Wrongfully Accused

by Ana Barrons

  “Yeah, I’ll send it right over.”

  “We need to find out how much contact he had with Drew Franklin, other than through Michael Clark. Interview his staff, get records of their meetings—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. We know how to run an investigation, Detective.”

  “Also check out the Tyrell King connection,” Gabe said, as though Parker hadn’t spoken. “See if he had any connection to Archer.” If Joy was telling the truth, and that was a big if, somebody was contacting the guy, and it could easily have been Archer, not Michael. “Oh, and Parker? I need this information within the next hour.” Meanwhile, he would get Scott to compare fingerprints from the attic crime scene with those found in Michael Clark’s apartment.

  “Yes sir,” Parker said dryly. “What are you going to do?”

  Parker’s email came up and the photo flashed on Gabe’s screen. Holy fuck.

  “It’s him,” he said, and swallowed, checked his watch. It was just past noon. “I’m going to Kate’s right away.” With as much backup as he could muster. “Archer is going to be there in a few hours, and I plan to be there with a welcoming party when he shows up.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Archer was at Harry’s Tap Room, enjoying baked brie with grapes, roasted red pepper-and-crab soup, and a glass of New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Michael had loved this place, this food, and this particular sauvignon blanc. They’d had some wonderful times together, but he’d known for quite a while before the breakup that Michael wasn’t the one. Still, he had wanted the best for him. He certainly hadn’t wanted to hurt him.

  He sipped his wine, the same one he’d had with Drew the first time they had dinner. God, how infatuated he’d been with Michael’s good-looking boss. Drew had sent him an email asking to meet after work, around eight o’clock, at an excellent Capitol Hill restaurant. Drew had ordered great wine and good steak, and wasn’t shy about making eye contact. He’d insisted on calling him Pierre, and said he was fascinated by explosives, that sometimes brute force really was the only way to get things done. They’d chatted about world politics and their mutual disgust with our government’s inability to get things done. They needed some new blood in positions of real power, Drew had said. They needed money outside of government, power that wasn’t checked by a less intelligent “leader.” Dictatorships served a purpose, he’d said, but so many dictators weren’t smart or sophisticated enough to run a country.

  One of them brought up the question of morality. When was it was okay to take a life for the greater good? They both agreed that in a war it was okay to take lives when necessary. Archer smiled. That had been Drew’s segue into the conversation he really wanted to have. His was a war to fix the world before it was too late, Drew had said. The bill he was proposing would go a long way toward making things better, creating a new order. But there were idiots standing in his way. He needed to shake people up, orchestrate something like 9/11—not killing innocent people, of course—that would make the pacifists look like morons and get the votes he needed to pass his bill. He bragged about the ways he’d already been digging up dirt on his colleagues, and said the president was ripe for the picking.

  Archer swirled the wine in his glass. He’d been so hot to get Drew in bed it hadn’t even mattered that the guy was a total megalomaniac. When Drew suggested taking out an empty government building or military plane, Archer had been surprised, but not shocked. Drew had told him to name his price to design the device, so he’d thrown out an outrageous number.

  “Fifty million,” he’d said. “Half up front.” When Drew agreed he didn’t believe it. How would he come up with that much money? And that’s when he’d learned about Kate. How Drew had married her for her first husband’s money, and his plan to move it offshore, little by little. Yeah, the whole thing was despicable, but Kate had been a stranger to him then, and for all he knew she was a first-class bitch.

  He took a long swallow of his wine. He’d never expected Drew to actually come through with the money. But he’d set up an account in Barbados, and when the money showed up six months later, he knew he’d struck a bargain with the devil himself. He liked looking at all those lovely zeros, liked imagining the life he could live with that kind of money. And more. Much more. On one of the few occasions he and Drew had been intimate, he’d gotten Drew to tell him about the code he’d developed. Like some armchair cryptographer from the First World War, Drew had hidden the code in his most prized possessions—his first edition copies of the classics. Don Quixote. David Copperfield. Dante’s Divine Comedy.

  Crafting the bomb in a camera had taken time and imagination, both of which Archer happened to have in abundance. He’d presented it to Drew that night at his parents’ house, and asked what he intended to do with it. When Drew said he could kill two birds with one stone and get the money and the votes by taking out Kate’s plane, Archer knew he was dealing with a sick fuck who really had no business being on the planet. So he’d made the switch and saved Kate in the bargain. He would still be a rich man, an innocent woman would be saved and the devil would go back to hell, where he belonged.

  Then he met Kate. She’d made a joke of it, but the reality was that if he’d been straight, he’d have hooked up with her in a minute.

  How absurd that the FBI considered her a suspect in the plane explosion. He’d taken it upon himself to get the heat off her—and what delicious irony that he’d used Drew’s own diabolical schemes to do it. So he’d killed that liberal lady senator—which Drew had planned, but for a different reason—hoping it would look as though one of the conservatives was behind it to get the Global Intel bill passed. With any luck they’d blame Joy Stuart, that two-timing bitch. Not that he gave a damn about that stupid bit of legislation. He’d blackmailed Arlen Fischer with photos of that call girl Drew had hired for this sort of thing, and let Tyrell tamper with the brakes of the third senator. Thank God the man’s pretty young wife had locked the doors when her husband left the house that night.

  Archer took a long swallow of the wine. He’d been a kick-ass bomb defuser in Afghanistan before the army decided his sexual proclivities were the sum total of his worth as a human being.

  And Quinn. His bunkmate and best friend. Oh, God, how he’d let him down.

  When he heard the chirp he flipped open his cell. “Yes, Tyrell.”

  “FBI wants my ass,” Tyrell said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we gotta go now.”

  Archer took in a deep breath and let it out. “What did they say?”

  “Say nothin’. I got the hell outa there I saw them at the door downstairs. They lookin’ for me they gonna be on to you next, man.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ over the phone. We gotta go today. Now. You got the tickets?”

  “Yes, yes,” Archer said, thoughtful. Damn it. Tyrell had gone and sliced up that nice old lady not two blocks from Kate’s house. That hadn’t been Archer’s idea, but the FBI wouldn’t see it that way. If they got a hold of Tyrell, the man would squeal like a pig.

  He sighed and signaled the waiter for the check. “Well, then, you know what to do.”

  “I’ll go get that bird right now,” Tyrell said, and hung up.

  Damn it. He was so looking forward to spending some time with Kate. She was a special person, a warm, accepting and beautiful women who deserved better than what she’d gotten from that lying, cheating, amoral pig, Drew Franklin. If only she knew the service he had done her, saving her life.

  He hoped to God her lover would save her this time.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Kate answered the doorbell at 12:45 and was surprised to see Archer standing on her porch. He was dressed all in black and was carrying a black backpack slung over one shoulder. His car wasn’t in the driveway. “Oh,” she said.

  “I’m early, I know,” he said. “I can leave and come back if you want, but... Well, I was lonely.”

  Everything he’
s told you could be a lie.

  “It’s fine,” she said after a brief hesitation.

  Archer stopped midway through the foyer and gazed around at the mostly empty rooms with their bare walls and surfaces. “Oh, Kate,” he said. “You told me what happened, but seeing it... This must be devastating.”

  “It was just stuff,” she said. “Come on in. Jeremy’s here.”

  Archer perked up. “Your godson?”

  “Yes. He’s eating a bowl of ice cream in the kitchen.”

  “This is the detective’s son, right?”

  Something about the way he said it struck her, an emphasis that seemed a bit too knowing. “That’s right,” she said, careful not to show her wariness.

  “Who’s that, Aunt Kate?” Jeremy called from the kitchen.

  Archer followed her through the swinging door into the kitchen. “Jeremy, this is Archer, a friend of mine.”

  “Hello, Jeremy,” Archer said, with a warm smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Oh, uh...” Jeremy looked to Kate and she nodded. “It’s nice to meet you. Want some ice cream?”

  “I would love some ice cream,” Archer said and turned to Kate. “What a charming young man.”

  “You’ll give him a big head,” Kate said, ruffling Jeremy’s hair.

  “I look like my Uncle Steve,” Jeremy said.

  “Oh, that’s right, your dad’s brother,” Archer said. “‘A software titan for the 21st century,’ wasn’t that what the media called him?”

  Kate froze. How in the world had Archer heard about that?

  “I’m surprised you remember that,” she said as she reached into the freezer for the ice cream. Her hand trembled ever so slightly. “It was in the media more than eight years ago.”

  “I have a long memory,” he said. “And I knew about the relationship. From Michael.”

  Kate let go of a breath. “Right. I figured.”

  She scooped ice cream into a new plastic bowl from Wal-Mart, and Archer settled in beside Jeremy, who gabbed a mile a minute while they ate. She stood at the counter with her own bowl, listening and wishing she didn’t feel so uneasy all of a sudden. Granted, Gabe had put doubts in her mind about Archer, but Gabe wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy person she knew.

  Still, right now she would feel a whole lot better with him around.

  The house phone shrilled and she reached out to answer it. It was Gabe. “Listen to me carefully,” he said. “I want you and Jeremy to get into your car right now and go over to my apartment.”

  Kate glanced at Archer, who was watching her from the table. He seemed very interested in her phone call. She turned away. “Why?”

  “It’s Archer,” he said. “I don’t want you in the house when he gets there.”

  Fear slithered down her back and she wished her kitchen phone were cordless. “Care to elaborate on that?”

  “He’s not who he says he is,” Gabe said. “He changed his name when he was discharged from the army. And he was a murder suspect, okay? So would you just grab Jeremy and get in your car right now and—”

  “Um...that would be hard.” She risked a quick peek over her shoulder, only to find Archer standing a foot away from her, and the expression on his face was not warm at all. She gasped as his hand came around and covered her mouth.

  He hung up the phone.

  * * *

  Gabe stared at the phone in his hands. Did they get cut off or did she hang up on him? He pressed redial but got Kate’s voice mail. He tried her cell phone but it was disconnected. He tried the house phone over and over before flicking his phone shut. He’d broken out in a cold sweat.

  It was barely one o’clock, but he had a sick feeling Archer had arrived early.

  “Fuck,” he said, and ran to his lieutenant’s office, not bothering to apologize when he bumped into someone, ignoring the curses behind him. When did this place become such a fucking obstacle course? When he finally got to the office he pushed the door open without knocking and stood there breathing hard.

  His lieutenant looked up with a frown. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “I need every goddamn body we can get,” he said. “And I need them now.”

  * * *

  “If we had found the books right away we could have avoided this whole misunderstanding,” Archer said.

  A misunderstanding. Right.

  Kate had rolled over the second he threatened to hurt Jeremy and did exactly what he told her. Holding the boy’s arm, he had carried two wooden chairs up from the dining room and placed them in the middle of her bedroom, side by side, separated by five feet or so. Then Kate had sat helplessly by and watched him secure Jeremy to the chair.

  Tears streamed down Jeremy’s red face and over the duct tape that covered his mouth. His wrists were taped behind his back and his feet were taped to the chair. It killed Kate to see him like this. Not that she was much better off, but for now her mouth wasn’t taped shut.

  “I have no idea where those books went,” she said. “Somebody must have taken them when the house was broken into.”

  “No, no one took them that night.”

  She stared as his words sank in. “You?”

  “I’m afraid so. Not directly, but—”

  “Was it...did you attack me?”

  He looked her in the eye. “No, Kate. I would never have hurt you like that. My associate doesn’t follow orders well. Not only did he fail to get the books, he hurt you when I explicitly told him not to. And I promise you that I did tell him not to hurt you.”

  “What do you need the books for?” Best to keep him talking...

  “Past tense, I’m sorry to say,” he said. “I needed the code to get the money your husband hid offshore. But it’s too late for that now.”

  “Archer, can’t you please let Jeremy go?”

  “I’m afraid not.” His phone rang and he flipped it open. “Well?”

  Kate couldn’t hear the person on the other end, but Archer seemed relieved. “Good job. Just over an hour, then.” He clicked the phone shut. “This will all be over soon.”

  “Please, Archer,” Kate said, terrified for Jeremy. “He’s a child. Let him go. I’ll stay here and do whatever you want.”

  “In this case I’m afraid Jeremy suits my purposes better than you.”

  Her breath seized up. “You’re not suggesting...”

  “Oh, come on,” he said, more impatient than angry. “I’m no pedophile. How could you even think that? I need your lover’s help to escape, and this little guy is my best insurance.” He opened his backpack and pulled out rolls of some kind of clay. “A few more up here and then we’ll be good to go.”

  “A few more what?”

  “C4,” he said. “I’ve already set up most of them around the rest of the house, but I didn’t do these two bedrooms.”

  “Why... What are you going to do?” She focused on Jeremy, but he was hanging his head, sniffling, looking defeated.

  “Buying myself some time to get out of the country,” he said.

  “What have you done?”

  Archer came and squatted down beside her. “Well, I saved your life, for one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We both know your husband was not a nice man. But you don’t know how evil he really was.”

  Kate took a long breath and let it out. “Tell me.”

  “Your plane was the one that was supposed to explode in midair, not his.”

  Kate’s head jerked back. “What?”

  “He had me rig up your camera with an explosive called PETN that is completely undetectable. I brought it over to him the night before the flight, but when I learned his intentions I switched the cameras. The rest is history.”

  She was shocked to find herself breathing heavily. “But...why?”

  “Because I don’t like people who go around killing innocents,” he said. “Especially horrible people like him. He deserved to die and you didn’t.”

  “Wh
y did he want to kill me?” Good God. Had Drew really hated her that much?

  Archer shrugged. “Would have killed two birds with one stone. You’d be out of his way without a messy divorce, and he’d get his bill passed.”

  It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. “You mean...the Global Intel—”

  He nodded. “Yes, the one that was going down the tubes in his own party. And he was right. Look at how quickly both parties jumped on it right after the—” he made quotation marks with his fingers, “—terrorist attack.”

  “My God,” she whispered. “That’s sick.”

  “People like that deserve to die, Kate.”

  “But...was it you who called the newspapers to say it was al Qaeda?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That was tricky, and expensive. One of the reasons he stole so much of your money. The bastard couldn’t even wait until you died to get his hands on it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t,” he said, his expression fond. “Someone like you couldn’t possibly understand someone like him. Your husband wanted to make things happen on his terms. That’s why he needed your money.”

  “So he could hire people to blow up planes?”

  “You’re getting the idea. Other things too. Blackmail people. Bribe them. Get rid of them, whatever it would take to get his own way.” His voice had grown harsh. “The world was all about him, and no one else.”

  “Did he betray you in some way, Archer?” She made herself sound concerned, when in fact all she felt about Archer was disgust.

  “Not really,” he said, straightening.

  “So...it bothered you that he was prepared to kill innocent people.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well...then why didn’t you not plant the camera on either of us?”

  He shook his head as though talking to someone slow—which she supposed she was under the circumstances. “Don’t you see? He was evil. He had delusions of world domination. I couldn’t in good conscience let him live.”

  He could still talk about conscience. “What about the flight crew?”