by L. N. Carson
“You sound nervous.” Amun-Ra had the phone on speaker, so he went over to the bar and poured himself a tumbler of scotch.
“No, not at all,” the Lynchburg agent said quickly. “I’m calling to give you an update, that’s it.”
“And, yet, your breaking news is that you don’t have any.”
The agent cleared his throat. “My men are thorough. They’re questioning Akers and will call with an update as soon as they have one.”
Amun-Ra took a swallow of the scotch before slamming the glass onto the desk. “It’s been an hour. Time’s up. Do I need to send my people to clean up after you?”
“No, sir. I’ll call you back with a full report in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it ten.” Amun-Ra disconnected the call. “Incompetent assholes. If you want something done right, you’d better do it yourself.”
He dialed another number. “It appears we’ve hit a snag.”
* * *
Kathleen sat with her head against the cool glass of the passenger window. The truck was old, but it had good air conditioning.
“Are you all right?” Sam asked.
“Please stop asking me that. I’m fine.”
Why wouldn’t she be hunky-dory? She’d shot one man today, fought another, and was getting ready to help Sam dump two bodies covered in bright blue tarps into a river. That would probably be some sort of environmental violation in addition to the federal charges of accessory to murder and unlawful disposal of corpses.
“This is what I deserve.”
She didn’t realize she’d spoken the words aloud until Sam asked, “What do you mean—what you deserve?”
“It’s karma. I’m finally getting punished for what I did twelve years ago.”
“Kat, if we get caught, I’m not letting you take the rap for any of this. You know that, don’t you?” He covered her hand with his. “This fiasco has been all me. As far as anyone else is concerned, you’ve been my hostage.”
“No. You gave me every chance to turn back. I wanted to help you save the world…or the animals…or anything.” Tears dripped off her chin. “I hoped to do something heroic so that people would finally believe I’m worth a damn.”
“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You risked your life today for a stranger.”
She slipped off her shoes and brought her knees up to her chest.
“It’ll be a while before we get to the river.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go. “Try to take a nap. There’s a jacket in my backpack you can fold up and use for a pillow.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t retrieve the jacket, but she did close her eyes. Sleep—if it would come without disturbing images from either today or her past—would be a welcome respite.
Chapter Five
Miranda looked at the French Country style house with its covered porch, topiaries, and dormer windows and thought most people could never imagine the life she and her sister had lived there. Mark seemed to sense her melancholy because he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“You all right?” he asked. “I’ll turn this car around and peel out if you want me to!”
“Peel!” Rachel called from the backseat, making them both laugh.
“Let’s just get it over with.” She took a deep breath as her mother flung open the door.
Wearing a peach silk suit and nude heels, Irene looked as if she might be hosting this luncheon for the Daughters of the American Revolution rather than her oldest child, son-in-law, and grandchild. Miranda figured Irene would feel more at home hosting the DAR.
Knowing jeans were out of the question as far as her mother was concerned, Miranda wore a sundress and had dressed Rachel in a darling yellow tutu and leotard. The child loved to twirl, and she had tutus in almost every color imaginable.
Mark got Rachel out of the car before opening the car door for Miranda. She smiled. An onlooker would think he was being chivalrous. He was really trying to persuade her to get out.
“Come in! Come in!” Irene enthused, holding the door open for them. “Look how that little one has grown!” She didn’t take the “little one” or even touch her. Instead, she turned to a woman in a maid’s uniform who was standing by the staircase. “Amelia.”
At the sound of her name, the maid hurried over and held out her arms for Rachel, who buried her face in her father’s neck.
“Amelia will take care of Rachel while we have lunch,” Irene said.
“But Rachel hasn’t eaten.” Miranda struggled to keep her voice strong. “I thought she could eat with us. Maybe Daddy would like to see her.”
“If he’s up to it, he can see her after lunch.” She narrowed her eyes at Miranda. “Amelia will feed her. She has her lunch all ready.”
“Still—”
“Stop dawdling. Lunch is ready, and your father is hungry.” Irene pulled Rachel from Mark and handed her to Amelia.
At the abruptness of being taken from her father and given to a stranger, Rachel wailed.
Miranda patted her daughter’s back. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy will be to get you soon.”
“Don’t coddle her.” Irene took Amelia’s shoulder and turned her away from Miranda and Mark. “Feed the child in the kitchen and then take her upstairs to the guest room to play. Or read to her or something.”
“Yes, Senator Freemont.”
As she was carried to the kitchen, Rachel continued crying and held out her hands as if imploring her parents to rescue her.
Miranda had to brush away tears of her own.
Senator Freemont. How her mother loved that title. So what if two lives had been destroyed in order for her to have it? It made no difference to her.
* * *
Hathor felt a stab of resentment as she and Montu drove down the street of the Akers’ quiet neighborhood. The quaint houses with their neatly manicured lawns and yard flags made her want to puke. This was the type of home she’d dreamed of having when she was being shuttled from one group home to the next. Now she knew they were all facades. The only happy little families were on television sitcoms. And, at the end of the day, even they left the set to go home to their discontented lives.
They did a slow drive by and saw nothing out of the ordinary. No vehicles were parked at the house, so the two agents drove back and pulled into the driveway.
“I’ll go to the front door with some story about taking a census or something,” Hathor said. “You look around in the yard.”
“Gladly.” Montu opened the door, unfolded from the passenger seat, and walked around the front of the SUV.
Hathor wasn’t as imposing as he was. Sometimes people even made the mistake of thinking she was nice. She briefly closed her eyes and adopted a friendly service worker persona before going to the Akers’ front door.
She knocked, waited a full minute, knocked again, and got no answer. Walking around to the backdoor, she repeated the process. Still not getting a response, Hathor used her lockpick to let herself in. This door opened into the den. The television was turned off, and the remote sat atop an array of fanned out magazines.
Had the Akers’ been alerted that DPA agents were coming and made an escape? Had the agents taken Troy, leaving the family behind to flee? She looked around for clues as to what might have happened.
In the master bedroom, Hathor found two sets of luggage on a top shelf in the walk-in closet. The bed was neatly made, and there was no indication in this room that anyone had packed and left in a hurry. The other bedrooms were a nursery and a child’s room. Both of these rooms were tidy, with the exception of a few toys on the floor of the child’s room. The toys felt like another sign to Hathor that the family hadn’t taken off for an extended stay, or at least, they hadn’t taken a planned vacation.
She wandered into the bathroom in the hallway. A peek into the trashcan revealed about half a dozen dirty facial wipes—some of which had been used to clean away dirt rather than makeup given the stains on the cloths—and several strands of long blonde hair. Hathor
stepped back into the hallway and gazed at the portraits lining the walls. Not a blonde in the bunch.
* * *
Sam drove onto a gravel road near the river while Kathleen fitfully dozed. He was relieved they hadn’t met another car for two miles or more. He backed the truck among some trees near the riverbank. To keep the truck bed from looking too suspicious, he’d piled the Akers’ garbage bags atop the tarps covering the wrapped bodies of the corpses.
Gently shaking Kathleen, he apologized when she awoke with a gasp.
“We’re at the river,” he said. “I hated to wake you, but I really need your help.”
“That’s all right.” She bit her lip. “I’m nervous about dumping the bodies here in broad daylight, though. Shouldn’t we wait until—I don’t know—the wee hours of the morning or something?”
“We could do that, but I don’t want to drive all the way to Norfolk with two corpses.”
“Still, it’s so risky,” she said.
“I thought you were a thrill-seeker.” He grinned. “Doesn’t get more thrilling that this, does it?”
“You’ve got me there.”
Sam opened the door to the truck, letting in the sound of an approaching car.
Kathleen’s eyes widened. “What’re we gonna do?”
The car stopped at the top of the road. It was a police cruiser.
“Don’t panic,” he said.
“How can I not panic?”
“Look at me.” When she turned her head, Sam put his hands on her face and drew her close. “Kiss me. Kiss me like our lives depend on it.”
She did, even closing her eyes. Sam wondered if she thought that maybe when she opened them again, this ordeal would have merely been a terrible dream.
Sam kept his eyes on the officer as the man got out of the cruiser and walked into a copse of trees. He had stopped to take a piss and hadn’t seen them yet. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice—nope. Here he comes.
“Trust me,” he whispered against Kathleen’s lips.
Kathleen started when the officer tapped on the driver’s side window of the truck. Sam rolled the window down.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” The officer was an older man, probably not far from retirement. “I just wanted to let you know that even though we get a lot of this sort of thing out here, as you can likely tell from the—” He cleared his throat. “—debris, this ain’t a hotel. You need to go do your business elsewhere before you find yourself getting fined for public indecency.”
Sam laughed. “I believe you have the wrong idea, sir. As you can see, my wife and I are fully clothed and have no intention of doing any business here. I just wanted one last kiss for a day or two before teaching Cary here how to fish. Neither of us are very patient.”
The officer grinned. “You’re young. You’ll figure out before long that the best way to be happy is to forget all this togetherness bullshit they preach on TV and do your own things. I hunt and fish with my buddies, and my wife shops and has quilting bees with her friends. We’re both a lot happier that way.”
“You make a good point,” Sam said.
Before he could say anything else, Kathleen wrenched open the passenger door and threw up.
“Oh no.” Sam slid closer and reached for her hair to keep it out of her face. With the other hand, he rubbed her back. He looked over his shoulder at the officer. “Pregnant. Seven weeks.”
The officer scrunched up his face. “First?”
“Yep.”
“Careful she doesn’t dehydrate. My missus wound up in the hospital twice on IV fluids with our first.”
“But everything turned out all right?” Sam asked.
“Oh, sure. Big, strapping boy. He was a first-string defensive tackle for his high school football team and got a college scholarship for it.” He tucked his thumbs into his belt. “Had a decent shot of going pro, but he blew his knee out.”
“I hate that.” Sam tried to sound sympathetic while patting Kathleen’s back, holding her hair, and praying she didn’t deem a confession was in order.
“Well, I don’t know. He still got a good education and didn’t wind up beat all to pieces like some of the pro players you see these days.”
Kathleen straightened, tears streaming down her face, and dug a tissue out of her backpack. “I’m sorry.”
“Aw, sweetie, you’re all right,” the officer said. “You hang in there. It’ll all be worth it. You’ll see. Not sure you need to be out fishing in this hot sun though.”
“You’re right, sir. If she’s up to it, we might sit on the shore for a few minutes so she can get some fresh air.” Sam took Kathleen’s hand. “Are you up to it?”
She nodded.
“Then why don’t you slide on over and get out on my side?”
The officer moved away from the door and began headed toward his car. “Son,” he called over his shoulder, “that trash is pretty rank.”
“I know. We’re taking it to the dump on our way home.”
“Closes at four today; don’t miss it.” He gave them a wave.
“Thank you!” Sam said.
As the cruiser backed into the road and drove off, Kathleen said, “Sam, I’m scared. We have to get out of here.”
* * *
Hathor went outside the house to find Montu. He was at a building at the side of the property. He’d opened the door, and Hathor could see that it was some sort of workshop, exercise room, or garage—or maybe all of the above. It certainly wasn’t pristine like the house.
“What’ve you got?” she asked Montu.
“Check it out.” He pointed out a large wet patch of grass near the entrance to the building. “Somebody tried to wash it away, but there’s still some blood and brain matter here.” He jutted his chin toward some tire tracks. “And those make me think a body was loaded into a vehicle and hauled away.”
“Troy Akers?”
“Maybe. Maybe not, since the DPA agents haven’t reported Akers dead,” Montu said. “Nor had they phoned their superiors with an update since we last spoke with Amun-Ra.”
“They could’ve called since then.”
Montu flipped his palms. “Then why didn’t he call us with an update?”
“Good point. Plus, guess what I found in the Akers’ bathroom?” She didn’t give him time to guess. “Strands of blonde hair I’m guessing belong to Kathleen Freemont.”
* * *
Kathleen waited by the truck while Sam carried the agents one at a time into the river. Should anyone show up, their story was that she’d got angry and thrown her wedding ring into the river and Sam was trying to find it.
When he got back to the truck, his pants were soaked. He took off the wet jeans and put on a dry pair he had in his backpack. He tossed the wet pants into the truck bed with the trash bags. He allowed Kathleen to get into the truck on his side to avoid the mess she’d made on her side earlier, and he hopped behind the wheel.
“I was serious about the trash dump,” he told her. “It’s just back down the road a little way. I’ll drop off the trash, and we’ll head out.”
“All right.” Other than those two words, she rode in silence as they visited the solid waste transfer station, and Sam finished emptying the back of the truck.
As soon as he spotted a car wash, he pulled the truck into a bay and rinsed the vehicle. He paid particular attention to the bed of the truck, and Kathleen suppressed a shudder at the thought of what had been back there.
Replacing the wand when the water shut off, Sam returned to the truck. “Are you hungry?”
“No…but we can stop somewhere if you need to eat.”
“I’d love a drink,” he said.
After traveling for a few miles, they spotted a tiny gas station. Given the condition of the truck, there was no way they could run it on the interstate. The trip to Norfolk would take longer than they’d hoped, but they’d still make it by evening.
Sam filled the tank and bought them both a soda. Handing Kathleen
hers, he said, “Hopefully, this will soothe your stomach.”
“Thanks.” She twisted off the cap and took a sip. The sweet, syrupy drink was more comforting than she’d expected it to be. “You want to hear an interesting story?”
“Sure.”
“That DPA agent wasn’t the first man I ever shot. That honor goes to my father.”
Pick up where this book left off!
Chapter One
Kathleen took another swig of her soda before resting her head against the back of her seat. “Both our parents were perfectionists, which is fine, except when you treat your children as if they should be perfect little adults. We weren’t—me, especially—so we got smacked around. The worst part, though, was when Dad beat Mom.”
Sam placed his big warm hand over hers. It felt nice. She didn’t move away, but she didn’t flip her palm over so she could hold onto him either.
“Miranda and I grew up afraid he’d kill her,” she said. “And, if that happened, we would either be left alone with him to face the brunt of his anger, or we’d be put into foster care. More than anything, we didn’t want to be separated.”
“You don’t have to talk about this.” His voice was gentle. “Especially not today.”
She pressed on with her story. “One night he was really whaling on her. I knew where he kept his gun because Mom had showed me—she’d even taught me how to use it.”
“Wait. How old were you?”
“I was twelve when she first showed me the gun—fourteen before I got the courage to use it. By that point, Miranda had already gotten married to Mark and had left home. Mom said if anything happened to her, Dad would…” She shuddered. “Well, you can imagine all the wonderful things a sadistic mom would put into her daughter’s head. If not, trust me. It was a nightmare. And that night, I thought he’d kill her, and I’d start living that nightmare. Instead, I got to live a different nightmare.” She gave a laugh that bordered on hysteria.
“Kat—”
“You know, I like that you call me that.” She smiled at him. “No one has ever called me that before. My mother insisted on my being called Kathleen. It was never shortened, and I never had any nicknames. Well, except for my niece calling me Kiki.”
