Countdown

by Carey Baldwin

  If he lost more ground, the path to safety would be out of range.

  Bend your knees.

  He could use the rope to swing sideways. But the momentum would pull the anchor free.

  One shot.

  That was all he had. If he didn’t take it, he’d never hold Caity again.

  Fuck that.

  Kicking off the rock with one foot he propelled his body sideways and released the rope.

  Seconds expanded into a lifetime.

  A gift that gave him time to envision Caity’s smile.

  Her sweet voice whispered in his head.

  You can make it. Just take my hand.

  He reached out and grabbed the rock.

  As the rope plummeted past him on its journey to the bottom of the canyon, one dangling foot found purchase.

  His arms felt as though they would release from their sockets any minute, like a wishbone being pulled apart by a couple of determined kids. His gut swam, but his core remained strong.

  He managed to get his forward foot into place, and reached higher.

  Yes!

  He gripped the rock and leaned against it, allowing himself one second of rest, less than that really, and then began to hoist his weight up, one toehold at a time.

  This was no rock climbing gym, and he didn’t have the luxury of scouting his route so he took it one step at a time.

  He found himself heading into a dead end with no more toeholds and had to back down.

  Grunting, he started over again.

  His chin came up.

  He moved another foot up the cliff and saw a slender arm reaching over the ledge, waving around.

  His heart thundered in his ears.

  Caity was supposed to be safely at the top. Out of danger of falling rocks. Not leaning over a ledge trying to rescue him.

  Too dangerous.

  But he didn’t have enough breath left to order her to get the hell back, and he knew she wouldn’t listen anyway.

  The only way to get her out of this safely was to go with her.

  He reached for her outstretched hand and heard a terrible sound squeezed out of his chest.

  Her two hands locked around his wrist.

  “On three.” Her voice was pure calm.

  One.

  Two.

  He pushed. She pulled. And somehow his chest found its way up and over the ledge. Caity dragged him the rest of the way, then she threw her arms around him. He pulled her tightly against him. “You could’ve been killed,” he admonished her. “What if my weight had pulled you off the ledge?”

  She held his hands between her face and looked him dead in the eyes. “Would you have left me to make it on my own?”

  He let out a sigh. “No way.”

  “Then shut the hell up and take me home.”

  By the time they finished the hike out, the sun had set. The detour around the hives had added extra miles, and the muscles in Caitlin’s legs felt as though they were attached to rubber rather than bone.

  Another hour or so drive back to the hotel, and then the search for the secret message Caitlin was convinced Rose had left them began. With the help of Dutch and Gretchen, she and Spense tore the bungalow apart.

  To no avail.

  Spent, Caitlin dropped onto the cushionless sofa. Her spine hit the hard backboard, and she eyed the pillows on the floor surrounding her feet, but didn’t have the will to get up and replace them on the couch. For that matter, she barely had the will to keep her eyes open.

  “I’m not saying Rose didn’t leave you a clue, but I am saying if she did, it’s not in this room. I’d stake my Eagle Scout badge on that one.” Dutch pounded a plush cushion and stuffed it behind Caitlin’s back, which took the edge off the bad news.

  Maybe it had been wishful thinking on her part—to believe Rose had returned to their hotel at some point and left them a clue to help them unravel the truth. “You’re right. Of course you’re right, but Rose Parker Preston did not break into our hotel room, hold us at gunpoint, and promise to explain everything for no reason.”

  “Maybe that reason is she’s crazy.” Gretchen came over and gave Caitlin a quick hug. “I know how much you want to see the good in people, but in this instance, you may be reaching. Looking for some justifiable explanation for this woman’s reprehensible actions.”

  Dutch drew his eyebrows together. “I’m sure glad you saw the good in me, Caitlin. Things would’ve turned out a lot differently for me if you and Spense hadn’t given me the benefit of the doubt when no one else was willing.”

  Caitlin’s heart squeezed at the reminder that Dutch had once been the prime suspect in his wife’s murder. Her shoulders lifted. Her eyes widened, and she sent her future brother-in-law a smile.

  She suddenly felt a second wind coming on. “Even crazy people act on their own internal logic. There was definitely something she wanted to say to us.”

  “Okay, I’ll play devil’s advocate again.” Gretchen stood with crossed arms. “Did Rose offer to explain everything before or after the gendarmes burst into the room?”

  “Before.” Spense took a seat next to Caitlin. “Rose had the drop on us, and after she told us to put our hands up, that’s when she said she wanted to explain everything. It wasn’t just a ploy to placate the gendarmes. I think Caity’s right. She sought us out to tell us something that at least in her mind was of vital importance. Something worth risking getting caught and sent to jail for.”

  There was a soft knock.

  “I can’t help thinking if we’d just had a few more minutes alone with her.”

  “She might have shot you, just like she did her husband.” Brousseau walked through the door Gretchen had opened for him.

  “Well, yes. That’s a possibility, too.” Caitlin grinned. “I’m very grateful to your men, Jacques. I’d rather be alive and curious than dead and satisfied.”

  “Me, too.” Spense got up to greet the inspector with a shake. “Thanks for coming by—we’re anxious to hear all about your day.”

  “The interest is mutual.”

  “You first,” Spense said. “What happened with all those Rose sightings?” He knew the police hadn’t found her, but he was curious to know if there had been any real leads, or any pattern to the sightings.

  “Dead ends everywhere. And a lot of it thanks to the sister. Lilly not only did not check in to let us know of her whereabouts, she didn’t pick up our calls. So we were forced to try to track down every possible Rose sighting.”

  “You think Lilly’s deliberately making the search for her sister more difficult?” Caitlin had wondered more than once why Lilly, who freely admitted she didn’t trust the police, would cooperate with them.

  “It’s crossed my mind. But she claimed, when she finally did check in tonight, that she spent the entire day at a beach with no cell service. That doesn’t explain why she didn’t tell us ahead of time where she’d be, though.”

  “I think we should assume Lilly is trying to look out for her sister.”

  “Even though her sister stole her fiancé. I guess blood really is blind,” Brousseau said.

  “I think the saying is love is blind.” Spense took his seat next to Caitlin again.

  Funny how a little thing like feeling the warmth of him next to her could set the world right for her.

  “Same idea. Anyway, we did find two patterns of interest amidst all the calls. There was a cluster of sightings around an internet café, and another near Dolphin Beach and the hotel. One witness claims he saw Rose digging up ground beneath a banyan tree. When our man got there, there was no Rose, but someone or something had dug deep beneath the roots of that tree.” Brousseau touched his upper lip. A habit that made Caitlin wonder if he’d recently shaved a mustache. “But what’s this I hear about bees and Spense nearly falling to his death?”

  Caitlin let Spense tell it, and he did do the story justice. No false modesty for Spense. He’d made quite the leap off a dangling rope, avoiding death by a fraction of
a second—and he took credit where credit was due.

  One of the things she loved about him.

  Actually, at the moment she couldn’t think of anything she didn’t love about the guy. Good thing, since they were getting married day after tomorrow.

  “And you think this was sabotage. Someone trying to kill you?”

  “Or at least stop us from carrying on with this investigation. To me that means we’re getting close.”

  “Close to what? Finding Rose?”

  “Or finding the truth. Whoever tossed a rock onto the hives and loosened the rope’s anchor definitely doesn’t want us to find out the truth.”

  “If someone did those things intentionally, I’d have to agree. I’m going to send my men out there tomorrow to look around. But I have to tell you, both of those events, as unfortunate as they were, could have been accidental. The path down the side of the cliff to Mana Falls is treacherous. And the hives have been around a long time. They weren’t placed there for the purpose of harming you and Dr. Cassidy.”

  “Maybe we should go back with your crew, tomorrow,” Spense offered.

  Brousseau shook his head. “I’d prefer my men handle it. No offense, but if you hadn’t gone out there in the first place, I wouldn’t be losing manpower to a search that’s unlikely to yield results. And besides, I’d like you to come with me tomorrow morning. If you can spare the time.”

  “Where to?”

  “The First National Bank of Papeete. The manager reported a suspicious transaction involving George Parker’s bank account.”

  Chapter 22

  Saturday

  Première Banque Nationale de Papeete

  (First National Bank of Papeete)

  Papeete

  Tahiti Nui

  Like Papeete itself, the First National Bank was full of color and vibrant people. Pineapple-yellow walls in the entry gave way to parrot green in the lobby. Each staff member they passed on the way to the bank manager’s office greeted them with a Bienvenue les amis.

  Caitlin felt her spirits inch up with every welcoming smile. But she had to admit she was still a little low. For one thing, Brousseau’s frustration had rubbed off on her. Yesterday, in addition to chasing false Rose sightings, the inspector had attended a disciplinary hearing for his brother. Deputy Pierre Brousseau had been suspended without pay until he completed an alcohol rehabilitation program. After that, he might or might not be able to return to the force depending on the findings of a future committee.

  Caitlin was sympathetic to Pierre, who seemed like a nice guy. But nice guys don’t always make good cops. In truth, it seemed a more than fair finding to her. Trouble was the inspector had now been left both short-handed and red-faced. He’d also been given a letter of reprimand, since he was in command at the time of Rose’s escape.

  Caitlin returned yet another smile and tried to shake off her mood. Spense had nearly lost his life yesterday, and the whole incident had brought her anxieties to the fore. When she woke up this morning, that familiar feeling of having a bad luck charm sewn into the lining of her life was back in full force. She understood it was irrational, that her happiness hadn’t made the gods jealous and caused that anchor to come loose and break off the rock. But if anything ever happened to Spense, she didn’t know how she could bear it.

  She pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

  They’d reached the bank manager’s office.

  Brousseau ushered them inside. The manager, a jowly man with skin a shade more pink than tan, was seated behind a teakwood desk that boasted, appropriately enough, a banker’s lamp.

  “I’m delighted to present my friends of the investigation, Special Agent Atticus Spenser and Dr. Caitlin Cassidy,” Brousseau said. “This is Monsieur Bertrand Fontaine.”

  Fontaine came out from behind his desk and greeted them, in the French style, with kisses on the cheek.

  Très charmant.

  “Special agent like James Bond? I didn’t realize this was such an important case, Inspector.”

  Brousseau chuckled. “Non, mon ami. Bond is a British secret agent. My friends are American—FBI.”

  “Even more impressive. But why are they here?”

  “They’re getting married.” Brousseau spread his arms.

  Fontaine’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah, now it is your turn to joke. But Tahiti is a wonderful place for lovers. On behalf of all of Papeete, I say congratulations to the happy couple.”

  “Merci,” Caitlin said.

  Spense sat down on a love seat and pulled his Rubik’s cube from his pocket. Tossed it in the air. Caitlin took a seat next to him and waited, tapping her fingers on her knees.

  Small talk was one thing, but they had serious matters to attend.

  A few more jocular phrases and pats on the back, and Fontaine and Brousseau finally took seats. Rather than return to his position behind his desk, Fontaine had chosen an armchair facing them. When he leaned forward, his knees crowded Spense’s. “Now then, in all seriousness, what has the FBI got to do with this?”

  “I’ll take that one,” Spense said. “There are American citizens involved, so we have an obvious interest. But we’re not official, and you’re under no obligation to talk to us.”

  “Not official? Well, then, Brousseau, what do you advise?”

  “Talk to them. That’s why I brought them along.”

  “Yes. Of course,” Fontaine said.

  A quick, silent competition for who would lead the interview took place.

  Caitlin won. “We appreciate your cooperation, Monsieur Fontaine. Now, can you tell us why you reported your customer’s transaction as suspicious? What about it seemed so to you?”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily have categorized it as worrisome. In fact, until I saw that woman’s picture in the papers, I did not. Which is why it took me until yesterday to report it.”

  “So the transaction didn’t happen yesterday. When did it occur?”

  “On Monday.”

  Caitlin’s skin prickled. That was the day before Rose allegedly attempted to murder Tommy.

  “Let’s back up,” Spense said. They’d been given a heads-up from Brousseau that Rose had possibly received a large sum of money from her father’s bank account, but that was all they knew. “A few details about the transaction would be helpful.”

  “Oui. I recognized the woman from the papers. I thought to myself, Bertrand, this must be connected. A woman shoots her husband, and then she flees from custody. I should tell my friend, the inspector, that this young lady transferred 990,000 U.S. dollars from my bank into a Cayman Islands account—after making a cash withdrawal of ten thousand dollars. Was I right to make the report?”

  “Yes. Well done,” Brousseau said.

  “And the account was held in a similar name.”

  “Similar? It wasn’t Rose Parker?” the inspector asked, with a hint of surprise in his tone.

  “Non.”

  “Lilly Parker?”

  “Non.”

  Caitlin could see the camaraderie between Brousseau and Fontaine, but neither of these men had narrowly escaped death yesterday like Spense had. She hated to seem humorless, but it was time to get on with things. “Are you going to keep us playing twenty questions or are you going to tell us whose name was on that bank account?”

  “Forgive me. I’ll try to do better with my answers in the future.”

  “How about starting now instead?”

  Spense widened his legs so that his thigh brushed hers.

  The tips of Fontaine’s ears reddened. “Anna. The account of Mr. George Parker is payable upon death to his daughter, Anna Parker.”

  Brousseau lifted slightly from his chair. “There’s a third sister?”

  Spense snapped his fingers. “Could be. But I doubt it. We haven’t heard anyone speak of a third sister. And don’t forget George Parker was a con man.”

  “So you’re thinking Anna Parker is an alias,” Caitlin said.

  Spense pulled out a
photo of Lilly. “Is this the woman who closed out George Parker’s account last Friday?”

  “Erm.” The banker pulled his chin. “May I take a closer look?”

  Spense handed the photo over.

  “I’m not sure. Could be. This is a good resemblance, and I do remember a charmant dimple, so oui, probably.”

  “But you’re not entirely sure.”

  He shook his head.

  Next, Spense passed him Rose’s photograph. “How about her? Is this the woman who came to your bank?”

  “Oui.” Fontaine nodded immediately.

  “These women are sisters, and they look very much alike. How can you be sure which woman it was?” Caitlin asked.

  “How do you know your own face when you look in the mirror? You’ve seen it before so you recognize it. Mais non?”

  You could crack a nut on that argument. But she’d attack it anyway. “Okay. Close your eyes. Which side of the face was the charmant dimple on?”

  Fontaine squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them. “I cannot say, Dr. Cassidy.”

  Good answer. This was probably a reliable ID. It was unlikely Fontaine would remember which side of the face was marked by a dimple, and he owned up to that rather than trying to blow smoke in order to shore up his credibility. He’d come forward on his own and seemed confident it’d been Rose Parker who’d closed out her father’s old account and transferred the funds offshore.

  “For my records,” Brousseau said. “Since you’ve never met the woman how did you know she was legally entitled to the funds?”

  “As I said before, the account was payable upon death to Anna Parker. I knew the father personally, and I’d heard of his passing previously. I wondered when Anna would come to collect. George opened the account over ten years ago, and he’s been depositing cash in person every year. More than once, he spoke with me to be sure that upon his death the funds would go to his daughter. When the woman in question arrived on Monday, she had his death certificate and her own valid passport. Everything was in order. So I didn’t hesitate to transfer the funds according to her wishes.”

  “I’m satisfied. Thank you, Bertrand,” said Brousseau. “Did you perchance copy her passport and the death certificate?”