Deadly Secrets

by Ann Christopher

  Kerry’s feet dragged until he fell behind, and Kareem turned to scowl at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Ten thousand times?” Kerry asked, his blood chilling to liquid nitrogen. “Won’t that kill all the customers?”

  Kareem snorted out a laugh. Shrugged. “Cost of doing business, man. The same as paying bribes or buying ingredients. Sometimes you gotta lose something to make something. I’m going to give you the formula for safekeeping. I need someone I can trust. It’s called W-80.”

  Kerry blinked, forcing himself to focus on the here and now.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told the guy.

  Henry smiled. “Sure you don’t. Here’s the deal. Kareem and my guy—”

  “In Miami?”

  It was Henry’s turn to stiffen. “Don’t get cute. Your guy and my guy had plans in place to distribute W-80. As I’m sure you know. Your guy gets himself offed by his not-so-loving wife. That leaves us in a lurch. We don’t like lurches. We like making money. You need to help us make money.”

  “Can’t. Sorry. Kareem kept all the compartments of his business separate. I was money laundering. That’s it.” Kerry scanned the room with his peripheral vision, desperate for something he could use as an effective weapon. “Why don’t you find the Walter White?”

  Henry stared at him for a long time.

  “Kerry, Kerry, Kerry,” he said, reaching for the bottom edge of his pants. “Didn’t I tell you not to get any bright ideas?”

  When he sat back again, the wicked silver blade of a hunting knife gleamed in the light.

  Kerry froze, his entire body breaking out in a clammy sweat. Phantom pain seared up his side and across his neck and face as he remembered what Kareem’s blade had done to him.

  Not that.

  Please, God. A slug to the knee. A session of waterboarding. He’d sign up for anything but that.

  “I think we’ll both feel more relaxed once we establish our respective positions. You don’t want to run or try any Dirty Harry-type moves, Kerry. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. Got it?”

  Kerry couldn’t speak.

  Henry sighed. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. The Walter White met with a tragic end when she slit her throat with a scalpel. Guess she was a little more eager to quit the biz than you or I, huh?”

  Kerry made a strangled sound.

  “So that leaves you as the only person who can produce the formula, which I know you have because you’re the last man standing from Kareem’s organization. And Kareem was far too clever to let the formula die with his Walter White. There’s a copy of it somewhere. It just became your job to produce it.”

  He could yank the lamp cord and wrap it around this guy’s neck, Kerry decided as sudden rage bled a red haze over his vision.

  “I don’t have it,” he said through gritted teeth, “and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. So you can flood the market with it? Kill more kids?”

  “We have a lieutenant with scruples! Nice. Warms my heart to learn there’s still good in the world,” Henry said.

  No. Forget the lamp cord. The guy was way older than Kerry, knife or no knife, which meant his reflexes were slower. He’d have to get up to leave at some point. When he did, Kerry would catch him by surprise and shove him onto the bed.

  The snake would, hopefully, take care of the rest.

  “So…we’re done here?” Kerry asked.

  “Apparently, you’re still not clear on our respective positions, Kerry. You think you have power here.”

  “You came to me,” Kerry reminded him.

  “But you’re so predictable. You do the same thing every single day and you make it so easy for guys like me to follow you and see what you’re about. And you, Kerry, are all about your girlfriend. Jayne Morrison, who’s an assistant U.S. attorney and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to finding out that you know anything about W-80. So we need to keep things private, don’t we?”

  Kerry’s mind’s eye generated an image of Jayne’s face if she discovered what he’d kept secret. Every cell in his body turned to ice.

  “Alternatively, maybe I’ll just pack up Andromeda and make a little visit to Jayne’s house. See how compliant you’ll feel then—”

  Kerry knew he was playing mental chess here. He’d experienced some hard lessons at Kareem’s knee, learned to keep his feelings close to the vest. But his feelings for Jayne had never been in play back then, and they sure as hell were now.

  So it was no real surprise when something snapped inside Kerry’s head.

  “Don’t you threaten her!” he roared.

  The snake raised her head and hissed softly. Kerry barely noticed. Henry was the enemy here. Not the snake.

  And so what if Henry had a knife? Kerry was going to rip it out of his hands and use it to slit his throat.

  “She has nothing to do with this—”

  “Not yet,” Henry said placidly, keeping one eye on the snake. “She doesn’t have to know anything about this, Kerry. Give me the formula and I’m out of here. We have no interest in you. You want to be a civilian? Fine. I understand completely. I want to be a civilian, too. I want to retire, putter around in my garage making birdhouses and spend some time with my wife before Alzheimer’s eats the rest of her mind. You think I want to still be in the business at my age? With this bum hip? And me using my cane more and more? Produce the formula and you’ll never see me again. And my boss won’t know one damn thing about you. He thinks you died back when you got stabbed. I haven’t filled him in on your resurrection.” Long pause. “Yet.”

  It was tempting. Oh, it was tempting. Something about this guy’s old gym teacher vibe and earnest blue eyes almost made it easy to believe he’d keep his word. And all Kerry had to do was produce the formula and tell himself he had nothing to do with all the kids who’d overdose as a result. That he wasn’t the one who commissioned or created the formula. That he wasn’t the one who got this ball rolling.

  He wanted to believe it. The old Kerry would have talked himself into believing it.

  But this new Kerry?

  Not a fucking chance. He’d take a bullet between the eyes right now instead. At least then he’d die as a man Jayne could be proud of.

  And let’s face it—he was probably going to die soon, no matter what he said or did.

  “Fuck you,” he said.

  “Fair enough,” Henry said cheerfully. Keeping the knife handy, he stood and reached into his pocket with his free hand. “Tell you what. Why don’t I give you forty-eight hours to think it over? I’ll be in touch.”

  “Don’t waste your time.”

  There was a burst of movement as the guy’s hand came out of his pocket. A pinpoint flash of red. A streak and a pop.

  The next thing Kerry knew, every muscle in his body seized up and contracted. He let out an endless animalistic groan and dropped like an anvil from the sky, hitting his head on something hard as he fell.

  His last coherent thought was that he’d just been Tasered.

  42

  The shrill bleat of his phone woke Kerry.

  Or maybe it was the screaming of his head splitting down the fault lines created when he hit it on the nightstand as he fell to the floor.

  The floor.

  He was on the fucking floor. Again.

  Bleat. Bleat.

  Groaning and rubbing the goose egg on the back of his head, he tried to sit up and see—

  It all flooded back to him on a tidal wave of You are so screwed.

  The guy. The demand. The Taser. The—

  Oh, shit.

  The snake. Where was the snake?

  He looked left, under the bed. No snake.

  He looked right. No snake.

  A surging cocktail of adrenalin and relief gave him the strength to lever himself up to a seated position, then standing. The room whirled, threatening to crash-land him on his ass again, but the dizziness passed as quickly as it had come. He backed up to the wall, flipped
the light switch and got a good look at the room.

  Bleat. Bleat.

  Dude was gone. The carrying case was gone.

  The snake—thank you, God—was gone.

  Unless…

  A new thought took hold, making his lungs seize up. What if Henry took the snake and went to Jayne’s to threaten her? What if—

  Hang on. Was that one of his sticky notes? On the nightstand?

  He picked it up, squinting to focus.

  Talk soon, the note said.

  With a happy face.

  He dropped it and thought of the danger that he’d marched right up to Jayne’s door. He thought of the things, old and new, that he couldn’t tell her. Could never tell her. He thought of the look on her face if she knew—

  Nausea surged, giving him just enough time to stagger into the bathroom.

  Where he puked his guts out.

  By the time he finished, he was clammy and shaking, with barely enough coordination left to unscrew the cap on the mouthwash and rinse out his mouth.

  He spat, then caught a glimpse of his face when he straightened.

  Sweaty. Wild-eyed. Desperate.

  One coherent thought acted as the glue that held him together:

  He was not going down like this. He was not going to lose everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. He was not going to lose Jayne. Not when she had faith in him. Not after she’d defended him so fiercely to Brady this afternoon. Not when she was his sun and the air he breathed.

  He was not losing Jayne.

  There was a way out of this mess.

  He just had to figure it out.

  Think, man, he told himself. Think.

  Wait a minute. An idea flickered, went out, then flickered again, brighter. What if he—

  Bleat. Bleat. Bleat.

  Startled, he checked his watch. Ah, shit. That must be Jayne. He hurried out to the hall table, working hard to swallow a burst of hysterical laughter. Dinner. Jayne was coming for dinner. And to think that only twenty minutes ago, his biggest issue was getting showered in time.

  Bleat. Bleat.

  He snatched up the phone and checked the display. Yeah. Jayne.

  “Hey,” he said with what sounded like a mouthful of gravel. He cleared his throat. “I was just going to call you.”

  “Hey. You okay?”

  Her concern came through loud and clear, as did the sounds of passing traffic and Adele playing in the background. She was on her way, then. Good thing it wasn’t too late to stop her.

  “Yeah. I mean I, ah… I’m not feeling so hot. I think maybe I picked up the flu from one of the kids this afternoon.”

  “The flu?”

  “Yeah, so I, ah, I think I’d better cancel. I don’t want to get you sick.”

  “Well…do you want me to bring you some orange juice or something? Soup? I’m out, so it’s no trouble.”

  His throat burned. His eyes burned. He screwed up his face and pinched the bridge of his nose to keep himself on track, because God knew if there was one thing his flagging morale needed at this moment, it was to see Jayne and hold her in his arms.

  “Nah.” Keeping his voice upbeat took five or six years off his life. “I’m fully stocked.”

  “Well…” He could feel her deflating, which made sense, considering he’d just punctured her fragile self-esteem. “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m just going to go to bed.”

  “Okay.” She sounded sad. Small. “Call me later to let me know you’re still alive, okay? I’d call, but I don’t want to wake you.”

  “Will do,” he said tightly.

  “Bye.”

  Much as he’d wanted to stop her from coming, now he couldn’t let her go. Not when he didn’t know when or if he’d see her again.

  “Jayne,” he said quickly.

  “Yes?”

  The words and the sobs mingled in his throat, forcing him to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep Jayne from hearing.

  I should never have looked twice at you, much less fallen in love with you.

  Should never have lied to you.

  Should never have let you care about me.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

  He took a shuddering breath.

  “I’m, ah, sorry,” he said quietly. “For ruining your evening.”

  “It’s okay. There’ll be other evenings, right?”

  Jesus.

  He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, unable to stop a couple of tears from falling.

  “Right,” he said.

  43

  It took a long time for Jayne to overcome her stunned disbelief and climb out of the car, which was silly. Other than shame at being fat and disappointment at being let down by the people she loved most, wasn’t stunned disbelief her closest emotional friend? Didn’t she and stunned disbelief go together like men and lies or confidential informants and secrets?

  Still, it took her a long time to cut the engine and turn off her headlights. Longer still to climb out of the car and walk up to the door of the storage unit with the light on under the door, the one into which Kerry had just disappeared.

  Longest of all to draw the tattered remains of her dignity around her, raise her phone and dial.

  From inside the unit came the muffled sound of Kerry’s phone.

  “Hey,” he said after the first ring.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said dully.

  Long pause.

  “Can it wait till morning? I just climbed into bed—”

  Another lie. More stunned disbelief.

  Which just went to show how unfathomably stupid she was.

  “That’s funny.” All the trapped emotions in her throat made her voice shake. “I wonder how you can talk on your phone from home when I just heard it ring inside this storage unit I’m at. Are you a wizard as well as a liar?”

  The line went quiet for so long that she wondered if he’d hung up.

  “Jayne,” he finally said, and there was a tinge of desperation in his voice that just went to show how good an actor he was. But, of course, she’d realized that already, hadn’t she? “I know what you’re thinking, but—”

  “I seriously doubt that. Open the door.”

  She hung up.

  Waited.

  Cursed herself.

  Hated him.

  It took forever for him to come. She stared up at the streak of gray clouds skidding across the night sky, wondering if he’d decided to slip out some back door of his unit rather than face her, but she doubted it.

  Kerry Randolph may be a criminal and a liar, but he’d never been a coward.

  The door swung open at last.

  “Go home, Jayne.” He swiftly scanned the parking lot to either side of her. “I’ll call you later. I have to take care of something first.”

  “No.”

  He tried to block her from seeing inside, but that was one of the few benefits of being so tall. Just past his shoulder she saw a Disneyland of luxury goods for the discerning collector. And she had every intention of checking it out.

  After a couple seconds of this silent standoff, he cursed, took her arm and pulled her inside. The he took another look left and right, slammed the door again and bolted it.

  He turned to face her, having the nerve to look aggrieved. “What’re you doing here?”

  Oh, so he wanted to start with that?

  “Funny story. Remember when I called you a little while ago? Well, I was driving up your street at the time. I just called to make sure I had the address right. So imagine my surprise when I saw you race out and take off with your tires screeching. Right after you told me you had the flu and were going to bed. At first I thought you might have some patient emergency at the hospital, but you went the other way.”

  “You followed me.”

  “You lied to me,” she said bitterly. “So, yeah, I followed you.”

  That seemed to take the wind out of his sails. He didn’t look any too good, po
or thing. Come to think of it, his paleness and sweaty brow despite the chill reminded her of the night he nearly died. She might have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t just ripped her heart out by the roots.

  Didn’t take long for him to show his true colors, either.

  It never did.

  “So what’s all this?” she asked brightly, turning in a slow circle that allowed her to appreciate the expensive furniture. Art. NBA memorabilia. Books. A giant safe, which was open. She took a peek inside and saw, among other things, stacks of cash, sleeves of stamps and— “Oh, are these diamonds? I’ve never seen loose diamonds before. Nice. Looks like quite a nest egg.”

  “Jayne—”

  “They’re paying general practitioners at free clinics so much more than I expected these days. It’s really a good living, isn’t it? To think you bought all this in the last three months. Wow. You’re a good saver, aren’t you? Really impressive.”

  Kerry’s legs seemed to give out on him. He dropped into some fancy modern chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. His face twisted and, once again, he was such a good actor that he reminded her of the times he’d experienced pain after his injury.

  She hated him even more for tugging at her heart when she knew—now had incontrovertible proof—that he was a fucking liar.

  “Something wrong?” she asked silkily.

  He opened his eyes. Rested his elbows on his knees. Finally grew the balls to look up at her face.

  And, honest to God, the abject misery in his expression—even though she knew it was fake abject misery—was enough to sear a hole in her heart.

  “I don’t know where to start,” he said after a long hesitation.

  “I’d say start with the truth, but you clearly don’t know what that is. Maybe we should start with a definition of the truth. Maybe one of these books is a dictionary. Oh, look.” She picked up a book and flipped a page. “This is a first edition of Frankenstein. Quite a collectible you’ve got here.”

  “These are…some things I bought when I was working for Kareem.”

  “Clearly. And…?”

  “And I put them aside because I wanted to have a security blanket. Something Kareem didn’t know about, so he couldn’t take it away. And I wanted the money and fake identity to take off and start a new life if I needed to.”