She hadn't told him.
This made sense to Malcolm. He had after all stripped her, fondled her, pressed his naked self against her body. Perhaps she was too ashamed to tell Wyatt this had been done to her. Or maybe she was afraid he wouldn't believe her? Or maybe she didn't want a war in the family, over her, or the public embarrassment of someone --him or Wyatt-- going to prison. No, he was reasonably sure she had decided to say nothing to anyone about what he'd done to her.
The downright effectiveness of this reassurance should have cautioned him about trusting it, but it didn't.
But he had not seen them in person. And he would not be one hundred per cent sure she had indeed stayed quiet until he did. He wanted to study them closely, especially Wyatt, look for the slightest clenching of a fist, twitch of a facial muscle, rise in the tenor of some vocal cords, anything that would unmask Wyatt, revealing he knew. And tonight would be that occasion, indeed it was the very purpose behind his impromptu party, he'd even extended the invitation to Wyatt over the phone personally, with Wyatt accepting, even warmly welcoming him back.
He'd also tried to reach Angelique but in that he'd failed. She would not take his calls or return his messages even when he sent them through Tinka. That was to be expected he reasoned though he resented it. She was the cause of all his trouble she owed him. And the worst, the worst by far, was that he couldn't figure out how she'd done it! That she'd found the escape lever in the fireplace, that he took as a given, but the rest of it? How? Almost all his fantasies now centered on having her, forcing the information from her, hearing her plead.
And the next time he would do it right. The bitch had probably fabricated for herself some kind of "insurance policy", the whole story written down somewhere, ready to be delivered to Wyatt in the event of her death or disappearance. Ridiculous. Did she not think he would get that from her straightaway, immediately? He had been too nice to her, he knew that now, he should have just done what he should have done, to hell with his niceties. She obviously now thought she could take him on, or at least keep herself from him. After what she'd done to him? She thought she could just go back to her own little life untouched? The insolent fool.
And there he was! Wyatt. Going through the metal detectors. Smiling. But Angelique was not with him. Damn! Malcolm stood. He did not call out to Wyatt but waited, waited to see what Wyatt would do. What Wyatt did was what any party guest would do. He greeted. He hugged. He chatted and conversed. And when Malcolm finally moved to receive him Wyatt forced himself to remember his promise and didn't reach out his hands and wrap them around Malcolm's neck, all the security guards in the room (and he'd spotted quite a few) unable to pry him off until he felt the snap under his fingers.
"Wyatt," Malcolm sang out to him.
"Uncle Malcolm," Wyatt responded genially, reaching out his hand without reservation.
"Good to see you my boy. Where's Angelique?"
"Oh she wanted to come, Uncle Malcolm, but... you know women." He lowered his voice. "Female trouble."
"Ah," he said, his voice solicitously silken, "hopefully next time." Malcolm didn't know what to make of it. It was understandable that Angelique would manufacture an excuse not to return to his house, face his wrath, but it was equally plausible that if Wyatt knew what had happened there was no way he'd let her attend.
In truth, Angelique and Wyatt had had a rip roaring fight over whether she would go to Malcolm's party. Angelique very much wanted to attend, wanted to play her part in the charade, but Malcolm was right. No way had been Wyatt's answer. It was all so infuriating for Wyatt, it was only his overriding love for her that restrained him. Every time she went out, even though he knew she cut back on her activities quite a bit to make it easier on him, he was jumpy and anxious until she returned. Johnson was in charge of the security for her, but it was shadowy security, security that could not be spotted even by professionals looking for it and that meant it was not as reliable as what Wyatt wanted. An outing for Angelique took two weeks to prepare, to rehearse, timed, have the proper people in place, all to achieve one thing: the look of normality. But coming back to this house? To Malcolm? No, at that he'd put his foot down. No, Ange. No.
"So have they caught the guy yet?" Wyatt asked Malcolm.
"No, not yet. But I'm hoping."
"Maureen will be disappointed," he laughed, "I hear she's become quite the toast of the town running your Center for you --holding Court every night in your Club."
"Yes, she certainly has taken to it. And I hear Angelique is recording some music at the Center."
"Oh yes, when you go back you should stop in and see her, she's quite good."
"Maybe I'll do that."
"I'm sure she'd appreciate your attention."
"Yes," Malcolm said, deliberately adding a baiting snicker. "And she certainly deserves it."
It was all Wyatt could do not to kill him on the spot but he didn't. And it worked. The next day Malcolm placidly cancelled all his security and resumed his life undisturbed, the absurdity of his folly remarkable.
By that time Johnson and Wyatt had everything in place and it was now the three of them waiting for opportunity. Actually, what they were waiting for was winter. Specifically, ice. Because Angelique Reising had heard all about how it was possible for a car to lose control on ice and careen off a bridge into a river taking its occupants with it.
And Angelique was rather fond of rivers, especially hers. It seemed a fitting way for Malcolm and Donald to go.
"I have never loved any thing or any one the way I love her, Johnson," Wyatt said the next day in his office upon hearing of Malcolm's new found self-assurance. "When I think of what he had planned... Killing him a thousand times would not be enough. And that Donald, his hands on her..."
"I know."
"You are absolutely sure your contacts are trustworthy in this?" Wyatt asked sitting down behind his desk.
"Very. For the money involved. It's their lifeline. One of the drug lords has been moving in on their land, pushing them out. They've been fighting a war against him for years, steadily losing because they don't have the funds he has --the drug money. Five million dollars a year will protect their land, keep them safe, the drug lord and others at bay. How long do you think the money will hold out?"
"At least twenty years. Then I'll kick in. You've checked the refurbished facility carefully? Did they follow my design exactly?"
"Oh yes. It's correct though I still don't know why you made it that way."
"It was a special request I granted. And the sons?"
"Totally on board. They know one day it may be their responsibility."
"Then it's all a go. When's your target date?"
"First ice storm we have, sir. Certainly in less than a month."
"Good. I'd like to get this over with. He won't get his hands on Angelique, but he's back at his Performance Center--"
"We have that covered, sir, you know that. He won't be taking anyone from there. We'd move in immediately if he did. And truthfully I doubt he would be interested in doing that."
"Why do you say that? A leopard doesn't change its spots."
"This leopard will probably be fixated. On one target. And one target only."
"Angelique."
"Yes. I'm sure he is preparing plans. I suspect, however, that his plans now would be to spirit her off to some foreign location and hold her. Safer that way." Both men broke into hearty guffaws.
"And that takes time and money to arrange, therefore no move on Angelique. Still, I worry."
"Our surveillance and safety measures are in place, sir, he could not take her. We'd stop him if he even approached her. And you may be forgetting the most important thing of all. Mrs. Cochran knows. That's why he was always successful in taking his victims, none of them were expecting attack. But your wife knows what Malcolm Cochran wants and what he's willing to do to get it --that pushes any plan for acquiring her into a totally different realm, a different level, one he has no experience
with I'm guessing. His modis operandi was stealth and trickery. He knows that won't work on Mrs. Cochran. She's forewarned about such things. For all he knows she's walking around now packing a .38. He'll have to put a lot of time and thought into any plan to seize her. And he doesn't have the financial resources necessary to hire the appropriate people for that, or to house her out of the country securely."
"No, not yet anyway, but by next summer I would not trust it, especially him at the Performance Center when Angelique is there."
"There will be no next summer at the Performance Center for your uncle or his assistant. Now about the flight--"
"I will arrange it so you can make my leased jet suitable."
"Very good, sir. Well, now it's just a waiting game."
Both men turned and looked out the window. Freezing rain on the weather report was all they needed to hear. And that report came ten days later.
"It's done," Wyatt told Angelique. She brightened and sucked in her breath.
"What time will they be here?"
"Seven o'clock, I told him dinner at eight."
"Poor Tinka."
"Necessary. In fact... since he's been back, I don't know, it's different. Sometimes the way he looks at Tinka --I just don't trust him with her like I used to. She'd be an easy target for him, the only easy target. If he's getting desperate, impelled--"
"She told me this morning he wants her to paint the third floor 'guest bedroom' whatever her favorite color is."
"Damn. Have you got everything prepared?"
"Yes, Wyatt. We'll take care of Malcolm in here," she waved her hand around the living room, "and Johnson will take care of Donald in the kitchen."
"I'll serve the drinks in here."
"I'd best go get ready. Honestly, I didn't think he'd have the nerve to come here, to accept your dinner invitation, to face me."
"Angelique, he was downright eager. Why do you think he's willing to go out in this storm? To see you."
"And see me he shall, " she smiled conspiratorially.
Malcolm Cochran and his daughter, Tinka, arrived for dinner precisely at seven o'clock, driven by Donald through the rainstorm, predicted by all as becoming a freezing rainstorm.
"Welcome, Uncle Mal, glad you made it. It's a filthy night. And Tinka, hello. You all right? You look a little pale," Wyatt said to them at the door, leading them into the living room.
"Oh no, Wyatt, I'm fine," Tinka chirped, "there you are Angelique, how are you? I swear I never get to actually see you anymore!"
Angelique was seated by the fireplace. She knew she needed to answer Tinka but it was hard to keep her eyes from flitting past Tinka to him. Malcolm was standing behind Tinka looking coolly confident as his eyes burned into her. She could see how sure, how very sure he was, that she would never have the courage to do anything to him.
You will soon learn that 'never' is a woefully short period of time.
"I'm so glad you came, Tinka."
Angelique turned to Malcolm trying to get the diffidence so clearly laced with contemptuous hostility out of her voice. She had to do better. "And you, Malcolm." Oh yes Malcolm, especially you.
"How nice to see you after such a long time," Malcolm said in an effete tone, "I've been meaning to ask you --how is that friend of yours doing, what was her name? The one we sent off to Paris."
A bitter joke that... wasn't --the moment that Angelique almost lost it, but though her forehead did break out in a slight sheen, she recouped. Malcolm inwardly chortled at his brutal erudition.
"I don't see too much of Lexa anymore, Malcolm. Won't you both sit down?" At his mention of Lexa she'd wanted to hatchet him.
"What are you drinking, Uncle Mal?" Wyatt said moving behind the bar. "Tinka?"
"Oh give me something exciting," Tinka laughed. "Surprise me!"
Angelique and Wyatt had to both squelch cheesy smiles. Yes, Tinka, it was certainly going to be a surprise.
Ten minutes later Tinka was turning green, excusing herself. "I'm sorry," she rose unsteadily, "I went to a new pizza place today, I shouldn't have had the--" with a gesture of despair she bolted.
"Oh dear," Angelique said, "perhaps I should--"
"No, no, she'll be all right," Malcolm said with cynical unconcern. "I haven't seen you since I went to France, Angelique, I want to catch up with you." He laughed a course spiteful laugh eyeing her avariciously. How smartly put together she is, like she's proclaiming an edict: You'll-never-have-me-you-fornicating-pig. Well fuck! Her!
"What do you want to know?" she retorted acidly, feeling rather brave under the circumstances.
"I hear you're recording an album. I hope it goes well for you financially," he said seated on the couch sipping his drink --she knew he was referring to the fortune she'd stolen from him.
"Thank you," she said drily, "I have utterly insidious plans for the money."
His smile momentarily disappeared as he tried to feign disinterest.
"One should always keep one's options open, Angelique," he said subtly but in the most dangerous way.
"I'm worried about Tinka," she rose showing no trace of worry but using her smoothest smile. "I'll check on her." She turned her back on Malcolm with deliberate exaggeration and sauntered from the room.
Relaxed and shrewd, Wyatt beamed. "Some special cognac," he said bestowing the glass upon Malcolm almost in a kind of low communion. Malcolm caught the careless inflection but it only emboldened him.
"You are very lenient with your wife, Wyatt," Malcolm chastened in obvious disapproval, "I thought I taught you more than that."
"You have skills I will never master, Uncle. Have some of this cheese, it's a bit salty but I served it to Angelique just before our wedding so I am fond of it."
"Ah, the wedding you needed to get her drunk for."
"Yes, inebriation can be a useful tool."
"It's a fine cognac --at least I taught you one thing-- but it's leaving an unexpected parching in my throat, Wyatt," Malcolm said draining his glass a bit irked, "perhaps some water."
"A great deal of thought went into that cognac."
"Thought?"
"Oh yes," Wyatt responded, his eyes carefully searching Malcolm then turning to a window being hammered by the gray winter rain. "A brooding darkling night --fitting that it should be your last one with us."
"What? Last one?" Malcolm suddenly felt a vastness of hate around him and his heart started pounding.
"She's mine. And you took her. You touched her," he said in a deadly serious voice, his syntax careful, he wanted his uncle to remember this moment, even with his thickening mind.
Wyatt's words tore through Malcolm like a roll of thunder tearing through the night as he felt his stomach filling with molten fire.
"She told you?"
"We picked her up by the side of the road that morning."
"We?"
"Johnson and me. Speak of the devil."
Johnson was in the doorway.
"The driver is secure," Johnson said. "And Miss Tinka is in the back bedroom with Mrs. Cochran attending her."
The world was becoming oblique for Malcolm, odd and fading.
"WHAT...WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" A mist was starting to cover him.
"Protecting," Wyatt answered as Uncle Mal pitched down face forward onto the carpet. "You son of a bitch pervert."
*****
It was Johnson who drove Malcolm's car off the bridge into the river, then hopping into Wyatt's car following him. Both Donald and Malcolm were unconscious in the back seat.
They arrived at the airport making sure no one was in the hanger as they loaded both men into the small back cabin of the jet specially prepared, locking the door behind them, waiting for the flight crew to arrive.
"We'll see you in a few days," Wyatt said.
"Yes sir. Well, I suppose I'd better go put their diapers on," Johnson answered with a problematical sigh. "It's a long flight."
Parts of Johnson's job were profoundly unglamorous.
*****
The news of Malcolm Cochran's disappearance came to light the very next morning when his car came to light upside down on a sandbar further down the river. Tinka was recovering at Wyatt and Angelique's house and it was Angelique who had to somberly lean over her, waking her.
"There's been an accident, I have some very bad news for you--"
And an investigation of sorts began, focused around the Performance Center "failure" who had apparently threatened Malcolm's life. Trouble was, though the police looked, they just couldn't find anyone and the security Malcolm had hired confessed that he'd never given them the slightest description or reason to believe there actually was a threat. The police soon came to the conclusion, helped by Wyatt explaining what a paranoid man Malcolm had been, that the threat had been all in Malcolm's mind.
"Donald was a terrible driver," Wyatt said to them, "I was always telling Uncle Mal to dismiss him. He just wouldn't listen."
One week after the disappearance Tinka held a memorial service and it was straight from that Angelique and Wyatt drove to the airport boarding Wyatt's privately leased jet and flew to Kyrgyzstan.
It was a long flight to the eastern end of Issyk Kul province and even longer trip along a road marbled with drifting sand stretching across a great emptiness away to a hazy darkened horizon. Finally their caravan of SUV's full of men with AK-47's began climbing jagged mountains dominating and forbidding in the impending twilight, toward the citadel.
"This stronghold has been here since antiquity," Johnson said to Angelique. "It is impenetrable. In the war we used it to hold... enemies. Quite effectively. I've had the subterranean section altered for our use."
"How are they getting on?" Angelique asked.
"Anxiously awaiting today."
"You're sure you want to do this?" Wyatt turned, his voice filled with concern.
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