The Unforgivable Fix

by T. E. Woods

  “There’s always a way, Will.”

  Chapter 10

  BARBADOS

  “Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

  Patrick Duncan stopped pacing near the opened sliding doors and gazed at the mountainous clouds drifting over the Atlantic. “I’m surprised you noticed, Olwen. You’ve had your nose riveted to that computer all morning.”

  She watched him study the sea. His broad shoulders and ramrod posture still captured her attention, but she hated when he pouted. Still, it was her job to pull him back to a better frame of mind…a job she was good at and for which she was extremely well compensated. But ever since he’d learned about the Atlanta raid she’d been working too much overtime.

  She set her laptop on the coffee table. “I’m researching our next move. How does Maui sound? It would be nice to spend time back in the States, don’t you think?”

  He joined her when she patted the spot next to her on the sofa.

  “Wonderful resorts, spectacular weather, great fishing. All the things you like.”

  “Sounds good.” Patrick looked over his shoulder toward the front door. “You pick where we stay. Don’t forget about security.”

  She nodded. It wasn’t like him to be this disengaged about the move.“How many will we be taking with us?”

  Patrick stood and resumed pacing across the marble floor. “We’ll find local cooks who can be discreet. It’s up to you if you want to bring along your sunbathing friend. Alyssa might enjoy Hawaii.”

  He’s done something. Something he doesn’t want me to know. She went to him and put her hands on his arms, catching him in midstep. “Stop this. Talk to me, Patrick.”

  Patrick’s eyes flashed with anger. She dropped her hold and stepped back.

  “No one tells me what to do, Olwen.” His rage suddenly flared. She’d heard it so often it would have bored her if he wasn’t so dangerous. “Not even you. Do you understand me?”

  So he’s done something stupid. Something he needs me to devise a way of resolving and make him think it’s his idea.

  She lowered her eyes and walked to the balcony overlooking the sea. She crawled onto a chaise longue, pulled her knees up, and began to weep softly.

  He came to her immediately. “Forgive me, Olwen. You know the stress I’m under.” He sat on the end of her chaise. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

  Still no inkling of what he’d done. She kept her head turned away from him and continued her tears.

  “Tell me more about Maui. I want to hear all about what you’ve chosen for us,” he pleaded. “I don’t tell you enough how your support makes my work easier.” Patrick placed a hand on her ankle. “Look at me, darling.”

  Still no explanation. His blunder must have been huge. Has he slept with Alyssa? He knows I overlook a lot. But never that. She shifted free of his touch and kept her eyes away from him.

  Patrick sighed. “It’s been rough on both of us, this business with Nigel. I know how fond you are of Jillian. But he’d grown sloppy. Income from his region was down fourteen percent last quarter. He needed a lesson. And now the raids. Brighton…Atlanta. It’s a difficult time. A change of scenery will do us both good.”

  This has nothing to do with another woman. This has to do with the cartel. It’s something he’s hesitant to tell me but makes him eager to move home base…which means it was bad for business. She swung her legs off the chaise and walked away from him.

  Patrick followed and put his arms around her. “We need to stay close to each other. We’re all we’ve got, when you get down to it.”

  She stiffened. He’s done something to put us in danger. She pulled herself out of his embrace. “You’ve gone after Tokarev, haven’t you?”

  Patrick stood mute.

  “My God, Patrick. Did you clear this with the others? With Mexico? Colombia?” She knew the answers before the questions left her mouth. The heads of the other cartels would never authorize an attack without first trying a nonviolent resolution. Blood always demanded more blood. Street employees used their knives and their guns to secure small blocks of territory. But the upper echelon understood the billions they made annually demanded order and predictability. “Tell me what you did.”

  Patrick walked back and forth across the wide balcony, trying very hard to look like a man in complete control of his actions. But for nearly four years she’d charted every one of his moods. Every one of his mistakes. Every one of his impulses. He didn’t have a clue how to repair the damage he’d done.

  “Is he dead?” she demanded. “Can it be traced back to us?” She grew impatient with his posturing. “Tell me, Patrick. Tell me now.” Despite her own rising anger, experience had taught her ultimatums wouldn’t work with him. She softened her tone to what he wanted to hear: unconditional forgiveness. “There’s a solution if we work together. You said it. We must rely on each other. Can you just tell me if the others approved of this? Can you give me that much?”

  Patrick spun on his heels, his anger reignited. “Of course the cowards didn’t approve. They say there’s no way to know if Tokarev was behind the raids. It could have been anyone…even some government trying to break up the alliance. The Russian has taken no action against their territories. What do they care? It’s not their men dead. Not their property stolen in the night by jackals. They’ve grown weak from the peace we’ve built. They’re terrified of riling the Russian. They told me to leave Vadim Tokarev alone.”

  “And did you?” If Patrick acted in direct defiance of the other cartels, the coalition that had allowed them all to become unimaginably wealthy would dissolve. The warring ways of the past would be resurrected. “Tell me.”

  Patrick began to quake with rage. “I do not need the others to tell me what I know. Tokarev invaded what is mine. He killed my men. Stole my inventory. Do you think that spic in Mexico City would look the other way if his own soldiers were murdered? Or that Colombian asshole? Would he turn his other cheek? No, Olwen! The streets would run red with revenge.” He was yelling so loudly his voice was cracking. “And yet they tell me I should do nothing? They deny me the satisfaction of showing respect by avenging my men’s killers? I’m to stand idly aside while I’m stolen from? I am not weak! No one pushes against me without feeling the heel of my boot!”

  “Is the Russian dead?!” She matched him scream for scream. “Tell me!”

  Her reaction stunned him into silence. “No,” he whispered. “He’s alive.”

  She exhaled in relief. He hadn’t defied the alliance. “Thank God. Tell me what you’re planning.”

  His eyes betrayed one flash of fear before he resumed his pose of courageous champion of vengeance. “It’s done, Olwen. There is no planning.”

  The relief she felt a moment earlier disappeared.

  “Tokarev has a woman,” Patrick continued. “Not a wife, but a favorite. He keeps her in an apartment in Montreal. Apparently she’s Russian, but speaks fluent French and prefers Montreal to Moscow or Paris. She has him so enthralled he comes to her every month with a diamond ring bigger than the one he brought her last time. They say he doesn’t treat any of his other whores as well.”

  She wondered if people considered her to be Patrick’s favorite whore.

  “I’m told she plays the piano beautifully. Tokarev likes to sit back with his vodka while she plays Tchaikovsky for him in the nude.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “He’ll not have that pleasure again.”

  A bead of sweat ran down her spine. “What did you do?”

  His eyes focused on something far away. An image only he could see. “She was visited this afternoon. Two of my men went to her apartment to prepare a package. Sometime tomorrow Tokarev will receive a FedEx delivery. He’ll open it and find his whore’s hands. Wearing the last and biggest diamond he sent her.”

  Her knees buckled. She staggered to the edge of the balcony, steadied herself against the limestone railing, and gulped salty sea air to control the vomit rising in her thro
at.

  “Let him come for me.” Patrick puffed out his chest. “The others will have no choice but to take my side when the Russian makes his move. As they protected him against me, they’ll protect me against Tokarev.”

  She stumbled a few steps and collapsed into the chaise. Racing thoughts tumbled into a black swirling cloud of fear. Tokarev won’t come for you, you fool. He’ll come for me.

  Chapter 11

  OLYMPIA

  “I’m ashamed to think of how much money I spent today.” Mort held the door open for her. “I should have known the price of that houseboat was just the ante. Everything has to be seaworthy. That damned salty air. What the hell was I thinking?”

  “You were thinking how much you hated that rhododendron bush.” Lydia waited for Mort to place his order. “I’ll have a latte with honey,” she told the barista. “And I’m paying.”

  “No way, Liddy.” Mort handed the man a twenty. “When I invite, I pay.” He stuffed two bucks into the tip jar, motioned for her to find them a seat, and followed her to the back room and a table with a view of the woods.

  “Why all the way to Olympia?” Lydia asked. “Seattle is houseboat heaven. They’ve got to have a bigger selection up there.”

  Mort stirred the steam out of his coffee. “I like the service I get from Skipper’s. They take the time to teach a rookie like me about living on the water. Besides, the ride down gives me a chance to clear my head.” He grinned. “And if I’m lucky I get to have coffee with my favorite psychologist.”

  She stiffened. “You mean check up on me.”

  “Will you give it a rest? I’m in town, you’re in town, I called, you were free.” Mort set his spoon aside. “End of story. Now tell me what’s new with you.”

  Lydia held back for a second. He’d expect her to say nothing had changed, that she was still holing up at home. “I’m back at work.”

  Mort blinked and worked to swallow as he set his mug down. “Don’t tell me something like that when I’ve just taken a drink. And here I thought you were all dressed up for me. This is big news.”

  “What can I say? Maybe your lecture got to me.”

  “It wasn’t a lecture, Liddy. It was concern.”

  She struggled to accept the notion that Mort could genuinely care about her well-being. “Someone wanted a favor. I agreed to help her out with a graduate student and figured, why not? Maybe I could see if I still have what it takes.”

  “And just like that the mental-health scene in southern Washington State got a whole lot rosier.”

  Her defenses went up again at the compliment, but she pushed back against her discomfort. “I’m easing in. Ten patients this week, twelve next. And of course, I’ve got this guy to supervise.”

  “What’s your sense? Pacing, I mean.” Mort’s interest felt real. “You’re not dipping chocolates for a living. How you holding up?”

  Thoughts of Will Sorens and his daughter, Emma, charged into her brain. She didn’t want to tell Mort about her doubts regarding her own ability to provide objective service to someone negotiating the rocky rapids of sexual abuse. So Lydia used the skill she always did when she didn’t want to answer, yet didn’t want to lie.

  “It’s not like your job is a walk on a sunny Sunday, either.” She took a sip from her own mug. Too much honey. There was only one coffee shop in Olympia that prepared her favorite drink the way she liked it. “How’s the murder scene in Seattle these days?”

  Mort raised an eyebrow before answering. He’d caught her dodging his question.

  “October’s always a quiet month for us.” His answer signaled he’d let this one slide. “Weather’s too nice for mayhem.”

  “How are you filling the idleness a lull in the crime wave brings?”

  “Paperwork, of course,” Mort said. “I’ve got budgets and staff assignments. Annual reviews and promotions to recommend.” He relaxed back into his chair. “A new crop of rookies is getting ready to graduate from the academy next month. Chief’s asked me to give a speech.”

  “Sounds like he’s over his snit about the whole Trixie thing.”

  Mort shook his head. “He’s never going to let me forget it.” He lowered his voice. “But then again, he’s operating under the mistaken impression I single-handedly took Trixie out after she damned near killed me. That seems to carry some weight with him.”

  Lydia held his gaze for several moments in silent acceptance of his gratitude.

  “Micki and Jimmy? How are they?” she asked about the detectives who were such close friends of his. “And especially, how’s Jimmy’s canine sidekick? Bruiser, right?”

  “That’s right.” Mort laughed. “Daphne…that’s our departmental secretary, you remember her?”

  Lydia thought. “Nasal voice? Big blonde hair? Looks like she might need a map to find her way to the Kleenex box on her desk?”

  “That’s her. Day before yesterday she orders in lunch. How she worked the phone to do it is any man’s guess. Just about the time she unwraps her burger and fries I walk by with Jimmy and Micki. Bruiser’s following Jimmy tight behind.”

  “As he always does.”

  “Correct.” Mort laughed again at the memory. “Well, Daphne calls out and asks could Bruiser come in for a quick visit. Jimmy says, ‘Sure.’ Daphne, now she’s sitting at her desk, mind you, pats her legs.”

  “Like she’s calling a Chihuahua?”

  “Correct again. Bruiser looks up, Jimmy gives him the all clear, and Bruiser jumps ninety pounds of German-shepherd bulk square onto Daphne’s lap. He’s got his back to her and, of course, he’s head and shoulders taller than she is. Daphne’s chair is tilted far back from the weight of both of ’em, but she’s loving it. She’s hugging him and kissing his fur, telling him what a good boy he is.”

  “Meanwhile there’s the burger and fries on her desk.”

  “You’re batting a thousand today, Doc. The three of us are in the hallway watching Bruiser devour Daphne’s lunch while she’s loving him up. When Bruiser’s done, he looks over his shoulder and gives Daphne one wet lick to the cheek. He hops off her lap and trots back to Jimmy like the satisfied hound he is.”

  “So what became of Daphne?”

  “That’s the best part. Around two o’clock I pass her office again and she waves me in. She asks in that Betty Boop voice of hers if I have any candy, crackers, anything up in my office. ‘I must’ve eaten my lunch so fast I don’t even remember it, Mort,’ she says. ‘I’m starving here.’ ”

  The two of them laughed so hard they each reached for their napkins to wipe tears from their eyes.

  “Lydia?” A male voice intruded on their amusement. “Mort?”

  Lydia looked up and her heart stuttered. She shot a look at Mort, who stood and offered his hand to the tall, shaggy-haired man.

  “Oliver, right? My ICU buddy.” Mort smiled and looked down to where Lydia sat motionless. “Look who’s here, Liddy.” He turned back as he shook Oliver’s hand. “Great to see you. We were just chewing the fat. Got time to join us?”

  Oliver turned to Lydia. She saw golden flecks floating in his brown eyes. She pushed her coffee aside and hoped her legs would support her as she stood.

  “Actually, I was just saying my goodbyes to Mort.” Lydia reached out her hand to touch the soft suede of his jacket. “Stay if you’d like.” She reached for her purse. “Lovely to see you, Oliver.” She tossed a grim stare at Mort. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Lydia walked into the glow of the October sun, forcing her feet to keep moving.

  —

  Lydia clicked off the tape player. “Well done, Zach. Apparently you haven’t forgotten a thing you’ve been taught.”

  Zach smiled from across her desk. It was their first supervisory session. “I’m happy to hear you say that, Dr. Corriger.” Zach rubbed his right arm with a skinny hand. “To tell you the truth, I hadn’t expected so interesting a situation for my first assignment. But I enjoyed working with Emma.” His voice was filled with
concern. “It turns my stomach to think what that girl’s been through.”

  Lydia was pleased to have this to focus on after her morning coffee with Mort. Seeing Oliver again had rattled her. “I wasn’t going to give you so meaty a case first time out, but Emma’s father is shaken by all this, as you can imagine. He wants what’s best for his daughter and he’s convinced this is the place she can get it.” It wasn’t necessary for Zach to know her reasons for not taking on Emma as her own client. “You rotated through six months at the Oregon Center for Sexually Abused Children, so you’ve got the experience. I knew I could supervise you through this and wanted you to be satisfied with the level of cases you’ll be learning from here.”

  “I’m happy you have faith in me.”

  “Let’s say I had confidence.” Lydia tapped the tape player. “I hope you didn’t mind sitting through me listening to your entire encounter with Emma. This is one time I need to know your every word.”

  “It’s always weird hearing the sound of your own voice.” Zach toyed with a button on his polyester shirt and Lydia wondered if he had any idea what young men wore these days.

  “You sounded fine,” she said.

  “So how’d I do?” Zach looked like a kindergartner trying to please his teacher.

  “You did great. Open-ended questions, no assumptions. No leading. Gentle with Emma as she described some pretty horrific experiences. You handled it like a pro.”

  Zach beamed. “Thanks for that. It means a lot.”

  Lydia thought for a moment. “Tell me your impressions. What’s your take on her?”

  Zach took his time before answering. Lydia was impressed with how he resisted impulsively offering a knee-jerk opinion.

  “She’s younger than a typical fourteen-year-old,” he replied. “It’s evident her parents have sheltered her…shielded her from movies or television shows that may have been inappropriate for someone her age.”

  Lydia recalled Will’s description of his time with his daughter. Her Barbie dolls and cupcake pajamas. Zach had recognized Emma’s innocence.