"Hmmm?" he struggled to wake.
"The phone's dead," she said, her voice cracking. She looked at the closed bedroom door.
Silence. The house was still besides the soft humming of the air conditioner.
"Wha–?" Jack blinked his eyes. "What is it?"
"Shhhh!" Alice covered his mouth. "Listen!"
Nothing.
Jack tried to sit up. He rubbed his eyes. "I don't hear a–"
"Quiet. I think there's someone..."
Jack groaned and she knew he was thinking she was paranoid again. Three locks for every door. Alarms for the car. She had even called the police on Jack two months ago when he had forgotten his key and tried to climb in the open kitchen window.
"I'll go check," he muttered, rising out of bed.
"No, Jack. I–" she started to go after him. He had barely made it within four feet of the door when she saw the darkness in that area shift. Before she realized it, the door opened, thrown back into the wall. Someone must have crept almost silently to the door without turning on a light, and had been waiting and listening. Jack cried out and crumpled to the floor.
The darkness whirled and fluttered before her eyes. She caught a pungent smell, like the scent of bad cologne.
And something metallic glittered and waved, before settling on her throat.
"Tell me," said a voice from the black, "have you heard from your son?"
Forty minutes later, Lloyd Stielman was in the kitchen. He turned all the burners on high.
On his way out of the dark house he lit the edge of a tablecloth. The fire would make identification of the bodies difficult, and would further cloud cause of death, especially if the police had no reason to suspect foul play.
Lloyd almost felt a twinge of regret for the night's activities. He didn't relish needless killing. Especially of the elderly. But, he chided himself, there was no other way. Too bad Murphy was a loser. He had no girlfriend, no best friend. Hell, no friends, period. If he would have told anyone, it would have been his parents. It was unfortunate that the FBI had been so thorough.
Unfortunate for the Murphys. But only all the more challenging for Lloyd. It would make this job a little more interesting, maybe even worthy of his talents.
As he slipped around the back of the house, gliding silently in and out of the deep pockets of shade on his way towards his car, he recalled O'Neil's words from the day before. Malcolm had just posted bail, and he had met with the Senator in a small Italian restaurant that was sure to be clean of bugs. Lloyd tagged along at O'Neil's request, a balance against Ms. West's insistence on the dork twins for her security escorts. Lloyd had immediately lost his appetite; they were incompetent fools. They were the ones who let Murphy escape in the first place.
Of course, Lloyd never forgave himself for not breaking the punk's neck on his way out of the Senator's office. But then, his hands were tied by O'Neil's respect for the Senator's wishes.
At the restaurant, both parties agreed on one thing:
"Nicholas Murphy must be eliminated." It was O'Neil who spoke first. Evelyn West, her expression bitter but pained, grudgingly nodded her approval. Lloyd felt O'Neil had gone far too easy on the Senator. After all, Nick was her damned nephew. She stood up for the prick, and O'Neil had hardly reproached her.
But Lloyd wasn't about to preach proper procedure to his boss; and besides, he had been given the assignment. While the Bates boys stuffed their ugly faces with linguini, O'Neil had, in very specific terms, given Lloyd permission to use all his resources, to pull out all the stops, just as long as Nicholas Murphy died before testifying.
O'Neil was stern on one point: "Don't toy with him, don't underestimate him. I don't care if you want to humiliate or torture him, or do any of that typical CIA shit. Do you hear? I just want him dead, and fast."
Lloyd understood the gravity of this assignment. He made the promise O'Neil was expecting, but Lloyd cheered himself by realizing that, O'Neil's wishes and West's concerns notwithstanding, Murphy's death would be terrible and agonizing.
The Senator's nephew had duped him, made him look the fool.
Lloyd was a professional, and he would always act like one. But that didn't mean the skills and abilities of a professional hunter couldn't cross over, mating efficiency with revenge.
This one was personal. No matter where Nicholas Murphy was, Lloyd would track him down.
There were other sources waiting to be tapped.
Lloyd peeled away from the curb. He traveled without headlights for two blocks. Before he turned onto the main track, the rear-view mirror offered a stunning display of pyrotechnic glory as one of the houses atop the hill burst into hungry scarlet flames.
CHAPTER SIX
Silver Springs
Wednesday morning
Nick took a seat on a flat slab of rock by the water's edge. Slipping the pair of wayfarers over his eyes he leaned back and released a deep sigh, and for the first time in a long while, felt a sense of calm. The air by the lake was a few degrees cooler than at his house, and being in the heart of the woods made the temperature even more comfortable. A pair of sparrows flapped over his head, playfully chasing each other through the trees.
Nick glanced at the blue and red float. Nothing. He reeled it in, replaced the limp worm with a new wriggling one, and cast out again. If it weren't for the stolen worms he would have concluded the lake was completely empty. He hadn't even heard a frog, or seen a snake. The surface never broke for a moment. Was there nothing underneath waiting to snap up the occasional horsefly?
Come to think of it, even the birds seemed to avoid the water. He'd been here over an hour and hadn't seen one of them approach for a drink. What did they know? He waved the pole around, trying to give the minnow an appearance of underwater vitality.
Holding the pole between his knees, he reached for the coffee he had brought out along with the baloney sandwiches.
That was when he heard the sounds: a snapping branch, soft footfalls. The source was difficult to locate, and seemed to be coming from many directions at once, as if the acoustics of the forest were deliberately constructed to warp sound.
As he tried to get up and run, he found his legs refused to cooperate. He caught an unrelated motion out of the corner of his eye. In the lake, the float was suddenly and violently sucked under.
And someone called from behind him.
"Hello?" it was a woman's voice, unfamiliar, cautious.
Nick stood, relaxing his hold on the pole. It suddenly ripped free and launched into the water. Stunned, but his fear of the intruder gone, he lunged after the speeding pole. He took three steps into the lake, the water rising past his shins, and reached for the handle – but it just escaped his fingers.
He stood and stared, dumbfounded, as the pole skittered over the surface of the lake, then submerged like a war sub in pursuit of the enemy.
"Holy shit..." He turned and trudged out of the water, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"There goes dinner," the woman noted. She was dressed like a stockbroker, and Nick wondered if there were any professional women in Silver Springs. She wore a blue skirt over dark stockings that clung to long, sleek legs. She had a navy blue jacket, buttoned, covering a white blouse. No rings, Nick noticed at once, but she wore a silver cross around her neck.
He was immediately self-conscious. He must look like quite the prize. Old jeans and a Red Sox t-shirt with pizza stains under the collar. High-top sneakers without socks. Three-day stubble on his chin. He hadn't even showered today.
"Hi," he managed to say.
She smiled and shifted a large leather purse to her other shoulder.
Deciding that at least she wasn't a threat – unless she was here to recruit him for church services – Nick cleared his throat and spread his arms out. "Welcome to this neck of the woods."
She gave a brief smile. "You're a difficult man to find. I'm glad to see you're settled in and... coping well. Besides, that is, your occasional loss of equipment–
" she pointed to the lake, "–most likely purchased with Federal funds."
She stepped forward, extending her hand. "I'm Audrey Harper."
Nick cautiously took her hand. "Josh Stone." He frowned. "You're..."
She blinked. Her eyes were green and full. Sandy-brown shoulder-length hair, a freckle or two. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small black wallet that flipped open, revealing a photo and an impressive badge that glittered like silver in the sun. "Assigned to you for as long as you're stuck out here."
Nick withdrew his hand and took a step back. "You're my agent?"
Audrey clasped her hands together. "Mr. Murphy," she said with a sigh. "Let's get this over with quickly, shall we? I'm a highly qualified agent. I graduated third in my class of five hundred and eight, scoring highest on physical training and marksmanship, qualifying in all other fields as well. The fact that I'm a woman has–"
"Whoa, whoa!" Nick interjected, hands raised in defense. "I'm sorry. It's just a shock. I was told a man was... ah–" He rubbed his skull and took off his sunglasses. "I'm just making this worse for myself, aren't I?"
Audrey nodded. She folded her arms and waited.
"Okay," Nick said. "This will work."
"But you'd rather have a man guarding you…"
Nick sighed. "Well..."
"I understand," Audrey admitted, looking at the twigs and leaves stuck to her blouse, and the dirt caked on her high-heeled shoes. "Frankly, I questioned the assignment. The danger level is high, and your protection is vital. This is a serious case. And yet, they chose me. Someone believed in me. Someone made the decision that I would be the best agent for the job. And if my superiors have faith in me, how could I have anything less?"
She adjusted her jacket. "So, Mr. Murphy? Are you going to trust me?"
Nick nodded his head, smiling. "Yeah, I mean, I'm sure you've been on dozens of these protection gigs, and had all kinds of experience."
Audrey looked down at her shoes. "Well, to be honest, I only graduated last fall. I've been working a desk in Seattle until now."
Nick blinked at her, waiting for the hopeful follow-up that she was just kidding. When it didn't come, he rubbed his head. "Do you know the list of powerful people that I've ticked off? Do you realize how badly they want me dead?"
Audrey opened her mouth, but Nick cut her off. "No. Listen. I was there when Malcolm O'Neil ordered two of his henchmen to dismember a judge. I've seen the results of their hitman's work. The body count is immense, Agent Harper. I was a part of that evil. I'm not proud of any of it, but I was there, and I like to think that I've escaped. But if you're not equipped to handle this – to make sure my ass stays hidden and alive until I can testify, then nothing I've done will have mattered."
Audrey bit her lip and stepped forward. She looked up into Nick's eyes. "Then we'll have to make sure it stays hidden, won't we?"
Nick pulled out another chair for her at the kitchen table. "This is my last can of Pepsi. Two days and I'm already running low on supplies." He laughed. "You should have seen me at UCONN. I can't survive without Domino’s Pizza, I really can't."
Audrey opened the can. Her elbows on the table, she leaned over. "You probably got used to home cooking, and…"
Nick's smile vanished and Audrey realized she'd made a terrible attempt at an icebreaker. This wasn't starting off as she'd planned. Her momentum was gone.
"Didn't your files tell you anything?" Nick asked curtly.
Audrey nodded. Of course. What she said had just slipped out. His wife had died several years ago.
"And what else did they tell you?"
Audrey was silent for a moment. "I – I'm so sorry." Now it was her turn to feel stupid, to put her foot in her mouth. There was no way out of it now, but to continue. "Car accident, wasn't it?"
Nick bit his lip and looked away.
Audrey stood up. "I didn't realize it was so recent. And–"
"It's been five years," Nick said, and leaned back in the chair. "Five years. I should be over it now." He glanced at Audrey. "Sit down, Agent Harper. I might as well speak about it. If you know so much about me, maybe you should know it all."
She sat down again, and began tracing the condensation droplets on the soda can.
"We were only married ten months. I'd known Sally for six months before I proposed." He shrugged. "It seemed perfect."
Audrey felt a lump rising in her throat. She hadn't expected their first meeting to be anything like this. She had been harboring preconceived feelings of resentment towards Nicholas Murphy, and thought of him just as another crook trying to save his ass by giving up his family. But now, she felt that baggage lifting away as Nicholas, the person, opened up to her. She was unprepared for this change; nothing in her training had taught her how to act in a situation such as this. So, silent and attentive, she waited for Nick to finish.
"It was perfect," he said. "I was going to law school at nights, working in the legislature during the days. Sally was pregnant; I was going to be a father. We had the tests done. We were both impatient and wanted to know."
Nick closed his eyes and was quite a long time before he continued again, in a cracked, wavering voice. His eyes turned red and glazed over. "It was... would have been... a girl."
He rubbed his eyes. "Sally went into labor prematurely. It was Saturday night, and... I had been out drinking with my boss and some colleagues." He lowered his head.
"They had to carry me home. I was lying on the couch getting sick in a trash can. I remember she tried to wake me. Her water broke. She was having painful contractions, and screaming about getting to the hospital..." Nick covered his face. "Oh God, I think I even laughed at her. Nothing was real... I didn't, couldn't see...
"She drove herself. I don't know where the neighbors were. She must have tried them. I don't know..."
He got out of the chair and walked behind the counter, breathing heavily. "Jesus, look at me. I haven't cried in front of a woman since my wedding ceremony."
Audrey looked away.
"The police woke me up early the next morning. To the day I die, I'll never forget the expression on the Sergeant's face. He told me legally there was nothing they could do to me... But he was perfectly right in one thing. He promised I'd have to live with this guilt for the rest of my life. I was responsible for two deaths.
"The worst thing was, I really wasn't a drinking man. For some reason, by some grotesque joke, the one night I got trashed... Well, needless to say, I haven't touched a drop since."
Nick turned his back to Audrey and slumped his shoulders. There, he'd told it. The same version given to three different counselors in the past few years. Why was it that this time, he felt... what? Relieved? Not purged, surely, but lighter somehow.
Audrey cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Mr. Murphy. So sorry. I wish–"
"Please. Call me Nick," he pleaded, facing her again. "I just told you what doctors and quacks have been trying to drag out of me for five years. And I barely know you. For that accomplishment alone you deserve the right to call me Nick." He forced a smile. "Or Josh, if you prefer. I better get used to that name."
Audrey ran her fingers through her hair. "Nick will be fine." She offered a weak smile. "Thank you Nick. I feel better about this assignment already. And trust me, you're going to live a long life."
Nick sighed. "I was afraid of that."
Outside, they shook hands again, exchanged phone numbers and then Nick promised to call in any emergency.
"I want you to know," he told her as she walked to her car. "I haven't accepted a girl's phone number in many, many years. You should be honored."
Audrey turned, pushing her hair away from her eyes. "The honor's all yours, sir. To have me as your guardian agent."
"Audrey?" Nick called when she opened her door. "I wonder..."
"What?"
He looked back at the house, then at his feet. "The anniversary of... well, her death... is this Friday. I – that is, I really don't want to be all
alone out here, with nothing else to think about. The dreams are bad enough, but..."
Audrey grinned. "I've got a half day on Friday. I can be here by, say, four-thirty."
Nick beamed.
"Dig us up some worms," she called. "And we'll see if we can't get the bastard that stole your pole."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hartford, Connecticut
Wednesday night
Under the cloud-drenched night sky the West Estate basked in shadowy ambiguity, the gate lights dormant, the windows revealing and reflecting only the utter blackness. The mansion, an untidy fortress of stone and granite, seemed to be collapsing in the darkness, smothering its secrets.
In the Senator's chambers, on the third floor of the East wing, a single candle burned, the flame coughing out a pungent cinnamon fragrance and casting grotesque shadows across the bedroom walls.
Under a blood-hued canopy, one of the two figures on the bed sat up, pulling the sheet around her upper body.
"Malcolm," she whispered.
"Hmmmm," came the reply.
"It's twelve-thirty."
"Shit." The body under the sheet stirred, turned, and sat up, scratching his head. "I can miss court in the morning..."
"No!" Evelyn clutched at Malcolm's arm. "It's only bail proceedings, but if you don't even show up–"
"I know, I know." He shoved her hand away. His eyes were cold gray stones, incapable of even the slightest reflection. "I just can't get worked up about this when I know it could all be over in a week or two. Or hell, we might be in the clear right now."
Evelyn sighed. "Lloyd's not that good."
"Don't be too sure," O'Neil smiled. He edged closer, and placed his lips on the Senator's shoulder, tasting her salty skin. She was old, true, but her body remained trim and appealing. And, thought O'Neil, she was very skillful. In another time, another life, he would have considered her a valuable prize. But this was business, pure and simple, an extension of their professional relationship.
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