He added grimly, “But it was strong enough to kill everyone in the village.”

  “You're saying Danzar was another testing ground?”

  “The first. It was a perfect scheme for Esteban. He supplied the anthrax to the guerrillas, and they sent it into the village in a food shipment.”

  She shook her head. “No, it's not true. Everyone was butchered. I was there. I saw it.”

  “It was part of the deal. The guerrillas went in later and made it look like a massacre.”

  “It was a massacre.”

  He shook his head.

  “You knew about it?” she whispered. “You knew about the babies?”

  “No, I was with Habin at the time. Danzar was strictly Esteban's show. But I found out about it later.”

  “And you did nothing?”

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked harshly. “All right, I did nothing. Just as I did nothing after Nakoa. Because there was no proof.” He paused. “But after Danzar I thought we might have an edge. When you were in the hospital in Sarajevo, I had them take blood tests. You'd developed immune antibodies to the weaker strain of anthrax Esteban used in Danzar.”

  “You were there at the hospital in Sarajevo?”

  “I had to know. I had to be sure.”

  “You were there all the time.”

  “Yes.”

  “My driver survived too.”

  “We checked him out. He wasn't immune. You must have had more contact with the bacteria as you moved from room to room at the orphanage. You were our only hope.”

  “If you knew I was immune, why didn't you do something about it? Why didn't you take some damn blood and try to save Tenajo?”

  “Esteban considered Danzar a failure and continued mutating the strain. But we didn't know what those new mutations were. So developing an antidote beforehand would have been useless.”

  “So you sent me to Tenajo.”

  “You had to be exposed. I had to make sure you were immune.”

  “And one more death didn't make any difference.”

  “Hell, yes, it made a difference. But I couldn't let it stop me.”

  “You killed Emily.”

  “You were the only one supposed to go to Tenajo. Dammit, I had no intention of exposing your sister.”

  “You killed her.”

  “All right, I killed her. It was my fault.”

  “You killed her and you lied to me and you fucked me.” She stared at him in disgust. “And I let you. I let you do it all.”

  “I didn't fuck you. I made love to you.” He took a step toward her. “Bess, it wasn't––”

  “Don't you touch me.” She backed away. “No wonder you were so protective and kind to me. You were feeling guilty. Jesus, I want to kill you. I want to cut your heart out.”

  “You'll have to stand in line,” he said wearily.

  “Get out of my apartment, you son of a bitch.”

  “De Salmo is still out there.”

  “I don't care.”

  “I care.” He paused. “Are you going to let Ramsey take you to––”

  “I'm not letting Ramsey take me anywhere. I don't trust him any more than I do you. Get out.” Her voice was shaking. “I can't even stand looking at you.”

  “Bess, this is just what De Salmo and Esteban want.”

  “Get out.”

  She slammed the door of the darkroom in his face.

  His hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was what he expected. He had always known she would eventually find out. But he hadn't known it would hurt so much.

  He strode back into the living room.

  “Ramsey blew the whistle?” Yael asked. “She knows about the setup?”

  “She knows everything. She wants me out.” He went to the guest bedroom and took out his suitcase. “Which means you're in. She can't be left alone.”

  Yael followed him. “I didn't promise I'd be in this for the long haul, Kaldak.”

  He threw his clothes into the suitcase. “Do you want her dead?”

  “Ramsey will––”

  “You keep her away from Ramsey. He was supposed to be protecting Ed Katz, and Ed Katz is dead. Do you think Ramsey will keep her any safer?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “The only thing I can do.” He slammed the suitcase shut. “I'm going to Cheyenne after Morrisey. Ramsey finally tracked him down. Call Ramsey and tell him I'm on my way.” Not that he needed to be told. He had known Bess would not let Kaldak within a mile of her after what he'd told her. He wanted to break the interfering bastard's neck. “I just hope to hell it's not a wild-goose chase.” He paused. “Will you stay, Yael? Will you take care of her? We need her. She's . . . valuable.”

  “In more ways than one, evidently.” Yael slowly nodded his head. “I'll take care of her.”

  God, it hurt.

  Bess huddled in the corner of the darkroom, her arms wrapped around herself.

  Why had she trusted him? She knew he didn't care about anything or anyone but getting Esteban. He had even warned her not to trust him.

  But she hadn't listened. And she had let him use her as he used everyone else. He had sent her to Tenajo and Emily had died.

  She felt as if she were bleeding inside. She hadn't been stupid enough to actually let him mean anything to her. So why was she curled up like a wounded animal in the dark?

  It was the shock. She would be better soon. She would stay here for just a little while longer and let herself heal. Then she would go out and function perfectly well.

  Just a little longer.

  Kaldak was gone.

  It was the best chance Marco might have. He wasn't worried about the guards downstairs. He could dispose of them with no problem. Esteban had been very pleased about his deftness with those policemen in Atlanta. It was Kaldak who had been the big stumbling block, and Kaldak had left.

  The window of opportunity couldn't stay open long.

  But it might be long enough.

  Over two hours later Yael was sitting in front of the television set, watching a basketball game, when Bess came into the living room.

  “Would you like some dinner?” Yael snapped off the set. “It's after nine and you haven't had anything to eat all day.”

  She shook her head. “I'm going to bed. I'm tired.”

  “I can see why.”

  She looked at him. “You knew about it.”
<
br />   Yael nodded. “Most of it. I learned the rest from Ramsey after I got here.”

  “It seems everyone knew but me. I find that as unforgivable as the rest.”

  “You'd be surprised what you can forgive.” He held up his hand. “I'm not trying to persuade you that Kaldak was right.”

  “There's no way you could.”

  “I'm just saying we all have our priorities. Kaldak isn't all black and he does care whether you live or die.”

  “That's why he sent me to Tenajo.”

  Yael sighed. “This obviously isn't the time for me to talk to you.” He stood up. “I have to go downstairs and ask one of the guards to go to my flat and pack a suitcase for me. I'll stand his duty downstairs until he gets back. I shouldn't be long.”

  “You don't have to move in here. I'll be all right.”

  “I promised Kaldak. And my apartment was getting lonely anyway. I miss my wife and son.” He paused as he opened the door. “Are you going to drag me out on the street tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would it do any good to tell you to lie low for a few days?”

  “No, it wouldn't.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “Yael.” She had just thought of something. “I'll need to send a blood sample by tomorrow morning. Kaldak usually took it.”

  “I'm sorry, I'm not qualified. I'd probably butcher you.” He paused. “Katz's death has probably thrown everything into turmoil anyway. It may take a little while to regroup.”

  “They can't do anything without the blood samples. The sooner they get it, the better.”

  He nodded. “There's got to be an agent who can take blood. I'll have Ramsey send someone over.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank you. You're the one who's doing us the favor.”

  “It's not a favor.” Esteban had killed Ed Katz just to cause a delay. She'd be damned if she'd give him more. “Have the agent come early. I want that sample in Atlanta by noon.”

  Yael saluted. “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Oh, and could I borrow your portable phone? I always used Kaldak's and I don't want to use the apartment phone when I call to check on Josie.”

  “No problem.” He handed her the phone. “I'd much rather supply you with this than rob you of your blood.”

  She moved toward the bedroom. After she showered she'd call the hospital and check on Josie. Then she'd go to bed and try to sleep.

  Who was she fooling? She was exhausted but there was no way she was going to be able to sleep. Her nerves were as raw as when Kaldak had left.

  So don't waste the time.

  She went back to the darkroom and gathered all the pictures she'd taken since she'd returned to New Orleans. Kaldak had not recognized anyone, but maybe she'd get lucky and catch . . . something.

  Twenty minutes later she wearily stacked the photos on the nightstand. Nothing. There was no use staring at the faces any longer. Everything was blurring before her eyes. Hell, some of the shots had been a little blurry too. She must have––

  Why would they be blurred? She couldn't remember any unusual circumstances to account for blurring.

  She riffled through the pictures. Only four shots had any blurring.

  The clown. The tall clown with green hair and a white-painted face. In each shot he was moving away from the camera at the exact moment she had taken the photograph.

  Coincidence? Or had he been trying to avoid the camera? Even with a disguise, had he felt uneasy?

  She ran to the darkroom, got her magnifying glass, placed it over the clown's face.

  “Bess.” Yael was knocking on the front door.

  She ran to open it. “I've found De Salmo. I think I know who he is.”

  Yael set down his suitcase and took the photos she was handing him. “The clown?”

  “He's been there every day. The shot from the first day doesn't have any blurring, but every day after that he tried to avoid being photographed.”

  “Possible.” He smiled. “Very possible. It's worth having Ramsey pick him up.”

  She watched him as he talked to Ramsey. They would pick up the suspect, and if she was right, she wouldn't have to worry about a murderer on her doorstep. She should feel safer, but she didn't. Esteban would only send someone else.

  Or maybe he would come himself. Maybe this would be the trigger.

  Yael ended the call. “Done. Now we simply wait to hear more.” He sat down and looked at her. “Tell me how your Josie is.”

  Josie. She had forgotten to call Dr. Kenwood.

  She reached for Yael's phone and quickly dialed. A short time later she was connected with Dr. Kenwood.

  “You just caught me, Ms. Grady.” He sounded tired. “I was about to leave.”

  “How's Josie?”

  “Better. Much better. I'm planning on operating tomorrow morning.”

  Her heart jumped. “What time?”

  “Eight o'clock. Can you be here for her?”

  God, she wanted to be.

  “We'll take good care of her, even if you can't make it.”

  But Josie would be sick and in pain and among strangers. “When will you know if she's––” She wouldn't say the word paralyzed. “If the operation was a success?”

  “We'll have a good idea by tomorrow evening. You could call then.”

  “Yes, I could do that.” She could do phone calls and prayers just as she'd done ever since she delivered Josie to the hospital. To hell with it. She was tired of this long-distance caretaking. “I'll be there tomorrow morning.”

  He chuckled. “To keep an eye on me?”

  “You bet. I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Kenwood.”

  She hung up the phone, feeling Yael's eyes on her.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “Better. They're operating tomorrow.”

  “I see.”

  “And I'm going to be there.”

  “I want to argue with you, but I won't,” he said quietly. “I'd do the same. Children are tough to fight.”

  “Ramsey will try to stop me from going. Will you help me?”

  “Suppose you go get your overnight case packed while I work out a strategy.” He looked down at his suitcase. “I seem to be ready to go. Do you think I'm psychic?”

  “I think you're a very nice man.”

  He smiled. “But that goes without saying.”

  Cheyenne, Wyoming

  Majestic Hotel

  11:45 P.M.

  The hotel was old and shabby. Not even the snow could disguise its run-down state. Inside, the chipped and discolored reception desk was manned by a pimple-faced kid in jeans and a plaid shirt who was reading USA Today.

  “I'm here for John Morrisey,” Kaldak said. “Which room?”

  The kid didn't look up. “You'll have to call him. We don't give out that information.”

  “Which room?”

  “I said we––” The kid glanced up and stiffened as he met Kaldak's gaze. “It's against the rules.”

  “I won't tell anybody. Which room?”

  “Two thirty-four.”

  “Has anyone been here to see him?”

  “Only Cody.”

  “Cody?”

  “Cody Jeffers.”

  “You know this Jeffers?”

  “Sure. He lives here in the hotel. Cody's cool.” The kid nibbled on his lower lip. “You with the police or something?”

  Kaldak nodded and showed his ID.

  “CIA? Cool.”

  “No older man has been around? Graying hair, hooked nose?”

  The kid shook his head. “Haven't seen him. But I work the night shift. I haven't even seen Morrisey for a couple of days.”

  “But he's still registered?”

  He nodded.

  “How long has Morrisey been here?”

  “Two weeks.” He frowned. “Cody's not in trouble, is he? He's clean. He drinks a little, but he told me that no performer with any sense does drugs.”

  “Performer?”


  “Cody drives in the demolition derby.” He pointed his thumb to the right. “You can see his name on the poster on the stadium two blocks down. It's in real little letters, but Cody told me the management thinks he's hot stuff and next year they're going to feature him. He's going to be a star.”

  What the hell could Esteban want with Cody Jeffers? Kaldak wondered. He turned and walked toward the elevator. “Don't call Morrisey and tell him I'm coming.”

  Two minutes later he was standing in front of Morrisey's door. A Do Not Disturb sign hung on the knob. He knocked. No answer. He carefully turned the knob. Locked. Morrisey might have already flown the coop. The kid had said he hadn't seen him for a few days.

  He knocked again. No answer.

  He suddenly noticed the door was ice-cold.

  He kicked in the door.

  The window across the room was wide open and snow covered the carpet beneath it. A man was lying on the bed, a fistful of money clutched in his hand.

  Shit.

  Kaldak backed away and slammed the door shut. He took out his phone and dialed Ramsey. “Get a crew over here right away. Morrisey's dead and there's money all over the bed. Room 234.”

  Ramsey cursed. “Anthrax?”

  “Probably. Tell your men to be careful but to go over everything with a fine-tooth comb,” Kaldak continued. “See if we can come up with any leads.” Not that he had any hope they would. Esteban wasn't careless.

  “They'll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Tell them to come in the back way. That may save us from the five o'clock news.”

  He hung up the phone and returned to the lobby. The clerk straightened apprehensively when he saw Kaldak approach.

  “I didn't call him. If he wasn't there, it's not my fault.”

  “I know you didn't call him.” He placed his elbows on the desk. “What's your name?”

  “Don Sloburn.”

  “My name is Kaldak. I need your help. I need you to try to remember if you ever saw Morrisey with anyone except Jeffers. Anyone at all.”

  Sloburn shook his head. “No one except the guys at the track. He was a real fan, like me. He used to go down to Shea's bar at the corner and sit around and talk to the performers. But I never saw him deal any drugs or nothing.”

  “He talked to performers other than Jeffers?”

  “Yeah, sure, but he and Cody really hit it off.” He hesitated. “Cody's in trouble too?”