by Dee Davis
“Have you talked to Roswell?” He supposed in some ways the question was a test. Not that her answer would change anything.
“Not since we talked on the roof.” She blinked, and just for a moment he thought he saw tears. But then she shifted, her eyes lost in shadow, and he could no longer be certain. “Under the circumstances, I didn’t think it was the best time to tell him you knew about me. There might be things we can accomplish better if I’m still undercover.”
“We meaning the FBI.” At least now she was admitting it.
“We meaning us, John—you and me.” The hint of pleading was back again.
He ignored it. “There is no you and me, Katie. You killed that with your lies.”
She flinched at the anger in his voice, but continued to hold his gaze. “I can help you if you’ll let me.”
“The only help I need from you is the truth. Earlier, on the roof, you said something about international conspiracy. Something Roswell told you.”
She sighed, her expression so lost and sad he wanted to pull her into his arms and make it all right. But he couldn’t. Some things just couldn’t be fixed.
She settled back into the chair, her face devoid of expression, emotions firmly back in control. “Roswell thinks there may be a tie-in between what happened to Miller and a Korean company called Taegu. It’s one of those nebulous companies with obscure origins and purpose. Supposedly it’s a front for the Korean mob. We’ve apparently been watching the company for some time. There is evidence that supports the idea that Taegu is dealing in trade secrets.”
“International espionage.” He tried but couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.
She nodded. “According to Roswell, when Miller contacted the FBI he mentioned Taegu. And because of the kind of work Guardian does, Roswell thinks maybe there’s a connection.”
“You’re telling me he thinks that I’m selling information to the Koreans?” Anger pooled in his gut, hot and heavy, the pounding in his head intensifying.
“I’m not telling you anything definitively. It’s just a possibility. And only because of the evidence.”
“Evidence that just keeps mounting.” He fought for control and won, forcing his breathing back to an even keel. “What about the hit? Surely that negates my involvement. If I was working the wrong side of the street, why would someone try and take me out?”
“I don’t know. What we have are a lot of puzzle pieces with absolutely no sense of order. Every time we fit some of them together, a new piece comes along and throws it all out of whack again. The truth is, this isn’t an easy case, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an explanation.”
“Well, for the moment, I seem to be everyone’s odds-on favorite.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the tension on the bone easing his headache a bit.
“Maybe. But there are other suspects. D’Angelo was even questioning me.”
“Does he know who you are?”
“Yeah. He guessed. I’m afraid I took a swing at an officer when he wouldn’t let me in the building.”
“And you won.”
She shrugged. “D’Angelo already suspected, and after putting two and two together, he trapped me into admitting the truth.”
“You said yourself he’s good at what he does.”
She stared down at her hands, silence stretching painfully between them, and despite himself, he let his eyes devour the soft waves of her hair, the curve of her chin. He reached out with an open hand to touch her, caress her, but at the last moment drew back, closing his fingers into a fist instead.
“Why did you come back?” The words came of their own volition, without so much as a by-your-leave.
Her head jerked up, their eyes locking together, communicating on a level that had nothing whatsoever to do with reason and logic. “I was coming to tell you that I was sorry.”
“You’d have been wasting your breath.”
Her eyes were full of tears now. He hadn’t been imagining it. “What we had was special, John. Something worth fighting for. You can’t just throw it away.”
“I didn’t throw it away, Katie.” He stood up, certain that his heart was crumbling to dust. “You did.”
She was making a habit of standing at this window. The skyline was muted, the city at sleep, but moonlight more than made up for the loss. It slashed across the living room, the light clear and white, washing away the shadows of gray.
If only it would work on her life.
She’d made a hell of a mess of things. And her attempt to fix it had been too little too late. Not that she blamed John. His reaction was more than understandable. If she’d been in his place she probably wouldn’t have handled it as well as he had.
But then, he did have a few other things on his mind.
D’Angelo was gone. The crime scene reduced once more to a gym. A gym with blood spatters for decoration. She shivered. Roswell had been there. Jerome, too. But there hadn’t been time to talk about anything but the murder.
Roswell had asked her to stay and watch over John, although his intent had probably not been altruistic. D’Angelo had seconded the idea, and even Danny had grudgingly accepted her presence, heading for home shortly after the police packed it in. Of course, there were still cops out there somewhere, keeping watch, but they held their vigil from outside the building.
For the time being she was on the front line. She patted the service revolver tucked in the back of her jeans. A loaner from Wilcox. The cool steel was comforting in a way only someone from law enforcement could understand. As if a missing part of her had been restored. An old friend, of sorts.
John was sleeping. Which was a blessing, for any number of reasons. Mainly because it meant he didn’t know she was here. He wouldn’t want her watching over him. Wouldn’t want her anywhere near him.
But he didn’t have a choice. He might not be able to forgive her now, but she’d find a way to make things right between them, if she had to die trying. And in the meantime, whether he liked it or not, they were in this together, and nothing, not even his stubbornness, was going to prevent that.
Life was so damn complicated. One moment everything was clear and simple and the next it was tangled into an inextricably complicated mess. The simple truth was that she loved him, and somehow she had to prove it to him. She had to prove that there could be trust again. But it was a tall order, and even if she succeeded, she knew the final choice would have to be his.
And in the meantime, she had to concentrate on the events at hand. John may not have killed Florence Tedesky, but somebody certainly had, and odds were that whoever was behind it was probably behind everything else that was happening.
She needed to get to the bottom of it before the powers that be tried to hang it on John. Roswell was already gunning for him, and D’Angelo hadn’t sounded convinced of John’s innocence either. And she had the distinct feeling that her window of opportunity was closing.
Someone out there was getting panicky. They’d tried to kill John once, and she had the horrible feeling that despite his memory loss, if things continued to spiral out of control, they’d try again.
And this time they wouldn’t miss.
Chapter 20
The answering machine.
John sat up, immediately regretting the action. His head spun, the blackness threatening to overtake him again. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes, and waited for the world to still. Then, confident that he was in control, he swung his feet over the side of the bed, relieved when his right side obeyed the command.
He needed to get to the study.
Flo had left a message on the answering machine. He’d turned it off, not wanting to listen. But now he needed to hear what she’d had to say. Something about needing to talk.
He pushed off of the bed, shifting so that his weight was supported more on the left side. The moonlight was faint, but there was enough illumination to see. A soft sound broke through the stillness, and he spun around, surprised at his agility
, wishing he had a weapon of some kind.
Light from the window spilled across a chair near the bed, and despite his pounding heart, he smiled. Katie was curled up in the chair, fast asleep. His own private guardian angel. Only she wasn’t much of an angel. His smile vanished. They’d said it all. There wasn’t anything left.
Yet here she was.
God, he wished things were different, that they’d met some other place, some other time. But they hadn’t. And the sooner they both accepted the fact the better. And just at the moment he had more important things to think about than the inviting curve of her lips.
He needed to find Flo’s killer. And, innocent or guilty, he needed to find the truth.
And the best place to start was with the answering machine.
He made his way down the hall and into the living room, turning toward the study, moving slower now, automatically listening for intruders. Stupid, of course, the police were probably watching downstairs, but despite that, the quiet felt ominous.
He moved across the room, stopping at the door to the study. It was darker here than in the bedroom, pinpoints of light from various machines shining green in the dark.
Green. He felt the pull of panic at the edges of his consciousness. The answering machine light should be red. He hadn’t listened to the messages. It should be red. He rushed over to the black box, hitting the play button, already knowing what he was going to find.
Silence.
The messages were gone. Erased.
Someone had beat him to the punch.
Again.
“We shouldn’t be meeting without my brother.”
“There wasn’t an option, Danny, and you know it.” Jason sat back, watching his friend, trying unsuccessfully to read his expression. “We have to come up with a strategy before morning. Any chance we have to control this thing is over as soon as the news breaks. You know that as well as I do.”
“Especially in light of the fact that it looks like John has totally lost it.” Valerie’s statement sounded almost gleeful, and Jason found himself despising her for it.
“No one has been accused of anything at this point.” Jason ran a hand through his hair, grateful for the anonymity of the restaurant. The clientele of Magnolia Café tended toward students and die-hard Austinites. People who had thrived during the seventies and stayed there, despite the passing decades. This time of night it was still hopping, providing a perfect place to disappear into a crowd.
Not that he had that option.
With everything that was happening, he had the feeling his time in the spotlight was only just beginning. Which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have bothered him at all, but with things the way they were, frankly scared him to death.
“Jason? You’re not listening.” Valerie’s hand was warm against his skin, and he forced himself to pull away. This certainly wasn’t the time to reveal their relationship.
“I’m sorry, there’s just so much to think about.” He waved at a passing waiter, who stopped to refill his coffee cup.
“Which is the whole point actually.” She sat back, her eyes narrowed in thought. “We were just saying that even if no one is pointing fingers yet, it doesn’t look good for Jonathan. I mean, he was found holding the gun, standing over the body.”
“He was kneeling actually.” It was the first time Frank had said anything, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “And according to him, he only found the body.”
“I hardly think he’s likely to admit shooting the old girl.” Valerie drummed perfectly manicured nails on the scarred tabletop.
“Christ, Valerie. Have a little respect.” Danny choked on the words, emotion obviously getting the better of him.
“Well, if he didn’t do it, then who did?” She fixed Frank with a stare worthy of a judge or jury, and he squirmed under the inspection.
“I haven’t the foggiest notion.” Frank stared into his cup, his face pale. “I . . . I just walked in on the man.”
“You haven’t said why you were in the office in the first place.” Jason watched the little man, wondering if he’d been behind Florence’s demise. There was something pathetic in the thought. And tragic. Her death had the power to bring down Guardian. No matter who was behind it. Truth be told, the microscope they’d all be under had the potential to bring down more than just the company.
He shivered, wondering how in the world he’d let it all get to this point.
“I came back to finish something.” The sound of Frank’s voice pulled him out of his reverie.
“And just happened to walk in on Jonathan?” Danny’s skepticism was clearly visible, reflected in the lines of his face.
“Look, it doesn’t matter why he was there,” Valerie interrupted, her eyes on Frank. “It doesn’t even matter who killed Florence. What matters is how it’s going to impact the company.”
Jason sighed. “She’s right. It isn’t going to be pretty. There have already been calls.”
“Clients or press?” Danny leaned forward, his hands clenched around his coffee cup.
“Both. And this is only the beginning.” He reached into his pocket for his Filofax, and flipped it open. “So far I’ve diffused the worst of it, but tomorrow, when the story hits the paper, all hell is going to break lose, and we need to be ready.”
“What do you suggest?” Valerie reached into her purse, producing a pack of cigarettes. Lighting up, she sat back, inhaling deeply.
“First off, there’s no more room for debate. Jonathan has to resign. No matter what the police ultimately find, he’s at the center of all of this. He’s got to distance himself from the company. There isn’t a choice anymore.”
“I think he’ll agree to it.” Danny’s voice was soft but resolute. “He loves Guardian more than anything.”
“Except maybe that therapist of his.” Valerie blew a smoke ring, the casual gesture at odds with the intensity in her voice.
A shadow crossed Danny’s face. “She’s FBI.”
“What?” Jason fought against a wave of pure panic, struggling to remember everything he’d said or done when she was around.
“Undercover.” Danny blew out a breath. “I did a little investigating for Jonathan, and stumbled on the truth.”
“Does she know?” Frank looked up from studying Jason’s Filofax, his face if possible was even whiter.
“Yeah, Jonathan confronted her with it. Threw her out.” Danny waited a beat, his gaze locked with Jason’s. “But she’s back.”
“With Jonathan? Why?” Valerie stubbed out the cigarette, her eyes reflecting her anger. “Surely he’s not that addled.”
“Orders. Or at least I think that’s all it is.” Danny shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t know what’s going on between them.”
“At this point, it may not matter.” Jason leaned back in his chair. “The damage has been done. The only thing we can hope for is that the police have a killer by morning.”
“They recovered the murder weapon, right?” Valerie asked. “That ought to tell us something. Maybe even put an end to this nightmare.”
“What if there isn’t an end?” Frank looked up, his eyes full of something that looked suspiciously like regret. “What if it’s just going to continue until it destroys us all?”
“Oh, there’s a positive thought, Frank,” Jason snapped, trying to ignore the remark. But he couldn’t. There was too much truth there. Frank couldn’t know it. Couldn’t begin to have an idea.
But Jason was suddenly certain that the words were prophetic.
John stood in the doorway to Flo’s office, his stomach clenching at the familiar smell of her perfume. It was probably too soon for him to be here. But time wasn’t a luxury anymore, and he needed to know if there was something here that might help him—help Flo.
He crossed the room and sat down at her desk, opening the top drawer. A picture of him and Flo smiled up at him, their laughing faces testament to happier days. He swallowed, dangerously close to losing it altog
ether.
He’d loved her so much. Loved her still.
And just at the moment, he couldn’t imagine his life without her. She’d been his safety net. Someone who’d always believed in him. No matter what. She’d run buffer between him and his father, keeping them from fracturing their relationship, and she’d managed to keep him and Danny friends as well. Helping him to understand that his brother’s way of dealing with life was dramatically different from his own.
He picked up the picture, tracing the lines of her smile, accepting somewhere deep inside that he’d never see it again. To lose her was bad enough. But to lose her like this was almost beyond comprehension.
He sucked in a breath, knowing that he couldn’t help her if he gave in to his grief. There’d be time for grief later, but right now was a time for vengeance. And if he had his way, Florence would get hers.
A sound outside in the hallway drew his attention. The building was supposed to be deserted. He grabbed a letter opener from the desk, well aware that it would offer little protection against a gun. Still, it was better than nothing.
He edged around the desk, moving toward the door, straining into the silence, listening for another sound. Reaching the doorway, he paused, relaxing a little when he didn’t hear anything more. Obviously he was overreacting. Although under the circumstances he figured overreacting was better than the alternative.
Just as he turned to go back, a light cut across the hallway. Someone was in his old office. Clutching the letter opener in his left hand, he inched forward, stopping when he reached the edge of the doorway. He could hear someone inside, and with a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold, the blade of the letter opener gleaming in the light.
Frank Jacoby jerked upright, his eyes glued to the blade, his face going a funny shade of green. “Don’t hurt me.”
John lowered the letter opener, his breath coming out on a whoosh. “What the hell are you doing in here, Frank? You scared the shit out of me.”
The little man took an involuntary step backward. “I could say the same about you.”
