Ronnie sure looked better wet and bedraggled than she did, Marla thought gloomily.
A woman’s head filled the screen: “This is Christine Gwen, coming to you with an exclusive update on the Senator Lewis Honneker murder case. Veronica Honneker has been declared innocent by the district attorney’s office. Indictments for a new suspect are being prepared as we speak. It happened this way: Yesterday at about noon Veronica Honneker was scheduled to turn herself in to the Jackson Metropolitan Police on charges that she murdered her husband. But instead she was kidnapped, along with another woman, twenty-four-year-old former call girl Marla Becker.”
A picture of Marla flashed on the screen.
“Mom, what’s a call girl?” Lissy asked.
“Someone who talks on the phone too much,” Marla said. “Now, hush.”
The newswoman related the saga of the kidnapping, ending up with shots of Marla and Ronnie standing bedraggled on the shore and the white car floating in the lake.
The final shot showed the sheet-covered body of their victim being lifted onto a stretcher.
When the show moved on to another segment, Marla spoke into the receiver.
“Ronnie?”
“Yes?”
“Know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we done good.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie said. “Me too.”
There was a moment’s silence as they both savored how good it felt to be alive. Then Ronnie spoke again.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” Marla smiled. “Yesterday I found religion, and in about a week, I think, I’m gonna be getting married. If I can talk Jerry into it.”
Lissy’s eyes and mouth opened wide in delight as she heard that, and she clapped her hands together silently.
“I’m glad,” Ronnie said.
“You?” Marla asked.
“I’ll be fine. Actually I’m good. I’m with Tom.”
“That’s what I thought. Before I ever met you, I saw the pictures of the two of you together. You tell him, from me, that he sure has one sexy ass.”
Lissy was dancing around the room and didn’t hear.
Ronnie laughed. “I will. You take care now, you hear, Marla? And keep in touch.”
“You too,” Marla said, and hung up.
Chapter
57
September 21st
7:10 P.M.
JACKSON
TOM WAS SITTING on the couch in his apartment with Ronnie snuggled up against his side. She was watching Christine Gwen tell everyone in Mississippi that she was innocent of her husband’s murder, and talking on the phone at the same time to her newest friend—former call girl Marla Becker.
Whoever it was that said politics made strange bedfellows was sure right.
His mobile phone began to ring. Tom stood up and went into the kitchen to answer it.
It was Alex Smitt.
“I wanted to let you know,” the detective said without preamble, “that we are preparing to charge Senator Beau Hilley in the death of Senator Honneker. Perhaps you’ll pass that news on to his widow? I haven’t been able to get in touch with her, but I presume you don’t have the same problem.”
“I’ll tell her,” Tom said. “She’ll be pleased—but shocked. Senator Hilley, hmm?” Tom had a vivid memory of him dancing with Ronnie on the night of Lewis’s party. “Jesus Christ, why?”
“Apparently Senator Honneker took Senator Hilley, Senator Clay Arnold of Pennsylvania, and Representative Ralph Smolski of Maryland out on his yacht, the Sun-Chaser, on July 10th. Also onboard were two call girls: Susan Martin and Claire Anson. It seems that in the course of some rough sex play, Senator Hilley killed Susan Martin. The other men onboard swore silence. Susan’s body was dumped overboard. Apparently Senator Hilley let the other men think that the second girl, Claire, was willing to be bought off. Instead he had her killed before she ever got off the dock that night. He had an aid by the name of Vince Tabor do it. Vince called himself Senator Hilley’s gardener. He used to brag that his motto was: “I plant ’em deep.” Actually he was a hired thug who did dirty work when Senator Hilley needed to have it done. And by the way, he was the guy your lady and Ms. Becker offed yesterday.”
“Son of a bitch,” Tom muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. Go on.”
“Well, apparently Senator Hilley did not trust his colleagues to keep their mouths shut about what happened. He was in line to be nominated for president, you know. Hell, I probably would have voted for him myself. Anyway he had Vince knock them off in ways that looked like accidents. Senator Arnold, for example, died in a plane accident that was no accident, and Representative Smolski drowned in a canoeing accident that was no accident. I think the plan was to make it look like Senator Honneker committed suicide, but that got screwed up because of the thing you and his lady had going on, and because she found the body. Oh, well, sometimes we get it wrong at first; what matters is getting it right in the end.”
“Yeah,” Tom said sourly, thinking of the agony Ronnie had been put through.
“The fly in the ointment was Ms. Becker. As Susan’s roommate, apparently she knew too much. But Vince could never quite manage to kill her. When she linked up with Mrs. Honneker, Vince had tapped Dan Osborn’s phone when he heard on TV that Osborn was Mrs. Honneker’s lawyer so that Senator Hilley could keep abreast of any new developments in that direction so he heard Ms. Becker say she would be coming to Osborn’s office, and when; by the way, the Senator was very upset with Vince for getting Mrs. Honneker, for whom he apparently had a thing, involved—anyway, when Ms. Becker lined up with Mrs. Honneker, Vince and Senator Hilley decided she had to be taken out too. Ms. Becker was just going to disappear. Mrs. Honneker was going to be found at the wheel of the car that was driven into the lake. An autopsy would have revealed that she drowned, and it would have been presumed that, distraught because she was about to be arrested, she had killed herself. Fortunately the plan didn’t work.”
“Fortunately,” Tom said dryly. “How do you know all this, if you don’t mind telling me?”
“Painstaking investigative work,” Alex said, his voice grave. Then Tom could hear his sudden smile. “Actually Vince, being rather stupid, tape-recorded messages to himself. Everything he had done, was doing, and was about to do was on tape. He even had one of those little bitty tape recorders with him when he died. We found it on the lakeshore, near where he must have gone into the water to finish the women off, along with his coat and shoes. With Senator Hilley’s explicit instructions for disposing of Ms. Becker and Mrs. Honneker. In Senator Hilley’s voice. Vince must have tape-recorded a phone call.”
“So there’s no question of his guilt?”
“None. We’ve even got a picture of the six of them together: Honneker, Hilley, Arnold, and Smolski with Susan Martin and Claire Anson. Apparently Ms. Martin took it with a time-activated camera and faxed a copy from the boat to Miss Melissa Becker on the night of the murder. We found the dated fax in with Melissa’s Beanie Baby collection. She had forgotten all about it. Apparently Vince about tore up Ms. Becker’s apartment looking for it later, but he didn’t find it.”
“I’m glad that this time you’ve got a solid case.”
“Yeah, me too. Well, have a good night.”
“You too.”
“And Tom, I’d be careful if I were you. What they did to Vince—those two ladies are scary.”
“Go to hell, Alex,” Tom said, and hung up. But he was grinning as he walked back into the living room.
Chapter
58
September 21st
7:15 P.M.
“MARLA SAYS to tell you that you have a nice ass,” Ronnie said to Tom, smiling as he walked back into the living room.
“Next time you talk to her, tell Marla I said thank you.” Tom sank down beside her on the couch, his arm stretched out behind her, and Ronnie laid her head back against the hard m
uscle. Like her he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and like her he was barefoot. Supper had been pizza, and they were having a marvelous time just sitting on the couch watching TV.
“Who were you talking to?” Ronnie asked. She was watching TV with only half an eye. What she was actually doing was enjoying the luxury of time. Time to just sit and look at him, to talk to him, to touch him. Time to laugh over silly jokes, and quarrel, and make up. Just—time.
“Alex Smitt.” Tom told her what the detective had said.
“I can’t believe it,” Ronnie gasped at the end. “He was one of Lewis’s best friends.”
“Yeah, well, apparently he wanted to be president pretty bad. Politics does that to some people. Once they start getting power, they keep craving more.”
“I feel bad about Lewis,” Ronnie said softly. “He was a good man. He may not have been much of a husband, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
They were quiet for a moment. Christine Gwen was back on the screen, promoting the next night’s show with a tantalizing bit about the newest scandal du jour. Ronnie shuddered. She never wanted to go through that again.
“What’s the matter?” Tom looked down at her.
“I’m just glad it’s over.”
“Me too.” Tom’s arm slid out from behind her head. He picked up her hand and carried it to his mouth. “So tell me, Mrs. Honneker, what do you plan to do with the rest of your life?”
Ronnie smiled at him. “I don’t know. Marla said she’s getting married.”
Tom pressed her hand to his cheek and kissed the palm. Then, still holding her hand, he looked at her steadily.
“I don’t have any money,” he said.
“You paid for the pizza,” Ronnie pointed out with a flickering smile. “You can’t be totally broke.”
“I’m serious.” Tom lifted his hand so that the big diamond Lewis had given her caught the light. “I can’t afford to give you anything even close to this.”
“I was married to a man who could afford to buy me that ring, remember? In fact he did buy it. And he bought me lots of other expensive jewelry, and lots of clothes, and he had three fantastic houses and so many cars I lost count and—”
“What are you trying to do, rub it in?” Tom asked, releasing her hand. Both arms stretched along the back of the couch, and he switched his attention back to the TV.
“I’m trying to remind you that I had a man who could give me all those things, and I wasn’t happy with him. Because I didn’t love him, Tom. But I love you.”
He looked sideways at her, and his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “You sweet-talkin’ thing, you.”
Ronnie smiled at him, and turned sideways so that she was lying against him. One hand rested on his chest. The other wormed around behind his back.
“You cried when you thought I was going to jail.”
Tom winced, looking profoundly uncomfortable. “You’re not going to keep reminding me of that, are you?”
“I might. If you don’t get to the point.”
“What point?”
“Where this conversation was headed when you informed me that you don’t have any money.”
“I just thought you should know that.”
“Okay, I know it. So go on.”
“Go on with what?”
“With whatever you were planning to say.”
“What makes you think I was planning to say anything?”
“Tom …” She narrowed her eyes at him. His arms came around her waist.
“Well—I was wondering where you’re planning to live. If you don’t have any better offers, you’re welcome to move in with me.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
“Of course I understand from Dan that you’ll inherit about a third of His Honor’s estate. That’s millions of dollars. You’re a rich woman, Ronnie.”
“So maybe I’ll buy a house. You could move in with me.”
Tom looked at her. He was smiling, but there was something at the back of his eyes that gave Ronnie pause. A kind of—pain.
“I love you,” he said.
Ronnie flicked the tip of his nose with a finger. “Now you’re getting there,” she said. “Go on.”
“Go on where?”
“You know where. Go on.”
He looked at her steadily for a moment. Ronnie met his gaze and shook her head at him.
“For goodness’ sake, Tom Quinlan, would you quit being so silly and just spit it out?”
He grimaced. “It’s you I’m trying to protect.”
“Well, quit it. I can protect myself perfectly well, thank you. I am crazy in love with you and if you don’t say what I think you were getting ready to say about fifteen minutes back, I am going to strangle you with my bare hands.”
He smiled, and tightened his hold on her. “You’re crazy in love with me, huh? Darlin’, I like the sound of that.”
“And I like the way you say da-arlin’.” She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. “It’s sexy.”
“Jesus, I love you.” He smiled down into her eyes, and suddenly the pain was gone from the back of his. “All right, Ronnie, I surrender: Marry me?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He kissed her. And then he stood up with her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
As he laid her on the bed, a sliver of moonlight slanted between almost closed curtains and was caught in her ring. The resultant bright sparkle caught Ronnie’s attention. Then Tom loomed over her, and she looked up at him.
The glitter of the big diamond faded into insignificance, she thought, when compared with the light of love in his eyes.
This book is dedicated, as always and with
much love, to my husband, Doug,
and our sons, Peter, Christopher, and Jack.
It also commemorates the births of my nephews,
Michael Chase Johnson, on September 23, 1996,
and Trevor James Johnson, on February 24, 1997,
as well as that of my honorary nephew, Justin Read
Colepaugh, on July 7, 1996.
Dell Books by Karen Robards
GHOST MOON
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR
THE SENATOR’S WIFE
ISLAND FLAME
HEARTBREAKER
HUNTER’S MOON
WALKING AFTER MIDNIGHT
MAGGY’S CHILD
ONE SUMMER
NOBODY’S ANGEL
THIS SIDE OF HEAVEN
FORBIDDEN LOVE
SEA FIRE
Karen Robards is the author of twenty-three books. She lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with her husband, their three sons, and a sizable menagerie.
Read on for an excerpt from
THE LAST VICTIM
by Karen Robards
Published by Ballantine Books
CHAPTER ONE
If Charlie Stone hadn’t drunk the Kool-Aid, she would have died.
But in the random way the world sometimes works, the seventeen-year-old did drink several big tumblers full of Goofy Grape generously mixed with vodka, courtesy of her new best friend Holly Palmer. As a result, she just happened to be in the utilitarian bathroom off the Palmers’ basement rec room, hugging the porcelain throne when the first scream penetrated her consciousness.
Even muffled by floors and walls and who knew what else, it was loud and shrill and urgent enough to penetrate the haze of misery she was lost in.
“Holly?” Charlie called, lifting her head, which felt like it weighed a ton and pounded unmercifully.
No answer.
Okay, her voice was weak. Probably Holly hadn’t heard her. Probably the scream was nothing, Holly’s little brothers fighting or something. Seeing that it was around two a.m., though, shouldn’t the eleven- and thirteen-year-olds have been asleep? Charlie had no idea: she knew nothing about tweenie boys. God, she should have followed her instinct and just said no to the booze. But as the new girl in Hampton High School’s senior class
, Charlie hadn’t felt like she was in a position to refuse. From the first day of school, when they’d found out they were sharing a locker, sweet, popular Holly had taken Charlie under her wing, introduced her around. For that, Charlie was grateful. The veteran of seven high schools in just over three years, Charlie knew from bitter experience that there were a lot more mean girls out there than nice ones.
A late August Friday night in this small North Carolina beach town meant the movies. Four of them had gone together. The other two had moms who were reliable about picking their daughters up after. When Charlie’s mom hadn’t shown (typical), Holly had invited her to spend the night. They’d wound up sneaking out to meet Holly’s boyfriend, Garrett—a total hottie, who had to work till midnight, which was past Holly’s curfew—and go for a ride in his car. Since he’d had a friend with him—James, not quite as hot as Garrett, but still—it had actually worked out pretty well, except for the whole toxic Kool-Aid thing.
They’d driven to the shore, plopped down in the sand, and shared the concoction Garrett had mixed for them while they talked and watched the waves.
The good news was, Charlie might actually have gotten a bead on landing her own boyfriend. The bad news was, as soon as Garrett had dropped them off and they’d crept back down to the basement where supposedly they’d been watching TV all along, Charlie had had to rush straight to the bathroom. She’d been in there for what felt like forever, being sick as a parrot.
She’d be lucky if Holly ever invited her over again.
The second scream definitely did not come from one of the boys. High-pitched and shattering, it smashed through the ordinary sounds of the babbling TV and humming air-conditioning and thumping dryer in the next room like an axe through Jell-O. The fear in it was enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Charlie’s neck. Until it abruptly cut off, she forgot to breathe. The ensuing silence pulsated with … something. Tension, maybe. An electric kind of heaviness. Shooting to her feet, she swiped her long brown hair back from her face with one hand and headed for the door. Knees weak, battling a disorienting attack of the woozies along with the worst taste ever in her mouth, she grabbed the cold-from-the-air-conditioning brass knob.
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