Better Off Dead

by Meryl Sawyer

  Neither Keke nor Ane had warmed up to Devon. If they knew why she wore isolation like a shield, they wouldn’t think the same way about Devon.

  “Is there something wrong with your telephone?” Keke asked.

  “Nah. A buddy who’s still with Delta Force is hyper about security. No cell phones. No office phones that can be traced.”

  “Public phone calls can’t be traced?”

  “Yes, but they rarely are. They’re swept clean every forty-eight hours by the phone company. Occasionally crooks get caught. Remember the Menendez brothers?”

  They walked down the sidewalk toward the office, and Keke said, “Those rich kids in L.A. who shot their parents?”

  “That’s right. They claimed to have made a phone call from a public phone. The police were able to access the records before the sweep. That lie incriminated them.”

  “Speaking of incriminating.” Keke stopped, shielded her eyes with her hand. “This morning I came in to drop off some stuff. Devon was going through Eddie’s files and inputting data into her computer.”

  “She’s probably bringing her files up-to-date. Lori left quite a mess.”

  “Why would she need his marine repair files? If you ask me, the woman is planning to embezzle funds. Remember how easily that other woman took Eddie. I don’t want it to happen again.”

  Chad nodded saying, “Oh, Keke. I doubt that.”

  “You’re hot for her so you can’t see what’s really happening.”

  “I’ll check into it. I promise.”

  Keke huffed, not satisfied but obviously unwilling to argue any more with her brother.

  “I’m picking up Shelby. Her car’s in the shop. We’re working a sunset cruise for Eddie tonight. Insurance Underwriters of America or something.”

  “Sounds exciting.” He gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “See you later.”

  DEVON LOOKED UP from her computer and saw Chad standing in the doorway of Aloha’s offices. Everyone had gone to work the sunset cruise except for Devon and Zach.

  Her heart lifted at the sight of him. When he was around it seemed possible that she could lead a normal life. Warren was back from his WITSEC Continuing Ed course, and she was going to be able to call her sister on Saturday. Even better, Masterson had agreed not to relocate her because of Chad. Things seemed a little more in balance, less scary.

  Zach jumped up and bounded over to him, his tail whipping through the air.

  “Good boy, Zach.” Chad paused to stroke the retriever’s golden head. He looked up at her, his eyes a little more serious than usual. “What are you working on?”

  “An Excel spreadsheet. I’m working up a cost analysis of the business.”

  “Eddie asked you to do that?”

  “No,” she admitted, “but we don’t have a wedding this weekend so I thought I would put together some numbers.”

  He rose, walked over to her desk and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He studied the material she had up on the screen. Devon shifted uncomfortably. Her accounting background helped her analyze the data and organize it in sophisticated charts and comparison columns.

  “Impressive.”

  She gazed up at him. “Eddie’s not charging enough for some of his services. A few vendors are double billing him.”

  “I suspected as much. You have to be careful how you handle Eddie. He’s got enough pride for two men. He won’t want a woman telling him how to run his business.”

  “Don’t worry. I plan to stay under the radar screen. I’m raising some of the prices on certain wedding categories to start. I’ll speak to the vendors and demand credit for the duplicate billings.”

  “Atta girl. Good thinking.”

  There was something off in the way he was looking at her, his tone of voice. She shouldn’t have used her accounting skills to analyze Eddie’s business, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. Her gut instinct from day one was Eddie wasn’t very good at managing his business. He was a sweet man who’d been good enough to hire her. He deserved her help.

  BROCK HAD KEPT surveillance on JordanWalsh’s condo for three days now. She hadn’t turned up. He’d had the neighbors questioned, but apparently Jordan had only recently bought the place. None of them knew her, but a few recalled an attractive redhead.

  Attractive?

  A knockout with Bugatti tits.

  He wished he’d asked more questions about her business. She’d mentioned what had sounded like a Web site. If he knew more, he could find her right now. Whatever Jordan did, she traveled a lot.

  The St. Louis Auto Show was coming up in a week. He went online to see if she’d registered the caper-green Gull Wing. She had.

  Bingo!

  He would offer her an obscene amount of money for the car. If she didn’t take it, he would have her killed and deal with her estate. Maybe he should prepare a bill of sale—force her to sign it—if she wouldn’t willingly. Then kill her.

  Brock stared at the liquid plasma satellite screen on one wall of his office, thinking. He zoomed in on L.A., shining in the morning light after a night of rain had washed it clean. Palms, magnolias, bright red bottlebrushes gleamed while high-rises sparkled. Like snakes slithering through the jungle, traffic barely moved.

  Served the suckers right. Too much sunshine and good weather.

  Brock had never killed anyone, but he’d ordered numerous whacks for Obelisk. Most of the hits were in Third World countries where no one asked many questions. A murdered woman with an expensive car in St. Louis might not be his best idea.

  He would have to get a gun after he’d flown into town. A cardinal rule of jobs like this was to buy a gun that couldn’t possibly be traced back to you. Dump it immediately after using it. Tricky.

  Talk to her in St. Louis. Take her out—have someone else do it—in D.C. where crime wasn’t any big deal. Good plan, he decided.

  He left for his second meeting with agents 251 and 77. They met on the Georgetown campus. The operatives had hip, loose-fitting clothes so they could hide a weapon. Backpacks hid rounds of ammo and other equipment. Here they blended in perfectly. Brock thought his tweed jacket made him look like one of the professors.

  “You’ve got everything you need?” he asked.

  Agent 77 nodded, but 251 said, “We could use extra cash just in case.”

  Brock smiled to himself. No question about it, 251 was sharp. Brock had anticipated this and had gotten more cash. If anything went wrong, you didn’t want to be using a credit card that could be traced.

  “Use the pay phones. If you have to use a cell, ditch it immediately.”

  “Right,” they both said a split second apart.

  He handed them the high definition aerial photographs he’d downloaded from the DoD satellite less than an hour ago. They were concealed in a textbook on Freud called A State of Mind. Brock thought it made a nice touch.

  “Call me when you’ve located the bitch.”

  “Right,” they again agreed.

  “Any questions?”

  251 said, “When I’ve finished, she’ll be better off dead.”

  The words hit Brock like a sucker punch to the gut. Better off dead. He’d thought the same thing—only he wanted to be the one to make Samantha Robbins wish she was dead.

  “Don’t kill her,” Brock warned them. “I have to debrief her.”

  251 shrugged, saying, “Like she would hesitate before killing innocent Americans.”

  “That’s just it,” Brock replied, concern filling his voice. No telling what 251 might do in the name of justice. “She may know of other sleeper cells out there. I must be the one to debrief her.”

  251 shrugged again. “We’re outta here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TWO DAYS LATER, Devon came to work and waved to Chad, who was already in his office. As usual, she’d spent the night with him, but she’d gone home to change. She would like to live with Chad. It felt safer there. The gates, towering walls and the high-tech security system
made her feel secure. It was an illusion, of course. She knew that a determined hit team would have no problem killing her.

  She kept her apartment because Warren couldn’t know about her relationship with Chad. If he did, Masterson would relocate her rather than chance Chad discovering her true identity.

  At times guilt, like a vise cinching her chest, made her regret her relationship with Chad. What if he were killed because of her? With his background, he could defend himself better than most men. She kept telling him she had a premonition that Albert’s men were getting closer—just so he would keep up his guard.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to break off the relationship. He’d come to mean the world to her. God willing, when this was over, she would return here, and they could have a future together.

  “You’ll never, like, believe what happened,” Shelby said as Devon walked into the office, Zach at her heels.

  “I give. What?”

  “Saturday’s wedding is canceled. The groom has cold feet.” Shelby tsked. “As if! This has been planned for almost two years.”

  Devon nodded. Everything was lined up for this event. With the wedding canceled, there wouldn’t be much to do day after tomorrow except cocktail cruises for conventioneers. She wasn’t involved in the sunset cruises; she worked strictly on weddings. Several were coming up and she had a lot of work to do on them. This would give her extra time.

  “Shelby, call around and see if we can sell the flowers and food to other vendors. Cut the prices to the bone to unload as much as you can. I’d like to see the bride get back some of her money.”

  “She’d ordered, like, tons of tulips. They symbolize love, you know.”

  Devon hadn’t known, but she had realized how hideously expensive the flowers had been. Tulips weren’t grown here and had to be flown in, using special refrigerated containers.

  The average wedding in America cost about thirty-five thousand dollars. This wedding was just over one hundred thousand dollars. At this point everything was paid for, and the bride would be lucky to recoup a quarter of what she’d spent.

  The cell phone in Devon’s purse rang, and she went to her desk before pulling it out. She didn’t want Shelby to get a glimpse inside her purse and spot the second cell phone or the gun.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “I need to see you,” Warren told her. “Are you free now to meet me?”

  “I guess. Where?”

  “Under the sperm whale at the Bishop Museum in, say, an hour.”

  Devon clicked the off button. Eddie hadn’t come in yet. He was down at the docks helping overhaul one of his catamarans that had snapped its mast in a heavy wind. She wouldn’t be missed.

  “Shelby, could you watch Zach for a couple of hours?”

  “Sure. I guess Rory’s still in Kauai surfing.”

  Devon nodded. “He’ll be back tonight. He’ll start taking Zach again tomorrow.”

  IT TOOK HER LESS than an hour to drive to the Bishop Museum and park. At this time of day, it was crowded with tourists, which was the reason Warren had chosen to meet here. No one would pay attention to them. The whole way over Devon had speculated on why he wanted to see her. Usually she would be concerned about her sister, but now she was worried he’d found out about Chad.

  Relocation.

  She would have to give up Chad and leave Zach behind. She honestly wondered if she could do it. At moments like this she thought she would rather die. But then Rutherford and Ames would go free. She had to be strong, stay the course.

  Stiffening her resolve, she entered the building. Suspended from the ceiling was a fifty-five-foot-long skeleton of a sperm whale. She gazed up at it, awed, the way she had been the first time she’d come here.

  Take heart, she told herself. Don’t always expect the worst. Her life had new hope now. Maybe Warren had news about the trial. The minute it was scheduled, she planned to tell Chad the truth.

  She wandered around the room with the milling tourists who had come to see the authentic Hawaiian artifacts from the islands pre-European days. Many people called the Bishop Museum “the Smithsonian of the Pacific.” Devon understood why, but she couldn’t concentrate on the interesting exhibits.

  After what seemed hours, Warren walked in, dressed in Bermudas and a Hawaiian shirt only a tourist fresh off the plane would have bought. Obviously he’d dressed to blend in. He circled the room once before approaching her.

  “Get aloada that whale,” he said to her. “Big enough for ya?”

  Devon played along. “I’m glad he didn’t show up on Waikiki while I was in the water.”

  Warren led her away from a tour whose guide was giving the group an in-depth explanation of how natives had built and waterproofed the thatched huts. “Something has come up.”

  Fear ate through her like a corrosive acid. “What?”

  Warren put his hand on her arm. “Your sister has been in an accident. Don’t worry, she’s okay, but you’re not going to be able to talk to her this week.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, her heart beating alarmingly fast. “What happened?”

  Warren kept walking, moving away from anyone who might overhear even though their voices were barely above a whisper. “Hit and run as she came out of the mall. There was a witness, a young kid from Des Moines. He said it was an old man in a late-model Cadillac. Typical Florida accident. At a certain age licenses should be taken away.”

  She remembered so well the carefree brightness of Tina’s smile. It was impossible to imagine her flat on her back and expressionless in a sterile hospital bed. The only time she’d seen Tina grim-faced had been when she was getting ready to have Ariel. Devon had held her hand, helped her breathe and count the way they’d learned in the Lamaze lessons. Tina’s husband, Steven, had been too squeamish to do it. “Are you sure she’s okay?”

  “Positive. She sustained nothing more than a broken arm. That’s a miracle, considering.”

  “Then why can’t I call her?”

  “She’ll be in the hospital for at least two days for observation in case internal bleeding develops. That’s not uncommon when a pedestrian is hit by a car. We can’t plant an electronic sweeping device on a hospital phone on short notice. It takes a court order. By the time we get it, your sister will be home. As soon as she is, you may call her.”

  “Is there any chance Rutherford and Ames caused the accident?”

  “No. The witness gave a good description of the old man and the car. The police may have found him by now.”

  Danger loomed on the horizon like a powerful hurricane. Her life was veering to the dark side again. Usually Warren was as sympathetic as an Auschwitz guard, but now he seemed compassionate. Devon suspected something was terribly wrong.

  Warren led her to the entrance. “There is some good news. It looks as if the trial will be scheduled within the month.”

  “Cripes! I’ve been hearing the trial was going to be scheduled for almost two years.”

  “Now they’re trying to juggle some dates. The attorney defending those two is some high profile guy from L.A. When they pin Mark Greagos down, we’ll have a date.”

  Devon should have been relieved, but she wasn’t. Her sister was in the hospital, and she was trapped here. What if Warren was wrong and internal bleeding caused her to die without Devon seeing her for the last time?

  Without saying goodbye?

  Without saying, “I love you, Tina. I’ll never forget all the happy times we shared”?

  “Do something fun this weekend. Go somewhere with Langston. Get your mind off this.”

  A wild flash of shock ripped through her. “You know about our relationship?”

  Warren held the door, and they walked out of the museum into the bright sunlight. “Yes. I discussed it with Masterson. Chad Langston was an outstanding Special Ops guy. Master-son thinks it’s added security.”

  “He’s going to the Big Kahuna Surfing Competition in Kauai,” she replied, making this up as she went
. “Rory, the boy who’s living with him, is competing. I could go with him.”

  “Do it. Just be sure to take your cell phone so I can keep in touch.”

  “Promise to call me with an update on my sister.”

  DEVON DROVE to a minimart off Alakea Street near the district court building. She could use a public telephone to call her brother-in-law to verify Tina’s condition. The records would be erased in the next two days, but caller ID would show the area code, and Steve would know where she was. Instead she bought a universal prepaid phone card. Designed for visitors from foreign countries—mostly Japanese tourists bought them in Hawaii—the cards had no caller ID and couldn’t be traced.

  She purchased one good for an hour and went to a pay phone. She tried Tina’s home telephone, but the answering machine picked up. Becoming a little frantic, she punched in the cell phone number Steve had when she’d been in Houston. Hopefully he still had the same number.

  On the fourth ring, he answered, “Hello?”

  His tone was hollow and anguished like a voice in a crypt. For a gut-cramping second the world froze, and she couldn’t speak.

  “Hello?” he repeated, irritated now.

  “Steve, it’s Devon. I heard about Tina. Is she all right?”

  “Devon.” He made it sound like a four-letter word.

  They’d never really gotten along. Devon had always suspected he resented her early success. It had been a while before his career had taken off. Another reason Steven was cool to Devon was her close relationship with her sister. Steve liked to be the center of attention. He loved to recount his exploits on the football field at Florida State. Tina found this charming, but Devon thought it was immature.

  “How is she?”

  “Hanging on.”

  “What do you mean? I thought she just had a broken arm.”

  “For starters,” he said, his voice as sharp as a new razor. “A broken pelvis and a ruptured spleen.”

  Warren had deliberately lied to her. She slumped against the wall of the phone booth. “Oh, my God.”

  “Ariel could be without a mother.”

  “What hospital is she in?” she asked, wondering how her niece was taking this.