Vortex

by Catherine Coulter

  Kent sat forward. “You still don’t understand; what I’ve told you isn’t the half of it. Alex, listen to me, the Boston FBI has impounded the Jag you gave Pamela’s sister, Belinda, the one you drove to Godwyn seven years ago. They’re going to look for her DNA—Aolith’s. Her name was really Serena, and she was Briscoe’s best friend. She said they’ll find traces of blood in the trunk or maybe a hair and they’ll have her DNA.”

  Alex felt a punch of gut-cramping fear, shook it off. Why hadn’t Kent told him this already? Because he was an idiot, always confusing pythons with garden snakes. Who cared about Briscoe’s accident, or about that pathetic Juliet? It always amazed him Kent was so successful in business. Patience, he had to have patience. But there was no way he would let Kent be a loose cannon. He went into what he thought of as his “Kent mode.” He kept his voice deep and soothing. “Calm down, Kent. I haven’t heard a word from Belinda, and believe me, she’d have called me if someone took her car, or she’d have called Pamela.”

  “They must have ordered her not to tell you. Or maybe she doesn’t know. You know Pam and her little sister don’t get along all that well, given how Belinda is always eyeing you, so I’ll bet she didn’t tell her.”

  “Look, I had the Jag detailed after we got back from Pennsylvania seven years ago and a few times since then, and once again when I gave it to Belinda. There won’t be any DNA, they won’t find anything in that car. It’s a bluff. How did they even know about the Jag?”

  “Briscoe said they found a photo taken that night outside at the rave. Your Jag was in it, with the license plate.”

  Alex laughed again, and Kent saw the hint of contempt, for him. He wanted to put his fist in that arrogant face.

  “Kent, you’re not thinking logically. There’s a big difference between being at a rave and killing someone. So they know we were there. That’s not a crime.”

  “I told them I’d never been to Godwyn, so they know I lied.”

  Alex shrugged. “So you forgot. Who’d remember a dippy rave after seven years? Even if they say you lied, that’s not a crime, either. You weren’t under oath. Out of the blue, these two women were attacking you, you were understandably flustered. Don’t forget it was seven years ago. You went to a freaking party. And that’s all. You should have told them to call your lawyer and ordered them out of your office.”

  Kent stared at him, listened to his smooth dismissive tone, and for the first time, the curtains parted. It hurt to say the words, but he did. “What you’re saying is that Briscoe brought Juliet to me because they think I’m the weak link.”

  Of course you are, you idiot. You’re only now realizing it? Alex shook his head. “You’re a good businessman, Kent. Think of this as a business crisis. You examine the facts, weigh the risks, the pros and cons, the possible fallout. Use your skills, like always, Kent.”

  Kent studied his friend’s face, so arrogant, so certain he was smarter than anyone else. Was he even capable of seeing what could happen? They could both be destroyed, even end up in prison, despite all their money and influence. Kent shook his head. “No, Alex, it’s not the same thing at all. This isn’t a freaking business problem. If my father finds out about Juliet, and there’s any publicity, an official investigation, and there could be, he’ll have me removed from my position. It’s not just your bloody campaign, it’s my career, my life. And that’s not all. They’ll be looking at charging us with murder.”

  “Murder? Tell me all of it, Kent.”

  “Briscoe said they’re getting a warrant for our cell phone records. I remember you called Alan and we drove to Philadelphia—after—and we stayed with him that night. What if they interview him? What if he tells them we arrived with dirt all over us? Did you tell him what we’d done? Did you?”

  “Of course not.” Alex gave an elegant shrug. “Don’t worry about Alan. Sure they keep cell phone records. We live in a big brother world now. So if we must, we admit that yes, we were in the area. But there’s no way they could pinpoint where we were seven years ago closely enough to help them find her body. It’s another bluff.” He rose from his chair and poured Kent more whiskey. “Drink up and relax, okay?” He remained quiet until Kent had downed his second glass, gave another little shudder. “You shouldn’t have let that bitch get to you, Kent. Sounds like she played you like a violin. Murder, that’s ludicrous. There was no murder. It was an unfortunate accident, that’s all it was.”

  Kent clearly saw the moment Alex hit Serena’s head with his fist, remembered her falling down, remembered carrying her between them out to the Jag. He remembered the moment he realized she was dead and Alex had calmly tossed her into the trunk. If only Aolith hadn’t seen Alex put the roofie in her glass. If only— Kent shut it down, he couldn’t bear to hear her voice, see her face, her lifeless body. He took another drink, let himself relax into the whiskey’s pulsing warmth. Could Alex be right? Could it all be a bluff? He said nothing, leaned his head back against the sofa again, closed his eyes. It felt cold and expensive, smelled almost alive. He heard Alex get up, heard more whiskey splashing into his glass. Kent started to drink, realized he had to stop or he wouldn’t be able to think clearly. When he opened his eyes, he saw Alex was leaning against the mantelpiece, stark white Italian marble that cost a small fortune.

  Kent got slowly to his feet. He eyed his lifelong friend. “I told you, they said an FBI agent was waiting outside. To make a deal with me. They wanted me to throw you under the bus.”

  Alex’s heart skipped a beat. “Which, of course, you’d never do, right?”

  “Of course not, but you’re making light of everything. The FBI is involved, Alex. Briscoe is relentless, and now they’ve got Juliet.” He looked around the living room. “And why did you let Pamela turn your living room into this soulless pit of hell?”

  “What?” Alex took a step forward. “What did you say?”

  Kent only shook his head. “Nothing, not important, it’s the whiskey, I guess. They said I’ve lived my life under your thumb, that I’ve done pretty much everything you’ve told me to do. That I’ve always been second to you.”

  Of course you have, you pathetic piece of crap. Alex put humor in his voice. “Not a bad strategy, trying to set us against each other. They probably flipped a coin, and that’s why they came to you. But we’ve always been too close for that, nearly brothers.”

  Kent said more to himself than to Alex, “I’m a successful, respected businessman in New York City. Our profits are up, and that’s because of me, no one else. I’m not second to anyone.”

  Alex kept his voice soothing. “Of course not. Everyone knows what an excellent job you’ve done. And you’re my best friend. We’ve been together, done everything together, all our lives, two halves of a whole.

  “Go home, Kent, get some rest. There’s nothing for you to do now but hunker down, make sure there’s nothing incriminating on your cell phone or your computer. Get yourself your own lawyers, don’t ever speak to the reporter or Juliet again. We’ll get through this together, Kent. We always have.”

  Kent said slowly, “I never asked you, never had the nerve. I remember you were so angry when Jordan Jeffers ripped your ear with his lacrosse stick at Bennington, tore it in two. I always wondered, did you run him down? Did you try to kill him, Alex?”

  Alex looked directly into Kent’s eyes. “I cannot believe you’d ask me that. Do you think I’m a monster? I had nothing to do with his accident.”

  Kent didn’t believe him, not for an instant. He felt sober as a judge, and the sober judge saw a cliff coming up fast. He said slowly, “For the first time in our lives, Alex, I really see you. You never really cared about me, you can’t care about anyone. You needed me to play your wingman, you needed someone to lord over.

  “I saw seven years ago exactly what you were, but I refused to accept it. I felt horrible about what happened to Aolith, how we dumped her into that grave, how you killed her. You didn’t care, you had no remorse. All you felt was irritation
she’d had the nerve to die and you didn’t get a chance to have sex with her. And we never talked about her, once she was under all that dirt. She no longer existed for you. I’ve never forgotten her.”

  Kent grabbed his coat, walked to the arched doorway, and turned. “I’m going to be looking after myself now, Alex, doing what’s best for me. I won’t be voting for you, by the way. If you make it that far.”

  Alex stood motionless, the blazing fire behind him hot on his back. He heard the front door open and close.

  42

  Mia

  Thursday night

  Tommy Maitland was coming out of Mia’s kitchen when the doorbell rang.

  He called out, “I’ll get it, Mia. Hope it’s our pizza.”

  He opened the door, eyed the bundled-up woman standing there. “You didn’t bring the pizza? I don’t see the box.”

  Juliet blinked at the big man standing in front of her in jeans, boots, and a thick light blue sweatshirt. He had dark hair and striking light gray eyes, rough chiseled features. Tommy Maitland, she assumed, here earlier than Mia expected. She said, “Not unless the concierge at my hotel gave me a lovely surprise and put a pizza in my overnight bag. Shall I check?” She leaned over, sniffed. “Sorry.”

  Tommy grinned at her, shook her hand. “You’re Juliet Calley, right? I’m Thomas Maitland though Mia still insists on calling me Tommy.” He paused a moment, grinned. “Actually, all my friends and family do too.”

  Mia walked over, poked him in the side. “He tells me no self-respecting FBI agent is called Tommy so he insists crooks call him Thomas. Juliet, come in. I’m so glad you decided to come stay with me.”

  Juliet said to the big man, “Mia didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

  “One of my snitches gave us the break we really needed, so we closed the case faster than expected.”

  “Where’s Sherlock?”

  Mia said, “She’ll be back later. She volunteered, well, really, she insisted she be the one to follow Kent since she’s certain he’ll hightail it right to Alex Harrington. She’ll call us later with an update.

  “As for the big guy here, Tommy pulled some strings and arrived an hour ago. Come in, Juliet. Tommy, please put Juliet’s carry-on in the bedroom and I’ll hang up all her winter gear.” Mia leaned forward, hugged Juliet, whispered in her ear, “Everything will work out, you’ll see.” She leaned back. “You got checked out of your hotel all right? You left your forwarding address for curious minds?”

  “Yes, just as Sherlock told me to. You think someone might come here?”

  Mia said as she hung Juliet’s coat and scarf in the small entrance hall coat closet, “Sherlock believes it’s possible. But we’ll have Tommy now and both of them later, and they’re as tough as his hiking boots, so Tommy says. Come in, come in.”

  Like everyone else who visited Mia, Juliet walked directly to the wide picture window and stared down at Central Park. “It’s beautiful even though you know you’d freeze in a Boston minute if you were out there.”

  Tommy said, “Boston minute? That’s not right, it’s stealing. Even in Washington, we call it a New York minute. There’s the doorbell again, that’s got to be the pizza.”

  While Tommy was at the door, Juliet said, “It’s very kind of you to let me stay here.” She huffed out a breath. Even at the hotel I felt antsy, jumped at every noise.”

  “Not a problem. Do you know what Sherlock said about you? She said she wasn’t surprised you’re so brave, that after listening to you play Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique, someone with your passion could face down the devil.”

  “Me? Brave? Passionate?” Juliet looked surprised and delighted. “That’s the nicest thing anyone could say to me. But the truth? If it weren’t for you and Sherlock, I might have never confessed to anyone what they did to me.”

  Mia said, “I agree with her, so shut up. I’ve told Tommy about our interview with Kent Harper and Sherlock keeping an eye on him tonight.” Mia shrugged. “Now we wait.”

  Tommy carried two big pizza boxes into the living room. “No, don’t move, Mia. Only girls need napkins and paper plates for pizza. It’s like pouring beer into a glass. Dive in, ladies.”

  Tommy watched Juliet pick up a slice of pepperoni pizza, take a bite, sigh. “Better than the concierge offered me.”

  Tommy waited until she swallowed, then asked her, “Do you think Kent Harper will go running to Harrington like Sherlock believes? And what do you think Alex Harrington will say? Do?”

  Juliet said thoughtfully, “If you’d asked me that question two years ago, my stomach would have gone queasy. I’m sure Mia told you what they did to me. I’ll be frank. I nearly fell apart, but at least I had the sense to go on sabbatical, to try to get my life back together. And I did. I took back control. I learned self-defense, and after two years, I’m pretty proficient at tae kwon do. And today? Seeing Kent? I was scared going in, but it turned out to be a revelation. Kent was—just a man.” She took a ferocious bite of pizza. “I scared him. Mia and I scared him. You wonder what Alex will do. He won’t scare, he’ll examine everything in detail, and he’ll make his plans. He’s as cold as ice.”

  She patted her stomach. “Look at me—not queasy. Another slice of pepperoni, I think,” and she grabbed another slice, bit in, and a string of cheese clung to her chin.

  Tommy stared at her. He knew what she’d been through, could imagine the helplessness and impotence she’d felt. He reached over and flicked the cheese off her chin, said easily, “Mia tells me you play the piano for a living.”

  “I try.”

  Mia leaned over, punched her lightly on the arm. “She’s having you on, Tommy. This woman has performed at Carnegie Hall.”

  “Yeah, I knew that,” he said, grinned at her. “Looked you up on my way here.”

  Juliet shook her head at him. “Do you have the warrant for Alex’s cell phone records yet?”

  “The warrant will come in sometime soon. I know you’re scared, Juliet, I don’t blame you. What you did today—it was a huge step, you faced down Kent Harper. The FBI has impounded the Jag. Like Sherlock said, if there’s a single hair—” Tommy swallowed, then forced her name out as he went on. “If there’s a single strand of Serena’s hair, the CSI team will find it.” He sat perfectly still, frozen, the pain of her loss clear on his face.

  Juliet lightly laid her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Tommy. I can only imagine what you went through seven years ago, what those memories and feelings coming back now must be like.”

  Tommy felt his voice shaking and hated it. “At least now there’s a good chance Serena’s folks will get some justice. It’s not enough, nothing could be.” He paused, then said, his voice harsh, “Even if we get them both in prison for what they did, it won’t mean a bloody thing until we find her.”

  Mia said quietly, “We will find her, Tommy. It will mean a lot to her folks and to us.”

  The FBI agent was suddenly back, his voice strong and controlled. “Harrington and Harper will have a dozen lawyers speaking for them. Everyone in law enforcement has seen it often enough. Sometimes, whatever you have, it isn’t enough. But this time, it will be. This time I’m not about to stop.”

  Mia said, “And your dad, Tommy, he’s not going to sit on the sidelines. He’ll be leading the charge with us.”

  Juliet cocked her head.

  Tommy said, “My dad’s a big kahuna in the FBI, assistant director.” He looked over at Juliet, really looked. “I’m very sorry about what those bastards put you through.”

  “Thank you. Do you know, I’ve fantasized about visiting them in Sing Sing, and crowing. Taking a big photo of the two of them and posting it in Times Square, with a caption like, Aren’t You Glad He’s Not Your Mayor?”

  Tommy raised his beer, clicked it to hers. “We’ll make it happen.”

  Mia’s cell phone rang. She looked down, frowned. “Hello, Mia Briscoe here.” They both watched her face freeze.

  Then Mia pushed the end call
button and stared blankly at them. “That was Sherlock. Kent Harper’s been shot. She was there. She’s riding in the ambulance with him to Bellevue. She’ll give us all the details when we get there.”

  43

  Olivia

  Macy’s

  High Point Mall

  Thursday

  Olivia looked back to see Savich jogging through Macy’s front doors to find his supposedly forgotten scarf. She waited a moment, took a big breath, kept her head down even though she’d spotted them when she and Dillon had come out of the store, waiting, waiting. Of course they were watching him, too. Come on, boys, he’s out of the way, let’s get this show on the road. Her hand closed on the Honda door handle. In a matter of seconds, the van started up, reversed, and screeched to a halt behind the Honda. A man jumped out, pinned her arms to her sides, threw her into the back of the van, one fast practiced series of moves. He slammed the door shut. Olivia kicked up at him, heard a hiss of pain, but the driver grabbed her by the neck, jerked her head back, and pulled a pillowcase over her head. Still she lashed out with her feet. A fist slammed against her head and she saw white and fell back, stunned. She heard him yell, “Allez!” It was the Frenchman. He threw Olivia on her stomach against the rough carpet, came back over to her, and dug his knee into the small of her back. The van hurtled through the parking lot, tires shrieking, people yelling after them.

  He shouted to the driver, “Slow down, you fool! The flics will come!”

  The van slowed. Was the driver the man who’d shot at her at her Monday night?

  Olivia tried to push herself up, but he pressed the muzzle of his gun into her back. “You do not want to ever walk again? Answer me!”

  “I want to walk again.”