by J. E. Taylor
“Yep. Jen and I had a little girl a couple of weeks ago.”
“Congratulations. Mine are three and one, both tiny little terrors too,” he laughed. “Want me to pick you up in Wolfeboro?”
“That would be perfect. What time?”
“How does nine sound? We can land in Essex and catch a cab from there.”
“Perfect,” Steve said and leaned back. “What time will we get to the city?”
“Around eleven.”
“So what time would you want to head back?” Steve asked, figuring he had a couple of hours at the most.
“I’d want to be airborne by three to be home in time for dinner,” Ted answered.
“That’s perfect. I’ll see you at nine,” he said and hung up the phone. With a deep breath, he stood and headed out of his office.
Jennifer glanced up from her book when the door opened.
“I’ve got a chance to go flying tomorrow with an old friend from Yale,” he said. “Do you mind?”
Jennifer sat back on the couch, looking him over. “Who?”
“Ted Beaumont. He was at Yale when I was there. He’s going to be up in the area and wanted to know if I wanted to go for a ride,” Steve answered, telling the partial truth. “I’ll be back in time to cook dinner.”
Jennifer stared at him. “Where you flying?”
He shrugged. “Around. He wants me to meet him in Wolfeboro at nine.”
Jennifer glanced at the paperback in her hand. “Okay.” She shrugged.
He allowed a grin to surface. “Thanks, babe.” He crossed the room and planted a kiss on her lips.
“You sure you didn’t call him to get out of a day with my parents?”
“I’m sure. It just happened to be perfect timing and you’ll have a much more relaxing day if your Dad and I aren’t at each other’s throats.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You know I’m right.” He headed back to the office. Steve closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, closing his eyes and admonishing himself for lying. He sat down at the computer again, pulling up the exact address of the New York residence. Printing and folding the paper, he slipped it in his wallet. He threw a small locksmith set into a duffle bag, as well as a light jacket and his ankle holster. He wasn’t going unarmed or unprepared, especially after Jennifer’s dream, although he believed the place would be empty, based on the movement of money and erasing of an identity that was underway.
Grabbing a beer, he wandered outside. The warm spell was still going strong and the night sky reflected a thousand tiny lights on the still water of the lake. Taking a seat on the dock, he cracked the beer open and took a sip, then stretched out on the wood looking at the bright stars filling the sky.
Jennifer stood a few feet away, looking down at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Steve looked backwards at her. “What do you mean?”
“You’re holding something back.”
“Jack’s sending a sweep crew over right now. I think Kyle’s watching us,” Steve said, keeping eye contact.
Jennifer took a deep breath and shivered.
“And I know where he lives.”
“New York?”
“No, Las Vegas. But we can’t do anything without proof.” He looked back at the stars and then closed his eyes. “He’s also in the process of changing identities again.”
Jennifer sat on the steps. “How do you know that?”
He sat up and turned toward her. “He liquidated all his accounts today.” He looked back at the water. “I traced it overseas.” He shook his head and turned back to her. “I’m not sure how many layers it’ll go through or if I can trace it any farther. I don’t have a subpoena to hold the money where it is, either.” He faced the water again. “So, I’m pretty frustrated.”
She stood and approached him, putting her hand on the top of his head.
“Don’t worry; I’m not going to put myself in a position where I’ll get hurt.” He was sure he’d lied convincingly this time. “I’m just following the leads and giving the case information to Jack.”
Jennifer knelt down and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m going back to my book.”
“Okay. I won’t be much longer. Matt should be here by nine.”
* * * *
He stood when the car rolled into the driveway, crossing the lawn to greet the sweeper. “Hi, Matt. Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“No problem.” Matt Banks, the bureau’s northeastern technical expert, extended his hand to Steve. He went into the house and began the sweep while they sat in the living room.
Matt sat down, placing four tiny cameras on the coffee table. “Bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and nursery. Your office is clean. These things are state of the art wide-angle lenses with a hell of an audio range. They were placed in the most optimal spots with full views of each room.”
“Add to that the living room and he had a pretty good view of everything.” Steve shook his head. Their lives, their privacy, violated. He was pissed and more determined than ever to stop the son of a bitch.
Jennifer crossed her arms and legs. “The bathroom?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Do you have a sense of where they were transmitting to?”
Matt tilted his head slightly. “These aren’t long range. I’d say the receiver is within a mile at best.”
That gave him an advantage. There weren’t many places within a mile of their cottage and Steve crossed to the window, staring out at the darkness. “Thanks, Matt.” He looked at the reflection of the technician.
“For what it’s worth, the person who planted these knew what he was doing,” Matt said and stood, collecting the equipment.
Steve showed him out. When he returned, Jennifer was still curled up on the couch.
“In our bathroom? He was watching us?” A thin rash of goose bumps broke out over her arms.
“Yep.” He looked around the house before crossing to her, crouching down in front of the couch. “I’m going to stop him, Jen. I promise.”
Chapter 68
Leaning against his BMW with his backpack slung over his shoulder, Steve waited. The rumble of the plane caught his attention and he glanced at his watch. Like clockwork, he thought as the Learjet touched down, stopping at the end of the runway near where he parked.
The pilot swung the door open.
Steve smiled and removed his sunglasses, approaching his old friend. “Always spot on,” he said and extended his hand.
“Early as usual.” Ted pumped his hand twice. “You ready?” He signaled to the approaching fuel truck.
Steve nodded. “I really appreciate this,” he said and Ted led him onto the tarmac into the plane.
Ted shelled out cash to the fuel attendant and closed the door, swinging the airlock in place. “You remember how to fly?” He pointed to the co-pilot seat.
“Yeah, I remember. Flying’s easy. It’s the landing part I have issues with.”
Ted chuckled. “My father was livid. I think it was about six months before he let me fly again and every time I asked to go solo, he reminded me that we almost crashed his plane into the runway barriers.” He hooked himself into the pilot seat. “When I told him I was meeting you, he reminded me again of the dangers of letting inexperienced folks fly our planes.”
Steve glanced around the jet and nodded in appreciation. “This is a step up from that little twin prop we flew.”
“Business has been real good.” He taxied to the opposite end of the runway and the engines whined when he pushed the throttle forward, accelerating, speeding down the runway, and slowly lifting off. He charted the course in the computer and flipped the autopilot on, turning toward Steve. “What are we really doing in New York?”
“I was wondering how long you were going to take before you asked.”
Ted waited expectantly.
“I’m dropping in on an old friend.”
“You’re packing?”
<
br /> Steve said nothing and folded his arms across his chest.
Ted raised his eyebrows. “You’re on my plane; I’ve got a right to know if you’re carrying firearms.”
“Yes, I’ve got my gun.” He turned toward Ted, leveling a hard stare. “But it’s not official business. This is personal.”
“You’re still in the bureau, right?”
“Yes, but they don’t know I’m taking this trip.”
“I gather from your tone they wouldn’t be very happy.”
Steve laughed. “That’s an understatement.”
Ted looked out the windshield for a while before speaking. Steve could see the wheels turning in his friend’s head and wondered if he’d said too much.
With a great exhale, Ted turned toward him. “You saved Heather from that bastard at Yale. I’ll never forget that.” He chewed on his lip and looked back out the window before shooting a sideways glance in Steve’s direction. “It’s been a while since I’ve had an adventure. Do you need backup?”
Chuckling, Steve said, “If you want adventure, let me try to land this plane.” He had no intention of letting Ted tag along.
Ted burst out laughing. “Not on your life! Besides, I’m not going to let you get yourself into trouble.”
Leaning back, Steve closed his eyes, regretting his decision to involve Ted. “It’s dangerous.” He opened his eyes and looked at his friend.
“So?”
“Just stay with the plane when we get there.”
“Bullshit! I’ll turn this puppy around.”
Steve tilted his head and pursed his lips, giving Ted a sideways glance before he looked out the window. “Fine. But you can’t come into the building with me. I don’t want that on my conscience too.”
“Fine by me.” Ted nodded and flipped the plane off autopilot as they approached their destination. “So, now that you’re not undercover, what exactly are you doing for the bureau?”
“Research and profiling,” he stated. “Not exactly the adrenaline rush I’m used to.”
“I’ll bet.” He switched his headset on. “Essex Airfield, Flight six-one-two approaching, request permission to land,” Ted said into the mouthpiece.
“Flight six-one-two, affirmative. Field is clear, approach from the Northwest.”
Ted adjusted his course as Steve spotted the runway. He pulled back on the throttle, slowing the speed of the aircraft for the landing approach. Seconds later, they touched down on the runway. Ted reverse-throttled, slowing the plane to a stop. He taxied off the runway toward a waiting hanger.
“That was so much smoother than the last landing,” Steve said as they pulled to a stop.
After he’d powered the jet down and flipped off all the control buttons, Ted unhooked the seatbelt. “I’ve got a car waiting for us,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We’ve got three hours before we need to head back to the airfield.”
“Thanks.” Steve hauled his backpack over his shoulder and paused at the door of the plane. “I really wish you’d stay here,” he said with his back to Ted.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “We could both get our brains blown out.”
Ted’s complexion paled and he stepped back. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“No, I’m not. It’s a very real possibility.” He leveled his gaze at his friend. Even though he knew it would be better for Ted to stay with the plane, a part of him wanted his old friend to tag along—if only to mitigate the possibility of Jennifer’s vision. “You still want to tag along?”
He hesitated.
“Good call.” Steve turned to leave.
“I’m still going,” Ted answered, following him out of the plane.
“You’re just as insane as I am.”
“Where to?” he asked as they settled in the back seat of the town-car.
Pulling his wallet out, Steve opened the slip of paper. “Sixteen-ninety-five West Ninety-Sixth Street.”
“That’s a pretty affluent area.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we can grab a bite to eat while we’re up there.”
Ted nodded and silence filled the car. Neither of them spoke until the driver pulled up alongside the beautiful brownstone and they tumbled out onto the sidewalk. After the car moved off, Steve turned his attention to the building. The front door operated on an electronic card.
“Shit,” he mumbled. Looking at the call buttons on the wall to his right, he pushed the button for the apartment above his destination.
A female voice answered. “Hello?” “Hi, I’m sorry for buzzing but I live below you, and unfortunately, I left my card key in my apartment. Think you could buzz me in?”
Silence followed.
“My name is Kyle Winslow,” he added into the intercom, “Apartment 3B.”
More silence followed and then the door clicked. He opened it and pressed the intercom again. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said and slipped inside with Ted in tow.
Steve climbed the stairs with his back to the wall. Pointing his gun at the floor, he scanned the stairwell above and below them until they got to the third floor landing. Sliding the gun into his holster, he turned to Ted. “You might want to stay here.”
Ted looked at the stairwell and back at him. “No way.”
With a quick nod, Steve flipped the backpack off his shoulder, digging inside for the locksmith set before approaching apartment 3B. Giving the hallway one final scan, he crouched to eye level with the lock. A few seconds later, he swung the apartment door open and pulled his gun out, stepping inside.
Ted followed and closed the door behind him, staying in place as Steve crossed the living area and slid into the back hallway.
“No one’s here,” Steve said, returning the gun under his shirt. The sparsely furnished abode definitely wasn’t a long-term residence; it looked more like a safe house than an apartment. Honing in on the computer desk in the corner, he stepped toward it. “Take a load off.” He pointed to the couch.
“What if he comes in while we’re here?” Ted asked, glancing at the door.
Steve looked between the door and his friend. “Then we’re screwed.” The desk drawer didn’t budge when he pulled on it, so he peeled the locksmith set from his pocket, choosing the right instrument for the job. Kneeling, he picked the lock on the drawer, sliding it open.
“Did you learn that in the bureau?”
Nodding, he smiled. “It’s one of the areas I excel in.” He shuffled through the papers in the drawer, but there was nothing in the obnoxious organization that would implicate the guy for anything and he really had to concentrate to put it back in the original order. He slid the drawer closed and relocked it.
“What are the other areas?”
Steve paused, looking up at his friend. “Planting a bullet where it needs to go.”
Ted whistled and picked up one of the magazines off the table.
The file cabinet was next and it slid open easily. Shuffling through the files, he stopped, yanking out an itinerary for a trip to Italy. He raised his eyebrow and scanned the document, turning it to see if anything was detailed on the back.
The bastard’s in Italy but there’s no name, no flight numbers or hotels, just a reference to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II and today’s date. What the fuck?
He put the itinerary on top of the file cabinet. Nothing else in the cabinet called his attention.
“I’m going to check the bedroom. Just hang there and don’t touch anything else.”
Steve searched the nightstand and found nothing out of the ordinary. He rifled through all the drawers in the bureau before focusing on the closet. Nothing but neatly stacked clothing on the shelves above the pristine rack of suits and the shoebox-lined floor. Steve paused and then kneeled, opening every box. He got to the second to last one and stopped when he flipped the lid off.
“Jesus,” he whispered and pulled out photographs.
He’d hit the mother lode.
Sweet Jesus.
The pretty blonde in the picture was the same one from the case file Jack had sent a few weeks ago. She was naked with a slit throat. He sat down hard, recognizing the photographs as he shuffled through them. Underneath the snapshots was a single Ziploc bag with a decapitated pinky, and he assumed that belonged to the latest victim.
Not only was Charlie’s brother a mafia assassin, but he was also a serial killer. The Slasher. The bastard who attacked Jennifer.
“Fuck,” he whispered. His nagging hunch had been right all along. Fear seeded in his stomach, taking on a life of its own, and he closed his eyes. “Shit,” he muttered, and looked around the bedroom. He’d just compromised their case.
With the box in hand, he walked to the living room, turning on the printer. He slid the photos on the scanner bed and pressed print. There were eight pictures as well as newspaper clippings. Steve photocopied all of the items, including the baggie holding the finger, and placed them back in the shoebox, returning them to their original spot in the closet.
He opened the last box and sat back on the floor, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.
Old bones lay across a scattered stack of pictures and Steve pulled the top photograph, staring at the mutilated couple. His brain fired off a different set of pictures that matched the ones on the top of the pile. As he shuffled through the rest of the prints, his stomach churned with hot acid.
These were Kyle’s foster parents. He had captured the progression of torture on film and Steve dropped the snapshots back in the box and scrambled to his feet, making a run for the master bathroom at the other side of the bedroom.
He made the toilet in time. The foul taste burned his tongue and he spit, flushing the toilet and crossing to the sink to rinse his mouth. His hands shook as he wiped them on the perfectly aligned rack of hand towels. He glanced at his reflection one last time before heading to the living room with the box. Ignoring the questioning expression on Ted’s face, he photocopied the contents of the box and then returned it to the closet.
On his way back to the printer, he glanced at the small shelf on the living room wall. Diverting his path, he pulled out a framed picture partially obscured by a candle and stared at it. A much younger Charlie stood next to a punk rocker with the same facial features, showing off identical tattoos. The kid’s eyes were blue-grey, leaning more on the grey side, and much more intense than his older brother’s. He brought it to the scanner and made a copy of both the picture and the itinerary before returning them to their rightful places.