Risky Alliance

by N. C. Anderson

  It seemed that old Keats had ears in every corner of the universe, and it didn't seem wise to ask where he got his information. “He shouldn't feel pissed at me, Kimba. It was his idea for me to go.” He remembered the sheet he had deliberately left in the rental car. There weren't any fingerprints, there weren't any connections between the car and himself, and he wished he had been there to see the reaction when someone opened that trunk. He hoped it was the ugly, rude, bitch that rented the car to him. She deserved the shock. “I didn't leave anything behind,” he lied, thinking about the sheet and certain it meant nothing anyway. “I just followed instructions.” He reached out and brushed her dark hair behind her ear. “I don't know who the cop is looking at, but it couldn't be me.”

  After studying him for a moment Kimba set the pen down, then took two folders from her desk and handed them to him. “When you've made copies of these bring them to me. The supervisor will be back in thirty minutes, so get moving.” She smiled. “We can discuss them over a drink?” They would also have to discuss her giving him the folders elsewhere. There was always the chance Campbell might be lurking somewhere, and if he saw Clint again—

  He placed the folders on the chair, and then pulled her from the desk. When her body was against his, he cupped her rear with both hands, grinding the V between her legs against his arousal. “Before or after?” he panted. He'd had her in this plush, and very private office before, and wondered if she would give in if he pushed it. Kimba thought she alone controlled what they did, whether in bed or otherwise. Someday, when he decided the time, she would realize differently, realize the depth of his expertise, realize what he was really capable of ...

  Laughing huskily, she pushed him back. “Your place and before and after, if you hurry.” Kimba brushed the front of his pants with her fingertips. “I have a regional meeting at three, so I suggest you don't waste time.”

  After he left, she sat at her computer and began working on the records. A few changes in the facts and the regional supervisors would hand her a directive to move on the properties. It was so easy and they were so stupid and the people had no defense at all. But this wasn't the only place she could use her brilliance. Once she was made region supervisor, she would go for the power.

  Married to Keats, she had money coming out her ears. However, it was his money, under his dominion. Before she finished, she would be giving quite a few orders of her own.

  * * * *

  Still feeling tied-in-a-knot with a love-filled, down-right lustful torment, Jacob intended to go home the minute he escorted Sue and Bandit to Abby's front door at four fifteen, but Abby was waiting for him. “What's up?” he asked, studying her excited features.

  “You've had several phone calls from a Detective Manning in Iowa,” she said. “He seems extremely anxious to talk to you. I told him that you'd return his calls the moment I heard from you.” She pointed toward her family room where she kept her desk and an extension phone. “Closed-mouthed, that one is. Wouldn't tell me anything."

  First Jacob retrieved his briefcase from the van, and then settled on Abby's desk chair beside the phone. Leaning in the arched entryway, Sue watched him, her expression inquisitive, so he waved her into the room and unsnapped his case. It was his custom to operate alone; but, frustrated or not, he wanted to keep her near and to make every moment count—including her in his investigation seemed to be working. To his surprise, she behaved completely interested—not only interested, but assisting. Her factual and intuitive comments thus far had kept him on track—even given him a serious new path or two to consider.

  He took Robert Delaney's file from the case and reached for the phone. But before he had the chance to lift the phone receiver, it rang. Tim's voice greeted him when he answered it. “What you got, Tim?"

  “Not counting the probability against it, I think that guy in Iowa slipped up a bit, J.T. There were calls made both days the guy stayed at that motel. The calls were to California, and in our area."

  “You know where?” Jacob knew how much Tim liked to dole out information when he had something good.

  “Would I be calling if I didn't? However, that brings up the probability angle. Guess it rules the guy out of having anything to do with the apartment thing. The calls were to the home of a well-known lawyer named Keats Charles."

  “Just because he called a lawyer doesn't clear him for me—not yet.” Mostly, lawyers weren't his favorite people.

  “I forgot,” Tim said, a laugh in his voice. “You don't have a lot of trust for lawyers."

  “You think this Charles is squeaky clean?” He had several attorney friends, but he didn't trust the brotherhood as a whole. Tangling with them wasn't all that much fun either.

  “I haven't the foggiest idea, J.T., but I don't have any authorization to snoop around."

  Jacob sat back in the chair. “Since when did that count so much?” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Forget I said that, Tim. If you should hear anything odd about the guy, we can check it out then.” The phone calls were an oddity enough for Jacob, and he didn't need an authorization to do a bit of snooping.

  After telling Tim about the clothing in Dottie's closet and the paint on the bathroom floor, he placed the phone back in its cradle and noticed Abby had come in with coffee. “Ever hear of a lawyer named Keats Charles, Abby?"

  “His name's in the paper once in a while,” she said, offering him a mug from her tray. “I believe he likes to represent the monsters in tax cases.” She frowned. “Everyone turns out to be guilty, and I've known a few who weren't. His offices must be in Sacramento because that's where news about him always comes from."

  “I remember,” Sue remarked thoughtfully as she accepted a mug. “You wrote and told me about a friend of yours going to court."

  Abby nodded. “Poor thing lives on social security and they said she owned ten thousand dollars. They took nearly everything Jennifer had left in the world, and she ended up living with one of her kids in Washington State.” Abby sat down in her rocker. “That Charles fella got on TV and made it look just wonderful that he destroyed Jennifer."

  Possibly Keats lived in Fresno and commuted to Sacramento. Adding the information, and his need to check it out, to his notes, Jacob recalled Robert saying an attorney was threatening him as well as two agents. It had slipped his mind, and he couldn't remember if Robert mentioned the name ... it seemed like it had been a woman lawyer. There had to be something in Robert's papers that he missed. “Feel like another trip to the Delaney's house?” he asked Sue as he dialed the number for Detective Manning.

  “Go on ahead,” Abby prompted, rising and heading for the entryway. “The kids and I will go swimming and cook some dinner. We might even rent a movie for the evening."

  “Why don't you just take Robert's files to the house, J.T.?” Sue asked. “Then you won't have to keep going back and forth.” She moved to occupy the rocker Abby had abandoned.

  Jacob nodded. “We'll take some boxes with us—Detective Manning's office please,” he said into the phone. To Sue, he added, “Maybe Abby has a couple in her garage."

  Realizing she wouldn't get much from a one-sided conversation anyway Sue rose, deciding to go ask Abby about the boxes.

  Jacob didn't have to wait long for Manning to answer the phone. “Campbell, you were right about the sheet turning up. I had a call from a rental company Tuesday evening. Car sat in the sun two days before they detailed it, so the trunk had a real ripe smell. The gloves wadded up in the sheet turned out to come from the sporting goods store. Sales woman thinks they are the same ones she sold Friday."

  “Do you know the make of the car and who rented it?"

  Manning told Jacob exactly what he expected to hear. The car was the same one he had followed to the motel; right down to the license number, and no prints except for those of the employees. After Manning told him William Cane was the renter, he said, “That guy spent a couple of days at the motel across from the airport."

  “Yeah,” M
anning agreed. “We visited the motel. The maid said Cane wasn't especially neat. Seems he had a hair-loss problem, too, ‘cause she found more than she considered usual on the vanity and floor.” There was silence for a moment. “The maid thought it was hair from a wig, but we were too damned late to get any samples. So, we can't prove Cane used a disguise by that. However, our forensics lab found wig hair on the sheet. They say, conclusively, that the blood on the sheet and gloves matches Karen Orr's."

  “And I let him get away,” Jacob interrupted, berating himself. “Even flew on the same damned plane with him.”

  “I expect you did,” Manning said. “He had his airline tickets delivered to a different motel on Sunday evening. Seems he was bumped off an earlier flight on Sunday ‘cause of overbooking. He tried not to stay in one place too long by switching motels.

  “I'm to contact Lieutenant Benson in your area. Our departments have agreed to let us work together on this.”

  “I know Tim Benson,” Jacob said casually. “He's a good man."

  “We'll be discussing all that I've told you, Campbell. He already knows your interest in the case?"

  “He knows."

  “I don't like taking any chances with legalities, so I won't be calling you again, Campbell. If you discover anything, Benson can get back to me on it."

  After hanging up, Jacob glanced at the notes he had taken during the conversation. Something was missing. Then two things dawned on him—first, the phone calls. Manning probably kept that information for Tim. Secondly, and a prize at that was, attorney Keats Charles knew something about the guy from the motel. He couldn't help wondering if Manning merely did not want to mention the calls or if he didn't yet know about them. Either way it forced Jacob to hurry some. He wanted to learn something about Charles before officials tipped him with their questions. Tim wasn't one to forget details or omit them when working with official business.

  Jacob shoved to his feet and walked toward the kitchen where he heard voices.

  Sue stood in the middle of the kitchen with two cardboard boxes in her arms. “Found these,” she said. “Will they do?"

  Nodding, he skirted around Andee whose upper torso was hidden within the depths of the refrigerator. “Keep a eye on Grandma and your brother, Andee. We'll be back in an hour or so."

  “At your command, Oh Daddy Dear,” Andee responded, her voice sounding muffled.

  He gently swatted her behind. “I love obedient children,” he said. “Don't get lost in there,” he added, “you might meet up with a polar bear."

  “I can't,” she quipped. “I have a map of this frost-less kingdom."

  * * * *

  Sue thumbed through one of Robert's files marked notes on audit. “I know how important it is to finish this, Jacob, but we need to talk about something."

  Serious again, he thought. Always serious when she used his full name. He dropped the file in his hand into the box beside the desk and looked at her. “Shoot,” he urged. “We could use a little break.” He would suggest she come sit on his lap, if he thought it would work. Jacob hoped she couldn't interpret the smile he couldn't stop from forming.

  Pulling her chair closer to the front of the desk, she faced him. “It's about Mike,” she began. “I haven't wanted to worry you about it, because I thought it would pass."

  “What's our son been up to?” He didn't think it could be devastating. Mike was a great kid.

  “Lot's of things,” she said leaning her elbows on the desk. “To start off, his grades are pushing D really hard. The school called me five times in the past eight months, letting me know he'd been off the school grounds without permission and hanging around kids who're in constant trouble.” She folded her hands, resting her chin against them. “I thought maybe he'd tell you why he's decided to change his image."

  Pushing to her feet, she walked to the window, her back to Jacob. “However, the minute we started packing for this trip he seemed like his old self."

  Jacob rose and followed her, placing his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. “I'll talk to him, Babe. Just guessing, I'd say the separate lives we live could have something to do with how he feels. His age most likely covers the rest.” Jacob didn't believe much in pretending. But he wanted to now. He wanted to wipe the past two years from his memory; erase from the moment the damned bullet struck his hip to now, and then pretend this was a normal moment in their lives. Touching her made his heart ache for any everyday, run-of-the-mill moment.

  “I want to take him out of public school, Jacob. If I can't get him in private school, then I want him to study at home.” His hands seemed to work magic as she felt the tension leave her neck and shoulders. It felt wonderful to share her worries with him. It had been such a long time ... his hands could always work magic.

  Jacob turned her toward him, circling her with his arms, wanting to feel her head against his chest, and she obliged him, resting her forehead near his heart. “That's the best idea I've heard in a long time. Andee might want to do that too. She's told me about the stress classmates can pile on a kid. ‘I really hate it,’ she said. ‘They're scum-bag freaks and you can't get away from them unless you keep mobile until you get home.’ She wouldn't miss dealing with the garbage. I don't know about Iowa, but most of the friends she has here go to her Karate class or have the same piano teacher.

  “Mike's friends here are pretty active kids. Can't keep them off their bikes or, when they are, out of the swimming pool."

  Listening to his strong, vibrant heartbeat eased her doubts. “It's pretty much the same in Iowa for Andee. She stays ahead of her classmates, but most of her friends aren't from the school and usually play music and love sports."

  “We'll help them the most if we talk about our living situation,” he said softly. “I don't think we can wait much longer.” He wanted her to talk to him about herself. Wanted to hear her put voice to what it was that terrorized her.

  “I know,” she mumbled against him. She looked up at him. “If you'll promise to give me a few days, I'll promise to give you all the time you want for a talk.” She glanced around. “I know we're alone.” She shivered. “But, I keep having the feeling we're being watched."

  “Here I thought I was the only one getting the willies in this room.” He touched her cheek, running a finger gently down to the corner of her mouth. “You have a deal—how many days is a few?"

  Sue chuckled tiredly. “How about when you know how and why Robert died? And, who killed the cat? That way,” she added, “we'll have each other's undivided attention."

  “Agreed. You definitely have a point. We both seem to have trouble thinking about anything else.” He hesitated. “We get rid of the threat, then we take care of us.” Before the threat can harm anyone else, he added to himself. Especially since that anyone else could be a member of his family.

  Nodding, she moved away from him and gestured at the desk. “I guess we'd better get back to the grind.” After sitting down, she added, “Will you let me know what you think after you talk to Mike?"

  If things were at all normal, Jacob would tell her that holding her was preferable over getting back to the grind. Instead, he nodded, resuming his place at the desk. “I'm going to wait a few days though. At least until some of the dust settles around all of us."

  A note from the folder she lifted, floated to the floor near her feet. She scooped it up, glancing at it.

  The main words, Found the Headman: A Shadow, not as he seems, photo to pal in LA, caught her attention so she read further. “That's strange,” she muttered.

  “What's strange?” Jacob asked as he flipped open another file.

  “It says here that somebody filing papers against him has a fake identity and not who he seems.” She handed the handwritten scrap of paper to Jacob. “Then Robert wrote he'd investigate further with a pal who could make a positive identification. That sounds awfully certain."

  Jacob scanned the paper. A pal with an LA area code. “This is dated just a few days ago. I ha
ve a feeling there's vital information in this stuff and I've missed it. Too bad Robert didn't put down more names.” Mostly it was too bad Robert didn't leave them better notes. He scooped the remaining files into the box. It was also too bad Carley wasn't due back for another week. Right now he could use her nearly perfect research talent.

  “Can I go look at the shoes in the closet before I forget?” she asked, watching him.

  He stood up and stretched, reaching toward the high ceiling. “Yeah. Good thing you remembered. Let's do it together.” Must be slipping, he thought, walking with her to the bedroom. He'd intended to look at those shoes when they first arrived.

  Sue knelt beside the neatly kept rack that curved inward around one corner of the massive closet. Five pairs of modestly priced shoes of four colors occupied the spaces. The two empty slots were most likely the pairs Dottie would have with her at her mother's. No tennis shoes; Dottie was wearing a pair yesterday. No stains: all clean and looking brand new.

  “Can the people Tim works with determine shoe size from the markings on the floor?” She stood and faced Jacob. She moved to Robert's side of the closet. Two pairs of dress shoes, one pair of beat-up sneakers—no paint on them.

  “I think they can come close,” he said. He gestured at the shoes she'd been looking at, then at Dottie's. “Nothing looks wrong with any of those,” he stated the obvious. “I've a feeling hers are about three-sizes smaller than the paint print.”

  Knowing that sneakers spread differently than most shoes, he lifted a wedged-shaped sandal and took it into the bathroom. He set it beside the paint-smeared print. Yep, just as he thought, at least three sizes too small.

  Sue followed him, and then watched him replace the shoe in the closet. “Now what?"

  “Now? Let's quit for now. I've got some steak thawing at the house and I'm starving. How about you?"

  Sue wanted to go with him, cook those steaks with him, but it was too dangerous. Even with the mess still apparent, the house was too darned intimate. The kids wouldn't be there to act the buffer, a protection. “I'll go with you to the house, J.T., but I can't stay. I want to get my car and get back to Abby's.” She helped him close up the cardboard boxes. “If I'm going to be of any help to Dottie, I need to get an early night.” She glanced at her watch. “I'm still on Iowa time, and my body thinks it's past ten.” Lifting the a box she added, “My car still runs doesn't it?” He wouldn't have left it sitting idle for two years—would he?