by Karen Rose
“Italian restaurant,” Paige whispered back. “Good carbonara.”
“I don’t want to endanger Giuseppe or his family,” Grayson said to Joseph.
“Don’t worry. I’ve used his place a few times. He’s… okay with it.”
That’s all Joseph said, and although Paige wanted to know more, she didn’t ask.
“I’ll call Anderson,” Grayson said. “I’ll also tell Stevie that we don’t need her to arrange an undercover op. But only if you don’t go alone.”
“I’ll ask Clay,” Paige said. “He can play Daphne’s bodyguard. He does bodyguard work anyway, so he’ll be believable. And capable.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek when he looked unconvinced. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Go make your calls.”
She watched him go, then placed her call to Clay. He was terse as usual, especially when he learned of Grayson’s meeting with Anderson. But he was ultimately supportive.
“My partner will be here in twenty,” she told Daphne. “While we wait, we should plan our attack. You’ll need to be curious about the MAC program.”
“I can be very curious,” Daphne said. “What do we want to achieve?”
“I want to get the kids’ names, the year they participated, and the school they came from, so I can search for wherever they are now. Plus I want the group photos. They ran the program for sixteen years with a dozen kids each year. That’s a lot of potential victims. Then we start looking for patterns, similarities. Anything that jumps out at us.”
“You’re still assuming Crystal was molested,” Joseph said. “Maybe she saw something. A murder maybe.”
“Do you really think so?” Paige asked.
“No, but if you’re looking for only one thing, you could miss something else.”
“Understood,” Paige said. Her mind raced ahead. “I’m going to need a microcamera. I’d be happier snapping photos of her files than outright stealing them.”
“I have a camera you can use,” Joseph said and Paige smiled.
“Somehow I thought you just might.”
Grayson came back in the room, his body tense. “Anderson agreed to meet. And I told Stevie the truth.”
“What did she say?” Paige asked softly.
“She was a little stunned. Then angry that Anderson would try to use it against me. Then a little mad I hadn’t trusted her with it years ago.” He smiled weakly. “Then I told her about Daphne. I left her sputtering, but not mad.”
Daphne’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
“One more time,” Grayson murmured and met Daphne’s eyes. “I’m trusting you.”
Daphne plucked at her dress self-consciously. “I trusted you.”
“True. But my secret is a little darker than yours. My father was Antonio Sabatero. He killed fourteen women. My mother and I discovered the body of his last victim and… needed to escape the situation. She protected me. She hid me. She changed our names. Anderson found out. Threatened to expose me if I didn’t back off this case.”
Daphne lowered herself into a chair. “Okay. You win. Yours is bigger than mine.”
“I’m going to see what it’ll take to guarantee his silence,” Grayson added.
“But what if he doesn’t bite?” Daphne asked.
Paige met Grayson’s eyes, held them. “Radcliffe hasn’t had a story in nearly twelve hours. Poor man might just go into withdrawal. You could give him one to run with.”
Grayson’s smile had a razor edge. “You’re sneaky. That’s so hot.”
Paige pecked his lips. “If Anderson doesn’t take your bribe, call him out on the case fixing he did with Bond. Let him try to explain. Then let Radcliffe tear him apart on the five o’clock news. You’ll need to be prepared to go public with your own story, though. You back Anderson into a corner and he’s going to make good on his threat.”
“I’m ready. Every time I tell the story, it gets easier.”
“Then, let’s get busy. We have lots to do, the least of which is me having to change my clothes so my new undies don’t show.”
“You want to raid my closet?” Daphne asked.
“Ohhh, so tempting,” Paige muttered. “But no.” Time to grow up, girl. “I think if I go to pitch a martial arts school, I need to look like a martial artist.”
Grayson’s smile warmed, pride in his eyes. “Dusting off the gi?”
She nodded, hard. “Yes.”
“Bloodstains and all?” he asked.
“I have a spare gi. It’s… unstained. I was going to have to put the gi back on eventually. I couldn’t teach Holly and the others without it. I’m just doing it a little sooner. Besides, if you go public with your story, I’ll make my peace with mine.”
Thursday, April 7, 1:15 p.m.
Stevie stared straight ahead for a full minute after hanging up with Grayson. Of all the secrets she’d considered he’d share, being the son of a serial killer was not among them. But it answered so many questions, least of which was the source of his dedication to the victims and their families.
She picked up the request for an undercover operation she’d just filled out and slowly tore it in half. Daphne? Stevie wouldn’t believe it until she saw it herself.
And then her humor fled. He was meeting Anderson.
Fury roiled in her gut along with a healthy dose of fear. Stevie knew Grayson could handle himself. She’d seen him box at the gym. Knew he knew how to use a firearm.
And Joseph would be behind the scenes, keeping things under control, but still…
She thought about Clay Maynard. Wondered if he’d found anything out about Anderson. She stared at her cell phone, working up the courage to call him.
The man did things to her insides. Things she wasn’t ready to deal with. Not now and maybe not ever. But this was for Grayson. Any information Grayson had going into this meeting would thicken his armor. He would do the same for me.
Her cell buzzed. It’s him. Of course it was. “Mazzetti,” she said crisply.
“It’s Maynard. Did you know your pal was confronting his boss in two hours?”
“Yes. He just told me. I was about to call you. Did you find anything?”
Across their desks, J.D. gave her a puzzled look. Stevie just shook her head.
“Yes, I did,” Maynard said. “How I got it wasn’t terribly pretty.”
“I figured on that.”
“Just so you don’t come crying about it later.”
“More likely I’d slap the cuffs on you.” Her cheeks heated. “You know what I mean.”
His chuckle was like dark chocolate. Sinful and smooth. “You want this info or not, Mazzetti? Last chance to back away from the poisonous tree.”
She hesitated for about a second. “Tell me.”
“I found three bank accounts in Anderson’s name. Two were full. One was a lot emptier. The two full ones together came to half a million bucks.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “Wait.” She gave J.D. a “later” signal, then found an empty meeting room and closed the door. “Can you trace where the money came from?”
“Not yet. Half of it comes from the same place. All wire transfers from the same account. The last transfer happened four years ago.”
“That’s when Bob Bond the defense attorney died. Grayson found evidence that they’d been fixing cases between them.”
“That answers that, then. The other half comes from wire transfers at all different times over the last four years, all different amounts. Tracing that cash flow won’t be easy. But I think the third, smaller account will be of more interest to you.”
“Why?”
“It held forty grand yesterday. A wire transfer went out this morning in the amount of thirty grand. It was wired to an account held by Doris Kapansky.”
“Harlan’s mother. Anderson arranged the hit. I should be far more shocked.”
“Now you have to find a way to legally acquire that information.”
“I’ll figure something out. Thank you, Mr.
Maynard. Thank you very much.”
“You really need to thank my assistant, who’s getting scary good at the computer stuff. I have to go. I’m playing bodyguard for Paige. We’re going to Reba McCloud’s.”
“I’m a MAC, loud and proud,” she murmured. She went back to her desk to find J.D. “I need lunch.”
“You just ate a sandwich,” he objected. “You gave half of it to me.”
“So I’m still hungry,” she said and saw he understood. “Come on.”
When they were in J.D.’s car, she told him what she knew. “We need to be at the restaurant in case Anderson does something we can arrest him for. We can catch Grayson at his house before he leaves and coordinate.”
Twenty-one
Thursday, April 7, 1:45 p.m.
Standing in front of his dresser mirror, Grayson straightened his tie while Joseph tugged at his suit coat, making sure no wires showed.
“You’re done.” Joseph backed away. “How does it feel?”
“I can’t even tell the wire’s there,” Grayson said. “How will you record me?”
“The equipment’s set up in Giuseppe’s office. I use it from time to time.”
“I’ve been eating at Giuseppe’s for years. How did I not know he was an agent?”
“Because he’s not. I did him a favor a while back and he’s grateful.”
Grayson shifted, trying to get comfortable in the Kevlar. “I’m ready.”
“Are you sure?” Paige asked from the doorway.
She’d been scared since Stevie called with the revelation that Anderson truly had paid Kapansky to bomb his car. Grayson was more scared he’d climb over the table at Giuseppe’s and strangle Anderson with his bare hands.
He would have killed us. Killed Paige. Just thinking about it had his hands clenching into fists. One blow and the bastard would be down for the count. Except Grayson wasn’t sure he could stop at one blow. Pummeling the man’s skull to a bloody pulp had been running through his mind over and over again.
“I’m sure,” he said. “I could do nothing and be watching over my shoulder for the next week or month, waiting for someone to kill us. But I’m not willing to live that way.”
“Neither am I. I came to Baltimore to get away from living exactly like that. Joseph, can you give us a minute? And, like, take out the earpiece?”
Joseph put his earpiece on the dresser. “You’ve got five minutes. Don’t go, like, messing with his clothes. He’s wired.” He closed the door behind him.
Paige wrapped her arms around Grayson’s waist, but loosely. “Don’t want to mess with your clothes,” she muttered.
“Too bad. I wish you did.”
She looked up, her eyes bleak. His teasing hadn’t made a dent in her fear. “This started out being about me, but now it’s about you. I can’t help but feel responsible.”
“I know. I feel the same. But if none of this had happened, then you wouldn’t have come to my courtroom. And I never would have done this.”
He bent his head, kissing her hard and deep until he felt her body surrender and knew that for this moment he’d given her mind some ease.
“Grayson,” she whispered when he lifted his head. “Just… don’t get killed, okay?”
He felt the chuckle rise and was powerless to stop it. “Okay.”
She glared at him. “This isn’t funny.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I never considered ‘don’t get killed’ to be the words I’d want to hear at a time like this.”
A tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “What do you want to hear?”
“‘Oh baby, oh baby, let’s go to bed’ comes to mind. ‘Take me’ would also work.” He kissed her again, more seriously this time. “But ‘don’t get killed’ is somehow perfect. So, Paige, don’t get killed, okay?”
“Okay. When this is over, I promise to say the ‘oh baby’ line as often as you want.”
A car door slammed outside. “Somebody’s here. Either Clay or Stevie.”
“Let’s go, then.” She turned for the door, but he grabbed her hand.
“Wait. I, um, need another minute.”
She glanced at the bulge in his pants, her eyes widening. “Oh. Wow. Seriously.”
“You’re not helping.”
She looked up, a wicked sparkle in her eyes, a welcome relief from the fear that had been there before. “Seems a shame to waste that,” she said and licked her lips.
His brain scrambled. “The wire’s only from the waist up.”
A loud knock had them both jumping like guilty teenagers.
“Clay’s here,” Joseph called loudly through the door. “And don’t even think about messing with my wire, Paige.”
Paige laughed and Grayson groaned. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” she said, then opened the door, giving Joseph an annoyed pout. “Spoilsport.”
“Goddamn teenagers have more sense than you two.” Joseph pointed to Grayson. “You, hurry up and deflate. Stevie’s going to be here soon to give us coverage across town.” He replaced his earpiece. “Just in case something goes wrong.”
“‘Just in case’ is pretty damn deflating.” His cell rang and Grayson checked the caller ID. “I’ll be downstairs in a minute,” he told Joseph. “This is Smith,” he answered.
“Grayson, it’s Lucy Trask. I’m sorry I took so long to get back to you. I’ve had a few bodies pop up this morning and we’re shorthanded. I checked the report on Bob Bond, the suicide victim from four years ago. He also had high levels of barbiturates in his system at the time of death. Same as Denny Sandoval and same approximate level.”
Grayson sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of. Thanks for checking for me.”
“Wait,” Lucy said. “Don’t go yet. I need to tell you about one more.”
She did, Grayson staring at his reflection as her words sank in. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Lucy said. “I thought you should know.”
“Thank you,” Grayson said quietly, then went to join the others.
Paige took one look at him and froze. “What happened?”
“I got a call from Lucy Trask,” he said. He sat down, heavily. “Bob Bond had the same barbiturate in him when he died as Sandoval, same levels.”
“We expected that,” Paige said. She knelt next to his chair. “What’s wrong?”
“A victim was brought into the morgue this morning. She’d OD’d. The ME found barbiturate-laced chocolate in her stomach contents. The cops found a box that had held the chocolate on her nightstand.” He swallowed. “Next to my business card.”
Paige sat back, her dark brows knit. “Not Brittany?”
“No. Betsy Malone. She’s dead. She talked to us and now she’s dead.”
“Oh my God,” Paige whispered. “She’d just gotten clean. Fucking hell.”
“Okay,” Daphne said. “Who is Betsy Malone?”
“She was Rex’s friend,” Paige said. “They were in the video the McClouds provided as Rex’s alibi. Betsy talked to us last night. Told us she thought Rex might have done it. Reba knew that. She knew that before we came in this morning.”
For a moment they were silent. Then Clay spoke. “You still want to go through with this, Paige? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“She doesn’t want to,” Grayson said and leveled her a desperate stare. “You don’t.”
“Yes, I do.” Paige lifted her chin. “Betsy had a privileged life and threw it away. But she did not deserve to die. I have to go.”
Thursday, April 7, 2:00 p.m.
He dropped the duffel bag on the bed and unzipped it enough to see that Violet Dandridge still breathed. She did. “Leave her in the bag,” he instructed.
“She’s pretty.”
He looked up, saw the calculating gaze sizing up his new leverage. “She’s not yours. She belongs to Silas Dandridge.”
“I thought you were going to kill Silas.”
“I
will. But I need to bring him to me before he creates a lot of trouble I’d have to clean up. Speaking of cleaning up, you were lucky. Adele Shaffer is dead.”
“I’m not lucky. I’m thorough.”
“Adele was alive when you left her,” he said as patiently as he was able. “She died in the ambulance.” His paramedic source had been positive. Unfortunately he no longer had a source in the morgue. He’d have to acquire another one soon.
A shrug. “Then it’s fine.”
“This time. Look, I told you this before. People survive being stabbed in the torso. If you want to kill someone fast, go for the jugular or take a gun and shoot them in the head. Otherwise you leave messes that have to be fixed. By me.”
“You’ve been paid for all the fixing you’ve had to do.”
And he’d been paid well, but even more valuable had been the access to power. His acquiescence had bought him influence and control, the likes of which he’d never have found in the hovel from which he’d been plucked. I’m a MAC, he thought bitterly, loud and proud.
“You know I appreciate your generosity,” he murmured.
“Sometimes I wonder.”
He left the bag unzipped enough for the child to breathe. “Leave her alone. Please.”
“But she’s so pretty. What are you going to do with her after her father’s dead?”
“I’m not sure. She hasn’t seen my face.” He hadn’t removed the disguise he’d worn in Toronto until after he’d drugged her. “I’ll kill her if I have to, but I’d rather not.”
“Give her to me.”
He shook his head, knowing what would happen to the child. I have my faults, but sexual deviancy isn’t one of them. “She’s too young.”
“They all grow. You just have to be patient.”
“I’m patient,” he said, annoyed.
“No, you’re not. You never have been. It’s one of your more appealing qualities. You want what you want, when you want it. So you’ve taken risks. Reaped rewards. But you’ve also made yourself beholden and dependent. To me, for example.”
He bit back the sharp retort on his tongue. “She’s not your type.”
“I find we get less choosy the older we get. Don’t you agree?”
He saw the glitter of amusement and knew he was being baited. “I’ll be back to check on her in an hour. If she wakes up, give her another pill. No more than one.”