“Oh, yes. He left here around noon. We’re just waiting to get confirmation that the car arrived safely at the Halifax airport. Are you the friend he’s been trying to reach?”
“Yes!”
“Well, you should be able to catch him at the airport. Maybe you can phone ahead and have him paged. Or, I’ve got an idea! I’ll call my agent and have them leave a note for him. How about that?”
Ginny caught her breath. “That would be wonderful!”
“What shall we tell him?”
Ginny thought hard for a moment. What she wanted to say was, ‘Stay away from the Homestead, the police are waiting for you’, but she couldn’t send that message through two innocent parties. “Tell him I’ll be home by dinnertime and to call me then and I’ll come pick him up.”
“Okay. Hang on a minute.” The rental agent dialed the phone, spoke to his counterpart in Halifax for a moment, then hung up.
“I’m sorry. We missed him. He’s already gone.”
They tried paging him as well, but ‘Pete Harmon’ failed to pick up the white courtesy phone. She thanked the agent, and climbed back in her car. She was too late. He was already in Halifax and walking right into a trap.
* * *
Friday Afternoon
NS 101
Ginny headed out onto the highway. She was almost three hours behind Charlie. Well, she couldn’t be unhappy about making sure he wasn’t lying in a ditch near the coast. She just wished she’d known sooner.
From this point to Halifax was only an hour. If Charlie had gone straight to the Homestead from the airport, he was already caught.
She wished fervently they had called in time to catch him, to warn him not to simply walk up to the door and ring the bell. Would he do that, though? Really?
In his place, she would have staked out the Homestead and waited to see who showed up. After all, he’d been a wanted man for almost two weeks now. Had he learned sufficient caution, or had the whole thing just blown up in their faces?
Ginny shook her head at the problem. She had slightly over one hour to figure out what she needed to do. Best guess, per Reggie’s e-mail, Detective Tran was at the Homestead and would be waiting for her.
What about Jim? Where was he? He hadn’t gotten her note to meet them at the Bailey Rips, not in time, at least. He hadn’t tried to e-mail her to set up a rendezvous, probably figuring that her account was accessible to the police and therefore too great a risk. What about the phone?
Gordon probably gave him the loaner’s number before he left Albany, but Angus would have told Jim the same thing he told Ginny. Stay off the phone until you deliver Charlie. Had Jim seen the news? Did he know Charlie was ‘dead’?
If so, he might have tried to call her, figuring he couldn’t endanger Charlie anymore and that they, Jim and Ginny, should get their stories straight before facing Tran. That would make sense. And if that was the case, he was probably wondering why she wasn’t responding.
Ginny bit her lip. She wanted to know Jim was safe, but she was mad at him, too. What had he done to fall foul of the Albany police? You’d think someone so sure of himself would have enough sense to stay under the radar. The fastest way to find out was to call Angus, but she couldn’t do that until she knew what had happened to Charlie.
Nor could she stay missing without Detective Tran assuming she was guilty of something. They were expecting her, had been for a day. That video clip had been all over the news. She would have to come up with a story that covered the last twenty-four hours.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. The safest thing to do was tell the truth. She had been in shock over Charlie’s death and spent time looking for him along the shore, waiting for news of him, then been caught by the snow and forced to take shelter for the night, then back to the coast this morning until reason compelled her to face the fact that he was gone.
Ginny swallowed hard. She would need to look the part. She hadn’t slept last night. That would help. If she remembered what she felt on the ferry when she thought it was true, and let the grief overwhelm her, would that be enough? She dredged up her worst fears and put her inner critic to work.
If Charlie was already there she would have to show joy that he was alive. Well, she would be happy about that, and sad that he’d been caught and they were all going to prison. That was a depressing thought.
And what about Jim? Would she ever see him again? She had grown quite used to having him around. She kind of liked him, liked being in his arms. Of course, he might have decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. Probably had. Especially since he’d had a chance to see Sarah again and compare the two. After all, he'd made sure she knew how little he really thought of her.
Fifteen minutes into the exercise, Ginny was already weeping. She brushed the tears off her cheeks and focused on what else she needed to do before she arrived. Was there any way to signal Charlie not to approach the Homestead? She went through all the warning signs she could think of. It had to be something a SEAL would recognize. Navy meant ships. Something to do with ships. Lots of ships in the Maritimes.
She was already approaching Halifax. She could see the skyline and the surroundings were beginning to look urban rather than rural. What she needed was Internet access.
She spotted a coffee shop with free W-Fi and pulled in. She opened a browser and looked up Navy signaling and hit pay dirt. Now all she needed was a flag store. One just up the road. She drove on, found the shop open, went in and lucked out again. Both flags were in stock.
The weather had held off, but that was changing. It had started to snow and the wind was rising. She paid for her purchases, hurried back to the car, and stashed them in her backpack. Now for the real work.
In the forty minutes it took her to drive from Halifax to the Homestead Ginny managed to call up every black, despairing thought that had ever occurred to her, to remind herself how stupid she could be, how badly she had mishandled this trip, and how unfair it would be to Jim to saddle him with an emotional cripple. By the time she pulled onto the access road, she could hardly see for the tears streaming down her face. It might have been more convincing to drive off the side of the road into the ditch, but then she’d have to wait for the tow truck. She swiped at her eyes and aimed for the guardhouse instead.
* * *
Chapter 51
Friday Afternoon
Halifax Homestead
Jim pulled into the parking lot and looked around. No sedan that matched the one Ginny had rented, so she wasn’t here yet. He was both happy and sad about that. He wanted her safe, but he also wanted to be here to greet her. He let himself in the front door and shook the snow off his boots.
“Dr. Mackenzie, the woman you were expecting—”
“Ginny?”
“No, the other one, the detective from Dallas, asked me to let her know when you arrived.”
Jim met the Matron’s eyes and saw comprehension in them. The Halifax Homestead had agreed to take Charlie in, but not to bring down the house around their ears. They would be cautious around authority figures.
Jim nodded. “Where is she?”
“In the Great Hall.”
“Mrs. Robertson.” She had started to turn away, but turned back to face him.
Jim licked his lips. “We don’t wish to place you in a position where your kindness is repaid by damage to you or your facility.”
She broke into a smile that contained just a hint of mischief, then reached over and patted his arm. “We’re in no danger. Let me know if you need anything.”
Jim nodded, then headed down the corridor and into the Hall. Tran was seated in one of the wing chairs. Jim walked over and held out his hand.
“Detective Tran. I hope you had a pleasant trip.” He pulled up a chair and sat down, angled so he could face her and also see the door.
“May we offer you a drink? Something to eat? Do you need anything?” Jim did his best to imitate his grandfather when entertaining local officials.
“I have be
en well taken care of, thank you. I lack only Miss Forbes’ presence and I am told she is expected shortly.”
Jim let his brow furrow. “Yes, I hope so.”
“You were traveling together, I believe?”
Jim looked her straight in the eye. He’d been planning what to say all the way back from Digby. “Yes. I was delayed in Albany by the explosion so I sent her ahead. We didn’t want to waste any of the time she had blocked for her genealogical research.”
“Ah. That explains why she was on the ferry, but not why you got here first.”
“She found something that interested her in Maine, a snow festival of some sort, and spent a day there, then another in New Brunswick doing research, then got caught by the front. She’s been holed up waiting for the roads to be passable again.”
Tran studied him for a long moment. “She was with Charles Monroe when he went overboard.”
Thanks to Angus’ excellent spy system, Jim knew exactly what Ginny had told the Canadian police about her relationship with Charlie. He looked puzzled. “What do you mean? Charlie Monroe? Our Charlie Monroe from Dallas? How could he have been on that ferry? Didn’t you tell me he drowned in Lake Lavon?”
Detective Tran’s expression grew drier. “Apparently not, since he seems to have drowned in the Bay of Fundy yesterday.”
Jim screwed up his face, trying to convey confusion and succeeding fairly well. Just how much did Tran know? And how much was he, Jim, supposed to know?
“You mean that guy Ginny was standing next to on the ferry? That was Charlie? How did that happen?”
“I will be interested to hear her explanation.”
Jim nodded. He needed to catch Ginny at the door, to talk to her before she came face to face with Tran. He rose from his chair, excusing himself, and was halfway across the room when a noise at the front entrance caught his attention. It sounded like someone crying. In the next moment he saw who it was.
* * *
Friday Afternoon
Halifax Homestead
Ginny pulled up to the gate and waited for the guard to let her in. He looked at her driver’s license, then her face, then picked up a phone and spoke into it. She saw him nod, then hit a switch of some kind. The gates slid open.
“Go right in, miss.”
Ginny drove onto the grounds, across the parking lot, and up to the porte-cochere.
The main building was large and impressive and the yellow glow of light from the windows beckoned through the blowing snow. She turned off the engine, pulled her backpack across the seat, then paused for a moment before she opened the door.
You don’t want to be here, don’t want to face what you know lies on the other side of that door. You’ve failed. Charlie drowned and you failed in your mission to deliver him safely. Himself told you to take Charlie to Halifax and you failed. He’s dead, or, if he isn’t, he’s in custody and you’re all going to prison, and if that’s the case all the effort and sacrifices have been in vain. Either way, you’ve failed.
She climbed out of the car, went up to the front door, and rang the bell. Her chest hurt, and her head, and the cold was making it hard to breathe.
You aren’t worthy of any husband, much less Jim. You aren’t any good for him. If he gets his way and marries you, you’re going to destroy him, make his life miserable, kill his love for you. No one could love anyone as stupid as you are. It’s your fault he’s in trouble. If you hadn’t gone to the Laird, hadn’t pleaded for Charlie, Jim wouldn’t be involved. He would be safe at home, going to work and keeping his nose clean. If he goes to prison, it will be your fault.
She was shivering, as much from the emotional distress as from the wind blowing across the front of the building. She could feel the tears spilling out onto her cheeks and the sudden chill as the wind hit them. The wind also carried the snow under the roof of the overhang and flung it at her. It was being driven into her hair and eyes and the space between her scarf and throat.
The door opened and Ginny saw a middle aged woman in a fisherman sweater and tartan skirt.
“Miss Forbes?”
Ginny nodded.
“Come in! Please, come in. We’re so happy to see you at last.” She gestured toward the vestibule and Ginny stepped inside.
“This way, please.”
There was a look in her eye that it took Ginny a minute to identify. Sympathy, or pity, perhaps.
Appropriate. She was a pitiful creature, a miserable excuse for a human being.
She brushed at her eyes to keep from tripping over the carpet, but didn’t bother to wipe the tears off her cheeks.
If only there was some way to avoid this confrontation, avoid the censure, the blame. It would be easier to run into the snow, to disappear in it, than to face them.
Her guide led her down the corridor and into a huge room dominated by a massive fireplace. The room seemed full of people.
Facing them hurt. Physically hurt. She didn’t know where Charlie was. Didn’t know if he was safe. Didn’t know what she was going to tell these people who had agreed to help him. And what about Jim? What was he was going to think of her? He was going to be angry, or hurt, or maybe he just didn’t care about her anymore. She wished she didn’t care.
Ginny took two steps into the room, then stopped. She should act surprised. She wasn’t supposed to know Tran would be here. Surprise, dulled by the fact that it didn’t matter. Charlie was dead. Tran couldn’t hurt him now.
“Detective Tran?”
“Ginny!”
Before she could react, he had her in his arms.
“Ginny! Thank God!”
Ginny turned to him and, as if on cue, lost all control. She put her face down on his chest and started to sob.
He steered her over to the sofa and sat her down, pulling her into his arms. She had no idea how long they let her cry. All she could hear was Jim’s voice in her ear, telling her it was all right now.
He was helping her out of her coat. He’d already pulled off her hat and scarf and gloves. They lay in a pile on the floor beside him, gently steaming in the heat from the fire. The warmth felt good on her exposed skin, but what she wanted was the warmth of his arms.
He spoke in her ear, very quietly. “Are you all right?”
It was an intimate question, just between the two of them.
She nodded.
Then, just as quietly, “We saw what happened.”
There was a TV screen in one corner of the room. Ginny could hear the announcer, still talking about the sensational rescue at sea and the lost man, and a plea for help finding his body.
She sucked in a breath, swallowed hard, and looked up into Jim’s face.
“He died a hero.” She could feel the tears welling up again.
“Miss Forbes?”
Ginny turned to face the long arm of the law, the woman who had chased them across a continent.
“The man on the video, was it Charles Monroe?”
Ginny nodded, the tears spilling over.
Detective Tran nodded in return. “That closes the case.”
Ginny just looked at her, her heart aching at the thought of Charlie, his wife and children gone, his own life tossed into the icy water of the Bay. Dead. All dead.
“I will be flying back to Dallas tomorrow and would like to file your statement at that time. I will need to talk to you.”
“But not tonight,” Jim said.
“No. Tomorrow will be soon enough.” She hesitated. “I am sorry for your loss.” Detective Tran looked at her with something that might have been sympathy.
Ginny found herself unable to answer, her throat closing on the unexpected kindness.
Jim came to her rescue, pushing her to her feet, one arm around her waist.
“Come on.” He picked up her backpack and steered her out into the hallway.
* * *
Friday Evening
Halifax Homestead
Ginny let Jim take her upstairs to a guest room furnished with thick carpe
ts and heavy curtains. As soon as the door closed behind them, she reached over and threw the lock. She wanted no interruptions while she brought him up to date.
He pulled her into his arms, brushing the last of the tears off her cheeks. “Thank God you’re safe!”
She looked up into his face. “Give me a minute, will you?” She broke free, pulled out the Yellow Jack, and headed for the window. She opened the frame as far as it would go and leaned out. There was no way to tell if Charlie was out there or could see her, but she had to try.
Jim’s arm was around her waist already. “Ginny!” He was pulling her back into the room, but she didn’t let that stop her. She spread the flag into the wind, then draped it across the bottom edge of the window, lowering the sash until it held the fabric in place, then turned back to face Jim.
“There!”
“What are you doing?”
“Playing a long shot.” She took him by the hand and led him over to the couch, then sat down facing him. They hadn’t been alone together since that last disastrous night in Albany. She took a deep breath. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Before you start,” he said, “I want to say something.”
She nodded.
“Charlie’s death was not your fault. No one blames you. There was nothing you could have done to prevent him going overboard to save that boy.”
“Charlie’s alive.”
He froze. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing for a moment.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been tracking him for the last twelve hours. At least, I think it’s him. It’s someone who sounds like him; a tall blonde with a limp. He isn’t here, is he? He hasn’t been arrested already?”
Jim shook his head. “We haven’t seen him.”
“Thank goodness. Reggie’s e-mail said—”
“Reggie?”
Ginny nodded. “Reggie sent an encrypted email telling me Tran would be here. I was afraid Charlie would walk into a trap and I couldn’t reach him. He’d already left the airport by the time we called. I had to get here first and persuade Tran to go home, which meant convincing her Charlie was dead. The flag is to tell him not to approach the Homestead until she’s gone, assuming he understands the message.”
Viking Vengeance Page 32
