by Diane Bator
Her breath stuck in her throat. Dunnsforth gave her money and a new identity so she could escape and…and what? A chill seized hold of her body.
“Are you serious?” She crumpled the paper and tossed it into the bag.
She knew way too much and, if the district attorney’s lawyers found her, they’d turn her into their star witness and put her in witness protection. That was the best she could hope for. Maddox or Roland would kill her. Money laundering. Embezzlement. Murder. She’d signed her name to paperwork she hadn’t bothered to read. Guilt by association was still guilt. She was as bad as the men who pulled the triggers or set up the schemes.
If Dunnsforth escaped, she’d take the fall alone.
If Dunnsforth was dead, she’d be framed and hunted.
Shock crept in like a killing frost. Her hands shook. “He planned this. He planned everything right down to my new identity. That’s impossible. The man couldn’t even plan dinner.” He had to be desperate.
No time for a shower, but she had to change clothes. She balled up the dress and threw it in a plastic bag to toss down the garbage chute on her way out. She’d never need it again anyway. The shoes, she kicked aside.
In the bathroom, she peeled the irritating blue contact lenses out and flushed them down the toilet. It wasn’t like she needed them. After scrubbing off the worst of the blood, she caked on makeup to help her blend in and hide. Maddox liked things rough and had hired a makeup artist once to teach her some tricks to hide the worst of the bruises. Dark sunglasses, a hasty makeover and an ugly hat would have to disguise her until she was safe.
On her way back into the bedroom, she tripped over something on the floor and kicked it into the closet. She jammed what she couldn’t live without into a single suitcase, keeping the black carry-on bag in sight. As an afterthought, she stuck a revolver in her purse. Maddox gave it to her months ago for protection. He also taught her how to use it.
There was no time for lingering good-byes. She dialed her parents’ number and left a message. “I love you but I have to leave.” For years she’d automatically dropped the phone back into her purse. Today she clutched it in one hand. Not only would the cops be able to track her, but Maddox had her phone on his GPS. He’d find her before she left town.
She set the phone on the front hall table and hauled her luggage to the underground parking garage. With no idea where to go or what to do, she drove around Newville. The Jaguar was one of the perks of being Maddox’s lover but, like the phone, it was traceable. She needed to get rid of it. She considered stopping to sell the car then moved on. Ironically, the half a million in cash in the carry-on, Maddox’s drug money, no longer interested her like it used to. He would come looking for it but wouldn’t kill her until he had every cent back. She’d have to come up with some cash on her own and keep his separate. Just in case.
The bank manager wasn’t thrilled she withdrew so much cash from her account. She gave him a long story about wanting to buy a tropical vacation for her boyfriend and didn’t want him to know. He reluctantly filled her request then walked her to her car, concerned about a beautiful woman carrying so much money. If only he knew. Then he waved her—or was it the money?—good-bye.
She parked in a far lot at the airport and tucked the money from her purse into the carryon. Ten grand in large bills was a good start to a new life. She put on the sunglasses and a hat. She flagged down a taxi to the subway station. From there, she walked across the street and took a different taxi to the Greyhound terminal, paranoid someone would discover the half a million in her bag.
What the hell was she thinking? If anybody mugged her, at least she had a gun to fight back. Her troubles would be over if someone did kill her.
Dizzy, she took a deep breath. Truth was, she couldn’t think and, if she didn’t focus, she’d hyperventilate. Her plan was to take the bus to Buffalo then hop a plane to Hawaii or Jamaica. She’d figure out which when she got to the airport.
“One way to Buffalo, please.” Her hands shook while she dug cash from her purse.
“Hey, I was here first.” A tiny woman in a red hat with garish purple feathers elbowed her away from the window. Ringlets of silver hair strayed from beneath the hat. “I need a one-way ticket to Packham so I can get to my grandson’s birthday party. I can’t be late.”
Paulina caught her balance and fought to remain calm. The last thing she wanted was a scene. She prayed not to see any familiar faces. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. I just need to catch my bus.”
The woman peered over her glasses. “A hat and sunglasses? You some movie star? Whoever did your makeup should be burned at the stake. Your boyfriend give you that cut on your lip?”
Paulina’s jaw dropped. “You’re an evil little woman.”
The ticket clerk, a trainee, looked slightly unnerved. “Where did you say you wanted to go, miss?”
“Buffalo.”
“Packham.” The woman threw a handful of cash on the counter. “Give me my ticket. I’m old. I don’t have time to wait. I could die any second.”
His gaze met Paulina’s while he printed off a ticket. The old woman snatched it out of his hand and muttered while she hobbled across the room with her orange cane.
Paulina stepped up to the ticket window. “One-way to—”
“It’s okay. I got it.” He mumbled something she couldn’t interpret. “Board at Gate Ten.”
Still no sign of Al, Chevy or Maddox. She turned and collided with someone. Her ticket fluttered to the floor.
“You again.”
“What do you want?” Paulina cringed. “Will you please leave me alone?”
“You made me drop my ticket. Pick it up.”
Paulina appeased her then made sure the woman was gone before she entered the bathroom, making sure she was alone. She put her glasses on and flipped through the package Dunnsforth gave her, studying all the information on the cards before she placed them in her wallet. She stared at the old cards then broke each one in half and flushed them down the toilet one piece at a time then stared at her reflection.
“Hello, Katie Mullins. You look like shit. I need a better disguise before those weasels find me. This is great. First day on the run and I’m already talking to myself.”
She slipped the gun into her suitcase—damn, she forgot to check it—and scowled at the carry-on. She couldn’t stow it anywhere out of sight. She hoped the driver had a sense of humor.
At Gate Ten, the driver took her suitcase and yawned when he took her ticket. He glanced at her then turned away quickly. “Hey, kid, get out of the compartment. I don’t put up with stowaways on my bus.”
“My ticket?” Paulina interrupted his rant.
“Here.” He separated the part of her ticket and shoved one at her without even looking at it and ran toward a greasy, long-haired teenager at the rear of the bus. Focused on the teenage boy, he didn’t stop or look back.
She hesitated outside the door, torn between boarding the bus and waiting. Finally, with one parting glance at her suitcase, she clutched her carry-on to her chest and boarded the bus. She didn’t bother to take off her jacket or store her bag. When a woman sat beside her with a shopping bag full of knitting wool, she leaned her head against the window and pretended to fall asleep before the woman could ask questions.
While she was drifting off, she remembered the dress in the plastic bag and had a moment of suffocating panic. She’d forgotten to drop it in the garbage chute. After a few days in a closed up penthouse, it would start to smell. No point worrying now. There was nothing she could do.
Paulina awoke when the hum of the engine stopped and the woman beside her got off the bus. She peered out the window. This wasn’t Buffalo. More like some small town time hadn’t only forgotten but skirted around on tiptoes. She frowned. According to her watch, she’d only been asleep an hour. “This isn’t Buffalo. Where are we?”
No one answered. Most people were either asleep or had gone to collect their baggage.
She held onto her carry-on and crept down the steps toward the driver. “Excuse me. Where are we? When do we get to Buffalo?”
“We’re in Packham.” The bus driver set her luggage at her feet. “If you wanted to go to Buffalo, you got on the wrong bus, honey.”
“No. He told me this bus. I bought a ticket to Buffalo. How did I end up here?”
He shrugged, not breaking his rhythm while he unloaded the bus. “Hell if I know. Go ask the guy inside. Maybe he can help.”
The man at the ticket counter wasn’t helpful, either. “Your ticket says Packham.”
Paulina stared at her ticket and frowned. Packham. When the old woman ran into her, they must have mixed up their tickets. Either that or the trainee at the counter gave them each the wrong ones. She’d have noticed that. She’d checked the ticket, hadn’t she?
Right before she collided with the granny from hell. Not after. Her shoulders sagged and she marched up to the counter. “I’ve never even heard of this place. Why would I want to come here?”
He shrugged again, which made Paulina want to gouge out his eyes. “What’s there not to like about Packham?”
“This is ridiculous. Somebody screwed up. I wanted to go to Buffalo.” A full-blown diva tantrum was only a stomp away. She paused and took a deep breath. “Where does this bus go?”
“Detroit, but you’re ticket says Packham. If you want to get there, you’ll have to pay for a new ticket.”
Outside, the bus doors closed. Detroit or Packham. She didn’t like either option since she’d never been to Detroit, but she had to get to an airport. “Of course I do. Then give me a ticket to Detroit. I also want to talk to your boss.”
“Next bus leaves at six tomorrow morning, but my boss doesn’t come in until two hours later.”
“The next bus? What about that bus?” She turned around in time to see the bus pull out of the parking lot. Nauseous, she leaned on the counter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.
He shrugged. “Why don’t you take a room in the motel down the street for the night? We can straighten all this out in the morning when my boss is here.”
Paulina cursed again. She had no option. “This is ridiculous. How far is the motel?”
“A couple blocks.”
She stormed into the tiny public washroom and locked the door. She set her luggage on the floor then stepped over it to turn around and splash her face with cold water. “All I wanted was to go to Buffalo. Why is this so difficult?”
Defeated, she carried her suitcase and carry-on to the small motel and rented a room under her new name. Her next mission was to walk across the street and buy a bottle of rye and some Coke. If her life was going down the tubes, so was her taste in alcohol.
At the drugstore next door, she bought red hair dye, glasses and sharp scissors. Maybe she’d wake up tomorrow from what could only be a bad dream. “Yeah, right.”
There was nothing on the news about her that night. Not on either of the two channels. She’d check the newspapers in the morning. Maddox would have called in the army to search for her. He loved her. Didn’t he?
She took a swig of rye, glad for the mix to dilute it. Her head hurt. Her body ached. She couldn’t think straight. After another drink, she shut out the past and stripped to her underwear to dye her hair. Her choppy new haircut made her look younger and more innocent.
That was a laugh. Paulina Chourney hadn’t been innocent since she’d run into Dunnsforth at a nightclub and met Maddox, who’d promised her a brilliant future both with DMR and him. “You have the looks, the brains and the body to make us both very happy.”
What a mistake that was. DMR Architectural, an acronym for Dunnsforth, Maddox and Roland, was nothing more than a front for money laundering, prostitution and murder. Dunnsforth was a talented architect and did some real work, but it was Maddox’s and Roland’s portions of the business that brought the real money. The most money, anyway. That it was real was debatable.
She slid on a pair of cheap, wire-framed reading glasses from the drugstore. She needed to lose the Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses to be less conspicuous. She’d abandon them somewhere around town. Surely someone would take them.
At least she looked nothing like she had an hour earlier. Good. Coming to Packham, wherever that was, could be fate more than a mistake. Dunnsforth, whatever his reasons, gave her a chance to start a new life as someone else. A whole new chance to screw her life up. It wasn’t tropical or exotic, but it had possibilities. Plus, who’d look for her here?
She took a hot shower then collapsed onto the bed. If she rented a car, she could drive to Buffalo and still go somewhere exotic before anyone found her.
On the other hand, she could lay low for a couple of days and stay in this godforsaken town. Playing tourist might be a good idea while she made plans for the rest of her life. Or at least what was left of the rest of her life.
Maddox would stake out the airports. He’d never believe his precious Paulina capable of going anywhere less than a four-star resort. She’d prove him wrong.
Right after she had a few more drinks to get over the shock and get her story straight.
Tomorrow Paulina Chourney would start her new life as Katie Mullins.
Chapter 3
Danny
Dunnsforth’s body lay on the beach. His legs bobbed on the waves of Lake Erie entwined in the blue and silver scarf clutched in his left hand. The late afternoon sun cast strange shadows over his ashen face. Shoe prints dented the mud where Dunnsforth and his shooter had stepped off the rocks.
Danny held his breath while the forensics guys pulled the corpse higher onto the rocks. He knew that scarf. Paulina wore it to Maddox’s party the night before. Did she have it when they drove back into the city? Whoever shot him wore high-heeled shoes, which eliminated the males at the party. Although, Al Duvall had potential. If he wore a disguise and shaved his moustache, he would make a passable woman.
“Shit.” Bobby Holland was tall and tanned. Both he and Danny joined the Newville Police ten years earlier, but were only paired up two years ago to investigate DMR. “You’d think a classy guy like this could get shot somewhere nice and sunny. I could really use a tropical vacation about now.”
“Same here.” Danny grimaced. The day was a blur of paperwork, evidence gathering and now body collection. “Looks like he took a souvenir from whoever shot him. It looks like the scarf Paulina wore last night.”
“Shot in the right temple. You sure this isn’t a suicide?”
“With Maddox involved? No way.” Danny glanced toward the glass, brick and steel building, Maddox’s summer cottage, the site of the festivities less than twenty-four hours earlier.
He ran a hand through his hair, grateful he didn’t have to wear his disguise for much longer. The shaggy blond wig and beard itched and gave him a rash. He loved undercover work, but hated the makeup.
“Did someone pick up Paulina this morning? We’ll need her statement to make things stick against Maddox and the others. Keep her away from the others.”
Bobby hesitated. “That’s a problem. Oswald got into a fender bender. By the time he got to the motel, Paulina was gone. He went to her apartment but—”
“Let me guess. She skipped town, which means we can’t eliminate her as a suspect since she might have caught up to our vic.” Danny frowned. “Unless you think there’s another body out there.”
“I think it’s worth a look. DMR’s offices are secured, Maddox’s house locked up and some of the people we arrested last night are already out on bail. There are a lot of loose cannons running around.”
One of the forensics investigators picked something off the scarf with tweezers. “Any of your suspects have long blonde hair?”
Bobby chuckled. “Five or six.”
Danny sighed. “Paulina was the only one wearing a scarf like that though.”
“Shit.” Bobby’s smile faded. “You really think she’s the shooter?”
“Anything’s possibl
e. We need to find her.”
They searched over twenty of Maddox’s known hangouts but didn’t see him, Al or Chevy. Frustrated, they stopped at the police station then split up. Bobby left for DMR, but Danny ran into a young officer who waved a piece of paper in his face.
“I just got a call from the airport. Someone spotted Paulina’s car in the long-term lot. Should I arrange for the flight records?”
“Yeah. Bring it to the chief. The D.A. will get you the paperwork. Move fast on this, though. I doubt she skipped the country under her own name though.”
He paled. “You think she had an alias? How do we find her then?”
Danny patted the young man’s shoulder. “Process of elimination. That sounds like a good job for you. Let me know how it goes.”
Danny left the station and arrived at DMR Architectural around seven thirty that evening. Uniformed officers packed boxes full of papers and computers while Joseph Roland lay sprawled on the leather couch, one hand cuffed to a chair and an ice pack clutched to a nasty purple bruise on the side of his head.
He snorted. “About time someone else showed up. What are you, a cop too?”
“Don’t be an ass. Where is everybody?”
“No one else is here.” Bobby walked into the room, closed his notebook then leveled his gaze at Danny. “Who are you and how’d you get past security?”
“Donovan Wild. I work for Maddox. I’m a private detective.”
Bobby scoffed. “Somebody cuff this so-called PI before he causes trouble.”
“Maddox’s security team. I thought he’d be out of jail by now.” He let one of the officers slap handcuffs on him and hoped Roland bought the explanation. “Who beat you up? Was it one of these guys? Get his badge number and I’ll take care of him.”
“Shut up.” Bobby cuffed him on the side of the head then waved to another officer. “Get rid of Roland. Put him in interrogation and keep him there until I get back.” Once Roland was out of the room, Bobby lowered his voice. “The guys have been here for hours and have nothing. Where were you? I looked for you all over the station before I left.”