by Kim Baldwin
Ryden was happy not to have to make conversation with the woman, though she wondered whether she’d been put in with another murder suspect—one who’d actually committed the crime she was accused of.
Ryden lay down on one of the benches and stared up at the ceiling. The single bulb that gave the room a yellowish cast was too high to reach and protected by a plastic and metal shield. Their keepers were certainly thorough in preventing prisoners from having any means to injure themselves.
She couldn’t grasp the bizarre predicament she was in, and no matter how hard she tried to come up with a reasonable excuse for this obscene development, she kept returning to the one devastating fact that no one would believe or even listen to her. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to trust that the real killer would turn up; she would be released, apologies made, and her life would return to normal. It was just a misunderstanding, she told herself. Justice would prevail because justice always…
She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. If time and experience had taught her anything, it was that life was nothing but a string of undeserved events. But as unfair and hard as her life had been, nothing could have prepared her to be suspected in a double homicide. She couldn’t harm a bug, never mind an innocent man and his ex-wife, leaving two kids orphaned in the process. Sure, she’d always been pretty indifferent and distant when it came to people and her social life—some had even called her antisocial. But murder?
“No. No, it’s not possible,” she murmured to herself. She stood and walked to the front of the cell. “None of this is real.” She grasped the bars. The metal was so cold in her palms, she shivered. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
Ruby guffawed from behind her. “Neither did I, honey. It was self-defense.”
Before Ryden could react, a portly cop jangling a heavy ring of keys appeared in front of their cell.
“Hey, Smitty,” Ruby called out. “Got another innocent one here.”
The cop snorted derisively and leered at Ryden, his gaze lingering on her breasts. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
Ryden let go of the bars and stepped back. “Please, you have to believe me.”
“I hope, for your sake, your lawyer can make the investigating detectives believe you.” He unlocked the door. “Come with me. He’s waiting.”
At least Magda had managed to get a lawyer down here.
The cop handcuffed her and led her to a small, bare room, devoid of anything except a table, two chairs, and a well-dressed man in his fifties. He stood as Ryden entered. “Ms. Wagner, I’m Sean Swartz, your attorney. Please, take a seat.”
She didn’t know much about labels or fashion, but she could recognize when someone reeked of wealth. Swartz didn’t look like he worked pro bono or charged minimum rates. He wore a tailored navy suit with a starched white shirt and silk tie, his hair was stylishly clipped, and his leather loafers were immaculate. He even smelled expensive—his subtle musky aftershave a stark departure from the cheap shit that most of the guys who came into the flower shop and local bar wore—and the Rolex on his left wrist undoubtedly cost more than she earned in a year. In short, the guy looked more like a power-hungry corporate attorney than the cheap lawyer she’d asked for.
She hesitated to sit across from him, afraid the act alone would deplete her account. “Did Magda mention my finances?”
“I’m well aware of your financial status. You don’t need to concern yourself with that.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Maybe she should have been more specific with Magda about her savings.
“You have bigger problems to worry about, Ms. Wagner,” Swartz said. “Let my fee be the least of your concerns. We’ll work out an arrangement.”
Ryden finally sat down. “I don’t know where to start.”
“I’ve been briefed on your case and have read the police report. You really don’t have to say much.”
“I don’t understand. Granted, I’ve never had to deal with murder accusations and lawyers before, but far as I know, you need my side of the story. The truth.”
“You claim you didn’t kill the Laudens. That’s all I need to know for now. We’ll get into details when the time is right. I’m here to advise you not to answer any further questions. You need to exercise your right to remain silent, because the cops already have enough evidence against you to take to the grand jury.”
Ryden couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What evidence could they possibly have?”
“The tool they found at your shop was the murder weapon. It fits the medical examiner’s findings of the wounds inflicted on the Laudens, and the blood on it was a match for both victims. You even admitted in Detective Johnston’s presence that it was yours.”
“That can’t be possible. I didn’t kill them.”
“It’s only circumstantial evidence, but very damning,” Swartz replied. “And your employer told the detectives you were going to the Lauden residence that evening to see Tim, who’d been in to flirt with you several times. She intimated there might even have been some romantic element developing between you. It’s enough for the grand jury to indict you on two charges of first-degree murder. If convicted, you’ll be given a minimum sentence of life without parole, and you easily could receive the death sentence because of the gruesome nature of the crimes.”
Ryden collapsed back against the chair, a wave of hopelessness overwhelming her. She knew murder cases often took months to go to trial. Even if she was set free in the end, her future was bleak. “Well, then, that’s that. I’m going to rot in a cell.”
“No, you won’t.” The attorney got up, went to the door, and knocked on it.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Do you know something?”
“Like I said, Ms. Wagner,” he replied just as the cop opened the door, “we’ll talk details when the time is right. First, we have to tell the detectives you’re not going to give them any more information and get you out of here. I have a car waiting outside.”
A half hour later, they emerged from the jail to find a driver standing curbside in front of a black Lincoln Town Car. He looked like he could have played for the Philadelphia Eagles.
“We’re going to my office,” Swartz said as they got in. “Would you like something to drink?” The car’s minibar was stocked with only the best scotch, bourbon, and brandy, and though she rarely drank, she was tempted, given the circumstances. She declined, however, determined to keep her wits about her.
“I’d like some answers instead,” she told him as they pulled away from the curb. “Like, why the hell is such an obviously affluent lawyer taking my case, knowing I have limited funds?” She had a million other questions, but that was at the top of the list.
“All in good time, Ms. Wagner. I’ll explain everything, including our course of action, as soon as we’re alone.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence and parked in front of a glass-and-steel office building on the opposite side of town from her apartment. Instead of dropping them off, the halfback of a driver got out and walked with them into the building, though he waited outside the plush suite of offices emblazoned with a gold plaque that read S. SWARTZ, ESQ.
The outer reception area was impressive enough, but Swartz’s twenty-second-floor inner office confirmed Ryden’s assessment that the attorney usually represented only the wealthiest of clients. The room was bigger than the whole flower shop, and its floor-to-ceiling windows provided a magnificent view of the downtown skyline. Swartz’s polished cherry desk and matching credenza sat at one end of the room, and a cozy sitting area—with expensive teak and leather couches, Tiffany lamps, and original oil paintings—filled the other.
She couldn’t have felt more out of place. As Swartz directed her to one of the couches, she imagined she looked as ragged as she felt, dressed in faded jeans, tennis shoes, and wrinkled sweatshirt.
He sat across from her, all business. She watched patiently as he set his briefcase on the coffee table between them and remove
d a thick file. Her name was typed neatly in one corner. “So…” He flipped the file open. “Here we are.”
“Do I start by telling you I’m not guilty?”
“No.” He shut the file. “I start by telling you,” he said, as he threw the folder into the wastebasket beside his seat, “that I know for a fact you’re innocent.”
“Yeah, but…” Ryden paused when she realized what he’d just said. “You what?”
He unbuttoned his blazer and loosened his tie. “Let me start from the beginning. Please refrain from dramatic reactions and spontaneous sentiments until I’m done and you’ve taken a few moments to grasp the situation.”
She sat back, flabbergasted. Did this man know who the murderer was? Could he be her get-out-of-jail card? “I’m listening.”
“I know for a fact you didn’t kill the Laudens, because I know who did.”
She jumped up. “That means you can tell—”
He raised his hand to stop her. “Please, Ms. Wagner. Sit down.”
Ryden smiled, feeling almost giddy. “Sorry.”
“This individual killed the Laudens to set you up. The killer was hired to make you look guilty.”
It took several seconds for her to absorb what he was saying. “Why?” She tried to remain calm so he wouldn’t tell her to stop asking questions.
“You were made to look guilty because someone wants you to work for them. This person, however, requires discretion, dedication, and complete cooperation.”
“Two innocent people were killed.”
He shrugged. “It’s unfortunate, but—”
“But? There’s actually a but?” She didn’t know whether she should feel terrified at the power of whoever was responsible or disgusted. “What kind of people are you?”
“When my client wants something, my client gets it.”
“You lost me. All this is because of a job offer? Couldn’t they just ask?”
He sighed. “Please refrain from commentary and try to concentrate on what I’m saying.”
“Fine.”
“Have you ever heard of doubles?” he asked. “People so impossible to tell apart you can’t distinguish the difference? So identical they can be used as decoys?”
Was he being rhetorical now? What the hell was he going on about? Doubles, decoys…what was next, unicorns? This conversation was making less sense by the second. She hesitated, not knowing whether she should answer.
“Do you understand my question?”
“Of course. I’m not an idiot. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to answer.” She bit back her irritation at being spoken to like a child.
“And?” he asked patiently.
“I get TiVo. I know some VIPs use them.”
“Indeed.” He smiled and leaned forward, watching her reaction. “My client wants you to double someone.”
Ryden got to her feet. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. Two people died, and I was set up for these murders…” She started to pace. “By someone who wants me to impersonate somebody?” She turned to him. “Do you have any idea how absurd this all sounds?”
“I’m not done.” He gestured toward the couch.
“No, I have no interest in sitting down. As a matter of fact, I have no interest in any of this. I don’t see how I, of all people, ever got involved in this weird-ass conspiracy. I want you to pick up that phone and tell the police what you know, and then I want to go home and forget this past week ever happened,” she shouted.
“That’s not an option,” he replied evenly. “Not one you want to entertain, anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Should you refuse to cooperate, not only will I make sure you go to jail, I will also provide eyewitnesses before the grand jury. Witnesses who will seal your fate and make sure your lengthy life in prison is ended only by a lethal injection.”
“What witnesses?”
“There’s the one who saw you wining and dining with Mr. Lauden, another who saw you leave his home early in the morning in a condition of dishevelment—postcoital state, if you will—and yet another who’ll testify he saw the victim welcome you at the door the night of the murder.”
“Lies. All lies.” She paced some more and paused by his desk. Ryden couldn’t stand unfairness. She didn’t know whether to cry or throw Swartz’s heavy paperweight at his head; she wanted to do both. She just wasn’t sure about the order. She pulled her hair instead. “Why me?” she yelled.
“I already told you why. You fit what my client needs. Although, after having met you…” He looked her up and down like she was a leper. “I honestly don’t see the connection. That aside, should you agree to these conditions, and after of course you complete your…term with my client, you’ll no longer have to worry about prison.”
“Who the hell is your…client? Let me talk to him.”
“You might as well ask to speak to God.”
“So, if I refuse to do this, I go to jail.”
“The death sentence.” He sounded satisfied.
“What will I have to do?”
“Once you agree to the terms,” he replied, “you will be further instructed on what is required of you.”
“Who am I supposed to double?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that. You must understand, this is all highly confidential. So much so, even I don’t know the details.”
“Will it be dangerous?”
“All decoys must take certain risks. It’s why they exist, after all. But I can assure you, any dangers this job might involve pale compared to those of top-security prisons. And I can guarantee you, you will be sent to the worst there is.”
“How long will I have to be this…this double?”
“It’s my understanding it won’t be longer than six months.”
She started to pace again. What were the chances this was all a bad joke, or a case of mistaken identity? Yeah, that’s it. A spark of hope ignited. “Are you sure you have the right—”
“Yes.”
“But I’m a nobody.”
He nodded. “You are.”
“But I don’t even—”
“Ms. Wagner, I need an answer. Are you going to work for my client, or are you going to spend the rest of your shortened life in prison?”
Ryden sat back on the couch. Life in prison and the death sentence, or six months of being an impersonator. Were those really her only choices? “How do you know I won’t run? Or—”
“Should you be foolish enough to breach contract, reveal your real identity, or do anything contrary to your duties, you will be terminated.”
“Fired?”
“Killed.”
“What?” she yelled.
“It’s still the better option. Maybe you haven’t quite grasped the severity of your situation, Ms. Wagner, but you are already the proverbial dead man walking. Whereas, if you take the job and do as instructed, you’ll be free to start a new life.”
“New life?”
“The grand jury will most certainly indict you, probably within the next few weeks. But the work will necessitate that you be unavailable for your trial, so you’ll be a wanted fugitive. My client will provide you with a new identity and a quarter of a million dollars so you can relocate wherever you want.”
She let the figure sink in. Money had never been a priority, but if doing this meant she would be on the run from the law, she’d need the help to disappear. “I don’t know if I can do this. What if I can’t?”
“You will be taught what you need to know.”
Ryden stared blankly at the view of the skyline for what seemed like hours. She’d lived all her life in Philadelphia and would miss the city. “When would I have to start?” she finally asked.
“I need an answer before I can disclose that.” He got up and walked to the door.
Clearly Swartz wanted her decision right now, but did she really have any choice to make? Right now, she could see only one answer, and she was pretty certain
it would be the same even if she had a month to sleep on it. She finally got up. “I’ll do it.”
“Very well,” he said, and locked the door. He pulled out his phone and dialed. “She’ll do it,” he said, and hung up.
“Now will you tell me when I start?”
“You already have,” he replied. “Someone will pick you up very shortly.”
Chapter Five
New York, New York
Two months later, February 22
Jack Harding left the Colorado home she shared with Cassady Monroe very early in the morning, on a quick excursion to her New York apartment. She was booked on a flight back in just a few hours. She’d put off going to her old place to pick up some clothes and personal items because she was afraid she’d return to find Cass gone again. Part of her knew her lover was alive and safe, but the other dark part of her feared she’d wake up one morning to find it was a lie. Jack awoke every night to reach for Cass, just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.
Cass had been through so much the last couple of years Jack couldn’t understand how she was still so keen on working for the Elite Operatives Organization as Agent Lynx. On her first solo assignment, she’d nearly died at the hands of serial killer Walter Owens, and the previous October Andor Rózsa, the madman who’d killed millions with his deadly Charon virus, had held her captive. For three weeks, Jack believed Cass had been killed in the explosion at Rózsa’s lab, and in her terrible grief, she’d contemplated suicide.
Ever since Cassady’s resurrection, Jack had vowed never to let her out of her sight again. This was one of the few times they’d been separated longer than a few hours, and she was doing her best to conceal her worry. Jack hated to acknowledge she needed or even missed anyone, but when it came to Cass, she not only admitted her feelings, but she reveled in the fact that Cass knew how dependent Jack was on her.