What does she know…?
“Let me introduce you to Ben and Nick.”
“I’m eager to meet them.”
She reached out and held one of my hands in a vice grip as I led her into the living room. Both Ben and Nick stood when we entered.
“Ben Cade, Nick Martinez—Rhoda Burns.”
“Both of you might be dark and built, but I know that you’re Ben,” she said as she released her hand from mine so that she could shake Ben’s. “It’s a pleasure.”
“The pleasure’s mine.”
“Is it? We’ll see, I guess, because I already know where I stand with you, and please believe me when I say this—I take no offense. Doubt plagues me every day, but I typically shut it down within a minute or so.” She turned to Nick and shook his hand. “And good on you for texting your wife about that tooth.”
He furrowed his brow at her. “How could you know that I texted my wife?”
“How about if you think about that and then draw your own conclusions?”
She turned to Ben.
“Before we go forward with Kate’s situation, you and I need to come to terms, Ben, because, despite the fact that I knew about the bird, the month you were born in, and the fact that you two got it on last night, I know you’re still on the fence about me. So, we can do this in public or in private—your choice. Just know that, when I shook your hand, I saw plenty of things, some that might embarrass you, and one in particular that haunts you to this day.”
“We do this here,” Ben said.
“How far do you want me to go?”
“As far as you want. Start with something that no one in this room knows.”
“I’ll give you two choices. We can either talk about what you wanted to say to Kate last night when you were making love to her, or we can talk about Afghanistan. Your choice. And by the way, the fact that I know that you and Kate made love last night and that you did two tours of duty in Afghanistan should seal the deal between us right now. But you’re a typical Taurus—stubborn to your core. The good news is that I can sense that your head is about to spin off your shoulders right now, so I know we’re making progress. But we’re also wasting time, which we don’t have, so choose.”
“Afghanistan,” he said.
“Give me your hand again.”
He gave it to her, and when he did, Rhoda closed her eyes for several moments before looking at him again. “All right,” she said. “I’ve seen enough—and I’m sorry, Ben. Are you sure you want to go there?”
“Go where?”
“You and I both know where.”
“Let’s see what you know, Rhoda.”
“First of all, it wasn’t your fault. But you’ve never believed that, have you?”
“That what wasn’t my fault?”
“Your friend’s death.”
“Which friend? I lost many friends in that war.”
“Your best friend. I can’t get a read on his name, but I can see him. He was blond. Had a dimple in his chin. And he was younger than he looked. And then there’s his eyes, which were so pale blue, they were almost surreal. So, I’ll ask again. Do you want me to go on? Do you really want to relive what happened to him?”
He shrugged at her, but when he did, it was clear from the troubled expression on his face that he was trying to mask that she was getting to him.
“Fair enough,” she said. “I can hear gunfire. Shouting. And I can see that you’re in some town that’s been blown to hell—dust and sand are everywhere—though some buildings are somehow still standing. I can sense that claiming this area is very important to you, though I’m not sure why. And I can see you and your friend huddled down in one of the houses for protection. That’s when you saw her—the little girl. For some reason, she’d wandered out of her house, into the street—and straight into a hail of gunfire. Your friend said something like, ‘I need to grab her.’ You told him to stay put, but he didn’t. I can hear you yelling at him to stand down, but he didn’t. You were his commanding officer, but because you were such close friends, he didn’t listen to you. He busted away from you and you tried to tackle him in an effort to stop him. But you were too late, weren’t you? By then, he’d already slipped away and was running toward her. What happened next has left you scarred to this very day. Seeing those men shoot down your best friend in the middle of that street was perhaps the worst day of your life—”
“That’s enough,” Ben said. My heart went out to him when he said, “That’s it.”
“I’m sorry,” Rhoda said in a gentle voice.
“Nobody knows anything about that.”
“You need to relieve yourself of the guilt you’ve been carrying, my love. Your friend always was impulsive, wasn’t he? In situations such as that one, it was in his nature to act first and think later, wasn’t it? That infuriated you about him—but it’s also one of the reasons why you admired him so much. For his honor and his bravery. To this day, you feel that if you only had gotten to him in time, he wouldn’t have lost his life.”
“I’d rather not talk about this anymore.”
I went over to Ben and put my arm around him.
“Then are we good here?” she asked.
Instead of answering directly, Ben looked uncomfortably at her before saying, “Maybe all of us should sit down and talk.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Rhoda, why don’t you tell us what you know?” Nick asked when Rhoda sat down beside him.
“Michael was murdered—I know that with every fiber of my being. As I told Kate, a woman wearing a black ski mask shoved him down that staircase.”
“Do you know what she looked like?”
“I don’t—I can’t see beyond the mask. But ever since I last saw Kate, there’s something about that woman that has been troubling me. I see death all around her. I think she might be an assassin. Worse, I think the person who had Michael murdered contacted her last night.”
“Last night?” Ben said. “When last night?”
“While you were at the party. Because here’s what you don’t know—whoever had Michael killed was at that party last night. I’m as certain of that as I am about the circumstances surrounding Michael’s death. Whoever hired that woman to murder Michael was right under your nose—and likely watching your every move. Do I know who that is? I don’t—but last night my mind went to Kate for a reason, and when I focused on that reason, I sensed everything that I’m telling you now. And by the way, about that woman—she’s the one who sent you the canary. I felt that the moment I passed the box in the foyer, and now the stink of her is all over me.”
“Then she’s been hired to kill me…” I said.
“I think she has,” Rhoda said. “But there’s something about the box that puzzles me. Why am I seeing an ‘M’ hovering around it?”
“An ‘M’?” Nick said.
“I’m seeing an ‘M’ for some reason.”
“Flip it upside down,” I said.
And when I said that, Rhoda’s eyes widened. “A ‘W’. Of course I’d get it wrong—it’s the first initial of her name, and I suck when it comes to names. Did she leave a note of some sort? Something she might have touched? Signed?”
“She did,” I said.
“I need to hold it,” Rhoda said. “If she touched it, her energy is on it. Would someone please get it for me?”
“I’ll get it,” Ben said.
When he returned with the card, he asked Rhoda to hold it along its edges between her thumb and forefinger. “There could be prints on it,” he said. “That’s a long shot because whoever typed this up likely wore gloves, but I’m not about to count it out.”
“You’re wise not to.”
When she took it from him, she closed her eyes and seemed to drift off for a moment before she started talking again with her eyes still held shut.
“I’m seeing that black ski mask again,” she said. “And Michael. It’s the same movie I’ve seen playing out in my head over and over again
—her drop-kicking him. Him falling. Lydia screaming. And there’s ‘W’ again in her ski mask. She makes me go cold, which suggests to me just how cold she is. She’s completely without feeling—a sociopath or a psychopath. And she’s smart—I can feel that in my gut. What’s so bizarre is that she’s surrounded by men lying in caskets. Has she killed these men? I think that she must have, but now everything is starting to fade.”
“Rhoda, I need you to stay where you are,” Nick said.
“Be quick.”
“Was Lydia murdered?”
Rhoda’s head rested back against the sofa and turned to one side as the card she was holding fell to the floor.
“Murdered…?” she said, almost in a whisper. She seemed so far away to me now, it was if she were in a trance. “Lydia, what happened to you?” she called out. “Come to me. Give me a sign…”
The tension in the room was so high, it was unbearable. I looked over at Ben, who was staring intently at Rhoda. I looked at Nick, who appeared as if he wanted to pull whatever Rhoda couldn’t reach straight out of her. But then Rhoda’s eyes began to flutter and her body started to tremble.
“Yes,” she said in a low, hollow voice. “I didn’t see it before, but yes, Lydia also was murdered. And this woman—this ‘W’—was hired to kill her, too.”
* * *
“Rhoda,” Ben said after she’d had a moment to collect herself. “Do you know how Lydia died?”
“All I know is that it was murder.”
“How do you know that?”
“How do I know anything? Sometimes I just sense it. Sometimes I see it—and while it’s a mystery to me why I see or sense anything, it’s rare that I’m wrong.” She sat up on the sofa. “Right now, I need all of you to listen to me.”
“Go on,” I said.
“You’re going about all of this wrong,” she said.
“How?” Ben asked.
“The answer to finding out who hired ‘W’ to kill Michael and Lydia begins and ends with ‘W’. I don’t know how this is going to play out for you, but I do know that somehow it’s going to be she who tells you who’s responsible for their deaths. Forget about everyone else, because they’re just a waste of your time. You need to focus all of your efforts on finding her, because somehow she’s going to get to Kate, and it’s going to happen sooner than any of you are imagining.”
And then Rhoda suddenly turned to me. “You have an event of some sort tomorrow night, don’t you?”
She’s seeing more…
“I do.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have to go. It’s the spring fundraising event for the Red Cross. Since I’m the Director of Corporate Gifts, tomorrow night is all on me. My team and I have been planning this for two months now. And I have a speech to deliver. I’ve personally asked friends of mine to come and donate, which they’ve agreed to do only because I’ve asked them to do it. I can’t back out now. The Red Cross needs that kind of money.”
“But don’t you understand? ‘W’ is going to be there.”
When she said that, I was taken back. “How?” I asked. “This is an invitation-only event, and because a handful of diplomats will be there, the security will be tight.”
“Not tight enough for her. I don’t know how she’s going to get in, but I can feel it in my bones that she’ll be there. Check your guest list and start questioning it, because somehow she’s going to find a way inside—I’m sure of it. This is a big event, yes?”
“Five hundred people.”
“After her note about toying with you, I’m not sure how far she’s willing to go in a crowd that large, but she’s going to try something. I’m just not sure what that is.”
She sighed.
“Look, at this point, I’m exhausted. I’ve already taken in too much, and now things are becoming a blur. But I’ll be rested by morning, and if I wake up knowing more, I’ll call you immediately. I’ll do my best for you, Kate. I promise you that. I often can see plenty, but there comes a point when I’m so drained, I see nothing at all—like now. But my gut is begging you to stay home tomorrow.”
“Ben will be with me,” I said. “And so will Nick and his team.”
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“But she’s only one person, isn’t she? Or does she work with others?”
“It’s just her, but I’m warning you that when it comes to this woman? She’s dangerous. She’s a master at what she does. And she will kill you if she can.”
BOOK TWO
THE WIDOW
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She was being followed. She was aware of it. And she was prepared to act when necessary.
It was nighttime in Manhattan. Past eleven. As she’d promised him, she was walking down Fifth dressed in a sexy red dress concealed by a long red overcoat, which was so light, the breeze picked it up and away from her, revealing long, toned legs sheathed in dark hose. On her feet were her favorite pair of red, three-inch Chanel spiked heels—which not only looked good, but which she’d also once used to pierce through a man’s throat.
She wished that she could use that tactic tonight, but her orders were to make this death look accidental.
Many of the powerful corporate CEOs she’d been hired to kill generally had a dark side, but tonight’s hit—a man by the name of Sam Everett—took the cake. He was a full-on pervert. And according to him, he had the entire evening planned. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to kill him, but she knew from their conversations alone that she wouldn’t be short on options.
Before she left her apartment, she had reread the script he’d sent her via email. Tonight, they would meet ‘accidentally’ on Fifth, and share a ‘smoldering moment’ on the sidewalk. And then—because she apparently wouldn’t be able to resist him and because ‘that’s how attractive you’ll find me’—she’d just give herself over to him Finally, he’d take her back to his apartment and they’d have sex.
Rough sex. The S&M sort. The very kind of sex he’d been having for the past several years with other women. But it finally caught up with him when he stupidly forgot to shut down his private email account on his computer. When his wife of over twenty years came upon it, she’d read every word of his sick betrayal of her, and came to only one conclusion. She wanted him dead for it.
For a million dollars, Jade was happy to help her out.
As she continued down Fifth, she became hyperaware of her surroundings. The Park was to her right. The cool May breeze carried with it the smells of the city—exhaust from the cabs darting past her to her left, the damp foliage off to her right. At last, spring had arrived. It was right at her back, not unlike the sound of his shoes keeping time with hers as they strolled down the sidewalk.
Jade listened to the sharp, aggressive sound his heels made when they struck the cobblestones. She’d been working this case for the past two weeks, secretly following him until she had a handle on his nighttime proclivities.
Every other night, he could be found at one of the city’s exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. To get inside, all Jade had to do was turn up looking like a siren—and hand the doorman ten large bills.
So much for exclusivity…
Sam Everett had taken to her at once, and Jade knew why—she was an exotic beauty of Asian/Caucasian descent. Many men found her to be stunning, which she’d used to her advantage more than once. Two nights ago, when she’d first met Everett at the club, he’d bought her a drink, and they’d fallen into a conversation as well as a heated flirtation. When she lied and told him that she was a high-end prostitute, things quickly escalated to the point that they were at now.
Presumably, tonight they’d sleep together.
“Do you like it rough?” he’d asked her that first night.
“I do.”
“How rough?”
“Rough enough to need a safe word—not that I’ll likely use it.”
The breeze again, this time stiffer, kicking up her coat and flutter
ing it behind her as if it were a blood-red cape. She’d first become aware of him when she crossed Fifth from Sixty-Sixth Street, where she kept an apartment. But that was five blocks ago, and now it was time to put an end to this and follow through with the explicit directions he’d given her.
She stopped at the corner of Sixty-First Street, paused for a moment as if she was wondering who was walking behind her, and then turned to face him. When she did, she followed every detail of the instructions that he’d laid out for her.
When their eyes met, her lips parted and her breath caught in her throat. She looked at him as if he was perhaps the best-looking man she’d ever seen. And she had to give it to him—at fifty-two, Sam Everett had aged well. With his thick head of dark hair just starting to go gray at his temples, he was tall, well-built, and good-looking. But egos were egos, weren’t they? And since age had stolen away the likely more handsome man he’d been in his youth, his ego needed to be stroked sometimes—even if he was a powerful real-estate mogul worth hundreds of millions.
“Are you following me?” she asked as she fingered her long, black hair away from her face.
“What if I am?”
“If you are, I’d like to know why.”
“Because I think you’re hot,” he said. “And the way you’re dressed now? Alone in the city looking like that? I think you might be looking for something.”
“I don’t understand…”
“You’re looking to get fucked, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. So, why don’t I fuck you with this?”
When he said that—and despite the traffic roaring past them on Fifth—he parted the black overcoat he was wearing and exposed himself to her.
“My God,” she said when she looked at it.
“You want it, don’t you?”
“But I don’t even know who you are.”
“Does it matter? Look, I have an apartment not far from here. Want an adventure?”
All of this was so corny and ridiculous, she had all she could do to keep a straight face, but she nevertheless powered through it.
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