Deadly Secrets

by Ann Christopher

  “Fascinating. And here I was thinking I’d been a fool to trust you, but at least I was smart enough to know that it would have been a waste of the taxpayers’ money to put you into WITSEC when you were independently wealthy.”

  “I didn’t want to be poor again, Jayne.”

  Oh, who cared?

  She’d been poor growing up. She’d never become a criminal as a result.

  “You know, this is all interesting background information, Randolph, but what I really need to know is why you saw fit to hide your treasures when you made your immunity deal with my office?”

  He hung his head.

  She really wasn’t in the mood for any acts of pseudo contrition. Not when she thought about all the time (her time!) and money (the taxpayers’ money!) that her office had spent on his case, debriefing him and asking about his holdings.

  That was the thing. She felt like she’d been stabbed in the heart, sure, but she wasn’t the real victim here. The taxpayers were. The people of the Southern District of Ohio were. She was merely the foolish, hormone-driven woman who’d sworn to prosecute people for offenses against the United States, then woefully failed in her duties the moment a sexy and mysterious man looked twice at her.

  “Is any of this ringing a bell, Randolph?”

  “Don’t call me Randolph.”

  Her temper felt like a snarling Rottweiler straining at the end of a leash made of yarn. Even so, she hung onto it. Kept her composure, because it was one thing to let a man ruin you, but something else altogether to show him how ruined you were.

  “My office made a deal not to throw your ass in prison for all the drug money you laundered. And all you had to do in return was tell us what you knew and forfeit all your precious ill-gotten gains. So why didn’t you tell us about this? You told us about plenty of other stuff. We took your luxury cars and a bunch of other—”

  “I wanted to hold something back,” he said tiredly. “I wanted an ace.”

  “A what?”

  “I wanted something more to offer in case my deal fell through for some reason. Or if the feds decided to, I don’t know, introduce some new and improved charges against me. I wanted the means to flee if I needed to. I needed some protection.”

  “Against what?”

  “Against having nothing.” His eyes flashed. “Against being at the mercy of other people. I’ve spent half my life at Kareem’s mercy. I’ve had enough of it.”

  She snorted with disbelief. “You’re not a magpie. You don’t get to keep ill-gotten trinkets just because they’re shiny and you like them.”

  “I know that. I’m only keeping the thirty-eight hundred I had in my savings account when I started working full-time for Kareem. That’s what I came in with, and that’s all I’m leaving with. Believe it or not, I’ve liquidated most of the rest of the stuff already and donated it to charity. Anonymously, of course.”

  “Charity?” she echoed faintly.

  “For diabetes research, mostly. That’s what killed my grandparents. And cancer and literacy—”

  “You’re a regular Robin Hood, aren’t you? Looks like a lot of stuff is still here, though.”

  “It is. It’s not that quick a process.”

  “Poor thing. Is that why you bailed on me tonight? You felt a sudden urgent need to sell your signed Wilt Chamberlain jersey?”

  “No, I…” All of a sudden, he surged out of the chair and paced away, hands curling into fists. “Fuck. I didn’t want this to happen. I never wanted to drag you into—”

  “Oh my God. What’re you doing with that gun?”

  He had a pistol stuck into his waistband at the small of his back. His untucked dress shirt didn’t cover it.

  His shoulders stiffened. “Something happened earlier. Right before you called me. I have to take care of it.”

  A new kind of dread climbed up her spine and prickled over her scalp. “What? Stop pacing and tell me.”

  He slowly faced her. The only word for the look on his face was distraught.

  “Someone…from my old life reached out to me.”

  She gasped. “Who?”

  His jaw tightened. “You don’t need to know.”

  “Did they threaten you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But…” Her analytic prosecutor’s mind swung into action. “They didn’t kill you outright. So that means they want something.”

  “Yep.”

  “What? For you to launder more money?”

  “Nope. This.”

  He reached for something in his pocket, then held his hand out to show her.

  A silver flash drive lay in his palm.

  “What is it?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t want to compromise you any further—”

  The first of her frayed nerves snapped.

  “Well, it’s a little too late for that! What is it?”

  His face twisted. He squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them. Looked her in the eye.

  “It’s the formula for W-80,” he said quietly.

  The room spun around her.

  “Kareem commissioned it,” Kerry continued. “He wanted a synthetic opioid that would blow everything else out of the water. He gave it to me for safekeeping after he killed Yogi and put me in charge of distribution. In case something happened to the scientist who created it—I never knew who that was—or the scientist flipped on him and sold it to someone else. Kareem’s plan was to get into production of it when he was ‘killed.’ Then he disappeared to Miami and apparently made a deal with the distributor down there—”

  Jayne’s utter disbelief receded enough for her to form a coherent sentence. “The distributor down there? No one knows who that is right now. The DEA has been trying—”

  “Kareem knew who it was. From what I can piece together, he made a deal to cut Miami in on the proceeds. I think they set up some test marketing—”

  “Brooklynne,” she said, covering her heart as the dying girl’s image filled her head.

  “Yeah. Brooklynne. That was the first I knew that any W-80 had ever hit the streets.”

  “And now someone’s come after you for the formula.”

  “Yeah,” he said grimly. “I’m the last man standing from Kareem’s organization. There’s no one else to go after.”

  “Oh my God.” Growing panic made her shrill. “We have to call Brady.”

  “We don’t have to do anything. I am going to handle this.”

  “You’re not going to hand over the formula…?”

  “Of course not,” he snapped, looking offended. “I’m going to destroy the formula. Which I should have done in the first place.”

  Another handful of her frayed nerves snapped, making her manic. “Should have done in the first place? What, you mean like telling the DEA about all this back when you sought immunity? Back when I interviewed you and we had hours and hours of debriefings and you claimed you were telling me everything you knew? That kind of should have done it in the first place? Because if you’d done that in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

  “Yeah, but then a formula that’ll kill every third kid who crushes a pill and snorts it would be out there on the streets.”

  He couldn’t be serious.

  “Handing it over to the DEA is not putting it out there on the streets!”

  He gaped at her. “Come on, Jayne. You’re not that naive. The formula gets put in an evidence room somewhere. What if there’s a break-in? What if some crooked agent or cop sells it? You think that kind of shit never happens? What about all the people who’d have to analyze the formula and testify about it? How long do you think it would take for the formula to leak and this drug to make it to the general population?”

  “If you’d turned it over back then, the medical community could have been working on an antidote this whole time. You saw what happened with Brooklynne! Narcalon doesn’t work with W-80! W-80 is strong enough to tranquilize an elephant.”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’
t going to be responsible for one more person knowing about that drug.”

  “You were playing God!” Jayne shouted, incredulous.

  “I wasn’t playing God. My plan was for the formula to sit in here and rot—”

  “Right. Unless you needed to produce it to save your miserable hide.”

  His jaw turned to stone. “After all the shit I already helped Kareem put on the streets? I didn’t want it on my conscience.”

  “Your conscience?” Her voice was a rising shriek of hysteria. She didn’t care. “You’re standing in the middle of your pirate’s treasure with a formula for poison in your hand, and you’re talking about a conscience? You don’t have any more of a conscience than Kareem did.”

  This pointed barb was, she knew, the very worst thing she could say to him.

  She hurled it with pleasure.

  He winced and went very still, letting her know she’d hit her mark in the dead center of what passed for his soul.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.

  “I do mean it! Look what you’ve done. You’ve lied and you’ve covered up and you’ve hurt people.” A swell of heartbreak surged up her throat. “You had such a great chance at a new life and you blew it, just like Brady warned me you would. What about poor Katz? Don’t you think this will kill him?”

  “Don’t you mention Katz! He never has to know about this.”

  “And look at me. You’ve turned me into my mother, who spent most of her life believing in a criminal. I’m the fool who believed you. I’m the one stuck in this ethical mess that’s probably going to ruin my career. I’m the one who thought she was falling in love with you.”

  He surged toward her. “Jayne.”

  She jerked her arm out of his reach. What a great actor he was. She could almost believe those were tears shimmering in his eyes.

  “You’re just like Kareem. You’re no better than my father. You ruin things!”

  Kerry ducked his head. Swiped a hand across his eyes.

  She took the chance to swipe away her own tears.

  As for the repressed sobs in her voice? Nothing she could do about them.

  “But you know what? I’ll bite, Randolph. You destroy the formula. The person who threatened you won’t be too happy about that. What’ll you do then? You think you’re just going to make another deal with my office after you lied this time, then go into WITSEC—”

  He tiredly held up a hand. “I’m not after a deal. I already told you I’m done hiding. I’m going to take care of this myself or die trying.”

  She blinked and hung on to that last sentence, trying to make sense of it through her sudden terror.

  “You…you’re going to take care of it yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “With that gun?”

  He shook his head. “I’m a doctor. I’ve never killed anyone. I’m not starting now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “What kind of plan?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  She couldn’t tamp down a burst of hysterical laughter. “You think this is High Noon? You think you’re Marshal Will Kane and you’re going to handle the bad guys all by yourself? Tell me your plan.”

  “No.”

  “Because you care so much about my conflicts and my ethics and my career? Oh, please. You know what? If I do get fired or disbarred—”

  “Don’t say that!” he shouted.

  “It’ll be exactly what I deserve for being foolish enough to believe in a man like you.”

  His mouth contorted with some combination of despair, bitterness and determination.

  “No, Jayne. You’re going to be waiting for me when I get myself out of this mess I’ve made.” He reached into the safe and pulled out a black velvet box. “Know what this is? This is my grandmother’s opal ring. The next time you see me, if I get out of this alive, I’m going to ask you to marry me. And you’re going to say yes.”

  Using the promise of marriage as emotional blackmail for a thirty-six-year-old woman whose viable eggs had a shelf life of about ten minutes was so far beneath both of them that she didn’t bother to dignify this with an answer.

  “You know what?” Hot tears splashed down her face with no concern for her dignity. She angrily wiped them and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling Brady—”

  He reached her in two strides and clamped an iron hand around her wrist. “No, you’re not. You’re letting me handle this. And when I do, we’re going to be together because we love each other.”

  Her laughter sounded insane, even to her own ears. “No, we don’t. Don’t you dare trot out the word love when you’re trying to manage me! You can’t manipulate me. I don’t love men who make fools of me.” She snatched her hand free, determined to scorch as much earth as possible. “You know what? I have a better idea. I’m going to get a search warrant—”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I like that idea.” She grinned through her tears, feeling energized. “I’m going to swear out my own affidavit. I’m going to tell the court and the world what’s been going on between the two of us and what you’ve been up to. I’m going to march the DEA in here for a raid. And I am going to burn your shit to the ground. I don’t care if I get disbarred for it.” She got up in his face, her tears all but forgotten now. Nothing cheered her up like plans for vengeance. “How you like me now, Randolph?”

  Unmistakable admiration flared in his expression. “I love you. And if that’s what you have to do, you do it. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. But give me forty-eight hours first. Give yourself forty-eight hours before you ruin your career for me when there’s a chance we can save it.”

  “I’m not giving you anything—”

  He surprised her by throwing his arms around her waist and reeling her in until they were pressed together, chest to breasts and thigh to thigh, so close that she couldn’t see anything other than the feverish brightness in his eyes. “I don’t know if I’m coming out of this alive. I might never see you again after tonight. Do you understand that? I’m begging you. Give me forty-eight hours. Please.”

  “Why?” Her overheated body wanted him even now. Almost as much as her foolish heart wanted to believe him. But she somehow got her hands up and tried to push him away. “So you can liquidate all this stuff, disappear into the night and make a fool out of me again?”

  “No,” he said, resting his forehead against hers the way he’d done earlier. Back in the wisteria garden, when she’d still known what happiness was and had actually had faith in happy endings. “So I can figure out a way to get you to believe in me again.”

  Her heart wanted to trust that it was somehow still possible for them, but her lawyer’s brain refused to believe it. Neither side won. Even so, for that one breathless second, as he lowered his head and crooned at her, she allowed herself to say goodbye. Because whether he came out of this alive or not, this was goodbye.

  This man owned way too much of her soul and was far too careless with it.

  He kissed her. She kissed him back, hard, hot and deep, wrapping her arms around his neck and reveling at the insistent thrust of his hips against the exquisite sensitivity of her sex.

  And then, suddenly, she’d had enough. She turned her face away to break the kiss.

  He reluctantly let her go, his expression bleak.

  “Forty-eight hours,” she told him.

  44

  “What are you doing here?” Wanda demanded later that evening when she swung her apartment door open.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” Kerry said. “Can I come in?”

  Wanda gave him a narrow-eyed gaze of undiluted spite. For one heart-stopping second (and God knew his heart had stopped six or eight times today already), he feared she’d told him he could stop by when he called a few minutes ago just so she could have the pleasure of slamming the door in his face now. But then something in her expression relented.

  Maybe she saw
a reminder of the little boy who’d spent so much time in her home over the years, the one who’d been her best friend’s grandson.

  He definitely saw something of the elegant church lady who’d cooked the world’s best beef brisket and banana pudding layered with this bitter old woman in an ancient velour warmup suit.

  Whatever it was, she stepped aside after a long hesitation. Led him to her living room, where Judge Judy was in full blare. Wanda muted the TV and sat on the sofa. He sat, grateful for the silence because his head screamed and he was pretty sure he had a concussion. She cleared her throat. Waited. He tried to focus on her face and not his headache or the shrine of Kareem pictures that decorated the wall behind her.

  He took a deep breath. “I have a lot of things to say to you, but I want to be honest. I need your help.”

  Her lips thinned into the same Don’t even try it expression she used to shoot him and Kareem when they got fidgety at church back in the day.

  “I’ve been going through some of my grandmother’s things,” he continued. “I think she’d want you to have this.”

  Wanda watched with interest as he opened the long velvet jewelry box.

  “Oh, no.” She choked back a sob. “Ruth’s pearls. Oh, my. I can see her wearing them now. These old fake pearls. The velvet box is worth more than the necklace.”

  They had a good laugh at that. Some of the ice broke between them, or maybe it was the ice around Wanda’s heart. He caught a glimpse of one of Kareem’s photos just then, the one with his senior prom date. Kerry’s chest tightened with the sweet pain of nostalgia. Especially when he remembered how his grandmother and Wanda had fussed over all the teens that night, making them pose for pictures with their dates until they wanted to smash the camera.

  “I miss my grandmother,” he said, thinking about how she’d never meet Jayne. And if he was fortunate enough to live and have children, she’d never meet them, either. “A lot.”

  More eye dabbing from Wanda. “Ruth was the best friend I ever had. I miss her every day.”

  “I miss K.J. too,” he said. Much as he wanted to take the admission to the grave with him, it refused to stay buried.