“No, sorry. We’ve been keeping the TV off.” Seemed like every hour, the media had an “update” on Congressman Baker’s condition or some new speculation on the estrangement between Baker and Beth. Or worse, someone had commented on the perils of having dangerous, mentally ill people on the loose. “The coverage has been brutal.”
The public was behind Congressman Baker one hundred percent.
Mike sighed, turned, and pulled out a chair. Metal scraped against rough stone. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just say it. Congressman Baker is dead.”
The silence that descended upon them was broken only by a pair of tweeting sparrows.
Jack shifted his gaze from Mike’s face to Beth’s. A tear spilled from her eye and rolled down her swollen cheek. For Baker? Or for what his death meant to her?
The chair squeaked as Mike leaned back and rolled his head on Atlas-like shoulders. “The autopsy will be this afternoon. He was in critical condition, but stable enough that the doctors were surprised when he kicked. A nurse had checked his vitals twenty minutes before he coded. Nothing indicated he was checking out.”
Mike pulled out his small black notebook. “I have to ask where both of you were last night.”
The lump in Jack’s throat swelled, and his heart skipped a beat. “We were here all night.” He’d questioned many people in his career, but he’d never been on the wrong side of an interview. His life had done a complete about-face.
“Any witnesses?” Mike asked.
“Just the kids and Mrs. Harris.” Jack stared at the police chief. “You can’t think Beth is in any condition to have driven down to Philadelphia last night?”
“It’s a possibility. I have to cover all the bases, Jack.” Mike scrubbed a hand down his face. “But I admit, given Beth’s physical condition, you’d be the more likely candidate. Those bruises stand out. Be hard for her to sneak into his room.” Mike paused. “The congressman died around seven thirty. Was Mrs. Harris here at that time?”
“Yeah.” Jack nodded. “We’d just finished dinner.”
“I’ll get her statement on my way out.” Mike closed the notebook and shoved it into his breast pocket. “I’d find the best criminal defense lawyer you can, Beth. Stafford Baker is on a media rampage against you.”
The last remaining bit of color drained from Beth’s pale face.
The police chief paused in front of the door. “If the autopsy’s clean and his cause of death is officially determined to be the gunshot wound, this time the charge would be murder.”
“If Baker’s autopsy is clean, Beth could be on the hook for his death. But if the autopsy turned something up, then I’m a suspect in his murder.”
“Yeah.” Mike nodded. “Either way, you’re fucked.”
A blue ribbon scrolled across the bottom of the television screen in James’s plush room at the Bellevue Hotel in Philadelphia. The words Congressman Richard Baker, dead at forty-three caught his attention. He set his coffee down and turned up the volume to better hear the breaking news report.
A pretty newswoman stood outside a hospital emergency room entrance. In the background, an ambulance pulled up to the door, red strobe lights flashing.
“We’re outside Hartman University Hospital, where Congressman Richard Baker was pronounced dead last night from a gunshot wound to the chest. The congressman was shot three days ago by his own wife, Elizabeth Baker—the same wife he’d been searching for since her mysterious disappearance last fall. According to sources close to the Baker family, Elizabeth was a former mental patient at this very hospital after she attempted to commit suicide…”
Blah, blah, blah. James tuned her out. An official account from anyone close to the Baker family was total bullshit.
The screen shifted to an interview with Stafford Baker. The former senator sat in a swiveling chair in the newsroom. A microphone was clipped to his navy suit jacket. For a man whose son had just died, Stafford looked immaculately groomed in a navy suit and blinding white shirt, with the prerequisite red power tie. Although polished and pressed, the strain was evident in the paleness of his skin, the repetitive clenching of one fist, and the puffy flesh around his eyes.
The interviewer turned to his guest. “Mr. Baker, you claim that the congressman was attacked by his estranged wife. She says he attacked her.”
Stafford Baker shook his head and frowned. “My son had recently located his wife. He wanted nothing more than to bring her home and get her help. He lived in fear for the children for almost a year. I’ve no doubt those ridiculous accusations against Richard will be dropped. He did nothing but try to be the best father and husband possible under the circumstances. Unfortunately, my daughter-in-law has a long history of mental illness. It runs in her family. Her father committed suicide. Without the proper medication, she’s a dangerous woman. Depressed, paranoid, and delusional. Her diagnosis was one of the reasons my son campaigned so hard for mandatory health-insurance coverage for treatment of mental illness. He realized that, given the cost of his wife’s inpatient stay, many uninsured or under-insured Americans would be unable to obtain professional help.”
The reporter leaned forward. “Then how do you explain the injuries Mrs. Baker suffered?”
“Elizabeth must have hurt herself. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Stafford eyes filled. “My son was a great man, destined for great things. He’s the victim here.” He took a shaky breath. “I bear my daughter-in-law no ill will. She’s sick. But for the sake of public safety, she needs to be locked away where she can’t hurt anyone else. It’s time this country stopped allowing potentially dangerous, mentally ill people to roam the streets.”
“Mr. Baker, before your son was killed, you’d been considering making another run for the Senate. What are your plans now?”
Baker straightened his shoulders. “I can’t make any decisions right now. My family needs time to grieve.”
Unbelievable. The bastard was still campaigning. He’d just shifted his focus from his son to himself. He was one smart son of a bitch, had covered his ass every way from Sunday. Beth couldn’t win. If she agreed with the doctors, she was nuts. Denying her official medical records made her look even crazier. Hell, if James didn’t know her, he’d believe Baker. Conspiracy theories were always hard to swallow.
But James knew Beth, and now he knew the Bakers as well. Both father and deceased son were rotten down to their stunted souls. Beth needed someone to play hardball for her, someone who’d play dirty. O’Malley was too much of a white hat. People like Stafford Baker didn’t play by the rules.
James fingered a flash drive barely larger than a stick of gum, the results of his extensive surveillance on Richard Baker. While the pictures and videos James had recorded with the tiny camera he’d hidden in the heating vent weren’t evidence of any illegal activity, he was pretty sure Stafford wouldn’t want these movies uploaded to YouTube any time soon.
Unless they wanted to change the name of Capital Hill to Brokeback Hill.
Now the only question was how to get a message to Stafford. If James could get the former senator to lay off Beth, she’d be OK. James glared at the distinguished-looking man sucking up media attention on the screen. A few full-color glossies of Richard riding his aide like a show pony would keep Stafford Baker off Beth’s case forever.
She’d be safe.
James paused. The dream hadn’t come for a few days. Maybe she already was safe. Only time would tell. Of course, his gift only honed in on violence. He doubted he’d be warned if she were going to be arrested.
James slid a disc into his laptop and clicked on backup. By the time he’d showered, the disc would be ready. Then he’d be ready to contact Stafford. He could use one of his anonymous webmail accounts. No. An e-mail could be intercepted by staff. He eyed the disposable cell phone he’d picked up at the mall. Untraceable. Probably the best way to go.
He stripped off his shirt on the way to the bathroom and then stepped out of his shorts, dumping th
e contents of his pockets onto the vanity. Beth’s silver pendant gleamed in the light. His hand stretched for it automatically. In the interest of her safety, he’d gone for zero contact since they’d separated. His gift was the only way he could check up on her.
The vision slammed into him before he even touched the silver disk. Darkness and fear instantly swamped his senses, blocking out his sight. A room opened in front of him, dimly lit by a bare bulb in the ceiling. Plywood covered a few small rectangular windows high up on walls of raw cinderblock.
In the dream he couldn’t move. He twisted his body on a flat, raised surface. Pain lanced up his arms and through his head and face. He wasn’t paralyzed, but his limbs were restrained. Light glinted off steel. The blade of a knife arched slowly toward him, nicking the skin on his chest. Blood trickled.
Blind, James tripped over the lip of the shower. His feet went out from under him, and he pitched forward, striking his head on the marble floor.
His last thought before blackness descended was that he’d failed.
He was going to die before he could save Beth. Pain and violence were headed her way. Now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Beth set her tea mug on the patio table. “I’m really not up for it. Sorry.” The police chief’s morning visit had sapped all her strength.
“You sure?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jack had hovered over her all afternoon. His concern was out of love, but a half hour alone was what she really wanted. She gave him a reassuring smile. “I haven’t showered in three days. I’m cranky, dirty, and tired. Definitely not fit for human company.”
Jack leaned over and pressed his lips gently on the unmarred side of her mouth. “You still taste good.”
“Thankfully I can still brush my teeth.” Richard had only bruised her jaw and cheekbone. The resulting swelling and variegated collage of purples were ugly but temporary. Two weeks or so and she’d be good as new. Other than the localized pain in her arms and face, plus some additional body bruises from her wrestling match with Richard, she felt surprisingly fit. The pain wasn’t anything a couple of ibuprofen couldn’t handle. If only she could be assured the rest of her problems could be just as easily solved.
“Stitches’ll be out in five more days. Then you can shower all you want. I’ll help.” A spark lit up his eyes. He seemed determined to keep her spirits up, and had spent a good part of the day on the phone with Carlyle, who was confident his team of lawyers could handle Stafford Baker’s vendetta.
Beth had her doubts, but she kept them to herself. “I’ll bet.” Putting one hand on the side of his face, she kissed him back. “I can’t wait.”
He straightened and frowned. “Maybe we shouldn’t go.”
“Jack, you’re driving the kids to Quinn’s house to spend the night. I doubt you’ll be gone an hour. Please, the kids are excited, and they really need a little normal. It would be wonderful for them to get away from all this craziness for a while. Plus, I don’t want them with us tomorrow for the press conference.” Quinn had promised the TV at his house would be unplugged at nine o’clock the next morning, when the press conference was scheduled to air.
Carlyle had decided that it was high time Beth started using the press instead of letting Stafford Baker get all the media attention. And her lawyer insisted Beth get on television while her face was still battered and bruised. She didn’t like the idea of letting the world in on her most private shame, but Carlyle was right. If she didn’t speak up, people would naturally believe Baker. And geez, she couldn’t look more vulnerable and pathetic than she did right now.
“I could get Sean to come and get them.”
“That’s silly.”
“I guess you’re right.” Jack sighed. “You have your cell phone on you, right?”
Beth nodded and tapped the front pocket of the sweatshirt. “Yup.”
“Need anything else?”
“No. I’m fine.” She shook her head. “Thank you. The kids’ve been cooped up too long. And they’re looking forward to seeing the other kids. Especially Katie.” Sean’s girls were also spending the night at Quinn’s house. Jack’s cousins were treating her and her kids like they were now part of their family. If only life could be that simple.
“OK. Mrs. Harris is inside. I’ll be right back.”
Ben and Katie slipped through the doors and hurried across the patio. Katie latched onto Jack’s thigh. The little girl had been bouncing off the walls since breakfast, when Jack asked her if she wanted to go to the sleepover. Ben was trying to play it cool, but he’d packed his bag five minutes after Jack made the announcement.
Both kids kissed her good-bye and ran down the back lawn to the garage. At her side Henry whined.
“Come on.” Jack slapped his thigh. “You can ride along.”
With an enthusiastic “woof” the dog raced toward the kids.
“Wait up.” Cane in hand, Jack limped after them as fast as he could manage.
Beth’s breath caught in her throat. The scene was painfully ordinary. Almost as if they were a real family. Jack would be a terrific father for her kids, and he seemed to want the job. If only…
A couple of minutes later Jack drove around the house. The truck disappeared.
Beth leaned back into the chair and closed her eyes against the slanting light of the setting sun, which was dipping a bit earlier now that September had arrived. A warm, dry breeze rustled the leaves on the huge oak in the center of the lawn and sent the smell of freshly cut grass wafting across the patio. She’d have to address the issue of school for the kids. She’d already looked into homeschooling, but hopefully there’d be no need for it soon.
“Hey, Beth.”
She shaded her eyes and squinted. “Hi, Jeff. What’s up?”
“Is Jack home?” Her neighbor slouched and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to ask him something.”
“No. He took the kids to his cousin’s house.”
“They should enjoy that.” Jeff smiled.
“What did you want to ask him? He shouldn’t be too long.”
“I was going to get him to call the vet. I was just looking at Lucy’s stitches. The cut might be getting infected. Do you want to take a look?” Jeff narrowed his eyes at her and frowned. “You’re probably not up to it. I’ll just call Doc White. You look tired. I shouldn’t’ve bothered you.” He turned away.
“No. Wait. A stroll down to the barn is just what I need.” Beth stood and stretched. Seeing the horses just might take her mind off her troubles. “I’m going a little stir-crazy. I’ll just let Mrs. Harris know.” She stepped to the door and opened it. The whir of a vacuum drowned out her attempt to call the housekeeper. “Oh, well. We won’t be long.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Nothing wrong with my legs. I just can’t touch anything.” She raised a sleeve to reveal the edge of a bandage.
“OK, then.”
They strolled across the back lawn and along the path to the barn. Movement loosened her muscles. By the time they stepped into the barn aisle, she was tired, but her spirits were up.
Jeff led Lucy out of her stall and removed the bandage on her foreleg. “What do you think?”
The barn was dim. Beth bent over to get a closer look. The cut looked just a little red around the edges. “I see what you mean.”
Pain exploded in the back of her head and everything went black.
Today was Jeff’s lucky day. Seriously. He’d go right out and buy a lottery ticket—if he didn’t already have plans for the night.
He actually had gone up to the house to ask Jack if he wanted him to call the vet. But Jack hadn’t been home. Jeff’s hope had bloomed like a bloodred rose. When Beth hadn’t bothered to go into the house to tell Mrs. Harris where she was going, her fate had been sealed. Destiny decreed that tonight was the night.
He’d been prepared to wait weeks, or months even, for the
right opportunity.
Jeff placed Beth in the back of his jeep and hurried around to the driver’s seat. His heart skipped with excitement as he turned the key and shifted into first gear. Despite his eagerness, he kept the jeep’s speed slow so he didn’t jostle Beth around too much. She was damaged enough. Nothing he could do about that, though. Her spirit wasn’t broken. That was the important thing.
With the thought that Beth had shot her husband fresh in his mind, he stopped the jeep in his yard, reached back, and patted her down. She was dressed in ugly sweat pants and a gigantic hoodie. The outfit wasn’t flattering like her usual worn, snug jeans, but he had to admit, it made searching her for a weapon easy.
She wasn’t armed. Why would she be? Her husband was no longer a threat. Everyone thought the Riverside Killer was in jail. Big LOL on that major coup.
Everyone in town thought Chief O’Connell walked on water, but Jeff had proven Mike was just a big dunce.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the house. He wouldn’t fling this woman over his shoulder like a sack of grain. No, Beth would be treated with reverence.
Shifting her weight, he unlocked the front door and went straight for the cellar. His workspace was meticulous. While he hadn’t expected to have Beth so soon, he’d been prepared. Good to know those years in the Boy Scouts hadn’t been a total waste.
He set her down on the stainless-steel table and took a moment to just look at her. Even with the bruises and swelling on the side of her face, she was beautiful. He turned the damaged side of her face to the table so he could view her perfect profile. Lovely.
The fact that she was smart and strong heightened his excitement. Beth possessed a rare strength that singled her out from the rest. A spirit he couldn’t wait to test. Finally, a challenge worthy of all his years of practice.
It felt like Christmas in September. Beth was a great big present just waiting to be unwrapped. But just like Christmas, he’d have to wait until the right time. There was no point in starting until she was fully conscious.
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