“Saint Stephen’s doesn’t have an extradition agreement with the U.S.,” Pierce said. “You’re being arrested for breaking their law. They’ll give you a speedy trial. You may make court tonight.” Pierce smirked. “Saves them money to give you a speedy trial.”
The officers shoved Jason outside to a waiting car. The islanders watched from a distance. He struggled, irritating the officers, until they clubbed him. His resistance ceased. The officers held open the car door and shoved Jason inside.
Nick glanced at him and then looked away. Thibodeaux leaned over and waved. Jason departed, crouched inside. The onlookers dispersed.
Pierce and Nick hustled toward a waiting cab. Pierce elbowed him. “I was starting to think we’d be waiting here a while.”
“I took out a little insurance yesterday—you know, to lower the risk of the situation dragging out,” said Nick.
Thibodeaux clapped his hands. “I think four hundred twenty-six million definitely put this thing on steroids.”
“Make that six hundred thirty-nine.”
“Six hundred thirty-nine million?”
“If I had to be a fugitive for the rest of my life, they weren’t going to get away with this.”
“It’s not over yet. I hope you have the assets where they can’t find them.” Pierce continued alongside him.
Nick nodded.
“What do you want to do with Jason?”
Nick shrugged. “He’s better off here. Max ten years. It’s more than fair. He’ll live.”
Pierce agreed. “Now how are you going to live on US soil?”
“It’s me or Chevoski. One of us won’t see tomorrow.” Nick opened the cab door. He unfastened a wire from his shirt and wound it up. “I’ll take the recording back with me. Jason can be questioned via video. HPD may not even need him. The roaches are scattering fast.”
“They’ll all be dead if their business associates get hold of them.”
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t save them from their business partners. You can finish this up, right?”
“I’m an attorney. Of course I can do this.”
Nick tilted his head and got into the cab. “Just call the cops if anyone else shows up.” He held the door and leaned out. “Don’t forget to send a boat for me. I don’t want to be in the gulf after dark. The jet’s going down when we get over water.”
“Due south from Galveston. Right?”
“The trackers are in my parachute.”
“Do you have to crash a jet?”
“If it gets off the ground, I’m going to give them a spectacular ride.” Nick tightly grinned, closed the door, and tapped the driver. “Hit it!”
Chapter sixty-five
The Grey Canyon Bank still passed out toasters to their new customers. For the last thirty-two years, Mrs. Billings had been in charge of the safety deposit boxes. She knew exactly where Jack’s box was located. It was the same one his parents had rented. Billings inserted the bank’s key into the slot and turned it, releasing the box. It was left on a table for Bea to open at her pleasure.
“Mrs. Hunter, let me know when you’re finished.” She exited the vault and went back to work, allowing the customer her privacy.
Beatrice plugged in the second key, lifted the lid, and then slammed it back.
“What’s wrong?” asked Pepe.
“I almost wish we hadn’t found this box. I have a bad feeling.”
“What could it be?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned down on the lid, as if it could pop open by itself. “Why didn’t Jack tell me it was here? Maybe he had secrets.”
“What secrets?”
“My nerves are shot! I can’t take any more surprises. What if he committed fornication?”
“Bee-Bee, Jack wasn’t like that.”
“I always trusted him. He could have—”
“Why don’t you quit speculating and open it?” Pepe prodded. “There must be something important in it.”
“I guess you’re right.” She slowly flipped the lid over. Inside were two legal-sized envelopes.
“Papers?”
The first one had no exterior markings and wasn’t sealed. She slid the document out and read for a few seconds. She jumped up and down, waving the two-stapled pages. “This is our safety net.” She leaned over for Pepe to kiss her cheek.
“What is it?”
“A buy-back agreement.” Bea held it close to her chest before passing it over. “Jack knew what he was doing. That Jack. He was faithful and smart.”
He scanned the first page. “Jack could buy the stock back at the same price he sold it?”
She cheered. “We’re back in business!”
Pepe kept reading. “This is the original. It’s notarized on the last page. It says the option passes on to his heirs. You can buy your stock back from Harry.”
Bea sang, twirling in a circle. “I’m getting the company back!”
Pepe smiled. “Jack was one smart guy.”
Bea calmed down enough to pick up the second envelope. The return address read: “Vince Dichiara, Attorney at Law.” She ripped into it. “Wait until that Harry…” Her arms sprung out. Clasping the envelope in her hand, she stumbled back against the wall.
Billings came running in. “Is she all right?”
Pepe said, “Bee-Bee?” He waved a hand in front of her stoic face.
Billings said, “I’d think she was passed out if she wasn’t standing and her eyes weren’t open. She’s still breathing, right? I don’t want anybody dying in here.”
Pepe held her in place. “Just give us a minute.” He pried the document from her fingers, held it up to the light, and read. “Yours and Jack’s will?”
Bea used her hand to signal for him to continue and then dropped back.
He speed-read the first page. Then he covered his mouth with it. “Oh my goodness. He left everything to David. Including JHI stock. Did David leave everything to…”
She took a deep breath.
He folded the will back into the envelope. “Netting out the company debt, your stock wasn’t worth that much. Was it?”
“Seventy-nine million.”
“That much?”
Bea opened her purse. Took out a pack of matches and began striking one.
Pepe grabbed her hands.
She struck again, got nothing but a puff of smoke.
“Bea, stop! You can’t burn it.”
She tossed the matches in the air and dropped her head on the table and moaned. “Steely can claim my stock!”
Pepe smiled. “I hope you’ve been nice to your daughter-in-law.”
Bea stood up. “Just as nice as I am to everybody else.”
Pepe put his arm around her. “Bea, don’t worry. I have plenty for both of us.” Pepe closed the box. “Marry me?”
Bea flexed her arms at her waist. “Are you proposing to me in a bank vault, after I just lost the company for the second time?”
He shook his head. “I guess not.”
“My emotions are scrambled eggs, and you’re proposing?”
“Definitely not.”
Bea snatched up the documents. “I guess we better go find the little rich girl.”
“Didn’t she tell you to wait for her call?”
“She might be rich, but she’s not the boss of me.”
“I’m sure not,” he said, following her.
Pepe motioned to Billings that they were done. And then they fled.
Chapter sixty-six
Steely was the only barrier between Keaton and his exodus. He was short of breath, gasping. “Jack would have had plenty of money if he hadn’t paid off the company debt.” He looked away and shook his head. “I was giving him what he always wanted—early retirement. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” He ducked his head, attempting to maneuver around her.
Steely held out a stiff arm, impeding him. “Mr. Keaton, you could get a death sentence.”
For a moment, Keaton didn’t resist. “I may a
lready have one.” He pushed past her, opened the glass door to the lobby, and pressed an arrow for a ride down.
“Mr. Keaton, where are you going?”
“Out of the country. You’d better get going too. Mr. Qualls could walk in here and kill us both. Mr. Chevoski thinks I double-crossed him. He’s gone crazy.” Keaton jabbed at the button several times.
Steely dogged him. “You can’t run for ever. Stop and make things better for yourself. You can start by telling me who killed my dad.” She paused. “Who killed my dad?”
“Where’s that elevator?” He panted. He beat his fist rapidly on the door. There was no movement from the cables. He ran for the stairs.
Steely thought about tripping him, tackling him. He was a big guy. But if she could trip him up, he’d fall hard.
“Mr. Keaton, please tell me who killed my dad.” She stood dauntlessly between him and the exit. He wasn’t getting past her without someone getting hurt.
Keaton spit out, “Chevoski. I swear I didn’t know.”
“Who killed Jack and David?”
“Chevoski ordered Dupree to rig it up. Qualls set off the electrical charge that punctured the brake line. I didn’t know. I’m telling the truth. I had no idea.”
She moved out of the way. He swung open the stairway door and ran like a madman.
Where is Donovan?
The elevator dinged. Steely squatted in a dark corner with a visual on the lobby. Nobody was coming in or out without her seeing them first. Keaton wasn’t coming back. She was sure of it. Even if he didn’t get caught leaving, he’d have to hide for the rest of his life. Miss Bea was safe with Pepe in Grey Canyon. Nick was hiding out, somewhere around the world, with laundered money. He’d be drawn out when today’s drama hit the news. She sunk lower when she heard the door slide open.
Sergeant Donovan and his entourage of two had arrived. Steely lifted her head up. “Thank you,” she whispered, rising.
Donovan ran to her. “Are you OK?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Donovan ran into Keaton’s office. Panned the room. “Where is he?”
“Down the south stairwell.” Steely pointed.
Donovan ordered the officers, “Bowman, down the stairs. Wylie, take an elevator to the lobby.” Then he glanced back at Steely. “Where’s Qualls?”
“He left.”
The sergeant squeezed the mouthpiece attached to his shoulder. “Seal off the building.” Then he spoke firmly to Steely. “We’re going to have a talk later. First, I’m searching the floor. Go lock yourself in Keaton’s office until I get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Donovan drew his weapon, turned right, and began his search. Steely did as directed. She almost had the door shut when Chevoski gripped her wrist with his brutal hand. His fingers were as wide as they were long. He stuck his boot in the door and shoved it open. “Quiet,” he whispered.
Her fingers were becoming numb. She pulled back. He let loose. The impressions his hands left were identical to those on her dad’s neck. This was the hand that killed her dad. This man had ordered the murder of Jack and David, commanded the lethal drug and alcohol mixture that stopped the heart of Mr. Fitzpatrick, and blew the gaping hole in Jenny’s chest. He was the boss.
Screaming was an option. Donovan would be there in seconds. She quickly dismissed that scenario. He didn’t have his assets. She was safe for now. And there was no way she was going to miss this opportunity. He was about to commit a crime that the victim could live to tell. Assuming she lived through it.
Taking her against her will was a felony. The gun in his other hand meant aggravated kidnapping. They were in a high-security building. By the time they got out, there’d be enough film for a documentary. He couldn’t get the death penalty, but he could get life. For the moment, that was good enough for her.
Chevoski stuck the semi in her gut. “Not a peep,” he whispered, twisting her wrist, causing a burning sensation.
“Mr. Chevoski, I got your message.”
“You recognize me?”
“I’ve seen pictures,” she spouted bravely.
“Let’s go.” He yanked her, almost pulling her arm out of its socket. “You’re always helping people. Now you’re going to help me get my money back.” He directed her to the executive lobby. Glanced left, then right. Both were clear. He decisively headed left. Unless he planned on bungee-jumping out a window, the only thing in that direction was the north stairs. He prodded her along, bruising her ribs.
She said, “These stairs end in the main lobby.” His answer would tell her if taking her was a spontaneous opportunity or planned. Spontaneous would be to her benefit.
He smiled with clenched teeth. “We’re walking out the front door.”
Spontaneous.
He pulled a lever on the stairwell wall, setting off an alarm. A voice over the speaker system began repeating an emergency message: “This is not a drill. Please exit the building. This is not a drill. Please exit the building.”
“Now get moving,” he said. “The building’s on fire.”
The tower occupants were well trained in emergency drills. Fire captains assigned to every floor ensured that everyone got out quickly. Drop what you’re doing and leave by the closest exit were the instructions. Workers split off between the north and south stairs. The building was suddenly in chaos. Chevoski shoved Steely hard, sending her diving to the second step, totally missing the first. The handrail saved her from an uncontrollable fall down an entire flight. She complied with his request. They blended in with the other evacuators until she stopped on the fifth floor.
“Keep going,” said Chevoski.
She wasn’t budging. “I smell smoke.”
He pulled on her. “Did you know they don’t put smoke detectors in closets? Now don’t act up.”
“I’m not leaving until I know Erin’s OK.” She pushed off from him and beat on the locked door.
Monte cracked it open. Chevoski moved down a few steps, out of view.
“Where’s Erin?” she asked.
“The medics are coming to get her. She’s awake and breathing now. Smoke was coming from inside the closet. I thought you were in there. Someone locked the door from the outside. I came by and busted in. You better go.”
Chevoski nudged her back.
Steely hesitated and then proceeded to the lobby.
People were pouring out of the building. Word had spread. The alarm was not a drill. Security personnel guarded the propped-open doors, making sure all who entered were emergency workers. Chevoski and Steely were almost out when Candy caught a glimpse of them.
“Act normal,” he advised.
They passed by the rescuers without incident. Calling for help would have been less risky for her than leaving with him, but she stayed quiet. He tightened his grip on her and pushed toward the street, which was more hectic than the lobby. Dozens of emergency vehicles were lined up around the building. Any hint of a fire at the tower triggered an automatic five alarm, sending over forty firefighters.
Candy kept her eyes on Steely and Chevoski. She called for Mrs. Ray a third time, but she was out of her office, like everyone else. She still had a glimpse of them when she spotted Ray, several feet away, talking with a security officer. She left her post and ran over to Ray.
“Mrs. Ray, Steely just left, out that door, with Mr. Chevoski.” Candy pointed.
Ray raced outside.
Candy followed. “I lost them in the crowd.” They both stared at the people shuffling around them.
Ray stepped up on a pillar, getting a better view of the street.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ray.”
Ray climbed down. “You did exactly what I told you to do. I can figure out what direction they’re going. Come upstairs and help me. We need to find Sergeant Donovan.”
Chapter sixty-seven
Chevoski hustled Steely down an isolated side street toward a parked car. Sirens blared loudly behind them. Lights beat against their backs.
“Now let’s see if you’re worth six hundred thirty-nine million.”
She jerked her shoulder back. “Six hundred thirty-nine?”
“I don’t think you’re worth ten cents. You better hope Nick feels differently.”
Steely angled her head to pose for the last security camera before they reached the car. The first seven had gotten a shot of them, but the last one had a perfect view. Chevoski opened the driver’s-side door and shoved Steely over the console. Her legs rammed into the windshield until she settled down in the passenger seat. He got in, hit the gas, and skidded off. Steely was in her most vulnerable spot yet. Alone in a car with a man who would kill her for dinner. She was his captive. He appeared in control.
He set the pistol in his lap. This move made her more comfortable than his waving it at her while he ranted on about how he had been a victim. He had been treated poorly his entire life, misjudged and abused by most. He was a textbook sociopath. She sat quietly, taking mental notes.
Chevoski headed south on I-45, staying within five miles of the speed limit. He wasn’t giving law enforcement any reason to stop him. But anyone interfering with him and his destination would find themselves in more danger than Steely.
The JHI jet was housed at the Southeast Regional Airport, immediately off the highway about halfway between Houston and Galveston. After a half hour of listening to his insane raving, Steely had a visual of the jet. It was not their destination. Chevoski whizzed by without so much as a glance.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’m not stupid enough to take the company jet,” he snapped. “I have a charter.”
“At the airport in Galveston?”
He scoffed. “No one will look for us there.”
The next half of the trip was just like the first. Chevoski poured out his life history nonstop. He gave deep details, like someone telling a close friend. He had no conscience of wrongdoing. Everything he did was a reaction to the horrifying things that were done to him, and worse.
Fred Pauper wasn’t his maiden kill. He was twelve when a kid made fun of his no-name sneakers. That kid was never seen again. He started selling drugs at thirteen. Bought himself some new clothes. By the time he was fifteen, he took over the territory, and no one dared to challenge him until one night when he was leaving a restaurant with his girlfriend and three friends.
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