by Laura Kenner
She swallowed back any arguments that she could find her own place of security. With Lucy and Martin—
The first place Raymond would look….
Will’s logic sounded as if it had an emotional edge to it, which she couldn’t help but appreciate. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that “I love you” had its roots in “I care about you.”
She gave him the best smile she could muster, given the circumstances. “Okay.”
Ten minutes later, they’d escaped the gauntlet of police who were searching the hospital. Anita and Sara rode together and Will followed for a couple of miles behind them to make sure no one was tailing them.
Sara kept an eye on his car in the side mirror, reassured by his sense of precaution.
“Is he still back there?” Anita asked.
“Yeah…wait, he’s come up here. Slow down so he can catch us at the light.” Sara rolled down her window and Will pulled up in the lane to the right of them.
“No one’s following you,” he called out. “It’ll take me about forty minutes to get to Falls Church and back to get the disk. See you at Mimi’s. Be careful.”
“You, too.”
Will rolled up his window, then shot her a thumbs-up before he turned the corner and headed off in a different direction. He made a second turn and disappeared from sight.
Sara couldn’t stop herself from sighing.
Anita sniffed in obvious disapproval. “I thought you were Raymond’s…girlfriend.”
Sara sighed again, this time for a completely different reason. “We were engaged. We’re not anymore.”
“The rats are deserting the sinking ship?”
Sara tried to ignore the haughtiness of the woman’s question. “I guess it looks that way, doesn’t it? Trust me, it’s hard to explain without going into a great amount of detail about what happened to whom. Why don’t we wait until we get to Mimi’s place, then I can tell you the whole story.”
“Answer me one question.”
“What?”
“You and Will. Is it serious?”
Sara leaned her head against the headrest “It shouldn’t be. We’ve only known each other a little over a week, but…to be perfectly honest, yes. I think it’s going to be serious.”
“Oh.”
They drove in silence until they crossed the Fourteenth Street Bridge. Instead of taking the exit leading to Crystal City, Anita continued south on I-395.
Sara pointed to the left. “You missed the exit.”
The car swerved from one lane to the next. “Oops… these roads are always so damn confusing. I hate driving around here.”
Sara watched the woman negotiate a couple of jerky lane changes. “Be thankful it’s not a weekday.” She scanned the road ahead, reading the exit signs. “I guess the best way to go is to take the Glebe Road exit and approach Crystal City from the other direction.”
Anita snaked her hand into her purse. “Sorry. But we’re not going to Crystal City.” She pulled out her hand, revealing a gun clutched in her trembling fingers.
Sara’s heart wedged itself in her throat, then plunged to her feet. “What’s that for?”
The woman drew in a shaky breath. “P-protection.”
Sara decided that her best line of attack would be no attack at all. A nervous woman with a shaky hand, unclear motives and a gun; the possibilities might be lethal. “Protection from me?”
“Maybe.”
“Anita,” she said in the softest, most nonconfrontational voice she could manage, “I didn’t kill Celia. Honest.”
“That’s what you say.” She split her attention evenly between Sara and the road. “I know what Raymond thinks. And he’s usually right.”
“Usually, but not always. He’s wrong about me. I didn’t kill Celia and I didn’t poison him.”
“I know you didn’t. Poison him, that is. I did that.”
Sara couldn’t help but gape. “You did? Why?”
“To force him to surrender to the authorities. He wouldn’t go of his own volition. I figured police custody would be the only way to keep him safe. Then he called me from the hospital and told me the police allowed you into the room. Since the police failed us, it was up to us to keep him safe. So we simply reversed the process. He’s free and I have you in my custody.”
“But—”
Anita’s hand shook. “I don’t want to discuss it”
“But—”
“I said shut up!” A flash of steeled determination filled her face, giving it character where none had existed before. Then, as quickly as it had come, it disappeared, leaving a colorless bundle of nerves in its wake.
Sara huddled in her seat, weighing her options. Until they reached a convenient red light, she wouldn’t be able to make a break for freedom. The only break she would get by jumping from a moving car would be the one that broke her neck. She would rather face a psychotic woman with a gun than hit the pavement at sixty miles an hour.
Anita took an exit at an ambitious speed and Sara tensed, knowing there was a traffic light only a few blocks ahead. Anita slowed down as she saw the red signal, but she glanced at Sara as if reading her plans. The woman’s hand tightened on the gun. At the point when Anita would either have to make her decision to slow down or run the light, the signal changed to green.
Just my luck… Sara drew a deep breath. “Where are we going?”
“I told Will I’d take you someplace safe. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” She took a sudden turn onto a side street, then made a second turn, clipping the edge of the driveway curb. The car rocked and the steering wheel jerked to the right. At that moment, Sara made an instantaneous decision to make an offensive move rather than a defensive one.
As the steering wheel jerked, Anita automatically reached for it with her gun hand. For a moment, the weapon dangled loosely in her grasp and Sara lunged out with both hands, attempting to wrench the gun free.
Anita reacted with a miraculous speed and agility, knocking Sara back with one hand and recovering the fumbled weapon with the other.
“Why, you bitch!”
The last thing Sara saw was the butt of the gun as it flashed toward her head.
WILL CALLED ARCHIE from his car and explained that he needed to pick up the backup files, but he was in a hurry.
Archie laughed. “What’s wrong? Is it a case of…life or death?” he asked with an Olivier-type flourish.
There wasn’t a shred of amusement in Will’s voice as he answered. “Yes, it is.”
By the time he got to the house, Archie was sitting on his porch, disks in hand. He trotted dutifully to the curb, passed them through the car window with a minimum of chitchat and Will was off.
He had only gone a couple of blocks down the road when his car phone rang. He wedged the instrument between his shoulder and ear as he downshifted. “Riggs.”
“Will, it’s Mimi.”
His hand tensed automatically. There was no reason for her to call him unless…“Sara got there all right, didn’t she?”
Her momentary hesitation seemed like an eternity to Will. “Well…not really. But it’s okay,” she added quickly. “She called me and explained that something came up. She wouldn’t say what, but she asked me to call you and tell you to meet her at…” Mimi recited the address. Will recognized the street. It was one that ran through an industrial park not far from his office.
“Did she sound all right? I mean, did she sound scared or nervous or anything like that?”
“Not really. In fact, she seemed almost happy, enthusiastic about whatever she’d found out. She asked you to get there as soon as possible.”
“Okay.” He paused for a moment. “Mimi, if I don’t call you back in…let’s say, an hour, call Steve Trainor at the Blackwater PD and tell him what you told me. He’ll know what to do. Okay?”
“Sure,” she said in a voice that was anything but assured. “Uh…boss…should I start to get worried? After all this business with the office and the fir
e, I can’t help but be…concerned. And this bit about calling the police if you don’t check in…That stuff only happens in the movies.”
“I know. I’m just being overly cautious. It’s been a very strange day and I don’t want to take any chances. Okay?”
“Sure. Be careful. Bye.”
Will turned off the phone. An industrial complex? The skin on the back of his neck prickled.
A very strange day, indeed…
SARA REMEMBERED BITS and pieces—being pulled from the car and being dragged into a warehouse of sorts. She remembered the unmistakable clang of a chain-link fence being opened and recalled being dropped in a heap onto a rough floor. As her eyes focused, she stared at the harsh green carpet beneath her.
Grass?
Dizzy, she tried to dig her fingers into the ground to help her regain her balance, but belatedly realized that the impossibly green lawn was artificial. AstroTurf? She fought the wave of dizziness that threatened to take over, forcing herself to focus on something besides the floor.
She was in a warehouse, inside a chain-link cubicle with some sort of machine at one end. Her thoughts started to congeal. The machine had something to do with AstroTurf. Something to do with sports. Something to do with balls. With baseballs.
I’m in a batting cage.
A memory overwhelmed her for a moment—a memory of a cousin pumping a quarter into the change box at an outdoor batting cage and taking a bat in hand to show her how easy it was to learn to hit While he concentrated on his stance, she’d turned the selector from Little League to Major League.
Twelve balls. Eleven strikes and one wild pitch that gave him a bruise that lasted for a week. Then there were the lingering echoes of his friends’ taunts, which, she suspected, lasted a lot longer than the bruise.
Sara’s initial reaction was to scramble out of the way of imaginary balls, but she remembered that same cousin had taught her the finer art of playing possum. To her relief, the ball-hurling machinery was still. It would give her time to get her bearings, regain her sense of balance and figure out how she got there, what to do next.
I know how I got here. Sara’s head throbbed. Anita Rooney, the person voted least likely to have backbone. I guess you don’t need guts if you have a semiautomatic. Where is she, anyway? I’d like to return the favor….
From her slumped position, she could see that there were at least four batting cages in a row and beyond them, a waiting area with a couple of benches and several sets of shelves holding bats and helmets. She could also see the end of a glass case, which evidently operated as a service counter as well as a concession area. Between a rack of potato chips and a display of batting gloves, Sara spotted a curtained doorway.
I wonder if it’s an exit—
“Hello, Blazer? It’s me.”
She froze at the sound of the voice coming from beyond the door. Raymond…
“Listen, I’ve reached a settlement agreement with Diane’s lawyer and they’re willing to sign the papers. Yeah…No…”
Sara suddenly realized she was overhearing one side of a phone conversation.
“As soon as you can get here—no, not my office. How about yours? Yeah, at the Sports Barne. Good. I’ll be waiting there. You gave me a key, remember? Okay. Bye.”
Raymond appeared in the doorway, then seemed to stumble forward. Anita trailed only a few steps behind him, the gun aimed at his back. Although she wore a prim dress with a lace collar, Sara suspected that Anita’s matching lace gloves played a more utilitarian role—no fingerprints.
“Anita, you don’t have to do this.”
“Y-yes, I do. She’s making me. She knows. She knows everything and she’ll ruin my career.”
“But you don’t need the gun, honey. I want Blazer to sign the papers. I want this whole thing over with so I can straighten out this mess with the police about Celia.” He took a step forward. “I didn’t kill her, you know.”
Sara pulled herself to her feet, dug her fingers into the chain-link and rattled her prison wall. “Don’t be so sure about that, Anita.”
The empty warehouse magnified the noise, diverting Anita’s attention for a moment. Raymond took advantage of the distraction by knocking her off-balance and wrenching the gun out of her hands. Anita attacked him in return and as they struggled, Sara leaped toward the gate, only to find it locked. The fight between Anita and Raymond was destined to have a captured audience of one.
Anita did an admirable job of fighting Raymond, but that was no surprise. Sara had realized in the car that Anita wasn’t as delicate as she pretended to be. A sudden gunshot rocketed through the warehouse. Sara dropped to the ground instinctively. Raymond stood back from the melee, the gun firmly clenched in his hand, his finger still curled around the trigger. Anita stepped away, covering her mouth with one gloved hand.
“Anita,” he asked in a hushed voice. “Are you all right?”
“She’s fine.” Another woman stepped out from behind the draped doorway. She trained her gun on Raymond. “Drop it.”
He didn’t move. “What are you doing here, Diane?”
“Playing cleanup batter.” She moved closer, her weapon held in a very steady hand. “I said drop it”
Sara stared at the woman who looked almost familiar. Diane. Diane who?
Raymond reacted quickly, grabbing Anita by the arm and pulling her toward him. Sara couldn’t tell whether he was using the woman as his shield or as his hostage.
“Now what?” Diane taunted.
“She’s your lawyer. You won’t shoot her and you don’t want me to, either.” Anita stiffened, her stricken look degenerating to one of sheer unadulterated panic.
“I suppose you’re right But what about the other one?” Diane shifted slightly to the left, aimed at Sara and fired.
The sound became permanently etched in Sara’s memory; the gun’s percussion, the whine of the bullet, the zing as it created an instant furrow in the concrete only a foot away from her head. She stayed perfectly still, knowing that there was no place in her cage where she could protect herself from a second shot
“Like shooting fish in a barrel, Ray….” She lowered her gun. “Or should I call you Mr. Barracuda in a Barrel?”
Raymond knocked Anita aside, took aim at Diane and fired three times in succession. The blasts rocked the warehouse, their echoes almost deafening.
Sara closed her eyes and waited for the scream, the sound of the body hitting the floor…any sound at all….
She heard laughter.
Long, harsh laughter.
“Give Anita the gun.”
Sara opened her eyes in time to see the prim-and-proper Anita taking the gun out of the hands of a very shocked Raymond. She slipped it into her lace-trimmed pocket. “Sorry, Ray,” she whispered, “Blanks.”
“Now put him in the cage with her.”
Raymond complied numbly, without a word of objection, but Sara could see the emotion that seethed beneath the surface of an artificial calm. As the gate slammed behind him and the lock clicked, he lifted his gaze from the freshly-cut groove in the floor and made eye contact with Sara. “I’ll kill that heartless bitch. I swear it.” Then he stopped, evidently realizing it was the second time in so many days that he’d called someone a “heartless bitch.”
Sara took a step away from him, no longer sure. No longer willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. No longer caring.
He sighed. “Sara, I swear on my mother’s grave that I didn’t kill Celia Strauss.”
Diane approached the cage. “Yes, you did.” She pointed to Anita’s bulging pocket. “And now, thanks to you, we have the murder weapon, complete with your fingerprints on it.”
“You bitch, you killed Celia, didn’t you?” Raymond threw himself at the fence, but Diane didn’t take as much as a flinching step backward.
“You’re directly responsible for that woman’s death,” she stated as if it were an unavoidable fact.
No emotion entered his voice. “What are you t
alking about?”
“We—that is, Anita and I—didn’t know until later that the…person who rode up with us in the elevator and overheard us discussing our…legal strategy was your—” she spared Sara a brief glance “—fiancée. You even mentioned the happy little coincidence to us over the lunch she had so lovingly prepared. Remember?”
Elevator? Sara recalled the ride up with the loathsome lawyer and her milquetoast client, only to learn later that she’d reversed the roles. This was the odious one, the client—Diane…Barnes. The soon-to-be ex-wife of the man with the inexplicable name of Blazer. Sure, Anita and Diane had been talking in the elevator, but Sara couldn’t remember any specifics. She really hadn’t even been listening….
“We also had no earthly idea until we saw in the morning paper that the woman you took to the hotel was anybody other than that same fiancee.” She turned a malicious face toward the shaking Anita. “I thought I already knew who your latest mistress was.” She faced Raymond again. “Put it this way—we killed the wrong woman. We won’t make that same mistake again.”
Raymond shoved his hands into his pockets and adopted a surprisingly natural smile. Sara recognized it as the calm before the storm, a technique he used to distract potential combatants in the domain of debate. “It seems to me that you’ve gone the long way around to achieve a relatively short-lived victory. Granted, Blazer isn’t a genius, but even he’s going to think twice before signing papers when he sees his attorney being held in a cage at gunpoint.”
Diane started to speak, but Raymond cut her off. “And if you think that holding a gun to Sara’s head is going to help keep me in line, think again. She’s not a part of my life anymore.” His features hardened. “And from the looks of things, she’s already found a replacement for me.” He turned toward Anita. “You saw them together. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
Anita nodded nervously. “She and Will Riggs. They’re together now.”
Will…
How long would it take for him to realize she’d never gotten to Mimi’s apartment? How long would it take for him to figure out that the one person who seemed a totally innocuous figure, actually had a key role in everything that had plagued them in the past week? How long would it take for Diane to realize Will knew too much?