“Jake’s right,” Harry said. “What about Jordan Elkins? You said he was looking for the proof his mother left. Any chance he’s found it?”
“No. Tom, or whatever his real name is, came here last night. Jordan was ill. He may be dying, for all I know. Clifford Beaumont sent a doctor, but I haven’t heard from either of them.”
Jake filled plates with bacon and toast and passed them around before sitting at the end of the table. “I say we eat and start over. Plan A isn’t working, so let’s try Plan B.”
Jenna drank her coffee but begged off from the bacon and toast. “I could go back to work on Monday, do what Ben was doing for me, get Elkins’s dismissals. You two go after the undertaker. Assuming there’s something there, maybe we can put together enough for an indictment. That should take the heat off Jordan for at least a little while, give him a chance to get well. Maybe then he can find the proof he thinks his mother left behind.”
Harry shook his head. “Using the office to gather those files isn’t a good idea. Both Dade and Elkins will be watching you. Besides, you said yourself your boss basically suspended you, even if he did call it a vacation. Now he wants you back. Good chance someone there is on their payroll.”
Jenna walked to the sink and dumped her cup. “I’ve been there eight years. I refuse to believe that the people I’ve worked with for eight long years are part of this. I’m paranoid enough without going there.”
“Harry’s right, Jenna. Even if no one at the office is involved, you start looking into cases between Dade and Elkins, you might as well draw a bull’s-eye on your forehead.”
Harry pushed back his chair. “I’ve got a better idea if you’re game.”
Jake pulled out his chair and sat back down. “Let’s hear it.”
“Jenna?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to put these people where they belong.”
“Okay then. Jake and I take a week’s vacation. We find a safe house and move in there. That way we’ve got each other’s back. We move you into the safe house. Then we start pushing buttons.”
Jenna sat down. “How?”
“You map out that trial—the questions you know the answers to but don’t have the proof. Then we start leaking things to the papers. First about Mrs. Elkins dying in Kentucky. That should make things hot enough for the Elkinses to keep them off our backs for a while. Give us some time to look into Andrews’s murder.”
“No journalist is going to print that story without some type of proof,” Jenna said.
Jake pulled out the list. “We type this up, print it out, and send it too. There’s enough here to spark some interest. I know some darn good journalists, and they’d jump at a story like this. We do exactly what they never expected us to do. We’ve been running scared, afraid of shadows. It’s time to turn on the lights and make things really hot.”
Jenna nodded. “Michael definitely won’t expect that.”
She didn’t finish, but she knew they knew what she was thinking. Michael Elkins would expect her to react the way he wanted her to react: intimidated, scared, and submissive.
Jenna still had her doubts, but she was warming to the idea. “So we start with the list of the hospitals where Olivia Elkins was treated. We leak those to the newspapers along with the rumor she died in Kentucky on Sunday night or Monday morning. It would be a huge coup for any journalist who could prove it. We know they won’t run it unless they can at least find some proof. I’m betting, with this list and the fact there’s someone out there that hates William Elkins almost as much as we do, they’ll find enough.”
Harry grinned at her. “Now you’re thinking. Instead of running away from the bastards, we run straight at them and hit them head on. Jake?”
“All good ideas, up to a point. First, I think we need to see what the undertaker has. We need something solid before we start this war. Once it’s started, bodies may start piling up, and everything will start disappearing quickly. Plus, we need to find that safe house. We’ll be the first ones with a price on our head.”
Jenna glanced at the clock—one in the morning. “Weren’t you two supposed to be back on patrol at midnight? I don’t think we can afford for you to get fired yet.”
Harry and Jake stood simultaneously. “You sure you’re gonna be okay here alone? One of us could call in sick,” Harry said.
Jenna shook her head and pulled the derringer from the silverware drawer. “I’m not alone.”
“Due to budget problems, and the fact the city refuses to pay us overtime, we’re off at three. Give Harry a key, and we’ll let ourselves in. We can grab a couple of sleeping bags and camp out on the floor tonight, get a fresh start first thing in the morning,” Jake said as he took the gun from her hand. “I think my plan’s better.”
Jenna walked through the house slowly, checking windows and doors. She’d tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she found herself reliving the rape. It wasn’t as if she’d been a virgin and had never had sex before. She’d had sex with Michael before. If she prosecuted, that’s what the defense would say. And he hadn’t really hurt her physically, another defense she’d have little evidence to contradict. So what was it? What made that time so different from all the other times she’d had sex with Michael?
She wracked her brain, going back through the hundreds of cases she’d prosecuted until she homed in on the one she was searching for. Sandra Dennison. She’d been eighteen at the time, a beautiful, intelligent young woman just starting college. She’d had her whole life ahead of her until Timothy Carr had picked her up at a party and drugged and raped her. Sandra wasn’t totally innocent. She’d played around before meeting Timothy. The defense attorney had used that against her, and Jenna had worried that Sandra would break.
She hadn’t. She’d looked the defense attorney straight in the eye and said, “Sex is a personal, vulnerable, intimate thing you do with someone you love or have feelings for, someone who makes you feel good about yourself, and someone who makes you feel safe with those feelings.
“Rape is nothing like sex. It’s a violent, angry, and terrifying robbery of your body, mind, and emotions.
“It’s my body, my mind, and my emotions. I have a right to give them to whomever I want. No one has a right to take them from me.”
She’d won that case, and Timothy Carr had gone to prison, where he belonged. Sandra had gone on to finish college and get her degree, and the last Jenna had heard, she was currently married to a wonderful man. She’d stood up for herself, refusing to let the rape define her or the rest of her life.
Jenna started a pot of coffee. Clearly, she wasn’t going to get any sleep at the moment. She had tools stashed in the closet off the laundry room, and she searched until she found a crowbar and hammer. She went back to the living room and stared at the carpet stained by her vomiting fit. Jake had cleaned it up while Harry was taking care of her. An image of Harry’s gentle face flashed through her mind. He wasn’t rich or powerful, but he was a good man, the kind of man she wanted in her life, someone who would always be there even through the worst of times.
Picking a corner, she pried loose the baseboard and removed it. She inserted the crowbar beneath the exposed edge of carpet and pulled until it came loose. First, she would get rid of the carpet, and then she’d find a way to prosecute Michael Elkins. She wasn’t going to fool herself. Her life would never quite be the same. She’d told the truth when Jake had asked how she was. She wasn’t broken, but the nightmares would continue for years to come. And she was bitter. She did feel the way many of her former victims felt. She wanted to castrate Michael Elkins and watch him bleed to death slowly. The thoughts of putting him behind bars, among the criminal element, where he could be raped daily brought a small smile to her face. She wasn’t going to let the rape define her either. Maybe she couldn’t prosecute him for raping her, but she would get him—one way or the other—and she’d put him behind bars, where he belonged.
Using the crowbar, she removed th
e remaining baseboards and pulled the carpet free from around the walls. She knelt and began rolling it up. She would get rid of the carpet, then she’d sit down and plan her trial of both Elkinses.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Marcus glanced up from the deposition transcript he’d been reading, irritated by the interruption as he pushed the intercom button. “What is it, Hannah?”
“Mr. Michael Elkins is here to see you, sir.”
His face twisted in anger as he glanced at the clock. The dumb son of a bitch had a lot of nerve coming there. The only reason he was here this late was to get ready for a trial on Monday, and Marcus had plans for the weekend—plans with a long-legged redhead.
“Send him in.”
The door opened moments later, and Marcus leaned back in his thick leather chair, assessing the “golden boy.” He had to stifle a laugh. Michael Elkins looked like a dead man walking. He’d expected a little more of a swagger after the rape.
“Mr. Dade, thank you for seeing me.”
“You’re out late, Michael. Have a seat. How’s your father?”
He knew the question would catch him off guard, and he stifled another laugh as he watched emotions flicker across the haggard, once-handsome face.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, sir. He’s losing his mind, making mistakes—mistakes that could cost both of us. I plan on announcing my run for circuit judge in three months. After that, I’ll be moving for a position on the Supreme Court. A Supreme Court judge could be an asset to you, Marcus. But you’re going to have to deal with my father.”
Marcus leaned forward and took a cigar from its box, giving himself a moment to think and control the rage threatening to boil over. The little shit thought he could tell him what to do. He snipped off the end of the cigar, lit it, and took a drag. “I read the will. What are you planning on paying me with?” He enjoyed knocking the cocky bastard down a notch. “I don’t work for free, and neither do my people.”
“I’ll have my mother’s inheritance, or at least half of it, should my brother live. There will be plenty of money for both of us.”
“What makes you think Jordan will share his inheritance with you? After all, you’ve let him rot in jail for five years.”
Michael laughed. “Jordan’s nature is to forgive. Once I have him set free, he’ll gladly share. And if he doesn’t, well, accidents happen.”
Marcus leaned back again and laughed. “Got it all figured out, have you? I’d be willing to bet you’ve never hurt a fly.”
Michael leaned forward and grinned. “You’d lose that bet. Had to put one down this evening who was snooping around in the cases you prosecuted and the judge dismissed. I can be a real asset to you, Marcus. It’s a win-win situation for both of us. The only thing standing in our way is the old man.”
Marcus contemplated his options. He had nothing but contempt for Michael Elkins, a spineless little shit that had chosen the wrong side. Both the Elkinses were becoming a liability he was going to have to deal with. “Give me a day or two to think about it. I’ll need to make some plans.”
Michael stood up. “You won’t regret this. Whatever you need from the bench, you’ll get it.”
Marcus glanced down at the deposition and started reading, a dismissal he hoped the idiot wouldn’t ignore. He smiled softly as the door closed, and he hit the intercom button.
“Yes, Mr. Dade?”
“Lock up and go on home, Hannah.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Dade.”
“And Hannah?”
“Yes, Mr. Dade.”
“Don’t be late to work again.”
Her nervousness radiated over the line. “I won’t, Mr. Dade. I promise.”
Marcus knew she wouldn’t waste any time in shutting down. She was new, but she’d learned a lesson. Come in late once, you work late once. Come in late twice, you don’t work at all.
He turned his attention back to the deposition and made a few notes. He didn’t really have to worry. David was the prosecutor, and they’d already come to terms. Still, it was better to be prepared in case someone asked questions.
Marcus glanced at the clock. Two a.m. He loved the early morning hours, the darkness complete and the first light of dawn still kept in abeyance. He had a good life. He planned on keeping it that way.
A knock sounded softly on his door. “Come in, Gregory.”
He tapped his fingers impatiently on the oak desk as he waited. Gregory Artusa was a perfect example of the darkness of night, a natural born killer whose instincts were to kill first and ask questions later. Dade had used him several times, and he’d never been disappointed. Gregory was loyal, and that was a character flaw hard to find in today’s world.
“I hope you’ve got good news for me.”
Gregory shook his head. “We haven’t found it yet. You want me to lean on the attorney?”
Dade shook his head. “No, he’s an honest man with a good reputation. It would stir up too much of a stink that might have repercussions.”
“That’s what I thought, sir. I’m still trying to locate her best friend from college. Seems to have disappeared, but I found a few letters, so they stayed in touch.”
Marcus pulled out the cigar box and opened it. He held it out to Gregory. “I find myself in somewhat of a sticky situation, Gregory—one that’s going to take some planning. We need to find those documents Mrs. Elkins stashed away first, though. I doubt she has anything on me, but I don’t like taking chances.”
Gregory nodded and took a cigar. “I been waiting for you to get tired of Elkins.”
Dade laughed out loud. “You sound pleased.”
“Never liked the bastard, sir. He’s careless.”
Dade continued to laugh as he assessed his favorite henchman. Yes, Gregory was good for him. “I think the Elkinses have both outlived their usefulness.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Clifford Beaumont sipped a glass of wine, taking comfort in the darkness. He’d always loved it, especially at sea when the wind would blow and waves crashed against the boat. There was danger in darkness—danger that made your blood pump faster, your heart beat wilder, danger that made you feel alive. Sometimes he missed that danger, missed the sheer exhilaration of facing the elements and winning.
Placing the glass on his desk, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He was going to be a grandfather. That idea scared him almost as much as facing a sword-bearing pirate with nothing more than a block of wood. He smiled in the darkness. He’d won that battle.
A scrape outside caught his attention, and he opened his eyes, remaining motionless. Only a fool would try to break into his house… but the world was full of fools.
He opened the door of the desk quietly, withdrew his gun, and pressed a button. Twenty years before, he wouldn’t have pressed the button, but Kamela was asleep upstairs. If something happened to him, she had to be safe.
He rose slowly, made his way across the room, and peered through a small opening in the drapes. A figure was scaling the wall, headed for the second floor. Slipping off his shoes, he sprinted toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Danger was a great motivator, especially danger to his daughter.
Clearing the top step, he saw Travis in the shadows at the end of the hall and motioned him forward. They waited in silence, one on each side of the window as the figure cut through the glass, removing it and starting to climb through the opening.
Bringing his gun down in an arc, Clifford grunted as he connected with the unsuspecting skull, jarring his wrist as the figure fell into the hallway.
Clifford rubbed his wrist. “Make sure he isn’t dead and take him to the basement. I’ll be there as soon as I check on Kamela. Get Kevin up here and have him fix this window, just in case he has some friends on the ground.”
Travis nodded, picked up the figure, and headed down the stairs. “He’s already on his way. Wanted to take a trip around the perimeter first. If there’s anybody else out there, he’ll find them.”
C
lifford opened the door to his daughter’s room.
She sighed in her sleep and rolled over.
Closing the door, he headed down the stairs. He’d kept his hands clean for a long time, but before that night was over, blood would flow.
Clifford returned to the library, downed a quick glass of wine, replaced the gun in the drawer, and pulled out his switchblade. He opened a panel behind the bookcase, stepped through, and closed it behind him before flipping on a light switch and descending a set of stairs. The room below had taken months to build to his specifications. The contractor had thought him crazy when he’d stated he wanted it totally soundproof. That night was the first time he’d had to use it. His hands clenched at his sides. Depending on what the bastard told him, it wouldn’t be his last.
Travis had already secured the man, his hands and feet tied to a chair, and he’d removed the black hood. “He’s awake, sir, but not very talkative.”
Clifford smiled. “Let’s see what we can do about that. Put down some plastic, Travis, he looks like a bleeder to me.”
Clifford took his time unbuttoning his shirt, folding it, and placing it on a table against the wall. Next he removed his shoes and socks and placed them on the table. He undid his belt, stepped out of his pants, folded them neatly, and placed them with the shirt. He’d saved the best for last. Hooking his fingers in his underwear, he slipped them off and tossed them on top of the shoes. He flexed his shoulders and rolled his head from side to side until his neck made a cracking sound before he picked up the switchblade. The only thing more intimidating than a huge, hairy man approaching with a blade was a huge, hairy, totally naked man approaching with a blade.
“I ain’t talking,” the intruder said. Clifford slid the knife inside the neck of his black T-shirt and slowly ripped it from top to bottom. “Why don’t you tell me your name?” He nicked him just below the collarbone, letting the knife glide across his chest, a small trail of blood appearing along the line. “Or better yet, tell me who sent you here.”
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