His hand gently explored her body. When he paused, she clasped his hand and urged it back to her. Both of them were breathing like long-distance runners, but neither one took notice. His lips brushed against her breasts; he felt goose bumps rise on her soft skin. He pressed his face down hard against her; his stubbled chin tickled her nipples.
They were both moving at once now, twisting, turning, pressing, fumbling with snaps and zippers, trying to forget, trying to remember. They were everywhere at once, but somehow it seemed to work. Travis forgot everything—forgot the world that was hunting him, and the memories that were haunting him.
The last layers of clothing peeled away, and Travis knew there was no turning back. They were committed now—oblivious to the consequences, oblivious to the risk, oblivious to the squealing of the cheap motel bedsprings. For a brief moment the world was rightside up once more.
53
11:05 P.M.
“AND WHERE DO YOU think you’re going, young lady?” Staci froze in her tracks. Aunt Marnie had spotted her before she made it halfway through the kitchen. Staci had tried to be as quiet as possible, but somehow Aunt Marnie had still managed to catch her. She was like a giant squid; her tentacles were everywhere.
Staci briefly considered possible answers. Slumber party? Late-night basketball game? Prom night? Forget it. She was carrying a stuffed backpack and a pillow. She obviously didn’t plan to be back anytime soon.
“I … told you Travis called me,” Staci began.
“Yes.” Marnie placed her hands on her hips. “So?”
“He says I shouldn’t stay here tonight.”
“Is that right? So you were planning to just take off without even telling me?”
“Well … if I told you, I didn’t think you’d let me go.”
“You were right about that. And just what was it your criminal friend has in mind for this illicit rendezvous?”
“It isn’t anything nasty. You don’t know what you’re talking—”
Marnie slapped her across the face. The sudden blow startled Staci, instantly provoking tears.
“Watch your lip, young lady. I deserve a little more respect than that. I didn’t have to take you in, you know.”
“I know,” Staci whispered.
“I’ve been suspicious of your precious Travis Byrne for a long time. Paying so much attention to a young girl. Buying her presents, taking her on trips. It isn’t natural.”
“Travis is the most decent guy on earth,” Staci insisted.
“That’s not what I read in the papers,” Marnie pronounced. She pointed to the front-page article on the kitchen table. “I always suspected he was a pervert, and now my suspicions have been confirmed.”
Staci surreptitiously eyed the kitchen door. Only about ten feet away. If she moved quickly, she might get out before Marnie could stop her. “That story in the paper was totally wrong. Travis told me.”
“Oh, he told you, did he? Well then, that settles it. Use some sense, girl! He’s not going to admit he’s a pervert. Especially when he’s trying to get you to … come to him.”
“You’re wrong. He doesn’t want me to come to him. He won’t let me come to him. He wants me to meet Dan and—”
“Dan?” Marnie interrupted. “Who is he? Some other old pervert?”
“He’s Travis’s boss. He’s a lawyer.”
“A lawyer who likes little girls?”
Staci threw down her hands in frustration. “I’ve never even met him before!”
“And Travis expects you to run off in the middle of the night and meet this sicko you’ve never met before? I don’t think so.”
“Then can we go to a hotel?” Staci pleaded. “Anywhere other than here.”
“My Lord, but you have a lot to learn. Angela just spoiled you, that’s all. She lived in a fantasy world.”
Staci’s face darkened. “Don’t say mean things about my mother.”
Marnie jerked Staci violently by the shoulders. “Don’t you tell me what I may and may not say. You live in a dreamworld, just like she did. You have no idea what things cost. As if I could afford to put you in some expensive hotel. You already cost me far more than I can afford.”
“What about the money Travis gives you?”
That remark slowed Marnie down, if only momentarily. “Money? What did he tell you?”
“He didn’t tell me anything. But his secretary, Gail, told me he sends you two hundred dollars a month to help take care of me. So where’s my two hundred dollars, Aunt Marnie?”
“You brat.” She slapped Staci again, even harder than before. “I’ll beat you till you beg for forgiveness.”
Staci made her break for it. She twisted away and raced toward the kitchen door. Unfortunately, the sliding bolt was engaged; by the time she unlocked it, Marnie had her by the throat.
Marnie whirled her around and brought the flat of her hand sharply against Staci’s face. That was the third slap on the same side; it stung. Staci tried to push her away, but she wasn’t strong enough.
Marnie raised her arm, this time with her fist clenched. The blow caught Staci just below her right eye and sent her head thudding back against the door.
No more. Staci grabbed Marnie’s arm and twisted it—she gave her what the kids at school called an Indian burn. Marnie screeched, obviously startled to see Staci fight back. Staci used the moment of surprise to good advantage. She raised her right sneaker and kicked Marnie in the shin. Marnie fell back against the kitchen counter. Without wasting a second, Staci flung the door open and raced outside.
She was free—she’d made it! She couldn’t help but smile, but she didn’t slow down. She wasn’t going to give Marnie a second chance. She kept running full out, without looking back.
The tall thin man appeared out of nowhere. Before Staci realized what was happening, he had clamped a hand over her mouth and wrapped his arm around her neck. Another man appeared out of the darkness and grabbed her by the waist. The cloth the first man held over her mouth smelled like Pine Sol. She felt herself growing dizzy and faint.
“Is she the one?” the second man asked.
The tall man nodded. Staci couldn’t see his face clearly, but there was something wrong with it, something … deformed. He grabbed her Disney bracelet and with a sudden jerk ripped it off her arm. “She’s the one.”
Staci tried to struggle, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Her whole body seemed heavy and tired.
“Relax,” the second man said. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
“Right,” the tall man echoed. “Well, not for twenty-four hours, anyway.” He began to laugh.
It was the last sound Staci heard before she drifted into unconsciousness.
SATURDAY
April 20
54
6:30 A.M.
AS SOON AS HE saw the number on his LED screen, Agent Janicek jerked the phone out of the cradle.
“Moroconi? Is that you?”
The voice on the other end of the line whispered, “I don’t know. Is it safe?”
Janicek punched two buttons on his control console. “It’s safe. You’re on a secured line.”
“Mooney isn’t listenin’ in?”
“Mooney—” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Mooney won’t be bothering me anymore.”
“What happened?”
“He had an unfortunate accident. Died in the line of duty.”
“Duty? Workin’ with you? What’d you do, send him into a cross fire for a can of beer?”
“As a matter of fact, he was killed by your former attorney Mr. Travis Byrne.”
“Byrne!” Moroconi sputtered into the phone. “You must be kiddin’. That wimp wouldn’t pull the wings off a butterfly. You set him up.”
“I don’t see any reason to discuss my business with you, Moroconi. Why did you call?”
“I got the word you were lookin’ for me.”
“You heard right I need the list back.”
�
�So why are you tellin’ me?”
“Because I think you’ve still got it. You might fool the mob, but I know damn well you’d never give that list to Byrne. I want it back.”
“No way.”
“This is serious, Moroconi. I have to have it. Have you made any copies?”
“Not yet.”
“Then don’t. Bring me the original.”
“You little turd. Have you forgotten we had a deal? You sure as hell took my money fast enough.”
“I’ll return it. It’s too risky now. I think Henderson is suspicious.”
“Well, isn’t that too bad for you?”
Janicek clenched the phone tightly. “It’ll be too bad for you, too, you bastard, if I decide to tell everything I know.”
There was an extended silence, interrupted only by Moroconi’s raspy breathing into the receiver.
“Goddamn list isn’t complete as it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it isn’t right!” Moroconi shouted. “I wanted Jack. Before I did anyone else, I was going to do Jack. But he isn’t there. The address on the list is wrong.”
“That can’t be. The list is checked and updated constantly.”
“Well, it’s goddamn true, you chickenshit.”
“If the list is incorrect, then you shouldn’t mind giving it back.”
“Wrong. That list is my insurance policy.”
“What do you need it for now? Just stay out of sight. They’ll never find you.”
“They already have, asshole. I got mail while I was holed up at the motel. Hand-delivered.”
“From … them?”
“You got it. Elcon, that’s what they call themselves. Pissants. Trying to scare me off, like I was some second-grader.”
“Don’t be a fool, Moroconi. You can’t beat them. The smartest thing you can do is keep a low profile and get the hell out of town.”
Moroconi seemed to consider. “Maybe you’re right. But I got some business to take care of first.”
“Revenge is for losers, Moroconi.”
“Not the way I do it.”
“You’re playing with fire. If you know what I mean.”
He laughed. “But I won’t be the one who gets burned.”
“Why don’t we meet somewhere and try to come up with a concerted plan of action? Two heads are better than one.”
Moroconi released a slow whistle. “You son of a bitch. You’re tryin’ to set me up, aren’t you? You’re gonna kill me!”
“Moroconi, you’re becoming paranoid—”
“Like hell. You’re tryin’ to lure me somewhere so you can off me just like you did that dick Mooney. Just to save your own sweet ass.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“Don’t lie to me, you cheap motherfucker!”
“I’m desperate!” Janicek shouted, then checked himself. He looked outside his office door. No one appeared to have heard, thank God. “Henderson suspects. Do you know what will happen to me if he figures it out?”
“You should’ve thought of that before you got greedy. You knew the risks you were takin’.”
“I didn’t know you were going to shoot two guards! I didn’t know you were going to kill some hood at the West End!”
“Your escape plan was fucked. I had no choice.”
“My plan was flawless. The only thing that was fucked was you.”
There was another long pause. Janicek could hear Moroconi muttering under his breath, but he was fortunately unable to hear what he was saying.
“I won’t be callin’ anymore,” Moroconi said, finally. “Don’t come lookin’ for me.” He paused, then added: “If I see you, I’ll kill you.”
55
7:02 A.M.
KRAMER RUBBED HIS HANDS together with expectation. The recent turn of events had been extremely promising. A successful capture last night, and now a positive ID on that damned yellow Omni. Who could ask for anything more?
Mario, probably, but that was beside the point. Mario would get everything he wanted—the end of Travis Byrne, the end of Alberto Moroconi, and his own personal copy of the list. And then, once the job was completed, Kramer had some settling up to do with Mario. This time he wouldn’t be satisfied with an invitation to the family picnic. No one treated him the way Mario had. No one.
In fairness, he supposed he had to give Mario his due. His carefully choreographed displays of temper had produced the desired result. Kramer had stepped up his efforts—doubled them, to be exact. And Donny had been inspired right into oblivion. Kramer had sent every available thug in Dallas after that yellow Dodge Omni. This had increased his expenses a thousandfold; he probably would be hard-pressed to make a profit off this deal now. Bottom line, though: he wanted Byrne—and Byrne’s new bitch lawyer assistant. And now he had them.
He was on a high grassy ridge overlooking the Black Angus Inn with the five best sharpshooters he knew. Five rifles were trained on the yellow Omni in the parking lot.
And just in time. Even from this distance, Kramer could see two heads, one above the driver’s seat, one above the passenger’s. Soon they would back out and try to become invisible on the LBJ Expressway. Kramer didn’t intend to give them the chance.
Kramer brought his hand down and his men opened fire. An uninterrupted cascade of bullets rained down on the Omni. The windows shattered; glass flew everywhere. The car lurched and shuddered as its small frame was riddled with lead. The heads above the seats fell over.
One of his men tapped Kramer on the shoulder. “The gas tank?”
Kramer resisted the temptation. That would be beautiful. But premature. “Not yet. Let me confirm the kills and take a few photos for Uncle Mario. Then you can blow the thing sky high.”
Kramer scanned both sides of the ridge. So far the shooting didn’t appear to have attracted any attention. He climbed down and crossed the parking lot. Smoke was still rising from the shattered hull of the Omni. Its tires had gone flat; it drooped over the asphalt like vehicular roadkill. Pleased, Kramer strolled up to the car and peered into the front seat.
Pillows. They were pillows. Well-dressed pillows, but pillows, nonetheless. Pillows wrapped in shirts and coats, propped up so that a head-shaped circlet of fluff appeared just above the seat cushions.
They were way ahead of him. They had ditched the car and left nothing but the pillows behind. They had fooled him.
Kramer pounded his fist on the hood of the car. Goddamn them! They had played him for a fool.
Kramer glanced up the ridge. Already his men were headed this way. Soon they would know he had been tricked, and then, within hours, everyone else would know. Travis Byrne had already tarnished his reputation. Now he had caused irreparable damage.
Kramer strode resolutely out of the parking lot. His men called to him, but he ignored them. He didn’t need them, he didn’t need Mario—he didn’t need anyone. This wasn’t an assignment anymore. This was personal.
This was a score to settle, a score between Vincent Kramer and Travis Byrne. No more fake couriers, no more firebombs, no more plugged pillows. Next time it would be just him and Byrne.
Byrne was going to die. Slowly. And Kramer was going to enjoy doing it, too.
So what if Byrne and that bitch had gotten away again? It didn’t matter. After all, he still had the girl.
56
7:30 A.M.
TRAVIS FUMBLED WITH THE shift stick in their newly acquired Hyundai. He rarely drove a standard and barely remembered how.
Cavanaugh was staring out the passenger-side window. Something was on her mind. He’d have given a million dollars to know what she was thinking, what she thought about him. About them. But so far, no clues.
They had scarcely spoken all morning. And neither had made any reference to the night before.
“I think this was a good idea,” Travis said tentatively. “Stealing a car, I mean.”
Cavanaugh continued staring out the window. “Does that mean you won’t be turnin
g me in?”
“Definitely. How long do you think this car will be safe?”
“Hard to say. I assume the owner will report it stolen as soon as he notices. Certainly we shouldn’t drive it longer than twenty-four hours.”
“And then?”
“Assuming you still haven’t straightened out this mess, or that we haven’t been killed? I suppose we’ll steal another one.”
“Isn’t that risky?”
“Oh, in a remote sort of way. You know, there are teenagers who steal eight or ten cars every weekend and never get caught. Of course, they know what they’re doing.”
Something about Cavanaugh’s manner bothered him. She was definitely acting different this morning. Perhaps that was only natural—things had changed. Still, he had hoped she wouldn’t be too awkward or … regretful.
“Cavanaugh,” he said quietly.
“Yes?”
“There’s … something I want to tell you. Especially after last night.” He took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make.”
Her head slowly turned. “You’re married.”
“What? Oh, no—”
“You’re living with someone.”
“No, I—”
“Oh God! You have some kind of disease.”
“No, no!” Travis wiped his brow. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just that … well, it’s about why I broke into your apartment. I know I said I chose you because I trusted you. And that was true. But I also knew that you used to be a skip tracer, and it seemed to me that since I needed to locate someone who had disappeared …”
There was a painful silence in the car. “You used me.”
“It wasn’t like that. …”
“You’ve been soft-soaping me the whole time,” she said. “You came to me so I would find Moroconi for you!”
“Please, Cavanaugh—I know it sounds awful, but it really wasn’t like that—”
“You used me to trace Moroconi’s call, and you used me again last night in bed!”
Travis was horrified. “Cavanaugh—no!”
Cavanaugh suddenly burst out laughing. She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to quiet herself, but the laughter continued. Several moments later she gained sufficient control to speak. “Travis,” she said, gasping for air, “I figured that out about ten minutes after you showed up.”
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