After what seemed like forever, but Nick’s inner timer told him was barely five minutes, Bennick groaned and passed out, or died. Nick didn’t stop to check. Nobody could save him now. Add blood loss to the wound and it wouldn’t take long, not long enough for infection to set in. He wiped the gun and positioned it by Bennick’s hand, carefully avoiding stepping in the growing pool of blood. Didn’t have time to do any more. Suicide or intruder unknown would cover the scenario.
Then he was out of there.
He left the back door open. He should have realized when he’d found the heavy bolts over the door undone that someone was in the house. He vaulted the low fence into the next yard, keeping low, and then he heard the police siren.
He was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
“You have no idea where he went,” Jim said for the umpteenth time. After two months, he’d gone from question to statement. He stood in the large room of Nick’s apartment and scratched his head, frustration marking his handsome features.
“I’ve gone over every conversation we ever had.” Gen sat on the big sofa, her laptop on the coffee table. Useless. Just as he’d done five years before, Nick had ducked out of sight. He was wealthy enough to buy what he needed. They didn’t even have any proof he was in the States anymore. He might have bought a passport and hopped on a plane to Nowheresville. “If we ever find him, I’m going after him.”
“You could get him into trouble.”
She gave him a derisory look. “Sure. After the work we’ve done? You’ve done? Though if anyone ever finds out, I’ll say I did it on my own. You have more to lose than I do.” Even though she’d kept her job when the scandal broke because they’d needed someone to hold the department together. Homeland Security was besieged on all sides, from other agencies who resented the new kid on the block, from above and below. Bennick’s death had given them a way in.
And this apartment? Hers. Nick had passed the title to her via a lawyer. The papers were perfectly legal. The owner turned out to be a holding company, probably owned by Nick, but on paper owned by someone in the Seychelles. Now it was hers. She couldn’t afford to keep it, but before he’d left for London, Lawrence had given her enough to cover the maintenance fees for the next year. “Keep it for him,” he’d said. “It’s our only link.”
They’d searched the place but found nothing, no clue as to where Nick could have gone. Only hundreds of poetry books, notes, and essays, all attesting to what a brilliant student Nick had been, how he’d released the secret urge he must have had for years, flooding out in analysis, discussion, and witty, insightful monographs. She hadn’t read them all, but she would. Every single word.
Gen wandered over to the glass room and peered out. She hadn’t entered it since that wonderful night when they’d opened themselves to each other. No more secrets, or so she’d thought, and it was true. Except he didn’t tell her he planned to kill her boss. That she found hard to forgive.
Lawrence didn’t believe it. “He wouldn’t have done anything so stupid,” he’d said. “Not after five years of keeping clean. It must have been self-defense.”
“If it was even him,” Jim had added. “Bennick had a lot of enemies.”
In her heart, she wanted to believe, but she also knew Nick had killed her old boss. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have disappeared. He’d have celebrated with her, knowing they were both free and clear. What he’d done hadn’t changed the way she felt about Nick one bit. She still loved him. Still missed him with an ache that increased every day. Worse at nights.
The doorbell rang, cutting through the silence in the big room, and she picked up the phone, glancing at the small screen that showed her who was calling. “Let him up, please,” she told the concierge. The elevator whirred, and the door opened to reveal Odell, out of breath.
“I remembered something. One tiny thing, but it might help.” He bent over, his hands on his knees. “Shit, I’m out of shape. I ran here. Have to exercise more often.”
Jim ignored Odell’s condition and cut to the chase. “What did you remember?”
Odell lifted his head and fixed Gen with a hard stare. “The night you met, he made a joke. He said I’d no more been to the ghetto than he’d been to Seattle. He was right too.”
Jim almost pushed her out of his path on his way to the laptop.
* * * *
Nick stared out over the forest of masts that bristled over Puget Sound. He enjoyed walking down here in the evenings as much as he enjoyed anything these days. Soon, he promised himself, he’d move on. But he’d always wanted to come here, just because he fancied the look of the place. When he’d arrived, he’d discovered that it wasn’t New York or any substitute for it. Nowhere was. He’d lost the two loves of his life in one miserable morning. Three, if he counted his brother, but this wasn’t the first time he’d lost Larry, and he got the feeling he’d see him again before he died.
Death would be a blessing right now, but Nick knew better than to wallow in self-pity. That helped nobody. This break had been for him to get his head together and decide what to do next. He took a deep lungful of the salt-tinged air.
“Don’t jump.”
He spun around at the sound of the voice he’d heard in his head before he fell into his usual fitful sleep every night for the last sixty-three days. The one he knew for sure he’d never hear again. Except he just had.
Standing before him was his princess in blue jeans. Gen, her hair loose, swirling around her in the breeze from the sea, hands stuck in her pockets, a black jacket over a white T-shirt.
“I don’t intend to,” he said. He suppressed his wild surge of joy with difficulty. “How did you find me?”
“A chance remark you made to Odell the night we met. Jim got on the computer. It took a day.”
“Fuck. Your friends get you every time.” The warmth seeping through him surprised him. He’d never relied on friends, but it seemed he had some true ones now.
She smiled, the lines next to her eyes tense. “I asked them not to come. I wanted to find you before you ran again. Talk to you.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you know?” Her voice softened, became more intimate. “Because I love you, Nick. If you run, I’m coming with you. You can fool the authorities, but you can’t fool a terrier like Jim. Just as well he’s on our side.”
“You’re not coming.” She couldn’t go where he might have to. He was thinking of reaching out to his Chinese friends. With opportunities opening up on the mainland, he could find a berth there for a few years. He’d resigned himself to spending the rest of his life on the run, not a prospect he looked forward to when he’d left everything he cared for behind.
“Know how we found you?”
“You broke into the records of every hotel in Seattle?”
She shook her head. “There are fewer bookstores. It was easier to check their records for anyone buying books on Tennyson, Mallory, and the other poets who wrote about King Arthur.”
Oh, shit and fuck. Of course they did. “But my address?”
“We got that from the owner of the store where you bought the books. You should have gone to the bigger places. They’re not as nosey.”
“So you’ve been to my apartment?” He’d found a short-term holiday rental. He didn’t like hotels, with people coming and going at all hours. He liked to know who was invading his space.
“I called around there. Your landlady said you took a walk down here every evening.”
If he hadn’t been so on edge, he would have taken more care. He’d passed through what he dimly recognized as the stages of grief. Not for Bennick, but for her. Locked himself away, deliberately avoided the Internet and even the news programs. His TV watching consisted of cop shows and reruns of old comedy classics, as well as the Liverpool matches he could get on the regular sports channels. He didn’t want to know, hadn’t wanted to find out. He’d made Gen safe, and that was all he really cared about. He knew that because Lawrence had sent hi
m a message on the secure phone before Nick junked it, too scared to keep it in case he was tempted to use it. The text read, Gen okay.
“How’s the scandal doing?”
“Covered up, mostly,” she said, giving a shrug. “The immigrants they found were given green cards if at all possible and work visas if not. The bosses wanted the whole thing sorted out fast.” She huffed a laugh. “They gave me his job. I made sure Bennick’s mess was sorted out before I cleaned out my desk.”
“You resigned? Why?”
She made a move toward him, but he backed up. “Because there was no point anymore. They would have gotten rid of me. And the job didn’t give me what I wanted. You taught me to be brave, to walk away if I wasn’t getting what I needed, so I did.”
“Did you sell the apartment?” Suddenly he was thirsty for information, as if he’d come around after being in a coma, insensible. His brain came to life. She was here, he loved her, but she had to go back. He had to persuade her. He wasn’t safe.
“No, it’s waiting for us to come home.”
“I wanted you to have the money. I’d have sent you some in a few months, when it was safe.” He’d planned to go to Switzerland and empty one of his safe-deposit boxes personally for her. Make sure they couldn’t link the cash back, maybe contact Lawrence and get him to give it to her as a matured investment. Lawrence was an ethical investor and doing very nicely. A few million more wouldn’t matter. “I still will. Nothing’s changed, Gen.”
“Yes, it has. They ruled Bennick’s death a suicide. Didn’t investigate too thoroughly, I guess. He had a shaky aim, shot into the ceiling, then into his stomach.”
They gazed at each other. She hadn’t asked, but he’d tell her anyway. “I killed him.”
She shrugged. “Duh. I worked that out. Bennick wasn’t the type to kill himself, and you wouldn’t have left if you didn’t have anything to do with it.” She didn’t look away, her gorgeous eyes melting his senses. She had to stop this torture soon. “I don’t care. He deserved to die, the misery he brought to all those people. Hundreds. He sold green cards outright and kept a few people on file to do him favors. He’s killed.”
“In the eyes of the law, I’m a murderer.”
“In the eyes of the law, you weren’t there. The department was desperate to cover up the scandal, leaned on the cops a bit. Not that they’d need much leaning. The last thing the police need is another unsolved murder. Suicide wraps it up nice and neat. The bosses at Homeland Security have a reputation to build, and they don’t want that scandal hanging over them.”
Didn’t she understand what a fucking cunt he was? “Whatever. I’m a wanted man, if not for that, then for other stuff.” He stepped forward and braced himself for contact. When he placed his hands on her shoulders, they both flinched. He’d never wanted anything more than to drag her close and hold her tight, never let go. So he didn’t, locking his elbows to contain the urge. “Gen, you can’t. I can’t. One day they’ll look in the records and find out who I am. It was a pipe dream. I kidded myself, kept skimming by on a wing and a prayer. I kept squeaky clean.” He grinned. “Except for Bared. My one indulgence.”
“You needed something.” Now she spoke softly, as if they were in bed together, embracing and talking after a hot bout of lovemaking. Because he had no doubt now that they were making love that last week.
Couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t go back, and he wouldn’t let her come with him, because he had no choice now—he had to return to the old life. China, Liverpool, London; it would mean reverting to the sleaze, to the shady deals, the law dodging. It didn’t appeal anymore. It never had. He’d just done what he needed to do to put bread on the table and then to keep one step ahead.
She understood him so well, this girl from a small Northwest town, with rock-solid values that she was willing to breach for him. “You’re no gangster’s moll.”
The reference made her smile. “No, I’m not, but you’re no gangster. Not anymore. And I’m no maiden waiting for my dragon to rescue me. I’ll fight by your side, Nick.”
“I made my bed early. Time to return to the only thing I know.” To the girls, the drugs, the filth, watching humanity at its very worst. Catering to it. “Listen. My prints and my DNA are on file. So is my picture. There have to be whole dossiers on me.”
Still smiling, she shook her head. “There are dossiers on Mick O’Donnell. Not on Nick Taylor.” She reached out, held on to his waist.
Nick closed his eyes at the sensation of her touching him. Dying of hunger for her, as he would for the rest of his life.
“I’m Mick O’Donnell.”
“No, you’re not. You’re Mick O’Donnell’s twin brother. Identical twin brother.”
His eyes snapped open. Above them the harbor lights came on in response to the fading daylight, giving her face sudden contrast. He saw the desperation in her eyes. “I don’t have a twin brother.”
“You do now. Your mother couldn’t look after both of you, so she gave one of the twins away. Nick Taylor was adopted by a middle-class family in London. After they died, they left their son, Nick, a teacher at the time, enough money to invest in a few stocks, and he got lucky, made his fortune. He decided to follow his life’s dream and go and study poetry at DUNY.”
“Pretty, but it won’t work.”
He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let him, firming her grip on him, trying to draw him closer. He couldn’t resist her anymore. He closed his arms around her. Just this once he’d allow himself to hold her.
His mind stuttered to a halt, then started up again as he processed what she’d just told him. Shit. Was it really possible? “Explain.”
“Jim did it right after Bennick died. We weren’t sure what the investigation would show up, so he went to work. Nice that so many things are electronic these days. We found the right couple and their son. There is a Nick Taylor in that position, a teacher in Bedfordshire, but we muddled shit up, so the records point to another Nick Taylor. Lots of certificates. When he went to university, he went to one of the big ones, and there were at least ten Nick Taylors that year. Universities are easy to break into, especially at a lower level, so we did, and we added an extra Nick Taylor to the lecture records. We kind of split you off from Mick and created a life for you.”
“How is this possible?”
“I told you, electronic records. There are so many, so varied, that checking back isn’t simple anymore, even if you know what you’re doing.” She chuckled against his chest. “I learned a lot from Jim. So Mick O’Donnell died after being stabbed and set on fire in London, and Nick Taylor is someone else entirely. Nick doesn’t know about Mick, doesn’t even know he has a twin.”
“And twins share the same DNA.” Then something occurred that brought him right down. “But they don’t share the same fingerprints.”
She snorted. “If you don’t get into trouble, they won’t find that out, will they? And twins can have very similar fingerprints. We’ve created enough reasonable doubt to give you a life, Nick. All you have to do is take it. I dare you.”
It would work, fuck, it would really work. Reasonable doubt. Picture ID, well, they were identical twins, so maybe Mick’s records would come up from time to time. He might have to explain himself, but he could afford a great lawyer. Relief surged through him like a tidal wave, cleansing where it touched.
For answer, he dragged her closer and took the kiss he’d been dying for since he first set eyes on her. He couldn’t stop kissing her, and when he’d finally slaked his hunger on her mouth, he kissed her eyes, her nose, her chin, bent to nuzzle her throat and inhale the glorious scent of woman—his woman—until she broke away, breathless and laughing. “Let’s go to your place.”
He held up his hand and miracle of miracles, a cab stopped at the curb. After grabbing the overnight bag by her side, he threw it into the front seat before he bundled her inside. He rapped out his address, half a mile away, a distance impossibly long to cover, and went back to kis
sing her. Like an addict deprived of his fix, he couldn’t get enough.
When they stopped, he paused long enough to toss the driver a bill and collect her bag, then pulled her inside and to the elevators.
For once, he cursed his choice of apartment on the fifth floor, because the time it took to get there was far, far too long. By now he had her breathing heavily, responding to his caresses with a fervor to equal his. She grasped him as if afraid he might get away, but he wasn’t going anywhere now.
He had a studio apartment with a balcony overlooking the sound, but he felt no inclination to show her anything but the bed. Feverishly, he attacked her clothes while she dragged his T-shirt up and off his body.
They were naked. He stopped completely and stared at her, drinking in her sweet curves, so well remembered, so deeply missed. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.” A tease, the best he could do.
“Then I’ll have to try to persuade you.” Her voice had roughened, and he pulled her close again, gasping when her warm body contacted his, her nipples hard beads against his chest.
“It won’t take much.”
He backed her against the bed until she fell on it, laughing when he followed her. His cock was so hard it hurt, the lubrication seeping from the eye at the top a small respite to the ache.
Then he groaned. “No condom.”
She lifted her hand, cupping his cheek in a tender gesture. “You think that’s going to stop us?”
“You can’t.” He covered her hand with his own, using his other arm to support his body. His chest heaved with the effort of not falling on her and taking her with all the finesse of a cat in heat. “You know what I am, what I’ve been.”
“Do you have a disease?”
He appreciated the straightforward question. “No, I don’t. I was always careful and I’ve had health checks. But, baby, it’s not just that.”
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