Tall, Dark and Dangerous Vol 1: Tall, Dark and FearlessTall, Dark and Devastating

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “What I want you to do,” Joe continued, “is go out to wherever Blue is being held and tell him about this noon assassination attempt. Do whatever you need to do, Lucy, to get him out of that prison.”

  Lucy took a deep breath. “You want me to tunnel him out of there?”

  Joe laughed. He had a deep, husky laugh. “If you have to, yeah. Do whatever it takes. Just don’t get Blue or yourself killed.”

  Before Joe hung up, he gave her his home phone number, the SEAL Team Ten headquarters number, and Kevin Laughton’s, the FInCOM agent’s, number. Just in case.

  Lucy hung up the phone.

  Do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes. Whatever.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Sarah’s number. She knew she was going to wake her friend up.

  “’Lo?” Sarah answered sleepily.

  “It’s me,” Lucy said. “How much money do you have in your savings account?”

  * * *

  Lucy worked quickly. She dug out the files for both her house and her business from her home office. She found the title for her truck. She gathered her savings-deposit passbooks and uncovered her checkbook from her dresser.

  She searched the Charleston Yellow Pages, making phone call after phone call until she found exactly the right type of entrepreneur she needed. She gave him directions to Hatboro Creek and made him promise to arrive no later than 9:00 a.m., when the local bank opened.

  She made a copy of the microcassette, using her telephone answering machine to play the miniature tape and holding the microcassette recorder above the speaker. The quality of the tape was going to stink, but she didn’t care. As long as the words were faintly audible and the voices were identifiable. She stashed one of the tapes in the kitchen utensil drawer for safekeeping.

  At 8:57 a.m. she climbed into Sarah’s car and headed downtown.

  Sarah was standing on the sidewalk in front of the bank. Lucy parked and got out of the car.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Sarah said worriedly. “It’s the thirty-thousand dollars Richard was intending to spend to modernize his office.”

  “You’ll get it back,” Lucy said, hoping she was telling her friend the truth. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Your money pushes me over the top.”

  “I had no idea you had that much,” Sarah said.

  “It’s mostly tied up in the business,” Lucy said. “Look, before I forget, I hid a tape in my kitchen, in the utensil drawer. If anything happens to me—”

  “Oh, God, don’t say that.”

  “It’s important,” Lucy said. “On my bulletin board is a phone number of a federal agent named Kevin Laughton. Make sure he gets the tape.”

  “The tape from the utensil drawer.” Sarah nodded. “Why the utensil drawer?”

  “I was going to hide it in the toaster, but then I thought, what if someone comes in and wants some toast….”

  Lucy looked up as a heavy man in a business suit and an incredibly obvious toupee approached them. It had to be Benjamin Robinson, the man she’d found in the Yellow Pages. It had to be.

  “Ms. Tait?” the man said, looking questioningly from Sarah to Lucy.

  Lucy held out her hand. “Mr. Robinson,” she said. “I’m Lucy Tait. Shall we go into the bank and get down to business?”

  * * *

  A skinny man stopped near Blue in the prison courtyard during the morning exercise period. He lit a cigarette with hands that shook and stared up at the sky.

  “You gonna be snuffed,” he said.

  It took a moment before Blue realized the man was talking to him. He looked away from the man, down at the ground at his uncomfortable sneakers, as the meaning of what he’d said sank in. Snuffed. Killed. “When?”

  “Lunch,” the man replied.

  That soon. Blue felt the familiar surge of adrenaline as his body prepared for a fight. “How many?”

  “Too many. Even if you fight back, they gonna get you. If you don’t show up at lunch, they do you at dinner.”

  “How many?” Blue asked again. There was no such thing as too many. He just had to know in advance so he could plan, strategize against an attack.

  “There’s thirty of ’em, bubba. All hard timers.”

  Thirty. God. Not impossible, but not good odds, either.

  “They gonna get you,” the man said.

  Thirty. This was gonna be a tough one. This guy was quite possibly right. “Why tell me about it, then?”

  “I’m telling you because if it was me gonna die, I’d want to know.” The man flicked ash from his cigarette, still not looking at Blue. “Write a will,” he said. “Make peace with whichever God it is you believe in. Or get on line for the telephone—call your girl and tell her you love her.” He started to walk away. “Tie up loose ends.”

  Get on line for the telephone. Lord, if only he could. But Blue didn’t have telephone privileges yet. Not for another week. And according to the skinny inmate, Blue wasn’t going to live that long.

  Blue went inside the main building to the library.

  “I’d like a pen and a piece of paper, please,” Blue said to the burly inmate who was acting as librarian.

  Silently the man laid both on the counter. Blue could see reflections of his imminent death in the silence of the man’s eyes.

  “Thanks,” Blue told him, but the inmate said nothing, as if Blue were already dead. The pen was attached to the counter by a chain so no one could steal it and turn it into some kind of weapon. He stood there, lifted the pen and held it poised over the paper.

  Damn. This was going to be harder to write than he’d thought.

  He started it off easily enough: “Dear Lucy.” But after that it got much harder.

  He didn’t have time for it to be hard. He didn’t have time for it to come out perfectly. He knew what he wanted to say, so he just had to say it. He wrote, trying hard to print legibly.

  I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past twenty-four hours, and every time I try to fit you into this puzzle of who killed Gerry, the picture comes out looking all wrong. Whenever I think of you going to the police station, intending to deliver information that would strengthen their case against me, I just can’t believe it.

  I’ve been thinking about Travis Southeby, about the way he stood up against me at the Grill, about the way he took such pleasure in telling me you had turned me in. At first I accused him of playing head games with me, and now I can’t help but believe that he was indeed messing with my mind. I believed Tom Harper when he said you’d been to the police station, but what if he was lying, too? Or what if you’d been there, but for some other reason entirely?

  I guess it all boils down to the fact that I don’t want to believe them. I won’t believe them. But I’m afraid it’s too late. I’m afraid they already won.

  It kills me I didn’t see you when I had the chance. I’m not sure I’ll have that chance again, because someone in here wants me dead—probably so that I won’t be able to prove my innocence and open up the question of who really killed Gerry.

  Maybe I’m a fool, and maybe you’re involved with these murderers. But I don’t want to believe that. I’m not going to believe that. If I’m going to die, I’d rather die loving you.

  Blue took a deep breath, then plunged on.

  I’ve never said these words to anyone ever in my life,

  let alone written them down, but somehow over the

  past few days, I fell in love with you, Yankee.

  I thought you should know.

  He started to sign the letter “Carter,” but crossed it out and wrote in “Blue.”

  He folded the letter in thirds and pushed the pen back toward the librarian, who again said nothing. He asked for an envelope and a stamp, and the librarian pointed silently down the hall toward the tiny room that served as the mail drop-off and pick-up point.

  While Blue was there, several guards came in. They rattled off a series of numbers. It took him a moment to
realize they were ID numbers—his ID numbers. They were looking for him.

  “You’re wanted in the warden’s office,” they said as he dropped his letter into the mail slot.

  Was it possible the warden had somehow found out about the death threat? Was he going to put Blue into solitary until the danger passed? It was a long walk to the warden’s office near the front gate of the prison, and Blue had plenty of time to speculate.

  But when the guard opened the office door and Blue walked inside, the warden’s words surprised him.

  “Your bail has been made,” the man said. “Sign the paperwork, change your clothes and you’re free to go.”

  His bail had been made. Half a million dollars. Who the hell had come up with half a million dollars just like that? And just in time, too.

  The clock on the warden’s wall read 11:10. In twenty minutes, the inmates would be lining up to go in for lunch. In twenty minutes thirty men would be looking for him, ready to snuff out his life. But he wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t going to be forced to fight with thirty-to-one odds. Relief flooded through him, hot and thick. He wasn’t going to die today. At least not before lunch.

  “Who posted bail?” he asked.

  “Does it really matter?”

  Blue shook his head. “No.”

  He quickly changed his clothes, strapping his belt back on. They hadn’t found the knife hidden inside the buckle. That was good. Maybe his luck was starting to change.

  The guards led him down the hallway to a locked gate. He went through it, then down another corridor toward another locked gate. He could see someone standing on the other side of the thick security wire. As he got closer, he realized exactly who was standing there, waiting for him.

  Lucy. God, it was Lucy. His luck was definitely changing.

  Her face was wary, as if she wasn’t sure of her reception. She held his gaze, though, searching his eyes as the guard unlocked this final barrier.

  And then he was free. He was outside the prison, in the visitors’ waiting area.

  “You paid my bail?” he asked. It wasn’t what he really wanted to say to her, but it was better than just standing there, staring.

  She nodded.

  “Where the hell did you get half a million dollars?”

  Lucy nervously moistened her lips and shrugged, giving him only a ghost of her regular smile. “Remember that computer software business I own?” she said. “Business has been extremely good lately.”

  “But you couldn’t have had that much cash….”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s almost all tied up in the working capital. I used the business as collateral, along with some other things and some borrowed money, and…” She shrugged again. “I didn’t have anything to do with your arrest, Blue,” she said, her voice fast and low. “I mean, I was there at the station, getting my gun from my locker, and Bradley asked me a question, and I answered it as best as I could and all of a sudden Travis Southeby had a warrant for your arrest. I didn’t…I wasn’t…” There were tears in her eyes, but still she held his gaze, silently begging him to believe her.

  “It’s required by law that I escort you to the front gate,” the guard told Blue.

  He ignored the guard and took a step toward Lucy. “I know,” he said.

  She wiped at her tears with the heels of her hands, refusing to cry. “You do?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he was oddly nervous. He was in love with this woman. Somehow knowing that changed everything. He was afraid to touch her, afraid of giving himself away. Sure, he’d just written his deepest feelings in a letter, but there was no way he could say any of that aloud. “It took me a while, but I finally figured it out. Lucy, I’m sorry—”

  “Come on, folks,” the guard said impatiently. “Save the teary reunion for outside the gate.”

  Lucy turned to face the guard, her chin held high, her eyes blazing. “I just paid half a million dollars so this man could walk out of here with me—and we’re going to walk out of here on our own good time, when we want to, and not one minute before. Thank you very much.”

  Blue felt himself smile for the first time in what seemed like centuries. “I think I’m ready to leave,” he told her.

  The guard escorted them to the door, and then they were out in the humid air and finally outside the gate.

  Freedom.

  “Was it awful?” Lucy asked quietly.

  “It’s over,” Blue said.

  Their eyes met, but only briefly, only for an instant, before Lucy looked down, and Blue knew with a deadly certainty that if he reached for her, she would pull away.

  When he’d first seen her standing and waiting for him on the other side of that gate, when he’d realized that she was the one who’d paid his bail, he thought for a moment that it had to be proof that she loved him. What woman would risk everything she owned for a man she didn’t love?

  But then he remembered her friend Edgar. Lucy had only been friends with Edgar, yet she had sacrificed much to be with him in his last few months.

  Her loyalty to her friends was clearly unswerving. But Blue didn’t want to be only her friend any longer. He wanted more, God help him. He wanted more, but the fact that he’d lost his faith in her just might have destroyed whatever fragile love she was starting to feel for him.

  Blue had to reach for her; he had to try. But before he could, Lucy started walking, heading toward the parking lot and her truck.

  “Matt Parker’s wife told me R. W. Fisher was paying Matt lots of money to say he saw you in the woods with Gerry,” Lucy told him.

  R. W. Fisher?

  “She also said that some of the men in the police force were involved,” she continued.

  Blue knew that. He’d had a gut feeling about that right from day one.

  “So I followed Fisher, and sure enough, he met with Travis Southeby and Frank Redfield,” Lucy told him. “I have their conversation on tape. They’re involved with some kind of money-laundering scheme set up by an organized-crime syndicate from New York. The way I figure it, the mob gives them money and they inflate the income of their businesses, take a cut high enough to pay the higher taxes and then some, and give the rest back. Gerry was involved up to some point. My guess is he went along with it for a while, using his construction business to get a lot of the mob’s dirty money back into circulation. But he probably started feeling guilty and wanted out. When he made noise, they killed him. The mob sent some guy named Snake down to do the deed.”

  Blue was astonished. “Shoot, you’ve been busy.”

  “There’s more,” she said. The dust from the parking lot coated her boots, and she stopped to face Blue, wiping the dulled leather on the back of her pant legs. “Alpha Squad is back from their training exercises. I spoke to Joe Cat. He’s on his way. In the meantime Veronica contacted somebody named Kevin Laughton over at FInCOM. It’s just a matter of time until the FInCOM agents get out here.”

  Blue had to laugh. “You did all that and raised the money to pay my bail?”

  Lucy nodded. She started walking again. Her truck was down at the end of a row of parked cars. “All we need to do now is find someplace safe to hide until the FInCOM agents arrive.”

  Blue stopped suddenly and grabbed Lucy’s arm. “Someone is hiding behind your truck,” he said in a low voice.

  Lucy went for her gun, but she wasn’t fast enough.

  Travis Southeby stood up, aiming his gun directly at Blue. “Don’t move an inch,” he warned Lucy, “or I’ll put a hole in him.”

  “Let him shoot me,” Blue told her, his eyes never leaving Travis. “Then plug the son of a bitch between the eyes. I know you can do it. You told me you were a good shot.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Travis said. His voice was high, his hands shaking slightly, his florid face tense. “Slowly put your hands in the air.”

  Lucy did. “I can’t risk it,” she whispered to Blue.

  Travis held his gun on Blue as he came
toward them and quickly took Lucy’s gun from under her jacket, from her shoulder holster.

  “Damn,” Travis said. “I couldn’t believe it when the warden’s assistant called and told me that Blue McCoy had made bail. Half a million dollars.” He looked at Lucy, using the back of one hand to wipe his perspiring forehead. “What the hell were you doing working on the police force with that kind of money in your bank account?”

  “What the hell are you doing on the police force with your kind of morals?” Lucy responded tightly.

  Travis just handed Lucy a set of keys. “My car is right here, next to yours,” he said. “Get in.”

  Blue took the keys from Lucy’s hand. “I’ll drive,” he said. “She doesn’t need to come along.”

  “I’m afraid she does,” Travis said. He was being very careful to stay at least an arm’s length away from Blue. He knew if he got close enough, Blue would try for him, regardless of the weapon Travis held. He aimed his gun at Blue’s head. “Get in the car, or so help me God, I’ll drop both of you right here and right now.”

  Lucy’s heart was pounding. She knew that Blue didn’t want to get into that car. She knew he wanted to stay right there, out in the open of the parking lot. She knew he was just waiting for the right opportunity to go for Travis. She knew if Blue had been the one carrying a gun, he would have jumped Travis when he got close enough. But Lucy couldn’t ignore the fact that Travis’s own gun was aimed steadily at Blue.

  Blue had his thumbs hooked in his belt, one hand resting on his buckle. His eyes flicked to Lucy for half a second. “Do what he says,” he told her softly. “Get in the car.” He reached out, the car keys held flatly in the palm of his hand. “Please.”

  Whatever Blue was planning to do, he wasn’t going to do it until Lucy was at least somewhat removed from the scene. Whatever he was planning to do, the fact remained that Travis had a gun and Blue didn’t. If someone was going to get hurt or killed, it was likely to be Blue.

  Lucy took the keys from him, letting her fingers linger in the warmth of his hand, well aware that this moment could be the last time she touched him.

  And suddenly all of her doubts about exactly what their relationship was, all of her doubts about Jenny Lee, all of her fears that given the choice between the two of them Blue would choose Jenny, all of that ceased to matter. Nothing mattered but the way Lucy felt.