“Because I didn’t know what was happening in my own family, I am now liable for conspiracy for the murder of a federal judge. It was my eldest son sentenced to death by Judge Whitmore. Frank worked for me. I paid him while he went on those errands for you. Whether I ordered it or not, as the saying goes, ‘the buck stops here.’ I can’t prove I didn’t know what you and Frank were planning. The jury will assume I not only sanctioned it but set it in motion.”
“That wasn’t—”
Titus waved him to silence. “My interests happen to coincide with yours—for the moment. I solved your problem. I hired Lucas Saracelli. Your witness is as good as dead. But now I ask you. Who’s going to solve my problem? You!”
Connor knew he was in trouble as that cold fury hit him. “I have no interest—”
“Shut up. You will go back to your law office, back to your good job, and you will keep your mouth shut. You will toe the line so hard that it squeaks. And to help you out, Joseph is joining your firm tomorrow. He is at your side until I say otherwise. And Connor . . . I mean it. Keep your mouth shut. Now get out.”
Connor wisely left.
Chapter Ten
It was a former hunting lodge, now someone’s expensive vacation home, with two wings of bedrooms around a central kitchen, den, and living room. It sat a few hundred feet from a sprawling lake. Shari wondered who had owed the marshals a favor; it must have been a big one.
“The town is two miles to the east,” Marcus commented, pausing beside her on the spacious porch. “We know all the residents of these homes by sight.”
“Would it be too much to ask where we are?”
“The middle of nowhere.”
“You are obstinate. How about the state?”
“Area code 502, given you’ll find that out when we set up a mirrored e-mail account.”
“The western part of Kentucky.”
He laughed. “Nice to know you remember the important things in life.” The laughter faded and the seriousness returned. “There are ground rules.”
Having had them drilled into her by both Marcus and Joshua, she felt like rolling her eyes. “No one is told this location; all phone calls are made on the special cellular phone you got me; all mail is routed through my office.”
“And you go nowhere without a shadow.”
“I was hoping you had forgotten that one.”
“Not likely. Choose your room, I’ll bring in your bags. East if you want a sunrise, west if you want to sleep in.”
“West,” she said decisively. It felt good to make a firm decision for herself. She took one step toward the front door but then paused and came back. She hesitated, then rested her hand on his arm. “We’re safe here, Marcus?” You’re safe? She didn’t want anyone else getting shot because of her.
His hand covered hers, linked with her fingers, offering a reassuring grip. “Only two people know where we were heading: Quinn and Dave. I didn’t even tell the pilot until we were in the air, and he’s got a memory that is notoriously forgetful.”
She felt the intensity in his gaze, the strength in this man. She wanted to cling and did tighten her hand in his. “Thank you for this.”
He reached up and brushed back her hair, blown by the wind across her face, his gaze holding hers. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you and your family safe; that’s a promise.”
Did he understand what that meant to her, to have a man care that much? He had already demonstrated he’d take a bullet for her. She was growing attached to him in ways that went deep into her heart. She released his hand, placed hers on his chest for a moment and with a quiet nod, turned and wisely went inside.
It was a beautiful home, a place to retreat and let time heal some deep wounds, a place to get her perspective back together. Marcus was sliding into the void left by Sam, and as powerfully beautiful as it was to be cherished by such a man, she knew their futures would eventually diverge. She was sold out to God, and he was still struggling with a difficult past. To face another heartache so soon after Sam . . . Jesus, I didn’t choose any of this. Don’t let me get hurt again. And please, don’t let me hurt Marcus. It’s the last thing in the world I ever want to happen.
* * *
Marcus dropped his bag by the side of the bed, wearily unfastened his shoulder holster and secured the 9-millimeter Glock and placed it beside the bed. He sank into the pillows face down, let the mattress absorb his weight, felt the sunlight streaming in the west window warm his back. They were safely here; it had been his one focused goal and it had been accomplished. Craig had security for the next few hours. Unpacking could come later.
Marcus fell deeply asleep and didn’t waste energy dreaming.
He was pulled awake by a noise he couldn’t ignore.
His pager was going off.
He had no idea how much time had passed, five minutes, several hours. All he was certain of was that he had been deeply asleep. His eyes blurred as he read the numbers, and he had to squint. Baltimore. Jennifer.
His hand groped across the bedside table for his cellular phone and he dialed from memory. “Hi, precious. How are you doing?” he asked sleepily.
“Much better for hearing that endearment.”
“Tom might be your guy now, but I’m not giving up that title easily. You’ve been my precious since I chaperoned your first date.” He shoved a pillow under his shoulder to make himself more comfortable. “You sound better than you did yesterday.”
“I got a reprieve, treatment was moved to this afternoon.”
“Did your latest company arrive?”
Jennifer giggled. “No, but I know they are on their way. Stephen has sent a dozen pages tracking their progress across the country. And he’s been calling from the plane to tell me these stupid jokes. I keep telling him to stop, and Jack just keeps telling Stephen new ones to pass along. The last call was from the airport here, they were just getting ready to land.”
“No wonder you’re giggling. Jack’s jokes can make your ribs hurt from laughing so hard.”
“Exactly, and laughter’s good medicine.” Her tone became more serious. “I just wanted to call and tell you the Rugsby trail is ready.”
The conspiracy had begun. “What did you and Rachel decide on?”
“The Rugsby ransom requires each O’Malley to do something specific. Seven letters are ready to be sent.”
“Am I going to groan when I open mine?”
“Yours is the best of all of them.”
“Jennifer—”
She laughed. “This is so much fun. Rachel is going to mail them tomorrow.”
“I knew I was starting something I would live to regret.”
“The only way out of paying the ransom is to figure out who took Rugsby. He’s well hidden?”
“Definitely.” He’d just arranged for the animal to be shipped back to Rachel; she didn’t know it was coming. It would give her a bit of a jolt when the mail arrived. “Lisa might figure it out if you give her enough time to work on it.”
“The ransom is payable in a month. We should be okay.” Her tone changed; she laughed. “I just got invaded, and Stephen’s carrying one of the ugliest wrapped packages I have ever seen.”
“Since I know what he’s bringing you, you don’t know the half of it,” Marcus replied with a smile. “Talk to you later, Jen.”
“Bye, Marcus.”
He hung up the phone, awake now, but not in a hurry to get up. He was glad he had set the entire Rugsby silliness into motion. Jennifer’s laughter helped ease at least one source of concern. She was a fighter, his sister, even if she was the soft, gentle one in his family. And he wanted—needed—to see her soon just to share a hug.
Stephen had found Jennifer a truly ugly shirt. It was loud, obnoxious, startling, and just the kind of thing to make her laugh. Knowing Jennifer, she’d wear it too.
Marcus linked his hands behind his head, found his thoughts drifting sharply back to Shari and what had happened.
Two sho
oters. What did that tell him about the man who had killed Carl? It reaffirmed what shooting Carl had told him—the man would take big risks. Two people involved meant he would risk having someone else who would be able to turn and testify against him. His frustration would be high after this failure. And he would likely try again. Marcus sighed, glad he had been able to get all the Hanfords relocated.
It was going to be a long day.
He picked up the phone. “Dave, where are we at? Do we have anything on the rifle?”
* * *
He arrived on a midmorning Tuesday flight into O’Hare from Saudi Arabia and took his leisure checking through customs. His jeans were worn, his blue casual shirt bore the small logo of an oil drilling company, and his boots were scuffed. A man accustomed to working anywhere at short notice, a veteran of worldwide travel, he was relaxed as his one bag was scanned, his passport checked. His passport gave his name as Larry Sanders but his real name was Lucas Saracelli.
His only luggage was the one carry-on bag. Once through customs he stopped at the first shop with newspapers and bought the Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Sun Times. He was behind on the sports news. At a pay phone he called a private taxi service that came in limousines rather than yellow cabs, then walked down the concourse. He’d get a good steak and fries for dinner he decided and find a bar with a baseball game. It was good to be back in the States.
His ride was pulling up as he exited the terminal. Lucas handed his bag to the driver to stash in the trunk, took a seat in the back of the limousine, and reached for the complimentary soda sitting in ice. “Take me to the Jefferson Renaissance Hotel please.” He had long ago learned the easiest place to begin a search was at the beginning.
Shari Hanford.
He thought about the picture he had been sent as he drank the soda, scanned the first newspaper, and occasionally glanced up to watch the towering city skyline grow ever closer.
A witness.
He sighed. He hated going after witnesses.
At least there would be security around her and he wouldn’t have to take down someone totally defenseless. He hoped the men on her side were good at their jobs. If this hit turned out to be easy, it would leave a bitter taste for months.
He had to find her first.
It was the part of a contract he enjoyed the most.
Arriving in the middle of the day had shortened the commute time. The driver pulled up to the entryway of the Jefferson Renaissance Hotel before Lucas finished reading the first newspaper. He folded the two papers and tucked them under one arm, gave the driver a generous tip, and entered the foyer of the hotel looking around with interest at the press and the security present.
At the desk he flirted with the receptionist, signed the register, and accepted a room key. He was given a room on the seventh floor and after dropping his bag at the end of the bed, opening the drapes, turning down the air-conditioning to cold, and placing the do not disturb tag on the door, he wandered back down to the bar. “What’s all the excitement about?” Within five minutes he had found a reporter eager to be a fountain of knowledge.
Chapter Eleven
It had rained during the night. Shari sipped her coffee and watched the wind stir the lake waters. The sky was just beginning to lighten as the sun came up, the blue very pale, the one cloud in sight tinged pink. She sat watching from the window seat in the den, the spot she had chosen over the last four days as her favorite in this spacious home. For wanting to sleep in, she had been awake way too early. The bad dreams had been there again, just beyond memory, and the anxious feeling as she awoke was just beginning to fade.
The nearby trees in her line of sight had shed some of their leaves and their trunk and branches were black silhouettes against the lightening sky behind them. Black and stark could be quite beautiful. It was an unexpected observation. There were times when black and stark could be turned into something of great beauty.
Thanks for that reminder, Lord.
She saw Marcus and Quinn reappear from around the boathouse. She braced her chin on her drawn up knee and watched the two men. She had been surprised when she first saw them down at the lake. When did those two sleep? She wondered at times if they did.
Steam was rising off the lake waters behind them. She was beginning to think this was one of the most peaceful, beautiful places she had ever stayed.
It was quiet here. She had been up almost an hour and the phone had not rung. She had her time to think. And over the last few days she had spent a lot of time doing just that.
Having life stop had shown her a pattern to her life that she didn’t necessarily like to see. To distract herself from the pain of her breakup with Sam she had turned her focus to work. To distract herself from grieving for Carl and Dad she had been using the long list of funeral and estate details. She had been using anything to push away the confusion over prayer. She had been hiding, and that was for a coward.
Her life wasn’t going as she had planned, and she had let anger flare toward God rather than step back and reconsider what was propelling her.
She wanted a life in public service, wanted it with a passion that went back to her teens. It was the noble cause her father had inspired. And she wanted a family. She had defined what those two things looked like, had defined the timetable for them, and for someone who prided herself on her ability to be flexible and compromise to get things done, she had been rigid when they came apart.
She didn’t want to rethink her life, but she was getting a chance, tucked away here, stripped of the time demands that drove her schedule when she was working at home.
She wanted another distraction. She needed a distraction. And he was walking back to the house right now. Marcus.
What would have happened if they had simply been able to have coffee that Saturday morning? If none of this had happened? She’d never know.
He had gotten shot protecting her. And he was here with her family when she knew he would rather be with his sister. She wished she knew what made him tick. He was a fascinating man, hard to get to know because he was a man with so many deep layers, but a true friend.
If only he hadn’t pushed away God. . . . She sighed and avoided following the thought.
She picked up the pad of paper she had carried downstairs with her. It was time to work out what her priorities had to be for the day. She missed her newspapers. She always started the day with coffee and a stack of newspapers to peruse.
Priorities for today. She wrote down one word with a grimace. Estate. The boxes of information had arrived last night. Today she would sort and try to get a handle on what was there to deal with.
“You’re up early.”
She started. Marcus was going to give her a heart attack with his habit of sneaking up on her. She hadn’t heard him enter the house.
“I couldn’t sleep.” She looked hopefully at him. “I don’t suppose the newspapers have come?”
“Sorry. It will be another day before they are being forwarded.”
“This is worse than taking the batteries out of my phone.”
“Had breakfast yet?”
“The least you could do is sympathize.”
He grinned. “That you don’t have your dozen newspapers? You need to get a life for a few days.”
“It appears I’ve got no choice. Breakfast—you’re not on duty? I saw you walking with Quinn.”
“Craig has the detail until noon.” He held out his hand.
Shari set aside the pad of paper and let him pull her to her feet.
“So what do you have on your agenda for the day?”
She groaned. “Paperwork.”
* * *
Shari reached into the cardboard bankers box for another thick file folder. She had always thought of her dad as organized until she sat down to go through all the paperwork. Arrayed around her on the table and floor were various stacks of information—insurance, stocks, car titles, bank statements, tax return information. Her laptop was open and she was tr
ying to complete a spreadsheet of everything the estate would need to have appraised.
“Josh, have you found the paperwork on Grandfather’s farmland?”
“Somewhere.” Her brother searched through the stacks on the coffee table. “Here it is.”
She added it to physical assets.
The folder she had picked up was past brokerage statements. She began putting them into date order. In the back of the folder she stumbled on a set of pictures that must have fallen into the box when it was packed.
The top image brought an instinctive laugh. She must have been about twelve in the picture, Joshua nine. They were both draped around a dog that had earned the name Mutt. She flipped through the others from the camping trip they had taken to the Rockies. “Oh my. Mom, you’ll like these.”
Beth had the photo albums open around her. Shari handed the pictures over. “We had such fun on this trip. I remember standing on the Great Divide in the snow while Dad took our picture. And the striped chipmunks that would eat peanuts. Oh, and that lake that turned pale pink when the sun set.”
“Don’t forget the trout,” Joshua added.
Shari glanced out the window at the lake. “Do you suppose this lake has good fishing?”
“It’s a great lake for bass fishing,” Marcus replied from the doorway.
Shari swiveled around. “Really? Could we go fishing sometime?”
“You would have to be willing to get up at dawn.”
“I could do that.”
“We might be able to some time,” Marcus agreed. “Beth, could I speak with you for a moment?”
“Of course. I was just about to get some iced tea. Come join me.”
Shari watched her mom take Marcus’s arm as they left the room. “What do you suppose those two are up to now?” she asked Josh, slightly envious of her mom for the close relationship she had formed with Marcus.
“They were talking about the nearby town this morning over breakfast. I know Mom would like to visit the local shops,” Josh replied, not looking up from the paper he was reading. “What do you want to do about the contents of the safe deposit box? There’s a note that the original of this document is there.”
The Guardian Page 17
