It was time to go, but when she returned to the living room, she saw that she was too late. Blurred headlights flashed through the rain and cut across the walls. Through the blinds, she saw Annalie’s Corolla pulling up in front of the house. Peach froze. The car door swung open, and Annalie ducked into the storm.
Peach stood in the middle of the living room, watching and waiting. Annalie hoisted one leg over the low fence, then the other, and she dropped into the rain-speckled lake surrounding the house. She examined the place with both hands on her hips. Her long black hair was plastered to her face and neck.
There was nowhere to hide. Annalie would see her if she tried to make a run for her Thunderbird. She also realized that she didn’t want to run. Not now. Not from this woman. She wanted to confront her about what she’d done. She wanted to know who else was involved. She wanted answers.
Annalie headed for the porch, and Peach finally sprang into action. Looking around for something to defend herself, she scooped up a pink glass bottle from the floor and clutched the neck in her fist. She stepped lightly to the bedroom and hid behind the open door. She held her breath, listening.
The wooden screen door opened and slammed shut on rusted hinges. Footsteps climbed the front steps. She heard the knob turning on the front door, and then the storm grew louder, as if it were inside the house with her.
Annalie called out: ‘Peach? It’s me.’
Her voice sounded normal. Friendly. When Peach didn’t answer, Annalie called again, but her tone was deeper and more cautious. ‘Peach? Are you here? Are you okay?’
Peach’s fingers were slippery with sweat. The glass bottle was hard to hold. The storm hammered the roof above her, and the bedroom felt damp and hot. A cockroach crept up the wall near her face. She had to take a breath, and she tried to do it silently, but her chest felt tight with fear.
A sharp metallic click snapped the silence from the other room. She knew that sound, because she’d heard it often enough when Deacon was manipulating his own weapon. It was the slide of a semi-automatic handgun being racked. Annalie had her pistol in her hand and a round in the chamber. It was ready to fire.
‘Peach?’ she called again.
Annalie headed for the bedroom where Peach was hiding. Her squishy footprints sank into the wet carpet, one after another. At the doorway, she stopped. Peach couldn’t see her, but she was so close that Peach could hear water dripping from her hair. The window was cracked open, causing the wind to whistle and moan. Rain spat through the gap.
Peach hoisted the bottle over her head.
Half of Annalie’s body appeared beyond the door. Annalie faced the window, looking outside, not looking behind her. Her bare arm was cocked at the elbow, gun in her hand, her index finger bent on the trigger. Peach saw golden skin on the curve of her jaw. She recognized Annalie’s beautiful face, and something flinched inside her. She didn’t want to believe that this woman was her enemy.
Don’t trust anybody.
She didn’t have time to second-guess herself. Annalie felt the presence behind her and began to turn, and in the same moment, Peach swung the bottle down hard. The elegant glass cut awkwardly through the air and landed on Annalie’s skull, breaking into pieces. The woman took a staggering step in pain and surprise. Her hand tensed; the gun went off, blasting a bullet into the bedroom wall, which erupted in dust and plaster. Annalie’s eyes closed, and she crumpled, knees buckling. She pitched to the floor. The gun spilled from her hand.
She lay in the middle of the bedroom, limbs splayed, not moving. Glass shards surrounded her.
Peach rushed forward and grabbed the gun. Annalie’s eyes blinked, and her breathing was loud. A wave of fury washed over Peach. Annalie was alive, and Justin was dead. She felt no sympathy for her. She didn’t care what happened next, to either of them. Grabbing Annalie’s arm and leg, she roughly shoved the woman over on her back. Peach stood over her, kicking away glass.
‘Who are you? Tell me who are you! Tell me what you did to Justin!’
Peach crouched over Annalie. She jerked one hand back and slapped the woman sharply across the face, leaving a bloom of red. ‘Tell me what you did! You bitch! You liar!’
A low moan rumbled from Annalie’s throat as she tried to focus. Peach slapped her again, even harder.
‘I saw you! You were with him! Did you kill him? Was it you? Tell me, was it you? If you were the one, so help me, I will pull this trigger right now. I will! I’ll kill you myself!’
Annalie’s jaw moved. Her eyes opened and closed. Staring at her, all Peach could see was Justin’s face and then the photograph of the two of them together. Annalie and Justin. A week before he was murdered.
‘Do you think I won’t kill you? Do you think I’m just a kid? You played me from day one. Did you laugh at how easy it was to get me to trust you?’
Peach aimed away from Annalie’s head, and she jerked on the trigger, too quickly, too heavily. The gun fired wildly into the floor, and the recoil forced her arm back and nearly made her fall. She cringed with the violence of the explosion. The bullet blew up splinters from the floorboard. Annalie’s head rocked in agony as the shock waves cracked in her skull.
Peach knelt over Annalie, a knee on her chest. She held her tightly down.
‘I’ll do it,’ she vowed. ‘I will. I don’t care.’
Annalie’s breath stuttered. Her eyes blinked into narrow slits. The world had to be spinning, a hurricane of noise and light, but Annalie’s mouth moved soundlessly, and a choked word gasped from her throat.
‘Peach.’
Peach screamed at her again. ‘You killed Justin! You bitch, you killed him! Did you kill Deacon, too? Are you the one?’
‘Peach,’ Annalie repeated, unable to say anything more.
‘It was you!’ Peach shouted. She couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t think about right and wrong. The words bubbled out with spit and foam. ‘It was you, it was you, it was you, it was you!’
Annalie tried to talk again, but Peach shoved the gun into the woman’s open mouth. Between her red lips and her perfect teeth.
‘This is what you did to Justin! You blew his head off, and that’s what I’m going to do you!’
She slid her finger over the trigger. Nothing made sense anymore. Not the past. Not the future. There was only right now, her and Annalie and the gun. There was nothing in her world but the rain and the heat of this moment. Pull the trigger, and she was dead, and Justin was avenged, and maybe, maybe, she could have peace after everyone she had lost.
Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger.
She began to feel the pressure on her skin. The trigger pushed back at her finger. They did a little dance together. Finger and trigger. Pull. Pull. Pull.
That was when music interrupted her. Wildly improbable music. Gloria Estefan sang ‘The Rhythm is Gonna Get You.’
Annalie’s phone was ringing.
46
Cab sat at a multi-station weight machine in the fitness room at the Tampa Yacht Club. His trench coat and suit coat hung from a lat bar. His leather shoes were a lost cause. The club still had electrical power, and several flat-screen televisions in the empty room were tuned to CNN. He saw live reports of the ferocious surf hitting the Gulf near Clearwater. He wondered where his mother was and where Lala was.
He checked his phone. Fifteen minutes had passed. Ramona Cortes still hadn’t arrived.
One of the club employees served him a bear claw and a bottle of water. The sugar helped keep him awake. His ears still rang from the noise of the storm. When he finished the pastry, he got up and went to the mirrored wall and adjusted the knot in his tie.
Over his shoulder, he saw the Attorney General join him in the fitness room. She was wet from the rain.
‘Hello, Cab,’ Ramona said. ‘A little over-dressed for Pilates, aren’t you?’
‘I’m more of a Zumba man.’
‘I’d like to see that,’ she said, chuckling. ‘Do you mind if I run while we talk?’
‘This hour is sacred. Regardless of what else you do, you need to respect your body. As it is, I had to cancel my massage today, and I never miss that. My masseur is unavailable.’
Ramona was dressed in running shorts and a tank top. She had a towel draped around her neck, and she wore pink Nikes. She was a small woman, but her legs were muscled and shapely under the snug Lycra. Her arms looked strong. She climbed onto a treadmill and set it at a slow pace. Gracefully, she jogged along with the moving platform.
‘So I hear you quit,’ she called over the noise of the machine. ‘Caprice must not be happy. She’s a stubborn woman. She’s accustomed to getting what she wants.’
‘Funny, she says the same thing about you,’ Cab said.
‘I’m sure she does, and she’s right. Anyway, I’m glad you took my advice.’
‘Well, I decided I would live a happier life not working for politicians.’
‘Astute choice,’ Ramona said. She increased the speed of the machine, until she was running, not jogging.
‘I’m still investigating the threat against Diane,’ Cab said. ‘I’m convinced it’s real and imminent.’
Ramona gave him a sideways glance. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because I’m looking into someone with a considerable motive to harm Diane. He’s someone from your past. A client named Frank Macy.’
If she found the name unexpected, she didn’t show it. ‘Frank? I really don’t think you need to worry about him.’
‘When did you last talk to him?’
‘It’s been several years. I severed ties to prior clients when I was elected. I knew he was released not too long ago, but that’s all. Mind you, I know Frank, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s up to his old tricks again. Drugs. Guns. He likes having money to throw at the girls on the beach.’
‘Frank had close ties to Diane’s son. Drew Hempl. And he has a history with Diane, too.’
Ramona’s lips pursed into a frown, but the speed of her run didn’t change. ‘Yes, I know he does.’
‘What do you know about Frank’s relationship with her?’
‘Quite a lot, actually.’
Cab wondered how far to go. How much to say. ‘Enough to get Diane into political trouble?’
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘Probably enough to ruin her.’
‘And yet nothing has been exposed. You’re showing remarkable restraint when it comes to a political opponent.’
Ramona switched off the machine and slowed to a stop. She wiped her forehead with the towel. ‘What are you suggesting, Cab?’
‘Caprice suspects you’re behind everything that’s going on. She thinks you know damaging secrets about Diane and Frank Macy. You can’t release anything about it yourself, so you’re using me to bring it out into the open. Destroying Diane’s political ambitions and furthering yours at the same time.’
‘Do you believe her?’
‘I don’t believe any politician. That includes you.’
She chuckled. ‘Well, you’re right. For a politician, the agenda comes first. Ahead of friends, if we’re lucky enough to have any. Even ahead of family, as much as it pains me to say so. As long as we get what we want, the ends justify the means.’
‘That’s what everyone tells me,’ Cab said. ‘Does that mean you’d jump at an opportunity to wipe out a political enemy? An opportunity with Frank Macy’s name on it?’
Ramona sighed and pointed at Cab’s bottle of water. She waggled her fingers at him, and he handed it over. She took a sip. ‘Look, Cab, I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to look at it from my perspective, which is political self-interest. Frank Macy was my client, and any communication between him and me is still governed by attorney–client privilege. If I were to violate that privilege, I could be disbarred, which would be something of a political liability for the Attorney General of the State of Florida.’
Cab smiled. ‘True enough.’
‘Even if I wanted to find a way around privilege – say, by using a rich, handsome, ridiculously tall investigator to do my dirty work for me – I would still be putting my head on the chopping block. My connection to Frank Macy is a matter of public record. As soon as his name starts popping up in the media, so does mine. That’s not politically helpful. So as much as Diane wants to keep her interactions with Frank a secret, you can be assured that I want to keep my name away from him, too.’
‘Maybe so,’ Cab said, ‘but Frank’s still a threat to Diane.’
Ramona climbed off the treadmill. She continued to drink Cab’s water. ‘Why are you so sure? You have no reason to think he was involved in the Labor Day murders, do you?’
‘I thought I did, but apparently I was wrong about that,’ Cab admitted.
‘Ah.’ Ramona chose her words carefully. ‘In other words, you suspected that Diane or her son might have used the services of a third party to resolve the problem of an abusive husband.’
Cab’s eyebrows rose. ‘You know a lot.’
‘It’s an ongoing investigation, and I’m up to speed on all aspects of it. Our special agent friends have their flaws, but they did examine that angle in considerable detail back then and concluded there was nothing to it. It was kept out of the media out of deference to the family.’
‘I see.’
‘So that’s why I consider Frank Macy to be a non-issue.’
Cab shook his head. ‘There’s more. Justin Kiel had a newspaper article in his safe house about Macy’s manslaughter plea. So it appears that Justin was looking at Frank before he was killed. In addition, as of last night, Deacon Piper is missing. Someone broke into his house. He was talking to sources about Frank Macy earlier in the day.’
Ramona frowned. ‘You’re sure about Justin?’
‘Yes.’
‘That surprises me, but it’s still a big leap to think that Frank was involved in his death. Or in Deacon’s disappearance. What’s the connection?’
Cab hesitated. He was handing Ramona a political bombshell by saying anything. ‘Hypothetically?’
‘If you wish.’
‘Okay. Let’s assume that you and Macy were correct that fraudulent evidence was used to implicate him in that manslaughter case in Pass-a-Grille. Let’s also assume that if Diane was involved in planting evidence, she had help from someone inside Common Way. Someone like Deacon Piper. If Frank Macy suspected that Diane and Deacon stole eight years of his life, don’t you think he’d do something about it?’
Ramona’s eyes grew smoky. ‘I knew I was right about Diane. I can’t believe the arrogance of those people.’
‘I’m speaking hypothetically.’
She shrugged. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘You see why I’m trying to find Macy. If Deacon is gone, Diane is next. I’d like you to pull strings to help me locate him.’
‘Look, Cab, Frank is certainly capable of violence. I don’t wear rose-colored glasses about some of my old clients. However, I don’t see him targeting Diane or Deacon. He’s not that foolish. He likes his breezy life too much to put it in jeopardy over a crazy scheme for revenge. And the situation with Justin Kiel is much more complicated than you realize.’
Cab stared at her. ‘Why?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘If this is about politics—’
‘It’s not,’ she said. ‘I can’t discuss an ongoing criminal investigation.’
‘Ramona, I need your help. If I’m right, time is very short.’
She frowned. ‘This is extremely delicate. I need your assurance that nothing I say will make its way back to Common Way.’
‘You have it,’ Cab said.
Ramona sat on the edge of the treadmill. ‘The fact is, I’ve long suspected that Common Way has engaged in illegal activity behind the scenes. Espionage. Blackmail. Maybe worse. What I’ve never been able to do is prove it. However, a few months ago, an employee in what I call the black ops area of Common Way approached my office.’
> ‘An employee?’ Cab asked. Then he said: ‘Justin Kiel.’
Ramona nodded. ‘Justin didn’t like what was going on there. He had the same suspicions that I did. He believed that Common Way was illegally influencing legislative policy, candidate selection, elections, whatever. They were using money – and probably other criminal tactics – to get their way. Justin offered to be a double agent for me. To dig into the foundation’s secrets. It all had to be handled with absolute confidentiality. I couldn’t be directly involved. If Diane Fairmont discovered that I was using someone inside her organization to spy on her, the blowback would have thrown me out of the campaign and probably out of office altogether. So I recruited someone to serve as a go-between with Justin. I needed someone I could trust implicitly. And we began to gather information.’
‘What did you find?’ Cab asked.
‘Plenty to be suspicious about, but no proof that would lead to indictments. We couldn’t proceed without rock-solid evidence, and we didn’t have it. And then a few weeks ago, Justin contacted his go-between to say that he had urgent new information. He didn’t explain what it was – and he was murdered before he had a chance to share it.’
‘His new information could have been about Frank Macy,’ Cab said. ‘Justin may have come across Macy’s plans regarding Deacon and Diane.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t think so. I know you’ve been listening to this girl Peach Piper, but she was emotionally involved with Justin. It clouds her judgment. I’m sympathetic, but I think she’s on the wrong track about Frank.’
Cab’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know so much about Peach and her investigation into Justin’s death?’
‘Because Justin was my own agent,’ Ramona replied calmly. ‘Do you think I would sit here and do nothing? He worked for me, and I want to know who killed him. I arranged to get another mole inside Common Way to investigate his death. I used Justin’s go-between to work undercover. She was highly motivated, because she knew him. They were friends. She wanted to catch his killer as much as I did.’
Season of Fear Page 31
