“No! That’s really sad. You need to get out more,” Terri ribbed him, “but I’m flattered. So, tell me about it.”
The bartender came over with two fresh beers. Terri handed him her old one. The bottle wasn’t empty, but the bartender didn’t care, and Marty didn’t notice. Marty picked his up and took a long drink, deciding to tell a partial truth. “Christen is having some trouble at school. It’s her first year.”
“I know how that goes. You’re behind me by a whole beer, by the way. We’ve got to work on getting you caught up.” She raised her hand to the bartender, then turned back to Marty. “Want to talk about it?”
“No, that’s enough about me. We both know I have no life.” Marty managed a weak smile, and said, “Tell me what you do outside of work. I could use a little vicarious excitement.” Maybe it was the beer, the act of smiling, or the company, but with another big gulp, Marty began feeling better. In the back of his mind he was still playing out his nightmare, but it was getting disjointed. It was fragmenting, and growing fainter. He thought that maybe he could put the anxiety aside for a few hours.
Chapter 47
Robert sat in the study. He and the agents had finished a couple of large pizzas and a full liter of Coke. Cinnamon sugared blobs of pizza dough had followed. Peter had gone to pick the food up, after talking Robert out of pizza delivery for security reasons, although Robert had been convinced he would recognize the local delivery guy. Neither agent wanted to take the chance. Robert knew they were right. After eating, Agent Long had left for the night, taking Peter’s car. He planned to return in the morning.
Robert now sat in the study. It was quiet, except for the hum of the computer fan, and an occasional pepperoni growl from his stomach. He had fiddled with the phone several times, wanting to talk to someone.
Grady worried him. Was it possible for him to disappear in this day and age, with so much tracking technology available? Robert kept thinking he should have had Grady put into protective custody.
Standing up to stretch, Robert couldn’t get his muscles to relax. The image of Grady’s car exploding on Roosevelt Island remained vivid. The impact should have lessened, now that he knew Grady hadn’t died, but it bothered him. Something else bothered him—a body had been in the car, and Grady had planted it there. Where had it come from? What had Grady done? Maybe Grady was right to leave town and go underground.
Robert couldn’t help thinking about how the investigation was going to affect his career, and his promotion. Given the circumstances, he knew he should be focused on other things, but he was well aware of the fragility of his position. He was the guy on the bubble, and it was clear he’d be sacrificed if anything went wrong. This investigation had become very visible, even at the Presidential level, and Robert clearly did not have the situation under control. He didn’t need Gregg breathing down his neck, complicating matters, and reminding him of that fact.
Robert’s mind kept coming back to Hunt. Hunt clearly wanted to influence the investigation, and he had. Was Hunt a power broker? He didn’t seem to wield influence in the usual circles Robert inhabited. Was Senator Gregg one of Hunt’s friends, or had he simply granted him the favor of an introduction to Robert? Why was Hunt feeding Robert information? And come to think of it, why hadn’t Agent Carey reported anything about Hunt, yet?
Robert was frustrated. The questions kept piling up, and hours were slipping by without any answers. Thinking about Agent Carey, he wondered again about his connection to the NSA. Karlovich had known Carey was coming—or the guard had known. Why? Robert wasn’t sure why that was important, but he had the feeling he’d better find out more about it, and how deeply Karlovich was connected. The guy seemed like a sharp bureaucrat. Was he the linchpin, or would he lead to whoever was behind all of this?
Lurking in the background was Robert’s father. His father seemed to expect Robert to conjure up an indictment against a still unknown perpetrator of a possible crime. Was he assuming that perpetrators existed, or did he know?
Robert was getting a headache. Leaving the study, he went into the living room to get a snifter from the bar, and some brandy. He found a bottle of Remy Martin XO Cognac that had been given to Tracie by some dignitary. Close enough to brandy, he decided. Tracie would never drink it, so he might as well.
He broke the seal and poured. Concentrating on the cognac’s aroma, he held the glass in both hands. Taking a sip, he felt the smooth liquid burn as it slid down his throat. The alcohol carried powerful fragrances and flavors of baked pear, orange marmalade and spices across his tongue and then back through his nostrils as he exhaled. Heat swept through him. The house suddenly felt warmer as the liquor detonated on cue just above his stomach and again deep inside. He added a little more to the glass, thumped the cork back into the bottle, and went back into the study. He noticed Agent Karelonski sitting in the hall near the front door, reading an electronic book. His gun sat within easy reach on the hall table. Robert figured there was no point in offering a drink to the agent. He closed the door behind him.
Robert settled in at his desk to go over everything that had happened. It had only been five days since he and Chris had talked, he realized with a shock. It seemed like a lifetime. He soon had the desktop covered with notes, diagrams, lines, arrows, and questions.
Chapter 48
Marty and Terri were enjoying themselves, having had too much beer and too little food. Marty was now a full beer ahead of Terri, but didn’t notice or care. The conversation had touched on almost every subject possible. They had talked about the news, basketball, exercise machines, motorcycles, leather jackets, and bathing suits. The subjects were born from whatever caught their attention on the televisions generously scattered around the walls. Warm vacation spots and suntan lotion became particularly amusing topics.
“Oh, I liked Hawaii, but the Caribbean is my favorite.” Terri had been to Martinique the previous year. “The water is warmer, and the breezes are softer. Plus, I like smaller hotels with fewer people on the beaches.”
“What about night life?” Marty had never been to any islands. “Isn’t Hawaii more active? And Mexico is always advertising their night clubs.”
Terri had an enthusiastic response, remembering the island. “Martinique is great! There’s always a bar open with dancing. There are lots of beaches, gorgeous sand, and good snorkeling. I got my best tan ever! It’s French, you know, and they are so open about bathing suit options. I picked up a tanning bikini I would be too afraid to wear any place else.”
Marty was feeling bold. He leaned forward, and put on his best lady killer smile. “I never pegged you for being shy, Terri.” Alcohol had loosened him up. Flirting was not his core competency. Any other girl would have laughed at him.
Terri responded saucily, “My tanning bikini is pretty tiny, and the sun goes right through it. I feel naked in it—and I am shy, sometimes.” Terri’s smile matched Marty’s as she leaned in towards him. “If you hold that suit up to the light you can see right through it. No tan lines. It’s amazing. I did feel incredibly free wearing it...and it was a rush being so daring.” She stood up, laughing. “I’ll leave you with that thought. I’ve got to go to the ladies room. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” She grinned as she walked past him toward the bathrooms, her hips moving with a slightly exaggerated sway.
Marty couldn’t help but blush. Terri was much younger than he was, and very attractive. She was nicely shaped, and full of energy. Somehow she seemed easy to talk to, and that surprised Marty. He was never very good around women. He would never have met his wife except for some friends having thrown them together in college. Terri was different. Not only could he talk to her, but he could also relax around her. She seemed relaxed around him, too.
What a night. More than once they had laughed at the same commercial. Twice her hand had been on his thigh. Now she was almost talking dirty to him. Marty found himself grinning, and imagining that bikini. He was enjoying her teasing. He didn’t really expect an
ything to come out of it, but he was enjoying thinking like a bad boy for a change.
Sneaking up behind him, Terri rubbed his shoulders a little. “Miss me?”
He didn’t jerk outwardly, but his body was responding to her touch. He hadn’t felt a woman’s hands on him that way in a while, and it made him almost giddy. Marty’s eyes dilated. He was melting rapidly. Terri could tell, and her smile broadened. When she sat, he noticed the next button down on her blouse was not quite done, and as she moved and laughed it came completely undone. Several times, Marty saw a lot of her shiny, low-cut bra, and the rounded tops of her breasts. The lively conversation continued to wander. It never came back to the beaches or the bikini, but Marty didn’t notice. He was having trouble concentrating.
A last round of beers didn’t get finished. The football games were over, and the bar began to empty.
“Well, it’s a school night. We’d better get out of here.” Terri announced.
“Yes, you’re right.” Marty agreed as he looked at his watch. He wasn’t feeling the least bit tired. He thought he could have stayed all night. “We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
They didn’t talk much as Terri drove them back to the office. It was a short drive, and Marty was content to daydream. Neither of them wanted to risk adding anything clumsy to a satisfying evening. She pulled up next to his car to drop him off.
“Well, it’s been fun.” She smiled broadly. The alcohol was continuing to have its effect despite the brisk night air. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her smile warmed Marty all over again.
Marty figured he’d better remember he was a gentleman, and started to get out of the car.
“I really had fun,” He said as he put his foot out.
“Me, too.” She smiled. “But I really have to go.”
Marty was disappointed. Somehow he’d hoped she’d stop him.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she giggled. “I’ll use the one in the lobby.”
Marty’s smile returned. “I’ll wait, and make sure you’re safe.” Marty was continuing his gentlemanly stance.
“No, no.” She insisted. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be fine.”
He could tell she meant it, so he got out and closed the door. With a wave, he got in his car as she walked quickly towards the building. With all the security around their building, he knew she would be fine, but he was a little deflated at the evening’s outcome. He wasn’t sure he was ready to get involved with Terri, but somehow he’d hoped for more than this.
Marty cranked the engine, and drove away. He was feeling very relaxed, and sexually charged at the same time. His mind kept wandering back to the beach and Terri’s bikini. He almost missed the turn to his neighborhood, and went across the centerline once or twice. His eyes seemed to have trouble focusing, but rolling down the window helped. It was freezing outside. The defroster couldn’t get warm enough to melt the ice crystals off his windshield. Fortunately there weren’t many cars on the road.
As he approached his house, his good humor faded. It was dark. The cold was putting a chill on the sunlit sandy beach in his head. Only last night he had been assaulted in his living room. He wanted to go back to the bar and stay out all night, but he knew that wouldn’t fix anything. He slipped rapidly back into his negative mindset. By the time he unlocked the door and went inside he felt lonelier than ever. Turning on every light in the house and the TV, he checked for messages on the machine. There were none. He sat in front of the flickering TV screen, not caring what was on it. Marty dreaded the ring of the telephone. He found himself hoping that no one would call, and at the same time, begging the phone to ring. He went in the kitchen and grabbed a beer. Passing out seemed better than spending the night awake.
Chapter 49
Grady’s drive had been fairly quick. The roads were so cold that the dry snow blew across them without sticking. His biggest worry about hitting black ice hadn’t materialized. He’d forgotten it after driving for a while. He had other things on his mind.
Stopping twice for coffee and bathroom breaks, he was now on small, familiar feeling roads, and was anxious to get to bed. Sleeping in the middle of the day wasn’t as satisfying as getting night rest, and he’d had far too little of either. Grady had a theory that sleep between ten and midnight was better than sleep after midnight, regardless of how long you slept. He was looking forward to deep, uninterrupted recuperation. He knew it would take at least another day to recover from his recent emotional experiences. The bruises would be slower to heal.
It was about one-thirty in the morning when he finally spotted the B&B. Pulling into the driveway, he turned off his headlights, and used the parking lights to navigate. He had to pass several cottages on the way to number three, and his lights would have flashed brightly through the windows of the other guest houses. He checked each car as he drove by, looking for any that didn’t blend into the scenery. They all looked like rental cars; small, cheap, and white, except one Cadillac with a box of tissue in the rear window. Retired couple, he thought. He didn’t feel much safer, but every little bit helped.
The key was under the mat, right where he expected it. After he’d turned on every light and looked in each closet and corner of the cottage, he unloaded the car.
The place was just as he expected—just as he’d seen it the last time he’d been there. It was neat, cheerful, and decidedly feminine. There were lots of frills and lace making everything fluffy and soft. The nightstand had two chocolate covered cherries, mint cordials, and the bath smelled of lilacs. It was wonderfully familiar, comfortable, and full of memories.
Dumping out the plastic Walmart bags on the bed, he separated toiletries from clothes, and put each in their proper place. He stripped the tags and labels off the blue jeans with his new nail clippers, and ironed one shirt. The local television news droned on about weather and high school football while he worked.
The familiar activity was helping him unwind from the drive. Picking up his cold paper coffee cup, he decided to pour it out and toss it in the trash.
Turning down the volume slightly, he chose a boring looking movie from the selection of satellite channels. Stripping down, he got into bed, and turned off the lights. The TV noise kept him from thinking. It was only moments before he was snoring, but surges of smoke and explosions of fire began cascading through his head in nonsensical and badly edited story lines. His closed eyes darted back and forth while his body clenched and moved in his sleep.
Chapter 50
Christen lay in the dark, shaking, half from cold, half from fear. As always, Mary had turned off the TV and lights promptly at ten. The air from outside seeped through cracks in the walls, flowing down from the window over the sofa bed. It reached Christen’s head, making her wounds ache more. She spun around so she could lie with her head toward the middle of the room, and her feet near the windowsill.
Christen had scrubbed her cuts while she was in the shower. She scrubbed everything, as much to cleanse her heart as her body. The cuts stung angrily, but she had to get them clean. She cried the whole time. Her sobbing was quiet, so as not to anger Mary, but holding back made her chest cramp with sharp twinges. Fear sent convulsions through her back as she fought back the wailing inside.
She had put on the sweats. There was no bra, but she’d found cotton panties folded up with the pants. The top had been cut to accommodate her handcuffed wrist, and Velcro ironed onto the edges. That made it easier to put on with the handcuff and chain in place.
Even though Mary had used her knife only to cut away Christen’s clothes, the fear of that brightly honed blade lingered. Its silver shine remained vivid in her bloodstained memory.
When she’d finished dressing, she’d looked up into the mirror. Tears ran uncontrollably from her eyes at the sight of her cut and bruised face. She was hardly recognizable. The first aid kit had some surgical strips, and she tried her best to pull the cuts tight, so the strips could hold the ragged edges together. An extra set of
hands and a good nurse would have helped. Christen hoped she had done a good job and prevented most of the scaring. With antiseptic and bandages in place, she had done her best to tidy up the bathroom and clean up the splattered food.
Once everything was straight and clean, she set the dirty towels in a neatly folded stack where her clothes had been. The food had been all over the floor and the battered coke can had drying blood on its edge, but there was a little soda left inside. Christen had picked off the small bits of dust and debris from the food which remained in the serving dish, and then ate it all. She assumed that not eating would bring worse consequences, and she couldn’t face that.
From that time on she had seen nothing of Mary. The empty lunch dish now sat cold and dry on the tray. Dinnertime had come and gone; yet she heard no sound. At ten, Mary had come in and without a word turned off the TV and took the empty food dish and towels away, switching off the lights as she left. Christen had been terrified to move in her presence, or even breathe.
Her forehead and swollen eye throbbed miserably. Tears rolled across her face as Christen cried into her pillow. She hoped her face would heal. She hoped there would be a day left in her life for it to matter. She hoped today would end.
Chapter 51
Jerking his head up from the desk, Robert rocked back suddenly in the rolling chair. The chair glided away from the desk over the smooth hardwood floor, throwing him off-balance. His feet rose off the ground as he scrambled to regain his equilibrium. The doorbell rang again, and he realized what had awakened him.
Looking around the desktop he realized he had no gun, or any suitable defense nearby. He held himself and the chair still with both hands on the desk as he listened to Peter’s steps approaching the front door. Robert could hear Peter open the door without any call for identification, or greeting. Robert looked around. The only safety was underneath the desk. He was thinking about that when there was a knock at the study door.
One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1) Page 28
