by ML Gamble
A few seconds later, two people hurried past, ten feet from his hiding place, and raced up the stairs toward the third floor. Sara Gillem’s apartment was on the third floor, facing the ocean.
Cortez moved his head. A husky man, six foot plus with long, inky black hair, stood beside a woman, five foot six, buried under three layers of clothes, her hair shoved under a hat. They were in front of Gillem’s door.
The cop flipped off the gun’s safety and measured the shot. Too far away to be sure, and he couldn’t get them both. Cortez holstered his gun and watched as the couple slipped inside. He could bust them all now as fugitives.
He could kill them all now and claim self-defense.
Trying not to think of Alicia, Cortez blinked the tears away and shuddered, thinking how little any of it mattered.
* * *
SARA GILLEM OPENED her door as far as the security chain would allow and peeked through the crack.
“Molly,” she whispered, “is it really you?” The woman’s gaze darted back and forth nervously between Molly, her dolphin-covered terry-cloth hat pulled low over her face, and the tall, dark-haired man standing next to her.
“It is, Sara,” Molly answered. “And this is Alec. Please, let us in.”
Quickly Sara disengaged the lock and opened the door. She hugged Molly, shook hands formally with Alec, then relocked the door, the dead bolt and the chain and led the exhausted pair into her kitchen.
“Why don’t I fix breakfast while you two rest and tell me the real scoop on what’s been going on.”
Alec settled uneasily into one of Sara’s cane-backed chairs, shooting Molly a look that told her he was questioning Sara’s trustworthiness.
“I’d trust her with my life, mate,” Molly offered with a wink, then leaned against the counter next to Sara, who was beating eggs. “I’ll tell you the whole thing, but first tell me how things are at work.”
Sara shook her head slowly. “Bad. Real bad. I saw a lot of men cry I didn’t think knew the meaning of the word when we all heard about Rafe Thursday afternoon.” Sara was forty-four and looked fifteen years younger. She was slim and had a no-nonsense, no-frills air of confidence about her which had served her well the past twenty years she had spent running the administrative side of an installation office. It was populated almost entirely by men, and if they worked there longer than ten minutes, they learned not to mess with Sara Gillem.
Sara met Molly’s eyes, cutting directly to what she knew lay at the heart of her boss’s question. “Everyone—to a person—is very worried about you, too. Real worried whether you are going to be okay. And furious that the police, especially that Cortez fellow, and the newspapers or anyone would say you had anything to do with Rafe getting killed.”
Sara flashed her gaze at Alec, as if to warn him that if the same couldn’t be said of him, he’d better leave now.
“It was terrible, Sara. Neither Alec nor I had any chance to warn him. And to have to leave him like we did...” Molly wiped away a tear and cleared her throat. She gave Sara a concise summary of the events leading up to Rafe’s murder, then a thumbnail sketch of the Catalina Island odyssey she and Alec had endured the past three days.
The only details she left out were Alec’s brainwashing and the parentage of Erik Brooker. Molly felt those were dangerously unresolved issues that might be too hot for anyone to handle, especially someone not involved.
Ten minutes later, grabbing a plate of buttered toast, Molly followed Sara over to the table, where her hostess was dishing Alec a helping of scrambled eggs the size of a dinner plate.
“So what are you two going to do now?” Sara asked, sitting beside Molly and pointing to the fork so her boss would eat.
“Well, I called Sylvester Rojas right after I called you this morning. I told him we’d be back in touch, but that I thought we were ready to surrender. But we need a lawyer first and some reassurances from the authorities that the dirty cop we’re sure is out there has been apprehended.”
“Does that guy Rojas have enough clout to guarantee that?” Sara asked.
Molly and Alec exchanged glances. After working for the telephone company, Sara was an expert on authority. She knew firsthand that promises came cheap but that action happened only when the person doing the promising had the power to get the job done. “He said he couldn’t promise anything.”
“Well then, wait until he gets to someone who can.” Sara smiled for the first time since their arrival. “You two can wait here until then. And when it’s all over with, we’ll all go on “Hard Copy” or “Geraldo” and tell this whole story.”
“For a good price, eh, love?” Alec added with a wink.
“You got that straight, honey,” Sara said. “Now you two eat. Then you read the morning papers. I ran down at seven and bought one of each kind from the boxes outside. They’re in the living room waiting for you. There’s even an open letter in the News from the FBI to you, Molly.”
“Quite the celebrities, are we?”
“Yep. Everyone’s talking about you. One report said you had been arrested in San Francisco Friday night and were being held in secret. It was wrong, I guess.”
“Can’t trust those tabloids,” Molly reminded her grimly. “Well, I told Rojas I’d call him back at twelve noon. Until then, I’m going to make a couple of calls and try to find a lawyer on Sunday.”
“If you call Rojas from here, won’t they just trace the call?” Alec asked. He was pacing the floor of Sara’s living room, his face a mask of white against his unnaturally dark hair. He peeked through the drapes drawn across the sliding glass door leading out to Sara’s deck. Stairs led down from the deck to the sand, giving Alec a new worry about their vulnerability to being ambushed.
“Not if I use Alicia’s cellular. They are nearly impossible to pull out of the air and ID, although the FBI can do it. Don’t worry,” she said to the two of them. “I’ll be careful.”
Alec looked unconvinced. “Maybe we should go back to the boat, Molly. Keep your friend here out of it.”
“I’m not worried about being in trouble,” Sara said cheerfully. “When all the truth comes out, I’ll be fine. And so will you two, you’ll see.”
Molly and Alec exchanged a grim glance, not at all as optimistic as Sara. But they sat together on the sofa, however, and ran through the newspapers Sara had thoughtfully obtained. Molly read aloud the statement from the FBI, urging her to turn herself in or, if she was being held captive by Alec Steele, to remain calm.
“I didn’t realize that they thought I was holding you against your will,” Alec replied when she finished.
“Well, who would imagine I’d go with a lug like you willingly?” she replied. She smiled to soften the words, but Alec seemed to be settling into a funk.
While Sara bustled around in the kitchen and brought them fresh coffee and sweet rolls, Molly and Alec continued perusing the newspapers. Both were amazed by the amount of ink that the story, and their lives, had received.
“My God, here’s an interview with my father,” Alec announced in a shocked voice. He ran through it quickly. “Yeah, that’s my father, all right. Basically told the reporter to sod off and leave him alone. Said, ‘I didn’t raise that boy to run from nothing.’ Now there’s a character reference if I ever heard one.”
For the first time, Molly stopped and realized how worried her own family must be about her safety. Her mom and only sibling, her older sister, Jeannie, both lived in Sacramento.
Molly threw a glance at the cellular phone but decided that was a call that would have to wait. If anyone’s lines were tapped, it would be her mother’s. Molly looked at the clock again. It was only 9:35. “Hang on till noon, everyone. Then we’ll know where we stand.”
She continued to read, fascinated by a biographical story about Frederick Brooker. It mentioned that he had been raised by a father who had died when he was sixteen, and that his mother had abandoned the family when he was born.
“There’s no mention of
Brooker’s ex-wife by name,” Molly said softly to Alec, who looked up from his reading, “but this says they were divorced after the birth of Brooker’s only child. It also says Erik’s been flown in for the trial but that his attorney does not want him to take the stand.”
“Bloody bastard, Fred Brooker is,” Alec snapped. “Maybe they won’t call Erik as a witness once they find out about his mother. That poor little bloke is going to have to face more pain than he should have to in his life.”
Molly touched Alec’s leg gently. “I know. But at least he’ll have his grandmother to help get him through this.”
Alec nodded, but looked grimmer than ever. Molly had dyed his eyebrows to match his hair but had not attempted the eyelashes. With the black hair, he had a ghostly, gaunt look about him, like an Australian version of a vampire. Shaking off this silly image, Molly stiffened at the approaching sound of a Coast Guard helicopter.
Sara ran into the room and looked up tensely, and Alec jumped off the couch and ran to the drapes. Risking a peek outside, he saw the chopper continue down the coastline.
“Shore patrol,” Sara announced. “We’re all too jumpy.” She looked at Molly. “How about if I loan you something to wear and let you take a shower? You got some time to kill, and if you don’t mind me saying, your grooming is not quite up to Pacific Communications management standards.”
Molly laughed at Sara’s words and saw that Alec, too, relaxed.
“I’d offer you something, too, honey, but my son’s clothes are too short and too small for you. But you’re welcome to a shower.”
“Thanks,” Alec replied. He took the newspapers out of Molly’s hands. “But why don’t you go ahead? If Sara doesn’t mind, I’m going to take off my boots and rest here for a few minutes. If we’re going to have company later, I could use a little sleep.”
Molly allowed Sara to hustle her off but not before she threw Alec a kiss, which he rewarded by smiling at her before he leaned back and closed his eyes.
* * *
“SO WHAT’S THE SCOOP, Miss Molly? Is this guy for real?”
Molly was sitting, wrapped in Sara’s thick terry-cloth robe, staring into her friend’s dressing-table mirror while Sara combed out Molly’s hair.
“He’s for real, all right.”
Sara gave an appreciative whistle. “He’s a hunk, which I knew from his pictures, but he’s also got a lot of sex appeal with a capital S!” Sara wagged her head back and forth. “You sure you can trust him? A man like that is used to getting his way with women, you know. No chance he did kill that man Buntz, is there? One of the callers on the radio show said he thought that was what happened.”
“There was a show on us?” Molly asked in horror. “When?”
“Friday night, I think it was. Had on that lawyer of Frederick Brooker’s, Mason Weil. What a creep he is,” Sara offered.
“I can’t believe I’m in the middle of this—this circus,” Molly said.
“You are. Wait until the trial. Things are only going to get worse, I’d say.”
“If they ever have the trial,” Molly answered. “With all that’s happened—”
“That judge said last night they’re going on with it. We’ll see what he says tomorrow, once you and Alec Steele turn yourselves in. Think that will change his mind? He looks like the stubborn type, you ask me.”
“I agree,” Molly answered. “I don’t know what he’ll say about things when Alec and I get a chance to explain what’s happened to us. I would think a lot more charges could be filed against Brooker. Of course, how we’re going to prove anything is another matter.”
“That’s the truth right there, Molly. We’ve seen enough guilty-as-sin murderers walking around free lately. California’s wild with them. I’m just glad we’ve got a death penalty.”
Too weary to even begin arguing about her friend’s views on that topic, Molly sat mute while Sara dried her hair and fussed with it.
“Now you can look halfway decent for those surrender pictures,” Sara kidded when she was finally done. “You stay in there and rest awhile,” she added, as Molly went into Sara’s tidy, sun-filled room to dress. “I’m going to clean up the kitchen, then do some paperwork at my desk. I’ll let you know when it’s twelve o’clock.”
Thanking Sara profusely, Molly shut herself into Sara’s bedroom. Resisting the urge to dive into bed, she tossed off the robe and stretched. She was beyond tired, Molly realized. Exhausted in mind and body, she felt numb, as if feelings of hunger or fright or passion or pain would never again touch her.
Her mind flew to the other room, to Alec, who had lost as much as she these past few days. Privacy, dear friends, reputation. None of it was fair, but it was all reality.
And, as the down-to-earth Sara had just reminded her, it wasn’t over yet.
With a sigh, Molly pulled on the pink silk blouse Sara had set out for her and buttoned it up. She had never seen Sara wear this before and felt her eyes sting with gratitude that her friend was loaning her something brand-new.
Shaking out the freshly ironed khaki slacks, Molly sat on the bed and tugged them on. They were a bit snug around the hips but felt heavenly soft and clean. As she zipped them up, the sheer bedroom curtain fluttered inward toward Molly. The sounds of seabirds and waves reached her ears and an ocean breeze, fresh and cool, filled the room.
Molly walked toward the deck, pleased that Sara had left the door cracked open. The sunlight would feel delicious on her face, Molly realized. Maybe she could sit outside for just a few moments. Like Alicia Chen had commented, she wasn’t the distinctive-looking fugitive of the two. With a sad smile, Molly lifted her hand to push aside the drapery and step out.
At that second, a man burst through the door and grabbed her. He held one hand around her throat. The other hand held his gun, which he pressed against Molly’s right ear.
Lieutenant Cortez looked like hell, she found herself thinking. His gray hair had a slick yellow sheen to it, and his lined face was blotched and stubbly.
“Not a peep, Miss Jakes. Not a peep.”
Fighting to swallow, Molly nodded slightly and let the obviously deranged cop push her slowly backward into Sara’s bedroom.
* * *
SYLVESTER ROJAS was sweating. He looked around the table in the district attorney’s conference room, searching for a sign that anyone believed his story. Four FBI agents, two Orange County cops and his boss, Lynn Nicholson, all stared back.
“I didn’t know Trent was going to kill anyone. The plan was to kidnap Steele, but not to kill him. Just to talk some sense into him. Bribe him, even,” Rojas said brightly, hoping that a lesser felony admission would help his credibility.
“We want to know where Molly Jakes and Alec Steele are,” the FBI agent in charge, Jeffrey Yamamoto, demanded. “We know you talked with her this morning. Where was she?”
“I have no idea. She said she was going to call back at twelve. Honestly, I don’t know where she is. Trent might know. After all, he saw them on Catalina Island. Where is he?”
“That’s none of your concern, Mr. Rojas,” the agent snapped. “Now let’s get on with how you were contacted about setting up this bribe. Did Frederick Brooker call you directly?”
Rojas sat back defiantly in his chair and crossed his arms. “I want my attorney. I called him an hour ago. I am not going to answer any more questions until he gets here.”
Yamamoto nodded to another agent and then to the Mission Verde District Attorney.
“Your request for Mr. Mason Weil was denied by Mr. Weil’s office. A public defender has been called. Unless you know of another private attorney who might consider taking your case.”
“Weil won’t come?” Rojas uncrossed his arms. So it was going to be like that, he realized. Trent’s going to make a deal, even though he brainwashed Steele and killed those agents. Brooker’s going to make a deal, even though he planned and paid for the whole thing.
And he’d be left holding the bag. He’d grown up in the
middle-class section of San Diego, been the first in his family to graduate from college. His parents, first-generation Americans, were proud of their son, the lawyer. Not for long. Not once the press had him for lunch, Sylvester admitted to himself.
“I’ll make a statement,” he said. “Where do you want me to begin?”
A shared sigh of relief traveled the room.
“Tell us what you know about the murders on the Geisha Empress,” Yamamoto demanded. “Were Alec Steele and Molly Jakes involved?”
“No,” Rojas answered.
“Who decided to kill them?”
“Trent. He thought it would make you all look harder for Jakes and Steele, and make his job easier.”
“And who hired Trent?” Yamamoto pressed. “Frederick Brooker?”
Four years of experience in the prosecutor’s office told Sylvester Rojas he should keep his mouth shut. He had information to bargain with. Information that could reduce his prison time substantially. But at that moment he didn’t care.
“Yes,” he said, letting go of his guilt. “Frederick Brooker bought and paid for us both.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alec woke with a start, his eyes flying open to find disquieting sunlight instead of the gray and chilling fog of his dreams. With a quick movement, he looked around the room. Sara Gillem sat in the corner, stereo headphones over her ears, doing paperwork at her desk.
Molly was nowhere in sight.
But, unlike the past days of fear and hiding, Alec didn’t panic when the lovely lady he felt so much for was not within reach. Though that’s where he hoped to keep her, he realized as he stretched his arms and sat up, as soon as they got out of this mess. With deliberate care, Alec moved his neck gingerly from side to side.
The medication Molly had been pumping into him had done the trick. Whatever infection had troubled him, he seemed to have shaken off. Now, if he could just get the damn needles taken out.