The 14th... And Forever

by Merline Lovelace

  He retraced his steps, curious about the man who retreated to this cabin to print fliers for bingo night at Saint Ignacio’s. Mostly. Jack wanted to meet Guido sometime. And Tony. And Maria Paretti. When he said as much to a scrubbed and combed Angela a few moments later, however, she shuddered.

  “No, you don’t! Not any time in the near future, at least. I just talked to my mother, and she’s not happy about the bombing. Or about the fact that I’m secluded at an undisclosed location with an unidentified male. Unfortunately, she heard that part of the story before I got to her and filtered the news.”

  “How?”

  “How did she hear about you or how was I going to filter you out of the story?”

  “How did she hear about the bombing? Ed Winters said he was going to keep it off the news as long as he could.”

  “I told you, my mother operates a communication net the Pentagon would kill for. Let’s see if I can get this straight.”

  She raised a hand and ticked off the sequence. “Mother got a call from my aunt Helen, who had called to check up on her son, Leonard, who heard about the bombing from his sister Teresa, who’s married to Gus.”

  She frowned, recounting her fingers. “Wait a minute. I think my uncle Salvatore was in the loop somewhere, too, but Mother was a bit incoherent at that point.”

  “Understandably so.”

  “I calmed her down as much as I could. Once I got her off the subject of the car bomb, though, she had a few pointed questions to ask about you. In particular, she wants to know if you have any Italian blood. You don’t, do you?”

  “Not a drop.”

  Angela nodded. “That’s what I told her. She’s not happy, Jack. To shorten her words considerably, she wants to know what in the name of the Virgin Mary and all the saints is going on. So does my father. So does Tony. So do I, incidentally.”

  “Get your jacket. I’ll tell you what I can while we eat.”

  “What you can?”

  Folding her arms, she refused to budge.

  “That’s not good enough. I want it all, Merritt. Everything. In precise detail. I’m not moving until I know why persons unnamed are trying to blow you up, and me with you. Or vice versa.”

  For all her flippancy, her voice had a hollow ring that made Jack’s heart twist. He wanted desperately to take her in his arms. To promise her the violence was over. .Since he couldn’t do the one, he wouldn’t let himself do the other. What he would do, though, was tell her the truth. He owed her that.

  “Okay. I’ll grab some coffee and we’ll talk.”

  They sat across from each other at the scarred kitchen table. Angela propped her chin in her hands and waited while Jack skipped back through long, draining weeks.

  “It started about six months ago,” he said slowly, wrapping his hands around a mug emblazoned with a clipper ship in full sail. “I was working with the parents of a two-year-old hemophiliac. His name is Kevin. Kevin Crosby.”

  Every time Jack questioned what the hell he’d gotten himself into these past months, he thought about Kevin’s mischievous grin.

  “Kevin’s parents are young, very young. His mother noticed that her baby bruised easily, but she didn’t mention it to her doctor. She was afraid of being accused of child abuse and having her baby taken away, as she’d been removed from her own parents’ house. Then Kevin crawled over a jagged plastic toy and sliced open his knee. He almost bled to death before they got him to the emergency room at Children’s.”

  The bubbling, happy baby had captivated everyone who saw him, including Jack. But it had been his parents’ desperation that got him personally involved in the child’s case.

  “Kevin’s father works for the water department. He has a good job, but doesn’t make anywhere near enough to cover the cost of his son’s lifelong regimen of blood-clotting agents.”

  “And their insurance wouldn’t cover it,” Angela guessed, her voice holding only a faint trace of bitterness.

  “Let’s just say their insurance company took their time deciding,” Jack responded.

  They’d more than taken their time. They’d dragged it out, spent months wrangling with half a dozen federal agencies about the responsibility for funding the expensive treatments. Jack had finally cut through the bureaucratic red tape and located a private charity to underwrite the costs of Kevin’s treatment.

  “Blood-clotting agents rank right up there with growth hormones in terms of cost,” he said slowly. “Given the number of patients at Children’s who required these drugs, I decided to include them in a series of routine audits.”

  Angela leaned forward, her eyes intent. “The results weren’t routine, though.”

  “No, they weren’t. When I reviewed the preliminary data, I discovered that one of our consulting physicians had written an inordinate share of the prescriptions for Gromorphin. Sixty-seven percent, as a matter of fact.”

  “He sounds just like the endocrinologist Tony was referred to! Is he a quack?”

  Jack took a swallow of the bitter, lukewarm coffee. “This particular physician is very highly respected at Children’s. He and his wife are also two of my closest friends.”

  She sat back, the animation fading from her face. “Oh, no!”

  “Oh, yes. When I took the findings to Philip, he admitted to accepting almost four hundred thousand dollars in kickbacks from HealthMark last year.”

  Compassion flooded the dark eyes across from him. Jack saw that Angela didn’t need the details of the long, rainy night he’d confronted Philip Carr. She didn’t need to hear a replay of his friend’s anger and accusations of betrayal or, finally, his corrosive bitterness over the way he’d let himself get caught in a trap he hadn’t been able to climb out of. She understood the bonds of family and friendship.

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck, deliberately shoving the memory of the black, painful night he’d confronted his friend out of his mind.

  “Philip cut a deal with the feds. We’ve both been working with the FDA and the FBI for the past four months. The investigation keeps widening at every turn, and the dollars involved are staggering. We’re talking millions in fraudulent payments and unlawful subsidies.”

  Angela’s eyes widened. “Good grief! No wonder you resisted when the senator called you to testify before his subcommittee. Why in the world didn’t you tell him about this ongoing investigation?”

  “Because we weren’t sure why he was suddenly so interested in my audits.”

  “What?”

  Jack set the coffee mug aside and braced himself for the storm he knew would come.

  “It’s entirely feasible that Senator Claiborne wanted hard, cold facts to support his medical reform legislation.”

  “That’s exactly why he wanted them.”

  “Or he could’ve been pressured by a third party to get his hands on the audit results.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You pointed out yourself that HealthMark reported more than a billion dollars in revenue from drug sales last year. That’s a lot of money, Angela. It could buy a lot of influence on Capitol Hill.”

  Stunned, she stared at him. “Are you saying that you think HealthMark has bought the senator? Senator Claiborne ?”

  “I’m saying it’s possible.”

  Her brows snapped together. “Watch it, Merritt. You’re close to sounding like that idiot cop, Lowrey.”

  “It’s possible, Angela.”

  Disbelief, denial and the beginnings of anger put spots of color high on both cheeks.

  “I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it! Even if you showed me hard, fast proof of illegal campaign contributions or under-the-table payments disguised as honoraria, I still wouldn’t believe it!”

  She shoved her chair back, obviously needing maneuvering room as she underscored every passionate declaration with broad, sweeping gestures.

  “I know the senator! He’s devious at times, sure. He’s a politician, for pity’s sake! But Henry Claiborne’s not
on the take. He doesn’t sell himself or his office.”

  “The stakes are too high to rule out anything or anyone.”

  “What about the shooting? And the car bomb? You can’t possibly think the senator had anything to do with those!”

  When Jack remained silent, she planted both palms on the scarred table.

  “I was with you in that car, don’t forget.”

  “I won’t forget.” He ground out the words. “I won’t ever forget.”

  Their eyes clashed and held. Her chin jutted dangerously.

  “I don’t believe it,” she repeated stubbornly.

  “I didn’t believe my best friend was taking kickbacks from a drug distributor, either.”

  That struck home, After a few moments, her angry flush subsided. She dropped back into her chair, chewing on her lower lip.

  “So what do we do now?”

  Jack expelled a long breath. “We get breakfast. We hope the bomb squad comes up with something. We wait for Special Agent Ramirez. He hopped a plane from Miami as soon as he learned of the bombing. Manny and Ed Winters will notify the senator about the incident last night and take his statement. In the process, they’ll see if they can discover a link between his sudden interest in my audits and HealthMark.”

  “You won’t find any link, because it doesn’t exist!”

  Her voice rang with certainty, but Jack caught the faint, troubled shadows in her eyes as she turned away.

  They ate at a small dockside café that featured scrambled eggs, buttery grits and fried crab cakes as its only breakfast selections. Jack was quiet, thankfully, giving Angela time to absorb the implications of what he’d told her.

  As she stabbed at her eggs and pushed the grits around on her plate, her absolute belief in Henry Claiborne’s bedrock integrity didn’t falter. She knew him. Almost as well as she knew her father and her brother or any of her uncles. He was more friend than employer, more family than friend. But worry gnawed at her, building with each passing minute.

  When Jack went to pay the tab, she snuck another look at her watch. It was almost 8:15.

  She had to call the senator. She had to warn him.

  Jack had said that this Special Agent Ramirez and Ed Winters planned to show up at the senator’s home any moment now. He wasn’t there, Angela knew. He hadn’t been all night.

  She knew where he was, however, and she had to reach him before Ed Winters and this Special Agent Ramirez did.

  “The cashier said that the gas station a few blocks down the street is also a gift shop and convenience store of sorts,” Jack told her when he returned. “We can pick up what we need there.”

  “Good enough.”

  Angela drove down the single main street of the fishing village. Beyond the huddle of weathered wooden buildings, the Chesapeake rolled lines of whitecaps across its broad gray surface. A tall, white-painted lighthouse stood a lonely vigil at the end of a rocky spit.

  The cold wind off the bay hit Angela in the face when she pulled up to the single pump outside the brickfronted store and swung out of the Chevy.

  “I’m going to top off the tank. I’ll join you inside.”

  “I’ll do it,” Jack offered, turning up the parka’s collar. “That football jacket isn’t much protection from the wind.”

  Angela gladly handed over the nozzle. She didn’t have any problem with gentlemanly instincts, as long as they didn’t get in her way. In this instance, Jack’s courtesy served her purpose exactly.

  Letting the shop door slam shut behind her, she ducked behind a rack of paperbacks and slipped Gus’s mobile phone out of her pocket. Resolutely she squelched an uncomfortable niggle of guilt. Jack had been honest with her, as far as she knew. He’d shared information that he stressed was still very close hold. But her loyalty to her boss went far too deep for to let him become the goat in this particular sacrificial offering.

  Turning her back on the man outside, she made a quick call. Her hands shook when she tucked the phone in her pocket and went to find a toothbrush and toothpaste. On the spur of the moment, she added a lipstick in a brave shade of red and some blush to the little pile of purchases.

  The toothbrush and toothpaste were a matter of necessity. The makeup was for moral support She suspected she’d need all the support she could muster when she sprang her offer on him.

  Chapter 8

  The moment she and Jack returned to the cabin, Angela retreated to the bathroom with her purchases.

  Stripping off the black sweater she’d slept in, she pulled on a fleecy electric-green sweatshirt emblazoned with a slightly cross-eyed seagull. Her black panty hose. were replaced by thick, warm socks. The gas-station convenience store had stocked only a couple of pairs, all in men’s sizes, but Angela was too grateful for the socks’ warmth to mind the extra material wadding the toes of her sneakers. She dearly wanted to trade her slim black skirt for a pair of jeans, but the store’s meager supplies hadn’t run to that luxury.

  The toothbrush and the few cosmetics she’d purchased picked her up even more than the warm, clean clothes. It was strange how much a swipe or two of lipstick and a couple of strokes of blusher could do for a woman. Armed and girded for battle, she flicked off the light and left the tiny bathroom.

  Jack paced the main room, trailing the cord to the phone he held in one hand. He’d picked up some toiletries at the store, too. Shaving cream. Disposable razors. A few other items she hadn’t paid attention to. Angela ran an assessing eye over his tall form. Perhaps she should delay the confrontation between them until after he had a chance to put the shaving cream and a razor to use. It might be smarter to wait until the smooth, civilized Jack Merritt reemerged.

  This one was too rugged-looking. Too tough and uncompromising. The dark stubble on his chin and cheeks emphasized a square, firm jaw. His muscles bunched under the thick cable-knit fisherman’s sweater he’d purchased at a wildly exorbitant price, much to the store owner’s delight. His long legs ate up the floor as he traced a path from the table to the kitchen counter, whipping the cord along behind him.

  His dark brows slashed, he listened to the speaker at the other end of the line. Then he hung up with a terse “I’ll get back to you” and turned to face her. From his tight, flat expression, Angela knew she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer.

  “Problems?” she inquired. “Other than a melted car and drive-by shooter, I mean?”

  “That was Manny Ramirez. They just left the senator’s house.”

  Angela hid her swift stab of relief. Her boss had returned home in time!

  His gray eyes as hard and flat as tempered steel, Jack added a kicker. “They came away with a written authorization to examine the senator’s personal bank accounts and personal financial records.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” he echoed softly. Dangerously. “You don’t sound very surprised, Angela.”

  “I’m not,” she said as steadily as she could.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I called him earlier, at the convenience store. While you were pumping gas.”

  Anger knifed through Jack like a sharp, serrated blade. He’d followed his instincts. He’d told Angela more than he probably should have. He couldn’t believe he’d been so wrong about her, or that she’d flung his confidences back in his face.

  As swiftly as his anger and bitter frustration rose, Jack fought to master it. He’d been up to his neck in this morass for the past four months, he reminded himself savagely. Angela had been plunged into it less than twenty-four hours ago. He couldn’t expect her to abandon her passionate belief in her boss so swiftly. Common sense told him she needed more convincing. Logic dictated that he give her more time.

  Still, he knew damn well that accusation was written all across his face when Angela lifted her chin and met his stare head-on.

  “I didn’t tell the senator about the Chrysler going up in smoke,” she told him, her eyes flashing. “Or about the details of the investigation. I didn’t
even mention Gromorphin or HealthMark.”

  “Then what the hell did you tell him?”

  “That he could trust you. And Ed Winters.”

  The sweeping simplicity of her declaration rocked Jack back on his heels. He was still trying to absorb it when she launched into an impassioned explanation.

  “I know the senator, Jack. Marc Green told you that I serve as more than just his driver. It’s true. We’ve grown close these past three years, as close as family. He’s trusted me with personal information he hasn’t shared with the rest of his staff.”

  “And?”

  “And I convinced him to share that information with you.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you, he trusts me.” She folded her arms across the cockeyed seagull on her chest and glared at him. “And I trust you.”

  Her belligerence took the last of Jack’s anger.

  “You may be part of a flawed system,” she continued grudgingly, “but at least you’re trying to do something about it. You’re trying to fix it. We’re on the same side, Jack. So is the senator.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking hard. He’d been up to his ass in suspicions and doubts and conspiracies for so long that Angela’s behind-the-scenes machinations and the senator’s willingness to cooperate seemed too good to be true.

  They were too good to be true, he realized. True, she’d apparently engineered Claiborne’s full cooperation. And, true, she’d been up-front about it. But Angela Paretti’s loyalty to family and friends wouldn’t let her throw her boss to the wolves, not even to a wolf she supposedly trusted. Hooking one of the kitchen chairs, Jack yanked it around and pointed to the seat.

  “Sit down. I want to go over this one more time. Just to make sure I understand it.”

  Angela perched on the edge of the seat, her hands tucked under her thighs. Jack pulled out the other chair and straddled it.

  “The senator’s agreed to give us full access to his personal financial records, is that correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he doesn’t have anything to hide from special investigators.”