Stephen Frey

by Trust Fund

  When he looked down, Ashley had returned to the deck.

  “What was that all about?” she asked. “I heard shouting.” She crossed the deck to where Bo stood. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Tell me, Bo. Who was that man?”

  “Bruce Laird, the family attorney.”

  “Why were you yelling?”

  “There are some details of the will to be worked out,” Bo answered, pulling Ashley to him. “He is not cooperating.”

  “You’re not telling me the truth,” she murmured. “I heard what you two were saying. There was no discussion of a will.”

  “What were you going to tell me before, Ashley?” Bo asked, disregarding her question. “About why you left for Europe?”

  She allowed her head to fall against his chest again and gazed into the darkness behind the mansion. “Why is it so important?”

  He couldn’t seem as if he was pressing too hard, couldn’t seem as if he had another agenda. Then she might never tell him. “I thought maybe I had done something to make you leave,” he said quietly. “I thought maybe it was my fault all of these years.”

  “No, no, it wasn’t you, it was . . .”

  “Was what?”

  Ashley swallowed hard, hating the memories. “I had an affair with someone the summer before my senior year of college. After I got back from California. It was so wrong, Bo. I hated myself for it so much that I couldn’t come back to the family after I graduated. I couldn’t face everyone.”

  “An affair?”

  “I couldn’t stand the fact that I wasn’t really a Hancock,” she went on, the words spilling out now that she had made the admission. “I couldn’t stand how Jimmy Lee had always treated Teddy, Paul, and Catherine so much better than you and me. I hated him.”

  The possibilities raced through Bo’s mind. She would have been vulnerable and young and no one would have been blood. “Not—”

  Ashley pressed her fingers to Bo’s lips. “Don’t say it.”

  Bo squeezed her arms tightly and shook her, trying to get her to look into his eyes, but she kept her gaze fixed on the dark woods. “Tell me, Ashley,” he demanded, his voice shaking. “Tell me who you had an affair with.”

  “What was that?” Ashley asked suddenly, shaking free of Bo’s grip.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Down there.” She pointed into the woods.

  Bo followed her gesture. “Where?”

  “There!” She was leaning out over the railing now, pointing.

  Bo searched the darkness beyond the floodlights furiously. “I can’t see—”

  “I thought I saw a—”

  “I see it!” Bo rasped. There was a faint light bobbing through the woods, moving in the direction of the carriage house, flickering in and out of sight, as whoever was carrying it made their way slowly through the thick brush.

  “It’s probably just one of the security people,” Ashley said, her voice wavering. “Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get in the house,” he said to her calmly.

  “Why? Do you think—”

  “Get in the house,” he said again, forcefully this time. Nothing could be taken for granted now. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go!” He scrambled over the deck railing and dropped ten feet to the lawn. As he rolled onto his injured arm, he bit his lip to keep from yelling, writhing in pain on the ground and clutching the burn. But he was on his feet quickly, tearing through the garden path toward the woods and the last point at which he had spotted the light. He plunged into the thick brush a hundred feet from the house where the lush grass ended, thorns ripping and clawing at his clothes. He pushed away branches scraping his face as he forged deeper into the woods, fighting his way to the carriage house, toward which the light was headed. He couldn’t allow anyone to enter the carriage house. Then the gleam of the flashlight was gone.

  Bo stood statue-still, trying to hear his quarry, trying to get his bearings among the huge trees. The driveway down to the carriage house lay a hundred yards to his left, ending at the bottom of the hill in front of the small structure’s garage. A drop of perspiration fell from his forehead and trickled to his lip. He licked the salty liquid, holding his breath so he could hear, and so he wouldn’t give away his position to whoever was out there. Perhaps he and Ashley had been seeing things, or, as she’d suggested, it was simply the flashlight of a security guard. However, the security people didn’t typically stray far from the estate’s border and the chain-link fence, which was over a mile away.

  The rustling of leaves and the sound of a twig snapping caused Bo to spin to the right. The noises had seemed so close, but he knew that darkness could play tricks on the ears and the mind. He knew it could amplify some sounds and deaden others. Finally, he could no longer hold his breath and it poured in and out of him. He was sweating profusely despite the chill in the air and he wiped his forehead, easing forward in the direction of the noise. Old fallen branches and leaves crackled beneath his feet. He knew he was giving away his position, but he wanted to close the distance between himself and his quarry.

  Then someone was running, as though from a pack of wild dogs. He could hear the sound of heavy footsteps pounding over leaves.

  Bo lunged forward, dodging trees and fighting his way headlong through vines and thorns. He slammed into a small tree obscured by the darkness, absorbing the collision with his injured arm. He screamed in pain as rough bark met the exposed burn, and tumbled to the ground, clutching his arm, then battled to his feet, aware that the wound was bleeding. He could hear the intruder racing away and he lurched forward again.

  Then suddenly he was down once more, hurled to the ground by something that had loomed up out of the darkness. He scrambled to his knees, twisted around, spotted the form coming at him again through the gloom, and slammed his shoulder into his attacker’s legs. A body tumbled over him, and Bo was on the attacker instantly, pinning the struggling form to the ground with his considerable weight, thrusting his uninjured forearm into the man’s throat.

  Their faces close, Bo could make out the man’s features. As the attacker’s face came into focus in the darkness of the woods, Bo could hear the sound of crashing footsteps growing faint. “Blackburn!”

  “Bo!” Sheriff John Blackburn’s voice croaked, with Bo’s forearm pressing hard on his throat.

  Bo got to his feet. “What the hell are you doing, Sheriff ?”

  “Someone was hanging around the carriage house,” Blackburn gasped. “I surprised them and chased them out here. I didn’t expect it to be you. What the hell were you doing sneaking around?”

  “It wasn’t me.” Bo helped Blackburn get up. “Come on!” He turned and headed in the direction of the carriage house. Catching the intruder was out of the question at this point. The person had too big a lead. He or she could melt into the forest and never be found. The priority now was protecting Meg.

  Scully tossed his backpack over the ten-foot-high chain-link fence, then clutched the fence and began to climb. He had lost his bearings in the woods and Bo and the idiot who had bolted from the carriage house had come close to catching him. Too close. Wallace would have lost his mind if Scully had allowed himself to be apprehended on the Hancock estate.

  Scully reached the top of the fence, gingerly negotiated his way over razor wire curled on top, and jumped for the ground, landing in a pile of leaves beside his backpack. He’d simply been performing reconnaissance under cover of darkness in case they needed the information later, and he’d almost been caught. He breathed a sigh of relief, then headed away from the fence, aware that the Hancock security force would soon be passing this spot on scheduled rounds.

  “What the hell happened?” Bo asked as he and Blackburn broke through the underbrush onto the small lawn that surrounded the carriage house.

&nbs
p; “I looked out the upstairs window and saw somebody over there by the truck,” Blackburn answered, pointing in the direction of the Explorer. “He had a flashlight and he was looking at something. I thought maybe he was security so I didn’t do anything right away. Then he started edging around toward the back of the house. I went downstairs to confront the guy but he took off as soon as I opened the door, so I chased him. I lost him, then I saw a light up toward your house. I guess he got disoriented and risked turning the light on to get his ass out of here.”

  “Ashley and I must have seen that same light,” Bo observed. “We were out on the deck.”

  “So you chased him.”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were him. Sorry.”

  They reached the front door. “It’s all right,” Bo assured Blackburn, just glad that the man had been willing to fly East on such short notice. “I want to make certain Meg’s okay.”

  Bo trusted no one at this point, no one but Blackburn and Meg. Not even Ashley. He’d lied to his own sister about Meg being upstairs in their mansion.

  Blackburn tapped on the front door, then opened it a crack. “Katie,” he called softly. He pushed the door open and reached for the light switch but couldn’t find it. “Come on,” he whispered to Bo. “I think the switch is right here.” He searched once more, found the switch, and then the room was bathed in light. Blackburn’s wife stood before them, eyes closed, fingers wrapped tightly around the pistol he had left her. It shook wildly in her hands, barrel pointed at them.

  “Jesus!” Blackburn raced across the room, grabbed the gun from Katie, and embraced her. “It’s all right! It’s us, Katie. For God’s sake, it’s us!”

  “Thank the Lord, John,” she cried, grabbing him. “I didn’t know who you all were. I thought you might be the man you saw outside.”

  “It’s all right,” Blackburn said gently, comforting her.

  “Meg is awake,” Katie said, wiping away her tears. “She’s coming around.”

  Bo raced up the stairs and burst into the bedroom where he had brought Meg several hours ago. She was lying on her side, smiling at him. She hadn’t regained consciousness at the hospital, but Bo had spirited her away behind Silwa’s back, not certain that he would be able to protect her in the city. Bo was sure that Meg hadn’t accidentally fallen down the stairs, and he feared that whoever had pushed her would be coming to finish the job. He had spoken to the man who had found Meg on the stairwell landing and the man had claimed that someone had run from the scene.

  Bo knelt down beside the bed and took Meg’s hand. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too,” she said weakly. “Bo—”

  “Just rest, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk.”

  “Bo, listen to me,” she said, mustering as much strength as she could.

  “What? What is it, honey?”

  “I was being chased down a stairway, Bo. He was after me.” She paused for a breath. “I think it was the same man who tried to push me in front of the cab in front of Penn Station the other day.”

  Bo nodded slowly. Here was confirmation of what he had suspected. Meg wasn’t safe. None of them were.

  “I’m so scared, Bo.”

  “It’s all right. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’ve asked Sheriff Blackburn to help me. He’s here for you as well. He’s come all the way from Montana.”

  “John is here?” she asked, trying to lift her head.

  “Yes,” Bo said, easing her gently back down on the pillow. “Katie is here too. But please try to rest, Meg. That cut on your head is serious.”

  She pulled him close. “I have to tell you something, Bo.”

  “What?” he asked as she pressed her face against his neck.

  “It’s about Michael.”

  “Michael Mendoza?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?” Bo’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

  “Michael made a pass at me the other night,” she gasped, her voice unsteady. “When you came into the foyer and I was standing there on the staircase, he had just tried to kiss me. Thank God you showed up when you did.”

  Bo pulled back and gazed into her eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I couldn’t either.”

  Bo stroked her hair, careful not to touch the bandage covering one side of her forehead. The blood was pounding so hard in his brain that Meg’s face was blurring before him. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.” He saw that she could barely keep her eyes open. For a few moments he continued to stroke her hair. Finally her eyes flickered shut and her breathing became regular. When Bo was certain she was asleep, he pulled the covers carefully up to her chin.

  “I’ll stay with her, Bo,” Katie whispered, approaching the bedside. “John needs to talk to you.”

  He nodded and joined Blackburn in the hall outside the bedroom. “What is it, John?”

  “I’ve got some news for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Remember you asked me to get an identification on that John Doe we pulled from the accident in Montana that night? The guy who was in that car that flipped over?”

  Bo nodded.

  “His fingerprints came back. His name was Dale Stephenson.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Catherine smiled pleasantly at the young man behind the hospital’s front desk. “I’m here to see Michael Mendoza,” she announced.

  The man continued tapping casually on his keyboard a few moments longer before finally looking up. “Michael who?”

  “Mendoza. Michael Mendoza. He is a United States senator from Connecticut.”

  “Michael Mendoza?”

  “Yes,” she answered, quickly becoming exasperated. “He was admitted to this hospital early Sunday morning. He was flown here from Connecticut by medevac helicopter after being involved in a serious accident. I’m here to see him. He is a very close friend of our family.”

  “You must be mistaken.” The man shook his head. “There’s no one at this hospital by that name. Perhaps Mr. Mendoza was taken to another hospital here in Manhattan.”

  Catherine leaned over the counter and checked the computer monitor sitting on the desk in front of him. “How do you know, you didn’t even check?” She straightened up and pushed her long hair over her ears triumphantly.

  The man gazed at her intently for a few moments, then nodded. “As you like.” He exited the word-processing program, then tapped Mendoza’s name into his computer and waited several seconds. “Nope, no one here by that name.”

  “But he was admitted here early Sunday morning.” She understood that people were trying to keep Mendoza’s name and any word of the explosion out of the newspapers. “Correct?”

  “No, he wasn’t,” the man said firmly. “If he had been, I’d see it on the screen. I can access admittances up to a year ago right here from the desk. I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”

  Catherine took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “You look tired. Have you been here all night?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got the graveyard shift this week.” He glanced at his watch. “Two o’clock to ten o’clock. Fortunately I’ve only got thirty minutes left.” He rubbed his eyes. “Then I can go home and get some sleep.”

  “Well, thanks for your help,” she said appreciatively.

  “Sure. Sorry I couldn’t give you more information.”

  “That’s all right.” She smiled warmly, then turned away and headed back to the parking lot. He was lying. There was no doubt in her mind.

  Half an hour later Catherine spotted the young man coming out of the emergency room area. Duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he walked between two ambulances, lights still flashing. “Hello, there,” she called as he reached for the driver’s-side handle of his beat-up Chevy Chevette.

  He looked up quickly, hand over his chest. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She moved in front of him and alongside the door so he couldn’t open it. “I didn’t mean to.”
r />   He glanced around nervously. “What do you want?”

  “Tell me where Michael Mendoza is,” she demanded.

  The man rolled his eyes. “I told you several times. No one by that name was checked into the hospital early Sunday morning.” He attempted to open the car door, but Catherine refused to move out of his way.

  “Look, I’m Catherine Hancock Bristow,” she said, “Jimmy Lee Hancock’s daughter.”

  The man looked up, eyes wide. “Oh? God, you are,” he said, suddenly recognizing her.

  “Senator Mendoza was injured on our family estate early Sunday morning. I know for a fact that he was brought to this hospital.”

  The man puffed out his cheeks, uncomfortable with his situation. “Well, yes, he was.”

  “Is the Senator still here?”

  The man checked the parking lot again carefully. “I’m not supposed to talk about this. I could get into a lot of trouble.”

  “I won’t tell anyone how I found out.” Catherine dug into her pocket, produced a thousand-dollar bill, and held it out. “Now, is he here?”

  The man gazed at the bill longingly. “No, he isn’t.”

  “But he was admitted?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  The man’s eyes flickered around the parking lot one last time. He started to say something, then stopped.

  Catherine reached down, took the man’s hand in hers, stuffed the bill into his palm, then closed his fingers tightly over the money. “Now, tell me where he is.”

  Bo stepped onto the Lexington Avenue subway train from the platform at Grand Central just as the doors closed. This was the No. 6 train and it was headed north toward Harlem making all local stops. Bo reached for an overhead handle, checking each face carefully as the train lurched from the station. The Lex line platform at this station served both the local and express tracks, and at the last second he had darted away from the express train’s open doors and across the platform to the closing doors of the local. He’d felt a little foolish for making the mad dash and to be suspicious of even the elderly lady huddled in her seat at the far end of the car clutching her purse, but at this point he couldn’t be too careful. Only fifteen minutes ago, in his office at Warfield, he had found out that Harold Shaw, CEO of the American Financial Group, was missing from his Long Island home.