Doggone

by Herkert, Gabriella

  I couldn’t wait for a call back. I borrowed Connor’s keys and took the BMW to the meet. Another warehouse. I wasn’t lucky with warehouses.

  ‘‘Where are you?’’ Blue sounded calm.

  I gave him the address. ‘‘How long will it take you to get here?’’

  ‘‘Twenty minutes. Can you be seen from the windows?’’

  I looked up. The windows were high. Small. ‘‘Hurry,’’ I told him.

  ‘‘You need to wait outside, Sara.’’

  I clicked off. He’d call Connor. I knew he would. Twenty minutes. I checked my watch. She’d be gone by then. I could feel it. I didn’t have proof. I had gut. And now it was telling me if I wasn’t on time for this, she’d realize coming into the open was a mistake. She’d go back into the shadows and let the chips fall. Too many people had paid too high a price for me to allow that. I got out of the car, touched the small of my back, and rubbed at the wetness pooling there. I moved toward the building.

  One second I was in the bright sunshine; the next it seemed like I was in the dark. In the cold. My sweat froze. I kept my back toward the wall and moved deeper into the shadows. The click sounded like a shot.

  ‘‘Hello, Gretchen.’’

  She gestured with the gun off to my right. I couldn’t see well in the gloom. I raised my hands and she grabbed me from the left side. Shocked at how fast she moved, I turned toward her and she hit me. Hard. I was dizzy and nauseated. The pain radiated in my head. She grabbed me by the hair and jerked me upright, pushing me hard toward the center of the space. I tried to keep my balance but fell onto my hands and knees in a shaft of light. The room spun around me. I gagged. I lurched toward her, and she kicked me in the ribs on my exposed side. The blow to my head was disorienting me. I rolled away.

  ‘‘If you try that again, I’ll shoot you.’’

  ‘‘Shoot me? As in personally? Or are you just going to release another psychotic and point him in my direction? ’’ Sagging and trying to catch my breath, I held my ribs. Damn, that hurt. I blinked at her. ‘‘The apple doesn’t far fall from the tree.’’

  ‘‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’’

  ‘‘I thought it was Lily. The violent half of the team. One brain, one brute.’’

  ‘‘Making Jackson the brain? I don’t think so.’’ She moved closer. I could see her more clearly. The same smugness as her niece.

  ‘‘Does he know you’re in love with him?’’ Psychoanalyzing the shrink. Well, whatever bought me enough time for Blue to show.

  ‘‘Quite the little amateur—and totally wrong. Who have you told?’’

  ‘‘Connor.’’

  She shook her head and extended her arm, aiming. ‘‘Don’t lie to me. If you’d told Connor he’d be here. You would have told someone. A failsafe. You’re weak, not stupid.’’

  ‘‘No matter what Lily thinks?’’ I guessed.

  ‘‘Still trying to connect her? Don’t bother. She’s my sister’s child. Not the deep end of the gene pool.’’ She looked bored. Pointing a gun at my head, planning to kill me, not stimulated enough.

  ‘‘She’s deep enough to pique Jack’s interest. I bet that really stung, huh, Gretchen? Him sleeping with her?’’

  ‘‘You don’t have a clue, do you? Of course not. I don’t care who Jackson sleeps with. Or doesn’t sleep with. Lily either.’’

  She smiled. I was dead. She stepped close enough to touch the muzzle of the gun to my head. ‘‘It doesn’t matter if you told someone. You don’t know anything.’’

  I closed my eyes.

  ‘‘I’ve really got to start listening to that woman’s instincts. ’’ Connor stepped out from behind the pillar, his gun pointed at Gretchen’s forehead. ‘‘Sorry, I’m late, babe. It won’t happen again.’’

  Gretchen yanked my head back by my hair, digging the muzzle of the gun into the underside of my chin hard enough to make me groan. I wouldn’t give the bitch the satisfaction of crying. I wouldn’t. She was pulling my hair out by the roots and I could taste blood in my mouth, but I wasn’t going to be her victim. Connor’s eyes flashed. For a second I thought I’d imagined it. He didn’t react. Ever. He was Mr. Cool in a Crisis. He was here to save me. To save us. He’d do it. I knew he’d do it.

  ‘‘Put the gun down,’’ Gretchen ordered.

  Gretchen moved behind me. Connor’s gun moved a fraction of an inch.

  ‘‘Shoot her,’’ I moaned.

  Gretchen yanked on my hair and pushed the gun into my throat. I gagged.

  ‘‘No,’’ Connor said. To me or to her, I wasn’t sure. Why didn’t he just shoot her? Gretchen shifted, dragging me with her. Connor moved slowly. They were dancing. He was waiting. He must have a plan. Or backup. Blue or one of the other guys. He must be waiting for them to be in place. It was going to be okay. My heart rate slowed. I tried to smile at him.

  ‘‘I’ll kill her.’’ Gretchen twisted her hold, eliciting another feeble moan. I’d make her pay.

  ‘‘Then you’ll be begging me to kill you long before I do,’’ Connor said.

  Gretchen gave a short laugh. ‘‘No, you won’t. You’ll put the gun down. You’ll put it down because if you don’t, your precious Sara will be dead, and it will be your fault. The blood will be on your hands, Connor.’’

  Her words were brash but her hand trembled faintly. She wasn’t as sure as she wanted Connor to think. She could shoot me at any moment. Before Connor’s plan had a chance. I had to help him somehow. I let my weight sag, dragging on her arms. She yanked me, her hand grabbing more hair near my scalp. It burned.

  ‘‘Looks like we’ve got a standoff then.’’ Connor shifted his weight, easing an inch farther right.

  ‘‘I don’t think so. I think there’s nothing you won’t do to save her. You’re very predictable, Connor. You have a caretaker personality. You’ll do anything you have to do to keep the people under your protection safe. You’ll even give your own life.’’

  ‘‘If I put the gun down, I’m giving her life, too. You said it yourself, Doctor,’’ Connor mocked her with the title. ‘‘I’ll never give you that.’’

  ‘‘You won’t have to. We’ll just wait for the police. You did call the police, didn’t you? Don’t bother to lie. Like I said, you are so predictable. She didn’t call them. You probably know that.’’

  She was close, but wrong. I hadn’t called the cops. I’d called Blue.

  ‘‘I’m surprised you’re looking forward to the police. They won’t help you. They know everything. There’s probably already a warrant for your arrest.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. Jackson was—is—an accomplished liar. A manipulator. He was a thief. You know that, Connor. A brute who was violent with his own wife. Why, just this morning I bailed him out of jail for domestic violence, of all things. I understand he blamed your wife. Of course, my relationship with him has all but dissolved over time. I’ve been very busy with my new career as an expert. I no longer actively participate with Jack in the practice. I barely know him at this stage in our careers.’’ She yanked on my hair.

  ‘‘Exactly my point. He wasn’t the doctor of record when the Smithses were murdered. You were. That’s what this whole thing was about from the beginning. What’s that old saying? It’s the coverup that will get you.’’

  Gretchen squeezed and I gagged. My brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and I couldn’t seem to figure out what Connor was saying. What coverup?

  ‘‘Shut up.’’

  ‘‘It had to be the kid. Nothing else plays. When did Charles Smiths tell you he killed his parents?’’

  ‘‘If you repeat that slander—’’ Gretchen hissed.

  ‘‘Repeat it? I’m taking out a billboard. The great Gretchen Dreznik’s shining therapeutic example murders his parents in cold blood. What did you do? Clean him up and sedate him before you called the cops? Pay the maid to lie? There had to be some reason she could suddenly afford to go back to Mexico. Then you put pressure on the cops t
o close the case, write it off as random.’’

  The gun twitched, moved off my face enough for me to see the barrel in my peripheral vision, then slammed back against my temple.

  ‘‘Nice try, Connor. But I’m not distracted. You don’t have any proof Charles Smiths killed his parents.’’

  ‘‘I have proof Charles Smiths isn’t Charles Smiths.’’

  ‘‘Which can be laid at Jack’s door. He was a thief,’’ Gretchen continued. ‘‘He stole from his patients. That certainly didn’t happen on my watch. He tried to cover it up. Do you know he killed a witness? Assaulted another? An old man. Isn’t that terrible? Of course you do. Your family provided the military connections he needed to find an assassin. Why, you’re as much to blame as he is, really.’’

  ‘‘True. Neither one of us had Pablo Esteban beaten. Or orchestrated the murder of the maid or Henry DeVries. That was all you.’’ Connor sidled a little to the right. I saw a flash above him on a catwalk. It might have been the sun, or maybe I was finally passing out.

  ‘‘Are you accusing me of physically assaulting someone? Of gunning down that radio man or murdering some poor Mexican woman? I’m a sixty-year-old professional woman with an impeccable reputation. Now you’re just being ridiculous.’’ Gretchen tsked and yanked my head back. I saw stars.

  ‘‘Edward Abernathy,’’ I gasped. ‘‘You set loose. Not Jack.’’

  She smacked the gun against my head and pain exploded. Connor took a step forward but stopped when Gretchen dug the gun into the side of my head.

  ‘‘I don’t set people loose. A board of medical experts does that. A board, I might add, of which I am not a member. I do have a passing acquaintanceship with several of the members. I am the leading psychiatrist in the area, after all, and I am familiar with the chairman, Dr. Jackson Reed.’’

  I dragged my foot underneath me. Connor was buying time. He had to be. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I wanted to be ready. I’d gotten the wrong bad guy, the wrong theory, and no proof once. I was pretty much out of mistakes.

  ‘‘Jack was the one who introduced Edward Abernathy as Charles Smiths on the night of the banquet. I couldn’t be expected to recognize him. After all, Jack’s been his treating physician for fifteen years. I hadn’t seen Charles since he was a very young man.’’

  ‘‘You manipulated Jack,’’ Connor said.

  ‘‘If that were true, why would he pay it all back? The money. You do know Jack paid the bank? What more proof do you need?’’

  ‘‘Jack was trying to stop the investigation into fraud. That’s why he paid it back,’’ Connor said.

  ‘‘That is a motive for a lot of things, I suppose.’’

  I coughed.

  ‘‘You don’t believe it, Sara? Well, maybe Jack will be able to convince a jury that Edward Abernathy was the manipulative one. Edward Abernathy is a sociopath with a long history of violence. Guns, explosives, knives. Jack could say, quite convincingly, that he was just a pawn. Edward threatened him. Made him share all the intimate details of Charles Smiths’s life and background in the same way he scared Jack into using his chairmanship to secure Edward’s release from the psychiatric hospital. Once released, Jack had to do anything he said or someone would get hurt. His wife perhaps?’’

  Connor’s face looked grim. I couldn’t tell if he thought Gretchen was just spinning the story Jack might try or if she was threatening Siobhan. Probably both. She was crazier than either John Doe or Edward Abernathy if she thought Connor wouldn’t do everything in his power to make sure that didn’t happen. Everything.

  ‘‘Edward has been very efficient so far. Of course, one couldn’t rely on such precision forever. Someone else might get hurt.’’ She pulled my hair so hard I saw stars.

  ‘‘Plan B is blame it all on Edward Abernathy,’’ Connor stated.

  Gretchen loosened her grip to get a better hold. I tipped my head. Her grip on my hair ended up a few inches from my scalp. Then I let my weight sag against her. C’mon, Blue.

  ‘‘No one is going to buy that.’’

  ‘‘Unfortunately, the mentally ill are often misunderstood. So, too, are adulterers and thieves. Once a criminal and all that. The police, the public, they’re like you. Drones on little wheels, spinning their lives away without any perception of how insignificant they really are. Naturally, you wouldn’t understand. You have so little personal understanding, don’t you, Connor?’’

  If I could just tip my head forward, maybe I could bite her. Hard. Would she shoot me right away? I pushed back against her, trying to get my face behind the barrel of the gun.

  ‘‘You’re just like Jackson,’’ Gretchen continued.

  ‘‘Siobhan is the only thing we ever had in common.’’

  I caught a glint of light behind Connor. I was passing out. I was seeing the light.

  ‘‘Both you and Jackson are narcissistic personalities. You are convinced that you are the central point of your relationships,’’ Gretchen said. ‘‘It is a delusion. Jackson would say that he made all his own choices. He would insist that he is in control of his career, his marriage, his life. You think that also. But she knew.’’

  Gretchen let go of my hair. She wrapped her arm around my throat and jerked me upright. Air. I needed air. I clawed at her arm. She jammed the gun into my temple and I saw stars.

  ‘‘It’s okay, Sara. Just hold still,’’ Connor said.

  ‘‘Everything he ever had. His entire career. I gave it to him. And I can take it away. I always knew one day I would. That was the point, after all. Whenever, wherever. I would decide.’’

  I stopped fighting. Let the darkness come. As soon as my fingers stopped digging into her flesh, she loosened her hold a little. I gulped air, leaning heavily against Gretchen.

  ‘‘You’re the same. Lily’s the perfect example. Do you think it was coincidence? Her sleeping with that idiot? The wedding called off? I had Jackson. Siobhan was an irrelevant mouse but you were a complication. Which is why you couldn’t be my family. I wouldn’t allow it. You think you’re in control here, Connor? You’re not. I am.’’ The barrel of the gun pushed upward. ‘‘I am in control.’’

  In my peripheral vision I saw her finger tighten on the trigger. No. Please, God. I’ll do anything.

  ‘‘Gretchen, please. Okay. I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to hurt her.’’

  ‘‘If you don’t put your gun down right now, I will hurt her and it will be your fault. You’ll watch her die and know you killed her. Can you live with that, Connor? With knowing that you are the reason she’s dead?’’

  Gretchen said it all very conversationally, like they were chatting about the weather. Did she think he was stupid? She was going to kill me anyway. And if Connor put down his gun, she’d kill him, too. I let my head flop back. For a second I met Connor’s eyes. Then I closed mine. I went limp.

  ‘‘Okay, Gretchen. You win.’’

  ‘‘Put it on the ground.’’

  No. No. No. No. Keep the gun. She’ll shoot you. She’ll kill you. Keep the gun.

  ‘‘I am in control.’’

  I felt the barrel of the gun move off my cheek. With all my might I slammed my head back, trying to break her nose. Gretchen gave a strangled sound and then I was free. I rolled away. A gun went off. I flinched and scrambled toward the boxes. I was lifted off the ground and away from Gretchen. Connor. Thank God. I looked back. Blue had her arms pinned behind her back, her gun lying on the floor. Another guy had his weapon pointed at her head. Tex? Troj? Whoever it was, I wanted to kiss him.

  ‘‘Sara?’’ Connor pushed my hair back from my face. Even that tension made my scalp sing. ‘‘Baby, can you hear me?’’

  I rubbed at the back of my head. ‘‘Man, that hurt. It looks so easy on SmackDown.’’ I rested against his chest. His heart pounded. I kissed him over it. ‘‘That was scary. Let’s not do that again.’’

  ‘‘Roger that.’’

  I looked up at Blue. He’d strapped Gretch
en’s hands together with something and had her on her knees. She spit and kicked. Blue and Tex kept out of hocking range, watching her like the circus sideshow she’d become.

  ‘‘Stay here.’’ Connor rose and stepped toward the woman.

  ‘‘You have no idea what you’ve done. No jury will convict me. I’ve given them their guilty party. Their evil-doer. Any jury will see that. Everything you’ve done is for nothing.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know about that,’’ he said. ‘‘There’s always personal satisfaction.’’

  Connor strode toward her, and Gretchen’s head exploded.

  Chapter Fifty

  They split us up to question us. I got Montoya and Peter Christenson, former attorney general of the United States. My in-laws had juice.

  ‘‘Turning into a regular little Typhoid Mary, aren’t you, Sara?’’ Montoya asked. ‘‘Everywhere you go, people die.’’

  He didn’t say it meanly, and I couldn’t really dispute it. I was turning San Diego into Cabot Cove.

  ‘‘Refer to my client as Ms. Townley. Drop the sarcasm and ask real questions or this interview is over, Detective. ’’ Christenson was dressed like a golfer. He had the requisite silver hair and James Earl Jones baritone. He didn’t have the same stick up his behind as my boss.

  ‘‘What he said.’’ I smiled at my lawyer. He smiled back, shaking his head slightly. ‘‘Although I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you I’m not convinced you didn’t have a hand in the maid ending up a floater, so you might not want to throw stones.’’

  Montoya looked shocked. ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘There’s a rumor going around that you’ve got political ambitions. Any chance you kept a certain prominent local doctor or a generous donor up-to-date on your current caseload? Ever mention the name Maria Gonzales? She’s dead, you know. The only place to get her name was the police files.’’

  ‘‘What the hell do you think you’re talking about?’’