Fixed in Fear

by T. E. Woods

  The giant man nodded and got in the car. Lydia waited several minutes after the Mercedes disappeared from her sight. Then she stepped clear of her hiding spot, double-checked the safety on the Beretta holstered at the small of her back, and headed toward the front door.

  Lydia heard footsteps approach after she rang the doorbell mounted to the side of a double-hung front door hand carved from Douglas fir with a scene of Washington’s rocky ocean shore. Allie was speaking before she opened it far enough to identify her visitor.

  “I don’t want to be disturbed, Staz. I thought I made myself perfectly cle—” Allie’s eyes widened for only a heartbeat when she recognized who stood before her. In another heartbeat she was again the composed charmer she typically presented to the world. “Lydia! How lovely. Have I forgotten an appointment?” Allie looked over the shoulder of her unexpected guest. “Are you alone?”

  Lydia pushed the door wider and stepped into Allie’s villa.

  “I see.” Allie stood aside to let Lydia pass. “We’re doing rude today, are we?” She closed the door. “Do come in. May I offer you something? I have a lovely iced tea in the refrigerator. Mango citrus.” Allie made a show of consulting the platinum watch on her slender wrist. “It’s still two hours until cocktail hour, but what the hell. I’m sure there’s a bottle of merlot in the wine rack you might like.”

  Lydia walked to the center of the large open-concept room and looked around. “You land well, Allie. And always on your feet.”

  Allie sat on an armless side chair upholstered in gray pinstripe flannel. “I’ll take that as a compliment. How did you find me?”

  Lydia stepped across the room. She laid her hand on the smooth marble island separating the kitchen and dining spaces. “It’s never hard to do something you’re good at.” She watched Allie register the intended insinuation. I can find you whenever I want. Wherever you go.

  “Does my father know where I’m staying?”

  Lydia took a seat on the sofa across from where Allie sat. It was covered in a nubby silk the color of raw oysters. A low square table of wood and glass stood in the space between the two women. Lydia leaned back and estimated how many steps separated them. If Allie made an aggressive move toward her, Lydia would have ample time to grab her Beretta. “It’s time for you to go, Allie.” Lydia forced a kindness into her voice she didn’t feel. “I want you to know I feel sorry for the situation you’re in. I truly do. But as I told you last night, I’ll not run interference for you with your father. He’s told you he’ll stand by you if you’re ready to turn yourself in. But he can’t pretend you’re not who you are. And he’s not about to let you anywhere near Robbie’s daughters until you change that. Your presence is causing significant stress. It’s best for everyone if you simply leave.”

  Allie folded her hands in her lap, threw her shoulders back, and lifted her chin. “My father shared that with you, did he? He told you his terms for accepting back his wayward daughter?”

  Lydia understood why Allie would see that as a betrayal. She softened her tone even further. “He did. Only to explain why he needed my help to find you.”

  “So you have told Daddy where I am. Should I be expecting a squad car soon? Red lights and sirens come to cart Mort Grant’s little girl off to prison?”

  Lydia shifted her hands to rest at her side, into a better position to push herself free of the sofa should she need to react. Allie’s anger was growing, and an angry Allie was capable of anything.

  “It’s my understanding there are no warrants for your arrest. No one but Chris Novak and your father know you had Novak’s little girl killed.”

  “My, my. It seems you and Daddy have had quite the extended conversation about me. I’ll ask one more time. Does my father know where I am?”

  Lydia weighed the consequences of sharing that information. If Allie thought her father knew she was at the Larchmont and hadn’t accompanied Lydia to this visit, would that fan the flames of Allie’s anger? If Allie knew Mort hadn’t yet been informed of his daughter’s location, would she feel empowered in some mistaken notion that she and Lydia were now coconspirators? Or might Allie feel free to take revenge out on Lydia if she thought Mort would never know their paths had crossed?

  “Go, Allie. Just go. You and I both know you’re not about to walk away from the life you’ve built. Like you said last night, you’re in a position of considerable power.”

  “Considerable,” Allie underscored. “Considerable, Lydia.”

  Lydia sidestepped the thinly veiled threat. “And you know your father will never accept anything other than you taking responsibility for your actions. And the consequences, too. He’ll stand beside you, but he needs you to do that.”

  “He never needed you to do that. How many have you killed, Lydia? What confessions has he expected you to make? What consequences have you paid? He expects his own daughter to jump through hoops to exercise what should be my basic right to spend time with my family while all he wants from you is your promise to live a boring middle-class life. And you’re nothing more than some charity case my softhearted father picked up off the streets. Like a stray puppy abandoned by its bitch to starve in the rain. Tell me something: How many times have you taken my nieces shopping? How many recitals and school plays have you attended? And so help me, God, if you tell me they call you Auntie Lydia I’ll…” Allie didn’t finish her sentence.

  Lydia wondered if that particular threat was directed toward her or Allie’s nieces. She didn’t bother to tell Allie the truth. She’d never met Hayden or Hadley. She’d never met Claire. Her rare encounters with Robbie were brief and always accidental. Allie would never believe that Lydia, despite Mort’s repeated invitations, would always remain a drop-in player in Mort’s life. Despite their connection. And she would always be a cipher to his family. Should Robbie hear her name it was likely he’d always have to be reminded of how Mort knew her. And the explanation would always be the same lie. Robbie would only and always know Lydia as a collateral witness in a case his father once worked years ago. She’d made the decision to avoid entangling her life with Mort’s any more than it already was. Given who she was and all she’d done, it was safer for everyone in Mort’s family for her to stay far away from them. She wouldn’t put them in deliberate jeopardy.

  “I’m not asking for much.” Allie shifted to a more agreeable stance. “And if my father has such rigid ideals against which to judge me, he can choose to stay away from me. But please don’t let him stand between me, my brother, and the twins. That’s not his decision to make, after all. And like I told you last night, I can offer my family the world. With me standing next to my brother and his family, I can give them experiences those girls don’t even know how to dream about. I can give them everything.”

  Even after all she’d experienced with Allie, Lydia was still stunned at the level of her narcissism. “Are you really that blind? What about those people who may want to take aim at you, Allie? What happens to anyone standing next to you when the natural consequences of your line of work come about? Do you think for a moment your father would put his family in harm’s way?”

  Allie leapt up from her chair. “I am his family!” she screamed. “How dare you tell me about my own father? I am his daughter! Not you!”

  Lydia stood and met her eye to eye across the low-lying table. She said nothing, but held Allie’s gaze until she sensed a return to whatever word might fit Allison Grant’s idea of normal.

  “Sit down.” Lydia’s tone was no-nonsense calm.

  Allie turned on her heel and stalked toward the windows. When she spoke her voice was calmer.

  “I have a right to those girls. I would never hurt them. They are my nieces. I can do a lot for them.” Allie paced the width of the space. “I already am. It’s me who pays the tuition at that expensive school they attend.”

  Lydia felt no need to inform Allie she knew that wasn’t the case. Mort had told her any money Allie sent was left to rot in an account they’d neve
r access. Allie’s cash had too much blood on it for Robbie and Claire to ever feel comfortable touching it.

  “Even if I were to believe you could be a positive influence on Hayden and Hadley,” Lydia said. “Which I don’t. But let’s say I were to vouch for you. What makes you think your father would listen to me?”

  Allie stopped her prowling across the luxurious living room and tilted her head as though speaking to a forgetful child. “I’ve told you before. Daddy loves you. He’s a sucker for a bad girl turned good. And Mort Grant will do whatever it takes to protect the people he loves.” She shrugged. “Look what he did for me. Gone all those years. Doing things I’m sure he imagined were, shall we say, less than noble. Yet all I had to do was come home, cry a few tears, eat his god-awful chili, and he was willing to move heaven and earth to get me out of the jam I was in.”

  It sickened Lydia to hear Mort’s love for his daughter trivialized into nothing more than a manipulative tactic Allie could employ to get her way. Allie had the one thing Lydia would sacrifice all she had for: someone to cherish and protect her. Yet she treated it as though it were nothing more than a trump card. One that would always give her the winning hand.

  “My father would do anything you asked.” Allie stepped toward her. “And you’d do the same for him. I could see that when I was staying at your place. The two of you are locked together. Hand in glove. Key in lock. Sonny and Cher. I will have access to those girls. My brother and his wife, too. I will be welcomed for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I will take those girls on school holidays. I will buy them fancy dresses that they’ll twirl around in and I will pay for whatever education they need to never have to answer to any man for anything. I will make them strong.”

  Lydia glanced again to the shopping bags in the hallway. She recognized the bright colors and logo. They were from a popular, and very expensive, toy store on Pioneer Square. Allie was so certain Lydia would be able to maneuver Mort into agreeing to let her see Robbie’s girls that she’d already been out shopping for them. Allison Grant was accustomed to getting her way.

  Another realization came to Lydia. One that sickened her.

  “You didn’t just stop into Bane & Friends yesterday, did you? Your encounter with the owner wasn’t just happenstance.”

  Allie returned to her chair. She leaned back with a disappointed look on her lovely face. “Don’t tell me you’re just figuring that out now. Really, Lydia? Do I seem the type of woman who prowls backwater coffee shops looking to pick up men? Shopkeepers?”

  “Why? Why did you need to bring Oliver into this?”

  “Because you care for him. Like I care for my family. I took Oliver for the same reason I took the medal. To show you I can have anything I want. You should know that by now. Nothing of yours is yours anymore, Lydia. Not unless I let you have it. And I’ll allow you continued access to the things you love if you secure my access to the things I love. I really do hate that it’s come to this sort of crude bargaining, but, as they say, it is what it is.”

  “And if that doesn’t happen?” Lydia needed to know Allie’s endgame. Allie had the villa rented until Tuesday. What did she have in mind for the next four days?

  Allie smoothed her hand over the soft wool of her trousers and looked away. She took her time, as though considering whether or not to answer. When she did, her voice had a ring of finality to it. It was the voice of a woman who was finished bargaining.

  “If that doesn’t happen the world will know that you, Dr. Lydia Corriger, are The Fixer. The vigilante serial killer responsible for dozens of assassinations. Your lair in Olympia will be exposed. No more secret arsenals or communication centers. No more poses. No more pretending for Daddy that you’ve turned over a new leaf. You’ll spend the rest of your life in a cage. And I can assure you, there’ll be no glass of second-rate merlot to take the edge off your days.”

  Lydia felt an ancient rage spark to life deep within her. She’d made herself a promise as a young girl. No one would ever have power over her again. She shook her head. “I’ll not be blackmailed. You hold no threat to me. Do your worst, Allie. It means nothing to me.”

  Allie’s smile held no warmth. “Ah, but you’re wrong. Because exposing The Fixer is only half the story. Unless I’m welcomed back into the bosom of my family, the world will also know that Daddy Dearest was the cop who let you go. The dirty detective who lied and redirected evidence to keep you safe. What will Robbie and Claire think of the sainted Mort Grant then? You see? You get it? It’s not only you in that cage for the rest of your life. It’s Mort Grant, too. There’ll be no badge to protect him. He’ll be all alone when he walks through that prison yard. Surrounded by all those men he worked so hard to put in there. How do you think that little tea party would go down?”

  And there it was. Allie was willing to see her father jailed, ruined, and beaten in order to have her needs met. She’d not hesitate to have his legacy turned from that of dedicated civil servant into disgraced accomplice to an international assassin. She would rather have the man who raised her disappear into a concrete cell for the rest of his life, left to suffer and bleed, than be denied anything she wanted.

  The muscles in Lydia’s hands tightened and pulled as if of their own volition. She had to mindfully hold them in place to keep them away from the gun resting against the small of her back.

  “I’m in town until Tuesday. I expect to hear from you by this evening. A Sunday brunch with my family would be nice. I’ll leave the details to you.” Allie stood and crossed to her front door. She placed her hand on the knob. “Call me with the restaurant you’ve selected. I’m sure you have my number.”

  Lydia stood and walked to the door. She stopped in front of Allie, holding her gaze. “I’m not going to do this, Allie. And I’m not going to let you hurt your father any more than you already have.”

  “Don’t doubt me, Lydia. I’ll have what I want or the entire law enforcement world will be devastated by the exposure of Mort Grant’s criminal exploits. Tabloids will enjoy a scoop of monumental proportions. The girls will never see their Papa again. Robbie will lose the object of his eternal devotion. And you? Well, you’ll not even have visiting day to look forward to. The only person who cares one whit about you will be in a prison cell of his own.” She shook her head. “Call me by seven this evening. Make it a nice restaurant. It will be my treat, of course. And there’s no need for you to attend. It’ll be just family.”

  Allie opened the door.

  Chapter 28

  “You sure this address is right?” Mort pulled his Subaru to a stop in front of a beautifully kept two-story home in West Seattle. Rhododendron bushes lined the wide driveway holding a late-model SUV and what looked to be a brand-new minivan. “This is where Tommy Apuzzo lives?”

  Rita Willers double-checked her notepad. “Costigan said Auggie Apuzzo’s kid would be around seven or eight. There’s only one Thomas Apuzzo registered in the Seattle school district. He’s eight years old. Records list his father’s name as Augustus Apuzzo. It’s gotta be him, right? Mother’s name is Cheryl Hayes. This is the address on file.”

  Mort took in the potted chrysanthemums on the front porch and the bright purple University of Washington flag hanging next to the front door. “I would have lost this bet. No way would I have thought this would be the place a kid of an ex-con like Apuzzo would be living.”

  Chief Willers looked down the street of similar homes. “Well, we’re officially nowhere with Apuzzo. The address his parole officer had for him doesn’t exist. Auggie’s smart. According to his PO, Auggie never misses his check-in. Always shows up sober and smiling, telling him just what the guy wants to hear. Never gives him any reason to check on him. So if we’ve got any chance of finding Auggie, this is the only place we’ve got to start.”

  Mort checked his watch. “It’s just past four. Everybody should be inside.”

  “What makes you say that?” Rita asked.

  Mort nodded toward the house. “It’s a Friday spec
ial. The Huskies usually play on Saturdays. We’re playing Auburn. This family’s a Husky-boosting lot. Kickoff was at three o’clock. We should be about halfway through the second quarter. I got ten bucks says the family’s sitting around the television. Probably licking the buffalo sauce off their fingers even as we speak.”

  Rita gave him one of her rare smiles. “I had no idea you were such a student of the habits of the Huskies.”

  Mort thought of college game days past, when his own family would huddle around the corn chips in the den of that big old house to cheer on their favorite team. Edie loved those Huskies. She even died holding a pair of tickets to the season opener in her hands.

  He noticed that that memory brought a smile to his lips instead of a lump to his throat.

  Maybe this was progress.

  “Let’s just say it takes one to know one,” he told Rita. “You ready?”

  Rita nodded. “Good thing we’re both in plain clothes. This strikes me as a neighborhood where the arrival of a couple of uniforms would set the telephone tree buzzing.” She opened her car door and got out. Mort met her and they walked up to little Tommy Apuzzo’s house together.

  A smiling man answered when they rang the doorbell, which played the University of Washington’s fight song. Mort made him for just south of forty, just north of six feet. Despite his worn and baggy college sweatshirt, Mort could see the man kept himself in good shape.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked. Mort could hear the roaring chaos of a football game broadcast over a television set somewhere in the distance. The volume was turned up loud enough for anyone watching to feel like they were at the stadium.

  “Is this the home of Tommy Apuzzo?” Mort and Rita held up their shields.

  The man’s smile vanished. He looked over his shoulder, stepped onto the front porch, and closed the door behind him.