High Deceit

by C. E. Waterman

  Oscar lowered his gaze.

  Donovan leaned against the bed, his gun not wavering. “So, it was a hit.” He glared at Oscar. “Was this your first one?”

  No answer.

  Donovan smirked. “Did anyone ever tell you, you might not be cut out for this line of work?”

  Mark and Peter laughed.

  The man’s face reddened, but still he kept silent.

  Ten minutes passed before the elevator dinged. The sound of an army of footsteps rang in the hall. Evans and Rodriguez escorted Oscar out. Anderson took Jack’s place at the door, and Daniels waited in Mark’s room.

  After handing over his prisoner, Peter left the room to check on Jack. He was still out.

  Walking down the hall, Peter searched the rooms at the end of the hall. Still empty, no other threats remained. He continued to the stairwell and stepped through the door, his gaze sweeping up and down the steps.

  He heard Donovan on the phone. “I need a favor,” he said.

  Peter returned to Mark’s room in time to hear Daniels taking Mark’s statement.

  Dr. Zimmerman was waiting. “I hear we’ve had some excitement tonight.”

  Donovan came back in the room. “I didn’t realize they would get you out of bed. I expected to get the doctor on call.”

  He laughed. “Nurse Ryan knows to call me if something critical happens involving one of my patients. I’ve examined Mark, and he’s doing fine. I don’t think this will affect his recovery.” He started to go.

  “Wait, doc. I’m taking him out of here.”

  The doctor stopped. He didn’t say anything at first but then swiveled. “I guess I can see the wisdom in that. I was going to release him tomorrow anyway.” He scanned Mark. “Where do you want me to call in your prescription?”

  Mark glanced up at Donovan. “Just write a script, would you, Doc?”

  Zimmerman nodded. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

  When he was gone, Peter sat next to the bed. Sitting felt good, even if just for a minute. “I think you scared Nurse Ryan to death, pulling your monitor wires off, Mark. Good thinking. It certainly got her attention. Now, tell us what happened.”

  Mark leaned back on his pillows. “After you left, Chief, Jack came in to use the bathroom. We talked for a second, and then he went into the hall. I got your text, Peter, so when I heard the handle click I thought it was you. Instead, this man came in and fiddled with his jacket.” Mark took a breath. “I don’t know why, but it spooked me. I rolled off the bed, and something hit my pillow. I scooted under and yanked the cords off my chest, mostly to get them out of the way, and I was kind of hoping someone would notice.” He grinned. “He must have been heading around to the side of the bed when you came in and hit him with the door. What made you come? I’m glad you did, but why? Did you suspect something?”

  “No, nothing so complicated.” Peter chuckled. “I wanted to talk to you about Joey. We can do it later though.”

  Donovan went to the door and opened it. “Peter, help him get dressed. Mark, you’ll be safer if you’re out of here before anyone knows you’re gone.”

  26

  Peter didn’t ask where they were going, although he was dying to know. The chief wasn’t in the mood to elaborate, so he’d find out soon enough.

  Mark struggled into some pants, still wearing the hospital gown.

  “Where’s your shirt?” Peter asked. Then he remembered it was probably being tested for gun residue.

  “It’s gone. Probably wasn’t wearable anyway.”

  Peter pictured a shirt soaked with blood. “You’ll just have to wear the gown for now. I can get you some clothes later.”

  Mark switched the gown around so the opening was in the front, and tucked the bottom half into his pants. “This’ll have to do. Any idea where we’re going?”

  “Not a clue. I don’t think we’ll know ’til we get there.” Peter grabbed the rest of Mark’s belongings, threw Mark’s coat over his shoulders, and hurried him out a door at the back of the hospital.

  The chief helped load him into the SUV then led in his own. Peter finally had a chance to think. These people must be crazy. What kind of desperation did it take to walk right into a guarded room and kill a cop?

  Donovan drove high and deep into the mountains, the roads so twisting Peter couldn’t have found his own way back. Good thing Libby had GPS; he’d need it. He glanced over.

  Mark was asleep, his jaw slack, features drained of tension. Good. The more rest he got, the better.

  The chief slowed onto a dirt road and followed it for a couple of miles before turning onto a narrower dirt road, which ended up being a driveway.

  Mark opened his eyes when they parked behind Donovan. “Where are we?”

  “I have no idea.” Peter rolled the window down as Donovan got out of his vehicle. “Is this yours? I didn’t know you had a cabin.”

  “It belongs to a friend of mine.” Donovan opened Mark’s door and helped him out. “He’s meeting us here."

  An old blue pickup glinted in the porch light. The front door opened, and a big man, with an even bigger smile, lumbered out. “Welcome. Come on in.”

  “Lenny, meet Mark and Peter. Guys, this is one of my oldest and best friends.”

  Lenny hefted a cooler out of the pickup. “Hey, watch who you’re calling old there, buddy.”

  Donovan laughed. “Honestly, Lenny, I appreciate this.”

  “Yes,” Mark spoke up. “I can’t thank you enough for letting me impose on you this way.”

  “It’s not an imposition. Pat Donovan’s friends are always welcome here.” Lenny ushered them into a cozy living room with a roaring fire.

  “You must have gotten here fast,” the chief said.

  “It didn’t take me long to find a replacement at the center. So all I had to do was stop for provisions and head on up. I know it’s early for breakfast, but how about some flapjacks?”

  Peter’s mouth watered. “How can I help?”

  “You can get us some orange juice and set the table. I keep some stuff here, so I don’t have to haul it back and forth.” He pulled out a skillet and placed it on the stove. “Pat, do you want breakfast before you head back?”

  Peter faced the chief. “Are you going back tonight?”

  “Yeah, but breakfast sounds too good to miss.”

  Flapjacks became more than pancakes and included bacon, eggs, and toast.

  Peter scooted away from the table stuffed, and by the look of it, so was everyone else.

  Mark placed both hands on his stomach. “Man, that tasted good. Much better than the hospital food I’ve had the last couple of days.”

  Lenny, sopping up syrup with a corner of toast, jerked his attention from his now-clean plate. “I hope I didn’t feed you anything you weren’t supposed to eat.”

  Mark grinned. “Well, I ate it, so it’s my own fault if it comes back up. But I don’t think it will. I feel pretty good right now.”

  Lenny rose to clear the table, and they all jumped up to help. “Pat, you’d better get on down the road. Don’t worry about this. We’ve got it.”

  The rustic log cabin offered no dishwasher. Peter searched the cabinet for dish soap and filled the sink while Lenny scraped crumbs into the trash and set it next to the door. “I’ll take that down with me when I leave.”

  Mark carried dishes to the sink, but with one good arm, it wasn’t going fast. He glanced at Lenny. “Take it where?”

  Lenny grabbed a towel and started drying. “A garbage facility in town.”

  Mark laughed. “No home pickup here, eh?”

  Lenny stacked the plates. “If you put it outside, the bears get it. Then they know they can find food in the cabins. Not a good idea. We’re required to use the bear-proof containers in town. There’s a hefty fine if they catch you putting your trash outside.”

  Clinking silverware rattled in the sink. Were there bears outside? Peter cringed. At least he had his gun. Although, wouldn’t a bullet just m
ake a bear mad?

  Better think of something else. “How do you know the chief, Lenny? Sounds like you’re pretty good friends.”

  “We are. We were partners in Denver many years ago. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Pat Donovan.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were called to a possible domestic dispute. A neighbor heard a man screaming at his wife and thought she heard him threaten to kill her. He had a history of slapping her around, so the neighbor worried. The guy let us in, and when we asked to see her, he said she left.” Lenny paused with a plate in his hand and leaned against the counter. “You should have seen the place. It was trashed—broken glass all over the floor, pictures hanging sideways on the walls, and a lamp lying in pieces in the corner. Pat looked at me and I looked at him, and we advanced toward that bedroom door.” Lenny placed the dry plate on the stack.

  Mark stopped wiping the table.

  Peter turned to listen, sponge resting on the half-clean glass in his hand.

  “He started yelling about what we were doing, asking us if we had a warrant, screaming we couldn’t go in there. Pat didn’t like the fact that he was yelling. Later, he said it seemed like the guy was trying to warn someone. Anyway, we got to the door, and Pat yanked me sideways just as a bullet splintered the wood, right where I would’ve been standing. The guy who answered the door wasn’t the homeowner. He was the shooter’s brother.”

  Mark resumed wiping the table.

  Peter released a breath. He finished the glass and set it on the counter.

  “The brother lived in the basement and came up when he heard a gunshot. The husband confessed to shooting his wife when he found out she was pregnant with another man’s child.” Lenny shook his head. “What a mess. Domestics are the worst.” He slid the stack of plates in a cabinet. “So that’s how he saved my life. We’ve been pretty tight ever since. He thinks it was a reflex, but I know it was God.”

  Peter was sure he was right. He finished the dishes, pulled the plug, and let water run out of the sink. Lenny seemed to come back from wherever the memory had taken him. “Enough talk. We need to get you to bed, Mark. You look half dead, pardon the expression.”

  And he did. A strong wind would knock Mark over. He almost swayed on his feet. Lenny made Mark sit while he threw some sheets on a bed in one of the bedrooms. Mark said good night, went in, and closed the door.

  Peter was so tired he thought he could sleep standing up, but he found the energy to fight with Lenny over taking the couch. Still, Peter lost the argument.

  27

  Robin hung up the phone with a shaky hand. Only two o’clock, but no way could she go back to sleep now. How could this happen? How did they get to Mark through a police guard? She wrapped her robe tight and splashed some water on her face. Should she wake Mark’s parents or let them sleep and tell them later?

  Ed stood in the hall outside the guest room door, saving her the decision. Eyes hooded, he held the banister as if bracing for bad news. “Was that the hospital? Is Mark all right?”

  “That was Mark, actually,” she spoke quickly to calm him.

  Ed released a breath and eased his death-grip on the banister. Standing there in his PJs, he seemed frail. This must be such a strain for him. Please, God, don’t let him have a heart attack. And give me the best way to tell him. He wouldn’t thank her for shielding him. “Mark’s fine, but they’ve moved him somewhere else. There was an attempt on his life.”

  Ed inhaled another sharp breath and blanched.

  Silvia’s exclamation burst from the bedroom—not a word, but a sound deep in her throat. The door opened wider, and she peered out.

  “It appears someone drugged Jack’s coffee and went into Mark’s room and shot at him,” Robin said. “God saved him in the form of Peter and Chief Donovan.” She cleared her throat. “They have the guy in custody, but the chief didn’t want to leave Mark there.”

  Silvia stepped out.

  “Where did they take him?” Ed asked.

  “He called from the hospital. He didn’t know where he was going, but he said he was fine and not to worry. He sounded tired but promised he was unhurt. All I know is Peter is with him.”

  They headed downstairs for tea and toast, none able to go back to bed.

  After breakfast, she proceeded to her home office and sighed at all the stuff on her desk. She checked her watch. Concentrating on work might get her through the next hours until she could call Libby. Once Libby’s kids left for school, Libby might have some time to talk. She’d try her cell phone. Maybe Peter told her something Mark missed.

  She worked until seven thirty, cleaning her desk and organizing what had piled there all week. Then she let her muscles relax in a warm shower, the heat calming her. At least this eliminated Chief Donovan from her suspects. After all, it couldn’t be him, not since he’d saved Mark’s life. Although wouldn’t that be the perfect way to get to Mark? Move him from the hospital to who knows where? No. Don’t even think it. Peter was with him, and she trusted Peter.

  She finished her shower, called good-bye to her in-laws, and left. Maggie’s was on the way. Robin had filled her in on the phone, and she’d agreed to come along. When they arrived, Libby ushered them inside, a full pot of coffee waiting. Robin tucked one foot under her as she sat at the round kitchen table. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What do you know?”

  Libby handed her coffee. “I don’t know any more than you do. Peter left for the hospital late last night, wanting to talk to Mark. He called telling me someone tried to kill Mark and they were moving him. Peter is staying with Mark and won’t be home for a few days.”

  Robin blew on her coffee. “Did he say where they were taking him?”

  Libby poured a cup for Maggie and then one for herself. “He didn’t know. Someplace the chief picked out.”

  Robin curled her hands around her cup for warmth. “Is that all he said? He didn’t say how they were protecting him?”

  Libby tipped some milk into her cup. “No, honey, he didn’t. When Mark called, was he on his cell phone?”

  “Yeah. He said he was turning it off so I wouldn’t be able to reach him.” How could they just sit here drinking coffee while Mark was in danger? But then what else could they do?

  Libby splashed in more milk, took another sip, and nodded. “What exactly did he tell you?”

  “Not much. He said someone shot at him, but he was all right. They caught the guy, but the chief doesn’t want to take any chances.” She lifted her gaze to her friend’s face. “Libby, what if they can’t protect him?”

  Libby gave her hand a squeeze and sat back. “I’m sure he’s all right. If the chief isn’t telling anyone but Peter, then you know he’s taking every precaution.”

  Robin twisted her hands. “The problem is, if they’re both guarding Mark, and they don’t trust anyone else, who’s looking for the killer?”

  28

  Oscar stared at the cinderblock wall of his jail cell. The white paint was peeling in some places. His fingers itched to pick at it. How long would it take before he got his phone call? Maybe he wouldn’t get one. Trying to kill a cop, he was lucky no one had touched him yet. The chief was known as a straight arrow though, so they probably didn’t have brutality with him in charge.

  He was going to prison. No way he’d rat out the others. Not that he wouldn’t like to. At least to enlighten the cops about Carlo, the little weasel. It was a bad plan, and he knew it. Had he wanted Oscar to get caught? What kind of game was he playing?

  Bad plan or not, nobody said no to Carlo. People didn’t live long who tried. Somebody needed to take him out, and someday somebody would. Too bad he wouldn’t be there to see it. He’d face twenty years once they figured out how many charges they could rack up. And the guard. What did the girl do to him? If he died, it would be a murder rap. He’d never see the light of day, even though it wasn’t him that done it.

  Hours passed before someone came to get him. Two people, a dark-haired guy
and a blonde took him to a room, read him his rights, and began to question him. They probably said their names, but he couldn’t remember.

  The guy asked his name and address for the record. A recorder purred on the table. He answered the questions—after all, they had his wallet with his driver’s license.

  Then the guy got serious. “Who paid you to kill Mark Clayton?”

  Oscar said nothing.

  “Did you know he’s a cop?”

  Nothing.

  “It won’t help you to protect them, you know. They wouldn’t if it was them in here,” the blonde chirped.

  She was right, but he made his face into stone. They could try to make him talk, but he was tough. He’d wait it out. Sooner or later, they’d have to let him go back to his cell. She placed her elbows on the table. “So, Oscar, how about the green sedan in your garage? Is it yours?”

  He should have known they’d check his place out before questioning him.

  “You know we’re adding another attempted murder to your sheet, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t try to kill the wife.” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat.

  “Ah, he speaks.” He didn’t care if she was attractive; Blondie had an attitude. “So if you didn’t try to kill her, what were you trying to do?”

  “I just wanted to scare her a little.”

  “Why? What did she do to you?”

  He decided to wipe the smug smile off her face. “She’s a cop’s wife, that’s what. Living high on the hog while other people have to work hard. But I’m not answering no more of your questions.”

  They screamed and yelled, smiled and coaxed, but he didn’t say another word. When they threatened him, he didn’t budge. He shouldn’t have talked at all. He was supposed to sit and say nothing. That’s what they always tell you: “Don’t say nothing.” But it kind of made him mad. If he’d been trying to kill her, she’d be dead. And if those cops hadn’t come in, Clayton would be dead, too, and none of this would be happening.

  No more boring drives following that stupid lady and no more worrying about how he could kill a cop. Getting caught was almost a relief. At least he didn’t have to worry about Carlo now. Unless he squealed. Then whoever they had on the force would turn him in, and Carlo would find a way to get him. Even in here.