by Ken Casper
“And you believed him.”
“He sounded so contrite, Jeff. So penitent and sincere. We drove to the harbor in silence in his Corvette. It wasn’t until he was parking the car that he advised me not to say anything to anyone, especially Jordan. There was no sense stirring up a hornet’s nest, he said. Besides, neither Jordan nor anybody else would believe me.”
“Sneaky son of a—”
“He said it all very casually, not even bothering to make eye contact as he delivered his little speech. But he didn’t have to. The implied threat came through loud and clear. That’s when I realized the apology had been nothing but a tactic to get me into his car so he could deliver me to his brother, as promised.”
“What did you do?” Jeff asked.
“I tried to put on a smiley face as we cruised around the bay. Tyrone devoted himself to his date, who’d shown up in her own car. He treated me with the kind of affable consideration you’d expect a guy to show his older brother’s girlfriend.”
Catherine cupped her hands in front of her mouth and rocked back and forth as she recalled the fear that had possessed her.
“Jordan had laid on an elaborate assortment of food for my first boat trip. He wanted to impress me. I ate almost nothing. I tried to fake enthusiasm for everything he was showing me, the fine appointments of the cabin, the sophisticated navigational equipment . . . He even let me take the wheel. But all the time my mind was frozen with conflicting anxieties. Should I tell him what Ty had tried to do, what I had done? What would be gained? I’d be pitting one brother against the other, and Ty was right, it would be my word against his. Even if Jordan believed me, no one else would. He could end up fighting with his family. Worse, Ty could twist things around and make Jordan look like a fool, a gullible black man who thought he could have a blond, blue-eyed, white girlfriend.”
She sagged in her seat.
“I couldn’t do that to him, Jeff. I couldn’t hurt him that way. He was a good, decent man who didn’t deserve to be shamed and humiliated like that, especially among his own people.”
His own people. The term buzzed around in her head. What she and Jordan had felt for each other had nothing to do with race or color, wealth or class. They had moved past that in their first conversation, during which they’d come to see each other as two people who had so much in common. The differences in their skin tones or social status were irrelevant.
“I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time today,” she remembered him saying that evening when he took her home.
“I did,” she’d protested.
He’d smiled sweetly. “You tried to, and I love you for that. The sea isn’t for everyone.”
“But I do like the water,” she argued. “Let’s go out again, and I’ll prove it. I just wasn’t feeling too good today.”
“You were seasick? Why didn’t you say so? I had some Dramamine you could have taken.”
“It wasn’t that,” she’d said, and did something she’d never done before or since. She’d told him she was suffering from menstrual cramps.
To her amazement he hadn’t been spooked or embarrassed. Instead he showed genuine sympathy. “I wish you’d told me,” he’d said. “We could have done something else, something that would have been less uncomfortable for you.”
She’d kissed him then and had to fight to hold back tears. Yes, she’d decided, she’d made the right decision in not telling him about his brother.
Two weeks later, Jordan invited her to go out on the boat again, this time, just the two of them. But even as they climbed aboard, Catherine kept picturing Tyrone’s face when he squeezed up against her, and the pure hatred in his eyes when she’d rejected him. His words, “No one will believe you,” had echoed in her head. Her stomach had already been queasy when she’d stepped aboard.
Fifteen minutes after they’d left the dock in Galveston, she really did get seasick. She took the Dramamine Jordan offered, and they’d stayed out a couple of hours before the weather turned sour and they were forced to return to shore. Convinced now that Catherine was not a good sailor and that she didn’t enjoy boating, Jordan never again suggested they go out on the yacht. Which was a pity, because she would have enjoyed making love to him under the stars to the sway and pitch of the luxury craft on Galveston Bay.
During the intervening years, her relationship with Tyrone was cordial, if not completely relaxed. He must have known from the start that she hadn’t told Jordan about the incident at her apartment, but it took some time for her to realize he wasn’t sure she never would. If she ever did, Jordan would have believed her, which put Tyrone, who had developed a reputation for infidelity, at a distinct disadvantage.
Power shifted with Jordan’s death. Tyrone was now in a position to avenge her rejection. His editorial attacks in the Sentinel weren’t about the police department. Her job was just a convenient excuse for getting back at one of the few women who had ever refused him.
“Cate . . . ”
Her head snapped up. Jeff was talking to her.
“Sorry. I was taking a tour down memory lane. Where was I?”
“You said you didn’t tell Jordan about the incident.”
“I knew if I did he would confront his brother and their relationship would be forever shattered. Their parents would blame me. I didn’t want to come between him and the rest of his family. In fairness,” she added with a sigh, “Tyrone never made a move on me again. We had an understanding that as long as he kept his distance, I would maintain my silence.”
Her eyes pooled with tears. “I thought I was doing the right thing, Jeff. I didn’t know it would come back to haunt me. And my daughter.”
“Explain.”
What she was about to say made her stomach heave. She tasted bile and jumped up, prepared to bolt into the washroom just past the pantry. Her heart pounded. She drew air into her lungs and sat back down. The sip of lemonade she took burned her throat.
“Kelsey told me the other day after she walked in on us that she’d gone to see her grandfather to ask him to make Ty stop writing those editorials against me. He refused. Then her grandmother accused me of being a tramp. It seems years ago Tyrone told her that I had tried to seduce him, and that he valiantly rejected my advances.”
Jeff voiced his outrage with a few choice expletives.
“You said the woman in Conroe told you Kelsey had called Tyrone.”
“Yes.” He gaped at her. She could see he was beginning to put the pieces together. “But I was unable to find any record of him receiving a call from her or from the family compound that day or any other day.”
Catherine again stood up and began pacing. “Kelsey wouldn’t have called him, Jeff. If she was hurt and needed help, she would have dialed 911 or the local hospital. Otherwise she would have contacted her father or me. Not her uncle.”
“You’re saying—”
“I think Tyrone showed up at the cabin unannounced.” She paused and squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them and stared straight at Jeff. “I think Tyrone raped my daughter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
* * *
JEFF STUDIED THE WOMAN whose hands he had taken between his. They were cold, she was shivering, while he was hot with rage. He didn’t question her statement. It explained so much. The honors student who came back from a weekend of intense study, only to flub exams that should have been a snap. Her spurning Derek, the man she had been saving herself for. Her choosing to enter a convent, rather than embrace the life of wife and mother she had dreamed of. It also explained her cold attitude toward virtually everyone, including her mother.
He tried to imagine the agony Catherine was going through, all the second-guessing and self-blame. She’d withheld one thing from her husband, and that secret now appeared to have destroyed her family.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I’ll have to talk to Kelsey, find out from her if I’m right. If I am, I’ll get her counseling.” Her face collapsed. “My l
ittle girl—” she moaned.
Jeff gathered her in his arms. She dropped her head on his shoulder and cried the tears of a woman whose heart would never mend. He stroked her back, searching for words that would ease the pain. None came.
After several minutes, Catherine pulled away and wiped her eyes with her wrist. Jeff offered his handkerchief, then massaged the back of her neck. He could feel the tension there, the taut, trembling muscles.
“Kelsey takes after you,” he said. “She’s strong, Cate. She’ll come through this, and she’ll love you all the more for being there for her.”
“She thinks I’m a—”
He touched a finger to her lips to silence her.
“You’re her mother, Cate. She grew up with you as the center of her world, and she knows you too well to take notice of what others might say. She’s confused and angry right now, and she has every right to be. What happened to her should never happen to any woman. Holding it in all this time, especially when her father died so soon afterward . . . A woman of lesser strength would have completely collapsed under those circumstances.”
He rubbed her arms, trying to warm her cold skin. “It’s a tribute to the goodness and character you and Jordan instilled in her that she’s made the honorable decisions she has.”
He tipped her chin up so he could peer into her eyes. “She could have channeled her rage into violence or abuse of drugs and alcohol, but she didn’t. Instead, she chose a life dedicated to doing good, to helping others. That’s one tough Sister.”
Catherine tried to smile through her tears and almost succeeded.
“Even if Kelsey confirms what you suspect, there may be nothing you or she can do to Tyrone,” he warned. “It’s been too long. There’s no evidence—”
“I don’t care about the law,” she said, the old defiance creeping back into her voice. “There are other ways to punish, and I swear by all that is sacred, Tyrone Tanner will pay for this.”
“What can I do to help?”
CATHERINE REALIZED that for all Jeff knew she might have been planning mayhem and murder—they held a certain appeal—yet this man didn’t flinch, didn’t question or hesitate. His support was unconditional, and for this moment alone she would always love him. She hadn’t said it to him, maybe she never could, but it was true. She did love him.
For Kelsey’s sake, however, she had to keep her emotional distance from him. Until now she hadn’t realized how painful that vow would be. She shoved her chair back, disengaging herself from Jeff in the process, and stood up. Marching to the end of the counter where there was a box of tissues, she grabbed a fistful and dried her eyes.
“I want you to compile a detailed report on Tyrone’s activities.” She was in police chief mode again. “The people he associates with, the women whose company he keeps, the way he spends his money.”
“That won’t be difficult,” Jeff told her, accepting her switch in role from grieving mother to tough cop. “Most of the information is already on my computer. I can have a complete dossier for you in a matter of days.”
“Let me know if you run into any problems.”
He stepped toward her, his arms outstretched. She shifted away.
“You better get going,” she said. “You have a lot of work to do.”
“Cate . . . ”
She turned away from him. “Thanks for your help. Now please go.”
They stood staring at each other for what felt like an eternity.
‘I’ll call you as soon as it’s ready,” he said at last, paused a moment, walked to the front door and let himself out.
OVER THE NEXT HOURS Jeff worked at his home computer. A good deal of the effort was mechanical, which was just as well. What Tyrone Tanner had done to Catherine and to her daughter simmered and seethed inside Jeff so strongly he was having a difficult time concentrating. He had dealt with murderers and thieves, with violent felons and sophisticated con artists who bilked old people out of their life savings, but no crime called out for vengeance like rape, for no form of justice could restore innocence.
At 2:00 a.m. he finally shut down his program, not because he was finished but because fatigue and anger were increasing the likelihood of his making a serious mistake and screwing up the data he was trying to sort.
He had just put his head on the pillow, it seemed, when the phone rang.
“Can you be here in twenty minutes?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and checked the bedside clock. Three-fifteen.
“Cate?” A call at this hour didn’t bode well. “What’s happened?”
“Can you come right over?”
“Yes—” The phone went dead.
No longer groggy, he sprang out of bed and ran to the bathroom. He took a minute to brush his teeth but didn’t bother to shave, threw on a pair of casual slacks and a light knit shirt.
If what Catherine suspected was true, there was no telling what additional psychological trauma it might have caused when Kelsey found him with her mother. If only she hadn’t walked in when she had. Now Jeff would forever be the man violating her father’s bed. Kelsey might eventually have agreed to her mother dating, even remarrying. She might have come to accept Jeff, too, but not when every time she looked at him she’d see her mother having sex with him. Damn, damn, damn.
He set his security alarm and rushed out the door. When he arrived at Catherine’s house ten minutes later, Derek’s new black Isuzu Rodeo was parked in the driveway.
Jeff bounded out of his car. The front door opened before he got there, and Catherine stood before him in worn jeans and a clinging T-shirt. A sudden wave of lust careened through him. He wanted this woman, and judging from the way she avoided eye contact, she wanted him, too. But she’d made a vow, one he had to honor.
He followed her to the kitchen. Derek stood when they came into the room. Catherine had put on a pot of coffee and its rich aroma filled the air.
“Derek has found the yellowcake,” she announced, as she poured the steaming brew into three mugs.
Jeff gaped at the young man. “You’re serious?”
“I think I have,” he amended.
“How?” Jeff asked, almost breathless. The three of them sat down.
“Without knowing when it went missing,” Derek began, “I had to make a few assumptions. I worked backward from the date the Superfund inventoried the place. The barrels could have been moved one by one in the backs of small trucks, in which case we’d never find them, but I went on the premise that whoever took them wanted them gone fast. So I checked trucking companies making pickups in the area for delivery to the Ship Channel.”
“Makes sense,” Jeff agreed.
He’d been observing Catherine. The dark circles under her eyes told him she hadn’t gotten much sleep. He saw more than exhaustion there, though; he saw hopelessness and defeat, too. He’d give anything to erase that bleak despair. Being dismissed from the job he loved hadn’t made him feel nearly as helpless as he did now.
Shifting his attention to Derek, he asked, “So what did you come up with?”
“Alto Trucking, a subsidiary of Rialto Corp, was hired thirteen months ago by Nadir Enterprises, a Middle Eastern import-export company, to move twenty crates, weighing a thousand pounds apiece from a nonexistent address on Market Street to a wharf in the Ship Channel.
“Rialto’s warehouse is on Market Street,” Catherine pointed out.
“There’s a cargo ship due to set sail next week for Pakistan.”
“All of the pieces fit together, except for one thing,”
Jeff said. “Why has it taken this long to get them out of the country?”
Catherine stopped blowing her steaming coffee. “Jordan gave a lot of publicity to the yellowcake being found in the Rialto warehouse. If it had only recently disappeared, it might have become too hot to handle. After 9/11, cargoes were subject to a lot more scrutiny.”
“So what do we do now?” Jeff asked. “Turn this info over to the feds?”
“What do you propose?” Jeff asked.
“A special task force. Tomorrow morning I’d like you to call me from a public phone, identify yourself as a former employee of Alto Trucking, and say you think you know what happened to the missing yellowcake.”
Jeff sat back and grinned.
“Refuse to give your name,” Catherine went on, “but say you helped load barrels at the Rialto warehouse before the cleanup began and that they were taken to a wharf in the Ship Channel.”
Jeff rubbed bis forehead. “Yes, I remember now. The pickup address on the shipping order was wrong, and when I brought it to my supervisor’s attention, he told me to shut up and get back to work. I figured whatever it was had to be hot, but I needed the job, so I did what I was told.”
“Good,” Catherine said, her eyes twinkling at him across the table.
“I don’t care about any reward,” Jeff added, “because I’m a patriot and believe in protecting America. But I would like to know who my family should sue if I die of radiation sickness.”
Catherine chuckled. “Just don’t overdo it.”
“Who, me?”
“That’ll give me an excuse to convene the task force,” she said.
“Do you think we’ll find anything?” Derek asked.
She shrugged. “We’ll at least spook Buster Rialto, into maybe making a mistake.”
“Or into trying to kill you,” Jeff added seriously.
FOREMOST IN CATHERINE’S MIND when she dragged herself out of bed at six o’clock after a sleepless night was to see Kelsey. She would give anything to learn her suspicions were wrong, that her daughter hadn’t been violated, but the weight on her heart and the circumstantial evidence—even now she thought like a cop—told her she already knew the truth. What she had to do was confirm it.
