by Ana Barrons
“How did you know I was there?” Something was very wrong with this picture.
She shrugged. “I have my ways. Why don’t you step out of that tub and give me a hug and a kiss?”
“I’ll put on some clothes and then we can talk for a few minutes.” Okay, he’d play along, but what was she up to? “A few minutes. I’m wiped, Suz. I gotta get some sleep before I collapse.”
She stared at him for a moment, then stalked into the bedroom. “You are, without a doubt, the most difficult man—”
He didn’t hear the rest because he pushed the door shut behind her and pulled on boxers and a rumpled gray T-shirt that had been hanging on the back of the bathroom door for a few days. When he came out Suzannah was lying back on his bed, watching him. He walked past her, snagged a pair of jeans off the floor and stepped into them.
“How’d you get in here?” he asked.
“I waited for you to get home and walked in the back door.” She opened her arms to him. “Come show me how happy you are that I’m here.”
“I’m starved,” he said, wishing to God he’d locked the door behind him when he got home. “Why don’t you come downstairs and we can talk while I eat.”
Suzannah raised herself up on her elbows and glared at him. “Goddamn it, Joe. I slip away from my agents to come here, there’s no one else home, I offer myself to you on a silver platter and all you want to do is talk to me while you have a bowl of cereal?”
“I told you how it is when we met the other day. Or did you block that out?”
Her eyebrows went up. “You mean that nonsense about Catherine Morrissey? That whore’s sister?”
A deep sense of unease penetrated Joe’s consciousness. Something important was staring him in the face but he wasn’t sure he wanted to see it. “Since when do you refer to Blair Morrissey as a whore?”
“What do you care? Or are you going to defend her too?” She came off the bed like a shot and stood in front of him. “Were you with her too? Is that it?”
The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. “Was Sam sleeping with Blair?”
She jerked back as though he’d slapped her. “Why would Sam want to sleep with another woman when he has me? Especially that bimbo.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because he thought you were sleeping with me?”
She rammed both fists into his chest before he could grab her wrists. “You son of a bitch!” she shouted in his face. “I should have been sleeping with you! After all I’ve done for you, after all we’ve been to each other, you have the balls to tell me you’re in love with someone else? And you expect me to walk away without a fight?”
Alarm bells clanged in his head. He’d never seen her like this before. “Calm down,” he said quietly. “I’m really not up for a scene tonight. Can you understand that?”
“No! I don’t understand a fucking thing you’re telling me. You can’t be in love with her. You love me. You’ve always loved me.”
“Do you really believe your agents didn’t tail you here?” He held her wrists while she raged at him. If she kept this up, her agents would probably rush into the house with their guns drawn. Where were they, anyway? And what had caused Suzannah to snap like this?
“Don’t you try to change the subject!” she shouted.
“Are you off your meds or what?” The glare she sent him told he’d hit a sore spot.
“Don’t go there, Joe.”
“Tell me about Sam and Blair.”
She pulled away. “You’re not getting any confession out of me.”
“Confession? I just want you to tell me—” He stopped.
Holy mother of God.
The pieces began to click into place. He stepped toward her. “How’d you know I was at the police station?”
“That’s classified information,” she said, her eyes averted. Her tantrum seemed to have passed, probably because she’d let something slip and had to figure her way out of it. “But it serves you right.”
“What serves me right?”
“I thought if we could be together like we used to, you’d come to your senses, but obviously I was mistaken. You know, you’re more like Sam than I ever imagined. I don’t know what I ever saw in either one of you.” Her speech had gone all high and Southern—her Scarlett O’Hara voice he used to call it.
“Well, with him there was the power thing.” He had to get her back to the confession she wasn’t going to make. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about Sam and Blair? Off the record, I mean. Did you think no one would ever find out?”
She swallowed. “There’s nothing to find out.”
“I don’t think I ever mentioned this,” he said, “but I always thought Blair Morrissey resembled you. Same hair, big blue eyes, similar build.” He watched her closely. “Not as pretty, of course. But enough like you that a guy could pretend.”
She twisted her face into a sneer. “As long as she didn’t open her mouth.”
“From a distance it would be hard to tell the difference because people would expect it to be you. That would solve the paparazzi problem.”
“Drop it, Joe.” The crazy rant seemed to have run its course. She went to his dresser and picked up a cuff link, examined it and then swiped a hand through the dust. “What you need is a cleaning lady. I gave these to you for Christmas, what? Ten years ago?”
“Oh. Yeah. Something like that.” She was trying desperately to steer clear of Blair Morrissey. He decided to come at it from a different angle. “If Sam loses the election, where will you go? Back to Nebraska?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “You don’t honestly think we’ll lose, do you? The voters love us. ‘The Romance of the New Millennium.’ I’m the new Grace Kelly, remember? You saw the PBS special.”
“If people had found out about Sam and Blair, it would have messed it all up for you. It would have destroyed your image.”
They stared at each other. There was one surefire way to break Suzannah down. If he could make her believe he wanted her—and she was delusional enough to believe it—would it be enough to get the truth out of her?
“Come over here,” he said.
* * *
Catherine turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open a crack. After several seconds she pushed it open farther and stepped into the foyer, then closed it as gently as possible. The door was heavy and well sealed—it was impossible to avoid a whoosh of air when it was pushed into the frame.
She stood stock-still, hand on the knob, shoulder against the door, and listened. The loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the dining room deepened the surrounding silence. She was sure her rapid breathing could be heard on the other side of the house.
Her digital watch flashed 12:51. She glanced around. Moonlight through the windows made it possible to see without a flashlight, for which she was intensely grateful. At 12:55 she decided if there were no sirens yet she was probably okay. Ned was sure to be asleep. He’d told her he often went into the office as early as six, especially on Monday mornings. She straightened away from the door, took a deep breath and let it out as quietly as possible.
She was scared to death.
After several more deep breaths, she acknowledged that she was delaying. Once she was past the foyer, it would be next to impossible to pretend she had stopped by to “surprise” Ned with a little late-night sex. Chances were he’d never believe it anyway, but it was the only remotely plausible cover story she could come up with. Of course she could never go through with it, even if she weren’t in love with Joe.
The longer you stand here the more likely it is he’ll catch you, Stupid.
She crossed the hallway to the sitting room and found the door closed. That surprised her. When she’d been there for dinner that door had been open. Ned could have closed it without thinking,
or maybe the cleaning lady had closed it. It wasn’t a big deal, but it made her uneasy. Well, she hadn’t expected the double doors to the office to be unlocked anyway, so there was really no reason to go in, but she wanted to be certain Ned wasn’t in there before she went in through the pantry. Just in case.
She tried the knob to the sitting room, but it didn’t budge. Okay, her hand was wet. She wiped it on her jeans and tried again. Same thing. The door was locked.
Why? Was Ned in there?
If she hadn’t braced her arm on the door frame, she was sure her legs would have collapsed beneath her.
I can’t go through with this.
She gazed longingly at the front door. It would take her five seconds to walk through the foyer, open the door and get the hell out of there. As though her feet had a mind of their own, she found herself in the foyer with her hand on the front door knob.
Get out. Get out!
The voice in her head was loud and insistent. She must have been crazy to think she could do this alone. It was one thing to break in when Joe was with her, making her feel safe.
Joe.
Hot tears trickled down her cheeks. Damn you, Joe. Damn you.
If only she didn’t love him, she could walk away and take her chances with Detective Hall. Maybe he would be different. Maybe he really wasn’t in cahoots with Ned or whoever was behind this. Maybe Ned wasn’t the monster she thought he was. Maybe the pope wasn’t Catholic.
There was only one absolute left to her. One person she trusted with her life.
Joe. She only hoped she’d have a chance to tell him.
Ten seconds later she opened the louver doors, stepped into the pantry and pulled them closed behind her.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Suzannah flew into his arms. “You do love me,” she said, squeezing him. “I knew it. Why do you insist on playing these games with me?”
“I’m not playing games now,” he lied.
“Let’s get this stinky thing off you.”
He allowed her to pull his shirt over his head and toss it on the floor. When she started unbuttoning his jeans he grabbed her hands. “Not so fast.”
She groaned. “Oh, come on. I’ve waited years for this and I want you.” She stood on her tiptoes and offered her mouth to him. He didn’t disappoint her. When he pulled back from the kiss, Suzannah was plastered to his body, pushing into him. Too bad he couldn’t fake an erection.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.
He ran his fingers through her hair. “Other than the fact that I haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, have barely eaten and might still face a double murder rap? Not a thing.”
She actually smiled, as though it were all some kind of joke, then wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled his chest. “It’ll all work out. They’ll figure out that you didn’t kill anybody.”
“Somebody did. And whoever it was is doing a damn good job of setting me up.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Joe. I’ll tell them it was all a big mistake.”
“What was a big mistake?”
“Oh, the ring thing. The chain broke, and I had nowhere to put it so I handed it to Sam’s goon to hold for me. It must have been him.”
Joe’s gut went cold. He’d always known Suzannah was self-centered and spoiled, but until that very moment he hadn’t realized that she was totally lacking in empathy. How had he missed that all these years?
“What do you mean, his ‘goon’? One of his Secret Service agents?”
“Lord, no. Dale French and Sam grew up together. I guess he was some kind of special-ops guy, so he gets information for Sam, handles the dirty work. You know.”
Did Dale’s dirty work include killing people? “Removing obstacles, you mean. That kind of thing.”
“Uh-huh.” She was running her hands over his back and chest. “He’d do anything for Sam. Knowing him, he probably thought he was doing Sam a favor getting rid of you.”
“Should I be grateful he didn’t shoot me and get it over with?”
Suzannah laughed. What the hell was wrong with her? He grabbed her by the shoulders and gently peeled her off him.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Do you think this Dale person killed Sadler?”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “I suppose it’s possible. Do we have to talk about this now?”
He sputtered, unable to hide his shock. “Are you kidding me? You think this is some kind of game the police are playing? I could go to prison for the rest of my life, Suzannah. Don’t you think it’s worth talking about that? Especially if you think this Dale French set me up?”
“There’s no way you can go to prison for any of this, because you’re innocent. I know that for a fact. So how can they make a case against you if you’re totally innocent? Eventually they’ll realize their mistake.”
“When? After I’ve spent ten years behind bars? Twenty? Thirty?” He shook her. “Talk to me, Suzannah. Do you think Dale killed Blair too?”
Her eyes flashed when he said Blair’s name. “Who cares? We’re all better off without her. She was no better than a prostitute as far as I’m concerned. And what’s one more dead prostitute?” She backed off. “Honest to God, if you don’t stop bringing her up, I’m going to explode.”
“Don’t you get it? I could go to prison. For. Killing. Her.”
“But you didn’t kill her!” she shouted.
“The police don’t know that,” he shouted back.
“The police have no imagination. None of you do.”
“Then who did kill her, Suzy? Tell me.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “I did! Okay? I shot the stupid bitch.”
His jaw actually dropped. “Holy shit.”
* * *
Catherine flipped on her flashlight long enough to find the latch to the office, then flipped it off. She stood very still, listening for sounds from inside, hearing only the pounding of her heart. There was no going back now. Joe’s life could depend on her getting that tape. She twisted the latch and pushed the door open.
Total darkness greeted her. Thank God. She shone the beam in the direction of the tape cabinet and then flipped it off. The less light the better, she figured, as she walked around the big desk and across the Oriental carpet. She knelt down and pulled the cabinet doors open, then flipped the flashlight back on. Relief flooded through her when she saw Andy Sadler’s tape in the same spot it had been in last time. Was it really only last night that she and Joe were here?
She reached for the tape.
The arm came around her neck so fast she didn’t have time to think. Terror shot through her. She dropped the flashlight and clawed at the arm that was choking the life out of her. He was pulling her backward, dragging her across the floor in the darkness, and she couldn’t see, couldn’t yell, couldn’t fight. Spots appeared before her eyes.
I’m going to die.
In desperation she poked two fingers behind her head, hoping to hit an eyeball or two, and heard an angry, “Shit!”
He pulled his arm off and she skittered away, choking in air. Who was this? It wasn’t Ned. Of that she was certain. The voice was wrong, and the man who had grabbed her stank of cigarettes and stale sweat.
She’d nearly reached the pantry door when the beam hit her in the eyes. She raised her arm instinctively.
“Well, well,” the voice mocked. He came up beside her and kicked the door closed. “If it isn’t the sexy Miss Morrissey.”
“Please.” Her voice was raspy and she coughed. “Don’t hurt me. I was only—”
His foot slammed into her ribs and she gasped in shock and pain. Oh God, help me! She wrapped an arm protectively around her middle and tried to crawl away, but he kicked her again, harder, and she curled into
a ball.
“Stop,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper. “Please.”
In response, he grabbed the back of her shirt, lifted her head off the ground and slammed it into the floor. Pain exploded in her brain and she saw stars. The possibility that she was about to be beaten to death crowded her consciousness, giving rise to a panic so intense she could barely breathe.
“No...”
He lifted her head and slammed it down again.
She retched, and began to pray. He kicked her in her ribs, her legs, her arms, again and again, grunting with the effort, until she passed out.
* * *
Dale French watched his oldest friend out of the corner of his eye as he made a left onto Arizona Avenue, and wondered for the thousandth time how the man could stand to be married to that unfaithful bitch.
“In retrospect,” Sam Mitchell said, “it was probably a mistake to let Ned approach Sadler. It sounds like your friend Perelli did a much better job of scaring the hell out of him.”
Dale winced. “Perelli’s not my friend.” Perelli probably never had a friend—or a mother, for that matter. The guy barely passed as a human being. “It was Ned’s loyalty to Suzannah that made it seem like a good idea. He could have been very useful if Rossi hadn’t gotten in the way.”
Sam sighed and shifted in the seat. “Ah, yes. How Ned must hate him.”
Dale glanced at Sam. “And you don’t?”
“Ned adores Suzannah,” Sam said, ignoring him. “I’ve always known that. But all she can see is Joe.”
“It would be so easy to—”
“No,” Sam said sharply. “I’d lose her for good. Leave it alone.”
“But I could make it look like an accident. Or a disease.”
“I said drop it.”
“Why doesn’t she take the drugs anymore?” Dale asked.
Sam didn’t respond right away. “She doesn’t like the way they make her feel. Joe is like a drug to her. She’ll get him invited to something or other to see him for a few hours. Unless she’s really desperate, and then she lures him out to the cabin with the promise of a good story.”
