The Unforgivable Fix: A Justice Novel

by T. E. Woods

  A cold shiver shot down Patrick’s spine as a vision of Olwen’s beautiful body ripped apart by that barbarian’s revenge flashed into his consciousness. “Find her. Before the Russian does.”

  Chapter 29

  OLYMPIA

  “So am I under house arrest? Is that what this is?” Allie tossed aside the knife she was using to cut green peppers. “May I remind you I came home of my own free will? Willing to chat with whatever drug enforcement agencies you want? Give me one good reason why I need to stay shut up in this house 24/7.”

  Lydia kept her eyes on the vegetables she was sautéing. She’d experienced a brief moment of pleasure when she returned home and saw Mort’s Honda in the driveway. The thought of an evening with someone other than the squirrels and birds pulled on a long-dormant wish buried deep inside her. But the whirlwind of Allie’s whines, questions, and demands made her long for her home’s former isolated solitude.

  “I’ll give you two good reasons, Allie.” Mort slid the salmon under the broiler. “Patrick Duncan and Vadim Tokarev. Until we nail them, it’s not safe for you to leave. I’ve spent the entire day explaining and arguing with you about this. Now Liddy’s home and we’re done. Let’s have a nice meal and talk about anything except how awful it is that you’re stuck in this beautiful home by the sea.”

  Allie finished tossing the salad in stubborn silence. Mort uncorked a bottle of sauvignon blanc, poured three glasses, and carried them into the dining room. The three of them sat down at a table set with Lydia’s finest china. If it wasn’t for the Beretta next to Lydia’s plate, the scene might inspire Norman Rockwell. She complimented the flowers in the center of the table.

  “They’re from your garden,” Allie said. “Apparently my warden here thinks it’s okay to go out onto the lawn.”

  “Keep that attitude up and you won’t see the outside of the guest room.” Mort’s voice gentled as he turned to Lydia. “Tell us about your day.”

  Lydia shared what she could. “It’s been raining all day. What did you guys do?”

  “We stayed busy,” Mort said.

  “How many games of gin can a girl take?” Allie whined. Mort’s warning glare changed her tone. “Dad’s right. Your home is lovely, Lydia. I’ve been enjoying your art especially.”

  The conversation turned to an awkward discussion of the galleries Lydia enjoyed in the area. “And of course, blown glass is a Washington specialty.”

  Allie glanced down. “I’ve lost track of the art scene here.” She turned and placed a gentle hand over her father’s. “I miss the dance world, especially.”

  A hush fell over the table. Lydia knew both her guests were thinking about Edie, the promising ballerina who sacrificed her career to be a wife and mother.

  Allie finally broke the silence. “At least I can waltz.” She nudged her father’s leg under the table. “Mom’s lessons rubbed off on at least one member of the family.”

  Mort smiled. “You had her talent, that’s for sure. Remember that recital where you played the sparrow afraid to fly? What were you…five years old?”

  “I was four,” Allie said. “I remember all that hopping I did around the house. It drove you crazy.”

  “You remember that? I thought I did a good job at hiding it.”

  Lydia pushed her chair away and began clearing the table while Mort and Allie continued reminiscing. Each made an effort to include her in their stories, but Lydia knew they were speaking strictly to and for each other. She busied herself as quietly as she could while their laughter cut into ancient wounds.

  “Remember when Robbie tried to moonwalk at Aunt Janet’s wedding?” Allie asked. “And he had just gotten that hideous permanent so he had that supercurly hair? If I could have crawled under the table and died I would have.”

  “That wasn’t Aunt Janet’s wedding,” Mort corrected. “That was Charlie Lucas’s. He was a cop from Tacoma. Don’t you remember begging to stop at the mall? Your mother promised she’d take you after the reception if you behaved.”

  “Are you going all Alzheimer’s on me, Dad? It was Aunt Janet’s. I distinctly remember the bridesmaids wore this seafoam-green color and Robbie’s shirt, completely by coincidence, was the exact same shade.”

  “Sounds like we need a third opinion here.” Mort pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Let’s call your brother.”

  Lydia slipped past them as Allie slid closer to her father. She went out to her deck and settled into her favorite chair, realizing it was becoming more and more her place of refuge from her visitors. She heard Mort’s tone grow husky as he spoke with his son. In turn, Allie’s voice seemed younger when Mort handed her the phone; a teenager joshing and teasing her brother. Lydia rose, crossed her deep lawn, and stood at the edge of her cliff. Dense fog obscured any view of the water, but she stood motionless and listened, allowing the crash of the waves to soothe her.

  I belong here. This is my world. I am enough. She looked up, wishing there were stars, but the fog masked everything. Even the moon was gone. Lydia lowered herself down to the grass and lay there, eyes closed, focusing on the feel of the grass against the skin of her arms and legs. There was dampness, but it wasn’t heavy. More smell than actual moisture. This is what I have and it is enough. She tried to center herself on the feel of the air, but the heavy cloud sitting on the earth held no breeze. Odd for October. Nothing’s how it should be. She turned her attention to a game she played on nights like this. With her eyes still closed, she placed an open hand over her face. She then extended her arm its full length and opened her eyes. The dense, dark mist prohibited her from seeing her fingers. Lydia slowly lowered her hand toward her. When her elbow was at nearly ninety degrees, she caught the first glimpse of shape. She notched her arm closer and her hand came into view. There I am. I am here. I am enough. She lowered her arm across her chest and listened to the pounding waves.

  In time, she lifted herself up on to her elbows. She stood and walked toward the diffused glow of her house lights. As her deck emerged from the fog, Lydia recognized the shape of a human sitting in one of the chairs. She slid her hand into her pocket and gripped the stock of her pistol.

  “Dad and Robbie have switched to sports.” Allie held up two glasses. “They could be on the phone awhile. Care to join me?”

  Lydia released her gun and stepped forward. She accepted the wine and sat in the chair next to Allie. “You must be eager to see your brother.”

  The porch lights increased visibility enough to view the younger woman’s face. “I’m surprised he’s moving here. I would have bet he would be in Denver forever…that is, if Claire didn’t drag them all to France. Robbie says they’ve hit a snag. Something about the girls’ school. Their move is delayed until Thanksgiving.”

  “A month away.” Lydia took a sip of wine. “Not too long.”

  The ensuing silence was awkward. Allie finally said she’d forgotten how grey the days could be in Washington.

  “And it’s been way long since I’ve seen fog like this. Patrick always insisted we live in the sunshine.”

  Her casual mention of life with a global criminal intrigued Lydia. She quickly reminded herself of how she’d come to accept her own past. Perhaps it’s better to simply accept than continually rage against what can’t be changed.

  “Did you like the tropics?” Lydia hoped travel would be a safe topic.

  “What’s not to love? Warm sun, scented breezes, bright blue ocean everywhere you look.”

  “What’s your favorite spot?”

  Allie considered for a moment. “I like the Caribbean. The nontouristy islands. Oh! Bali! How could I forget Bali? It’s pure heaven. There’s a restaurant there, on a small island just off the Balinese coast, built on stilts over the water. You walk out a long dock to get to it, and you assume it’s going to be another high-priced seafood place. But when you step inside—inside this thatched-roof structure, mind you—you’re transported into a pub so authentic you’d swear you were in London’s West End. That i
s, until you look out the window and see marlin jumping out of a turquoise sea.” Allie hesitated. “Oh, what’s the name of it? Some odd thing.”

  “Conch and Bull Feathers,” Lydia said.

  “That’s it.” Allie smiled. “You’ve been there?”

  Lydia’s throat clenched. She’d met a target at that exact restaurant four years ago. Antoine Jolivette had been convicted in a Brussels court for running a sex-slave operation out of Thailand. The deaths of nine women had been directly linked to his activities, and it was estimated the actual number was likely ten times that. His people had abducted hundreds of women and dozens of boys over the course of twenty years to supply buyers ranging from back-alley sex clubs in Bangkok to billionaire potentates in the Middle East. A well-orchestrated escape following his conviction and certain life sentence put him out of justice’s reach for three years. But The Fixer found him. Jolivette’s body washed up not far from the Conch and Bull Feathers. Witnesses told police they’d seen Jolivette dining with a lovely woman and bragging about his time on the Eton swim team. They chalked up his drowning to alcohol-induced bravado. The woman was never found, despite witnesses’ insistence she’d be hard to overlook. For all her beauty, she was missing an eye and wore a patch that coordinated perfectly with her deep-purple dress.

  “I must have seen it on a Travel Channel episode,” Lydia lied. “Exotic eateries or something like that.”

  “Well, the Conch and Bull is certainly that,” Allie said.

  They settled back into their silence. Their wine was nearly finished when Allie spoke again.

  “He loves you, you know.”

  Lydia tightened her hold on her glass.

  “It’s not a romantic thing. It’s going to take my dad forever to get over my mom. He doesn’t speak of you often, but when he does his voice has this kind of…I don’t know…protective pride. Like he admires the woman you are but he’s afraid you’re going to get hurt and he’s got to stop that from happening. Like he would feel for a daughter.” There was a vulnerability in Allie’s voice. “Maybe the daughter he should have gotten instead of me.”

  Lydia resented the feeling washing over her. “We’re friends, Allie. Not even that. We helped each other out a couple of times. That’s it.”

  “You don’t have a family, do you?”

  Lydia wanted off that deck. She needed to be out of this conversation.

  “What?” Allie teased. “Are you, like, divorced? Are you in protective disguise and had to abandon your family? Is it something like that?”

  Lydia ignored the question and stood.

  Allie got up and placed a gentle hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “I think you and my dad need each other, if that makes any sense.”

  Lydia looked into the blue eyes of Mort’s prodigal daughter and saw nothing but sincerity. “I’m going to clean up the kitchen. You stay here. I’ll send your dad out.”

  Chapter 30

  She clicked the lock behind her and tugged on the knob in the family-style restroom to double-check its hold. She lowered the wall-mounted baby changer and set her purse and jacket on it. She stepped to the mirror, fluffed her hair, and leaned in for a closer scrutiny of her face. God, I hope it’s the lighting in here that’s making me look like this. She ran her hand over her cheeks. I need a facial. A good one. She went back to her purse, pulled out her phone, and selected B from her contact list. He answered before the second ring.

  “My men haven’t returned.” His voice was a mixture of fear and agitation.

  “You should have sent better men.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened?”

  “I would assume they died.”

  He was silent for several seconds.

  “You knew your request would cost you,” she said.

  “I’ve paid. I hadn’t anticipated it would also cost me two soldiers.” He was quiet again. “So the mission was a failure? Shall I send more?”

  He’d be eager to please her until she gave him what he wanted. “There’s no need to put more of your people in harm’s way. They know we’re here. And we know where they are.”

  “Then it’s time for you to give me what I’ve paid for.” His tone was pure hunger.

  She reflected on how powerful the driving force of vengeance was in men. Was revenge some sort of dipstick that measured the depth of their testosterone levels? Couldn’t they see that in the history of the world not one thing had ever or would ever be changed as a result of their headlong rush into eye-for-an-eye justice?

  “Memorize this. Write nothing down.” She gave him an address. “The date and time will soon be arranged.”

  She could hear his chest heaving; the sound of a furious bull preparing for a final charge on a wounded matador. “You have a servant in me forever.”

  He had the sense to be appreciative. Let’s see if it holds when I tell you the one remaining stipulation.

  “You will not be alone,” she said.

  “I require no assistance.” His bravado was on full display. “This is mine to finish.”

  “Not assistance.” She leaned against the tiled wall and kept her eyes on the locked door. “Partnership. I’ll leave it to the two of you to decide how to divide the chores.”

  Any gratitude he expressed earlier was erased in one electric howl. “He’s mine! You knew this. Two of my soldiers are dead as my payment.”

  She pulled the phone away from her ear and let him vent for nearly two minutes. A pull on the door’s knob reminded her that while the bathroom she occupied was private, the building which housed it was not. She pressed her cell against her breast, called out “Just a minute” to whoever was outside, and used her nonnegotiating tone when she spoke again into her phone.

  “This is not up for discussion. If you do not agree I will simply move the time and place and your partner will have sole access to him. It’s your decision. Make it now.”

  She listened to his heavy breathing and counted to five.

  “Tell me now. In or out.”

  “I’m in,” he spat. His disgust was audible across the miles.

  “Good.” She stepped to the mirror again. “Would you like me to repeat the address?”

  “No need.”

  “And you recall what to do with this phone?”

  “I do.” His anger was subsiding. “And I will have phone C with me when you call me with the date.”

  She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Enjoy your mission.”

  “May I know the name of my partner?”

  “You’ll recognize him.” She smiled into the mirror in anticipation of her answer. “Swarthy fellow, about five foot ten. Always wears black silk suits. And then there’s that four-carat diamond on his left pinky.”

  There was silence on the phone.

  “Tokarev?”

  “Yes, dear. The Russians are coming.”

  Chapter 31

  OLYMPIA

  “I am so fucking tired of people telling me there’s nothing I can do.” Will Sorens paced across Lydia’s office. “It’s like the courts are plotting against Emma. They’re keeping my little girl in the house of her rapist and it’s killing her.”

  Lydia understood his frustration. Kenton Walder had initially agreed Emma could be at Will’s house following her discharge from the hospital. But something had changed. Will speculated Dee had “thrown one of her titanic fits—it’s how she gets everything she wants,” and convinced Walder to renege on his promise. The fifty-fifty custody arrangment was back in play. Will had tried to gain full custody of his daughter until the investigation was completed, but Kenton Walder’s high-priced legal team easily overwhelmed the only attorney Will could afford.

  “Please sit down.” Lydia nodded toward the sofa and waited until he was settled. “I know you’re at your wit’s end, but fuming isn’t going to help anything.”

  “What can, Dr. Corriger?” His eyes begged for a direction.

  “The first thing is to remain calm. Emma’s with you now,
and she’s still going to be with you half of the time, correct?”

  Will nodded. “Emma came straight to my house from the hospital when she was discharged two days ago. She whimpers like a wounded puppy when she even thinks about going back to them. I try to be strong for her…remind her that Walder hasn’t come near her since the police have been involved…but still.” He hung his head.

  “What about Emma’s cutting? Has that stopped?”

  Will stood again and resumed his pacing. He stopped and ran a hand through his dark hair. “My daughter takes a razor and deliberately cuts herself. Why?”

  Lydia pointed to the sofa and Will sat down again. “There are many reasons people cut. I don’t know Emma. I can’t speak for her. You’ve described her cuts earlier as scratches. Has that changed?”

  “No. And thank God there’s been no more lately. I make sure there are no razors or anything sharp when she’s at my house. But I can’t control what happens at her mother’s. What’s going to happen there? What if she slips and she hits a vein or something?”

  “Then you’ll deal with that.” Lydia glanced at the clock. Will’s session was nearing its end. “But for now, can you take comfort in knowing your daughter is with you, safe and sound? And that, by her own report, Walder’s staying away from her?” She leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. “The authorities need time to look into this. Dr. Edwards made his findings perfectly clear in his report. The judge will see that.” Lydia hoped she was right.

  Will didn’t look like he believed her. “You have kids, Dr. Corriger?”

  “I’m focusing on your kid right now, Will. And on you. Here’s your homework. First and foremost, I want you to not go off impulsively. Remember that a lot of eyes are on Emma now. You’re doing everything you can for her.”

  He still looked skeptical.

  “Focus on you,” Lydia continued firmly. “If you fall apart, this whole thing falls apart. Promise me you will do something every day to take care of yourself. Will you do that?”