by Lisa Childs
“It’s over now,” Amber said. “The person responsible for Gregory’s murder and for the attempts on my life and my son’s life has killed himself.”
“Did he say anything before he died?” Patricia asked.
“He just talked about his son,” Amber said, and she glanced again at hers. She understood Brad Jipping’s inconsolable pain. “It was horrible what he did—to Gregory and to me. But I don’t know how I would react if something ever happened to my son.” She flinched as she remembered those moments she’d worried that something had happened to him—that he’d been injured in the car accident. “I probably wouldn’t survive.”
Patricia sighed. “I don’t know what the bond is like between a mother and her child. Unfortunately, Gregory and I were never able to have children.”
Amber heard the woman’s yearning and regret. She’d obviously wanted a child. She reached out and touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
For so many reasons. “I’m sorry you two were never able to have a child.”
“I didn’t have one,” Patricia said. “But Gregory did...” She had followed Amber’s gaze to Michael. She watched the little boy swing.
“No...” Amber said. “He’s not Gregory’s...”
The woman didn’t reply. She said nothing—just continued to stare at Michael.
“Evelyn Reynolds told me what you think,” Amber said. “That you believe those awful rumors about your husband and me. But I want you to know the only relationship we had was professional.” She’d once been foolish enough to think they’d had a friendship, too. But she realized now that Gregory had never been her friend.
Patricia glanced at her now, and a perfectly arched eyebrow rose in skepticism. “You expect me to believe that? I could tell how he felt about you.”
Why hadn’t Amber been able to tell? Why hadn’t she realized the lengths Gregory had gone in order to break up her and Milek? The things he’d said to him...
Claiming her baby was his.
“He wanted you,” Patricia said.
Amber shook her head. “You were his wife.”
“I was his meal ticket,” Patricia said. “The bank for his campaigns. He never felt about me the way he felt about you. He never wanted me...”
Frustration tightened Amber’s stomach into knots. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“You should be,” Patricia replied. “You should be...”
“But I wasn’t involved with Gregory,” she continued. “I never had an affair with him.”
Despite her class and elegance, Patricia Schievink snorted—derisively. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
She pointed one of her gloved hands at the boy. “That’s his son.”
“No,” she said. “Michael is Milek Kozminski’s son. I was going to marry Milek.” She still wanted to marry him—wanted to be with him always. “I love him. I have always loved him.”
“So you just used Gregory?” Now the woman laughed. “There’s something almost poetic about it. You used him like he used me.”
Amber shook her head. “I didn’t use anyone.”
“You expect me to believe you were given all the best assignments because you were that good?”
“I was.” And would be again if she was given the chance. But there was something about the woman’s cold fury that chilled Amber’s blood, making her uneasy.
This had been a bad idea—asking Gregory’s wife to meet her.
“That’s not what Evelyn Reynolds told me,” Patricia said. “She told me all about the two of you.”
“Evelyn was lying,” Amber said. “She’s opportunistic and vindictive. She wanted Gregory’s job.”
Patricia snorted again. “She could have had it. He had his sights set much higher than the DA’s office.” She glanced at Amber’s face. “But you knew that. He shared all his aspirations with you.”
Amber just shrugged. She knew there was nothing she could say—nothing that would make Mrs. Schievink believe her.
“Why was he going to give it up?” Patricia asked.
“Give what up?”
“His job. His career goals.”
“I didn’t know he was.”
“I found the plane ticket,” Patricia said. “The one-way ticket. I assumed he’d already given you yours.”
Amber shivered as realization dawned. “It was you...” Tears threatened, but she blinked them furiously back so she could see Michael. He had stopped swinging to watch them. He must have noticed she was getting upset. He rose from the seat of the swing and started toward them.
“Run!” she yelled at him.
But instead of running away, he ran toward her—as if he instinctively knew she needed protection. He took after his father in so many ways—the artistic talent, the protectiveness.
“I found this, too,” Patricia said as she drew a gun from her designer bag. The sleeves of her coat were so long that it covered the weapon, leaving only the end of the barrel visible. None of the joggers or dog walkers were close enough to see it—to call for help. “You look as surprised as Frank Campanelli was.”
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Michael asked as he joined them. “Do you want to play tag?”
Biting her lip to hold back a cry, she shook her head.
He turned toward Mrs. Schievink. “Do you want to play tag?” he asked.
She smiled at him—a strange, sad smile. “We’re going to play another kind of game,” she said.
Amber reached for her son, trying to step between him and the madwoman—as Milek had stepped between her and Brad Jipping. But Brad Jipping hadn’t been the killer. Patricia Schievink was.
The woman grabbed the little boy before Amber could. While she held his hand in her left one, she pointed the gun at the back of his head.
Amber’s heart slammed against her ribs with fear and pain. She held in a cry—not wanting to startle either of them. If Michael moved...
He turned slightly toward Mrs. Schievink. But he must not have seen the gun, because he calmly asked, “What kind of game?”
“Hide-and-seek,” she said. “You and I are going to hide, and your mommy will have to find us.”
“Patricia,” Amber implored her. “Please, don’t do this...”
“You should have thought of that before you got involved with my husband,” Patricia said.
The little boy’s brow furrowed with confusion, and he stared at the woman before turning back toward Amber. He must have seen what she could see now—so clearly. The madness. “Mommy?” he asked nervously.
“It’s okay,” she said. But she didn’t know how.
What could she do? If she grabbed for her son, the woman would shoot him. And with where she was holding the gun, it wasn’t possible that she would miss.
But if Patricia left with him...
She would undoubtedly shoot him anyway—once she took him wherever she intended to take him. With her financial resources, she would be able to take him anywhere she wanted.
“Please,” Amber said. “Don’t...”
The woman shook her head. “Tell him to leave with me. To play nicely and maybe everything will be all right.”
Just as Patricia had refused to believe her, Amber couldn’t trust her, either. She hadn’t gone to the lengths she had to let her and Michael live.
No. Nothing would ever be all right again. She couldn’t let Patricia Schievink leave with her son—because if she did, she would never see him again.
Not alive...
* * *
She should have killed Amber—should have pulled the trigger. But there had been witnesses in the park—people who would have been able to testify against her. Nobody but Amber had seen her gun.
The little boy hadn’t even seen it as Patricia had held it behind his back. She could have shot him there—in front of his mother. Could have had her revenge then.
Finally.
But maybe this was better. Amber would suffer now—worrying whether her son was dead or alive. She wouldn’t be able to sleep. To eat.
Just as Patricia hadn’t been able to when Gregory had worked late with that slut. She’d imagined the two of them together—laughing at her. Thinking her too stupid to know what was going on between them.
The only reason Gregory hadn’t asked her for a divorce was because of her money. He was too ambitious to give that up—knowing she would be able to finance his bid for mayor. For governor.
For president. He’d had such aspirations.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” she asked the little boy. Not that she would ever give him the chance. She just wondered...
“I want to be a bodyguard,” he said, “like my daddy.”
Gregory was the boy’s father. She’d heard him say it himself.
Why were Amber Talsma and her son claiming that it was another man? Why were they denying Gregory?
“Your daddy is a bodyguard?” Patricia asked the child.
He nodded his blond head. In the photos Frank Campanelli had sent her, the boy’s hair had looked darker—more like Gregory’s. And she didn’t remember ever noticing how light his eyes were, how they were nearly silver...
Gregory’s eyes had been dark. And the woman’s were green again. Not dark like those photos Frank had sent.
No. She was letting Amber Talsma get to her. And she, of all people, knew better than to trust a lawyer. They were natural liars. Gregory had always been a liar. All those promises he’d made her.
To be faithful.
To love her forever...
Amber had to be lying.
Because why would Gregory have claimed the boy was his if he wasn’t...?
Had it just been wishful thinking?
Amber had been sleeping with both men, and Gregory had just assumed her child was his. Had Amber played Gregory?
She laughed at the irony of the ultimate player being fooled. And the boy looked at her nervously.
“When’s my mommy coming?” he asked.
“Whenever she figures out where we are,” she said. “Is she very good at hide-and-seek?”
The little boy giggled. “No. I always win.”
This time Patricia would win. Amber had given her the perfect revenge when she’d told her that she wouldn’t survive losing her son.
That was why Patricia hadn’t shot her in the park. She had waited too long for her revenge for it to be over so quickly. No. This was better. So much better...
Amber would suffer. She would suffer wondering where her son was—if he was alive. If he was dead...
And when she found him...
She would suffer for the rest of her miserable life.
All Patricia had to do was pull the trigger. Frank Campanelli hadn’t thought she could do it, but she’d proved him wrong. She had had no problem taking his life.
And she would have no problem taking another...
Chapter 24
Amber couldn’t stop shaking. Her muscles quivered uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have let her take him. I shouldn’t have let her...”
She’d prosecuted so many cases where nothing good happened if a suspect got a victim to a second location—to somewhere private. Somewhere horrible things would happen.
What was Patricia doing to her son? Their son...
Milek’s face was flushed with fury, his hands fisted at his sides. He was probably angry with her. She didn’t blame him; she was angry with herself.
“I shouldn’t have...”
“You couldn’t risk that she might pull the trigger,” Milek said—as if he understood.
Tears overflowed her eyes again and cracked her voice. “She had it right at the back of his head...”
Brad Jipping had shot himself in the head. Milek had caught her in his arms, had tried to stop her from seeing it. But he hadn’t been fast enough. She’d seen the horror...
And that was what she had immediately imagined when she’d seen that gun so close to her son’s head.
She blinked, trying to clear her vision, so she could focus on Milek. There were others in the condo. Agent Rus was there—along with every member of the Payne Protection Agency and their spouses. But Milek was the only one she needed.
“Will we get him back?” she asked. “Will we ever see our son again?”
He nodded. “Of course we will.” He moved closer and slid his arm around her shaking shoulders. She didn’t deserve it—not after failing to protect their son, but he was offering her comfort. “If she’d intended to hurt him, she would have shot him in the park. In front of you.”
Remembering what she’d told the woman, she shook her head. “No...”
“What?”
“I gave her the perfect revenge,” she admitted. “I was talking about Jipping and I said I wouldn’t survive losing my son...”
There was no way Patricia had missed that, no way she wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. Which meant Amber would never see her son again.
Not alive...
* * *
Amber was blaming herself. But it was Milek’s fault. He shouldn’t have let them go alone to the park. He’d known something wasn’t right.
He’d still been on edge. He’d thought it was because he’d been worried that she was leaving—or already gone. But it hadn’t made sense that Brad Jipping had had the money to hire Frank Campanelli. With his drinking problem, the man hadn’t been able to hold a job. He’d lost his home. And his vehicle had been repossessed.
Those hundred-dollar bills. The ones he’d given to the kid to drive the battered truck and the ones on his table—those weren’t Jipping’s. They must have belonged to Patricia Schievink.
She had plenty of money. Enough to have hired Frank Campanelli to kill her husband and Amber and Michael. Enough money to have hired Jipping to finish the job the hired assassin had failed to carry out.
She must have known about the case from her husband. They had talked about his work. About Amber...
Patricia Schievink had enough money to get out of the country and never come back. So why had she brought Michael here?
The house was smaller than the mansion in which she lived now—in front of which the hit man she’d hired had gunned down her husband. The front door of the little brick Cape Cod was locked, but she might as well not have bothered, since Milek picked it so quickly.
As he pushed it open and stepped inside, the hardwood floor creaked beneath his weight. But that was the only sound inside the house. The only movement but for the dust particles dancing in the sunshine pouring through the bare windows. He could see through the windows to where the woman sat in the backyard with a child playing on an old swing set.
He pushed open the sliding door and stepped outside to join them. His quiet movements had been a waste of time.
Michael pumped his legs harder to carry his swing higher. “Daddy!” he called out as he waved. Then he turned toward the woman sitting on a rusted lawn chair in the middle of a patio overgrown with weeds. “Daddy found me. He’s good at hide-and-seek.”
She didn’t turn around to look; she must have trusted his son. “How did you find me?” she asked.
“You didn’t turn off your cell phone.”
“It brought you right to this house?”
“This block,” Milek admitted. “The property records confirmed you still own this house. Actually, Gregory owns it still.”
“He bought it when he asked me to marry him,” she said. “Probably to convince me that he wasn’t marryi
ng me for my money.” She snorted at that—as if embarrassed she hadn’t known better. “He said it had a great yard for kids to play in.”
Michael had moved to the slide of the old swing set. Milek wanted to reach for the boy, but the woman sat between them, the barrel of the gun she held pointed toward the boy.
“It is a great yard,” he said but hoped that agreeing with Gregory didn’t upset her. While she once must have loved the man, in the end she’d hated him enough to have him killed.
“But we could never have kids,” she continued.
“Is that why you took my son?” he asked.
She sighed. “He is yours, isn’t he?”
Milek nodded. “Yes. You heard Schievink tell me that he was the father of Amber’s baby?”
Schievink had called him to that mansion he’d bought with his wife’s money. Milek had wondered if she’d been home then or if it had been a member of the staff he’d heard moving around in the hall outside Schievink’s home office. But she hadn’t come to her husband’s aid when Milek had struck the smug son of a bitch.
“Yes...”
“He lied,” Milek said. She couldn’t see, but he pointed at his son. “It’s obvious the boy is mine.” And Milek never should have believed the man—not even for a moment. He never should have doubted Amber. She loved him.
Did she still? Would she be able to love him if he failed to save their son?
“Why did you stay with him?” he asked. “Why didn’t you divorce him then?” Or kill him?
She shrugged. “I still loved him. And he didn’t leave me then.”
“He was going to leave you last year?”
She nodded. “I found his plane ticket. One way to an island near Bermuda. I figured she was going with him. He was leaving me.”
So she had hired Frank Campanelli to kill her husband.
“He was fleeing,” Milek said, “the country, not you. He must have known it was only a matter of time before Agent Rus discovered he was corrupt.”
“Corrupt?” she repeated. And she laughed now. “That’s ridiculous. I gave Gregory everything he wanted—all the money he needed.”
“Maybe it wasn’t for money that he bent the law,” Milek said. “Maybe it was for power—influence. Or just because he was a liar and a cheat.”
