by Polly Iyer
Searing hot pain.
He gasped for air, but his lungs weren’t working. He coughed, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and trickled down his chin. A car door opened. Footsteps pounded on the blacktop, then made sucking sounds in the mud. Matt strained to turn his head. A shadow pulled against the passenger-side door, but it was jammed. The man turned away and returned with a heavy log he used as a battering ram against the window, fracturing it. Chunks of glass showered all over the passenger side, one small piece catching in his eye.
“Help me,” Matt wheezed.
The unfamiliar man leaned down and snatched the envelope, then pulled out a gun and aimed it at Matt. “They shoot horses, don’t they?” he said. After a few seconds, the gun receded from view. “I can’t put a bullet into a dying man who was the victim of his own reckless driving. That’d be murder.” The footsteps sloshed out of hearing range. “Gotta run.”
A car door slammed. Then Matt heard nothing at all except his own heartbeat.
Until it stopped.
* * * * *
Luke’s emails to Matt went unanswered. His trepidation mounted as two days passed without communication. He considered driving to Charleston, but first he pulled up the newspaper’s website to check Matt’s column. Maybe he’d left town on special assignment.
“Damn!” Luke said as he scanned the paragraph where Matt’s column usually appeared.
Abby poked him to get his attention. “What’s the matter?”
“Listen to this.” Luke read the front-page article.
“Post and Courier reporter Matthew Devon died Thursday morning following an early morning accident on a deserted stretch of road outside the city. His car crashed through an abutment and overturned into a ravine, police said. There were no witnesses, but authorities determined the car was traveling at high speeds when Devon lost control.”
The piece went on naming family members and announcing funeral services. Luke stopped, choked on the words. “The bastards. I put his life at risk and they took it. This is my fault.”
“It’s not your fault. Matt was a reporter. He’d dealt with these people before. He knew the risks.”
“No, no. He was out of it and I pulled him back in.”
“It’s Collyer, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Him and your ex-mother-in-law. Matt was asking too many questions, ruffling too many feathers. They tried to take him out before. This time they succeeded.”
“There has to be a reason, but I’ll be damned if I know what. I’ve wracked my brain.”
The doorbell shrieked. Daisy barked. Abby cupped her hands over her ears at the penetrating noise.
“Sorry,” Luke said, touching her shoulder on the way to the door. “It’s the only way I can hear it.” He opened the door and took the package. “It’s from Matt.”
“What’s in it?” Abby asked. When Luke didn’t answer, she waved her hand and repeated the question.
“Two CDs. He must have known they were on to him.” He opened the CD drawer on the computer and dropped in the disk marked number one. “It’s ready. Listen, then type it on the computer. It’s better if I read it.”
“It’ll try to type as fast as he’s speaking, but I’m not that good.”
“Do the best you can.” Luke pulled up a chair next to the computer and watched as she started.
Sorry, Luke. I may have blown it. If I have, these recordings will explain everything I’ve learned so far; and if I haven’t, we’ll talk. I noticed a black Lincoln Navigator following me four cars behind yesterday morning, Wednesday the 16th, as I crossed over the bridge. I couldn’t see the license plate, sorry. It’s probably registered to a dummy corporation anyway.
This package contains the recording I made with the research chemist I told you about. She won’t be much help unless you find her. That’s if she’s alive. Even then, I wouldn’t count on it.
I haven’t had much luck connecting the rest of the Gentry family to any illegal operations. Both her son and son-in-law are attorneys with the Gentry Law Firm. I doubt Carlotta Gentry could pull off anything without a little legal black magic. Don’t forget old man Serrano. Even though his home base is Boston, he has an active network capable of tremendous reach. He’s in his eighties but still a formidable man.
Not much help, am I? Too many rotten apples in the basket. I need more time, and I’m not sure I have it. As far as Stewart Gentry is concerned, there are a dozen reasons for stashing him in a mental institution. My guess is it had something to do with Martin Gentry’s death.
I didn’t get the chance to tell you everything during our phone conversation. At the time I heard talk of the foundation purchasing and developing a piece of property for a psychiatric hospital on a state-owned island in Georgia. The law prohibited commercial ventures, but Gentry envisioned getting around it. The project never got off the ground because Gentry died before finalizing the deal. Stewart may have heard or seen something that required him to be silenced. Drugs would be a perfect way to control someone without eliminating him.
Carlotta Gentry has a number of high state officials in her pocket. Money talks. Whatever the real story, Stewart’s probably a victim in a nasty scheme only the very rich seem able to pull off, and poor Joes like me have a hard time proving.
There’s a detective in the Charleston P.D. named Norm Archer. He’s honest, has little regard for the Gentrys, and is willing to buck authority. That may be the most important trait of all, since Carlotta Gentry controls almost every one in the city. If this is our last correspondence, call him. His personal email address is: [email protected]. He wouldn’t want anything going through the department.
I have a meeting tonight that might supply the proof I need to wrap this up, but I wanted to get this off to you, in case.
Sorry we three never got a chance to meet. If I’m wrong about all this, dinner’s on me. Best regards to Abby. Good luck, and please be careful.
Matt
Luke stared at the computer screen until Abby finished typing. He hadn’t known what to expect when he enlisted Matt’s help, but the story had far-reaching implications, and he didn’t have a clue where it would take him.
“Type out the next disk,” he said.
Abby’s expression as she listened to the tape conveyed the frightened words of Russian émigré, Dr. Valentina Kosov. She finished typing and leaned back in her chair.
“I thought these scenarios only happened in Robert Ludlum books. But this is real life. We’re talking secret labs, experimental therapies, lurking mercenaries, disguised threats.” Abby reached across and found Luke’s arm. “What are you going to do?” When he didn’t respond, she got his attention and asked again. He’d seen her, but he didn’t have an answer.
Luke felt the heavy burden of Matt’s death. It wasn’t so much what he could do, but what he couldn’t. He couldn’t hear.
“I don’t know, but I can’t do it alone. Right now I feel about as miserable as I’ve felt in a long time. I’ll get in touch with this Charleston cop, Archer, because a deaf cop outside his jurisdiction isn’t going to cut it. But before I drag someone else into this, I need my facts straight.
“Standard practice in Russia might account for Dr. Kozov’s susceptibility to intimidation by the likes of a creep like Collyer, and it explains her being hired in the first place. She’s conditioned not to ask questions. Perfect. Well, almost perfect.”
“I guess they miscalculated. I wonder how many others they have working in that lab trained not to ask questions.”
“Probably all of them. These people aren’t going to rock the boat. Clever. Hire scientists from countries where questions are discouraged and intimidation is business as usual. Or more perfect, they’re in the country illegally.”
“I bet you’re right. We can’t do this alone. Email Archer.”
“I don’t like the we part, Abby. Every time I get someone involved, I put them at risk, just like I hung Matt out to dry.”
“You
didn’t do that. Besides, I’m already involved. This is a we thing. They think I have something they want, which is why they tore my house apart and stole my hard drive. Damn if I know what it is, but the more we learn, the more Stewart seems like a pawn in this, maybe even a victim. I wish he’d show himself.”
“Stewart, a victim? Knowing what he did, I have a hard time feeling sorry for him. And if he’s still taking those drugs, he’s a loose cannon. Even if Kozov is alive and we find her, she’ll deny everything. Archer will laugh at Matt’s theory because that’s all it is. I need time to think.”
Abby got up and felt her way around the back of Luke’s chair. She massaged the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders.
“This feels great,” he said, “but I don’t know if it’ll do the trick. I feel like a rubber band stretched to the limit.”
“I know how to fix that. Best remedy in the world for thinking.”
* * * * *
After a few laps around the track, Abby said, “You sneak. You’ve been practicing. When have you had time?”
“Lunch hour,” Luke said, with a chuckle.
Until today, he’d never run more than eight laps without resting. Then he’d run some more. When Jackie ran with them, he’d catch his wind while Abby switched guides to do her five miles. Today, after four miles he hadn’t broken a sweat.
Abby feigned a fighting stance and pummeled his stomach, which he tightened into a knot. He grabbed her hands, pulled her close, and kissed her, their laughs lost as their lips touched.
“Everyone’s watching.” she managed to say.
“How would you know, and who cares? I want to kiss you. Let them all watch.”
“You’re right. Who cares?”
Luke took her hand and walked to the bleachers where they’d left their warm-up jackets. Abby’s was pinned to the seat with a small, very sharp knife. Shit. How could he have let that get by him? He should have been watching. A quick scan of the area didn’t turn up anyone suspicious. He tossed his jacket over the hilt and carefully pulled it out, then wrapped it to run for prints. He didn’t tell Abby.
* * * * *
Luke didn’t want to leave Abby, so he sent a text to Pete and told him what happened. He needed him to run the knife for prints. Pete came to pick it up. Luke dragged him off where they could talk without Abby hearing.
“Whoever ran Matt off the road and sliced through Abby’s jacket did so in broad daylight. These were bold acts, Pete. No skulking in the dead of night or behind closed doors.”
Pete’s teeth locked into a growl-like sneer. Luke couldn’t make out his words. “Repeat.”
“I said, son of a bitch.”
Luke nodded. “I always thought if Abby’s tormentor had wanted to kill her, he would have already done it. Now I’m not so sure. The FBI would profile a sadist who got his kicks scaring people half to death before he actually killed them. Make no mistake, this is a deadly game.”
“Agreed. I’ll get back to you. Tell Abby I had a call.”
Luke felt the anxiety building. He needed to do something. He remembered the Charleston cop and looked up the email address to introduce himself to Norm Archer. After writing a little history, he suggested to Archer that the Charleston CSU might want to check the tire marks at the scene of Matt’s accident. Then he filled him in on the last couple of months. He asked the detective to contact him through an email if he found anything supporting Luke’s theory.
* * * * *
It had been a long day. Luke made dinner, but Abby sensed his distraction. When he disappeared into his office, she put on her earphones to listen to a novel. She heard his voice bellow over the book’s narrator. Daisy barked.
“What the hell—” His hand encircled her arm and he pulled her up from the sofa.
“What’s happening?”
“Sit here and don’t ask any questions.”
“You’re scaring me, Luke. What is it?”
“My lights are flashing. Someone’s on the property. Keep Daisy quiet.”
“Isn’t…isn’t a siren supposed to go off?”
“I only activate it when I sleep. Do you hear anything outside?”
“I can’t hear anything over my pounding heart.”
“It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry? You’re kidding, right?”
“Stay calm. Take this.”
He put a cylindrical object in her hand. “What is it?”
“It’s a laser light.” He directed her finger onto a button. “If you hear anything from any part of the house, press the button and point in the direction of the sound. I’m shutting off the lights. The flashers last long enough to get my attention. Sit here and be quiet.”
Sit here and be quiet? She felt like a sitting duck. She bit her lip so hard it hurt. A drawer opened. The unmistakable sound of Luke checking the load of his gun sent fear through her. She wanted to tell him to call the police. But he was the police. And he was too stubborn and proud to call for help. And she was too scared to move.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Uninvited Guest
Abby held the laser pointer in one hand, and Daisy with the other. Her attempt to calm her restless dog seemed futile because Daisy sensed her terror.
“I see someone outside,” Luke whispered. “I’m going around back.”
Abby’s heart rate elevated to what felt like a perilous level. “Be careful. If it’s Collyer, he won’t think twice about killing you.”
But with the lights off, Luke didn’t know she’d spoken. She felt the air move as he passed and grabbed at him, catching the edge of his pants.
“Don’t worry,” he said, as if he read her thoughts. “I can take care of myself.”
Sure you can, if you hear him sneak up on you.
A sighted person eventually adjusts to the dark, able to see shapes and movement, even in the darkest night. She heard no sounds from outside and hoped Luke’s other senses kicked into high gear, because that’s all he had.
Within minutes, the kitchen door crashed open, and she heard the click of the light switch. Daisy tensed and barked. Not knowing what was happening added to Abby’s gnawing fear.
“Get in there.”
A measure of relief washed over her as she heard Luke’s voice in control. A scurry of feet advanced down the hall toward the living room. She stood up, not wanting Graeme Collyer to see her hunkered into herself like a scared rabbit.
But the voice she heard wasn’t a stranger’s. It was her ex-husband’s. And it wasn’t his voice that shot fear through her. It was Luke’s. His tone held the pain of her life, and for the first time he faced the man who had caused it.
“You son of a bitch,” Luke said. “What are you doing here?”
Stewart’s words were incoherent and fearful, a rattling non sequitur of meaningless phrases, of which Abby understood only one: It wasn’t me. He said it repeatedly, the energized bunny with a brand new set of batteries—manic, different from the Stewart who snatched her away to the mountain retreat.
She heard Luke’s frustration. “What the hell is he saying, Abby? I can’t make sense of anything.”
“I don’t know,” she said, facing in Luke’s direction. “It’s a jumble, even for me. Where is he? Bring him to me.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want him anywhere near you.”
“He won’t hurt me.” For some inexplicable reason, Abby believed her words. She didn’t think Stewart came to harm her.
“He’s delusional,” Luke said. “I won’t take the chance.”
“Then hold on to him. Do it, Luke. I’ll be okay.” When he got close enough, she mouthed, “Get my recorder. I want whatever he says on tape.”
“I’m taking him with me,” Luke said.
She heard him drag a mumbling Stewart into the study, returning with the recorder. He placed it in her hand and she activated it.
Abby spoke calmly. “Sit him down beside me so I can talk to him.”
“I don
’t like this,” Luke said, but nevertheless directed Stewart to the seat next to her on the sofa. “I’ve got a gun pointed at your head. One wrong move toward her and I won’t hesitate to use it, so don’t tempt me.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” Stewart said in a panicked voice.
Abby reached out, found Stewart’s face, and touched his cheek. His hand covered hers while he rocked back and forth. “Calm down, Stewart. Take deep breaths and speak slowly, because I can’t understand you. Why are you here?”
“His brain is fried, Abby,” Luke said. “We need to call Pete.”
Stewart’s agitation erupted. “No, no, no, no, no, no. No!”
“Calm down. It’s okay,” she said in a non-threatening voice. “No one’s calling anyone. Tell me why you’re here.”
She heard Stewart inhale as she instructed. His words followed more clearly.
“They’re killing me, Abby. I got away, but they won’t stop if they find me.”
Luke had obviously moved to see Stewart’s mouth. “So you led them here. Right to Abby.”
Abby heard the wire-tight tension in Luke’s voice. He fought to exercise the rational judgment that made him a good cop, but Abby knew this was personal.
“No, no, I wouldn’t do that,” Stewart said. “I wouldn’t, Abby.”
She felt in possession of two volatile chemicals and hoped she harnessed enough composure to keep one from touching off the other.
“Okay, Stewart, I believe you. Tell me, who are they and why are they following you? What do they want?”
“I can’t think anymore. Sometimes things are clear, but other times…”
She persevered. “Why did you come here?”
“To tell you that I didn’t know what I was doing when I hurt you and Macy. I don’t know how it happened. I had to make you understand before they find me and send me back. Don’t let them send me back, Abby. Please.”
If Abby hadn’t seen him kill his daughter with her own eyes, she would have believed him. But she had, and nothing could erase that last image burned in her brain. She tried to put the vision aside. That was then; this was now. Take a deep breath.
