She was going to puke. No, no. She had nothing to throw up. She turned the ignition of Bill’s truck and started toward River Road. Just get home. No, the hospital. See her dad.
She couldn’t even think straight, Mitch had upset her so much. She slowed to focus on driving. She hadn’t even drunk half the beer at the Rabbit Hole. She wasn’t drunk or even slightly impaired. But she felt . . . impaired.
Had Frank Lowe drugged her? That didn’t make sense. She’d ordered her beer before he knew who she was. Could he have done it without her seeing? Maybe. Maybe when she was talking to Phin and turned away for a minute. But why?
Maybe that’s what he’d done to Oliver Maddox. Drugged him at the bar so he crashed into the river and drowned. Again, why?
She focused on the reflective markers in the middle of the winding road. The lines were blurry. She slowed down. Stop driving. Her foot was so heavy. She couldn’t move it.
Bump bump bump.
She jerked her head up, eyes wide, turning the wheel to the right. She’d gone over the line. She thought she heard ringing. It was her cell phone.
Stop the car!
She tried to lift her left foot up to push down on the emergency brake. Her foot wouldn’t move, like a pile of bricks weighted it down.
She stared at her hands gripping the steering wheel as she swerved again. Weaving. Over, under, around, through. There were six hands. Did she have six hands? Now eight.
She focused on the white lines. Bright. Bright lines. Yellow. Red. Orange. Purple. Sparkling.
Stop!
She was hallucinating. Drugged. She knew it, but her mind couldn’t order her body to behave. Her eyes saw things she knew in her head couldn’t be there.
Her foot slipped off the gas, but she had no strength to lift it to the brake. But she was slowing down. Good.
So tired.
Mitch was quiet as Steve drove toward Sacramento. Frank Lowe was silent in the back, cuffed to the door. Mitch was turned slightly to watch the prisoner as Steve drove.
Steve said, “Your love life notwithstanding, this is turning out pretty good. O’Brien is turning himself in and we have a major lead in the Maddox homicide.” He jerked his head toward Lowe.
“I swear, I didn’t know the kid was dead until his body was pulled out of the river.”
“But you knew it was Maddox when he came into the bar in January.”
Lowe stayed quiet.
Steve said, “Frank, we have enough to arrest you, and you’ll have to answer to the Sacramento PD about who really died in that fire fifteen years ago.”
“No. As soon as my name gets out, I’ll be dead.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“Don’t you see? The only person I told was Taverton, and a week later he was dead and someone tried to kill me. I don’t know who Taverton told, but it couldn’t have been many people. It was someone inside. So I’m not talking.”
“You’re still wanted on the home invasion robbery from fifteen years ago, plus I’m sure there are a whole host of tax laws you’ve broken. And identity theft, lying to federal—”
“Stop. Please don’t do this.” Lowe was scared shitless, and that was fine with Mitch. It just might make him talk.
“Look,” Mitch said, feigning disinterest, “talk to my boss, okay? She might be interested in cutting a deal. Or not. I don’t know. What do you think, Steve?”
“Elliott’s a hard-ass,” Steve said. “And it’s Friday. She might not even want to talk until Monday morning.”
“Right. You can cool your heels in county lockup.”
“No.” Lowe blanched. “Please don’t.”
“Steve, don’t you think it’s interesting that Maddox found out about Waterstone and the Delta Conservancy? The same two companies that Frank’s aunt gave all her money to. It must have been important to him if he swallowed a computer flash drive with the information. Might take us longer to put it together, but—”
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear to you, please let me go. I’ll disappear—”
“You’re a suspect in a homicide,” Mitch said, hardening his voice.
“I didn’t kill the kid! I swear on my dad’s grave, I didn’t do it, I had nothing to do with it. Do you swear you can protect me?”
Steve and Mitch glanced at each other. “If your information is good, we’ll take care of you.”
“What’s that?” Mitch leaned forward in his seat. “A drunk driver on this road? He’s going—wait!” Green Ford 150. That was Bill Kamanski’s truck, the one Claire was driving.
“It’s Claire,” he said.
“Something’s wrong.” Steve accelerated.
“Hurry.” Mitch’s heart thudded painfully. He glared at Lowe in the back. “Did you drug her or—”
“I didn’t do anything to her! I swear!”
Claire’s truck was moving slowly but steadily toward the river.
Mitch knew the second before the front wheel went off the edge that they wouldn’t make it in time. He pulled off his holster and kicked off his shoes while Steve sped up until they were right next to where Claire’s car had rolled into the river.
Cars sank fast, but this section of the river had a slight slope and the current was weaker on the curve. Still, the truck was front-heavy. Claire’s front wheels were in the water. It continued to roll forward as Mitch slid down the ten-foot slope and grabbed the door handle.
Claire was unconscious in the driver’s seat, her head forward on the steering wheel. Mitch had no time to think about what had happened to her; he pulled at the handle.
Locked.
“Claire!” he shouted and pounded on the window. She didn’t move. The front of the truck was fully submerged up to the tires, tilting at a steep angle, and the car kept sliding.
Mitch shouted at Steve, “I need the spring punch from the emergency kit. Now!” Steve turned to the car.
“Claire, come on!” He pounded on the window. She rolled her head back, her eyes fluttered open, then closed. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He kept pounding the window and pulling on the door as the truck continued its descent. His feet sank into the silt, he was wet to his knees. The only thing slowing the Ford was shrubbery.
Steve came as fast as he dared down the slope and handed Mitch the spring punch. Without hesitation, Mitch snapped it on the window, putting a hole in the safety glass. He tapped it again, again, pulling away the shattered glass in chunks. The water reached his waist.
The truck broke free of the bushes and sank faster, the angle increasing to sixty degrees. Mitch feared the suction would pull him down or make him lose his balance. He reached inside the door and pulled on the handle.
The water rushed in to fill the car as Mitch reached over and clicked Claire’s seat belt.
Claire was awake, her eyes wide and unfocused. She was talking but it made no sense.
“Got her!” Mitch shouted, grabbing Claire by the underarms and pulling her from the truck. Instead of fighting the car as it fully submerged, which could have drowned them both, Mitch took a deep breath and they both went underwater for a few seconds. It felt like minutes. Claire started kicking frantically, and for a moment Mitch feared she was fighting him, then he realized she was trying to get to the surface in a panic.
Two strong strokes and he pulled himself and Claire to the surface of the river.
The truck settled on the river’s bottom.
Mitch pulled Claire out of the water and he and Steve carried her to the road. Mitch laid her down, checked her all over. Her eyes were open, terrified, her hands like claws as if defending herself from a dragon. She was shivering uncontrollably.
“Get the med kit and a blanket,” Mitch told Steve. “Claire, it’s okay. It’s me. Mitch. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Steve asked as Mitch wrapped Claire in the wool blanket.
Mitch checked her eyes. Her pupils were dilate
d and unresponsive. “Some sort of drug.”
“Does she use drugs?”
“No. I’ve never seen any. Lowe!”
Mitch jumped up and took three strides to the car. He flung open the rear door, unlocked Lowe’s cuff from the handle, and pulled him out. Grabbing his shirt with his fists, Mitch jerked Lowe and said, “What did you give her? If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you, Lowe. What did you do to her back at the bar?”
“I didn’t do anything, I swear to God, I didn’t. I don’t know what happened. She was asking me questions about me—asking Tip questions about me, and I played Tip, told her Frank was dead, and I didn’t know any-thing about a plea agreement. I swear, I didn’t hurt her. I wouldn’t.”
Mitch pushed him against the car. “If you’re lying to me—”
“I’m not. I swear I’m not.”
Mitch believed him.
“Mitch,” Steve said, carrying Claire over to the car, “lock him back up. Let’s get her to a hospital and send ERT back down here to inspect the bar. If he drugged her, something will be there.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Lowe said. “She came in. She only drank half her beer.”
“What time?” Mitch asked as he locked Lowe back into the rear seat.”
“About four. She was there an hour maybe. Then she left. I thought she was gone. Thirty minutes passed, you came in, then she came back.”
“We can search the bar for drugs, talk to the customers,” Steve said. “Get in, I’ll slide her over to you.”
Mitch went around to the passenger side and got in. Steve gently laid Claire down, and Mitch pulled her into his lap. Steve got in and called in the accident.
Mitch couldn’t help but think that only a mile south, Oliver Maddox had drowned in this same river.
Mitch resisted the urge to snap at Steve for moving too slowly along the dangerous delta road. Claire was shaking uncontrollably in his arms. She held on to him as if she were drowning, her face buried in his chest. She was having a hard time catching her breath, and her skin was cold and clammy.
“Turn on the heater,” he told Steve. “She’s freezing.”
Steve did, but Claire still shivered. “Meg said to take her directly to Sutter Memorial, where O’Brien is.”
“He’s already there? Isn’t it early?”
“O’Brien is going in for emergency surgery in less than an hour. He surrendered early when he found blood in his urine. Meg’s at the hospital talking to him right now with the D.A. and O’Brien’s attorney to get a statement regarding the prison break and his activities since.”
Meg could be a hard-ass, Mitch knew, but she had a deep, quiet compassionate streak.
Steve spoke to the sheriff, told him about the truck and asked him to send a deputy to secure the Rabbit Hole, that they’d be sending an FBI forensic unit to process the evidence because this was now a federal crime. When he hung up, Mitch asked, “What federal crime?”
“Tax evasion,” Steve said, glancing in the rearview mirror at Lowe.
Mitch doubted Claire even knew it was him she was clinging to. But he would take it. What could he do to make it up to Claire, lying to her about who and what he was? Claire wasn’t a forgiving soul, but even if she were what he’d done was unforgivable.
“How long?” he asked Steve when they finally reached the main highway.
“Twenty minutes.”
Mitch kissed her forehead. She was conscious but unfocused; shaking and confused. “Stay with me, Claire.”
Forgive me, Claire. Stay with me.
Lora was alone in the house. Her mother was still at the mall, had been gone most of the day, and her father had been called to The Rabbit Hole. He’d ordered her to stay inside. Daddy had been furious and worried—she’d befriended Tip, and now Tip had been arrested.
Lora didn’t know what exactly was going on and she sat in her bedroom writing everything in her diary.
The men said his name wasn’t Tip, but Frank Lowe. They can’t be right. Agent Smith and Agent Jones called him Tip. Wouldn’t they all know the same thing? I don’t understand what’s going on. I called Agent Jones as soon as I left the bar and told him everything. Maybe the men weren’t real FBI agents. Maybe they kidnapped Tip. They knew the terrorist girl who came in.
Agent Jones was very mad, and I wish I didn’t call him. I wish I’d just kept the information to myself, because I don’t want to make him mad. He’s so pretty and nice.
The doorbell rang. Lora went down to answer it, certain it was someone else coming by to find out what had happened. Three neighbors had already called on them to ask what was going on at the Rabbit Hole.
It was Agent Smith and Agent Jones.
“Is your father here?”
“No, he’s at the Rabbit Hole if you need to talk to him.”
They stepped in and closed the door. She noticed they were wearing gloves, which seemed strange because it was so warm outside. Agent Jones wore a nice suit and his shoes were polished. He was so pretty, Lora could stare at him all day.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I called you as soon as I could.”
“You did the right thing.”
She smiled and relaxed. He wasn’t mad at her anymore. Agent Smith walked around the living room, but she focused on Agent Jones.
“What happened to Tip?”
“He was arrested. He’ll be dealt with appropriately.”
“So you proved he was a terrorist? Did I help?”
“Unfortunately, not as much as I had hoped.”
She frowned.
“You did write down everything, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Will you show me? Please?”
“You need it for evidence, right?”
“Exactly.”
She smiled and started up the stairs. Agent Jones followed. “Will you need me to testify? I can do that, you know. I have a very good memory.”
“I know you do. I’m sure I’ll be in contact once we have what we need.”
“Oh, good! Isn’t this exciting? Maybe not for you, you do it all the time, but for me. I’ve never had something so exciting happen.”
She turned into her bedroom and went to the closet. She pulled out the shoebox with her most current notes and handed it to him.
“Is this all?”
“No, just the last two months.”
She opened her closet and pointed to all her pretty shoeboxes. “I labeled them in code, so no one would figure it out. Did I do good?”
Jeffrey Riordan, aka Agent Jones, stared at the shelves of shoeboxes in the retard’s closet. Fuck. They couldn’t haul all this crap out of here! But they couldn’t leave it, either.
“Jones!” Harper called from downstairs. “It’s getting late.”
“We need it all, Ms. Lane.”
“Oh. I see.” She bit her lip and looked at the boxes. “I guess twenty-six boxes is a lot, isn’t it?”
“You’ve been very diligent.” Too fucking diligent. “Would you please pull them down for me? I’ll ask my partner to help transport them to the car.”
“Oh, yes, certainly.” She began pulling them off the shelves. Slowly.
“We have another appointment, we need to rush a bit.”
“I’m sorry. Of course.” She was flustered, but she pulled them down faster.
Jeffrey went downstairs. “There’s twenty-six boxes of crap,” he whispered to Harper.
“We need to get out of here.”
“You get the boxes to the car, I’ll take care of her.”
Ten minutes later, the boxes detailing every night Lora Lane had spent at the Rabbit Hole were stored in Riordan’s trunk. Including, Jeffrey was certain, her “orders” to poison Oliver Maddox, who’d been far too close to figuring out what had happened to Rose Van Alden’s estate. And that would have led to even more secrets that Jeffrey couldn’t have come out—ever—especially in an election year.
“Thank you, Ms. Lane,” he said.
&nb
sp; “Will you be by again?”
“Very likely. I like you a lot.” He leaned forward as if to kiss her.
She blushed, but her eyes were bright and excited and focused on his eyes. Better his eyes than his hand that now held a knife.
He placed one hand on her shoulder, dipped his head, then shoved his fist forward, the knife cutting through her. He’d never stabbed anyone before, and it felt strange and exhilarating. Her eyes were innocent and surprised. She hadn’t registered what happened. She gasped.
He pulled the knife up until it hit bone, then pulled it out and she dropped to the floor, mouth open, eyes wide and fading.
He stared at her. The incision was deep and long. There was a lot of blood. Shit, all over his hands and his favorite jacket.
“Let’s go before anyone comes,” Harper said. “We’ll burn your clothes with the shoeboxes.”
He turned and followed Harper out.
“Our guy had better take care of Lowe before he opens his mouth,” Riordan told Harper. “Why the fuck didn’t we know Lowe changed his identity?”
“Hamilton was the only one who ever saw Lowe in person, and he never came down here.”
“We should have followed up.”
“We had the girl watching Barney as soon as he returned from L.A.”
“You mean Lowe,” Jeffrey snapped.
“After all these years, he didn’t say anything—and I don’t think he ever would have. He didn’t say anything to Maddox, and Lora said he didn’t say anything to Claire O’Brien. It was the Feds who learned—”
“Exactly! The Feds learned, and now we’re screwed.”
“Lowe’s too scared to talk. He’ll be dead first.”
“He’d better be. I’m sick and tired of this crap. I have an election to win, I can’t go clean up after everyone. Where the fuck is Collier? I don’t like that he’s running around. I never trusted him.”
“We’re looking for him, but he’s gone to ground. He has everything to lose. He won’t talk.”
“That’s bullshit. He’ll sing like a canary if they cut him a deal. We need to find him before the Feds. If he hadn’t panicked and left town, the Feds wouldn’t be so damn suspicious.”
Playing Dead Page 28
