Crimson Eve

by Brandilyn Collins

  He processed the news. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He shot her a concerned look. “A friend’s house? A relative?”

  “No. I can’t run to anybody. He told me if I did, he’d kill them too.” She lowered her head, felt her chin quiver. Exhaustion swept through her again, leaving her weak-limbed. You know what — she just wanted to go home. Let Thornby find her in her own bed in her own little blue house, let him shoot her as she slept. At least this would all be over.

  Brandon fell silent. No doubt ruing the moment he ever laid eyes on her — what did I do to inherit this crazed woman?

  Carla inhaled deeply and dabbed the corners of her eyes. Okay. Enough self-pity. Use up any more of this guy’s time, and she’d owe him a car commission. She blinked, taking in their surroundings. They’d followed Sprague back toward Spokane and weren’t far from the downtown area. Her sluggish brain shook itself off, thoughts and plans forming.

  “See that bank up there?” She pointed. “Will you give me a sec to run to the outside ATM?”

  “Sure.”

  He pulled into the parking lot and close to the machine for the sake of her ankle. Carla murmured her thanks and slipped from the Cruiser, clutching her purse. That bag and its contents —including the diary — were all she had, now that she’d abandoned her suitcase and car.

  At the machine she withdrew her bank’s ATM limit — five hundred dollars. Tomorrow she could withdraw another five hundred.

  Back in the car, she thanked Brandon profusely. “Look, I know it’s a little farther out of your way. But could you take me to the Hampton Inn near the airport?”

  He mushed his lips, looking her straight in the face. Carla saw her reflection, blue and disheveled and tiny, in the lenses of his sunglasses. “Okay.” He put the car in gear and backed out of their parking space.

  “Know how to take city streets over?” she asked. “So we don’t have to get on the freeway?”

  “Yeah.”

  Carla tilted her head, observing him. Brandon’s even-temperedness hadn’t changed. Probably thinking anything to keep this lady calm. A few more minutes, and he’d be rid of her.

  They didn’t speak again until they were within a mile of the hotel. Remorse stabbed at Carla for the problems she’d cost the guy. And she couldn’t bear to think of any harm coming to him for his help.

  “Brandon, I need to tell you a couple of things. They’re important.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I parked my car in the middle of all the new ones on your lot. I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but it was the perfect place to make it blend in. I don’t think I remembered to lock it. And I left my suitcase on the front seat. Could you lock the doors for me?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. But we can’t let the car stay there. The boss is going to want to know where it came from. You got a key hidden on it by any chance? So I can move it to the street?”

  “No!” Fear sloshed around inside her. “If the guy who’s after me happened to see you driving that car, he’d know you’ve talked to me. You wouldn’t be safe. Just lock it up and be done with it. Tell the owner you don’t know where it came from. If it’s towed, it’s towed. That’s the least of my worries right now.”

  “What about your suitcase?”

  She shook her head. “I wish I had it. But I don’t. And it’s too dangerous for me to go back and get it. I keep thinking that Thornby — that’s the name of the guy who’s after me, at least the one he told me — is going to figure out what I did and come looking for my car on your lot. If he shows up, Brandon, you’ve got to play dumb. He’s driving a rented black Durango. And you can’t tell anybody you saw me, talked to me, much less where you brought me. Understand?”

  “Yeah, okay. And I’ll lock your car.” He spoke lightly, and Carla knew he didn’t understand the danger, not at all.

  He pulled into the parking lot for the hotel, then to a stop outside the lobby. Carla turned to him, sudden loneliness washing over her. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and pressed. The loneliness surged.

  She swallowed hard. “You know, you really ought to meet a girlfriend of mine. You two would get along great.”

  “Oh, really, who’s that?” His tone was dry, as if meeting any of her insane friends was the last thing he wanted.

  “Leslie Brymes. She’s just a few years younger than you.”

  His head pulled back. “The Leslie Brymes? As in hot reporter from Kanner Lake Leslie Brymes?”

  Carla smiled. “Yeah, that one.”

  He pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead, his translucent blue eyes widening. “You know her?”

  “Hey, don’t you read our Scenes and Beans blog? I thought everybody did.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, the Java Joint blog. She writes posts for it; so do I.” Carla took in Brandon’s blank look. “Okay, never mind. Just . . . know I’m not the mad-woman-escaped-from-the-asylum that you think I am.”

  He dipped his head, his playful smile returning. “Well, hey, count me in for meeting Leslie. I’m good anytime.”

  Carla nodded. Her hand found the door handle and pulled. “Thanks so much for everything you’ve done. I hope I don’t get you into trouble for being gone so long.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” His forehead creased. “How about you? I feel bad, leaving you here by yourself. No suitcase, no anything.”

  Nice to know he felt sorry for her, even if he did think she was nuts. “I’ll be okay.”

  He gestured toward her ankle. “You gonna put that foot up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Well, let me at least help you inside.”

  Brandon slid from the car, came around, and pulled her door open. Allowed her to lean on him as she limped through the hotel door into the lobby. Only when the young man behind the counter affirmed there was a vacancy for her and assigned her a room on the first floor did Brandon take his leave. Carla paid in cash and checked in under a false name — Sally Aimes. First one that popped into her tired mind.

  At the lobby door Brandon turned back, gave her a little wave and a wink. “Take care now, Sally.”

  She watched him drive away, thinking Stella-esque thoughts of the kindness of strangers.

  Minutes later in her room, Carla finally took care of her throbbing ankle. Carefully she removed the plastic cover off the ice bucket and hobbled down the hall to fill it at the machine. Back behind her locked and bolted door, she wrapped some of the ice in the plastic, then rolled it up in a hand towel. That done, she pulled the pillows from the second double bed onto the bed nearest the bathroom. Then and only then did she collapse upon the mattress. She fussed the two extra pillows into place beneath her ankle, positioned the ice packet, then layered the two pillows from her bed behind her head.

  She checked the digital clock. Almost two-thirty.

  Two-thirty. Hard to believe twenty-four hours ago she’d been in her office, researching comps for a client.

  The adrenaline pulsing through her veins began to recede. As she finally allowed herself to relax, every inch of her body sagged into the mattress. Carla closed her eyes. Breathe in . . .breathe out. In . . . out. So quiet. So still. She could feel her emotions, shoved to a cool back burner, now shift to the front toward heat. Somebody turned up the temperature.

  Better watch out. After all she’d been through, this just might be a good time for a meltdown.

  But Carla fought it. Fear held her back. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. After sixteen years she had so many things to cry for. So many hurts, guilts, losses. If she let go now she might not stop until the next century, and she hardly had that kind of time. A few hours of rest, and she was out of here . . .

  Her thoughts fuzzed. It took some doing to pull them back into focus.

  . . . On the run to who-knew-where . . .

  Carla’s mind blurred again. Her body settled further into the bed, gravity dragging her down, down.

 
. . . With no plan . . . No friends. . .

  No . . . life . . .

  Exhaustion rocked her, sang its siren song.

  Carla tumbled into a dark, dream-haunted sleep.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  I’m shaking all over. Gravity’s pulling me down so hard I wonder if I can ever get off this bed.

  Today was the last day of school before the Christmas holiday. And my last day of work until after New Year’s. I went into the office around 3:00 as usual. Bryson wasn’t there. He’s been gone for a week. As for Mrs. My-Husband — I haven’t seen her for a long time. She quit coming to the office weeks ago.

  Maybe she’s just avoiding me.

  Jilke pounced on me the minute I walked in the door. He stood up and towered over me. “Sit down.”

  His voice sounded so harsh. I was feeling tired already and in no mood to fight. I sank into my chair.

  He pulled out the ledger I use to record our petty cash. I do it in pencil like he taught me, so I can erase if I make a mistake. Jilke shoved the ledger under my nose and jammed his finger on the figures for the current month. “I can’t believe you would do this. I’ve been going over these figures. You’ve been stealing money for the past five months.”

  My jaw dropped. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Don’t get cute with me. You’ve been after more than just a job ever since you came here.” His eyes flicked toward Bryson’s office. “Well, you got it in more ways than one. I’ve sat back and watched it all go on, unable to stop it. This I can stop. I will not let you steal money from the very man who’s done so much for you.”

  “I didn’t steal any money! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Then how do you explain this?” He smacked his finger against the page.

  I leaned over the ledger, knowing everything would add up. It always did. And wouldn’t Jilke be feeling the fool in a minute. But as I looked at the numbers, I could see erase marks. Inflated costs for stamps and paper and other supplies. The numbers still computed, but it showed we’d spent ninety dollars more than we really had. I looked up at Jilke with widened eyes, then grabbed the petty cash box from inside my top drawer. It had just the amount of money the ledger said it should. Ninety dollars missing.

  Panic shot through me. I stared at Jilke — with his smug faked indignation — and understood.

  I shoved the petty cash box back in my drawer, my fear turning to rage. “You did this. You’ve wanted me out of here for months. Well, guess what, I’m not leaving. Bryson will never believe your little trick.”

  “Senator Hanley believes it, all right. I spoke to him on the phone last night. He agrees you have to go.”

  “I don’t believe that!”

  He sat on the edge of my desk and leaned close to my face. “Believe what you want as long as you believe this — you’re out of here. Forever. Now get your stuff and be gone, or I’ll call the police to take you out.”

  My face flushed hot. “You can’t get away with this! You’re lying to Bryson. As soon as I tell him what you did — ”

  “Get out!” He stomped around to my chair and yanked it back from my desk. “Get out now. And stay out of Bryson Hanley’s life.” He grabbed my arms and pulled me up. I pushed him away.

  “I’m going to tell Bryson. He won’t believe you!” Tears stung my eyes, and that made me all the madder. I didn’t want to give Jilke the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  “You will not call him, get that?” His voice fell to a whisper that sent ice running through my veins. “I don’t think you understand your situation. You’ve been stealing from a state senator. He’s got a few friends on the police force. Friends who would believe his word over yours any day. Count yourself lucky all you have to do is leave. I promise you this — you say one word about Bryson Hanley to anyone, and we’ll press charges. You want to have your baby in juvenile hall?”

  One word. He didn’t have to explain.

  That did it. I couldn’t help sobbing. It’s one thing to pull such a dirty trick on me, but to try and harm my baby. All I could do was grab my purse and leave.

  Four hours later, I’m still on my bed. I’m done crying for now, but my eyes feel like they’re going to burn out of my head. I still can’t believe Bryson would think I’d steal from him. That hurts me worse than anything. I love him! I would never take anything from him. How can he think that of me? No matter how well Jilke lies? And how will I ever see Bryson now? At all?

  There’s no way I’m just sitting back and letting this happen. No way. I’m going to talk to Bryson. Tell him what a lying little punk he has for a manager. Then we’ll see who stays in the office and who goes. Bryson loves me. He won’t let this happen to me. And he certainly would never let me go to jail.

  He’s gone until after the new year. Somehow I have to hang on until I can call him.

  Merry Christmas, Carla.

  FORTY-NINE

  Two-thirty. Too late.

  Tony pulled off Sprague into the parking lot of a strip mall and stopped in a space far from other cars. He turned off the engine and sat there, staring at nothing. He was past screaming curses. Past pounding the dashboard, the console. If he wanted to save his family, he had to keep his wits about him. He’d looked and looked. Done everything he could think to do. But he’d lost his target. Again. By now she could be miles away, headed anywhere.

  With a deep breath, he pulled out the cell phone registered in his real name and called his boss. The line picked up after the first ring.

  “Tony. About time. You’re pushing the hour.”

  Tony clenched his jaw at the disdain in the voice. “Just want to tell you it’s done.”

  “Really. Well, now, you’ve made my day. I was beginning to wonder if I had to come out there myself.”

  “No need.” Tony focused across the parking lot at a couple exiting a store, the woman with a toddler boy in her arms. A rush of emotion deflated his chest. He couldn’t wait to see his son.

  “What took so long?”

  Tony dropped his head back against the seat. “Complications involving her work. I wanted to wait for the safest time. Now you can rest easy. She’ll never be found.”

  A low chuckle filled his ear. “Ah, Tony. I knew I could count on you.”

  Yeah, right. Tony cleared his throat. “I’ve got some details to finish up here, then I’ll be on my way back.”

  “Fine, take your time.” A long inhale — and Tony knew something was coming. “You’d have loved the way Timmy looked today, by the way. He wore a red sweatshirt to preschool that said ‘My dad rules.’ ”

  Tony’s lungs went cold.

  “And your wife was lovely in her black jeans.”

  “You gave me until three o’clock.” The words pressed from Tony’s throat.

  “Oh, no problem, you got it. I imagine your son’s happily playing games or napping now — whatever children do midafternoon. Still, I’m so glad you called. I was beginning to sweat.”

  Tony’s fingers nearly bent the phone. Sending some underling all the way out to watch his family had been nothing less than a display of power. And absolutely unnecessary.

  “I’m coming home.” He ground out the response. “My family had better not be harmed, and completely unaware of any of this.”

  “Or what, Tony?” Dark amusement writhed through the words. “You’ll tell on me? Expose me for all my sins? Don’t forget you have a few of your own.”

  Wouldn’t matter if his own were exposed. Nothing would matter if he lost his family.

  Tony opened his mouth to spit a reply, then bit it back. That wouldn’t help, not now.

  “Gotta go. See you soon.” He clicked off the line.

  For a moment he sat, empty gaze roaming the parking lot. He knew he’d catch up with his target again; already he had some ideas. Meanwhile his boss wasn’t likely to find out Carla Radling still lived. After all, she was keeping herself pretty scarce. Still, he couldn’t take the chance . . .

 
; With a defeated sigh, he punched in the number of his wife’s cell phone. When she answered, he would speak the dreaded words they had agreed upon long ago. The words he would say if his “CIA job” posed a sudden threat to her and Timmy. At the message, Robyn would immediately pick Timmy up from preschool, drive to the airport, and take the first flight to a friend’s house in San Diego. There she would wait — without calling him — until he contacted her.

  “Hi, sweetie!” Robyn’s voice sounded in his ear. So unsuspecting. Tony almost changed his mind. He didn’t want to frighten her like this.

  “Hi.” He kept his voice light. “Guess what, I bought a new suit.”

  Silence. He could hear the shock, the unspoken questions tumbling through the phone. Come on, Robyn, hang in there.

  “That’s nice.” His wife’s voice trembled, and for a moment he was afraid she wouldn’t continue. “Oh, honey, um . . . someone just walked in my office. I need to go. Call you back, okay?”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” The words choked. Then the line went dead.

  Tony lowered his phone and caressed the keypad with his fingertips before folding the cover shut.

  FIFTY

  Just want to tell you it’s done.

  Paul Jilke hung up the phone and pushed back from his cluttered desk. Beyond his closed door he could hear other phones ringing, the voices of assistants and clerks. Bryson Hanley’s Seattle-based office, one of three in the state, was a busy place. Tomorrow it would be busier with Bryson’s presence. Friday, the US Senate was not in session, and Bryson would be home for a long weekend, meeting with voters.

  Jilke swiveled in his black leather chair to gaze out the window at the Seattle skyline, his long fingers steepled. There’d been something in Tony Derrat’s voice during their conversation yesterday —something tainting his claim that Carla Radling hadn’t shown up to their meeting. Enough to make Jilke want to mention Tony’s son. Now this. Jilke didn’t believe a word of what the man had said today. Jilke had been around a long time, ever since Golden Boy Bryson had begun his climb to fame. He knew expressions, had learned how to look into a person’s eyes and tell if he was lying. And he knew voices. Like subtle body language, vocal tone could give away not only deception, but hidden agendas and half-truths.