by ML Gamble
Alec realized that need could wait because he had a more urgent one to find the john. Maybe give himself a quick shave. He looked across at Sara just as she glanced over.
“Hey, there,” she called out, lifting one of the headphones off her ear. “Why don’t you wash up while Molly’s napping? Bathroom’s the first door on your left. Extra shaving gear under the sink, if you want to help yourself.”
“Thanks, Sara,” Alec replied with a smile. Molly’s friend went back to her music and her bookkeeping, and Alec padded down the hallway in his socks. It felt great to be out of those boots, he thought, pausing in front of the bathroom and staring at the closed door behind which, he assumed, Molly was sleeping.
Walking as quietly as he could, he put his ear against the door and listened. He didn’t hear anything. Gently he put his hand on the doorknob and slowly it turned. The last thing he wanted to do was wake the poor girl, but he would feel better if he could just make sure she was okay.
Although there was no way she wasn’t going to be okay, tucked into a cozy bed in the sunny apartment of her dear friend.
Alec cracked open the door and looked in.
Molly was not on the bed.
A bell of fear, like a fire alarm, went off in his head and he ran into the room. “Molly!” Alec yelled, crossing to the open glass door.
Before he could step outside, his attention was diverted to the mirror. In it he saw a reflection that stopped him dead in his tracks.
Behind him was the cop, Cortez, holding on to a bound and gagged Molly Jakes. Cortez was pointing a gun at him. “Hold it right there, cowboy.”
“Let her go, Cortez.”
“Yeah, sure thing, cowboy,” the cop replied, pressing his free hand down against Molly’s shoulder so she would fall to her knees. “Where’s the other broad? The helpful Miss Gillem?”
Alec met Molly’s terror-filled eyes. She seemed to be begging him to do something, anything, to keep another friend of hers from being hurt. “She’s in the other room, with headphones on, working at her desk. I don’t think she’ll be a problem anytime soon.” Alec nodded at the open door. “So why don’t you head out the way you came in, Cortez. Give yourself a running start to make it to Mexico before your mates come after you for murder.”
“I didn’t murder anyone,” Cortez said, his voice a growl of pain. He brought the pistol up even with Alec’s eyes. “But you did. Both of you did. You killed Alicia. And for that, I’m not waiting around for courthouse justice. I’m going to deal it out right here, right now.”
“Had a thing with Alicia, did you? Is that how you got her to work with you for that slime, Brooker? He bribed you and you pressured her?”
Cortez squinted his black eyes at Alec. “You’ve got that all wrong, Steele. Alicia hated Brooker. She’s the one who got me involved in all this! She found out Brooker was going to shanghai you with a couple of ex-cops turned bad. Don’t ask me why she cared what happened to you, but she did. She told me you’d been given a posthypnotic suggestion you were going to be powerless to overcome. I think she undid it the night she fooled with your bandages at the motel, but she wasn’t sure. That’s why she came to see you the other night, to check. She was terrified Brooker was going to get away with murder.”
“Yeah? Then why did she pull the gun on Molly? Why not tell us the whole story herself?”
“Because she was hiding something else that even I don’t understand,” Cortez said in a flat voice. “Something about Paul Buntz’s murder. Something she was afraid you knew but didn’t even realize was the way she put it.”
The cop’s finger tightened on the gun’s trigger. “You didn’t need to kill her, Steele. I saw what you two did to her. Shot her like a dog, then left her all alone.”
“I didn’t kill Alicia, you moron. You killed her yourself, when you fired at Molly and the truck last night!”
Alec’s words hit Cortez like a fist. For a moment, he relaxed his grip on Molly, which was the chance she was waiting for. Throwing herself sideways, she knocked Cortez off balance. The gun went flying and landed on Sara’s bed.
With the yell of a banshee, Alec leapt across the room on top of Cortez. He caught the cop in the chest and smashed him against the wall. For a few furious seconds, he pummeled him senselessly, halting only when he realized Molly was kicking at his leg in an effort to make him stop.
Alec let Cortez, battered and bloody, fall into a heap. He picked Molly up from the floor and placed her gently on the bed. After sticking the cop’s gun in his belt, he removed her gag and began to untie her.
“Are you nuts?” Molly rewarded him by screaming. “You almost killed him. Jeez, Alec, don’t give them a legitimate charge to pile on all the ones they’ve made up.”
Alec cupped Molly’s tear-strained face in his hands and kissed her, then folded her into his arms. “It’s okay, love. We’re both safe now. Don’t cry.” When she finally gave in to his embrace, he pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, Molly. It’s nearly over.”
At that second, he heard the metallic click of a gun and spun Molly away in time to stare at Cortez. The cop had drawn a second, smaller gun from a holster at his ankle. Before Alec could do a single thing to stop him, the cop fired.
Molly screamed, a sound that reached through the headphones and sent Sara Gillem running to her neighbor’s to call for the cops, the army, anyone who would help.
* * *
MOLLY SAT RIGIDLY, dressed all in black, in the third row of the courtroom. She waited, like the other hundred people packed tightly into the chamber, for the bailiff to bring in the next witness.
Frederick Brooker and his attorney were directly in front of her. Brooker sat sideways, often looking at his son, Erik, who sat with his grandmother in the front row.
Lynn Nicholson, the red-haired district attorney, seated at a table to the right of Brooker, was holding a whispered conversation with one of her young associates.
FBI agent Yamamoto, Molly was surprised to see, was also in court. She had developed a rapport with the agent in the three weeks since she had surrendered herself to his protective custody in the living room of Sara Gillem’s condominium. She found him kind and intelligent and nonreactionary, allowing each piece of her story to be recorded and verified before interrupting her with any questions.
Molly found that a great relief, since the details of the days between Thursday at 3:00 a.m. when she was stopped by a freeway wreck and abducted at gunpoint, and 11:00 a.m. on Sunday when Henry Cortez shot himself, seemed surrealistic and difficult to comprehend, to say the least. She smiled and mouthed hello when Agent Yamamoto looked her way. He nodded.
“Please approach the bench and be sworn in, Mr. Steele,” Molly heard the judge direct. She turned and met Alec’s eyes. They were boring into her, blue and full of enough emotion to make her smile amid this grim proceeding.
They had not been alone together for three weeks. Both had been in protective custody and sequestered, the judge giving in to a delay in the trial due to the hoopla of their capture.
One call had been allowed, but Molly learned nothing but the fact that Alec had had the dye taken out of his hair and had the needles in his neck removed, except for a tiny piece that had separated from the shaft.
“Looks like a tick head, the doctor said. Nothing to worry about. I’m good as new.”
“I can’t wait to see for myself,” Molly had told him.
Alec did look good as new, even better, she thought to herself. Handsome in a navy jacket and gray slacks, white shirt and red paisley tie and—a sexy touch of pure Alec—his ever-present cowboy boots.
They would be together tonight, she realized. Once his testimony was over, the trial was history. Lynn Nicholson had promised that.
For the past week, Molly had testified and listened to the other evidence.
The ballistics tie-in to the gun.
The gun store’s records indicating the gun belonged to Brooker.
&nb
sp; The powder burns on the front, driver’s side of the limo.
The coroner’s grisly details of death.
Now she could listen to Alec Steele. His voice was firm and full of energy, the lilt and music of Australia charming everyone within hearing distance.
Mason Weil was cross-examining him. “So, your testimony is that you had boarded Mr. Brooker’s yacht illegally, were rummaging around and then heard a car engine from twenty feet away.”
“No,” Alec replied cheerfully. “My testimony is that I boarded Mr. Brooker’s boat to wait for him, concerned we may have gotten our appointment mixed up. I heard a car, so I went to the fence to see if it was Mr. Brooker.”
They went back and forth, over the same material three more times. Lynn Nicholson objected that Weil was being argumentative.
Her objection was sustained.
“Please move on, Mr. Weil,” the judge ordered.
“Tell the court again, please, what you saw when Mr. Buntz leaned into the car window.”
“As I said before, Mr. Buntz leaned into the car and I heard the sound of a gun going off. Mr. Buntz fell to the ground, and Mr. Brooker got out of the car and dragged the body to the dock and rolled it into the water.”
Molly cringed at the graphic depiction and glanced at young Erik Brooker. As she did, she caught Brooker signing to the boy. His motions were subtle and quick.
Index finger to thumb, palm up. Do it, she remembered from her sign language course. Then Brooker made the sign for what Molly remembered was Y, a stiff pinky and thumb, three fingers bent, closed onto the palm, palm side toward the reader.
She tried to remember what Y also meant. Was it “now”? Had Brooker just told Erik to “do it now”?
Molly stared at the boy, who nodded and reached his left hand to his right wrist. On it was a tiny device resembling a calculator. Erik pressed a button.
And Alec screamed.
Molly jumped from her seat and stared at Alec, who was holding his hands to the sides of his head in anguish. “Alec!” she cried out.
“Sit down, Mr. Steele!” the judge ordered.
“Order. We’ll have order!” the court clerk bellowed.
Two armed courtroom guards approached the front of the bench, their hands on their holsters.
Slowly Alec lowered his hands and stared at Brooker.
“Mr. Steele?” the judge said. “What is it, Mr. Steele? Are you ill?”
Molly glanced at the jury. The gazes of the twelve men and women were riveted to Alec, as were all those of the spectators. Except one. Frederick Brooker turned and signed, “Do it now,” once more to his son.
Before Molly could cry out, Erik pressed the button again and Alec howled in pain, then leapt off the witness stand and made a beeline for Brooker. Guards scurried, people screamed, and the district attorney stood in shocked disbelief as everyone ran for cover.
“Alec!” Molly yelled helplessly as one of the guards tackled Alec from behind. They fell to the floor, but not before Alec grabbed Brooker by the pant leg and pulled him out of his chair with a crash.
The second guard joined in the fray, and Alec grabbed his gun, held his arm stiffly and tried to aim at Brooker, who was crawling toward the jury.
Agent Yamamoto leapt onto the prosecutor’s table, gripping what looked like a small shotgun in his hands. “Put it down, Mr. Steele,” he ordered.
“He’s got a gun!” Mason Weil screamed, scurrying behind Lynn Nicholson. “Shoot Steele, for God’s sake. He’ll murder us all.”
Suddenly the last piece of the puzzle fell into place in Molly’s brain. Alec had been brainwashed to kill someone, and that someone was himself.
Frederick Brooker’s plan was to brainwash the man and trigger, via a remote control in the hand of his son, a command to make Alec act in a way that was sure to cause Alec’s own death.
Molly reeled with the truth of her judgment, then understood the last mystery. The reason Alicia Chen had tried to have Brooker killed in prison, but might also have let Alec die.
It was to protect her son.
Alec testified just now that Brooker got out of the car from the side that faced him. But he had earlier said that the car was heading away from him, meaning Brooker had to exit on the passenger’s side! Everyone else had testified that the shots had been fired from the driver’s side.
Which meant someone else was driving. And someone else had fired the gun, probably in error. Brooker’s son, Erik, was getting a driving lesson from his old man. A lesson that had turned into a nightmare, caused by an accident that Brooker thought he could cover up with murder.
Leaping over people screaming and pushing and trying to get to safety, Molly grabbed Erik Brooker by the arm and yanked the radio-control device off his arm. She had no idea how to counteract the command that must have triggered Alec’s behavior, but at least she could keep him from pressing it again.
She jumped over the low barrier partitioning the spectators from the front of the courtroom and put her hand over the end of the gun Alec held pointed at Brooker’s head. “Don’t do it, Alec. You’re no murderer.”
“Drop the gun, Mr. Steele. Now!” the guard yelled.
“Step away, Miss Jakes,” Yamamoto ordered.
Molly stood her ground, the gun an inch from her heart. With her free hand, she dangled the radio-control wristband in front of Alec’s raging eyes. “It’s a trick, Alec. But it’s over. You’ve got to trust me, mate. Don’t you remember? You said you would trust me.”
While one hundred and twenty-five people held their breaths, Alec Steele blinked. His eyes rolled back into his head. Molly grabbed the gun but could not grab Alec before he fell with a groan onto the cold marble floor.
Epilogue
February 14
The following year
Alec steadied Molly as she walked beside him down the ferry’s gangplank. Around her she heard the whispers and giggles of strangers, but she endured this scene good-naturedly. She would react like those strangers if she saw a handsome hunk leading a woman wearing a blindfold and a red chiffon cocktail dress onto Catalina Island for a romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day. Molly hugged Alec’s arm. “You should have warned me about the blindfold, mate. I’d have worn my new pink tennis shoes for the occasion.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. And risk the chance to see those legs in red satin dancing shoes, love? You can call me lots of things, but don’t call me crazy.”
Molly wrinkled her nose as the smell of horse, followed by the sound of hooves, pricked her senses. After much clattering, Alec ordered her to step up.
She did, into a carriage of some kind. In an instant, Alec was snuggled beside her. Scattered applause and “Great idea, buddy!” drifted up from the crowd around her. Call him anything, Molly thought to herself. As long as it’s romantic.
In the five months since the trial, they had tried to settle into a life together. Alec had rented an apartment, at which she’d slept many nights while she looked for a new house. As much as she loved her town house, after Rafe’s death, Molly knew it would never feel like home.
But she’d held off buying anything new, just as Alec had put off returning to his business in Australia. She had promised to go with him at Easter time and wondered if this night was a prelude to something connected to that.
Did he want her to move there with him? Molly wondered.
Alec rested his finger against Molly’s brow. “I can hear you thinking in there, love. This is a night to relax and enjoy, remember? I promised you we’d come back to Catalina Island someday and have a happier time than last.”
“It’s already happier, Alec. Brooker’s in jail. I’m back at work.” Her voice wavered. “I have you in my life. Just don’t tell me you’ve booked us a room at the Devil Fish Motel.”
Alec laughed, a hearty, infectious laugh, joined by Molly and the voice of an unseen male she assumed was the carriage driver. The breeze in her hair, the smell of the Pacific and Alec by her side were potent indu
cements to relax. Still, she worried. Could she leave America? Would she be happy leaving her job? Alec had told her that women had a much harder time with careers in Australia.
“Are there really a lot of flies?” Molly asked.
“What?” Alec asked. “Did you get bitten?”
“No, silly, I mean in Australia. You’re always complaining about flies and sharks and heat. Is it really as bad as all that?”
“No, it’s quite wonderful, in its way. Wide open. Room to roam, find yourself. And you’ll find nowhere with nicer people, I think. But what brought that on? Worried about our trip? My dad’s really looking forward to our visit.”
“He is?” Molly asked in surprise. “And why is that? Wants to meet your partner in crime?”
The carriage halted and Alec moved closer to Molly to reach for the door. “No, what he said was ‘I’m looking forward to seeing with my own eyes the chit that you can’t live without marrying.’”
Molly gasped at his unexpected words. He loosened the blindfold and met her eyes. She saw a touch of fear on his handsome face, though of the emotion-tugging, vulnerable variety.
“Well, as proposals go, I guess that was a clunker.” Alec grinned. “Which is why I brought you here to spend some time convincing you to say yes.”
Through glowing eyes, Molly looked past Alec. They were at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Enchanted Cottage. The Victorian beauty’s white clapboards shone in the dusky light.
“You rented the cottage? How on earth...?”
“Hey, Molly girl. This here’s the U.S. of A. Money talks. People listen.”
“This is the most special Valentine’s Day gift a woman ever had, Alec Steele. Thank you.” She leaned across to kiss him, then let him help her down. The carriage driver waved and drove away, and Alec led her up the steps.
“Yeah, well, a man should take a woman to a special place when he’s going to ask her to be his wife.”
It was the most gloriously sentimental event she had ever experienced. A Valentine’s Day proposal. How corny. How sweet. How perfect.