Emma’s breath whooshed out as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “What...”
“Sorry, Miss Duprey, uh, Cassidy,” O'Hara said. He backed away and put the keys on the table on the other side of the basement. “I had my orders.”
She leapt at the door, but of course it was too late. She grabbed the bars and jerked with all her strength. Nothing moved. “Let me out!”
O'Hara shrugged and looked at Bruce. “We’d better go.”
“You can’t do this to me!” She twisted sideways and rammed her shoulder against the steel. “Open the door!”
Bruce raked his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “This is for your own good. I said I was sorry.”
“I didn’t know what you meant. I thought you were apologizing about...” She swallowed hard. “How can you do this? You tricked me.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I want to keep you safe. You were willing to take crazy risks to fly those drugs for your brother’s sake. I couldn’t take the chance that you’d do something reckless now.”
She kicked the bars. Her leather boot provided scant cushioning against the force she applied. “I cooperated with you. And you said I wasn’t under arrest.” She kicked again, sending sharp pain spearing up her leg. “I should have known better than to trust a cop.”
“You're in protective custody. It’s only temporary. Haskin will release you the minute our operation is over.”
“You don’t trust me, do you? That’s what this is all about. Even after everything we've gone through, and what we did last night, you still don’t—”
“Too many lives are at stake, Emma. If even a hint of this raid gets out, things could turn ugly real fast. My feelings don’t count. I have to go by the book on this.”
“Do you think I'm going to betray you? Is that it? Do you think I'm so shallow that I’d share my body with someone and then go behind their back to—”
“This is my job, dammit. You said you understood.”
O'Hara started off for the stairs. “I'll wait in the alley for you, Bruce. Sounds as if you've got some personal business to settle.”
Bruce glared at him. “Forget you heard that.”
“I didn’t need to hear it to figure it out. There’s been a high-voltage field crackling in the air since I picked you two up this morning. Take a minute to get your head straight. I don’t want your mind wandering when you're supposed to be watching my back.”
Swearing under his breath, Bruce waited until the door at the top of the stairs clanged shut behind O'Hara. “It’s for your own good,” he repeated, frustration edging his words.
“Right. Fine. Hide behind your badge, Bruce.” She slapped the bars and stepped back from the locked door. “You're so damn worried about caring for someone again, you had to find some way to push me away, didn’t you? No trust, no emotional attachment, no pain.”
“I do care for you, Emma. What we had together—”
“Is over. Over.” She sniffed hard and waved her arm at the bars between them. “Take a good look. Opposite sides, Bruce. How much clearer could you make it? You're not doing this for my safety, you're doing it for yours. Well, you didn’t need to. I knew the score. You locked your heart away five years ago when your wife died.”
He flinched as if she had struck him. “I have to go.”
“So go.”
Without a word, he walked to the stairs.
“Get another one of them, that’s what you're doing, right? Put every bad guy in the world away, one by one.”
He placed his foot on the bottom step.
“It won’t bring her back, Bruce.”
He whirled around and strode to the front of the cell. “Devoting your life to coddling your brother won’t bring back your parents. And it’s easy to blame the law for everything that went wrong, but your life wasn’t so great to begin with, was it?”
“If my father hadn’t been arrested—”
“I've had it up to here with that story.” He sliced his hand roughly against his forehead. “Things happen. Plans change. Circumstances aren’t always in our control. If you're strong enough, you survive. That’s what you did. That’s what I did. But now you hide behind your hate so you won’t have to take another chance with life.”
“I have good reasons to hate the law.”
“Do you? Or are you using it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You're afraid. You act tough, but underneath you're so scared of opening yourself up to more pain you channel all your feelings into this misguided devotion to your brother and your useless grudge.”
“You don’t know—”
“But I do know. We've both built our lives around lies of one kind or another. For our own reasons, we've lied to each other and to everyone else. But when you can’t face the truth about yourself, that’s the true lie, the really dangerous one.”
How much more of this could they hurl at each other, how much more could she take? She moved back from the bars as each one of his words struck home.
“Before you judge me, Emma, take a good look at yourself.”
She retreated until her shoulders nudged the cement wall. Fingers shaking, she raised her hands and covered her face.
His stride was swift and angry as he moved away. He sprinted up the stairs and slammed the door behind him.
In the long silence that followed, she could hear nothing but the pounding of her pulse in her ears. When she finally gained the strength to look in front of her, she was alone.
“Bruce.” The sound of his name bounced off the bare walls in a hopeless refrain. He was gone. She had told him to go. She hadn’t even told him goodbye. “Bruce, don’t leave like this.” She went to the door and pressed her face to the bars, her anger dissolving in her tears. “I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “I love you.”
The declaration sounded hollow, because no one was there to hear it. He didn’t know. The way things were turning out, he probably never would.
* * *
The afternoon dragged into evening. A young deputy brought Emma a plate of food from the Stardust Café, but she couldn’t bring herself to take a single bite. She sat on the edge of the bunk, the plate on her lap, the fork forgotten in her fingers.
“Is something wrong, ma'am?”
She pushed her hair behind her ears and glanced up. The deputy was sitting on the edge of the desk across the room. He was vaguely familiar, like everyone who lived in Bethel Corners. Red-haired, with skin freckled like whole wheat bread dough, his earnest face was creased with concern. She had heard Haskin tell him that she was being held until her brother could pay her speeding tickets. Although the deputy looked sympathetic, so far he had ignored her demands for release. Emma looked down at her plate and jabbed at a lump of mashed potatoes. “I don’t feel like eating. What time is it?”
“Around 8:00. Is there anything you need?”
Her freedom, she thought immediately, but she didn’t bother saying it. “No.”
“Okay. I'll be back to get your plate in half an hour or so. I've got some paperwork to do upstairs, but I'll leave the door at the top of the stairs open, so just yell if you need anything.”
She nodded, poking at a piece of chicken. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he said easily as he moved away.
Emma set her plate aside and leaned back against the wall. She wasn’t good at waiting, she never had been. Bruce had mentioned they would raid McQuaig’s place after 10:00 tonight, so it would happen soon. It was hard to accept that there was nothing more she could do for her brother, but maybe it was high time to let him pull himself out of the hole he had dug. And maybe it also was time to stop blaming all her problems on the law.
Wearily, she rubbed her eyes. Bruce had been right. She was afraid of taking another chance with life, terrified by all these tangled emotions that had been let loose. She’d been hiding behind her hate the same way Bruce had been hiding behind his badge. She h
ad been lying to herself because she hadn’t wanted to risk loving someone, and she was as much to blame as he was for the emptiness of the future she faced.
Last night she should have told him how she felt. She should have admitted it to herself long before that. And she should have gone to the police in the first place and forced Simon to turn himself in, but instead she had let her old grudge, the old reflexive antagonism, rule her actions.
And now her brother was still in danger. Worse than that, so was Bruce. She should have ignored the threats McQuaig’s man Harvey had made on the phone, but how was she to know it was a bluff? Just thinking about that deep, tomblike voice made her shiver. The memory of it was so vivid, for a moment she imagined that she actually was hearing it.
The hair on her arms lifted and she held her breath. It wasn’t her imagination. She was hearing it.
Quietly she eased off the bunk and tiptoed to the front of her cell. A cool draft blew from the direction of the staircase, carrying with it fragments of a hushed conversation. Emma remembered passing the rear entrance to the police station when Bruce had brought her down here. That must be where the draft was coming from. Someone must be standing at that door, talking to whoever was in the alley outside. But that voice...
She turned her head to press her ear to a space between the bars. The words were difficult to make out because the exchange was harsh and rapid. She tried to tell herself that it couldn’t possibly be Harvey. It must be her nerves. What business would someone like that have at a police station? She was about to move away when a single phrase came through with sudden clarity.
“They're planning a raid tonight.”
She pressed back against the bars so fast she scraped the side of her forehead. Squinting against the sharp pain, she held her breath and listened.
“We'll have to move up the timetable. You should have gotten word to us sooner.”
There was no mistake. That was the voice she remembered clearly from the phone and the warehouse. He really was here. But who was the other man?
“Not my fault. I was tied up with this damn task force all day, and the number you gave me has been disconnected.”
“Yeah. We had to change location.”
“Have you got my envelope?”
“Don’t bother counting it, it’s all there.” The draft strengthened, swirling across the floor. “You’d better come with me and we'll set up a welcoming committee for them. It'll be a regular turkey shoot.”
“Hey, killing wasn’t part of our deal.”
“It is now. If we go down, you go down, Haskin.”
At the sound of the name, Emma jerked. Her knuckles clunked dully against the metal.
For a moment there was silence. Then she heard Harvey’s voice again. “Where are your deputies?”
“Don’t worry, we're alone. Thibault is out on a call and I gave enough paperwork to Duff to keep him busy all night.”
“Anyone down there?”
Another silence. Then Emma heard the scrape of a shoe at the top of the stairs. She pivoted quickly and dived for the cot. Heedless of the plate of food, she curled up on the mattress and faced the wall. Heavy footsteps approached across the floor and stopped just outside the cell. She forced herself to remain motionless and breathe evenly. Her flesh crawled as she felt his gaze move over her.
After what seemed like an hour but what only could have been a minute, the footsteps crossed back to the stairs. Emma was about to move but caught herself just in time. She continued to feign deep sleep, the rhythm of her breathing never changing. Another hour-long minute passed before Haskin finally climbed the stairs. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, then nothing.
Emma curled her fingers into her palms and stayed where she was, counting off another two minutes, but he really was gone this time. Warily, she lifted her head and looked behind her. The basement was empty. She rolled over and came to her feet in an instant, muttering a short oath.
Haskin. A crooked cop. No wonder Simon had panicked at the idea of going to the police. Was that why Haskin had always been asking about Simon? Was he keeping an eye on him for McQuaig’s group? He had been out to the cabin the day before the Cessna had blown up. What else was he doing for McQuaig?
She ground her teeth together so hard her jaw ached. The question wasn’t what Haskin had been doing, it was what he was about to do.
“Oh, my God,” she said, as the full implication of what she had heard finally hit her.
Haskin had warned them. That meant Simon would be able to get away after all.
But for how long? Wouldn’t it be better if he was forced to face up to his actions now, before he only got in deeper? Maybe the prospect of being arrested was less dangerous than continuing the involvement with the drug smuggling.
But the raid was no longer a surprise. What kind of welcoming committee was Harvey going to set up for the police?
What would be the price of her brother’s freedom?
Lives are at stake. If only a hint of this gets out, things could turn ugly...
Suddenly all the tangled emotions, all the conflicting loyalties didn’t mean a thing. There were no sides to choose, because her heart had already chosen.
She leapt to the door. “Hey,” she yelled. “Hey!”
There was no response.
She kicked the bars until the steel rang. When no one came to investigate the noise, she took her discarded plate from the mattress, dumped the food on the floor, and started clanging the plate against the bars. In the enclosed space the din was deafening, but Emma persisted until she saw the red-haired deputy descend the stairs.
“What’s all that for?” he demanded the moment she lowered the plate. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Please, you have to help. Call off the raid.”
“What raid? I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“The raid on McQuaig’s estate. Sheriff Haskin warned them. You have to get word to Bruce Prentice. He’s working with Xavier Jones.”
“Ma'am, I've never heard of either of those characters.”
“They were here this morning with another man. They're working a special undercover assignment to stop a ring of people who are smuggling cocaine into the country....” She paused, seeing his disbelief in his raised eyebrows and narrowed eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. Please, you have to warn them they're being set up.”
“Cocaine smuggling? In Bethel Corners?” He laughed. “That’s crazy, all right. Those guys were no cops, they were from the county roads department. The sheriff told me that himself.”
“He didn’t know who they were until yesterday. He’s been working for the drug smugglers. He’s setting up an ambush.”
“Ma'am, if this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not very funny. I don’t know what you think you'll get out of it, but—”
“I'm not lying!” She might have laughed, if the situation hadn’t been so desperate. One of the few times she was being honest with someone in uniform, and he wouldn’t believe her. Clenching her fists against a wave of helplessness, she whirled around. Her gaze fell on her uneaten dinner. The chicken gravy had spread across the floor in a splatter of lumpy blotches. Mashed potatoes were smeared on the toe of her boot and partway up her calf from where she had been lying on the plate. She had been standing in front of the mess, so the deputy wouldn’t have seen it yet.
“Now, I think it would be best if you settle down and stop making up stories about Sheriff Haskin. He doesn’t seem to be too pleased with you as it is.”
Swiftly she wrapped her arms around her waist and doubled over. Groaning, she staggered closer to the spilled food.
“What’s wrong now?”
“I don’t feel well. I think...I'm going...to be...sick.”
“Uh, ma'am?”
“Help me, please, I don’t know if I can...” She positioned herself strategically and collapsed within easy reach of her dinner plate, then drew her knees to her chest and moaned
loudly.
But not loudly enough to drown out the sound of the key in the lock.
Chapter 14
Bruce sipped a mouthful of lukewarm, tasteless coffee and tried to quell the uneasiness that tightened his gut. The interior of the panel truck was crammed with only a small portion of the team that Xavier had been putting together over the past week. Apart from O'Hara and himself, there were DEA people, two representatives from the Bangor Police, a coast guard official and some perfumed and high-heeled advisor from the justice department. What had begun as a fishing trip based on a hunch had snowballed into a major narcotics bust. Bruce didn’t like it. With so many people involved, there were too many chances for something to go wrong. At least Emma would be safe. Furious, but safe.
“Forget about her, Bruce,” O'Hara said quietly.
There was no mind reading involved here, Bruce thought. O'Hara knew him well enough to realize that his attention wasn’t focused on the case. “Right.”
“You had to do it. We couldn’t have her running around loose.”
“I know that.”
“She’s made it clear that she doesn’t think much of the law. Xavier filled me in on her background, and she’s a bad risk.”
“I wanted her out of the way for her sake, not ours.”
“Whatever. Quit beating yourself up about it. It was nothing but nature taking its course. She’s a good-looking woman. Considering the circumstances—”
“Damn the circumstances!”
Several heads turned in his direction. Xavier looked up from the aerial photograph he was studying. “Problem?”
“No. No problem.” Bruce drained his coffee in one gulp. Focusing on the paper cup in his hand, he tore off pieces of the rim and dropped them inside.
Xavier murmured a low comment to the woman from the justice department and made his way to the rear door of the truck. “Let’s get some air, Prentice.”
Bruce crushed the cup in his fist and tossed it to O'Hara. “Whatever you say.”
Xavier held the door open against the wind until Bruce had stepped outside, then eased it shut and walked a short distance away. They were behind a deserted gas station that was about a mile from McQuaig’s place. Several other vehicles gleamed dully from the shadows nearby. Xavier halted beside one of them and turned up his collar. “We move in less than two hours. Anything you want to say before then?”
True Lies Page 21