Spiders in a Dark Web

by Emily Senecal

  “I don’t feel like it, much, either,” I conceded.

  “But this is you—the situation is about you,” he said. He wasn’t asking.

  “Yeah. Someone I—it’s about someone I care about,” I explained inadequately. “She’s in trouble—we’re in trouble. Peter offered to help.”

  “I can tell. Otherwise it’d be out of character for him to ask for something like this. I’ve known Peter since he came to town for school—gotta be fifteen years, now. More.”

  “Were you on the faculty then?” I asked.

  “Not yet. Getting my doctorate. We met when he started working here.” He took a swig of beer. “One of the few people who didn’t dump my ass when I—ahem—crossed a few lines. Ethically.”

  “He mentioned something about that.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Not wanting to pry, I shifted the subject.

  “So you must know Kathe, then.”

  “Oh, sure. I was at their wedding.”

  “We’re having breakfast with her tomorrow.”

  Brendan’s sharp, bark-like laugh rang out.

  “Are you. Impressive lady. Scares the bejesus out of me, but she never trusted me.” He considered. “Not that I trusted her, either.”

  “Because she’s a cop?” I wondered.

  He shook his head.

  “Because she’s her. You’ll see.”

  Tomorrow morning suddenly felt even more intimidating than it had already. And that was saying a lot.

  ■ ■ ■

  I stared around the edge of the table at my toenails. The scuffed and peeling red polish was painfully apparent in my new sandals. It was too late to do anything about it now, but as we waited at the diner for Kathe to arrive I was agonizingly conscious of the scruffy state of my feet.

  I remembered that I’d planned to get a pedicure after work the very day Marianne showed up—the day I went into hiding. Attractive toes hadn’t really been on my mind since then. It somehow made the gap between my life now and in LA even wider and more impossible, like that was just a trip I’d taken a long time ago, a passing interlude, and this had been my reality for years.

  At least I’d been able to put a little more effort into the rest of my appearance. My hair was clean and tied up into a loose French braid. I’d put on eye makeup and lip gloss, and wore my new sundress. My time on the beach at Half Moon Bay and walking in New York had given my skin a healthy kind of glow, even if it did bring out a few freckles.

  If only she didn’t look down, I was more than presentable.

  It had been a later night than I’d expected, with more and more people arriving who knew Peter and wanted to catch up, buy us a drink, tell stories about the past. Brendan had left not long after we chatted, a backpack slung over one shoulder, muttering to Peter that he’d be in touch. I wished, not for the first or last time, that we could know exactly how long it would take him. Hours—days? Would Marianne be OK in the meantime? Would we all be safe from suspicion?

  It seemed like she’d been right; nobody appeared to be following us here—or they were keeping their distance to such a degree that we couldn’t tell. It made sense that her employers (also known as her parents) wouldn’t be especially interested in our movements now that we’d left New York, not if they believed they could easily keep tabs on me with access to my accounts. I just hoped our visit with her hadn’t raised any red flags. They knew we had stayed in touch, it wouldn’t be so surprising for me to want to see her if I was nearby. In hindsight it was a good thing that we’d gotten some sightseeing in.

  It was nearly midnight when we went back to our room, tired from our travels and socializing, relieved to have made contact with Brendan. We’d set an alarm for six to meet Kathe at seven, and so far Peter had kept the birthday stuff to a murmured “happy birthday” and kiss when he saw that I was awake. Followed by quick and satisfying birthday sex, though he didn’t say anything about it being birthday sex, specifically. That was just how I thought of it.

  We got to the diner a few minutes early, finding a booth and ordering coffees. It was a typical breakfast menu, heavy on the southwest influence. Peter thought he’d probably have the chilaquiles, his favorite here, while I was torn between two kinds of omelet. Kathe was a few minutes late. I wished I didn’t feel so nervous and tucked my feet further under the table.

  “You know it’s our anniversary?” Peter asked suddenly. “Or… weekiversary?”

  “So it is,” I said, not at all convinced that it had only been seven days since we met, in spite of the fact that it had only been seven days since we met.

  “We’ll have to celebrate later.”

  Before I could respond—was he just determined to celebrate something today?—the door of the diner swung open and a woman walked in. She looked around, spotted Peter and walked quickly over.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, stopping by our booth and smiling down at us. We slid out and were hugged, lightly and fragrantly, in turn, before we all sat down. I tried to think of something to say in response to her greeting and managed a choked, “Nice to meet you.”

  This was not what I’d expected.

  It was much, much worse.

  It wasn’t just that Kathe was beautiful. She was, but many women are beautiful, it wouldn’t have bothered me in the least to learn that she was more attractive than most. It was something else about her—a mixture of vitality, elegance and authority. She was one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. She just exuded self-assurance.

  Her hair was in a stylish pixie cut—how many women can really pull off a pixie cut? The dark, almost black cap was untouched by gray, except for a striking patch of white just left of center above her forehead. It was undoubtedly natural, and completely unforgettable. Her eyes were a smoky hazel, her features aquiline, her skin a rich, smooth bronze, her body lean and graceful. She wore a clinging white silk tank top and gray pencil skirt, and I felt positive that a matching suit jacket was hanging in the back seat of her car, ready to slip on. Even in the most drenching heat, her clothes would be perfect, she would look cool and composed. Nothing I could wear, even had it cost twice as much, would look half as good on me. Her jewelry was tasteful and expensive, diamond drop earrings and heavy gold bracelet. She wore open-toed low heels and when I caught a glimpse of her feet, saw that her pedicure was perfect.

  To hate Kathe for her looks and poise would be like hating a concert pianist for her talent. Sure, it made the rest of us feel like grubby, underdressed, gawky teenagers picking out “Heart and Soul,” badly, on a tinny upright. It wasn’t her fault. It just crumpled the last of my nerve.

  All of this took very little time to notice and feel, while I looked (I hoped) intelligently between Peter, on the bench beside me, and Kathe, across from us.

  “How are you?” Peter was saying.

  “Insanely busy—as always—but great. Isaac sends his regards. He’s out of town at a conference or he’d have come with me.” Her voice was somewhat deep, with an appealing rasp in it.

  “Say hello for me.”

  “I will.” She flagged the waitress with a subtle gesture and ordered a coffee. “Thanks for meeting me for breakfast—I’m working insane hours the rest of the weekend and wanted to be sure to catch you before you left town. Did you meet in California?”

  This to me. I met her clever, curious gaze and resisted the impulse to fuss with my hair or smooth my dress.

  “In Half Moon Bay,” I confirmed.

  “You live there too?”

  “No—well, I didn’t, though I’m in the process of moving back to the Bay Area,” I said, hoping I sounded more collected to everyone else than I did to myself.

  “Lola inherited some property not far from the bar,” Peter broke in. It sounded very sophisticated, inheriting property. “She came up to spend a few days there and we… bumped into each other.” He half-smiled as his glance crossed mine.

  “Thanks to Osiris and a gull,” I added inconsequently.
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  Leaning back and looking across at us with tolerant amusement, Kathe repeated, “Osiris?”

  “My dog,” Peter said.

  “You got a dog? You’re kidding,” she laughed lightly. “I remember you being adamant about never getting one.”

  I sensed a slight tension in the air and took a sip of coffee, keeping my eyes down.

  “I had no objection to dogs in general,” Peter said equably, and Kathe laughed again.

  “Just my kind of dog. Well, fair enough.”

  The waitress brought Kathe’s coffee and asked if we were ready to order. I chose my omelet, Peter his chilaquiles, and Kathe cottage cheese and fruit, without comment. I realized that she had to watch her figure, and, in spite of the curves she had which I so visibly didn’t, in spite of the fact that we weren’t in any sense rivals, felt slightly better about myself. Even if I didn’t have a stunning face, natural style and regal posture, at least I got to eat what I wanted.

  “So, Lola—that’s such a pretty name—where were you living before?”

  Kathe really wasn’t hard to like, once you got past the daunting parts. She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me, and genuinely happy that Peter had met someone. Her questions were personal but not nosy, and she kept the flow of conversation light and rapid. I told her some of my background, about Uncle Joe and his camper, about my dislike of LA and desire to start fresh. What she inferred from this, she didn’t say, but she was obviously too shrewd not to see the implications.

  We didn’t just talk about me, though. Kathe shared a few details about herself, some prompted by Peter: a recent trip she and Isaac had taken to Iceland, updates on her family. She asked Peter about the bar, how long we planned to stay in town—he said only a day or two, about Delia and Hal. She seemed to know the details of the situation, and gave it as her opinion that if the DEA knew where Hal was and had the option, they might even be working on extradition. She thought he must be hiding out of the country, most likely with associates in Mexico.

  “We deal with a lot of traffickers down here,” she told me, “though it’s not my area.”

  “What kind of cases do you work on?” I asked—the first question I’d voiced to her.

  “Homicide,” she replied, holding out her cup for more coffee and, once filled, drinking it black.

  I had nothing to say.

  ■ ■ ■

  “We’ll have to plan a trip out to see you,” Kathe said, giving us a repeat of her fragrant hugs as we stood in the shade of the diner’s awning. The second we stepped outside, I started to sweat, the heat was already that overpowering. Kathe’s silky blouse didn’t even look like it was sticking to her.

  “You should,” Peter said, and I seconded this with a warmth that surprised me.

  “We’d love that,” I told her. Peter took my hand.

  She smiled, showing very even, very white teeth, then laughed.

  “Isaac will be so pissed he didn’t get to meet you,” she gloated, eyes alight with glee, then said goodbye, stepping into a sleek gray BMW convertible, the top closed against the blinding sun.

  We turned and walked to where the rental car was parked, hands still linked. As Kathe passed us, she honked twice, then sped away with a final wave.

  “Why will Isaac be pissed?” I asked idly.

  “No idea. Must be some private joke between the two of them.” The utter detachment of these words was far more reassuring than a thousand declarations of being over his ex could have been. “So, what did you think?”

  I waited until we were in the car with the A/C blowing before I answered.

  “She’s great,” I said. “I really like her.”

  “I’m glad. She liked you too. She told me she approved when you went to the bathroom.”

  “At least she didn’t propose.”

  He laughed. “Wait for it,” he warned.

  “Now that I’ve met her, I just can’t see you two as a couple,” I said slowly, trying to picture it. “I mean… I can see why you would go out with her—and her you, of course. But…”

  “But not married?”

  “Yeah. Not married.”

  “It’s even hard for me to see it now,” he confessed. “It was falling apart way before the actual ceremony. I wasn’t mature enough to see what she wanted—somebody who would go along with her but give her a hard time about it, which is what Isaac does. He’s his own guy, but she gets to run the show. Even if I’d known what I was doing—been ready for that kind of commitment—I don’t think we would have worked.”

  “No,” I agreed. “She definitely needs a specific type of person. You’re too… too independent, but also too easygoing, I think.”

  Peter looked impressed.

  “Yeah, that’s very astute. I didn’t know what I wanted, I just knew I didn’t want what Kath wanted for me—so she pushed, and I gave way and resented her for it, and she resented me for not pushing back. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “I can imagine…” I murmured. He didn’t say anything more, so I asked, “What kind of dog did she want to get?”

  “Hm? Oh,” he rolled his eyes, grinning. “Pure-bred chihuahuas. She loves them. Last I heard they had four.”

  “Oh no,” I laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I wish I was. She had one as a kid, and always w—”

  Peter’s phone, sitting on the console between us, rang, and he broke off to ask, “Do you mind seeing who it is?”

  “It’s Brendan,” I said, my stomach twisting in sudden anxiety. “Do you think there’s a problem?”

  “Only one way to find out…” Checking the mirrors, he quickly and adeptly pulled over, picked up the phone and answered. “Hey, man,” he said into it. I could hear a voice on the other end, buzzing in speech, but not what Brendan was saying. “Seriously? Already?” He glanced at me and did a thumbs-up. “That was fast… Of course, I stand in awe… Sure, we can be right there… Right, I know where it is. See you in a few minutes… OK.” He hung up and looked at me. “It’s done—Brendan finished downloading it and wants to us to stop by.”

  “Really? It was that quick?”

  “He pointed out that only someone with his brains and expertise could have done it in such record time.”

  “Kind of him.”

  “He wants us to meet him at his place up in the foothills. It’s not far, just a few miles north of town.”

  When traffic was clear, Peter made a U-turn and began to weave his way through the city. I looked out of the window at the passing scenery and wondered why my stomach had suddenly dropped and started to knot up. This was what we wanted, wasn’t it? To give Marianne the evidence she needed to use as leverage against her parents? Within minutes, if not already done, it would be uploaded to the IP address she gave us and she could start the next phase of her plan. That was a good thing… right?

  My anxiety didn’t seem to think so. It ratcheted up even higher the more I thought about it, a sense of dread creeping over me, up my arms, around my neck in a vise-like grip. Something about this felt so wrong. I tried to pinpoint what it might be… Was it Brendan, did I not trust him?... No, that wasn’t it. Peter trusted him. Was I afraid for us—that someone was after us, behind us, closing in?

  No. I hadn’t been afraid of that for a few days now. It made a nice change, but didn’t explain the heavy sense of fear, of a threatening storm about to break.

  Marianne…?

  My body shuddered with an unpleasant electric spasm at the thought of her.

  Marianne. She was in danger.

  This wasn’t going to work. They were going to kill her and risk the evidence getting out, believing that she wouldn’t have trusted anyone else enough to have a backup. They didn’t know about her fail-safes, about our role in this, but by then it wouldn’t matter. She’d be dead.

  I shook with the certainty of it, even as I sternly told myself not to overreact. They needed her, didn’t they? She was their daughter. In spite of everything they�
��d put her through, killing her would be an extreme way to go.

  They’re capable of anything, a frighteningly calm voice spoke out of my dread.

  Not that, I argued desperately. They can’t know for sure that she hasn’t protected herself. They’d wait to see if—

  They won’t care. They killed that man in Brazil without proof. They’ll kill her too.

  No. They can’t. She’s their kid.

  They know she isn’t loyal to them, she said so. They’re watching her. They know she’ll do anything to protect you.

  Then we’ll turn them in. We’ll expose them. We’ll—

  You won’t know. Don’t you get it? She isn’t going to be in touch with you again—she knows it isn’t safe. They’ll take her out the minute she shows them her hand, and you won’t know anything about it.

  Defeated and dumb, the voice of hope fell silent.

  Fear was right. This was what Marianne herself expected, after all. Even as she set this plan in motion, she’d known that it would most likely end this way.

  Her parents were more than just liars and thieves. They were murderers, too. Dangerous and ruthless and cunning. She knew she’d fail.

  But she was doing it anyway.

  And there was nothing we could do to stop it.

  Chapter 15

  It didn’t occur to me, then, to worry about what might happen to me once Marianne was disposed of. Whether her parents would bother to remove me from the equation or ignore me, knowing my only connection to them was through Marianne. Later on, when I did examine the possibilities, I thought they’d probably leave me alone. I knew my life didn’t mean anything to them, but it would be an unnecessary risk to take me out, a waste of their resources. They couldn’t know that I knew what they really were. Or that Peter and I had access to evidence that could convict them of at least one of their crimes—maybe even to lead Interpol to them in the future.

  That might change their calculations.

  I hunched over, tense and silent, for the rest of the drive. Peter put his right hand on my knee, and I clutched at it with all ten of my fingers. He didn’t ask me what I was thinking about. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he guessed—and had come to the same conclusion. He’d probably figured it out before he even suggested we come to Tucson. I just didn’t have the perspective to understand until now.