Private Affair

by Rebecca York

  A year later, he’d gone after Gary Anderson to settle an old score. Gary had ruined the party that night at Brian’s. It was appropriate to make him pay for that.

  He’d lain low for a few years, enjoying his cushy lifestyle and thinking that what had happened in high school would stay in high school. And then he’d been jolted by an email about the ten-year reunion. It had brought back memories.

  And if it did that for him, what about the people from the reunion class who could be a threat? Like Angela Dawson.

  She’d kept quiet about the rapes up at the cabin. And so had Olivia and Claire. But what if they got together at the reunion, compared notes, and decided to talk?

  His hands were damp now, and he wiped them on his pants legs.

  “That’s not gonna happen now,” he muttered. “You’ve already stopped the bitches from talking to each other.”

  Doggedly, he focused on his biggest success again. Not money. Murder. If you had an issue with someone, there was an easy way to settle the beef. There were subtle ways to eliminate people who were in the way, but he’d strangled Angela because it was like a repetition of his first success. And he’d figured it was safe to do it that way because what did it matter—nobody was going to suspect him. After that, he’d started having some fun with Claire. Like why not drive her crazy before he killed her?

  Then he’d realized she was the perfect tool to use when he needed to get to Olivia after she’d hired that bastard detective to solve the murders.

  There was no chance of that, of course. The guy was too stupid to finger the Masked Avenger. Look how easy it had been to lure Lyon away from the Winters’ farm. And it was probably dumb luck that he’d figured out the ploy and come racing back.

  His mind was spinning with plans now. It would be safer to kill Lyon, too. Either before or after he did Olivia. However it worked out.

  And then there was the Avenger’s friend. The guy who’d gone to Baltimore with him. Maybe Angela’s murder and the incident at the Winters’ farm had made him nervous. Maybe he could guess who had done those bitches. And maybe he had to be eliminated, too. Just in case.

  A lot of dead people were piling up. That might have worried the Avenger. But now he knew he was invincible. He’d gotten away every time—even from the farmhouse. And he was going to keep getting away.

  Except that suddenly he felt the edge of panic creeping in on him. Gritting his teeth, he pushed it away. He would stay calm. And focused. And he would win—because he always had.

  ***

  Olivia heard Max swear.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The DNA,” Max answered, then turned on the speaker so she could hear better.

  “Who is it?”

  “Either of you know someone named Damon Davidson?”

  Confused, Olivia shook her head.

  “Oh Christ,” Max swore, and she knew from his reaction that the name meant something to him—something bad.

  “Who is he?” she and Shane both said at the same time.

  “He’s a drug dealer I put away six years ago. He swore he was going to get even with me. He must have been released from Jessup, and I didn’t even know it.” He glanced at Olivia, his expression grim. “He must have started checking up on me, found out I’d be at your house, and booby-trapped the woods. “

  “So it wasn’t connected with the murders,” Olivia breathed.

  “Right. And before anything else happens, I’m taking you to…”

  “The Rockfort Security safe house,” Shane finished. “Do you want me to come down there and pick Olivia up?”

  “That would just take more time,” Max answered. “I want her out of Baltimore right now. We’ll meet you at the safe house. But if he’s following me, it may take some time to lose him.”

  “Okay,” Shane answered and clicked off.

  Max paused in the living room, looking to the front of the house, then the rear, and back again.

  “I said it looked like whoever was at the farm the night of the reunion meeting was after me, but I thought it was connected with the case. I didn’t think I was actually the target.”

  “You couldn’t know.”

  “Maybe I should have kept tabs on Davidson.”

  “Oh come on. How many guys who said they were going to get you followed through?”

  “None until now,” he bit out. “Just your luck it had to be this guy.”

  He cursed under his breath as he looked toward the front door, then the back. “And for all we know, he could have followed us here.”

  Marge came back from the kitchen, taking in the tension crackling between them. “Trouble?” she asked.

  “Sorry,” Max said. “A guy I put away when I was with the Baltimore PD is after me. And he could show up here.” He looked at the older woman. “Do you have a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  She walked to an end table, pulled out a revolver, and gave it to Max.

  He checked to see that the weapon was loaded, then gave it to Olivia. “I’m going to get the car. You wait here. I’ll go out the front and come back to the rear.”

  “Okay,” she answered, and he knew she was struggling to keep her voice steady. They’d been making certain assumptions, and they’d thought they knew the identity of the killer—or at least one of two guys. Now it turned out that someone else entirely had come to the farm the other night.

  “Stay inside until I pull up in the alley,” he said.

  She reached for him and tugged him toward her, and they clung together for a long moment.

  Finally he eased away. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will,” Max answered as he stepped to the window and inspected the street. It was dark now, and everything was quiet. All he had to do was make it to his car and come back for Olivia.

  He was angry with himself for letting her talk him into bringing her into this part of the city. But he was going to get her to safety. He’d leave one of the other guys with her at the safe house.

  Then he and Jack or Shane would split up. One would stay with Olivia. One would go after Troy Masters, and the other would pay a call on Tommy Larson. The reunion killer was one of them, he was sure, even if he didn’t know why the killing had continued over the years and sped up recently. His best guess was that the guy was coming unglued, but there was no way to know for sure until they caught him.

  He saw Olivia’s anxious gaze on him as he eased the door open and stepped into the dark. He stayed close to the house for several moments, then started down the block, intending to circle around to where he’d left his SUV.

  He made it about twenty yards down the sidewalk when a figure leaped out from the darkened passageway between two row houses.

  Max caught only a flash of movement, then someone was on him. A hot pain slashed into his arm through his shirt and jacket, and he knew he had been cut.

  “You son of a bitch,” his assailant called as he tried for another strike. But Max twisted to the side and grabbed the man’s knife hand, forcing it back toward him. The man gasped as the blade dug into his side.

  He’d cut the bastard, but he didn’t know how badly.

  It must be Davidson. The ex-con had been following them, then hid out in a passageway between two row houses, ready to move to the back or the front as soon as Max came out. Thank God Olivia was still inside.

  His arm was on fire, but his own stab at the guy must have done some damage too because Davidson was less enthusiastic about the attack now. Max managed to knock him to the ground. Too bad he didn’t carry handcuffs anymore.

  The guy struggled up, looking like was going to run instead of fight, just as a shot rang out. Both men went rigid. Then Davidson wrenched away and ran, and Max fell back against a lamppost. Looking up, he saw Olivia charge down the steps toward him, Marge’s revolver in her hand.

  “Get back in the house,” he called out, but she ignored him and hurried toward him.


  “You shot…”

  “Into the air,” she finished. Craning her neck, she looked in the direction where the man had disappeared. “Was that Davidson or a mugger?”

  “Davidson.”

  “Too bad I couldn’t shoot at him,” she answered, “but he was too close to you.”

  Max stayed where he was, leaning against the lamppost, glad of the support. He knew he was going into shock, and he hated having Olivia see him that way.

  “Max?” she asked softly.

  “Um.”

  “You’re hurt.”

  She knelt beside him on the sidewalk. When she looked at his arm, she gasped.

  This time he wasn’t going to argue that it was “nothing,” because he felt the blood soaking his shirt and jacket.

  Olivia eased the jacket off. It was made of light material, and she used it to make a tourniquet above the cut.

  Marge had rushed out onto the sidewalk. She was carrying a blanket, which Olivia tucked around Max.

  “I called 911,” the older woman said. “An ambulance should be here soon.”

  “Thank you,” Olivia breathed.

  She sat beside him, and he closed his eyes. He should stay alert, but it was too much effort.

  “Call Rockfort,” he told Olivia.

  “Yes.” She grabbed his cell phone and called back the last number.

  Shane answered. “Max?”

  “No. It’s Olivia,” she said.

  “Where’s Max?” his partner asked, an edge in his voice.

  Her hand tightened on the cell phone. “That Davidson guy was waiting for him with a knife. Max was cut. An ambulance is coming.”

  “You’re still in Baltimore?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re on our way. Do you know what hospital?”

  “Not yet. I’ll have to call you back,” she answered, hearing the wail of a siren in the distance. As it grew louder, she was aware that people were coming down the street, curious about what had happened.

  “Stay back,” Marge cautioned. “Give him air.”

  The ambulance pulled up, and two paramedics jumped out, a man and a woman. They rolled a stretcher toward Max and got him onto the horizontal surface.

  “He was cut in a knife fight,” Olivia told them.

  The man tended to his arm. The woman took his vital signs, then started an IV drip of clear liquid.

  “What hospital are we going to?”

  “Memorial,” the woman answered.

  “And I can go with him?”

  “Yes.”

  While they got Max into the ambulance, she called the Rockfort men. “We’re going to Memorial Hospital.”

  “Okay. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  She climbed into the vehicle after the woman medic and sat down on one of the benches, reaching for Max’s hand as they sped off toward the hospital. He lay with his eyes closed, and she knew he was barely conscious.

  “Cold,” he whispered.

  “Because you’ve lost a lot of blood. But you’re going to be all right,” she told him, praying it was true, because the alternative gave her cold chills.

  The ride with the siren blaring couldn’t have been long, but seemed to take forever. Finally, the ambulance pulled up at the emergency room door, and the medics wheeled Max inside.

  “They’ve taken him right back because his condition is serious, but we need you to fill out some paperwork,” the woman at the desk told Olivia.

  “Like what?”

  “The usual.” She pushed a form toward Olivia, and she stared at the questions. She’d filled out many similar forms for herself, but never for anyone else. And as she read the boxes, she felt lost. She knew Max’s name. She knew his occupation. And that was it. She didn’t know his date of birth, his social security number, his medical insurance, or any of the other things this form wanted her to provide.

  “Sorry,” she told the receptionist, hating her ignorance on the subject of Max Lyon. “I don’t know him well enough. You have to wait until his partners arrive.”

  The woman nodded. “Okay.”

  Olivia was too restless to sit down, and she was still pacing back and forth in the waiting room when Shane barreled through the door, spotted her, and hurried over. He gave her a quick hug, and she clung to him for a moment, then stepped away.

  “How is he?” he asked.

  “They haven’t told me anything. He was cut, and he was pretty weak when they brought him in.”

  Shane waited while an elderly man in a wheelchair was checked in, then stepped up to the counter. “I want to know how Max Lyon is doing,” he said.

  “After you give us the insurance and personal information on him.”

  Olivia knew Shane was about to yell at the woman and put a hand on his arm.

  He glanced at her, then sighed, and she saw him making an effort to get control of himself. “Okay.”

  Jack Brandt came in, and the two men worked on the form together, then turned it in.

  Olivia didn’t know what Shane said to the woman, but a few minutes later, a nurse came out to speak to them.

  “He’s doing much better,” she said. “But we’re keeping him for a few days. He’s being transferred to the third floor in a while.”

  “Can we see him now?” Jack asked.

  “Only two of you at a time.”

  “You of course,” Shane said to Olivia.

  “Thank you.”

  The two men glanced at each other.

  “You go in,” Jack said to his partner.

  “Are you sure?” Shane asked.

  “Go on. I’ll have my turn later,” Jack answered.

  The nurse ushered her and Shane through the door to the working part of the emergency facility, where some patients were lying on beds in the wide hallway. On the far side of the nurses’ station, Max was in a brightly lit treatment room.

  Next to his bed was an IV stand with liquid running into his right arm, only now the bag held blood instead of a clear liquid. And his left arm was bandaged where he’d been cut. The lower half of his body was covered by a sheet and blanket, but Olivia saw he was wearing one of those hospital gowns that opened in the back.

  He looked up and smiled when he saw them, and she considered that a good sign.

  “Looks like I’m going to make it,” Max said.

  Olivia crossed to him, bent down, and pressed her cheek against his. He moved his left arm, gripping her elbow, but she could tell it took a big effort.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Not too bad, considering.”

  “You get better,” she murmured. “Jack’s here too. But only two of us could come in.”

  He nodded.

  “Davidson attacked you?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah. And he got away, unfortunately.”

  “They’re keeping you for a few days,” Shane said.

  “I want out of here,” he said immediately. “We have two suspects, and we have to follow up.”

  “As soon as you’re better,” Shane answered.

  They were interrupted as someone else strode into the room. It was Archie Hamilton, looking like he’d discovered them robbing a bank instead of gathering around a sickbed.

  Max gave him a questioning look. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your territory.”

  “But you’re involved in my case. What happened to you?”

  “I was cut.”

  “You mean because you were investigating the Howard County murders when I told you to stay out of my way?”

  “It didn’t have anything to do with that,” Olivia answered. “He was attacked by Damon Davidson.”

  “Who?”

  “A drug dealer he put in prison. Davidson was released, and he came after Max,” Shane replied.

  The Howard County detective looked from one of them to the other. “And this happened in North Baltimore?” he said.

  “Yeah,” Max answered.

  “And what were you doing there?
”

  Chapter 24

  When neither Max nor Olivia answered, Hamilton made a snorting sound.

  Olivia watched Max’s eyes narrow as he focused on the detective. “Davidson got away. Maybe you and the Baltimore PD can cooperate on finding him.”

  “They probably don’t want me interfering,” Hamilton responded.

  Switching the subject, Olivia asked, “Any progress on the reunion murders?”

  “What do you mean, the reunion murders?”

  “That’s what we call them, because everyone who’s been killed was in the Donley High School ten-year reunion class. What do you call them?”

  “There is no ‘them.’”

  “It’s just a coincidence that someone went after three women from the class? Only I escaped.”

  “Maybe not,” Hamilton snapped, as he swung toward her. “Maybe it would help if you tell me what you know.” My God, was he conceding that the murders were connected?

  Olivia glanced at Max, who gave a small nod.

  She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Okay, we think that the murderer is either Troy Masters or Tommy Larson—both of whom were in my class.”

  “And what makes you think so?” Hamilton asked.

  “Because we talked to a working girl who says one of them murdered her friend at a motel near Security Square ten years ago.”

  The detective kept his gaze fixed on her. “That’s what you’ve got? Information on a ten-year-old murder that might not have even happened? I mean, do you really think that’s credible?”

  Olivia struggled for calm. When he put it that way, it didn’t sound very convincing, but she couldn’t tell Hamilton about the yearbook pictures because she’d given her word that she wouldn’t drag Julie or Marge into this. “You could check it out,” she said.

  “What working girl?” Hamilton demanded.

  Again Olivia was prevented from answering because of the promise to Margie.

  “Well,” Hamilton pressed.

  “We can’t tell you.”

  “Because you’re just guessing,” the detective snapped.