She turned around. Sam was laying a meal out on the table: French bread, thick slices of peppered ham, some local soft cheese wrapped in wax paper, tomatoes, salt, and a bottle of Rioja. There was also a bag of ripe peaches; her mouth watered just looking at them.
She groaned. ‘God, I’m so hungry. Being targeted for assassination takes it out of me. And so does making love to you.’
Sam broke off a large chunk of bread and spread it with soft cheese. ‘Then come here and eat something. I don’t want you drained. We’re going back to bed in a couple of hours.’
She moved to a rough wooden chair and sat down. The table looked to be carved from pieces of driftwood nailed together, surface smooth from the sea, the shapes of the planks gnarled and knotted.
‘A couple of hours? Why not sooner?’
He put ham and tomatoes on the plate with the bread and poured her some wine into one of Hans’s plastic cups.
‘Because for the next two hours I’m going to be filing the story of both of our lives.’
She bit deeply into the bread, then took a mouthful of ham, intensely flavoured and salty, and the glorious sunburst of the tomatoes, so rich and ripe they were almost a dessert. Sam was demolishing bread and ham, and swigging down wine. He pushed her cup towards her.
‘This is so good. Drink.’
She obeyed him, blushing slightly. It was; rough, full-bodied, perfect with the simple food. The warm glow of the wine spread through her, and for a few minutes, she was bathed in contentment. She ate quietly, with Sam sitting opposite her. Her body was relaxed from sex, incredible sex, her responsiveness more than she had dreamed it could be, and the sun was on the sea, the food was wonderful, she was alone with Sam, she was safe. The pleasure of eating had been dulled for her in the luxury of the trophy wife existence. But no more, because she was learning what it was like to be hungry. And to cherish every wonderful thing that life delivered her. Like Sam.
After they had eaten several chunks of bread and cheese, and Lisa had sipped down a half-glass of wine, she felt mellow enough to ask, ‘Are you going somewhere then? To file your story?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t think we should use this house. Landlines are too traceable. There’s a small town a few miles down the road. I’ll go there, get a phone card, file from a booth somewhere.’
She swallowed drily. ‘So I wait here for you to come back?’
Sam held her gaze, and she felt her belly give way beneath her with sheer lust.
‘Uh-huh. Right. You wait here, alone. Because that worked so well last time.’
Lisa attempted to ignore her relief, her desire. God, but there was something so basic, so masculine about a man who wanted to protect her. She felt like every cell in her body was crying out for his touch.
‘But that guy is dead . . .’
‘He’s dead. The guy who hired him isn’t. And he may already have somebody else on our trail. You don’t know who watched us at that airport, who tracked our flight. I think we’re alone here, but I’m not basing a goddamned thing on what I think. Not any more. It’s a miracle he didn’t kill you. You’re coming with me, and if you have to stand next to me and be bored for an hour, tough shit. You can buy a magazine in a grocery store. While I watch.’
Lisa felt the blush rise from her neck till it consumed the whole of her body. She was on fire, alight with desire for him. In the beginning, she’d said yes to Josh, whenever he asked, out of a sense of duty, gratitude. But towards the end, he had had to negotiate for every session in bed - she was resentful, tired, controlled, full of avoidance. She’d thought she was like so many women, that she hated sex, that it was the price of her relationship.
It wasn’t like that with Sam. She could hardly wait to get his clothes off. She would ask for it if she had to, beg for it. When they slept together, she could see her own hand sneaking over his hip bone, down towards his cock, finding it, stroking and cupping, teasing, intending to wake him from sleep, to get him hard enough to fuck her. God, but she was like a schoolgirl or something. She had to get a grip. Relate to him normally, not like a teenage girl in the front row of a gig by her favourite boy band. But it was hard. Her words were combative, but her feelings were soft, warm, almost helpless in his presence.
‘You don’t have to watch me,’ she said.
‘Yes I do.’
She looked down at the table, tried to compose herself. If they were going to be together, she would have to learn how to handle these feelings she had for him. She’d have to be normal. Not dissolve into water just because he was strong, when so many men were weak.
She looked up. He was watching her, smiling slightly. Goddammit. She hated to be so transparent to him.
‘Are you ready?’ he said, grinning.
‘Yes. Ready.’ She stood up. ‘If you insist.’
He came around the table and pulled her to him. He was hard again. She gasped, pressed herself to him. But he held her away, one hand on her chest, by her shoulder.
‘Later,’ he said, softly, in her ear. His hand ran lightly down her back, his fingers tracing a little pattern on the slope of her ass. Lisa’s knees buckled. He was torturing her now, and he knew it. His smile was full of triumph, dominance.
‘Oh God,’ she muttered. ‘You’re cruel.’
‘You wait. I have to do this. Unless you’d like to stay on the run for ever. We need to get ourselves back home. We can’t fight them with the police on our backs. We need to go back, and we need to hunt.’
‘But I’ll be arrested. And if I’m trapped in one place . . .’
‘There’s no warrant out for your arrest. They dragged their feet on it. And now there’s unlikely to be one. I know the FBI guy working this case. I kind of gave it to him. He found that semen. But I agree, we can’t let you be tied down. We’re going to enter the US illegally. The key thing is that everybody should know you’re innocent. You were convicted by the tabloids; you’ll be cleared by them too.’
She nodded. ‘Then let’s go.’
He kissed her again, on the lips. ‘One more thing, sugar.’
‘What?’
‘Are you prepared to go public with me? If I file this story, I’ve got to tell them everything. Especially tell them that I’m with you. That I love you.’
She panicked a little; her heart sped up, but she was held firmly in his arms, and the beat-beat-beat of her pulse gradually slowed against the steady rock of his chest.
‘But then they won’t believe you. They’ll think you’ve been seduced.’
‘Nah.’ He shook his head. ‘If I lie, they won’t believe me. A prosecutor will expose us, and then everything I wrote, the public will discount. They hate being lied to. You want to talk about the wisdom of crowds? You just can’t get past them. Our only chance is to spill everything. To lay out the facts and ask them to judge. It means you confessing you love me, even just weeks after your husband was brutally murdered. It means that for years to come, probably, you’ll be famous. We’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde.’
‘But they killed people.’
‘And so did I.’
Lisa shuddered. ‘Self-defence.’
‘Still. My feeling is we don’t have a lot of choice. I have to tell all, give them the kind of exposé they’ll read once in a lifetime, but not as Sam Murray, dirt-disher extraordinaire. I am the story now. I’m in this. And so are you. And once it’s out, there’s no going back.’
‘There’s never any going back,’ she said slowly. ‘If I’ve learned anything, I’ve learned that.’
‘So you’ll do it?’
She tilted her mouth up to his. ‘I’ll do it. And not just because right now I think I’d do anything you asked. I’ll do it because I want to go home. Because I’m tired of running. Because I’m tired of people I’ve never met seeing me as someone I’m not. You tell them, Sam; write your story, make it the best damn story you’ve ever written. And scare the hell out of whoever ordered Josh killed. Let him know that his widow is coming for him.’
/>
Chapter Twelve
Craig Gordon’s phone buzzed in his hand.
He looked down at it, grateful for the interruption. His fucking bosses were making him eat so many shades of shit. They were still working on the DNA of the semen, down in the lab. It had deteriorated pretty good. Possibly too much to eliminate Josh. They were clinging on to that like it was a straw.
‘But it still could be his semen?’ Emma Fitzgerald, his superior, had asked.
Craig had shrugged. ‘Could be. Unlikely pattern. We’d have to disclose in discovery.’
Fitzgerald was scowling with annoyance. ‘This doesn’t help us. It doesn’t finger anybody else.’
He looked at her coolly. ‘The facts are often messy. You can talk to Justice, but I think even the hardest-assed DA in the world is going to hear “reasonable doubt” on this one.’
‘How about the man?’ Jed Palminteri, his bureau chief, was thinking out loud. ‘The hack? He’s on the run, got a big story. Your reports indicate he could be with her.’
‘Yes.’ Fitzgerald seized on the thought. ‘This makes his career. What if he saw her before the wedding night? He’s written several pieces on her.’
‘Most tabloid writers have, ma’am. They weren’t flattering pieces.’
‘Good cover,’ she said.
‘So he kills the groom, masturbates over the body and then sets up the wife?’
‘It does make a great story.’ Palminteri nodded sagely. ‘You’ve seen his name all over TV. He’s half a celebrity now.’
‘I think it’s a bit complex, frankly, sir. Lot of risk. Zero opportunity. No forced entry; this was a professional-style hit.’
Fitzgerald’s eyes narrowed. ‘But hotel staff reported to you that he’d bribed porters for access to the scene. That’s how he got those exclusive photos. What if he bribed them before the actual murder? What if he didn’t need to force? Had a skeleton key in his pocket?’
Craig bit his cheeks to stop himself responding. Stupid fool. She was just fishing like a junior detective in the third grade.
‘Nothing in the evidence to suggest it, ma’am.’
‘Well, Special Agent, you were in the Academy with Sam Murray. Are you sure you’re being objective?’
Now she’d gone too far. ‘Ma’am, I’ve never covered up for a perp in my life.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting that,’ she said quickly, although she clearly had been. ‘It’s just that liking people can sometimes colour our judgement . . .’
‘He’s not my best bud. I haven’t laid eyes on the guy for over five years. We talk on the phone about cases sometimes. He’s given good leads on this one, leads that have panned out. The passport, the girl in Hong Kong. It’d have to be a pretty big conspiracy. I say reasonable doubt.’
They’d stared angrily at him, not liking the sense he was talking. And then his phone vibrated in his hand, loudly, like an angel of mercy, pulling him out of this conversation.
‘Excuse me. Might be a lead.’ He made to get to his feet.
‘A lead? What kind of suspects are you working on?’ Palminteri demanded. ‘You do understand the heat we’re getting?’
‘Well, sir, if it wasn’t the wife, we’re going back to basics. Friends, relatives, business partners. Steen fucked about a lot. Husbands. The hit was professional, so we’re going through bank records right now. Looking for evidence of payments. If that fails, we start a round of questions. But I don’t want to tip off the killer that we’ve eliminated Lisa Costello. That way he’ll feel secure; he might get sloppy.’
‘Agent Gordon,’ Fitzgerald said severely, frowning again. ‘Let’s get this straight. We have not eliminated Lisa Costello. She fled the scene and committed assault. Her bloodstained clothes are in the bedroom and her prints are on the murder weapon, OK? Some semen doesn’t take all that away.’
Craig said nothing, because legally it did, and they all knew it. No grand jury would indict with evidence like that. And if they did, the case would fall on the first motion to dismiss. His phone buzzed again. A text. With a landline number.
‘I should go. Sources.’
‘Report back before the end of the day. We need ongoing oversight,’ Fitzgerald said, the bitch. Craig stood and walked out. She could have oversight of his ass leaving the goddamned building . . .
Outside he bent his head and glanced at his phone.
Holy shit. It was him. It was Sam. He looked behind him, to be sure the door to the office was shut. Of course every communication here was intercepted, but there was safety in numbers, and he had a cute little bug inside his phone that scrambled stuff very effectively.
Time was short. He dialled the number. What was that country code? Spain; the guy was in Spain. How the fuck had he got there? The CIA was reporting noises in Liechtenstein, near Switzerland, and that was just a few hours back. Did he have a fucking teleporter?
Sam picked up on the first ring. ‘Craig. I’ve been waiting here for five minutes.’
‘Getting my ass chewed out because you blew their nice neat theory away.’
‘And I’m gonna blow it some more. I wanted you to know first.’
Craig sighed. ‘From you, those are never good words to hear. What the fuck is it now?’
‘I’m calling my editor and filing a story. I’m going to tell everything. Including the semen you found in Thailand.’
‘That’s classified. You can’t do that.’
‘I’ll cite hotel sources. I have to. It’s the key evidence that clears her. I’m real sorry, but I have to.’
He knew it was true. Another sigh. ‘Goddammit. OK.’
‘You heard about where we were?’
‘The dead guy in Vaduz? You want to talk about that? They brought up your name, Sam, they’re looking at you. This better be good.’
‘Get a sample from him. It’ll match your semen. He was an assassin. Tried to kill Lisa. Chased her. She hid. I was trying to file another story. I left her alone, it was dumb.’
Craig digested this. ‘And who took him out? You?’
‘Yeah. He was a pro, but not expecting opposition. It caught him off guard that I could shoot. I got his phone.’
‘I need that phone. I need to get you to somewhere. ’
Sam ignored this. ‘He sent a message to his client before I showed up. I’m forwarding it to your phone. I’m going to do what I can with it.’
Craig was practically salivating. ‘Don’t mess me around, Sam. We can analyse everything about that phone, right down to which store sold it to him and when. You don’t have the resources.’
‘I’ll get the phone to you when I’m through with it. Look, Craig, don’t ask me to come in, OK. You know I can’t do that and nor can she. You wouldn’t. Don’t treat us like kids.’
‘I have to advise you to surrender yourself to the authorities, Sam.’
‘Right. And I have to ignore you.’
Despite himself, Craig grinned. ‘Smart-ass.’
‘The papers may call you for comment.’
‘They won’t get any.’ A beat. ‘On the record.’
‘Good man. If I were you, I’d look close to Josh Steen, real close. The killing, the fact that they sent the same guy after Lisa. That’s one worried perp right there. He wants the girl dead because he wants it tied up. And he has money to hire a pro twice. I’m sure right now he’s looking for this schmuck’s replacement. Anyway, go get yourself the corpse; you can check out his clothes and shit, see what else you can find.’
‘I’ll get right to it.’
‘When I call, let me know what you’ve found, and I’ll get the phone to you.’
‘Sam—’
‘Don’t argue. We’re past that.’
Craig gave in, with good grace. ‘Guess we are. And you’ve cleared your girlfriend and got one of the bad guys.’
‘Cleared? Really?’
‘They said she’s not out of the woods. They know she is really, but they can’t let that dream go. Don’t bring her by t
o tour Virginia is my advice. Not yet.’
‘You should work on them. She’s sick of running. She wants to go to an island and drink cocktails with umbrellas and sleep in a hammock.’
‘She can take a number.’
‘Yeah, well, yesterday she nearly took a hit. The client will be sending a replacement out now. He’ll be panicking. I want some safety for my girl.’
‘Then send the phone. Help me catch him.’
‘Help me get her cleared.’
They were at an impasse. Craig rubbed his head. In the past he’d led this friendship. Now Sam Murray was setting all the pace.
‘I’ll send it to you when I’m done. You have to act in your framework, Craig, I don’t. I’m going to solve this case.’
‘I hope you’re right, buddy. Because once they figure out you killed the hitman, you’re on the hook for murder too. Ever think about that one? She’s not the only fugitive right now.’
‘Just keep your phone on. I may need you at short notice.’
He hung up. For one second, Craig Gordon experienced a surge of envy. Yeah, he loved his wife, and he was goddamned great at this job. Loved the Bureau since he was a rookie. But just once, he’d like to be Sam Murray. On the run with a gorgeous woman. Hong Kong. Thailand. Italy. Liechtenstein. Spain. Shooting assassins. Solving the big case. All over the TV . . .
But it wasn’t his life. Sam had always taken the risks. Craig just had to run the case from the ground up, same way he always did. He headed back to his desk to go through those financials again. Peter Mazin was first up.
Rich Frank was sweating. The A/C in his office had broken down again. It was still going, but it was chugging along, sputtering, barely effective. He almost didn’t mind that. The heat gave him a great excuse to have moisture beading on his brow, on the rolls of fat on his neck. People didn’t need to know he was also terrified.
Build ’em up, knock ’em down. It was what a good journalist did in their business. But that treatment was supposed to be reserved for the latest spoiled celebrity, not his own goddamned paper!
They’d ridden high on Sam’s exclusives. Even switched from a weekly schedule to ad hoc publishing as each new one came out. But then the stories dwindled. And now the board of directors was screaming at him on the hour, every hour.
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