Dead Again: A Romantic Thriller

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “You don’t look upset enough,” Michael returned calmly.

  “Right now, I’m too flipping angry.”

  “Sophie, what are you doing?” Peter breathed.

  Michael’s gun turned to him and his hands shot up. “You might as well shut up, chief. The lady here understands more than you do.”

  Peter swallowed but didn’t speak.

  Michael turned back to her. “We have to wait,” he said.

  “But…my children,” she protested.

  “Sorry about that but if they turn up before Jack does….” He shrugged. “Guess they’ll have to be included.”

  “He’s not coming back, for god’s sake!”

  Michael moved back to stand closer to the window, so that he could see out along the front porch and watch for anyone who arrived.

  “We wait,” he said.

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “I can’t seem to make you understand. He won’t be back. He’s gone.”

  “He’ll be back,” Michael said with complete confidence.

  “And he’s right,” Jack said.

  Michael spun to face the door to the kitchen, bringing the gun to bear. Sophie turned, too, her breath choking off.

  Jack stood there, snow dusting his hair and shoulders. He was watching Michael. “Hello, Michael.”

  “Jack.”

  “I see you’re still being slapped around by women.”

  Michael’s face darkened. “Careful, Jack. I’ve got the gun here.”

  “I noticed.” He took a step into the lounge. “You know you did the wrong thing when you threatened Sophie, don’t you? You just made the worst mistake of your miserable life.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Michael demanded. His voice was growing strident but his face was confused. Sophie could see that the balance of power in the room was swinging to Jack. It didn’t matter that Michael had the gun. Somehow, Jack was taking control.

  “You don’t know about Sophie, do you?” Jack said, taking another step. It brought him level with Sophie.

  Michael took a step backward. “Just hold it right there.”

  “Thing about Sophie is, she’s a fighter. The other thing you have to know, Michael and this is important for you—are you listening?”

  “Just shut up!” Michael screamed.

  “You’d better listen, because this fact is going to make a difference to your life in the next five minutes. The thing you don’t know about Sophie is that she was with me the last time Isobel tried to take me out.” Jack took another step. “Sophie’s the reason I’m alive.”

  He was in front of her now, his arms hanging at his sides. He looked relaxed. Casual. “I was down for the count. Your boss, your mistress, would have had her way if it hadn’t been for Sophie.”

  “Just shut up!” Michael yelled. He was standing side-on, legs spread, his arm fully extended, the knuckles on the gun white. The gun was centered on Jack, who stood barely a pace away. Michael’s face was working, fury and fear fighting for room.

  “Thing is, Michael, Sophie had it right all along. I’ve learned to listen to what she has to say. You know what she said last night? She said that Dempsey was killed just like someone tried to take me out in Miami.”

  “So what, man?”

  “It wasn’t you, either time.”

  “You don’t know shit, Jack.”

  Jack tilted his head a little. “Yeah, there’s a lot I don’t know. But I know more than you. I know that a professional took out Dempsey. I know a professional tried to take me. I know a professional would never have entered this house and got into negotiations over who he takes out and who he leaves behind. He wouldn’t have entered the house at all. He wouldn’t stand around crowing, psyching himself into making the hit.”

  Sophie saw Michael swallow.

  “You’re not a professional,” Jack said.

  “I could kill you, no problems.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Jack, no!” She scrambled to her feet. But Jack held out his hand, forcing her to stay back. Then she realized that Michael hadn’t taken the shot. He was staring at Jack, sweat gathering at his temples and on his upper lip.

  “There’s something else Sophie pointed out too,” Jack went on casually. “She said that Isobel has New York cynicism. There’s a thing about New Yorkers, Michael, which you might not appreciate. They don’t suffer fools happily.”

  “Christ, will you just shut the fuck up?” Michael demanded.

  “Soon, Mikey. Soon. If you can do what you’ve been sent to do, I’ll be silent for eternity, so don’t rush me. I’m going to show you something. I’ll have to reach under the sofa here to get it, okay? But it’s not a gun and I’ll move very slowly.”

  “Bullshit, man.”

  “I don’t own a gun. Not anymore. The gun I used to have when I was in Chicago is actually sitting up on the shelf above Sophie’s head.” He was leaning down, reaching beneath the sofa frame as he spoke. “You can see the box from where you’re standing. Even Peter, here, will confirm there’s a gun in there. But I wouldn’t risk firing it—it would probably explode in my face. See, I’m pulling this out now, it’s not a weapon and it’s not even remotely lethal.”

  What he pulled out was a single strand of black plastic coated wire. At the end of it was a tiny round nodule. The other end ran back under the sofa.

  A microphone.

  “There’s one of these in every public room in this house,” Jack explained. “I know, because I put them there last night. I’ve been listening all morning, Mikey. See?” Jack tugged at his ear and revealed a tiny earplug, made of clear plastic. “As soon as I heard it was you here and the deal you made with Sophie, I knew I’d have to come in here and get the ball rolling because as long as I wasn’t here, nothing was going to happen.”

  “That’s right man. You’re finally starting to get it.”

  “I got it as soon as I realized it was you,” Jack said. “You didn’t really think Isobel would send you to kill a man and any spare witnesses lying around did you? She’s spent thousands of dollars on professional hit services. I can’t even begin to think what the arrangements for that plane crash cost. All of them failed. So when she finally tracks me down after ten years she sends in…you.” Jack held his hand out, indicating Michael.

  “I’m the best.”

  “You’re a kid who hasn’t learned his way in the world. What’s more, you’re dangerous,” Jack answered. “Dangerous in Isobel’s terms. Did you think it would all end happily, Michael? Did she promise you a rosy future at her side when you helped her arrange to get your father out of the way?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael said but Sophie could tell by the way his hand was quivering and the gun slightly lowering, that he was lying.

  “Isobel sent someone to do the job, Michael. It just wasn’t you.”

  “I’m here!”

  “You’re bait,” Jack shot back. “The real killer is out there, watching us as we speak. He’s giving you a chance to prove yourself. You have to shoot me, Michael, or he’s going to kill both of us.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “She doesn’t trust you. You have a weakness that can be exploited—we both know what that is. Isobel won’t tolerate weakness, even if it’s something she can control. She’s playing off two ends against the middle again. Don’t you see? It’s the same pattern as ten years ago. Ten years ago she had me, a witness who could put your father away and your father, a man who controlled an empire that could give her the power she wanted. I’m guessing your father wouldn’t have buckled under her influence quite as easily as you and she wouldn’t have liked that.

  “She shoved us both onto the playing field and stood back to see who won.” Jack spread his hands. “I won that one by the skin of my teeth and only because Sophie was a game piece she hadn’t anticipated. So your father was sacrificed. She’s tolerated you since then because
you were the key to her empire. But she wouldn’t have stayed quiet for all those years. She would have consolidated her hold and made it as legitimate and totally under her control as she could. Tell me, Michael, have you signed any legal documents, contracts, powers of attorney, trust deeds, anything like that, with Isobel whispering sweet nothings in your ear and telling you not to worry about the legalese?”

  Michael’s face grew pale. Sophie could see his tongue working but no words emerged.

  Jack grimaced. “You’ve been had, kid. While she was nibbling your lobe, she was pulling the rug out from under you. Then she sends you here. It’s the pattern again. You got sent here, because she knew I wasn’t going to hang around waiting for someone to come. You waltz into the house and threaten Sophie and demand that I be produced. That pulls me in, because she knew I wouldn’t let that happen, either.

  “She’s got her hired gun out there watching to see who goes down. If you actually manage to pull it off, he’ll pick you off and any other witnesses and she’ll be out of it, scot-free. The public will see that you came here to avenge yourself and won’t look any further.”

  Michael was starting to turn his head, to look toward the windows.

  “I wouldn’t look out there, if I were you,” Jack advised him. “I’ve spent a lot of time looking out that window and one of the things I was looking at was sight lines. There’s a belt of trees that runs from the lake right up to the side of the house across the road there. I figure he’s there, under a tarpaulin, covered by snow and all but invisible. It’s an unobstructed view of this house and through a good set of sights he can probably see the dandruff on the back of your coat, Michael.”

  “Why shouldn’t I look? Is that a way of making sure I don’t get to see there’s nothing out there?”

  Jack shook his head. “If you turn around to look, Michael, he’ll kill you.”

  “What the… I’m supposed to take your word for it?” Michael was looking very scared now and very young. The gun was almost completely lowered.

  “You trusted me once before. Did I let you down?”

  Michael had no answer for that but he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

  “You’ve got a choice, at least,” Jack said. “You can pretend you’re herding us into the kitchen. On the other side of that door, you’ll be out of the sight lines. It’ll bring him out of hiding and he’ll come for us then but it’ll give us a few minutes to reach safety. There’s half a dozen of Serenity Fall’s finest spread out around this property and they’re listening to every word we say. They’ll move in and get us out of this.”

  “And then what?”

  “You get to avenge your father, Michael. In public. You turn the state’s star witness against the governor of Indiana.”

  “She’ll kill me!”

  “She’s going to do that anyway,” Jack said calmly.

  “She had you running for years. Christ, no.” Michael was shaking. “I couldn’t live that way,” he said and spun around to face the window.

  “Mikey, no!” Jack yelled, leaping forward.

  But it was too late. Before he could move more than a step there was a tinkle of glass and a flat, quiet ‘whump’. Michael threw himself backward, arms up in the air.

  Jack turned and lunged for Sophie and held her against him, his back to the window. She was absorbing the shock of Michael’s actions when she heard more glass breaking and two more solid, low thuds. She felt them through Jack.

  He was falling to the ground, bringing her with him and her struggling mind at last gripped the truth of what had happened. He had shielded her and taken two bullets in the back.

  She landed with Jack half on top of her, which knocked the breath out of her.

  There was a fourth shot, then from outside the house she heard other gunshots and men shouting. Someone went by the side of the house, swooshing through unshovelled snow.

  Jack groaned. “Oh, my aching back.”

  “Jack, what…” She struggled to get up but his arm across her chest tightened.

  “Just keep still, will you? We’re supposed to be dead.”

  “He shot you!”

  “Kevlar vest,” Jack murmured in her ear. “Hell, Sophie, you didn’t think I’d stroll in here and dare Michael to shoot me without one, did you? But just hold on a minute. Let Duggie and his men do their stuff.”

  She lay silent, listening. The shouting was clearly across the road now. Then it grew quieter.

  Jack sighed. “Thanks, Duggie,” he murmured and she could feel him relax. “They got him,” he told her and sighed.

  The earpiece, she realized. It could transmit signals. Duggie had sent a message.

  She could feel herself go weak and shaky. “I thought you were d-d-dead!”

  “I was trying really hard to make that impression. Glad to know it worked.” She could feel his smile even though his arm prevented her from turning her chin to look.

  “You son of a bitch, I’m going to kill you!” she hissed. “And this morning, you let me think you’d gone and then you listened. I’m going to kill you twice over, then roast your gizzards and use them for garters, I swear.”

  He really was laughing, then, she realized. He rolled over and sat up, moving slowly. He put his hands on the small of his back and arched backward, wincing. “I’ll be bruised for weeks, feels like.”

  “Good,” she muttered, sitting up.

  He cupped her cheek and kissed her. “The letter wasn’t for you, even though it had your name on it. I didn’t know how they were going to come in. They could have come in covertly and I wanted them to find that letter if they did. It was designed to cause confusion and doubt. Misdirection. I wanted them looking anywhere but where I was.”

  “Where were you?” she asked, feeling a little mollified. Only a little. There would be a full accounting later.

  “The police station. Along with every deputy in the place. I was organizing this operation.”

  “And fitting yourself out with a bulletproof vest,” she added. “Was Peter part of this?” She looked over at the chair where Peter sat, his head tucked behind the wing.

  “He’s fainted,” Jack said. “I heard him pass out when Michael was hit.” He turned to look over the back of the sofa and held Sophie back when she moved toward it. “No, it’s not a pretty sight,” he told her. “He’s quite dead. Leave him.”

  She sat back again. “Is this it, Jack? Is it over?”

  His smile faded. “Not quite yet.”

  She nodded, the answer coming to her. “Isobel.”

  “This time puts paid to all of it, Sophie. Ten years of waiting.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The cars rolled smoothly through the smart street lined with houses, whose stately affluence kept Sophie’s gaze fixed firmly out the window, despite Jack’s hand on her thigh. These were the sort of houses that sat on acre blocks, well back from the road behind tall fences or walls and with security panels on the gates. Hollywood, home to some of the most expensive and largest private homes in America, had nothing on this place.

  They were sitting in the backseat of a black, anonymous limousine, one of five traveling through an outskirt community of Indianapolis. The satellite town had once started life as a college town but the modern car had brought it within commuting distance of downtown Indianapolis and its status had swiftly risen.

  There was a third person on the roomy backseat, a painfully thin balding man. Back in Chicago, Jack had introduced him to her as Eddie Smith. She knew the name from the late night phone calls that had finally tracked down Lionel Dempsey. She had learned his role in the Chicago DA’s office that long day. He was a deputy District Attorney and was considered Lionel Dempsey’s replacement. She had watched Eddie Smith take charge of the operation that was about to take place and had known they were in good hands. Her fear for their safety, for Jack’s safety, in this trek into the heart of enemy territory, had receded a little.

  Jack had been adamant about comin
g. “I have to be there, Sophie. But you have to come with me. For now, I want you by me, no matter what.”

  Her protests were practical, rather than emotional. It was unthinkable that Jack not be there. But for her to leave Serenity Falls without notice was out of the question, even though she too, felt uneasy whenever Jack wasn’t in the room.

  Duggie Brent, who’d been acting as Serenity Fall’s police chief until his appointment was confirmed, had supplied the solution. He turned up on her doorstep with a duffel bag over one shoulder and his double-barrel shotgun in the other. “I hear you have a comfortable spare bed upstairs. Not that I think you’ve got any reason to worry but…” he winked. “Jinni’s cooking is almost as good as yours.”

  So, Sophie threw clothes into an old suitcase and dashed to the airport with Jack, accompanied by a grim-faced state policeman in plain clothes and a tall man in a suit who she figured from all her movie watching just had to be FBI.

  Jack confirmed her guess with a casual shrug. “It’s a federal matter, now,” he said. “Of course, they’re involved.”

  During that long, sixteen-hour day in Chicago, Sophie saw a different side of Jack. He sat and talked himself hoarse, telling the story of his life on the road and especially the last eight weeks, to a tightly controlled audience of attorneys, ADAs and three judges, including a court of appeals judge. There were also four detectives from one of the downtown Chicago precincts, along with their lieutenant, who quietly sent them off on errands and record retrieval as it was required. The entire session had been on record, the court reporter sitting in the corner of the room.

  It was the first time Sophie had heard a structured, cohesive account of the years Jack spent on the road and the states and towns he visited. She wondered if he saw the pattern in his wandering. Every year he crossed the continental divide, just as it was turning to winter.

  But she found his demeanour now even more fascinating. She sat at the back of the room, almost as forgotten as the reporter, watching Jack hold his own among the suits and power mongers. It hadn’t occurred to her that people might not approve of Jack’s decisions and actions in the last few weeks, or even the fundamental logic that had kept him running for seven years. Yet a few of them in the room shot questions at him that sounded vaguely disapproving.