by Sandra Brown
“Yeah, it does. I’m sorry. Thanks for being here.”
Gif bobbed his head, then took a sudden interest in the loose cuticle on his thumb. “You’re sure she’s in on it?”
“Hear for yourself.”
Drex took the receiver/recorder from the canvas duffel, connected it to the audio feed of the headset, and passed it to Gif. “I think you’ll find the conversation telling.”
He left Gif to listen and went into the bathroom. He used the toilet and splashed cold water on his face. He gave his image in the mirror a look of sheer disgust. “Even now, you’d fuck her if given the chance, wouldn’t you? Dumb bastard.” He tossed the towel onto the floor and opened the door.
Gif was still listening, but his expression didn’t give away his opinion of what he was hearing. Drex returned to his chair at the table and used a new burner phone to call Mike.
He answered with a growl. “Who’s this?”
“Is this phone secure?”
“It goes through about five rerouters. Should be okay.”
“Were you asleep?”
“No. I’m watching the people who’re watching me.”
“Gif filled me in on Rudkowski. I’m sorry as hell, Mike. When we started this, you gave me fair warning that you wouldn’t help me dig my own grave or climb in with me.”
“That’s what I said, but I didn’t mean it.” He snorted what passed for a laugh. “Actually, it’s kinda fun. They’re out there in their van, eating cold pizza and scratching their balls. I had a pork loin with all the trimmings. Bottle of wine. I’ve got all the comforts of home. Still have my toys, too.”
“They haven’t served a search warrant?”
“Rudkowski is blowing smoke. He knows the chance of finding anything on my computers is nil. If he made good on his threat to search, he’d be left with nothing to show for it. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to go through with it, because he’d never live down being made such a fool of.”
“But you’ve still got a team watching you.”
“Not cowboys. Old guys they wouldn’t trust with any other duty.”
“Could you get away without getting caught?”
“Skip out?”
“Skip town.”
“Sure. But that’s all the excuse Rudkowski would need to put a noose around my neck. And if he did, I’d be no good to you. So why would I want to skip?”
“We have them.”
That he announced it without inflection or fanfare gave it more impact than if he’d shouted it with glee. Continuing in that manner, he gave Mike a broad-strokes version of what had taken place.
When he finished, Mike said, “So, her, too, huh?”
“Yeah.”
For once Mike showed that he had a human side after all. He didn’t follow with I told you so. “Okay. So now what?”
“Stand by. Gif is listening to the conversation now. We’ll get back to you.”
Drex had a few questions for Google. By the time he’d gotten the info he needed, Gif was removing the headset. Drex looked at him expectantly.
“Not to dash cold water on this, Drex, but it’s a long way from a smoking gun or signed confession. It was illegally obtained, which makes it inadmissible in—”
“I know all that.”
“Rudkowski would cook us and serve us in Quantico’s cafeteria.”
“Mike referenced a noose.”
“Neither appeals to me.” Gif fiddled with the headset as he mulled over this new development. “Do you think he’s doing Elaine Conner?”
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. They’re chummy.”
“The Ford marriage sounds wobbly, if not rocky.”
“Doesn’t mean they aren’t partners in crime. Or at least they were when they killed Marian Harris.”
“But did they?” Gif brandished the headset. “This isn’t solid enough to issue them a parking ticket. Nobody, not the FBI, nobody would touch it. In fact, if we pass this along as evidence or even probable cause, any law officer in the land would laugh his ass off and then arrest us for violation of the privacy act.”
“Which is why we must proceed as we have been. On our own. Under the radar.”
Gif grimaced and tossed the headset onto the bed. “Drex—”
“Get Mike on the phone. Please.”
When they were on speaker, Drex addressed Mike. “Tomorrow the lovely couple next door are going on a getaway to Atlanta. I need you to find out the name of a new boutique hotel that poached a chef from a restaurant in New York. If you can—”
“The Lotus.”
“What?”
“That’s the hotel. I read an online article about the chef.”
Gif and Drex looked at each other and, in spite of the grim circumstances, smiled.
“Okay. Thanks,” Drex said. “Can you get there by tomorrow afternoon?”
“To Atlanta?”
“Don’t ask like that. Ever been there?”
“No.”
“It’s nice.”
“It’s nice where I am.”
“You can’t leave a trail, which means you can’t fly. You’ll have to drive.”
“How far is it?”
“Far. Google says almost four hundred miles.” Mike grumbled something unintelligible. Drex said, “I’m not in the mood to argue about it, Mike. It’s six hours in the car. You can snack all the way. Will you do it or not? If not, good night.”
After a brief silence, Mike said, “What do I do when I get there?”
“Check into The Lotus. Make a reservation tonight.”
“It’s costly.”
“I’ll pay.”
“It’s the weekend. What if it’s booked up?” Gif asked.
“Child’s play,” Mike said. “I’ll hack their system and cancel somebody’s reservation.” He paused. “I don’t suppose you’re sending me there to sample the five-star cuisine.”
“I’m sending you there to keep tabs on the Fords.”
“Are you nuts?” Gif exclaimed. “He couldn’t fade into the woodwork if they had a sequoia growing in the hotel lobby.”
“He’s not your typical undercover operative, no,” Drex said. “He’s obese and ugly—”
“I’m still here,” Mike said.
“—which is why no one would take him for a spy.”
Drex wanted Mike in Atlanta, but not only for the reason stated. He also wanted him out of Lexington. If the shit went down, he didn’t want Mike to be within Rudkowski’s reach. Eventually he would corral them, but Drex didn’t want to make it easy for him.
Gif, in his reasonable manner, suggested that he be sent to Atlanta instead. “I’m already in a neighboring state.”
“Yes, but Charleston is roughly a hundred and fifty miles farther. I checked. Besides, if Talia saw you, she might remember you from the coffee shop.”
“He’s unmemorable,” Mike said. “And what’s that about the coffee shop?”
“We’ll tell you later,” Drex said, impatience mounting. “Mike, can Sammy get you an untraceable car by morning?”
“With one phone call.”
Sammy—Drex wasn’t sure which alias was his real last name—was a mechanic who could make a rattletrap run like a Porsche. Early in Mike’s career with the bureau, he had been in on the sting that busted Sammy for transporting stolen merchandise across state lines.
Sammy had served time, but, by the time of his release, Mike was working with Drex and had seen the advantages of cultivating a relationship with a guy like Sammy, someone who was only a little crooked. They’d used Sammy and his larcenous automotive know-how more than a few times.
“The tricky part will be making the swap,” Mike said. “But Sammy is creative.”
“Leave as early as possible,” Drex said. “I’d like you in place by check-in time.”
“I’ll be missed when I don’t show up for work.”
“Hold on, you two,” Gif said. “Please. This plan has pitfalls I can see from here.”<
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After a few more minutes of back-and-forthing, Drex called an end to it, saying, “Either you’re in or out, guys. If you want out, no hard feelings. But tell me now or shut up.”
Neither said anything.
After a moment, Drex resumed. “Mike, I don’t know for sure how long they’re staying. You’ll have to find that out somehow. I’ll need to know when they’re on their way back. “
Gif looked around his motel room. “In the meantime, what’s my job?”
“Hang around until, or if, I need you for backup, and then come running.”
“What’ll you be doing?” Gif asked.
“Tearing their fucking house apart.”
Mike and Gif put up another argument that lasted for half an hour. But Drex was resolute. While the Fords were whiling away a few days in the luxury hotel, he would have access to their house, ergo to their lives.
He was going to search exhaustively until he found something that linked them to Marian Harris. The photo taken on her yacht wasn’t indicting. The authorities in Florida had used it to identify Jasper, aka Daniel Knolls, when Marian first went missing. He’d been interviewed by police and subsequently released.
Drex now wondered if Talia had also been questioned. He made a mental note to follow up with Deputy Gray.
He relegated that to the back burner of his mind and concentrated on what today might hold in store. His cohorts begged him to reconsider going inside the Fords’ home. They cited that it was a crime. They enumerated the obstacles he’d likely confront. Security alarm. Nanny cams.
“Hell, this freako might’ve booby-trapped the place,” Mike said.
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Drex said. “I’ll be careful.”
“Say you get in without any trouble, and it turns out to be a gold mine of evidence,” Gif said. “What good is it going to do us? Anything you find will be inadmissible.”
“Anything I find will justify my killing him.”
That had shut them up.
After signing off with Mike, Gif packed his things in preparation of moving to another motel. “With a credit card no one knows I have,” he assured Drex.
The two of them left together in Gif’s car. Dawn was just about to break, but the difference between it and the night was negligible. The overcast was solid. Precipitation alternated between an all-out rain and a mist now heavy enough to make windshield wipers necessary.
Drex directed Gif to the convenience store. “Let me out there. I’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”
“You sure?”
“I don’t want my nosy neighbors to see you dropping me off.” Gif pulled over. Drex said, “Call me with your new location.”
“As soon as I’m checked in.”
Drex reached for the door handle, but Gif said suddenly, “Listen, Drex. I gave you some grief about her, but I had started hoping, for your sake, that we were wrong.”
Drex didn’t react except to say a brusque “I’ll be in touch.” He got out, shut the door, and tapped the roof of the car twice. Only as Gif was driving away did he murmur, “Thanks, buddy.”
He went into the twenty-four-hour store. A different cashier was on duty. He made his purchase, then set out for the apartment. He was skirting the green belt, looking for a place to cut through that wasn’t too overgrown, when he spotted a lone runner on the street, coming from the opposing direction, taking form in the mist.
She must have seen him at about the same time as he saw her because she slowed her pace to a walk. She looked toward the other side of the street, as though considering crossing it to avoid him. But then she squared her shoulders and continued toward him.
He stopped where he was, forcing her to close the distance between them. But he took small satisfaction in that, because, even though he was cold with rage over how thoroughly he’d been duped, the sight of her up close made him hot and hard. Her tights and top were wet from sweat as well as from the elements. They conformed to her like a coat of paint, revealing the shapeliness of her legs, the perfection of her breasts, the small points of her nipples.
Her eyes were the color of the cloudy sky. Like the mist, they held mysteries. Her ponytail hung heavy and damp against the back of her neck. A bead of water dripped off a loose strand of hair at the side of her face and rolled down her cheek like yesterday morning’s tear.
Which he’d fallen for. Like a lovesick kid. Like a damned idiot.
He suppressed a rush of renewed anger and said, “You’re out early. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Thunder woke me up.”
“It hasn’t thundered.”
“Then it must’ve been something else.”
“Must’ve been.” He looked her over, making her aware that he was aware of every curve, dip, distension. “No spin class today?”
“They weren’t open yet.”
“You could’ve waited.”
“I wanted to get an early start on the day. So did you, apparently.” She indicated the grocery sack.
“I needed milk.”
“Why didn’t you drive?”
“I needed exercise.”
“What’s that?” She pointed at the duffel bag.
It hung against his side by the shoulder strap. He patted it. “That? That’s my bag of tricks.”
“I can see you’re going to be obtuse.”
“Obtuse. Ranks right up there with morose.”
She shot him a look of annoyance and gestured as though to say she needed to be on her way. “Have a nice day.” She tried to go around him. He sidestepped to block her. “Please let me by.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Tell who what?”
He gave her a smile that was insolent and, he hoped, infuriating. “Your husband, Talia. Did you tell Jasper about the kiss?”
Another squaring of shoulders. “Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course I told him.”
“And what was his reaction?”
“The same as mine.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
She read the innuendo in his drawling tone and the snicker that accompanied it. “Go to hell.” She tried to move past him, but he blocked her again. “Cut it out, Drex!”
“Jasper was upset?”
“No, not upset. Outraged that you would dare.”
“Really? Then why didn’t he barge up the stairs, kick in my door, and tear me apart limb by limb?”
“Because he isn’t governed by animal impulses.”
“Neither am I. If I were, we would have done a hell of a lot more than kiss.”
She slapped him. Hard. It smarted like hell, but he only laughed. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Stay away from me.” She nudged him with her elbow as she went past and took off running.
He turned to watch her, saying under his breath, “Liar.”
She stopped and came back around. “What did you say?”
He didn’t answer.
Raising her voice she repeated the question, enunciating each word.
By contrast he leaned forward and spoke in a whisper just loud enough for her to hear. “I said ‘pants on fire.’”
Chapter 17
Following his three-way call with Drex and Gif, Mike had been unable to sleep. He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling until daylight, then got up, showered, and dressed without any readjustment of his morning routine.
However, for what he was about to do, he did not have a method for mentally preparing himself.
His breakfast consisted of two toasted bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon, a bowl of strawberries floating in heavy cream, and three cups of coffee with three teaspoons of sugar each.
Thus stoked, he was as ready as he was ever going to be.
But as he held his cell phone in his palm, he was once again gripped by indecision. For the next few minutes, he did some tough soul searching, telling himself that he could still change his mind.
Ultimately, however, he de
termined that he was doing the right thing. Without further deliberation, which could produce more doubt, he placed the dreaded call.
A gravelly voice answered. “Rudkowski.”
“It’s Mike Mallory.”
As though waiting for a taunt, Rudkowski didn’t say anything. Had he been shocked speechless? Or was he rigging up a way to record the call? Mike figured both.
Finally Rudkowski said, “And?”
“I think you’re an asshole of the most rectal sort.”
“You interrupted my breakfast to tell me that?”
“No, I just thought you should know up front what I think of you, in case you didn’t know already.”
“I had more than an inkling. Now if that’s all, my oatmeal is getting cold.”
“That ballyhoo you raised about a search warrant? All you achieved was to make me look like a victim of your peevishness and make you look like a douche.”
“A matter of opinion.”
“It’s unanimous. Even the agents you have watching my house would agree. You won’t risk a search because you know you won’t find anything.”
“Maybe I’ll get a warrant and maybe I won’t. But whatever I decide about that, I’m keeping you under a microscope until I know what’s going on. Your crony Gif took time off to have hemorrhoids removed. Really? Hemorrhoids? Nobody in his office remembers complaints of such.”
“It’s hardly something he would discuss with coworkers over lunch.”
“Don’t even try to cover for him. His sudden need for surgery coincides with your ringleader’s vacation. Vacation,” he repeated with scorn. “I know Easton is up to something. You three musketeers are playing with fire, and you’re all going to get burned. Again.”
Rudkowski had given him an opening. He took it. “That’s why I called you.” He let that hover to be certain he had Rudkowski’s undivided attention. “Drex is up to something. And this time, I think he’s…” He paused, took a deep breath. “What he’s about to do could have serious repercussions. For all of us, but especially for him.”
“What’s he about to do? Where is he?”
“Un-huh. Before I tell you anything, we’ve got to strike a bargain.”
“No bargain.”
“Then enjoy your oatmeal.”
“Wait! All right. What kind of bargain?”