With Malice

by Rachel Lee

  He shook his head. "I can't go to bed."

  "Don't go to bed, then," Karen said, almost snapping. She caught herself and softened her tone. "You have a sectional in the den. Crash out there for a few hours. We'll come get you if there's any news."

  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "I guess I can do that."

  "Do it for your girls," Karen said.

  "You convinced me already," he said, trying to feign the famed Lawrence humor. "I'll put on an old movie or an infomercial."

  "Just not the news," Karen said.

  "Definitely," Miri agreed.

  He nodded and walked to the door, then turned and fixed his eyes on Karen. "You'll wake me if anything happens?"

  It was a personal question. He didn't simply want to be awakened. He was asking if she would be the one to do it. She was, she realized, the only anchor he had left now that Jerry had gone. It suddenly struck her that, for someone who lived such a public life, he was an intensely personal man.

  "Yes," she said. "I'll wake you."

  "Good."

  As he walked away, she could see the toll the day had taken in the degree of his limp. She couldn't bear to watch his pain and walked around to sit behind the desk. His desk. Her eyes swept it for anything that might help solve this mess, although she realized it was a pointless exercise, mental calisthenics to keep from thinking.

  "He's a good man," Miri said, sitting on the sofa.

  "Yes," Karen agreed. She didn't want to go there. "If Wallace has taken the kids to Maryland, I guess it's your jurisdiction now."

  Miri nodded. "If he has. We don't know that yet, though. Regardless, the senator seems to want you on point. I haven't seen any reason to disagree."

  "Thanks," Karen said. "But I feel like a butterfly in a hurricane."

  "You are. I am, too. Do you really think Tyson offered to drive Jerry because he was worried about traffic tickets?"

  Karen sighed. "No, I suppose not."

  "I've known Terry Tyson for, I guess, eight years now. He's the best cop I've ever worked with. But like all of us, he doesn't do well just sitting around. He needs to be working the streets, making calls, doing something. Even if it's just being the chauffeur."

  "He's going to hate retirement," Karen said.

  Miri laughed. "He's been swearing he's about to retire for five years."

  Karen looked up. "He said he has three weeks left. Then he's done with his thirty. He's going to move his wife to Florida."

  Miri pressed her lips together and looked away.

  "What?" Karen asked.

  "Terry's wife is dead. Three years ago next month."

  "But…"

  "He met her in high school," Miri said. "Two days after they graduated, he married her. They had twenty-seven years together. Raised two kids. Then one night, while he was on duty, she went to the market for ice cream to put on top of the anniversary cake she'd baked. There was a robbery."

  "Oh, God." The math seemed to do itself for her. "Thirty years, in three weeks."

  "Right," Miri said. The look in her eyes said it all.

  "I'm sorry."

  Miri nodded. "Thanks. I've tried to get him into counseling, but he says he's not ready to let go. It's hard to compete with a ghost."

  "I guess it would be."

  Karen hadn't even considered that part. Grant had loved Georgie. And Abby and Stacy, albeit differently. Would she see their ghosts in his eyes? Did the question even matter? The pool had been a moment of need. A mercy fuck. Right?

  He'd shown flashes of anger afterwards. Were they an anomaly, born of shock and fear and stress…and guilt? He certainly hadn't given the slightest indication that he was prone to violent outbursts. But she hadn't known him for very long.

  Oh, stop it, she told herself. This was pointless. The pool was history. Right now she had to focus on getting his girls back. Then she had to find a killer. After that…

  "Karen?"

  Her head snapped up. "Yes?"

  "You need to get some sleep," Miri said gently.

  "I'm okay. I was thinking."

  Miri laughed. It was a warm laugh. "You were snoring, Detective."

  "No."

  "Yes. And everything you said to the senator goes double for you. You won't do any of us any good if you're fighting your body. Terry's going to be a while. Even a half hour will do you good."

  Karen slowly rolled her head. Miri was right. Everything in her body cried out to be horizontal.

  "Take the other half of his sectional," Miri said. "I need to make some calls, and I'd keep you awake."

  If she had an ulterior motive, Miri kept it hidden behind her warm eyes. Better to take her words at face value.

  "Yeah. You're right."

  "Get some rest," Miri said.

  Karen nodded and made her way to the den. Grant was already asleep, one arm curled over his eyes, his breathing deep and even. She stretched out on the other wing of the sofa, curled onto her side and tried not to think about anything that mattered. The last thought she remembered was wondering whether the Devil Rays had won.

  * * *

  Art watched the girls flopped across the floor. Belle kept brushing her cheek in her sleep, soothing herself. She and the twins had dropped right back off, as soon as they had arrived. He'd had to talk to Cathy for a few minutes. She'd wanted to call her father. Art had told her he was working late, on the big environmental law.

  "It's not a law yet," she'd said, nothing in her voice or eyes to betray her emotions. "It's a bill. It's not a law until both houses pass it and the president signs it."

  "You know a lot about government," he'd said, trying to sound soothing.

  "We read about it in school," she'd said, her eyes still unreadable. "And daddy talks about it."

  He's not your daddy, Art thought, remembering the conversation. But, of course, he couldn't tell her that. She would learn the truth in time. And she would love him the way a daughter ought to love a father. It would all work out.

  He rose from the chair and padded into the bedroom, careful not to wake them. The rifle was in the closet, in a cloth carrying case. He took it out and got the cleaning kit from the shelf. He went over the plan in his mind as he ran the cleaning oil through the barrel with a long-stemmed swab, then wiped down the action.

  He'd give the ransom instructions. Grant must come alone to deliver the money. He wouldn't, of course. He would have called the FBI, and they would be trying to cover him. But they wouldn't have time to reconnoiter the scene. Art wouldn't give them time. And he had the perfect hiding place, the perfect escape route.

  He sighted along the rifle and squeezed the trigger.

  Click.

  One shot and his life would finally begin.

  23

  A gentle tap on Karen's shoulder woke her. She looked up into the face of Miriam Anson.

  "Wake him up," Miriam murmured. "We got through to the cruise ship. They're going to patch us through to Wallace's ex the minute we're ready. The senator needs to talk to her."

  Karen, instantly awake, sat up. Miriam walked quietly from the room.

  Leaning over, Karen shook Grant's shoulder. His eyes popped open immediately, and his feet hit the floor almost as fast.

  "What's going on?"

  "We're patched through to Elizabeth's cruise ship. You need to talk to her."

  "Me?" He passed a hand over his face, as if he might wipe away the last of the sleep.

  "You," she said. "We've been talking. Elizabeth couldn't get back here in much less than two days. There's no point in scaring her needlessly. So you're going to tell her Art took the kids to the cabin for a few days, but you can't remember how to get there, okay?"

  He nodded. "Okay."

  They went into the office, where Miriam was holding the phone to her ear. She lifted a brow when she saw Grant, but handed him the phone immediately. Then Karen donned the headset and pointed to the extension phone across the room. Miriam picked it up.

 
"Okay," Miriam said to the person aboard the ship, "we're ready to talk to Mrs. LeMain now."

  "One moment." A click, a hiss of static, then the faraway sound of ringing. After four rings, a man answered. He sounded barely awake. "Yes?"

  Karen pointed to Grant. He nodded briefly. "Mr. LeMain, this is Grant Lawrence. I used to be your wife's neighbor."

  There was a pause. "Oh, yes. Senator Lawrence. She's mentioned you. What can I do for you?"

  "Well, I need to talk to Elizabeth, if you don't mind. I know the hour's unreasonable, but Art—her ex—took our kids to the cabin this weekend. Unfortunately, I can't remember how to get there, and I don't have the phone number."

  "Oh. Yes. Of course. Just a moment please. She's just waking up."

  There was some murmuring, occasionally washed out by static, then a woman's strong voice came on the phone. "Grant! This is an unexpected pleasure."

  "You've been missed, Elizabeth," Grant said.

  She laughed. "Not really. You were so rarely at home. What's this about the girls?"

  "Art said he was taking them to the cabin. They were staying with him after…well, you heard about Abby?"

  "Yes, I did." Her voice saddened. "I'm so sorry, Grant. She was a beautiful woman, and I know how much you loved her."

  "Thank you." Grant cleared his throat. "Anyway, Art said something about taking them to the cabin for a chance to recover. They just went up there. Stupid me, I didn't even ask for the phone number. I'm so used to Abby being on top of all that…." His voice cracked.

  "I know," Elizabeth said soothingly. "Poor Grant. Your life has been such hell…." She sighed. "Unfortunately, I can't help you with the phone number. I hated that place and went there as rarely as possible."

  Grant stiffened, as if this was news to him.

  "It's just a couple of bare rooms, really," Elizabeth said. "But the girls always loved to go. And it's been in Art's family forever. Besides, I hate it for another reason. That's where Georgie and Art used to go for their trysts."

  For the longest moment, dead silence filled the line. Then Elizabeth drew a sharp breath. "Oh, Grant, I'm sorry. You didn't know, either! I thought…well, when I found all those letters to Art from Georgie last year, I…guess I thought I was the only one who didn't know."

  "Trysts?" Grant repeated, his voice as tight as wire. "I knew she was having a fling but…"

  "But you didn't know it was Art. And it was more than a fling. As near as I can tell from the letters, they were having an affair for nearly ten years. That's what I couldn't take, Grant. The fact that it wasn't a stupid little fling."

  "My God." His face was ashen.

  "I'm sorry. You didn't need to know this. I should have kept my big mouth shut, but from things you'd said, I assumed you knew what was going on. Well. I really put my foot in it."

  "It's okay," Grant said, his voice tense. "Don't worry about it. It's just…I need to see my girls, Elizabeth. I need to get in touch with them at the cabin."

  "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Grant. I don't know the number. I might be able to drive you there, if I were up there now, but it's been so long and I went so rarely…I'd probably only get us lost. All I can tell you is that it's in the mountains in Maryland. Maybe he's in the phone book."

  "Thanks, Elizabeth. I'm sorry I woke you. My apologies to your husband."

  "It's quite all right. It was good to hear from you again. Don't be a stranger."

  Grant hung up, standing rigid, staring into space. Finally two harsh words escaped him. "The bastard!"

  Miriam swore softly. "Forget the phone book. I already did a national directory search."

  "Besides, I don't want to call him," Karen reminded him. "I want to find him."

  Grant nodded and slumped into his desk chair. Karen wanted to comfort him, but they weren't alone. Besides, there probably wasn't any comfort in the world for a man who'd just found out his wife had been having a years-long affair with a mutual friend.

  "The point is," Miriam said, "the number at the cabin, if he ever had a phone there, isn't in his name. That's the problem we're having. Whether we want to call him or not, the phone isn't in his name."

  "Shit." Grant closed his eyes.

  "Jerry will find something," Miriam said, with more confidence than Karen believed she was feeling.

  "Sure," Karen answered, feigning the same confidence for Grant's sake. "Jerry'll find it."

  After a moment, she called Previn. "Still looking around the house," he said. "Nothing."

  "Roust the judge again," she said shortly. "I want a tap on Wallace's phone line. I want a list of numbers that have called in within the last twenty-four hours."

  "Oh, that's great. I can infuriate a judge only to be told the phone company offices don't open until eight. Tell you what. I'll roust the judge at seven and hit the phone company at eight. That's the soonest we can get the information, and you know it."

  "We can't wait until the phone company opens!"

  Miriam, who had been listening, said, "Put Wicke on, please?" She took the phone from Karen.

  "Wicke, get me an emergency federal order. I want to know the originating phone number of every call placed to the Wallace home in the last twenty-four hours, and I want it PDQ. Interstate kidnapping."

  "I can do that, but I don't think it's going to help us a whole lot," Wicke said. "He doesn't have an answering machine, or if he does, I haven't found it. It's probably the phone company's voice mail service. Which means he's not even calling here. He's calling the voice mail service number."

  "Which would be pointless to trace," Miri said, annoyance in her voice. "Everyone in Tampa who has that service probably uses the same number. It probably gets hundreds of calls an hour."

  "They might be able to screen for calls involving Wallace's phone number," Wicke said. "But who knows. I'll give it a try anyway."

  Miri hung up. "He's either very smart or very lucky. Either way, we're stuck waiting for Jerry."

  Karen rolled her head, trying to shake out the stiffness from sleeping on the sectional sofa. "It's almost a perfect way for a kidnapper to communicate. Using the phone company as a blind. If Grant hadn't known about the kitchen door…"

  "He must've been thinking about this for a long time," Grant said. "And to think I trusted him. The bastard."

  * * *

  That made the cut even deeper, Grant thought. Betrayal by a trusted friend. All this time they'd been friends, and he and Georgie had been…

  "Fuck," he said. Then, looking at them, "Sorry."

  "No worries," Karen said. "You have every right to be angry. I'm angry, too."

  "And you both need to keep that in check," Miri said. "But I didn't have to tell you that."

  "Sometimes it's good to be reminded," Karen said. "So okay, how do we play it when Jerry calls with the number? You can get a hostage rescue team, I assume."

  "All we need is an address and we move," Grant said. He wanted his daughters away from that man, and back with him. Where they should have been all along.

  "Not necessarily," Miri said. "We need to know what we're doing before we go in there. It might be better to wait until tonight."

  "What?" Grant asked. Wait to get his girls? "No way."

  Miri's look was firm. "Think about it, Senator. We don't want to go in there with guns blazing. That may get your daughters killed. No, he's going to leave a new message tonight, with ransom instructions. I'm guessing he'll want to make the drop immediately. He's not a pro, but he's thought about it. If he gives us time, we'll be all over the drop site. He wants to make you move fast."

  Karen nodded. "Right. And he'll have to leave the cabin to go to the drop. It'll be safer to take him then, when the girls aren't with him."

  Grant couldn't imagine that Art would leave the girls behind to go to the ransom drop. Then again, he couldn't imagine Art doing any of this. The plan made sense. But the thought of sitting around while Cathy and Belle spent another day with that man galled him.

  "
The good news," Karen said, as if reading his mind, "is that right now the girls probably don't think there's anything unusual happening. So they're not scared. It's just an unexpected vacation."

  "With a monster," Grant said bitterly.

  "Yes. With a monster. But they don't know that. And it's better that they don't. They're probably having fun, or sound asleep. The point is, they're not in immediate danger, so we can afford to wait until the drop."

  "I know, I know," he said. If Art hurt those girls, he would kill him. It was that simple. "We can find the cabin, at least, can't we? Put surveillance on it or something? Make sure the girls are okay?"

  "Of course," Miri said. "Once we have a location, I'll have a team in the air in five minutes. Giving them a day to recon is a good thing. The more they know about the situation, the safer your girls will be."

  "It's really the best way," Karen insisted.

  "It is," he agreed. "I hate it, but it is. And like you say, the girls are blissfully ignorant. Even if I'm ready to chew the arm rests off my chair."

  He looked at his watch. Two-fifteen. Jerry had been gone for an hour now. It shouldn't take long for him to find the old appointment books. Grant wouldn't have had a clue where to look amongst the office files. But Jerry would. He should be calling soon.

  And then they would get his girls back.

  * * *

  Randall Youngblood woke in the middle of the night, an unusual event. Although he slept only five or six hours a night, and had for as long as he could remember, it was almost always sound, uninterrupted sleep. His late wife had said it was because he worked himself so hard. He saw it differently. He went to bed every night with a clean conscience, or tried to. Yes, over the years he'd done things he'd regretted, but who hadn't? He'd tried to learn from the experiences, to find ways not to put himself in the same situations again. Perhaps it was self-delusion, but he didn't feel the need to apologize to the universe at the end of the day, and he liked that feeling.

  For that reason, when he awoke with a jolt at 3:00 a.m., with a sinking feeling in his gut from the moment his eyes opened, he knew there was a reason. He rarely had nightmares, and regardless, he didn't remember having been dreaming in the instant before he snapped awake. No, there was something wrong. Something for which he was somehow responsible. But what?