“What, do you two have supersonic hearing?” Rick was creeped out and past trying to hide it.
“I don’t have it yet. The Lenox police have it. They promised me a copy,” McBain said.
At the Police Station in Boston
After a silent ride squished between Benny Chen and Peter, Madeline popped out of the car like a jack-in-the-box. She figured she must look like a clown about now too. It was close to 3:00 a.m., and she’d had no sleep for the second night running. She’d been wearing the same ridiculous cat-burglar outfit for way too long, and her anxiety level was enough to make some of her veins start popping. She insisted to herself that she should feel relieved they’d got their confession and uncovered the plot.
Not if her best friend and mentor was the villain. And especially not if she didn’t get the guy in the end.
“Give the mayor my best—and make sure he knows this is gratis.” Peter saluted his friend Bennie Chen.
“Will do,” Benny said before he drove away. Madeline stood at the curb with Peter for a second, watching the car speed away. She knew why she was reluctant to go into the station, but she wasn’t sure about him.
“What are we waiting for?” She looked up into his face to scrutinize the inscrutable expression she knew she’d find there. He surprised her with a flicker of a sad tired smile.
“Running out of steam, General?” She moved closer and stroked his back with one hand. It was automatic and it seemed the least she could do. The last remnants of her anxiety about the election, about her political career and her professional reputation fell away. She knew she could deal with all that even if it took some time and effort. After all, accomplishing great things had always been her forte. No problem there. It was with relationships that she had trouble. But not anymore. She was going to throw herself into this. She was going whole hog. If she lost Peter, it was not going to be because she didn’t try hard enough.
The big dark question of what was going to happen between her and Peter sent shrill signals of urgency through her veins.
She had to do something. But what?
He moved toward the door of the police station, sweeping her with him. It was now or never. Why, she didn’t know. She stopped before he pulled the door open, and he turned toward her with a question in his eyes. He probably thought she was hesitating over concern about Sarah. But that wasn’t her concern this time.
“Peter. Before you do another thing, before you take another step out on a limb for me, I have something to say.” She paused. The tired look disappeared from his face, replaced by the inscrutable expression. From where she stood next to him, touching him, she could feel his entire body coil up into a tight ball of awareness. The urgency of her anxiety prodded her forward despite the fear she felt. She took a deep breath.
“I want you to know that no matter how it turns out, with Sarah, or with the election”—she paused and took a quick breath—“or with us…I love you. I will always love you.” She threw her arms around him. She wasn’t sure how he reacted. She was too chicken to look. But she had meant it, so it didn’t matter. She would love him anyway. Just because of who he was. And what he’d done for her.
Then she felt his arms go around her in return. They were strong and the hug was genuine. So was her sigh. He kissed the top of her head, and it was all she could do to stay standing. He pushed her back from him and brushed his hand across her cheek to wipe some tears she hadn’t even known were there.
“I feel the same way. I don’t know if it’s enough,” he said. Then he turned and pushed through the door, because that’s what they finally had to do. She told herself it was okay if it wasn’t enough—for now. She could convince him.
Peter walked up to the desk, where the sergeant knew him, and flipped his phone out of his pocket. He signaled for the sergeant to hold on a minute. “What’s Sarah’s number?” Madeline told him and watched him punch it in as she mentally held her breath. All this tension couldn’t be good for a person.
“It’s ringing. At least wherever she is there’s cell coverage.”
“Or wherever her phone is.” Since when did she turn into the cynic of this duo? She drew her wrist up to look at her watch. It was close to four thirty As she stood watching him hold the phone to his ear, showing no emotion whatsoever on his face, she became aware of the veins pulsing in her temple.
She moved closer to him and pressed herself to his side. An odd compulsion, but she didn’t fight it. If he didn’t want her, he was going to have to give her a cold hard shove. Metaphysically speaking.
“Sarah?” Peter said, “Where are you? Don’t go to your apartment. Yeah. I’m at the police station in Cambridge…No. She’s here. Okay…okay…don’t hang up—” He clicked the phone off, looked her in the eye and shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Shit.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she’d be at the press conference. Not to worry. She’s not with St. Cyr.” He looked serious when he turned back to the desk sergeant.
“That’s not all bad. At least she’s all right,” she said and then realized she had no clue about any of the details for the press conference. All she knew was that it was scheduled to take place in a few hours and she hadn’t even thought of preparing. Peter finished talking to the attentive man and got some more uniforms to join them. When his assistant DA crashed through the door, the plans to search St. Cyr’s place and track him down whirled around her. After he was finished, Peter took her elbow and escorted her back out the door. Her worries were ebbing away. She wasn’t sure if it was her energy fading or the effect of Peter taking the burden from her.
“They’re giving us a lift home. We’re done playing cops tonight.” His smile looked genuine, and she decided it was, even though she knew if there was one thing he was good at it was giving a person a genuine smile even when it wasn’t. They got in the back seat of a black-and-white together. The police officer shut the door.
“You going to be all right?” Peter asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” She sank into his shoulder when he chuckled. Of course it was absurd for her to think he wasn’t. That thought was all she needed. Slipping into the oblivion of sleep with Peter holding her in his arms would be bliss right now. So that was what she did.
The General Arrives in Cambridge
Either she lost weight or he got stronger, Peter thought as he carried Madeline through the door. Maybe he was running on pure adrenaline. Sam nodded toward the living room. Peter should really bring Madeline up to his room for a good long sleep, but she was going to need to be awake soon for the press conference.
He placed her carefully on the couch. The first glimmers of sunrise shone through the sheer curtains of his front window. If the number of cars in the drive was any indication, he had a full house, but only Sam knew he was in. The stealth training came in handy on occasion.
“She okay?” Sam nodded toward Mad.
“Yeah. Spent.” They both looked at her for a second. She was gorgeous in repose. Angelic. He’d better watch it, he thought, and clamped down on the feelings beginning to swamp him. He promised himself he’d let himself feel it all tomorrow. After pausing another beat until the erratic pulsing in his veins subsided, he turned and walked to the door, motioning Sam to follow.
“St. Cyr’s still at large. The uniforms are looking for him,” Peter told Sam as he walked through the door to his library, crowded with such an odd assortment of people that he was sorry he’d missed the party. No more partying now. It was time to go into professional politician mode.
The buzz of their voices ceased immediately. They all looked at him. Rick glowered. Peter stopped his smile. When he glanced around the room and saw Theresa asleep on the couch it took an enormous effort to prevent a full-out grin.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the esteemed general,” Rick said.
“Holding down the fort I see, Rick.” Peter gave Rick a mock salute because he knew it would annoy the man. Th
en he was assaulted by the troops.
“What do you mean St. Cyr’s still at large?” Val asked.
“Where’s Madeline?” Jonathan asked.
“Any word on Lisky?” Acer asked.
“What about this press conference we’re supposed to have?” Clever Dennis asked.
“What’s going on?” Theresa said.
“Back off. Give the man some space. Would you like a drink? McBain’s been playing bartender.” Rick took over as the MC. The drinks explained the attitudes. He’d better keep it short and to the point. He’d better get them all food and coffee. He glanced at Acer to see a sheepish grin. Even he’d had a drink. It was probably tough for him to take all this very seriously compared to their past missions.
“No more drinks. Press conferences begin in a couple of hours. Benny Chen’s is at eight, my camp at nine and Mad’s at ten. She’s sleeping now. Do not disturb her. Sarah Lisky will be at the Mad press conference, according to our very recent but quick phone conversation. The uniforms are looking for her and St. Cyr. It should be an interesting morning.” He paused. They stared.
“Oh, and McBain, the DA said this was for you.” Peter tossed him the flash drive, and Clever was quick enough to catch it. “Rick, let’s make these people some breakfast. With strong coffee.” He motioned for them to follow, and they all herded into the kitchen.
Rick turned the TV on while the disheveled, disgruntled and odd assemblage of cohorts grabbed chairs and stools around the kitchen to settle in. It was time for them to switch from special ops mode back to politicians. Except maybe Sam and Acer. They were permanent. It was in their blood. It was in his blood too, Peter thought. But he had it under control. He hoped he was right about that. He could really use Mad standing next to him along the way to keep him in check. Damn, I need to keep these thoughts in check. Too much uncertainty there.
“We still doing our press conference with the state police at nine?” Rick asked.
“That will be perfect. Marcus will be there. We’ll have a few extra announcements to make besides the endorsement of the state and local policeman’s associations. Better call Marcus and fill him in on things,” Peter said.
“Be glad to. Maybe you could fill me in on things first so I’ll know.” Sarcasm from Rick. Peter smiled as he started cracking eggs in a bowl.
“I’ll call Marcus,” Bob said. Peter looked at Rick, who threw up his hands and plopped onto a stool in front of the TV with a scowl.
“Why not? I’ll play assistant chef instead. Just don’t forget to tell him about my part in the great operation.” Rick looked at Bob. Peter figured he was at least half serious. Now that was interesting. He looked back at Theresa, who was smiling shyly—if that was possible for her—at Rick. Well, well.
Bob went for the phone. Valerie stepped up and started taking over the cooking. All was well. Almost. Madeline.
“Sam. Do me a favor and go check out Mad’s campaign HQ. I know the police were going over, but I’d feel better if you took a look before these guys go back in.”
“Will do.”
“What about Madeline?” McBain asked.
“I’m going to wake her now,” Peter said. For a second, Clever Dennis looked like he would argue, but he must have thought better. Too bad. He’d have loved the argument just to make things clear. Another time. Maybe when things were actually clear to him first, Peter thought.
Leaving Val in charge of breakfast—she would have made a great mess sergeant—Peter left the humming kitchen and aimed for the living room and his sleeping beauty. His smile automatically took over when he saw her face, resting and peaceful. The sigh that followed was too much, though, and he gave himself a mental shake as he went over to shake her awake.
Her eyes fluttered open to gaze directly at him and she smiled.
“Is it time?”
“It’s time for something.” They both smiled big.
The Final Press
Peter’s limo rolled through traffic, and he checked his watch. It was five till ten. The deal had been that Benny would be first to break the news at his eight o’clock press conference and maybe flush St. Cyr out. That hadn’t happened. St. Cyr was still at large. So was Sarah. He thought of Mad. Peter was not used to this worrying thing. He shook it off and refocused. He’d had his press conference with the judge, the Suffolk county DA and the Boston police chief at nine. Everyone was there but the mayor, he thought. But Mr. Mayor had better things to do, as it turned out. The press conference had gone well without Torini. Peter made sure of it. He saw to it that the press covered the part about Sarah being conned by St. Cyr to provide information and that there was a warrant out for his arrest. He finally had a chance to read the psych report that Morty got for him. St. Cyr needed help.
Madeline was to have her press conference last at the statehouse at ten. With any luck, he’d make it there in time. The way Sarah had set it up, Mad would make a statement to confirm the true story about her miscarriage. Who knew what else she would say? She seemed most concerned with finding Sarah. There was something else preoccupying her. The thought made him tense. He hoped that something else had to do with him—in a good way. It was too easy to contemplate how many ways it could be all wrong, because of course all this didn’t change a thing. Mad had still betrayed him. He still didn’t know what to do about her. She was still on the ballot. Tonight’s arrest would go a long way in cementing his position and allow Mad to redeem her reputation to make her political point.
She would be whole enough to run again another day. They would each go their separate ways. Again.
Her name was cleared the second Benny Chen played the recording of the nurse’s admissions at his press conference. They had arraigned the nurse right away, and since she was close to leaving town, they weren’t letting her out on bail.
Bob asked someone to turn up the radio. He was sitting in back with Peter and Acer. Sam rode shotgun with Bill pinch-hitting as chauffeur. They left Rick with Marcus back at the press conference to mop up details. Peter figured Rick was the best man for that job because he didn’t know any details, so he could answer the reporters truthfully when he claimed ignorance. The newscaster started and they listened.
“At a press conference earlier this morning, Berkshire County DA Benny Chen announced that Boyd, a nurse at the local clinic, unofficially confessed to stealing and altering Madeline Grace’s medical records and lying about her miscarriage for an undisclosed amount of money paid by noted reporter Bertrand St. Cyr. The police are now hunting for St. Cyr for his role in masterminding the entire plot to sabotage Ms. Grace’s bid in the election for governor by blackmail, extortion and bribery. The police report that St. Cyr has a history of psychiatric illness…”
“The report curiously left out the identities of those who were blackmailed,” Bob commented.
“The senator’s wife, the mayor and Theresa were completely left out of the report,” Bill marveled.
“Uncanny,” Peter deadpanned.
The Mad Press Conference
Standing at the top of the state house steps, Madeline had a commanding view of the media and their cameras swarming in with their wires and covering up the grand granite steps. She had the impression that the media were like spiders weaving their web, and she was their big fat fly. With a smile, she promised herself not to share that fanciful thought with anyone. More microphones were attached to the podium where she would speak in a matter of minutes. She had the urge for a chocolate and dismissed it before an image of Peter flashed through her mind.
She could not afford to let him take hold of her right now. Peter would have to wait. After months of saying that to herself, she realized the election would finally be over within two weeks. He could wait until after that, and then she didn’t know. Her stomach felt queasy. And why shouldn’t it? This was a lot of press to handle on almost no sleep and staring down an uncertain future even if all went well. Seeking out Dennis with her gaze, because she desperately needed a distraction,
she walked toward him as he spoke to their favorite TV journalist, Mary Porter.
“I expected to see PJD here with you this morning,” Mary said with the camera off. So much for trying to keep him off her mind.
Dennis answered for her. “He has his own agenda this morning. We are still opponents in what should end up being a tight race after all.” He smiled and Mary nodded and looked around. Madeline knew Mary had never liked Dennis. She apparently thought he was too slick for Madeline, or at least too slick for the image of Madeline Grace that Mary wanted to sell to her audience. Mary was a crusader at heart.
“Any word from Sarah? I was hoping to get an interview with her. She’s always been very up front with me.” Mary looked around in earnest now.
She hadn’t had a chance to discuss with her team how they would explain the criminal implications against Sarah, partly because Madeline still hoped she would show up as promised and explain it all herself. Dennis decided to let Madeline handle this one, from his small nod in her direction.
“She’ll be here soon. Then I’m sure she’ll have a statement for the police. Valerie would be very happy to fill in for your interview.” Madeline beckoned for Valerie before Mary could explore the topic. It was most definitely not a lie, but she couldn’t explain further even if she wanted to.
“This is pretty exciting stuff for the eve of an election. It caps off this race for governor perfectly,” Mary commented.
“You could say that,” Dennis said, “if you were into a bizarre brand of politics. Personally, I think I grew at least two more ulcers running what was supposed to be a local, small potatoes, run-of-the-mill campaign.”
“I thought someone like you would thrive on this with all the national attention,” Mary said.
“Yeah. Sure I do.” He smiled. It was impossible not to mistake the sarcasm. Madeline laughed. She realized it had been too long.
That was when the thoughts about her life came bubbling to the surface. She had a plan for her ambitions. Those she knew how to fulfill. But what about the rest of it? She’d always been content to leave the prospect of her personal life clouded at a murky distance, never examining fully what was there. Except that one time with Peter when she shoved them aside purposefully—and ended up regretting the decision enough to try never allowing herself to think of it again.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 33
