by Diane Capri
So why was Bramall working for Mackenzie?
Bramall had history with Jane and Rose. That had to be it. Or at least, part of it.
Maybe he’d figured to get more, better, faster intel from Mackenzie if the bastard was comfortable. The best way to achieve that was to make him believe Bramall was actually on his payroll, and make Mackenzie pay dearly for it.
Like a lot of cheaters, Mackenzie probably believed he controlled everyone he employed.
Bramall probably charged Mackenzie five times the going rate to make him feel totally in control.
Guys like Mackenzie were brutal and sly, too. He had his own agenda and the best way to uncover it was to make him want to tell.
Mackenzie said, “You’ve only been on the case for two days, Bramall. Jane and Rose have been missing for two weeks. You think you can judge me? Dream on.”
“Well, let’s just see.” Bramall cocked his head to convey pure skepticism. Right out of the FBI’s playbook. “Neither your wife nor her sister have used their cell phones for the past fifteen days.”
“I told you that,” Mackenzie sneered. “Some detective you are.”
Bramall nodded. “We located the phones.”
CHAPTER 21
Friday, February 11
2:05 p.m.
In flight to Las Vegas
Mackenzie’s eyes widened. His mouth dried up. He coughed before he rasped, “Good work. You know where Jane and Rose are, then?”
“Unfortunately, we don’t.” Bramall frowned and shook his head.
Mackenzie relaxed slightly. “Why not?”
“It was a little complicated.” Bramall cocked his head. “We found both phones in a locker at O’Hare. They were powered off and the batteries were removed, which is probably why your search failed to locate them. Our equipment is better.”
“Apparently.” Mackenzie scowled. His fist clenched and pounded the upholstered armrest in short, hard, muffled bursts.
He looked like a street fighter. No man liked being told he was inferior. In another time and place, he might have thrown a punch. Good to know.
What else set the guy off, Otto wondered?
“Seems odd, doesn’t it? Why not destroy the phones?” Bramall mused.
As if the thought had just occurred to him, Mackenzie demanded to know, “Who stashed the phones there?”
“Funny you should ask. We pinged the phones first, which led us to the specific location at O’Hare. Then we addressed that precise issue. Who did place the phones inside those lockers?” Bramall reported, like to a boss. “We made the assumption that the phones were stored on the last day they were used. We started looking at the CCTV inside O’Hare. It’s constant and reliable, but it took us a while to go through all the footage.”
Mackenzie nodded with approval. “Makes sense. While Jane still had her phone, she’d have been using it. My wife lived like her phone was an extension of her arm.”
Otto heard the past tense, and her heart skipped a beat. Lived. Not lives. As if Jane was dead and Mackenzie knew it.
The kind of slip-up that a seasoned investigator like Bramall wouldn’t miss.
“Makes sense. But didn’t happen.” Bramall shook his head. “The phones were stored three days after they were last used.”
Deep white lines etched Mackenzie’s mouth and his nostrils flared. “Where was she for those three days, then? Was my wife having an affair?”
“We don’t know. Not yet.” Bramall narrowed his eyes.
At least two things were hinky about Mackenzie’s response.
Again, the past tense. Was she having an affair, not is she currently involved with another man.
Perhaps he was less interested in finding his wife than confirming his alibi, assuming he had one.
If his wife was dead, Mackenzie had to know he was the most likely suspect. He could probably come up with another alibi if he needed one.
But for that, Mackenzie would need to know more details, and he hadn’t even asked.
Which could mean that he already knew.
The second hinky thing? Mackenzie’s comment assumed it was Jane who stored the phones in the locker. But he hadn’t asked about that, either.
Bramall didn’t enlighten him. “There were actually two lockers. The phones and the batteries were stored separately.”
“I didn’t even know Jane’s phone had a removable battery,” Mackenzie said. “Why’d she do that?”
Bramall shrugged. When no more questions followed, he said, “We found a few personal items in the lockers, too.”
A thin film of perspiration showed on Mackenzie’s upper lip. He released the buckle on his seat belt leaving him free to move about the cabin. Not moderate chop yet, but the plane bounced a bit and returned to level flight.
Otto ducked deep into the footwell behind the tall seats to avoid being seen.
Mackenzie stood, steadied himself and walked toward the galley where he grabbed a napkin and dabbed the sweat from his face. “I need a drink. How about you?”
What was Mackenzie so worried about all of a sudden?
Bramall said, “Whiskey would be great. Thanks.”
The plane bounced like a drunken sailor in what the captain would probably call light chop. She wondered how they’d be able to keep anything down.
Her stomach was too queasy to consider it. Even if Mackenzie saw her and offered. Which he wouldn’t.
When he returned to his seat with two half-filled crystal glasses, Mackenzie handed the whiskey to Bramall and sat.
She returned to her seat.
Mackenzie asked, “So what did you find in the lockers?”
“We couldn’t just go at the lockers with a crow bar. We had to get a warrant to open them. I called in a couple of favors to make that happen.” Bramall paused for a sip of his whiskey. “Which means the local agents took possession of the contents.”
With each new piece of information Bramall doled out, Mackenzie seemed more agitated, although he tried to control it. He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a gulp of straight booze.
Otto figured Bramall getting a warrant would have been Mackenzie’s last choice. But then, unlike Bramall, Mackenzie didn’t have a State of Illinois private investigator’s license and a pension from the FBI to protect, either. Far from it.
“Right,” Mackenzie croaked and cleared his throat.
“The good news is that I was able to examine the items from the lockers before they took everything,” Bramall said. “And I have photos.”
Mackenzie blanched. Then he stammered.
Before he’d figured out which lie he planned to tell, Bramall snarled, “Cut the crap, Rex, and tell me what the hell’s really going on here.”
Bramall gave him a level stare.
Mackenzie’s blue eyes welled with tears, which was nothing but more bullshit.
Mackenzie was no emotional wreck over his missing wife. Not even close. He came across as a psychopath.
Otto wondered whether Mackenzie knew Bramall had killed Joey Two and Little Hugh not twelve hours ago. If he didn’t start helping Bramall find Jane and Rose, he should be worrying about Bramall making him a dead psychopath pretty soon.
Bramall pulled out his cell phone and pressed to call.
“Hang up the phone,” Mackenzie demanded. His face turned bright red. A fierce frown distorted his features.
Bramall shrugged. If they hadn’t been flying at thirty-thousand feet in moderate chop, Mackenzie might have lunged at him. His rage was impotent inside the cabin. For the moment.
“Terry Bramall here. You guys making any progress on those items we removed from the lockers at O’Hare? Uh huh…okay…” Bramall waited a couple of seconds, listening. “Got it. I’ll be landing as planned….Yeah, two agents at the gate plus you and me should do the job.…Rex Mackenzie is with me. The husband….Yep….Thanks.”
Otto figured the call was a hoax. It wasn’t likely that Bramall would stick his neck out with law enforcement, given t
he two missing bodies back at U Store Stuff, along with the missing drugs and cash.
Bramall disconnected the call and dropped the phone into his pocket. Simultaneously, he pulled a pistol from his holster with his right hand and pointed it directly at his seatmate. “Sit back and relax or I’ll cuff you. Which will be damned uncomfortable.”
“You can’t shoot a gun in an airplane,” Mackenzie sputtered.
“Of course I can. You watch too many movies.” Bramall’s stare was no-nonsense. “I’ve had a lot of training, Rex. I know exactly where and how I can shoot. Trust me.”
Mackenzie seemed shocked. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Sit back. I won’t tell you again,” Bramall growled, pointing the gun directly toward Mackenzie.
CHAPTER 22
Friday, February 11
2:36 p.m.
At that moment, the plane seemed to revolt. Her seatbelt pulled against her body as the cabin pitched and rolled. Bramall’s whiskey glass went flying to the floor. Whiskey splashed everywhere.
Bramall held the gun steady, ignoring the chop. “You didn’t even ask me who put the phones in those lockers. Why not, Rex? I’ll tell you why. Because it was you.”
Otto felt a little green around the gills as she listened carefully.
“Jane and Rose have been gone for longer than you said, haven’t they?” Bramall demanded. “You found the phones. You held onto them for a while before you stashed them. You made phone calls to set up your alibi.”
Mackenzie sputtered. “I did not!”
Bramall kept the pressure on. “But you screwed up, Rex. You made two calls to U Store Stuff using Jane’s phone. You thought no one would find out? You must believe we’re idiots.”
Mackenzie’s eyes had widened, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “Okay. Okay. Look, I did put the phones in the lockers.”
“No shit,” Bramall deadpanned.
“But I didn’t kill Jane or Rose. I swear.”
Finally, he’d said something Bramall must have wanted to believe.
“Prove it,” he growled again.
Mackenzie flopped back in his seat, sweaty face and all. He raised his drink with a shaky hand. The plane hit another spot of turbulence, and the booze splashed on his shirt.
He put the glass into his left hand and swiped the liquid away with his right, smearing the stain.
“Okay, okay, okay.” He snarled like a cornered animal. “Your precious Rose? She never loved Jane at all. It was all an act.”
“Is that so?”
“Believe it.” He jutted his chin forward. “She was jealous of Jane since they were kids. When she moved in with us, the old jealousy returned. With a vengeance.”
Bramall eyed him coldly. “What are you saying, Rex?”
“You know she was addicted, right? Rose was high all the time. She said a lot of crazy crap.” Mackenzie shook his head. “Said she’d sacrificed everything. She wanted her reward. She wanted Jane’s life. She wanted our house, everything Jane had. Even me.”
“Nope. Not buying that, either.” Bramall shook his head. “Try again. I know what kind of woman Rose is. She wouldn’t bother with a two-bit creep like you.”
“You should believe me, Bramall. Because you’re right. Jane is dead.” Mackenzie’s voice quivered, and tears rolled down his handsome cheeks. “Rose killed her.”
“What a crock,” Bramall said angrily. “That is complete crap and we both know it. Tell me where Jane and Rose went and why you’re after them, or I swear I’ll shoot you.”
Just as he uttered the words, the jet plummeted, losing airspeed.
Otto gasped as she was lifted from her seat and held in midair by her seatbelt.
Bramall heard. He twisted his torso around to look over the side of the big seat. When he saw her, he scowled. “What the hell are you doing back there?”
Before she could reply, the jet was tossed violently into the air, and side to side by extreme turbulence. The kind that could cause structural damage. The kind pilots never chose to fly through.
Otto held on even tighter as the wild ride continued.
Bramall’s face had turned green. He searched frantically for an airsickness bag. With the next plunge and bounce, he stuck his mouth over the bag and retched.
The sour stench reached Otto’s nose, and she very nearly joined him. She pressed her lips together and concentrated on calming her churning stomach.
The copilot’s calm voice traveled over the intercom speaker. “Mr. Mackenzie, you and your guests must remain seated with your seatbelts securely fastened. A line of unanticipated thunderstorms is heading our way, larger and faster than we expected. We don’t have enough fuel to divert around them. We’re landing to wait it out. You’re in for a bumpy ride, but we’ll be on the ground shortly.”
Bramall’s scowl deepened. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The next bout of turbulence was worse than the last. Otto grabbed both armrests and clenched her teeth to keep her stomach from revolting.
Mackenzie smirked. “I gather you’re not a fan of roller coasters.”
When neither she nor Bramall replied, he asked, “Just who the hell are you, anyway?”
She took a deep breath and replied steadily, “FBI Special Agent Kim Otto. I’d show you my badge, but I can’t reach it right at the moment.”
Mackenzie’s eyes widened. His nostrils flared. Angrily, he turned to Bramall. “FBI? You led the FBI straight to me? What the hell is wrong with you?”
She made a quick assessment. Bramall was retching into the bag. Mackenzie was still belted in his seat. He couldn’t reach her. But he did the next best thing.
He threw the lead crystal glass straight at her.
She ducked, and the plane bounced, and the glass plummeted to the floor.
The bottom edge of the glass struck the seat bolts at precisely the wrong angle.
The glass shattered into sharp-edged projectiles.
One sliced her left wrist. Blood seeped onto her skin.
Another shard nicked her ear. She applied pressure immediately.
Several shards shot back across the aisle toward Mackenzie. He turned his face away too late.
A line of blood traveled down his cheek.
Another, deeper gash on his chin bloomed like fast action photography.
A third sliced the top of his wrist.
Her cuts were superficial. Her blood coagulated quickly. Mackenzie’s bled longer, spilling onto his shirt and his jacket. He wiped the blood away, even as anger still spewed from his face.
She freed her gun from its holster and aimed it directly at him.
“Yeah, yeah. I guess you know how to shoot a gun on a plane, too. Same kind of FBI bullshit.” He sneered.
“You bet. I can shoot you in the head and not kill you, too,” she replied calmly. “Of course, with the turbulence, I might accidentally hit your spinal cord, paralyzing you for the rest of your life.”
She kept her aim steady, even as her stomach threatened to revolt at any moment.
He narrowed his eyes and smirked. “Do it right, little girl. Because if we hit another bit of turbulence at precisely the wrong time for your shot, we’re all going down.”
Otto was not afraid of flying. Not at all. Fear of flying was irrational.
She’d learned about planes and aeronautical engineering at her father’s knee. Flying was a science, he’d taught her. Planes were properly engineered machines. Properly maintained, planes performed as they were intended.
Planes were not the problem.
What caused crashes and explosions and death were humans, through ignorance or active malfeasance.
Unfortunately, passenger planes were touched thousands of times by human hands, both competent and incompetent. Any one of those humans could simply have had a bad day. No malfeasance required.
No, she wasn’t afraid of flying. Otto was aware and alert to the potential for human interference. Big difference.
> Which was how she knew that four things might happen when a human shoots a gun on a plane. Three of those possibilities, under the wrong conditions, could create disaster. The fourth was relatively harmless.
Most people didn’t know that. She hoped Mackenzie was one of the ignorant ones.
What she wanted to do right now was keep him under control until the jet landed. She had his attention. She needed to keep it.
She said, “You’re right, Mackenzie. If I fire this gun and blow out a window, we’re in trouble.”
He smirked and held her gaze.
“I’m generally familiar with the engineering specs on this Gulfstream 100, but sure, I could hit wiring hidden in the walls or the floor. Lots of electrical stuff in there. All the high-end customization probably added several more wires and other things that aren’t on the publicly available specs.” She grinned as if she found the idea humorous instead of likely. “That would definitely mean lights out, I guess.”
Mackenzie’s smirk faltered, but his gaze did not. Nor did hers.
The plane bounced and swayed and bucked a few times. She compensated, holding a steady aim at his chest until the jet leveled out again.
“The big problem is the turbulence, as you said. Can’t control Mother Nature. If I shoot at the wrong time, and she gives us another hard slam right at the wrong moment? Well, the bullet could hit a fuel tank. Big explosion. Everybody dies.” She paused and cocked her head as if she was thinking about the possibilities. “But it would be fast. You’d never feel a thing, probably.”
His lips were firmly pressed into a steady line. He did not reply. Like he was staring into the eyes of a cobra, mesmerized, his gaze never faltered.
Nor did hers.
“As Dirty Harry famously asked once upon a time, how about it, Rex? Are you feeling lucky?”
His face twitched. She watched him struggle. He wanted to be a tough guy. But he wasn’t ready to die yet. And he didn’t trust her. Which was smart.