Dead Again: A Romantic Thriller

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  One of them was a dark-haired man with gray eyes that reminded her a little of Peter Gallenson. She spared a thought for Peter. He’d turned in his badge after Michael’s death and retreated to his ranch house on the lake, a disillusioned man. She wondered what he would have made of this rumpus. He’d thought Jack a submissive and weak man. If he could see Jack now, he would have more cause for locking himself in his house, bewildered by a world that had suddenly leapt to a scale of perspective he couldn’t cope with.

  Jack was formidable.

  The Peter look-alike, whose name was Frank, was drilling Jack with a thoroughness that threatened to miss nothing, to leave no details unexamined or without judgment. Sophie would have withstood five minutes of it then thrown her hands up in despair but Jack sat with his forearms resting on the table in front of him, neither twiddling, nor fidgeting and answered every question with an even, confident voice.

  “There’s one thing that just isn’t clear to me,” Frank said, sitting back in his chair. “Why did you go to Serenity Falls in the first place? If Ms. Kingston thought you were dead and you were, as you say, genuinely concerned that contact with her would put her in danger, then why go there?”

  “I didn’t know she lived there,” Jack said.

  “Yet you managed to keep up with the major events of her life—marriage, kids. Why not where she lived?”

  “The LA Times classifieds don’t run to private addresses,” Jack returned.

  Sophie was startled. Her ex-husband had insisted on running the notices in the LA Times, so all their friends there would see them. She’d never thought of how far away those notices would travel.

  “It’s a big coincidence, isn’t it? Waltzing into one of millions of towns in America and tripping over Sophie?” Frank asked.

  “It was a coincidence, sure,” Jack said easily. “But not at nearly the odds you’re figuring. Both Sophie and I were drawn back to the mountains. She stayed there, I kept coming back to visit. Both of us avoided Colorado like the plague and any farther south just isn’t the same. That leaves Wyoming, Montana and parts of Idaho and Utah.” He looked at her then, as if he was asking for her input. “I’ve learned since then that Sophie wouldn’t have withstood living in a big city, or even a big town after the accident and I was avoiding them too. Up in the high Rockies, there aren’t so many small-to-middling towns to choose from. Sooner or later we would have met or heard of each other. It took seven years, as it was. They’re pretty reduced odds, even for you, Frank.”

  “But it’s a heck of a coincidence,” he shot back.

  Jack spread his hands. “What do you want? A confession of a conspiracy? It was a coincidence. Coincidences happen. If I’d known she was there, I wouldn’t have gone in to town.”

  “But you did and you stayed eight weeks, despite the danger you knew existed.”

  Eddie Smith stirred. “Frank, ease up. Let’s move on. You can skewer him at the trial.”

  “That’s not guaranteed, yet,” Frank said. “I’m not happy about this governor business and his accusations.”

  “Frank, you’re just unhappy that yet another authority figure has shown their clay feet,” Jack said. “It doesn’t thrill me either and it thrills me even less that I’m the one who’s going to have to do all the dirty work to bring her down but it has to be done.”

  “Ah, it just sticks in my craw,” Frank muttered, dropping his elegant pen on the pad in front of him and rubbing his temple. “America’s self-esteem could do without this crap.”

  Jack nodded and Eddie Smith gave Frank a clap on the shoulder.

  After a while, though, the questions had turned to more practical considerations. What happens next?

  By then Sophie’s rear was numb from sitting and she’d drunk way too much coffee but she wouldn’t have moved from her seat because Jack had evolved from the subject being questioned to one of the leaders of the debate. His opinions and responses were considered respectfully, as if he carried a wealth of experience and wisdom that Sophie had barely been aware of.

  Mainly, the discussion was between Eddie Smith, the police lieutenant—another Frank—and Jack, with the others weighing in as they saw fit. The subject was how to bring in Isobel Van Allen and what the warrant should read.

  That there was need for a discussion at all surprised Sophie. She wondered what the big deal was about. Arrest her, put her in a cell until her trial. Period.

  Eddie Smith was adamant they get it right, though. “This woman graduated fifth in her class at Harvard Law School and has ripped judges to pieces on appeal. If that warrant is not iron clad, she’ll have it tossed out before breakfast and a judge on our tails for wasting his time.”

  “It’s not just Isobel you have to worry about,” Jack added. “She knows how to utilize talent. She’ll have access to the best brains for the task at hand. Frank, Eddie, who would you call in if you were being charged with criminal charges like conspiracy? Who’s the best?”

  Eddie and Frank looked at each other. “David Moseley,” they both said at once.

  An ADA threw down her pen. “Then we’re screwed. He’s never lost a case.”

  Jack shot her a look. “I’m sorry…what’s your name? I missed it, first time around.”

  “Carolyn,” she offered.

  He leaned on the table, toward her. “Carolyn, I don’t know how much you know about me—I didn’t meet you ten years ago. Hell, you were probably in college, right?”

  She dimpled a little. “Well, not quite.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I’m going to assume you’ve never heard of me, which is a fair assumption because material witnesses who go through the protection program have their names shoved into footnotes wherever possible to help keep those names and faces out of the public eye. But you’re not a stupid woman, or you wouldn’t be sitting here. So, again, I’m assuming you’ve paid your dues, done all your homework. You’ve heard of Patrick Callahan?”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

  “Trial date?” Jack asked.

  She rattled off the year and month, looking acutely uncomfortable.

  “Very good,” he said. “How long ago was that?”

  “Ten years ago. Nearly eleven.”

  “What were you doing nearly eleven years ago, Carolyn?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Just indulge me a minute here,” Jack said. “What were you doing?”

  “Jeez, I don’t know. It was such a long time ago.” She blinked. Sophie saw her move in her chair, discomfort making her wiggle and hunch into her seat.

  The men around the table were all sitting back watching Jack pin her down, letting him do it.

  “Eleven years ago, Carolyn. Come on. What were you doing?” Jack laid his hand on the table in a soft gesture of emphasis.

  “I-I was starting my final year at law school,” she said.

  “And I bet that seems like a long time ago too. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to know what I was doing?”

  “Sure.”

  “I was on the run, Carolyn. And for every year since then, while you’ve been graduating law school, doing your internship, falling in love, finding that great apartment and diligently moving up the ladder in your chosen career, I’ve been on the road. I’ve done nothing except move from town to town and wonder when it was going to end or if someone I didn’t know was going to outsmart me and I’d run into an unfriendly stranger with a gun and it’d all be over.

  “It’s not a comfortable feeling knowing someone wants you dead. I can tell you from personal experience that you do not get used to it, it doesn’t diminish over time. It gets worse. It grows more intense with each passing year, as you consider that the longer you’re out there, the more likely you are to make the mistake that will bring it all down on top of you. Want to know how many birthday presents I got in those seven years, Carolyn? None. Want to know how many Christmas presents I got in those seven years? Two. Both of them I got three days ago
and I’m wearing one of them.”

  “Listen, Jack…Mr. Laubreaux,” Carolyn began.

  “No, I’m nearly done. The point I’m trying to make here, is that Isobel Van Allen is as smart as a whip. Brilliant, in fact. She’s worked with at least four people in this room. You might want to interview them as part of your preparation, later on. Those people will all tell you Isobel will be one of the hardest nuts to crack and all the talent she hires will be even tougher, including the unbreakable David Moseley you just despaired over. But here’s the thing, Carolyn. I beat her. She made a mistake with me. She’s human and she makes mistakes just like the rest of us. If you don’t throw in the towel in the first ten minutes, if you keep hounding her, keep the pressure up, keep watching for her mistakes, you’ll get her.”

  Carolyn bit her lip, blinking rapidly. She nodded.

  Jack’s hand on the table moved toward her a bit, mollifying. “I’m sorry if you think I’m singling you out. But you did show an alarming lack of confidence there and I need your confidence. I need ruthlessness and tenacity. I need you to give this everything you’ve got because I don’t want to spend another ten years on the road. I’m just like you—I want a normal life, with books and babies and a chance to love. I’ve been cheated out of ten years of all the good stuff in life that you’ve taken so much for granted that you can’t even remember how much of it you’ve had. So don’t buckle under here, because I won’t go through it again. I can’t. Do you understand me?”

  She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  Jack stood up. “I need five minutes,” he declared, not looking at anyone. He strode from the room while everyone around the table stirred and shuffled papers. Throats were cleared.

  Sophie hurried to go after him and she saw Carolyn’s face as she passed. The woman was staring after Jack, not upset, not angry. Thoughtful. Composed. And suddenly, Sophie knew Carolyn would never again speak of giving up. On anything.

  By midnight that night, action had been decided and a dozen men, along with Sophie, Jack and Eddie Smith, had been flown down to Indianapolis on a small plane. No one had questioned her presence. The fact that she was with Jack seemed to be authority enough.

  * * * * *

  The black cars had been waiting for them at a small commercial airport and they’d climbed into them just as daylight was breaking. The drivers pulled them out into light traffic, heading north.

  Thirty minutes later, they arrived here in this millionaire’s ghetto and Sophie had shamelessly rubbernecked.

  The police lieutenant, Frank, sat in the front seat next to the driver and was coordinating everything by radio. As they turned the corner, the driver murmured, “This is the street.”

  The lieutenant picked up his radio. “One and two, go. Three, four, come in behind. Go.”

  The four cars ahead of them sped up, leaving them behind. Sophie could feel Jack’s fingers dig into her thigh, unconsciously echoing his tension but she stayed silent. She was a small mouse inside very large wheels and feeling more and more inadequate with each passing minute. Jack had a role here. He was needed here. Why was she here?

  The cars ahead of them sharply and neatly braked, angling into the curb in front of a miniature mansion of Georgian design, blocking the wide double driveway and a white limousine sitting on the drive. There wasn’t a speck of snow anywhere on the concrete.

  The double doors in the middle of the house were open and, as the cars spilled men out onto the road to scurry over the low concrete wall and up toward the house through the untouched snow, Isobel Van Allen stepped out onto the porch, a briefcase in her hand and three men in suits around her.

  She looked up as men ran across her lawn, skirting the stone fountain and said something to the men with her. Then, calmly, she took a step backward, behind them.

  The suits were reaching under their jackets.

  Jack got out of the car and Sophie slid across the seat to stand beside him.

  The FBI agent, who had flown with them from Montana, held up his badge. “FBI. Lieutenant Green. This is a direct order to stand down.”

  The suits standing in front of Isobel hesitated.

  “I repeat, stand down.” Green was moving closer as he spoke. “Your standing orders to protect the governor of Indiana have been rescinded.”

  “Under what authority?” Isobel asked, emerging half a step from behind them.

  All the men from the cars had surrounded them now, their guns out, while Isobel’s FBI men stood frozen in a half crouch, their hands inside their jackets.

  Eddie Smith stepped out of the car. “My authority,” he called.

  She looked across the lawn toward him. “Eddie Smith,” she said.

  “Isobel Elizabeth Van Allen,” he said, climbing over the low wall and walking across the snow-covered lawn. “You are being arrested for the murder of Michael Liam Callahan. You have the right to an attorney. If you do not have one or cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand your rights as I have just stated them to you?”

  The FBI men around her were straightening up. Moving away from her. Her face was expressionless. She looked past Eddie, her gaze coming to rest on Jack.

  Sophie found herself stepping closer to him.

  “You think this ends it, Jack?” Isobel called.

  They were taking away her briefcase, tugging at her hands to bring them behind her. Handcuffs were produced.

  “Do you understand your rights as I have just stated them?” Eddie repeated.

  “Yes, you moron,” she snapped at him. “And in court I’ll wipe your face clean with them.”

  They pushed her forward, leading her to the driveway, then down toward the waiting car. As the bunched group came up to where they stood by the car, Jack stepped aside, leaving access to the backseat clear.

  Isobel stopped in front of Jack, creating a surge of concern as men lunged to keep her out of harm’s reach. “You think you can put me away then get on with your little life, with a little woman by your side?” she said.

  Jack smiled. “You always were a sore loser, Izzy.”

  Sophie studied her. Isobel hadn’t fundamentally changed. She was thin to the point of danger and her manner still crackled with unspent energy. Her hair color had been enhanced and darkened, coiffed to sit perfectly at all times and her make-up was flawless. But it didn’t disguise the signs of stress and aging. Her thinness gave her no resilience. The skin around her eyes was loose and dark. Ten years had passed but she had aged twenty.

  She looked at Jack with something like contempt. “You should have died on that cliff, Jack, decently and neatly. Instead you’ve done nothing but irritate me. I promise you this. You’ll go the rest of your life wondering when the blow will fall, when I’ll come back at you.”

  “Why bother, Isobel? It’s over,” Jack said quietly.

  She smiled. “Because I can,” she said sweetly.

  He shook his head. “They’re going to try you for murder one. And I think they’ll get it.”

  Her smile broadened. “You’ve never heard of proxy, Jack? That’s ironic as you’ve been running under its influence all these years.”

  “In you go,” Frank said, pushing her head down and forcing her into the car. One of the FBI men sat on the other side of her. Frank turned to Jack. “You’d be better off in one of the other cars, I think. I know I’m not looking forward to the return trip.”

  Jack nodded and shut the door when Frank was in. The car pulled away, two more leaving with it. Two cars were left and the men on the lawn seemed to be in no hurry to go.

  Jack dropped an absent hand on her shoulder and let out a deep, gusty breath.

  “What did she mean by proxy?” Sophie asked.

  “Isobel never did her own dirty work. She hired people to do it for her. She figures even in prison she can do it.”

  Sophie shivered suddenly, despite the bright sunshine. “Can she?”

&n
bsp; Jack looked at her. “She was trying to scare you.”

  “Me?”

  “Both of us,” he admitted. “Just a final kick in the teeth.”

  “She succeeded,” Sophie admitted. “Jack, she was right in a way, though. How could you even consider a…well, a little life, when you’ve been part of a world like this one? When you fit into it so well?”

  He looked at her, his gaze sharp, then turned her to face him. “I was a part of this world briefly, eons ago. Then for a long time, I didn’t belong anywhere. Now I do. And this world isn’t it. You’ve been uncomfortable since we got here, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “It’s crowded, noisy. Everything I hated about L.A. when I returned there. It’s the same here, only people talk more slowly.”

  He smiled, even as he nodded. “Too many years on the road has killed the charm for me. Even the streets feel like tunnels here and this isn’t even the Southside.”

  “And there’s no mountains,” Sophie added.

  “So, let’s fix that.”

  “What about Isobel?” Sophie asked. “She holds grudges.”

  “Yes.” Jack grimaced a little. “That’s something I’ve been putting off telling you…”

  Epilogue

  The small house squeezed onto a tiny lot was unremarkable among its neighbours. In Banff, housing was at a premium. Managing to acquire a whole house at all was considered the best of good luck, at any price. The size of the house was almost immaterial in comparison to its rarity value. Owners tended to take care of their houses with an appropriate zealousness, so there was nothing that marked this house as different. Even the spectacular mountains that leapt almost vertically up from the property line to stand over it were par for the course in Banff.

  Snow had been falling steadily for three days and today, Sunday, it stopped just before noon. The canyon street, lined with trees, was silent, muffled as only the day after heavy snow falls can be. A family emerged from the house, a father and two children, hauling a heavy cardboard box filled with outdoor Christmas lights between them. Following them was the mother, slow and awkward in the last stages of pregnancy. With a lot of laughing, teasing and joking, the family set about stringing the lights around and around the pine tree growing in the front yard, from the top—which the father insisted on hanging—to the bottom, which the children insisted on hanging.