that my kiss was given to her sister,
folded close under deepening snow.”
“Someday you’re going to have to tell me about that poem.”
“Deal.”
SIXTY
All the way out to the prison in Forbes’s car, Lily examined her resolve from all angles. So far, her life amounted to not much. Like she told Georgia last night, not everything that happened was about her. Knowing that Kenny hadn’t been stolen by the traffickers strengthened her determination to get from under the oppressive fear that governed her every thought over the last couple of weeks.
Forbes drilled her again on how she was supposed to act on this special visit with her father. He might have guessed that Lily’s rage was a pervasive thing by now, barely under control only because of Kenny and Cam. If Roman was behind the plan and even thought about gloating, she’d rip his throat out.
Forbes parked and walked her through the gate, apparently familiar with the drill. She still had to go through a pat-down, but this time, they didn’t insist on the bra check. Score one for the escort of a federal agent.
While she waited for her father in the plain cement block room, she mulled over the situation. She’d asked to visit Art before coming here. It hadn’t seemed real until they showed her his frozen but still marked up face under the sheet. How would Roman take that? Why scam an insurance company? It wasn’t that much money. Being an accountant hooked with questionable friends, though, he probably had connections. Like ivy curling tight and growing into any crevice on a house. Roman…Dad…how did your life come to this? He had everything. A good job, house. He’d married again to a nice woman. Unstable, perhaps, but nice.
Lily wiped her hands on her slacks. The blisters thankfully healed over. Her fingers were a little stiff but not itchy like yesterday. She watched Roman shuffle through the entrance, accompanied by a spooky-looking guard. Tall and big, black-haired, the guard hulked over the top of her father. The picture of a mouse caught by a large cat flashed in and out.
“Merry Christmas, Dad. How are you?”
His face was pasty, puffy like the belly of a toad, his eyes little and black. “Daughter. It’s about time you visit the old man.”
She let him air-smooch her cheek before they sat down. He let his cuffed wrists rest on the pitted surface of the round table. Scary guard stood at attention a few steps away. She leaned forward and said softly. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Art passed away on Friday.”
Roman’s shock was real. His jaw slackened and his color slid toward jaundice. “Wh-when? What happened?”
“I don’t know. He was beaten pretty badly. I guess he got an infection or something.”
“Did you talk to him? See him, before…” Roman’s question came cautiously, with a nervous glance to the side.
If Lily had hoped to regain a smidge of respect for her father, the spark was snuffed dead. She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, I saw him. I saw him laid on a slab like a piece of flank steak. But before that I saw him hooked up to machines and scared, a sniveling crybaby. You know what he said?”
Roman’s cuffs clanked.
Lily thought of what Berta would do, how she would act in this crazy situation, and made herself brittle and scornful. “My brother’s last wish was that I go through with something he cooked up. Did you know anything about it?”
“It? It, what?”
She lowered her voice. “He said he could get us some money and I could start over. No one would be…hurt.”
Her father’s eager expression didn’t change. Lily’s breakfast threatened to reappear. She swallowed and forced herself to be Berta. “I had a quick errand to run first, that day, the one with the visit to those people. I had an accident. But I’m better now. I just don’t know what to do, now that he’s dead.”
“Wh-what were you supposed to do?” Roman breathed in and out, shallow and quick, like a trapped mouse.
“I was supposed to meet him at the turnout, you remember, down at mile four on the scenic road? Do you know where he was going to take me after that?”
“He was taking you somewhere?”
What was happening here? Lily sat back and crossed her legs. Cam was right. She shouldn’t have come. But dear old dad was knee deep in the mess. She knew that with all her heart. Kenny…for Kenny and all the other lost people, she could pull this off. She had to. The guard never moved. She took a deep breath and leaned forward again, over the table, the hurt going heart-deep over Kingston’s murder that Cam finally told her about this morning. The news hadn’t changed her resolve at all, but she’d rather not dwell on it now or she’d lose control.
“If I go out that way again, say, to a friend’s house out in the woods, a friend like Kingston Findley, next to”—m she flicked her eyes toward the guard—“those new neighbors, the ones Art told me about, would that help? Since…since Findley is on vacation, he won’t mind.”
A tic made her father’s eyelid flutter. “Kingston Findley is on vacation? That’s nice. Art’s friends want to interview you for a job. I told them all about you. You could meet at Kingston’s place.”
Job interview? That’s what they called it? She studied him. Sweat beaded his upper lip and his hands trembled. Was he on drugs or something? Or was this code for “not really involved”? Nothing he said so far would indicate he was anything but a loving father glad to see his daughter. Nothing would indicate that he knew Findley was a charred hulk. Neither did he apparently care to learn anything about his other daughter and grandchild. She wasn’t about to enlighten him.
“Tell them I’m free the day after tomorrow.”
SIXTY-ONE
Tuesday, December 26
Lily stood still in her living room, arms held out for takeoff. After the chaos of yesterday, Georgia took Kenny with them to Kidz World to ride the bumper cars and play games and eat junk. Lily wished she was ten years old too.
She couldn’t bear the thought of food or coffee since the call from her father last night, a stilted happy holidays wish and a throat-clearing message that she was set for a nine o’clock interview the next morning. Cam’s icy hands shook as he helped Agent Forbes tape the wires to the inside of her collar and run them down inside her turtleneck shirt. She tried not to flinch.
“She thinks she can be a hero,” Cam muttered for the thirtieth time. Even Forbes stopped sending him thin-lipped disapproving glances.
“I am a hero, and don’t you forget it,” Lily told him. “Easy on the tape. Seriously.” While they fiddled with the wires, she dissected the conversation she and Cam shared the other night in her room. It was true. When two people clicked, it was meant to be. Except she was sure something terrible was going to happen. Like with Laura, the other woman Cam had proposed to. “Hey, on TV these things always go down at night, in the dark,” she said. “Not at the start of business hours.”
“We’re done,” Forbes said. “Step back, please. We’ll do a test check. Say something in your normal voice.”
“Alone in the woods, no one can hear you scream.” Lily watched Cam out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t smile, not that she expected him to. “Lighten up, already. We’ll be home by noon, free of these weasels once and for all.” She rubbed her knuckles along his smoothly-shaven jaw. “Look at this way. We already scored by putting Andersen away. And it’s Boxing Day. It’s a sign.”
Cam rolled his eyes.
“Let’s go,” Forbes said.
* * *
In her own car on the way out to Kingston’s, Lily kept up a running stream of out-loud consciousness, knowing the others were listening to her. “So, I’m at the city limits now. Old Hap Pendergast hasn’t cleared the end of his driveway yet. Can’t see his mailbox, but I can see snowmobile tracks.”
They decided not to risk an earpiece for her, no matter how tiny, because it would make her movements unnatural if she reacted to a voice in her ear that might be picked up by another receiver. Since the Limms, and no one bothered to make other
assumptions after Lily’s report of the stilted conversation with Roman, were supposedly communications and security experts, they could figure out she was wired for sound.
Cam had started tearing off the microphone once he’d heard that, but she’d stopped him. “Remember, I’m not getting that close,” she’d told him.
Out loud, she said, “Shouldn’t the CIA be involved, Agent Forbes, if we’re talking international? The Limms’ business has ‘International’ in its title. Or would that count as too many cooks in your kitchen?” She didn’t mind ribbing Forbes from a distance. Some of his humor had tarnished since Stewart’s shooting, but he was still there, under that angry grief.
“Not that I don’t think you got this covered. You and all your friends.”
Supposedly, the woods around Kingston’s had been invaded by goons last night. She’d been instructed not to move her head around too much more than normal.
“Don’t worry, I won’t look around. I won’t act like I’m talking to myself or anyone else.”
She passed the driveway where Cam had left the Jeep. Not your fault, Cam. I don’t blame you. Minerva’s got your back if the Ramirezes think otherwise.
“Creepy how so much cruelty goes on right under our noses, isn’t it? In the news—all those cases about kidnapping, torture. Women, young girls being abused and kept captive, right in regular neighborhoods. Those tourists going missing—you think you’ll ever find them? My sister…”
Better shut up. Don’t move your lips in case they’re watching.
Job interview, Dad? I’ll give them the job interview of a lifetime.
She recited all the details of her resume, all the birthdays she recalled of the family, mentally reviewed Cam’s family and the facts she recalled from Bonnie’s diary to keep herself somewhat calm on the drive. She slowed when she got to Cam’s driveway, kept going to the corner, and turned. So close, she’d been so close to Kingston when she’d run from Art. She shivered. So close to missing Cam.
Kingston’s driveway wasn’t as long as Cam’s. She drove in slowly, bumping in snow ruts. Lots of action in and out since the blizzard. Probably most of it from the night Kingston had drugged her and brought her here. Last Monday? She pressed her lips tight and stopped in front of the garage. Waited as the car’s engine ticked in the cold air. The car clock read nine on the dot. She was nothing if not prompt.
The day was overcast. Low, dirty clouds slung across the tree tops, sluggish, like she felt. Lily opened the door and got out, setting her feet down firmly so she wouldn’t slip on the ice of the driveway. Something was wrong. Mentally, she chanted one of Rosalind’s lines she remembered from reading the play. “I would I were at home. I would I were at home.”
No dog. Rayna. Where was she? Should she call? Poor thing was probably frightened off that night Kingston had brought her here.
“Rayna?” Her voice was so weak it was a joke. No dog would come if called like that. Lily cleared her throat and tried again. “Here, girl! Rayna!”
No answering bark. She looked around the yard. That was natural, wasn’t it? Searching for Kingston’s pet.
A branch of rusty oak leaves rustled and she jumped. Of course a branch would rustle! Stop acting like a victim. Go on. She walked to the door, rapped. The action didn’t hurt much through her heavy mittens. She rapped again. Idiot—everyone knew he was gone. On vacation, like she said. She gripped the door handle with the leather palm of the mitten and twisted. Opening a few inches, she called inside, “Hello?” She peeked in then stepped back quickly, as if she expected a booby trap to explode. Fat lot of good being a step away would do.
She walked right in. There was little light, so she held the door open until her eyes adjusted. This was not the Forest of Arden, that’s for sure, dear Rosalind. What have you gotten yourself into? The rocking chairs looked like they needed to tell her something desperately. She hoped the agents on the other end of her wire couldn’t hear her heart hammering.
The agents staking out the cabin were awfully good. Lily didn’t suspect a thing. Didn’t even sense any—
A match scraped across the stove. She’d recognized that sound forever from her father and Art, and even Cam lighting his stove. A brief flare of flame illuminated a face on the other side of the stove. Where she’d seen only an old afghan earlier, a man sat in one of Kingston’s rockers, casually lighting a cigarette. Cruel narrow eyes, dark hair, high flat cheekbones. Hard to tell the age, but that was often the case with Asians.
“Mr. Limm? I’m Lily Masters. My father sent me for the-the job interview. I brought my resume. Shall I-I hand it to you? Right there, as you sit in that rocking chair?”
If that didn’t get the feds coming, what would? Lily’s heart raced even faster.
“I know why you’ve come,” he said in a breathy, low voice. “The real question is, do you? The…client I have in mind for your work has particular tastes. You’ll need to disrobe so I can inspect the merchandise.”
“Are you kidding?” Lily’s voice hitched. If she’d wondered about Forbes and Cam blowing the Limms’ operation out of proportion, her delusion was over. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I-I’m just an editor. Fr-from Minn-Minneapolis.”
The man raised his fingers. From the shadows under the stairs, a powerfully built monster shuffled forward, straining to carry a hog-tied captive by the scruff of the neck. He reached an arm around to grab the victim’s hair.
Ole.
Lily put her hand over her mouth and panted through her nose. She stared. Was he… His face was puffed and bloodied, but, there, his throat moved. Eyelashes quivered as though he tried to open a lid.
The man in the rocker laughed and stood. He glided toward Ole and held out the burning cigarette. “Do I need to make introductions? No?”
She shook her head. What…what if the Limms had gotten to all the others? How could…? This kind of stuff wasn’t real. She had to alert Forbes, some signal he would catch without giving away her microphone.
“Don’t hurt him! Ole!” She called his name before someone reached from behind her to crush cold leather-gloved fingers against her windpipe. Ow! Rage chased the terror, and a longing to breathe sent her elbow into the figure holding her. The gloved hand pressed harder.
Little dots danced in her vision and her face grew hot. Kick? Backward? Maniac!
“Annalise.” The man flicked his ash in Ole’s hair.
Pressure eased. Lily grabbed her throat and hunched over, gasping. “All the world’s a stage,” she croaked through her bruised throat. Maybe they’d think it was a code and get nervous—hurt her or worse, Ole, but she had to try. She straightened and faced Limm.
“This isn’t what I thought,” she said, the wounded vocal cords making her voice reedy. “I’ll just be going now. My-my references aren’t that good.”
The man laughed. “Very entertaining. Let’s find out who else is listening, shall we?” He held out the cigarette, signaling his accomplice.
Fingers ripped at the collar of her coat, then all the way down the side of her turtleneck, exposing the little microphone. This time, Lily lashed out with her right hand, trying to backhand the person behind her, but slashed through empty air.
Ole’s body fell in a heap on the floor. The man in the rocker stood, dropped the cigarette, and mashed it out on the floor. He approached Lily who went rigid with fear, expecting a knife in her gut or across her neck. Maybe the stick of a hypodermic. She clutched her torn shirt together.
Instead, he let his fingers stroke her cheek and move all the way down her chest. She held her breath. He chuckled. “They’ll find your other friends, don’t worry. I don’t trust my sister to leave them intact, though, as my brother who likes to play with them later.”
“That won’t happen,” Lily said, struggling to make her voice louder than a whisper. “They’re trained—”
Shouts and rapid gunfire from outside made his eyes flicker.
“Too bad. The client likes to expe
riment.” He clucked his tongue. “Top dollar. I should take you with me.”
Lily looked past him at the window, trying not to gag at the scent of him, a cloying and oppressive odor of burned tobacco and antiseptic, tensed to resist with all she had.
The outside door slammed before Lily could blink. How had he moved so quickly? She rushed to Ole as soon as she found her nerve. “Hey, big guy!” She pressed her fingers on the vein of his throat and groaned at the weak, slow pulse. She tested the knots and knew she’d have to cut them. First…where was the cavalry? The Limms were getting away.
Barking dogs added to the ruckus outside. Lily slipped to the door and peered around the edge. A flash of white and gray, along with the red-brown she’d come to love in Lear and the black hide of Iago, surrounded a man who kept trying to fling himself forward. Rayna, Kingston’s dog, clamped her teeth on his pant leg. Limm—the one who’d spoken to her.
Another suited figure charged through the woods from the direction of Cam’s place, and three others converged from different directions. Lily quickly pulled back until she realized she recognized at least one of the men. She stepped onto the porch, intending to call for help for Ole.
“No! Get back, Lily!”
Sven kept running full tilt. A shot rang out and he dropped.
“Sven!” Lily clutched the door frame. “No!” Four more shots were fired. She could no longer control her breathing and knew she was going to pass out. Spots swam, and she slid to the ground.
“Lily!” Sven appeared before her.
“I’m so sorry I killed you,” she whispered. “Did I get shot too? Are we…are we—”
“We ain’t dead, Lil. Cut it out now.” He helped her sit up.
“I saw you get shot.” She reached out to touch his cheek.
“Wasn’t me. I just hit the ground.”
“Then who?”
“Fella the dogs nabbed.”
“It was him. One of the Limms. Did you get the others?”
“What others?” Agent Forbes loomed over them, carrying a rifle.
Understory Page 31