Devlin’s physical attributes were not on display tonight. He wore a wig designed to make it appear that he was going bald, heavy glasses and a shirt that had been purchased at a military surplus store. He called it the Pacific Northwest Prepper look.
She had also had a few other names in the past but now all of her very authentic-looking ID’s bore the name Victoria Sloan. Classy. Unlike Devlin, her looks were memorable, and she took care to keep them that way because they were part of her tool kit. There had been times in the past when her life had depended on her elegant profile, blond hair, blue eyes, and well-proportioned, very toned body.
It was getting harder and harder to maintain both the face and the body, however, now that she was in her thirties. Just one more reason why the current job was so important. It was a ticket to a new life.
She and Devlin had been a freelance mercenary team for the past few years, having met while working for a certain government agency. They had started out as colleagues but they had become lovers after their first assignment together. The initial attraction had been fueled by adrenaline, shared danger and the thrill of the kill.
At some point it had become clear to both of them that they could do better on their own. A terrorist bombing in a small backwater country had provided them with the opportunity to fake their own deaths. They had reinvented themselves as private contractors who specialized in handling security for an elite clientele. Their customers’ business interests usually involved dangerous activities such as gunrunning, drug distribution and conducting small wars.
The sex was no longer the rush that it had been at the start but over time other bonds had taken hold. She and Devlin could finish each other’s sentences. When it came to clothes, they shared an appreciation for Italian designers. Their tastes in good food and good wine were aligned.
They diverged in some ways—Devlin had an inexplicable fondness for silly romantic comedies, while she preferred small, intense, slow-moving art films—but for the most part they were more compatible than the vast majority of couples.
Back at the start, she reflected, they had resembled a pair of spontaneous, hot-blooded newlyweds. But now their relationship looked more like a long-term marriage that had fallen into a predictable and familiar, albeit comfortable, pattern. The boredom factor would no doubt have kicked in by now if they had not been intimately bound by their business partnership. The couple that killed together, stayed together—at least until one of them terminated the other.
Their current client had found them on the Darknet. An anonymous broker who made a good living providing introductions between experts with certain lethal skills and customers who were looking to hire individuals with said skills had put them together.
But unlike their previous clients, Lucan Tazewell had made them an offer that no other employer had ever come close to matching. He had dangled the lure of a dazzling new future.
The project was a big one—a business opportunity with a lot of moving pieces—but the payoff promised to be huge. If all went well, she and Devlin would soon become as rich and as powerful as some of their former clients. Even better, they would be legit. No more hiding on the Darknet. They would hang out with celebrities and tech moguls. They would control politicians.
True, there were some challenges, but nothing that could not be handled. When the job was completed she and Devlin would no longer be hired muscle. Lucan Tazewell was going to make them full partners in a billion-dollar hedge fund.
Lucan was different from their previous clients. He showed them respect. He admired and appreciated their talents. But he also had high standards. He expected his orders to be executed with precision. He definitely did not have a high tolerance for failure.
Devlin slowed for a stoplight even though there was no other traffic. When you were leaving the scene of a crime, you never ran. The last thing you wanted to do was draw attention.
“I assume that the Moseley problem has been taken care of,” he said.
“Yes, but it’s the only thing that went well tonight,” Victoria said. She removed the mask. “Tazewell won’t be pleased.”
The arrangement between the three of them was not yet a full-fledged partnership, she reminded herself. Lucan Tazewell was still the client; still the one who gave the orders.
“It was his plan, not ours,” Devlin said. “Tazewell insisted on micromanaging this particular project from start to finish. We warned him that it was risky to use an unstable asset like Kendall Moseley.”
“Let’s hope Tazewell sees it that way,” Victoria said.
Now that she had time to think about all that had gone wrong tonight she was starting to worry. She really did not want to disappoint Lucan Tazewell.
“If he’s as smart as he thinks he is, next time he’ll listen to us,” Devlin said.
“Guess we’ll soon find out.”
She gripped her heavily encrypted phone and braced herself to deliver the bad news. Lucan insisted on verbal reports when it came to this sort of thing. He did not trust text messaging or email. Both forms of communication left too many tracks.
Lucan answered immediately.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “I knew going in that Moseley was a risk.”
A thrill of relief swept through her followed by an overwhelming sense of admiration and profound respect. She had worked for people who were unforgiving when it came to failure, even though the failure was their own fault. Few employers had the fortitude to take responsibility for their own mistakes.
Lucan was not like the others. He was strong and smart and infused with the kind of self-confidence it took to shoulder the blame when things went wrong.
She started to breathe a little more easily.
“You heard the news?” she asked.
“I’ve been monitoring the emergency channels in the vicinity of Eclipse Bay. I picked up enough chatter to figure out that things had gone wrong. I’m assuming the report of an interrupted assault on an unidentified woman is not a coincidence?”
Lucan had a very good voice, she reflected. She liked to listen to it, even on the phone. It was rich and resonant. He could have gone into politics, preached salvation or sung opera with that voice.
“No, it’s not a coincidence,” Victoria said. She delivered her report as briefly and as clearly as possible. She was a professional, after all. “We’re in the clear. There are no links to us or to you. But the bottom line is that Lancaster and the woman are still alive.”
“And Kendall Moseley? The initial reports said that he was injured and had been taken to a hospital in a nearby town. I assume he won’t be a problem.”
Victoria relaxed a little. She was glad to be able to deliver some good news about an otherwise failed operation.
“Sadly, Kendall Moseley died from the traumatic head injury he sustained when he and Lancaster engaged in a struggle in the Meadows cottage,” she said.
“Did he die on the way to the hospital?”
“No,” she said. “He was in the hospital when he died, but don’t worry, he didn’t have a chance to talk to anyone, at least not until I got to him.”
“You’re sure he didn’t say anything to the police?”
“Positive, sir,” Victoria said. “It’s clear from the medical and police reports that Moseley was unconscious at the scene in Eclipse Bay and that he did not wake up at any point during the trip to the hospital. I was actually the one who was with him when he did regain consciousness. Bit of luck there. I tried to question him but he was not very coherent.”
“I want to know everything he said.”
“Mostly he just babbled on about Winter Meadows. He was delusional. Kept saying that Meadows had fucked with his mind. He seemed to think that she had gotten inside his head and tried to control him.”
“He was an obsessed individual. They are, by definition, delusional. I thought I co
uld weaponize Moseley’s fantasies but obviously I was wrong.”
“He also mentioned his chat room friend but there’s no need to be concerned. I can assure you he won’t be discussing his buddy or anything else with the authorities.”
“Good. What’s your status?”
“We’re in the vehicle, heading back to Portland. We’ll dump the car and catch an early-morning flight to San Francisco. We should be at the Sonoma house before noon.” She paused. “Unless you want us to take a more direct approach to the problem while we’re here in Oregon?”
“No. Whatever you do, don’t make any more moves against the target. I need to do some serious thinking on this end. Can’t risk another fuckup.”
Victoria clenched the phone a little more tightly. Lucan had indicated that he wasn’t going to blame Devlin and her for tonight’s debacle, but when it came to clients, you could never really be sure of their reaction to failure.
“There’s no need to worry about a police investigation,” she said, going for a professional vibe in her tone. “As you’re aware, Eclipse Bay is a very small town with limited resources. The police department won’t have the kind of budget required to dig deep. And why would they? From their point of view the case is cut-and-dried.”
“A stalker with a history of violence against women pursues the latest object of his obsession, his meditation instructor, to a small town and attacks her in the middle of the night,” Lucan said. “A neighbor interrupts the assault. There’s a fight. The stalker winds up in the hospital and dies from a head wound.”
“Exactly,” Victoria said. “There won’t be a problem, sir.”
“The Internet trail is clean, too. Kendall Moseley’s chat room friend has disappeared.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing, Victoria.”
A frisson of anxiety rattled her nerves. This job was different. This job promised a future. There was so much at stake.
“Yes, sir?” she said.
“Next time remind me to pay attention to you and Devlin when you two try to tell me that my plan is too damn complicated.”
The praise and the promise warmed her.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Thank you, sir.”
But Lucan had already ended the connection.
Devlin glanced at her. “I take it the boss isn’t blaming us?”
“No.” She smiled. “He even went so far as to tell me that next time he’ll listen to us when we offer advice.”
“We’ll see,” Devlin said. He drove out onto the main road and turned toward Portland. “You ever wonder why Tazewell is so focused on taking out Lancaster?”
“Obviously he thinks Lancaster is a serious obstacle.”
“As far as I can tell, Jack Lancaster is just a guy who used to be a college instructor who couldn’t hold a job for very long. He wrote a couple of books. He’s got a thing about cold cases. So what? It’s not like he’s FBI or CIA. He doesn’t arrest people. He doesn’t have any serious resources he can access.”
“If Tazewell thinks that Lancaster is dangerous, we have to assume that is the case.”
“Lancaster doesn’t seem like much of a problem to me.”
“Try looking at this situation from a different angle,” Victoria said. “Things went wrong tonight. And what is the result?”
Devlin grunted. “Lancaster and the woman are still alive and Moseley is the one who is dead.”
“Yeah. So maybe that means Jack Lancaster is a little more of a problem than you think.”
Devlin exhaled slowly and concentrated on his driving for a moment.
“You know what’s bothering me about this job?” he said after a while.
“Sure. We’ve got a lot on the line.”
“No, it’s not just that we’ve got a vested interest in the outcome that’s making me uneasy. It’s the fact that Tazewell and Lancaster obviously have some old history. Whatever is going on here, it isn’t just business. It’s personal.”
“It’s definitely personal for us,” Victoria said. “This job is going to change our lives. In the future we’ll be the clients who go out on the Darknet to hire security. What’s more, we’ll be making those decisions from the deck of a yacht or while we’re drinking good wine on a sunny terrace on the Amalfi Coast.”
“I know, but I’m telling you the personal connection between Tazewell and Lancaster makes me nervous. Jobs with that vibe usually turn out to be unpredictable.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I can’t believe he’s dead,” Winter said. “I know Moseley hit his head very hard, but he was alive when they loaded him into the ambulance.”
“Head injuries are unpredictable,” Jack said. “Evidently he never woke up. There may have been a blood clot or internal bleeding.”
They were sitting at the small table in his cottage, drinking coffee. Neither one of them had slept. The first faint glow of dawn was slowly lightening the sky.
The news of Moseley’s death had been delivered a short time ago by the Eclipse Bay chief of police. The chief had also supplied the information that in the past three years two women had filed restraining orders against Kendall Moseley.
As far as Jack could tell, Winter was handling the aftermath of the violence with a surprising degree of composure. Probably all that positive thinking and meditation practice. Or maybe she was still in shock.
One thing he knew for sure—he was not thinking positive. What he was thinking was that he needed answers. Information. Data.
After the ambulance had departed, he and Winter and Arizona had given their statements to the police. Their mutual agreement to keep quiet about Winter’s claim that she had attempted to hypnotize Moseley had held firm. None of them had mentioned it to the cops.
He could not leave Winter to deal with her blood-splashed cottage, but at that time of year there were not a lot of places she could go. The nearest motel was a few miles outside of town. In any event, he doubted that she wanted to be alone. He was pretty sure that he had seen relief and gratitude in her eyes when she accepted his offer to spend what was left of the night at his place.
Arizona had waved them off and said that she would stay behind to keep a sharp eye on things while the police took photographs and collected evidence.
He watched Winter use both hands to pick up her coffee mug. She looked at him over the rim, her eyes shadowed.
“What do you think will happen next?” she asked.
He gave that some thought. “I think the authorities will wrap things up very quickly. On the surface, it looks straightforward. An obsessive stalker followed you here to Eclipse Bay with the obvious intention of harming you. I interrupted the attack. There was a struggle during which Moseley struck his head and later died of his injuries. Unless Moseley’s family decides to file a lawsuit, which, under the circumstances, seems unlikely, tonight will be the end of it, at least as far as the cops are concerned.”
Winter stiffened, eyes widening. “A lawsuit? On what grounds?”
“You know what they say, a person can sue for just about anything—but I seriously doubt that we’ll have to worry about that possibility. It is, however, one more reason why you are not going to tell anyone that you tried to hypnotize Kendall Moseley.”
Winter sipped her tea in silence for a time.
“I’m still surprised,” she said after a while.
“That he died?”
“Well, that, too, but mostly I’m surprised that my hypnotic suggestion didn’t hold.”
He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment.
“You’re really that good?” he said at last.
“Uh-huh.”
She wasn’t boasting, he realized. She was simply acknowledging a fact.
“I admit I don’t know much about hypnosis,” he said, choosing his words with exquisite care,
“but I am aware that it is . . . controversial.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I know.”
“A lot of claims have been made for the powers of hypnosis but very few of those claims have stood up to rigorous scientific testing.”
Winter nodded. “In other words, you don’t believe that I actually could have hypnotized Kendall Moseley.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She waved that aside with one hand. “Trust me, I’m well aware that most people are skeptical. It’s understandable. You’re right, it’s difficult to run double-blind clinical trials to prove the value of hypnosis. There’s another problem, too.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s some research that indicates there’s an entire segment of the population—as much as twenty or twenty-five percent—that may be immune to hypnosis, or mostly immune.”
“Even if the hypnotist is very good?”
“Evidently, but who can be sure? As you pointed out, there’s not a lot of solid research in the field.” Winter paused, her eyes narrowing a little. “Still, in my experience, most people can be hypnotized, at least to some extent. And of that group, a sizable percentage can be put into a trance rather easily. I was sure Moseley was one of those people.”
“You said that hypnotic suggestions fade over time. Maybe that’s what happened in this case.”
“Maybe, but I was certain that once I was out of sight, I would be out of Moseley’s mind,” Winter said. “I thought that by the time the suggestion faded he would have focused on something else.”
“Something? Not someone?”
Winter made a face. “The suggestion not to come after me was not the only one that I gave him. I also told him that what he really wanted to do was concentrate on exercise, specifically running, every chance he got.”
“You hoped that running would become his next obsession?”
“I couldn’t think of anything else that seemed relatively harmless,” Winter said. “An obsessive personality is an obsessive personality. Sooner or later it will find something to focus on. I was hoping to protect the next woman who had the bad luck to attract Moseley’s attention.”
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