by Stephen Frey
The sound of a key sliding into the apartment door. Maintenance? He wasn’t going to chance it. He glanced at the window over the fire escape. No time. He hurried to the bathroom, slipping behind the door so he could see into the bedroom. Just as the hall door opened and closed.
A moment later a man Conner recognized moved into the bedroom. The man who’d shot him last night.
The intruder moved to the far side of the bed and past the desk, then knelt down, disappearing from view for a moment. Conner could hear his loud breathing, then a groan as he stood up. The man retraced his steps past the desk and around the bed and headed for the bathroom.
As the man entered the bathroom, Conner slammed the heavy wooden door into him, catching him on the left side of his head. He tumbled backward into the bed, then crumpled to the floor. Conner raced out of the bathroom, grabbed the man by his collar, and landed a swift blow to his chin, then another to his stomach. The intruder clutched his belly, and Conner pulled back the man’s sport jacket and reached for a revolver jutting from his shoulder holster. But, as Conner’s fingers closed around the gun, the intruder coiled his leg and kicked.
Conner stumbled back and his head slammed into the wall beside the dresser. For a split second he was out on his feet, images blurring before him. He was vaguely aware of the revolver slipping from his fingers and the room spinning.
He shook his head, and his vision cleared just as the intruder came at him. In one smooth motion, Conner grabbed a dresser drawer and swung it, clipping the attacker on the head just as the huge man’s hands closed around his neck. The man tumbled to the floor and Conner delivered another blow to the back of his head. The man’s left hand trembled for a moment, then went still.
Conner shook his head again, still trying to clear the cobwebs. Then reached down and rolled the man onto his back. His eyes were open but glassy. Blood was dripping down his face. And he was mumbling incoherently. He tried to sit up but fell on his side after lifting his upper body just a few inches off the floor.
Conner glanced around and spotted the revolver lying beside the dresser. He hustled to it, then sprinted for the apartment door, thinking that the intruder might have an accomplice in the hallway. He slid the door’s dead bolt into place, then raced back to the bedroom and, from the doorway, leveled the gun at the intruder, who had managed to pull himself to a sitting position.
“Who are you?” Conner demanded. The guy was coming around. “Talk to me!”
“Screw you,” the guy mumbled, reaching unsteadily for the bed and trying to pull himself to his feet.
Conner took three quick strides forward and kicked him in the ribs.
The man collapsed to the floor again and curled into a fetal position.
“Come on!” Conner yelled. “Tell me everything. What happened to the woman who was here last night?”
No reply.
Conner grabbed the man by his hair and pressed the black barrel to his bleeding temple. “I’ll kill you!” he yelled. A fury he’d felt only once before grabbing him. “I swear to Christ.” The fury he’d felt watching Frank Turner and his slick-haired attorney laugh in the parking garage.“What happened to her?”
“Fuck off.”
Conner slammed the man’s head to the floor and stood up, adrenaline coursing through him. He opened the revolver, then pointed the barrel toward the ceiling and shook the gun, causing all six bullets to fall out. The shells clattered loudly on the floor around the man. Conner reached down quickly and retrieved one of them, then closed the gun, and spun the chambers. Holding the gun down beside the man’s ear so he could hear them rotate.
“Five empty chambers,” Conner hissed, pulling the intruder to a sitting position against the side of the bed. “One loaded.” He placed the barrel of the gun firmly against the man’s upper lip just beneath his nose. “Now, what happened to her?”
The man stared down the black barrel at Conner’s finger curled around the trigger. “You don’t understand, kid,” he mumbled. “It’s not what you think.”
“How do you know what I think?”
“Don’t be a hero. Stay out of this.”
“What isthis ?”
“I can’t, I can’t.”
“What happened to her?” Conner yelled, cocking the gun.
“I don’t know. I swear. I wasn’t responsible for that.”
Conner pulled the trigger, and the hammer descended.
“Jesus!” The man wrenched his head to one side.
Metal clicked against metal—but there was no explosion.
Conner wrestled the man’s face back into position, then forced the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. The chambers rotated once more—but again, no explosion. “Four chambers left!” Conner shouted. “Start talking.”
“Stop, please stop!” the man begged frantically, his words garbled by the barrel.
“What happened to the woman?” Conner demanded. “Tell me!”
“She didn’t have a choice.” The intruder gasped, gagging on the barrel. “She was just a pawn.”
Conner’s grip on the gun relaxed for a moment and the barrel slipped from the man’s mouth. “What do you mean, ‘a pawn’?”
“I can’t tell you any more than that.”
This time Conner pressed the barrel flush against the side of the man’s head. “Come on, you bastard!”
“You’re making a big mistake, kid. You shoot me and you’re in a lot of trouble. I’m a federal agent.”
Conner’s finger slipped from the trigger. Federal agent?
In that second the man brought both of his huge arms straight up, catching Conner beneath the chin with a powerful blow. Conner tumbled backward and the gun flew from his grip, clattering across the floor toward a corner of the room.
But the intruder didn’t go for it. Instead, he pulled himself to his feet, raced to the bedroom window, threw it open, and scrambled out onto the fire escape.
Conner struggled to stand, then stumbled groggily to the window. Just in time to see the man trip as he reached the sixth floor landing and tumble over the thin black railing. Arms and legs flailing desperately as he plummeted headfirst to the alley.
Conner stopped on the corner of Lexington and Seventy-second Street and leaned against a mailbox. The image of the man falling over the railing was still vivid. He was dead on impact. No doubt.
“Sir?”
Conner’s head snapped toward the voice. Standing beside him was a short, stout man with a round face and small eyes. “What?”
“You Conner Ashby?”
Conner’s eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”
“Oh, sorry,” the man apologized, holding out his hand. “Didn’t mean to be rude. My name’s Art Meeks. I work for a man named Charles Shaw.”
Meeks’s face blurred in front of Conner as they shook hands. Charles Shaw.
“I believe you know Mr. Shaw’s daughter,” Meeks continued. “Her name’s Elizabeth.”
“I know her,” Conner said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. “So, what?”
Meeks shrugged. “I just want to ask you a few questions. That okay?”
Blood pounded in Conner’s brain. “I suppose,” he agreed hesitantly. Meeks seemed friendly enough. And Conner didn’t want to arouse his suspicion.
“Good. Thanks.” Meeks removed a small notepad from his pocket and flipped through it. “The thing is, Mr. Shaw was supposed to meet with Elizabeth at ten o’clock this morning. At his attorney’s office to go through several issues related to her upcoming marriage. The prenup, I think it was,” Meeks explained, checking his notes. “But she didn’t show. And she hasn’t answered calls to her apartment or her cell phone. Mr. Shaw is very worried. As is her fiancé, who cut short a business trip to Europe to fly back to the States. I’ve been hired to find her. I thought you might know something.”
Conner had begun to believe that Liz might still be alive. That Gavin was right. That the lies he’d uncovered this afternoon might mean she was
somehow involved in what had happened last night. As he’d thought back on their first encounter at the West Side bar last May, he remembered that Liz had approached him right after they’d made eye contact. That she had suggested they leave together after half a drink. That in the weeks following that first encounter she’d been the one to make certain their relationship intensified. That having a fiancé made it seem reasonable for her not to want him to call her at work or be seen in public with her. Now this little man standing in front of him was blowing all that out of the water. Maybe she’d been honest with him after all.
“Why would I know anything?” Conner asked, glancing around the intersection warily.
“Because your name shows up in a datebook I found in her apartment. A couple of times recently, too,” Meeks added.
That was odd, Conner thought to himself. Why would she write his name down somewhere if she was so worried about their affair being discovered? “How do I know you’re who you say you are, Mr. Meeks?”
“Look, I—”
“What’s the address of Liz’s apartment?” Conner cut in.
Meeks checked his notepad. “Four-forty-seven East Fifty-first Street,” he answered. “Apartment K-Five.”
Conner made a quick mental note of the address. He had no idea if it was right, because Liz had never told him where she lived. He’d asked a couple of times, but she wouldn’t say. She was too afraid he’d come by when Todd was there.
“Satisfied?” Meeks asked with a friendly smile.
“I suppose,” Conner agreed, reaching into his pants pocket. Feeling the bullet the intruder had thought was in the revolver.
“Were you having an affair with Elizabeth, Mr. Ashby?” Meeks asked hesitantly.
“What?”
The investigator held his hands up. “Look, I’m not here to judge anybody. Me, I don’t care what you and Elizabeth might have done. And I don’t intend to tell anybody either. I just want to find her. That’s all I’ve been hired to do.”
Conner gazed down at the little man, wondering what in the hell was going on. Wondering how this guy had found him.
“When did you last see Elizabeth, Mr. Ashby?”
“Last night,” Conner confessed.
“Where?”
“She was at my apartment.”
“Did she stay the night?”
“No.”
“What time did she leave?”
“Around eleven thirty. That was the last time I saw or spoke to her.”
“Uh huh. Anything else you want to tell me about last night?”
“No.”
Meeks scribbled a few notes, then closed his pad and glanced up. “All right, that’s all for now. Thanks. I’ll be in touch if I need to talk to you again.”
Conner watched the investigator walk away down Lexington Avenue. If Meeks went to the cops with what he knew, Gavin’s warning about Conner becoming a suspect in Liz’s death would come true. The police would be all over him.
Conner strained his neck as the small man disappeared around the corner. Now hehad to find out what had happened to Liz.
It hadn’t been long. Not even twenty-four hours. Lucas and Bennett were back in the limousine, this time somewhere in northern Virginia.
“All right,” Bennett said, his tone grave. “This is it. We’re going live.”
A wave of emotion rushed through Lucas. Going live. Just the sound of it made his pulse pop.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bennett nodded. “Yes, I’m confident you are, Lucas. Which is why I’m putting you in charge of this thing.” He hesitated. “You can spend tonight in your apartment and take care of any final arrangements. But tomorrow you’ll move to Georgetown. I don’t want you coming home tomorrow either. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“When all this is over, after the election, your office on the second floor will be waiting. Got it?”
“Absolutely.” It was strange. Suddenly he wasn’t nervous at all. The jitters of only a few moments ago were gone. He was calm, completely confident.
“We need to move quickly,” Bennett continued.
“Of course.”
“Things have happened.”
“What things?”
“Things,” Bennett snapped.
“Yes, sir.” Bennett was clearly on edge. Lucas had never seen him like this.
“One more thing. The man we spoke about yesterday will be coming to see you in Georgetown tomorrow afternoon. Expect him a little after three.”
“You mean Cheetah.”
“Yes.” Bennett glanced out the limousine’s window. “Now, there are some things I need to tell you about the monetary arrangements. Things that involve a man named Sam Macarthur.”
8
Jackie Rivera had grown up in a Bronx housing project, the daughter of a white mother and a Dominican father. Shortly after Jackie turned seventeen, both of her parents were killed in a car crash on the FDR. And she was left to raise her three younger siblings on her own.
It was a huge responsibility for a teenager, but she’d met the challenge head-on. The way she always did. Her brothers and sisters had all graduated from high school on time, and none of them were ever in trouble with the law. Not for so much as jaywalking.
Despite the demands on her time, Jackie attended City College, graduating with honors in business. After college, she accepted an entry-level audit position in the Manhattan offices of a national accounting firm, earning $18,000 a year. Seven years later she made partner. And, three years after that, resigned from the big firm to found her own consulting practice. Aware that she’d reached a ceiling as strong as steel and clear as glass. She’d come a long way for a woman from the Bronx who didn’t have an Ivy League background, but she’d come as far as she could. She wasn’t bitter about it, just pragmatic. The way she always was.
“Hello, Conner.” She met him at the door of her understated fifth-floor office in the Empire State Building. Now thirty-five, she’d quietly accumulated a million-dollar net worth with twelve-hour workdays and savvy stock market investing. She could have had the big showroom office downtown with a panoramic view of the harbor, but she didn’t see the need. More important, she believed that kind of opulence would turn off clients who wouldn’t want to pay a high hourly rate just so she could watch ships sail beneath the Verrazano Bridge. “Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you, too, Jo.”
“Come in,” Jackie said, motioning as she moved back to her desk. “Close the door.”
He grinned, watching her walk away in that confident stride of hers. Quick steps, shoulders back, chin pushed out defiantly. A small woman—just five two and not much over a hundred pounds—Jackie had dark brown eyes, a thin face with high cheekbones, full lips, shoulder-length straight black hair, and a trim figure, highlighted by her chalk-stripe pantsuit.
“Do you ever wear dresses or skirts?” he asked. It occurred to him that he’d never seen her in anything but a jacket and pants.
She stood behind her platform desk, stacks of papers neatly arranged in a line across it. “Rarely,” she answered in her Spanish accent. She was a vivacious woman who gestured constantly with her hands when she spoke. “If I did, how would men see my best asset?” she asked, turning and patting one hip provocatively.
Conner chuckled as they sat down. “You’re a tease, Jo.” It was a forward thing to say, but they were close friends.
“Excuse me?”
“You lure men into your web with that body, then drop them cold once they’re caught.” She rarely dated a man for more than a few weeks. When they got together for dinner or drinks, Conner always got an update on her love life. “Once you get bored, you cut them loose,” he said, imitating a pair of scissors with his fingers.
“I cut them loose because they’re losers. Like the last one.” She grimaced. “Why do I have such bad luck with men, Conner?”
“What was so terrible about the last one?”
<
br /> “He was a serial liar. Get this, he tells me he’s a lawyer at a big Wall Street firm. Then I find out he’s a clerk at the department of motor vehicles. Which would have been fine,” she added quickly. “I don’t care what a man does for a living. I just can’t handle being lied to.”
“What you can’thandle is commitment.”
“Can, too.”
“I bet you don’t even want to get married.”
“Wrong.”
Conner smiled. “Then marry me, Jo.”
“Ay Dios mío!”She brought her hands to her face. “Oh, no.”
“Why not?”
“Talk about a tease. I’ve seen the way you flirt with women.”
“Oh, you’re just—”
“And the way they flirt back,” she continued. “I couldn’t take all that. No, no. I like our relationship the way it is. Friendly.”
Last February—shortly before he met Amy Richards—Conner and Jackie had had dinner at a place on the West Side near her apartment. Promising each other as they sat down that it would be a quick meal because both of them had commitments early the next morning. Three hours and two bottles of wine later he walked her home. Halfway to her apartment he’d caught her fingers in his. And, at her door, as they murmured good night, they almost kissed. Slowly leaning closer until Jackie turned away at the last moment.
They’d never talked about what had happened that night, but it was still there. Hanging between them every time they saw each other. Conner had caught her gazing at him several times since then in a way he’d seen other women look at him. The same way she’d caught him looking at her.
“All right, all right,” he mumbled, trying to sound hurt. “I can take a hint.”
“It’s no hint,” Jackie said firmly. “You stay away from me.” She made a cross with her fingers. “You hear me?”
Conner laughed loudly. “I hear you already.”
She smiled and stuck her tongue out. “Wipe that pout off your face. It’s all an act with you anyway. You’d never marry me.”
