“You have to understand, this is a last resort. It’s not an easy place for me to turn to.”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “This place is beginning to sound worse and worse. What are we talking about? A flophouse?”
“No, it’s in Pacific Heights. You could even call the place a mansion.”
“Who lives there? A friend?”
“Quite the opposite.”
His eyebrow shot up. “An enemy?”
“Close.” She let out a sigh of resignation. “My ex-husband.”
Chapter Five
“Jack, open up! Jack!” Cathy banged again and again on the door of the formidable Pacific Heights home. There was no answer. Through the windows they saw only darkness.
“Damn you, Jack!” She gave the door a slap of frustration. “Why aren’t you ever home when I need you?”
Victor glanced around at the neighborhood of elegant homes and neatly trimmed shrubbery. “We can’t stand around out here all night.”
“We’re not going to,” she muttered. Crouching on her knees, she began to dig around in a red-brick planter.
“What are you doing?”
“Something I swore I’d never do.” Her fingers raked the loamy soil, searching for the key Jack kept buried under the geraniums. Sure enough, there it was, right where it had always been. She rose to her feet, clapping the dirt off her hands. “But there are limits to my pride. Threat of death being one of them.” She inserted the key and felt a momentary dart of panic when it didn’t turn. But with a little jiggling, the lock at last gave way. The door swung open to the faint gleam of a polished wood floor, a massive bannister.
She motioned Victor inside. The solid thunk of the door closing behind them seemed to shut out all the dangers of the night. Cloaked in the darkness, they both let out a sigh of relief.
“Just what kind of terms are you on with your ex-husband?” Victor asked, following her blindly through the unlit foyer.
“Speaking. Barely.”
“He doesn’t mind you wandering around his house?”
“Why not?” She snorted. “Jack lets half the human race wander through his bedroom. The only prerequisite being XX chromosomes.”
She felt her way into the pitch-dark living room and flipped on the light switch. There she froze in astonishment and stared at the two naked bodies intertwined on the polar bear rug.
“Jack!” she blurted out.
The larger of the two bodies extricated himself and sat up. “Hello, Cathy!” He raked his hand through his dark hair and grinned. “Seems like old times.”
The woman lying next to him spat out a shocking obscenity, scrambled to her feet, and stormed off in a blur of wild red hair and bare bottom toward the bedroom.
“That’s Lulu,” yawned Jack, by way of introduction.
Cathy sighed. “I see your taste in women hasn’t improved.”
“No, sweetheart, my taste in women hit a high point when I married you.” Unmindful of his state of nudity, Jack rose to his feet and regarded Victor. The contrast between the two men was instantly apparent. Though both were tall and lean, it was Jack who possessed the striking good looks, and he knew it. He’d always known it. Vanity wasn’t a label one could ever pin on Victor Holland.
“I see you brought a fourth,” said Jack, giving Victor the once-over. “So, what’ll it be, folks? Bridge or poker?”
“Neither,” said Cathy.
“That opens up all sorts of possibilities.”
“Jack, I need your help.”
He turned and looked at her with mock incredulity. “No!”
“You know damn well I wouldn’t be here if I could avoid it!”
He winked at Victor. “Don’t believe her. She’s still madly in love with me.”
“Can we get serious?”
“Darling, you never did have a sense of humor.”
“Damn you, Jack!” Everyone had a breaking point and Cathy had reached hers. She couldn’t help it; without warning she burst into tears. “For once in your life will you listen to me?”
That’s when Victor’s patience finally snapped. He didn’t need a degree in psychology to know this Jack character was a first-class jerk. Couldn’t he see that Cathy was exhausted and terrified? Up till this moment, Victor had admired her for her strength. Now he ached at the sight of her vulnerability.
It was only natural to pull her into his arms, to ease her tear-streaked face against his chest. Over her shoulder, he growled out an oath that impugned not only Jack’s name but that of Jack’s mother as well.
The other man didn’t seem to take offense, probably because he’d been called far worse names, and on a regular basis. He simply crossed his arms and regarded Victor with a raised eyebrow. “Being protective, are we?”
“She needs protection.”
“From what, pray tell?”
“Maybe you haven’t heard. Three days ago, someone murdered her friend Sarah.”
“Sarah…Boylan?”
Victor nodded. “Tonight, someone tried to kill Cathy.”
Jack stared at him. He looked at his ex-wife. “Is this true? What he’s saying?”
Cathy, wiping away tears, nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me this to begin with?”
“Because you were acting like an ass to begin with!” she shot back.
Down the hall came the click-click of high-heeled shoes. “She’s absolutely right!” yelled a female voice from the foyer. “You are an ass, Jack Zuckerman!” The front door opened and slammed shut again. The thud seemed to echo endlessly through the mansion.
There was a long silence.
Suddenly, through her tears, Cathy laughed. “You know what, Jack? I like that woman.”
Jack crossed his arms and gave his ex-wife the critical once-over. “Either I’m going senile or you forgot to tell me something. Why haven’t you gone to the police? Why bother old Jack about this?”
Cathy and Victor glanced at each other.
“We can’t go to the police,” Cathy said.
“I assume this has to do with him?” He cocked a thumb at Victor.
Cathy let out a breath. “It’s a complicated story….”
“It must be. If you’re afraid to go to the police.”
“I can explain it,” said Victor.
“Mm-hm. Well.” Jack reached for the bathrobe lying in a heap by the polar bear rug. “Well,” he said again, calmly tying the sash. “I’ve always enjoyed watching creativity at work. So let’s have it.” He sat down on the leather couch and smiled at Victor. “I’m waiting. It’s showtime.”
Special Agent Sam Polowski lay shivering in his bed, watching the eleven o’clock news. Every muscle in his body ached, his head pounded, and the thermometer at his bedside read an irrefutable 101 degrees. So much for changing flat tires in the pouring rain. He wished he could get his hands on the joker who’d punched that nail in his tire while he was grabbing a quick bite at that roadside cafe. Not only had the culprit managed to keep Sam from his appointment in Garberville, thereby shredding the Viratek case into confetti, Sam had also lost track of his only contact in the affair: Victor Holland. And now, the flu.
Sam reached over for the bottle of aspirin. To hell with the ulcer. His head hurt. And when it came to headaches, there was nothing like Mom’s time-tested remedy.
He was in the midst of gulping down three tablets when the news about Victor Holland flashed on the screen.
“…New evidence links the suspect to the murder of fellow Viratek researcher, Dr. Gerald Martinique….”
Sam sat up straight in bed. “What the hell?” he growled at the TV.
Then he grabbed the telephone.
It took six rings for his supervisor to answer. “Dafoe?” Sam said. “This is Polowski.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Have you seen the late-night news?”
“I happen to be in bed.”
“There’s a story on Viratek.”
A pause. “Yeah, I know. I cleared it.”
“What’s with this crap about industrial espionage? They’re making Holland out to be a—”
“Polowski, drop it.”
“Since when did he become a murder suspect?”
“Look, just consider it a cover story. I want him brought in. For his own good.”
“So you sic him with a bunch of trigger-happy cops?”
“I said drop it.”
“But—”
“You’re off the case.” Dafoe hung up.
Sam stared in disbelief at the receiver, then at the television, then back at the receiver.
Pull me off the case? He slammed the receiver down so hard the bottle of aspirin tumbled off the nightstand.
That’s what you think.
“I think I’ve heard about enough,” said Jack, rising to his feet. “I want this man out of my house. And I want him out now.”
“Jack, please!” said Cathy. “Give him a chance—”
“You’re buying this ridiculous tale?”
“I believe him.”
“Why?”
She looked at Victor and saw the clear fire of honesty burning in his eyes. “Because he saved my life.”
“You’re a fool, babycakes.” Jack reached for the phone. “You yourself saw the TV. He’s wanted for murder. If you don’t call the police, I will.”
But as Jack picked up the receiver, Victor grabbed his arm. “No,” he said. Though his voice was quiet, it held the unmistakable note of authority.
The two men stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
“This is more than just a case of murder,” said Victor. “This is deadly research. The manufacture of illegal weapons. This could reach all the way to Washington.”
“Who in Washington?”
“Someone in control. Someone with the federal funds to authorize that research.”
“I see. Some lofty public servant is out knocking off scientists. With the help of the FBI.”
“Jerry wasn’t just any scientist. He had a conscience. He was a whistleblower who would’ve taken this to the press to stop that research. The political fallout would’ve been disastrous, for the whole administration.”
“Wait. Are we talking Pennsylvania Avenue?”
“Maybe.”
Jack snorted. “Holland, I make Grade B horror films. I don’t live them.”
“This isn’t a film. This is real. Real bullets, real bodies.”
“Then that’s all the more reason I want nothing to do with it.” Jack turned to Cathy. “Sorry, sweetcakes. It’s nothing personal, but I detest the company you keep.”
“Jack,” she said. “You have to help us!”
“You, I’ll help. Him—no way. I draw the line at lunatics and felons.”
“You heard what he said! It’s a frame-up!”
“You are so gullible.”
“Only about you.”
“Cathy, it’s all right,” said Victor. He was standing very still, very calm. “I’ll leave.”
“No, you won’t.” Cathy shot to her feet and stalked over to her ex-husband. She stared him straight in the eye, a gaze so direct, so accusing, he seemed to wilt right down into a chair. “You owe it to me, Jack. You owe me for all the years we were married. All the years I put into your career, your company, your idiotic flicks. I haven’t asked for anything. You have the house. The Jaguar. The bank account. I never asked because I didn’t want to take a damn thing from this marriage except my own soul. But now I’m asking. This man saved my life tonight. If you ever cared about me, if you ever loved me, even a little, then you’ll do me this favor.”
“Harbor a criminal?”
“Only until we figure out what to do next.”
“And how long might that take? Weeks? Months?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just the kind of definite answer I like.”
Victor said, “I need time to find out what Jerry was trying to prove. What it is Viratek’s working on—”
“You had one of his files,” said Jack. “Why didn’t you read the blasted thing?”
“I’m not a virologist. I couldn’t interpret the data. It was some sort of RNA sequence, probably a viral genome. A lot of the data was coded. All I can be sure of is the name: Project Cerberus.”
“Where is all this vital evidence now?”
“I lost the file. It was in my car the night I was shot. I’m sure they have it back.”
“And the film?”
Victor sank into a chair, his face suddenly lined by weariness. “I don’t have it. I was hoping that Cathy…” Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve lost that, too.”
“Well,” said Jack. “Give or take a few miracles, I’d say this puts your chances at just about zero. And I’m known as an optimist.”
“I know where the film is,” said Cathy.
There was a long silence. Victor raised his head and stared at her. “What?”
“I wasn’t sure about you—not at first. I didn’t want to tell you until I could be certain—”
Victor shot to his feet. “Where is it?”
She flinched at the sharpness of his voice. He must have noticed how startled she was—his next words were quiet but urgent. “I need that film, Cathy. Before they find it. Where is it?”
“Sarah found it in my car. I didn’t know it was yours! I thought it was Hickey’s.”
“Who’s Hickey?”
“A photographer—a friend of mine—”
Jack snorted. “Hickey. Now there’s a ladies’ man.”
“He was in a rush to get to the airport,” she continued. “At the last minute he left me with some rolls of film. Asked me to take care of them till he got back from Nairobi. But all his film was stolen from my car.”
“And my roll?” asked Victor.
“It was in my bathrobe pocket the night Sarah—the night she—” She paused, swallowing at the mention of her friend. “When I got back here, to the city, I mailed it to Hickey’s studio.”
“Where’s the studio?”
“Over on Union Street. I mailed it this afternoon—”
“So it should be there sometime tomorrow.” He began to pace the room. “All we have to do is wait for the mail to arrive.”
“I don’t have a key.”
“We’ll find a way in.”
“Terrific,” sighed Jack. “Now he’s turning my ex-wife into a burglar.”
“We’re only after the film!” said Cathy.
“It’s still breaking and entering, sweetie.”
“You don’t have to get involved.”
“But you’re asking me to harbor the breakers and enterers.”
“Just one night, Jack. That’s all I’m asking.”
“That sounds like one of my lines.”
“And your lines always work, don’t they?”
“Not this time.”
“Then here’s another line to chew on: 1988. Your federal tax return. Or lack of one.”
Jack froze. He glowered at Victor, then at Cathy. “That’s below the belt.”
“Your most vulnerable spot.”
“I’ll get around to filing—”
“More words to chew on. Audit. IRS. Jail.”
“Okay, okay!” Jack threw his arms up in surrender. “God, I hate that word.”
“What, jail?”
“Don’t laugh, babycakes. The word could soon apply to all of us.” He turned and headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Cathy demanded.
“To make up the spare beds. Seems I have houseguests for the night….”
“Can we trust him?” Victor asked after Jack had vanished upstairs.
Cathy sank back on the couch, all the energy suddenly drained from her body, and closed her eyes. “We have to. I can’t think of anywhere else to go….”
She was suddenly aware of his approach, and then he was sitting beside her, so close she could feel the overwhelmi
ng strength of his presence. He didn’t say a word, yet she knew he was watching her.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. So steady, so intense, it seemed to infuse her with new strength.
“I know it wasn’t easy for you,” he said. “Asking Jack for favors.”
She smiled. “I’ve always wanted to talk tough with Jack.” Ruefully she added, “Until tonight, I’ve never quite been able to pull it off.”
“My guess is, talking tough isn’t in your repertoire.”
“No, it isn’t. When it comes to confrontation, I’m a gutless wonder.”
“For a gutless wonder, you did pretty well. In fact, you were magnificent.”
“That’s because I wasn’t fighting for me. I was fighting for you.”
“You don’t consider yourself worth fighting for?”
She shrugged. “It’s the way I was raised. I was always told that sticking up for yourself was unladylike. Whereas sticking up for other people was okay.”
He nodded gravely. “Self-sacrifice. A fine feminine tradition.”
That made her laugh. “Spoken like a man who knows women well.”
“Only two women. My mother and my wife.”
At the mention of his dead wife, she fell silent. She wondered what the woman’s name was, what she’d looked like, how much he’d loved her. He must have loved her a great deal—she’d heard the pain in his voice earlier that evening when he’d mentioned her death. She felt an unexpected stab of envy that this unnamed wife had been so loved. What Cathy would give to be as dearly loved by a man! Just as quickly she suppressed the thought, appalled that she could be jealous of a dead woman.
She turned away, her face tinged with guilt. “I think Jack will go along,” she said. “Tonight, at least.”
“That was blackmail, wasn’t it? That stuff about the tax return?”
“He’s a careless man. I just reminded him of his oversight.”
Victor shook his head. “You are amazing. Jumping along rooftops one minute, blackmailing ex-husbands the next.”
“You’re so right,” said Jack, who’d reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. “She is an amazing woman. I can’t wait to see what she’ll do next.”
Whistleblower and Never Say Die Page 31
