by A. Gorman
I was exhausted and couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. “Um, Mr. Diaz, I’m gonna go to sleep now.”
He turned his head around and said, “You can call me Mike. And okay. I’ll let you know if I get any updates by morning.”
First off, I would never call him Mike. Secondly, what the hell kind of updates did I need? I wasn’t confident they’d catch Shane. That little asshole had probably gotten away and I’d have to be scared for the rest of my life after I testified on Thursday and possibly put his daddy and uncle in jail for the rest of their natural lives.
I sighed and slid under the covers on the side furthest away from Mike’s bed. Once on my side, a tear slipped out. I had never been in such a stressful situation in my life. The sight of that poor agent getting whacked over the head by Shane played over and over in my mind. My scream and the squeal of tires as we pealed out of there… the terror as they had caught up with us… the car careening over that cliff with all my stuff in it… us jumping over it into the icy cold breath-stealing water, and my terror those few seconds before Duke had emerged, safe.
Then visions of him kissing me in the water, his passion pouring into me. He had meant everything he’d said to me, and I knew this because he’d said it in a stressful situation, and usually people told the truth in those situations. I’d meant what I’d said, too. I loved him, and I could only hope… pray… daydream… that once this was all over, that I could see him again. Thankfully, I had committed his address to memory when I’d seen his driver’s license, and if I didn’t hear from him, he’d be hearing from me. That man had branded something onto my heart, searing it there with his white-hot kiss, leaving a permanent mark I wasn’t sure I wanted to let go of.
He’d said he was going to be at the trial. I tried not to get my hopes up, but I just couldn’t help it. It was so strange to me how much I’d disliked the guy for so long and now, it was like insta-love or something.
Oh, my God! Maybe I had that syndrome, what was it called? Stockholm Syndrome? No, that was when someone started to care for their captor. But honestly, it had felt like Duke and the government had been my captors. They had kept me hostage for days and that was enough time to get to know someone as intimately as I had known Duke. I’d memorized the way he walked, and how his limp would get more exaggerated around 4 p.m., or after a long car ride. How he only dipped into his can of chew when he seemed stressed or distracted. How he rubbed his hand over his beard when he was angry, his jaw pulsing under it when he would try to keep from saying something. The way his dark blue eyes raged like a storm when he was angry or aroused, which seemed to be his main two emotions. Duke would look at me – check me out – when he thought I wasn’t looking, but I always noticed from the corner of my eye. Men don’t think women notice these things, but we do. I knew Duke was a decent enough cook, but I didn’t know where he’d learned it. I knew he had a younger brother who was also a cop but had a different last name. I knew his father had been in the Navy. I knew that limp of his was from a war injury he’d sustained in the Marine Corps while serving overseas. And while I knew all these things about him, I thought about how knowing little facts and quirks about someone doesn’t mean you actually know the person. So I had to ask myself – did I really know-know him? Admittedly, I hadn’t thought too much about it because I knew what I felt, and if that was just an infatuation or a crush, then so be it.
But something told me it was something much more than that. I loved him with all his flaws and not in spite of them.
* * *
The days in the hotel room with Diaz were even worse than the ones in the cabin had been. But, thankfully, the day before the trial, Diaz had received word that Shane Watson had been captured. They’d found him holed up in a local motel room in Pembroke, nursing a pretty badly infected bullet wound that had grazed his neck. I cheered silently that Duke had hit him before we’d jumped over that cliff. The asshole had been too scared to go to the emergency room and was barely functional when they’d arrested him. I wanted to punch the air with my fist when Diaz had told me. What I had also wanted to do was to call Duke and share in the excitement. But of course I couldn’t. I was even so desperate at one time to ask Diaz if he could somehow get ahold of Duke so I could talk to him, and he’d practically laughed in my face, his perfectly straight, white teeth glimmering in the fluorescent lights of the room as he’d tipped his head back and laughed. Dick.
The day before the trial, Mike drove me back to St. Petersburg and I had cried when I walked through the door to my condo, surrounded by my own things. The FBI said I couldn’t have my cell phone or internet back until after the trial, but I could live with that. They said there could still be more threats, as Shane had had people with him. Something told me those people were probably in hiding, though. Still, Mike stayed and slept on my couch. I was just happy to have my own bed, clothes, and kitchen.
I woke up the morning of the trial nervous and sick to my stomach. I still didn’t know why George and Elmo had been charged with Murder-For-Hire, but I was about to find out. Dressed in my nicest skirt suit and cute, but conservative heels, two FBI agents picked me up in an unmarked car with dark tint over the windows. The drive to the federal courthouse was only about 10 minutes from my condo, but by the time we got there, my palms were sweaty and I was trying to even out my erratic breathing. I was nervous as hell.
Yesterday, an agent had come over and had briefed me for hours on how to testify, what to say and what not to say, and he told me that if I cried on the stand, it was okay, but to try to maintain my composure as best as I could. Thankfully for me, and lucky for them, I had been in court several times and had witnessed the process. I’d taken notes for my bosses before, but only on the big cases. I’d seen what sharks both prosecuting and defense attorneys could be. But in all honesty, I thought the defense lawyers were the worst of the two. I never truly understand how someone would put money before their scruples. Defending the worst of the worst – and the Watsons hadn’t been any better. I’d bit my tongue so many times over the past 5 years I’m surprised it was still intact. The agent seemed satisfied with my answers as he’d quizzed me over and over, and before he left, I had only asked him one question: Why had they been charged with Murder-For-Hire? His answer shook me to my very core.
Chapter 25
Duke
A feeling of déjà vu came over me as I once again found myself sitting in my boss’s small office. Jeffery had a manila folder in front of him and he studied the contents with his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. I loosened my tie with my index finger. I was going to keep my calm this time, as I knew whatever I had coming I would deserve. Resisting the urge to pull the can of dip from my jacket pocket, I sighed when I realized I didn’t even have it. I’d left it in my desk drawer so I wouldn’t be tempted to grab for it. I really did need to quit that shit.
Jeffrey removed his glasses and set them down and looked at me.
Attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace, I said, “Just give it to me, boss. I know what I have coming.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me and said, “And what exactly do you have coming?”
Shit. Walked right into that one. “I’ll shut up now,” I murmured.
“Well, first off, you need to tell me how you think the suspect made you.”
I nodded and cleared my throat. “Going into town maybe? Aside from that little piece of sh… uh, the encrypted phone Jack-N-Jill gave me,” I said, making air quotes around Jack-N-Jill, “we had zero technology. Just a TV. So I’m thinking they may have followed me in from town. I just don’t know how they found me in the middle of nowhere Virginia.”
My boss laughed and I tilted my head in confusion. “Something funny?”
He shook his head and rapped his knuckles on his desktop. “No, but I knew you’d blame yourself. You’re a hothead, Hawthorne, but one thing I tell everyone about you is that you will always own up to your sins.”
I hung my head, d
efeated. I lifted my eyes back to his beady brown ones. “So I was right? They followed us back from town?”
He was still smirking and it made me uneasy. “No. After we recovered the car from the lake, we found a small tracking device behind the right rear wheel. Watson’s kid must have put it there sometime when you were inside the vic’s condo before you left St. Pete.”
My eyes widened. “Well fuck, I should have checked for that. I’m sorry, boss.”
He shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t have seen it. It’s so small, it just looks like a piece of metal about the size of a bar of soap. Honestly, we hadn’t seen anything like it before. It wasn’t even destroyed by the water. Our agents were very interested to study it. They think Shane ordered it from China. It definitely isn’t anything we’re familiar with.”
I felt slightly relieved, but still, a pang of guilt busted me in the chest. “So why did it take him eight days to find us, then?”
“That, we don’t know. The satellite signal doesn’t seem to be very strong on the thing. The scientists aren’t sure if it’s from the water damage, or if the thing is just a cheap Chinese piece of shit.” He laughed a little, and I couldn’t help but laugh with him.
“About the car… sorry about that. It was a last minute decision. I’m not gonna have to pay for that, am I?”
He shook his head. “Hell no. It was drug dealer’s car we seized. Aside from changing out the plates and removing all the drugs from the secret panels, it didn’t really cost the government anything. Well, the price of pulling it out of the water wasn’t cheap, but you get the picture. Besides, if you had left it on the cliff, then jumped, we’re sure the Watson kid would have just jacked the car and then had all your personal info, including your badge.”
He had a point. I had thought that too, but I figured if I had brought it up, Jeffrey would have thought I was giving him a copout about why I’d ruined the car. I was relieved when he mentioned it first.
He continued, “When Shane Watson gets out of the hospital, he’ll be brought in for extensive questioning about where he got that device and why it took him so long to find you. It could be that the extreme remote location of the cabin took him a while to pinpoint, or it could be that when you finally got into town he was able to get a signal and tracked you then.”
My mind went again to the trip into town. We’d gone twice, and he’d made us after the second. What the boss just said had made perfect sense. So in the big picture, I was to blame. I shouldn’t have let her talk me into going into town. I was glad he hadn’t asked why we’d done so, either.
Jeffrey looked at his watch. “You better get going, I know you want to go to the trial. I’m gonna grant you some paid administrative leave to attend it.”
I was surprised. “Wow, thanks, boss. I just wanna make sure she’s okay, ya know?”
He shot me a suspicious look. “You not feeling all warm and fuzzy about the vic, are ya? Because you know there are rules…”
I cut him off. “No, no warm and fuzzies,” I lied. “But she did grow on me a little. Plus I’d like to see those scumbags get what they deserve for killing that woman.”
“I agree. See you later.” I got up and went to the door.
“Duke.”
I turned around, my hand on the doorjamb. “Yeah?”
“Good job with Ms. Lynch. Despite everything, you went above and beyond to keep her safe, and at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”
I nodded and had to choke back a sudden lump in my throat.
Making my way to the parking garage, I smiled as I got in the elevator. I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.
* * *
“In the interest of justice, and in the interest of the taxpaying citizens of the Central District of Florida, we are going to be trying both George Watson and Elmo Watson on two counts of Murder-For-Hire and one count of Failure to Pay Corporate Taxes over One Million Dollars.”
The judge, a lady in her mid-50s with short, spiky black hair and beautiful skin the color of chocolate removed her glasses and looked at the two men and their attorney, who were the only ones in the courtroom standing.
“The defendants plead Not Guilty, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Let’s begin,” she said.
My eyes went to Rayanne, who sat next to the federal prosecutor. Her back was to me, but I could tell she was nervous. She was fidgeting and when she would turn her head to listen to what the prosecutor was telling her, her eyebrows would dip and she’d chew that thumbnail of hers. Even nervous, she was sexy. She looked to be wearing some kind of dark blue suit jacket and my inappropriately perverted ass was hoping she had on a skirt under it so I could get a glimpse of her beautiful legs.
The prosecutor got up with his opening statements and addressed a jury of 12 people sitting in the juror’s galley about how the Watson brothers had not only failed to pay their taxes over the past two years, they’d also had Angela Silvey, their temporary accountant, murdered, execution style, in her own home when she had discovered some fraud and the tax issue, and had threatened to go to the authorities with it. I shook my head. What a couple of idiots. Killing someone over taxes and some dirty accounting? Without the murder, they could have done a year or two at some club fed prison camp. Now they were facing murder charges. If convicted, they’re off to a federal penitentiary. Nobody wants to go to the pen. Nobody.
Hours went by as each side brought in witnesses, and in my opinion, the defense was weak with theirs. Bringing some random accountant in from a temp agency did them no good. They could offer nothing.
While the case was interesting, I pretty much watched Rayanne the whole time. I sort of swelled with pride at how she was remaining still and professional. She’d stopped fidgeting and that made me smile a little. Finally, I heard what I had been waiting for.
“The prosecution calls Rayanne Lynch to the stand.”
She stood up and I sucked in a breath. She sure did have a skirt on. The fitted, dark blue fabric hit her just above the knee but was still very tasteful and attractive. Her shiny heels were almost the same color as her skin. It just looked so… hot. But then again, despite my trifs with trashy chicks like Tish and others whose names I’ll never remember, I had always been a sucker for a woman in a business suit.
Rayanne climbed the two steps onto the stand and the minute she reached it, her eyes scanned the crowd, stopping on me. I gave her a reassuring smile and a nod, and I watched her bite back her own smile. It also didn’t go unnoticed by me that her body visibly relaxed once she saw me. I kept eye contact with her until she looked away when the federal prosecutor said her name.
After she was sworn in all official with her hand on the Bible, the prosecutor began. “State your name for the record.”
“Rayanne Mari Lynch.”
“What was your position in the Watson Law Firm?” the prosecutor asked.
“Paralegal.”
“Ms. Lynch, how long did you work for George and Elmo Watson?”
She looked me in the eye. While it appeared to everyone else she was looking at the young prosecutor, she was looking past him. I held her gaze and nodded slightly at her, encouraging her.
“Five years.”
Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and because I knew her, I could tell she wanted to wring them in nervousness. I presumed she was probably told not to do this, but to just keep them clasped.
The attorney continued, “And in those five years, how well did you get to know the Watsons?”
“Very well,” she said quietly.
“Please speak into the microphone.” A court reporter perched in front of the juror’s galley spoke to her.
She nodded. “Sorry. I knew the Watsons very well.”
“On a personal level, would you say?” the prosecutor continued.
“Yes. I went to their family Christmas parties, summer barbeques, even the wedding of one of the children. I…” she broke off, s
till staring at me. I smiled and gave her another nod.
“Continue please,” the prosecutor said.
She cleared the emotion out of her voice. “I had come to think of them as family, almost.”
“I see,” he said. “Did you ever meet Elmo’s son, Shane Watson?”
“Objection!” the defense attorney said. “Leading.”
The prosecutor was quick to jump in. “I am establishing relationship.”
“Overruled,” the female judge said. “Go on.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” He directed his attention back to Rayanne. “Please answer.”
“Yes,” she said. “A couple of times at these family functions.”
“Thank you,” the prosecutor said. “So, in July of last year, what happened in the accounting department?”
“Well, our accountant went out on maternity leave and they hired Angela Silvey to fill in,” Rayanne said.
“And did Angela ever share with you anything she found in the books?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing.”
There was a pause as the attorney flipped through pages. “What did you think when in September, Angela Silvey just stopped showing up for work?”
Her eyes were still locked on mine. Her intense gaze was starting to give me a bit of a chubby. I adjusted myself discreetly under my slacks.
“I figured she didn’t want to deal with their messy books and just didn’t come back.”
A few people in the courtroom’s galley – and the jury – chuckled, me included.
“What do you mean by messy, Ms. Lynch?”
She cleared her throat. “What I mean is, that after Angie just stopped showing up, George came to me one day and asked if I could sort through their books and try to get them straight enough.”