“We talked about that,” she said. “You agreed...”
“I know, but waiting isn’t easy. I’d rather end this and go home.”
“You could jeopardize your uncle by showing up out of the blue.”
“How so?”
“There’s someone after you here,” she said, repeating what she’d told him earlier. Maybe it was stress, but he kept going back to the same need—to go home. “You’re safe here, Stanley, in this place.” She wasn’t sure for how long, but they would be gone long before that ever became a problem. “They could follow you back to Morocco.” She wasn’t sure why she said they. There was only one person doing the shooting in Jackson; she imagined should they be followed, it would be one person again. The question was, who was that person?
“I never thought of that.” He shook his head.
Even though she’d told him before, he hadn’t remembered, hadn’t heard—she wasn’t sure which.
“Why does it have to be so complicated?”
“Money complicates,” she said, thinking of the will. “Most of the time.”
“I won’t, just so you know,” he replied. “Take off on you, and go to Morocco, I mean. But even saying that makes me want to jump on the first plane.”
He turned to look at her, and she could see his frustration. He’d been confined to this small space for too long. She didn’t give any thought to the fact that she had been stuck in this space, too, because it wasn’t something that bothered her. She missed the adrenaline rush of the action, but she’d been in worse places, smaller places, on different assignments. It was a matter of distraction, taking your mind off the discomfort, which could turn into claustrophobia. Her own apartment was barely over four hundred square feet.
“On a completely different topic, if I’m not going immediately back to Morocco, then I’d like to take some pictures,” Stanley said. “I mean when Zafir comes back, of course. Otherwise, we have no vehicle.” His dark hair was mussed and he didn’t look at her as she set a cup of coffee in front of him.
She’d scrambled eggs for him earlier, but if they were here much longer either she or Zafir was going to have to do a grocery run.
Rather than picking up his coffee, he stared rather morosely at it as if it were an alien entity.
“This hasn’t turned out at all like I imagined.”
She felt for him in that moment as his hazel eyes met hers, full of sadness and regret. For the first time she could totally relate to the man. Once, his worries had been about mundane issues; now he feared for his life and that of his uncle.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to face all this, Stanley. It’s a little much for a layperson, but you’ve done fabulous.” There was no point in mentioning the fact that he’d bolted and endangered himself further. That was in the past. “There’s not many that would be shot at and remain as cool as you did.”
He laughed. “I was scared to death and you know it.”
She smiled back at him. “As far as taking pictures in the countryside, I’m not sure that it’s safe. Whoever was trying to take us out in Jackson is still at large, and we have no identification on them.”
“I know.” He took a sip of coffee. “They’re still out there. But we can’t be squirreled away in here forever.”
They didn’t have a choice, because there were things he didn’t know that he wasn’t ready to know. She thought of his first cousin who was here and for only one reason that she could see: to kill Stanley. It was a guess and not confirmed by fact, yet. But she strongly felt that it was only a matter of time before he followed Stanley here, to their new safe house.
“No,” she agreed. “But when we leave Casper we’ll be able to function more normally and you can take some pictures. I promise. We’ll get it all set up so that everything happens as close to what you planned as possible.”
He looked slightly mollified at that information.
This time when he met her gaze, there was a look of guilt in his. Her intuition told her that the intimacy of just the two of them, the time that had passed since it had all happened and the revelation about his uncle might be the catalyst for a confession. Instinct told her that he knew a lot more than he’d revealed so far.
“Do you have any idea who was shooting at us in Jackson, Stanley? Do you have any enemies, someone who might want you gone?” She didn’t add anything she already knew or suspected. She wanted Stanley to make his own pronouncement to prove once and for all that he trusted them. For without his trust, they had no ability to protect him short of locking him up.
“It would help us keep you safe, Stanley, if you would trust me.”
She sat down across from him and put her hand over his. He looked down and then sadly back at her. He pulled his hand away and gazed at her for the first time as a man in charge of his own destiny.
“All right,” he said gravely. “But you might not like what you hear.”
“Try me.”
He folded his arms, his brow furrowed as he sat back and a minute passed, then two. Then he began to speak. But the story that he told her had her wishing that there was something stronger to put into their coffee—for both of them.
But that wasn’t an option. The new reality cast a dangerous shadow and put an edge to their case that hadn’t been there before.
“It will turn out all right,” she said.
“Keep it between the two of us,” he said. “Don’t tell Zafir, please.”
“Stanley. I can’t promise...”
“I know, but I don’t want to be pressured into something when the truth comes out.”
She could see his point. Zafir was strong and opinionated and could easily influence Stanley.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t pressure you. But he’ll obviously have some thoughts on what can be done, as do I. We only mean to make sure you’re safe, and your uncle, too. If that means going back to Morocco, then that’s what we’ll do. But I’m not completely convinced of that. Let’s just agree not to do anything rash.” She met his dark eyes. “And that you trust us.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed. “I can’t ask for more.”
She wasn’t sure if any of them could.
* * *
HE WAS BLOOD, and blood mattered. He’d believed that once, a long time ago. Now he knew that was a lie.
All that mattered now were the connections it afforded him so that he could go places and do things. For that, he needed money. Family connections were about to provide that for him, too. Best of all, family was going to allow him to play the ultimate childhood game. He’d get to torture Stanley one more time.
Stanley was nothing if not predictable. At least he’d been predictable until he’d come to the United States and hooked himself up with people paid to protect him. They’d been in Casper two days, and it had taken Mohammed that same amount of time to find them. Confined to that small apartment duplex, two of them and Stanley, who was used to living on his own and on his own terms; he couldn’t imagine it. He would be going crazy by now rather like a rat in a cage.
He remembered how he and Stanley’s brother had tormented him as a child. He remembered how they’d used his soft nature, his love of animals, to their advantage. But it was Stanley’s brother who had taken that tormenting one step further. “By the ears,” he’d say before he’d kick Stanley or better yet, a stray dog, for that was always guaranteed to set Stanley off more so even than his own pain. It was the first sign that things weren’t quite right with Stanley’s brother. But they got worse, much worse, and it was other, more brutal acts that finally had Stanley’s brother locked up.
Time in what in those days had been called an asylum had only made Stanley’s brother angrier. But it had made him no less violent. When the family had received the news notifying them of Chasi’s death, he knew that it had been a grievous
time for his aunt and uncle, but it had also been a relief. They’d been willing to believe anything that would relieve their pain.
Now, everything was working as planned; all he had to do was come through to get his promised share. One down and one to go.
He smiled. Now, with his uncle dead in the explosion in Rabat, Stanley had inherited, and with Stanley about to meet his maker and if he could succeed with the illusion that Stanley’s brother might be back from the dead, and drive Stanley a little crazy, there was a fortune to be had. Illusion was everything. He was about to take his share; it was waiting for him right now in a Moroccan bank. As soon as the last act was complete and Stanley was dead, he’d get the code to complete the transfer. It was as brilliant as it was fragile, and Mohammed was more than glad to come along for the ride, do the grunt work and receive his lifetime payday. Now he only needed to finish the job and get out of the States as quickly and cleanly as possible.
When this job was over, he’d take the money he’d been promised and run far away so he’d never have to see Morocco again. He’d turn his back on it all, on all the craziness. The humiliation of his lack of status would never be an issue again. It was true, money could buy you anything.
Chapter Fifteen
Shortly after Jade’s conversation with him, Stanley went to lie down, claiming a headache.
Three quick knocks on the door. It was her and Zafir’s agreed-upon alert.
She opened the door, and snow sifted into the small room, along with a blast of cold air that swirled around her ankles. She backed up. “It’s gotten worse again out there.”
“I can’t believe this weather,” Zafir said as he came in. He stomped snow off his feet. “Not that I’m surprised. In fact, I’d planned to do some snowboarding before all this came down.” He smiled. “Faisal got me into it on the last trip.” He took his boots off and then gave her his full attention. “What’s up?”
“Sit,” she said in a quiet tone. Knowing that his banter was only a screen in case their client was listening. “He’s sleeping.”
He came into the living area and sat down on the couch.
“Did you find anything at the van?”
His gaze roved over her like he knew her secrets. The thought of that sent a tingle through her that made her look away.
“There was evidence that someone else had been there. Not that that alone indicates anything, but the rancher gave me these.” He held up the pack of matches from the Rabat hotel. “I went back to speak to the rancher and he confirmed that there was a man there who took off as soon as he saw him. In fact, it was earlier this morning. Ironically, I missed him by a matter of hours. He said that he was foreign and he was pretty sure that was who dropped the matches. He found them in the ditch. Anyway, Moroccan, I’d say from the look of these matches.” He tossed the matches, and she caught them with one hand. “He also mentioned that the man was like me.”
She looked at him with laughter in her eyes. “I’m betting, being the open-minded type he seemed to be, that didn’t make him too happy.”
“Not at all. Anyway, looks to me like we’ve only got one man after Stan.”
“A Moroccan. Matches the airport security info,” she said thoughtfully. “So he landed here and then made his way to Jackson following Stanley.”
“He’s our shooter?” she asked.
“Good possibility.”
“The question is, where is he now?”
“And why does he want Stanley dead? Mohammed doesn’t inherit. He has to have something to gain, but what?”
There was silence in the wake of the questions. They had no motivation, only too many coincidences.
“How’d Stan react to the news about his uncle?” He glanced over her shoulder to the bedroom where Stanley was snoring softly. “Did he finally come clean while I was gone? And told you not to tell me, too, I’m betting.” He smiled, slow and lazy.
“He knew a lot more than we thought.” She leaned back against the hard little sofa. There was a distance of only a few feet between them, and yet it seemed like there was no space at all. “In fact, it’s a lot more complicated than we thought. He has the family from hell.”
Zafir ran the back of his hand along his chin, where he had a good start on a beard.
She stood up and went to the window. Sleet drove in a white curtain, angling across the street and adding a white backdrop to everything. She turned from the window.
“Stanley revealed a lot while you were gone. He didn’t want me to tell you,” she paused. “I think you intimidate him.”
“Enough to keep him in line,” he gritted.
“We can only hope,” she said with a smile. “Anyway, it appears he has a trust fund that he failed to tell us about.”
“A trust fund?” Zafir looked at her with a frown.
“He claims it’s recent and he didn’t want it but his elderly uncle, who he apparently takes care of, insisted on it. One hundred and fifty thousand US dollars a year for life. All he has to do is continue to take care of the uncle.”
“Explains the trust.”
“Not totally,” she said with a smile. “Seems Stanley is a dog lover. Promotes and donates any spare money he has to a dog rescue he supports. He’s giving the majority of the trust to the rescue. And oddly, I don’t think he knows anything of the inheritance.”
“Doesn’t know or won’t admit?”
She shook her head. “I think he’s telling the truth about that.”
“So his cousin follows him here to kill him,” Zafir said with a note of speculation in his voice.
“Possibly,” she said. “Money aside, the interesting thing is the message on that phone, ‘by the ears.’ Turns out his brother was a sadistic...” She shrugged. “There’s expletives that would fit but I’ll leave it to your imagination until you hear the rest. Anyway, he’d torture animals often just to upset Stanley, who was an animal lover from way back. ‘By the ears’ was what he’d say to taunt Stanley before he either hurt him or a pet or another animal.”
“So the message displayed on the phone is rather like a voice from the grave?” he said with a hint of irony in his voice.
“Possibly someone wants to have us believe that.”
He nodded. “So we need to do some research on his brother’s death. Maybe there’s a connection we’re missing. Another witness—something. What did Stanley say about it?”
“Not much. He was pretty young when it happened and, as we know, his brother had been confined to a psychiatric hospital where he eventually died. While Stanley originally told me it was an accident, he finally admitted that the family was told it was a suicide. There was no funeral and he has no official record. And we already know that there’s nothing online. But the Marrakesh office has confirmed that there’s a chart notation but no official record of his death in the institution where he died and that it was suicide”
“He died twenty-five years ago. That’s a long time.”
“It is and sadly I don’t think there were many tears shed when he died. Before he was institutionalized, his brother’s abuse was pretty horrific. Stanley claims that he still has scars. Sounds to me like his brother, Chasi, was unbalanced. I can’t repeat all the stories, maybe Stanley can tell you, I... It’s horrible.”
“It’s all right, Jade. If Stanley is up to it, I’ll let him tell me. First hand is better anyway.”
She looked at him with relief. “There’s more. I mentioned the will, he claims to know nothing about it.”
Zafir let out a soft whistle. “I think we need to have a long talk with Stanley.
After that, for a time, neither of them slept. There was too much to consider, too much to reconfigure and consider again. But in the end, they realized it was Stanley who might have the answers, the final pieces of the puzzle, and his snores were
still filling the small space.
Finally, as the night waned, they catnapped, in shifts, one taking over from the other.
It was an hour from daybreak when Zafir’s phone rang.
Minutes passed before the call ended.
“They have a house that has everything we’ll need. Thirty miles from here. The team is securing it now. It will be ready—” he looked at his watch “—later today.”
“I hope we can keep him safe. That whoever—”
“Jade, it will be fine,” he said, cutting her off. “Your success rate is one hundred percent. Any of our agents would kill to have you on their team, you know that,” he said.
It was odd hearing the praise, for she knew that sort of thing was rare for him. There wasn’t much she didn’t know about him. And as she thought that, she missed the fact that he had closed the space between them. But those thoughts were pushed aside as he moved close, too close. His hands were on her shoulders, and she couldn’t think or say anything. She could only instinctively respond to the hot need that erupted as his lips crushed hers. She knew that it wasn’t in her power to stop him. She wanted this as much as he did, and all she could do was kiss him back. The kiss deepened, and he was demanding as much as she was wanting. It was a dance that was causing her body to tingle, her core to crave and her being to want more of him. Her breasts were crushed against the hard, toned wall of his chest. Her arms were around his neck. Her fingers tangled in the soft curls that wove seductively between her fingers. His tongue stroked the seam of her lips like an artist.
She melted deeper against him. She forgot all the reasons why she shouldn’t do this, where they were, who they were...
It was the last thought that stopped her.
She pushed him away. Holy Hannah, this should never have happened, and it definitely couldn’t happen again.
“Stanley,” she reminded him.
“Is a name I’m beginning to dislike,” he replied. The wry humor in his voice seemed to drift between them. But the space between them didn’t cool. The hot, smoldering look he gave her said everything. It was as if he were willing to take her here and now as if... Her palms felt damp, and her heart tripped slightly at the thought of what she felt and what she suspected he wanted to do.
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