ON Fire (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 5) (Redemption Thriller Series 17)

by John W. Mefford

  And then it hit me. The person sitting to my right wasn’t Brook or Tito or even Poppy, my friend who managed my favorite bar. This was Nicole. I had essentially laughed at the fact that I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to be with Nicole in the long term. Could I be any more clueless?

  “Hey,” I said, getting her attention, my voice appropriately absent of my ill-timed humor.

  She stared at me, still fidgeting with her earring, but she didn’t speak.

  “I’m a complete jerk. I didn’t think about what I was saying.”

  She looked off for a quick moment. “Ozzie, you said it because that’s really where you are. It was transparent. Even Mackenzie can tell where you are.”

  She sounded frustrated and hurt. Mostly hurt. I scooted closer to her on the couch. “I know I’m kind of gross right now.”

  No response.

  “Babe, I’m sorry. Truly, I didn’t mean to hurt you. No excuses, though. It was wrong and not nice.”

  “Thank you, Ozzie. But you still think it, believe it.”

  I took in a deep breath. “It’s not that black-and-white. I know it’s only been a short time since you’ve been back, but I’ve felt so close to you. And it’s been good to have you in my life. In Mackenzie’s life.”

  She gave me a half-smile.

  “You know how protective I am of Mackenzie. So, you know if I’m taking this step, then I think there’s real hope for us.”

  She reached over and put her hand on mine. “Can you do me a favor, then?”

  “You mean outside of the wish you were granted?” I said with a wink but changed my expression when I could see that she was serious.

  “I need for you to communicate. To talk to me. Can you do that?”

  I leaned over and kissed her, holding my lips against hers for an extra second. Enough time for the sparks to start firing.

  “Mmm,” she said, opening her eyes. “That was nice.”

  I smiled, proud of my accomplishment.

  “But I still need words.”

  “Okay. You got it. Here’s a few. I love having you around again, in my life again. Just give me some more time.”

  She winked at me, picked up her wine glass, and downed a mouthful. “Okay, show me why you need my sexy brain.”

  “Cool.” I rubbed my hands together and started walking her through the detailed version of my conversation with Rhonda Marshall.

  “Wait. She smokes unfiltered cigarettes? No wonder you smell.”

  I shrugged and continued with my story. “I was just shocked that she seemed to be protecting Franklin. From the way Noah acted and from what Brook had told me, I thought she might throw Franklin under the bus. Or maybe get upset.”

  “You did say that she was a little rough around the edges. Maybe she’s not a very emotional person.”

  “True, at least on the positive-emotions spectrum. If she were a dog, though…” I paused, glancing over at the zonked-out Baxter in the corner. “She would do a lot more than bark. Lots of biting.”

  “She sounds kind of scary.”

  “If I were a little kid living in that neighborhood, I wouldn’t even go to her house on Halloween to get candy. Hell, I wouldn’t go to her house if it was on fire.”

  She giggled. I enjoyed making her laugh. I then told her about Rhonda’s last noteworthy comment.

  Her eyes went wide. “So Franklin is broke?”

  I leaned my head to one side, not sure if I could believe it myself. “That’s what she said. There are a lot of reasons why she might think that, though.”

  “Like?”

  “She even admitted that Franklin’s moral code is questionable. If so, then what would stop him from lying to her?”

  “Why lie to her, though?”

  “Maybe guilt had built up over the years, and he finally sprung for a few things—like her big-screen TV—and then he got cheap again and decided he didn’t want to fund her life. So he makes up the story about not having any money.”

  “Possible. So, if he’s not cash-strapped—and we both saw the video—then are you worried he might flee the country?”

  “Yep.”

  “Which means you don’t get paid. Not that I’m only thinking about money. It would also mean that he’s guilty and he sees no way of getting out of the charge.”

  I sighed, then raked my fingers through my hair. I smelled cigarettes. Had the smoke burrowed into my scalp? Gross.

  “On top of that,” I said, “I go back to this Marco Berelli. Why would Franklin hire him to follow me? He’d acted like he wanted me on his team, which I assume would mean he trusted me.” I scratched my chin, pondering my use of the words “trust” and “Franklin” in the same thought. “Hold on. Marco said he was hired by the lawyer, Winston.”

  “If he was telling you the truth,” she said, taking a slow sip of her wine.

  “He had incentive to tell me the truth. The kind that hurts right about here and here.” I put my hand on my kidneys.

  “It could be semantics. Winston hires him, but Franklin pays the bill,” Nicole said. “Or—”

  I couldn’t stop myself from interrupting. “Or maybe Franklin doesn’t know about Marco. Maybe Winston was paying for Marco behind his back. Or someone else is paying for Marco. The question is: why?”

  “Why, indeed.”

  We both nodded and agreed to let that one marinate a bit.

  I picked up my phone and found the picture of the threatening note Franklin had received. I showed it to Nicole.

  “Thoughts?” I asked.

  “You’re a lying, cheating bastard. Change or you will die,” she read out loud.

  I could see her tense up. This brought up our uncomfortable past. I knew it would, but we couldn’t keep turning away from it.

  “Nicole, I don’t want you to think I’m rubbing your face in this. We’re both human. You screwed up. I did too. It’s in the past, and we’re working on everything else. I just wanted to say it and move forward without worrying about walking on eggshells.”

  She let out a breath. “You see? When you really talk to me, it means something. Thank you.”

  I winked at her, motioned at the phone. “So?”

  “So…I’m not following your question.”

  “When you read that, do you think it’s referring to him screwing around on his wife, or could it relate to his professional life?”

  “He’s a lobbyist, right?”

  I nodded. “Have you ever heard of Jack Abramoff?”

  “Is this a trick question?”

  “No. He’s one of the more infamous lobbyists who was caught up in a major political scandal that led to prison time for him and a number of politicians. I’m guessing that if you caught Franklin at the right time—maybe after about five drinks—he might compare himself to Jack Abramoff and not shy away from it.”

  “So you think this relates to his professional life.”

  I looked over at Baxter and watched his chest lift and fall with each breath. So peaceful. I was feeling the opposite. Back to Nicole. “I don’t know. If we base it on fact, more than likely both are true—that he’s a lying, cheating bastard, both personally and professionally. Hell, even his mom thinks he’s a crook.”

  She chuckled mid-sip. It must have gone down the wrong pipe because she began to cough…a lot. I raised my hands to the ceiling, which only made her laugh more. After a couple of minutes, she finally calmed down, but that smile never left her face, which had turned red.

  “What?”

  “You’re such a dad. I think it’s kind of cute.”

  I tried not to grin, but it came out. “Anyway, after talking to sweet Rhonda, being followed by this PI schmuck, and now reviewing this note again, I’m more confused than I was when I took the case. Frankly, I still don’t know why they chose me. Me of all people.”

  “Don’t doubt yourself, Oz. You’re good at what you do. You’re good at anything you care about.”

  “Okay, I’m the greatest PI since Magnum
. But I’m still confused. We both saw Franklin’s face on the video.”

  “True.”

  “Part of me is thinking: what the hell am I doing trying to find a way out for a guy who, with my own two eyes, I saw in the video—which showed he probably was the killer, or at least a party to the killing?”

  “You said it. Probably. The video is the video. But it’s not like the camera caught him committing the act. He could have dropped back by the room, talked to her. Hell, they could have had sex again, and then he left.”

  “But why would he lie about it?”

  “Maybe because it would put him in the room very close to the time of death. And because he’s a lying, cheating bastard, he only knows one way to handle situations like these: lie.”

  I rubbed my face and felt the stubble from a long day. “I can see your logic. Makes the most sense of anything I’ve heard today.”

  My thoughts drifted to other possible theories, though, including one I’d pondered earlier that centered on the people at their party. Franklin was a deal maker. But to be successful in that role, he had to do some unsavory things. Well, unsavory to the common man. What if my scenario from earlier was correct—where one of the foreign-country delegates had gone back to the room after Franklin had left and, after being rebuked by Pamela, had killed her—but with one additional twist? What if Franklin had walked in just after it happened? What would be his first instinct? Call the cops and turn the guy in? Cry over the loss of his beloved Pamela? Or cover for a person who was a key player in his latest lobbying deal? Hell, the guy could have dirt on Franklin, which, in Franklin’s mind, might have made it a no-brainer to try to cover the tracks of the actual killer.

  Nicole got up and walked past me, but I stared at the blank TV screen and took my theory to the next level. Did Franklin think that he would get away with covering the tracks of his client? Or did he think it was inevitable that he’d be arrested and charged and, therefore, he’d have to put all his resources into finding enough reasonable doubt to drop the charges on him while still not implicating his client?

  That notion began to grow some roots. Most importantly, it stayed consistent with the ethically challenged behavior that Franklin had shown for years, even if his mother had justified his lack of morality. Still, outside of the video, I had nothing to back up my theory. I had to get my hands on the client list. If I asked Winston or Franklin for the list, they might blow me off, say I wasn’t a team player. But Franklin left the room that night to take a phone call from someone. I wondered if that person was another player in this convoluted mess. If Winston and Franklin didn’t think I’d seen the video, then they would want me to meet with the person he had been talking to, right?

  Think again, Ozzie. Remember what they said when you wanted to talk to Elaine, Franklin’s wife?

  I had to figure out my priority and then make my pitch. But to whom, Winston or Franklin?

  More ideas and thoughts to bounce off Nicole.

  The sound of the shower running caught my attention. I walked down the hall and saw the bathroom door was cracked open. Before I could blink, the door opened, and I was yanked inside. Nicole was completely naked, pulling off my shirt as she closed the door and locked it.

  “What—?”

  “Shh. You said I got one wish.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, you’re dirty from hanging out at Rhonda Marshall’s house and the police station. I’m dirty from running the dogs. We’re going to jump in the shower, and we’re going to lather each other up.” She arched an eyebrow.

  “And then what?” I said, already wrapping my arms around her.

  “And then we’re going to jump into bed and get down and dirty.”

  “I love how your mind works.”

  14

  The first thing I heard when I woke up the next morning was a cowbell. It was my cell phone next to my bed. I reached a hand over and blindly tapped the screen. The snooze button was the most underrated technology ever. I wondered how that invention had come to fruition.

  My eyes felt heavy, and they closed again, although I couldn’t help but run my hand across the cool sheet next to me. Nicole had left early this morning, taking Baxter with her, just so Mackenzie wouldn’t wake up and ask questions.

  The time with Nicole last night had been euphoric—we still had that indescribable chemistry. She’d shown me in so many ways that she was fully committed to us, to Mackenzie, to our whole new family. For me, I was getting there. Our time together last night drew me even closer. And it wasn’t just the raw passion that we shared. It was everything before that. Addressing our elephant-in-the-room issue, the communication that she so desired. It just felt like we were, once again, becoming a team. Inseparable and united. What would it take for me to make it permanent? I wasn’t sure. For some reason, I still had my fingertips clinging to my life without her—the one where I was in control and not relying on her love to complete me.

  At some point, I’d have to just get over myself and jump in. I mean, what was the alternative? Mackenzie was very aware of what was going on.

  “A couple of days, Oz. That’s what you get,” I told myself out loud.

  The cowbell clanged again, and before I could swing my arm over to grab my phone, the door burst open. Mackenzie snatched my phone and hopped on the bed. “Good morning!” she yelled. A second later, Rainbow leaped onto the bed, sticking a paw in my midsection. I groaned and turned over.

  “You okay, Dad?”

  Rainbow licked my face. I started chuckling. “You going to take her for a walk before school?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “Okay, just make sure you stay between here and the Sandbergs’ apartment.” Her best friend, Ariel, lived three buildings down.

  She held the phone in my face. “Did you know you got a text?”

  My first thought was Nicole. Crap. I hope she hadn’t sent me some type of sexual-innuendo text. Mackenzie didn’t need to see that.

  “Thank you,” I said, plucking the phone out of her hand. She said something about eating breakfast and feeding Rainbow as my bleary eyes focused on the screen. It wasn’t a text from Nicole.

  I sat up on one elbow. It wasn’t just one text. I quickly thumbed through them—there were ten, all pictures. The phone number was not in my contacts list. For whatever reason, I wondered if this was some type of threat from Marco. Not sure why I went there.

  I opened the first picture and used my fingers to expand the image and zoom in. It appeared to be a picture of a notebook. Handwritten notes and dates. Names I didn’t recognize, companies that sounded vaguely familiar. Who the hell sent this to me? And what was I supposed to do with it? I opened the next picture and found more of the same. I wiped my face, wishing I had some coffee in me, but I did my best to decipher what I was reading. Lots of acronyms. That made sense, if this was someone’s private notes. But whose notes was I reading?

  On to the next picture. More of the same. Lots of information. Maybe too much to process at this hour of the day, especially after so little sleep.

  Ah, Nicole—the reason for not getting much sleep. A smile came to my lips, my thoughts momentarily stolen.

  Focus, Oz.

  Back to the pictures. I flipped through a couple more. It became rather obvious that I’d have to get on my computer and start typing out my interpretation of the notes, see if I could work the puzzle into something I could understand. There had to be something here. Why else would someone send this to me?

  Unless I wasn’t supposed to be the recipient. I could be wasting my time. People send stuff all the time to the wrong person. That could be why I didn’t recognize the phone number.

  I swung my legs around till my feet hit the floor and swiped on the last picture. The words felt like a reaper’s scythe had just split me down the middle.

  Calvin Drake + FDA payoff = massive stock deal

  Drake. The fucking “Mr. C” from Nicole’s past. The former CEO of Vista Labs, who’d trie
d to bribe some type of Alzheimer’s drug through the FDA. Last I’d heard, federal authorities hadn’t been able to nail down his accomplices. That had become secondary, considering he’d been charged with murder.

  But it also hit me on a completely personal level. Drake was the man who’d stolen Nicole’s heart, at least temporarily. For a brief moment, my mind was flooded with my feelings from months earlier, when the world seemed to turn upside down.

  I blew out a long breath. Don’t go there, Oz. It’s not worth it. You and Nicole are cool again, on the road to recapturing your magic.

  My eyes focused on something at the top of the picture. Aside from a bunch of doodling, inside a drawn box, I read: FTM = $$$$$

  FTM. Franklin T. Marshall. I was almost certain I was reading Franklin’s private notes.

  Was he Calvin’s conduit into the FDA?

  I rushed to take a shower.

  15

  After taking Mackenzie to school, I used my PI access to tracersinfo.com to locate the parents of Elaine Marshall. James and Phillis Kiefer lived in Silver Spring, Maryland, just north of the DC beltway. I called the Kiefer house and asked for Elaine Marshall.

  “She’s unavailable to come to the phone. Who wants to know?”

  That was the confirmation I needed. I hung up, searched for flights into Dulles Airport, and found one leaving in ninety minutes. I called Nicole the moment I shut the door on my Cadillac and filled her in on everything—including the Drake connection.

  There was no response.

  I checked my hearing aid to ensure it was turned up. “Are you still there?”

  “I don’t know what to say, Ozzie. He’s like the nightmare that will never go away. I’m so sorry for bringing him into your life, my life. I was completely snowed by his bullshit.”

  “Nicole, I’m not telling you any of this to open old wounds. Part of me thought I should just keep it to myself, handle it all myself. But you asked me to open up more.”

  “I did, I did.”

  I thought I heard a sniffle.

  “So here I am, sharing everything with you. Transparent Ozzie.”