Dark of the Night Page 28

  “Well, I suggest you keep it that way.”

  “Until after the election. I know the drill, Leon.” The lights flickered with the flash of lightning out the window. “Storm’s coming.”

  “It’ll be here soon.” Leon wasn’t certain if Carter was talking about the weather or something else. He could feel it too. The tension building in the air right along with the rain. And it was his job to keep it from exploding.

  “I’m trying to play the game, Leon. Keep all the little duckies happy. Hell, I even told Maudeen I was in love with her.”

  “Are you?” Leon asked, wondering if maybe there wasn’t some truth to the idea, despite Carter’s earthier inclinations.

  “Hell, no.” The words exploded from Carter. Whether it was because of the alcohol or because he felt strongly was anyone’s guess, but it was dangerous either way.

  “It’s best, Carter, if you keep that sentiment to yourself until after the election.”

  Carter blew out a long breath and stood up, squaring his shoulders. “All right. But you’re a real spoilsport, you know that, don’t you?”

  Leon smiled, satisfied, ignoring Carter’s jibe. “I left papers in the office for you to sign. Why don’t you do it now, before you’re too drunk to see the pages.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Carter emptied his glass again, setting it on the table. “You coming?”

  “No. I think you can sign a letter without my holding your hand.”

  “You going home, then?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll wait until the storm has passed.”

  Carter studied him through bleary eyes, his expression almost wistful. “Some storms never pass, Leon. Did you know that?”

  Jake drummed his fingers on the counter, waiting. The vital records department was officially closed, but the woman on duty had been willing to stay late. She’d gone to retrieve the certificate, and judging from the time she’d been gone, she’d either gotten distracted and forgotten about him or been swallowed by the archives.

  The door opened, and a middle-age woman bustled through it, holding a thin certificate triumphantly. “Here it is. It was misfiled by three days, so it took a little longer to find than I’d anticipated. And then I had to make a copy. Sorry you had to wait.”

  She handed him the sheet of paper, waiting expectantly.

  He scanned the document, noting the date and Caroline’s name scrawled at the bottom. It was her signature. He recognized it from the diary. He glanced up at the woman. “This is it. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank the state of Georgia and their insistence on good record keeping. That’ll be ten dollars, please.”

  He handed her the money, his eyes already back on the other signature at the bottom of the license. It was bold, almost brash, and it made the hairs on Jake’s arms rise to attention.

  Bryce Daniels.

  Caroline O’Brien had married Bryce Daniels.

  Martell stood across the street from his condo, watching two men in suits walk to the door. Cops. He could tell from the cut of their clothes and the condition of their shoes. Cops never bothered with nice shoes. Even detectives. And that’s what he was looking at. Two bona fide members of Atlanta’s finest.

  Question was, what were they doing here? Looking for him, obviously. But what the hell for? He threw his cigarette on the ground, listening to the sound of distant thunder. Guess it really didn’t matter. Either way his goose was cooked. Best thing he could do was disappear.

  But if the boys in blue were on to him, they’d be watching. His bank account was a no go. Not that there was much left of the money he’d been paid. He glanced down at his newest acquisition. Armani. Hand tailored. Worth every penny. But that still left a dilemma.

  If he’d been made, he needed a way out of town. Depending on the deed he’d been nailed for, maybe out of the country. And to do that, he needed cash. Bad. And the only person he could think to bail him out of this mess was the person who got him into it.

  Except said person was nowhere to be found.

  Not at the office, and not at home. He reached into his breast pocket for another cigarette, his hand brushing against the butt of his Glock. Sweet little piece. Always nice to carry a little insurance. He sighed, inhaling deeply, letting the nicotine burgeon his courage.

  There was only one place left he could think to look for his meal ticket. Not exactly the kind of place one waltzed up to the door. But still, not impossible. Certainly not for someone like him.

  He smiled, feeling better. All he needed to do was breach the fortress, make his demands known, and skedaddle out of town until the fury died down. Simple enough. And if no one was inclined to finance his little journey, well then, he’d just have to do a little persuading. He patted the gun again, satisfied with his plan of attack.

  Lightning flashed, underscoring his resolve. After all, he’d more than done his part.

  All he wanted now was his just reward.

  Chapter 26

  THE GODDAMN RAIN was ruining his suit. Martell mentally made a note to add that to his rapidly mounting list of expenses. He stood under the shelter of a magnolia tree, the large waxy leaves giving a little protection. But not enough.

  The house was dark except for a light to the left of the first floor. His quarry’s car was out front. So that meant he was in there somewhere. The question now was how to get to him without making any more trouble than necessary.

  Cursing under his breath, Martell made a dash for a service porch that ran along the far side of the house. He stopped under the awning, searching for new lights, or voices—something that would signal he’d been heard.

  There was nothing except the wind and the storm. This side of the house was completely dark. Which was exactly the way he wanted it. After touching the cool comfort of his gun, he reached for the doorknob.

  Locked.

  He smiled, pulling the small tool kit from his pocket. A man had best be prepared. After selecting a pick, he inserted it in the lock and with a twist of the wrist had the lock open. Next, he felt carefully along the door’s edge for a sensor or wiring.

  With breath held, he slowly turned the doorknob. No alarm. Nothing. Arrogant bastard.

  With a sigh of relief, he pulled the door open just enough to allow him to slip inside.

  He stood in the half-light, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He was in the kitchen. The room with the light on was in the opposite corner. He’d try there first. Hopefully he’d find his man there, get his money, and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible.

  Drawing his gun, he made his way into a hallway that led to the main foyer. It was bigger than most people’s apartments. The crystal chandelier glittered almost maliciously in the lightning, casting dancing shadows on the floor. Straight ahead another hallway beckoned, this one with a shaft of light breaking across the floor.

  Bingo.

  He inched forward, keeping his back to the wall, all his energy trained on willing Leon Bronowsky to be in the room. And to be there alone. He edged up to the door, listening for voices. He could hear a clock ticking and the sound of the rain on the windows, but no voices. Careful to stay out of the light, he tilted his head so he could see inside.

  Bronowsky was standing by the window, his back to the door.

  Martell smiled. Sometimes things worked out perfectly. Sliding the Glock back into its holster, he drew in a bolstering breath and stepped into the room. “Long time no see, Leon.”

  Bronowsky spun around, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I need a little more money.” Martell shrugged, walking closer, his hand tensed, ready to grab his gun if necessary.

  “I’ve more than paid you for your work, Osterman.”

  “Well, now that’s what I thought too. But you see, we’ve hit a little snag.” He watched as a variety of emotions paraded across Bronowsky’s face. Anger, frustration, and finally fear.

  “What do you mean?”

  “S
eems the police are looking for me.”

  “How the hell did that happen?” Fear and frustration evaporated in the wake of full-blown anger. “You did the girl, didn’t you? Against my express orders.”

  Martell shrugged. “I couldn’t let her talk.”

  “About what? She didn’t know anything, did she?”

  “I used her to get to Larsen, and considering the way things have been going down, I figured it was best to take her out.”

  “And that’s what they nailed you for.”

  “No. Someone tipped them off about the clinic.” Actually, according to a colleague, the ATF had made the bombs, and identified him that way. But no need in telling Bronowsky the mistake had been his. “But it doesn’t matter what they’ve got on me, Leon. Murder, arson—either one means prison. And there’s no way I’m doing time.”

  “Of course not.” Leon shrugged, and poured a stout measure of whiskey. “Drink?”

  “Sure.” Martell reached for the glass, watching while Leon poured one for himself.

  Leon sat in an armchair behind a small desk, gesturing to the chair across from him. “How much do you think you’ll need?”

  Martell took a seat, relief flooding through him. “A million.”

  Leon’s eyebrows rose, but there was no other reaction. “Seems like a lot.”

  Martell shrugged. “I figure I need to get out of the country. And I’ll need money to live on.”

  “So what happened to the money I already paid you?”

  “Most of it’s gone. The rest is no doubt under police surveillance.”

  Leon stared into his glass, watching the swirl of color. The storm still rattled behind him, mirroring his emotions. Osterman was a fuck-up. There were no two ways about it. And he had become a serious liability. “Well, there’s no way I can get that kind of money to you tonight.”

  Osterman stirred uncomfortably. “Time is not something I have a lot of. And if I go down, you have to know that you’ll go too.”

  “Easy, Martell.” Leon raised a hand. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. Just that I can’t get the money tonight.”

  “So where does that leave me?” He was close to apoplexy, and tried to hide it behind attitude, but Leon could smell fear on a man. And Osterman reeked of it.

  “On a plane out of here tonight.”

  “They’ll be watching the airport.”

  “Not my private plane.”

  Osterman smiled, revealing crooked, dirty teeth. Even Armani couldn’t make a pig into a prince. “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll call my pilot.” Leon picked up the phone and dialed time and temperature, the recorded voice adding a monotonous undertone to the conversation. “Phil, this is Leon Bronowsky.”

  “The time is 7:24.”

  “I’m going to need the jet tonight.”

  “The current temperature is fifty-six degrees Fahrenheit . . .” the voice intoned.

  “Yes, a colleague of mine has to make a sudden business trip—to Switzerland.” He looked to Osterman for confirmation. The man nodded.

  “. . . thirteen degrees Celsius.”

  “Great. His name is Martell Osterman. He’s leaving now.” He made a play of consulting his watch. “So, I’d say you should be able to leave in an hour.”

  “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again.”

  Good advice. “Thanks, Phil.” He hung up the phone, his left hand sliding open the desk drawer. “Well, that’s it. You’re all set. You remember where to go?” Martell nodded. “Fine, I’ll wire the money to you in the morning. In the meantime, I’d say you’d better get out of here, before someone else sees you.” His hand closed over the cold metal of Carter’s gun. Bless the man and his NRA tendencies.

  Martell stood up, the relief on his face obvious. “All right. I’m out of here.”

  “You could say that.” Leon pulled back the hammer, the slight click inaudible against the fury of the storm. Lightning flashed as Martell turned to go.

  One Mississippi, two Mississippi . . . thunder cracked, echoing through the house, masking the report of the gun. Osterman fell, his body collapsing without sound. Leon wiped the gun with his coattail and dropped it back into the desk.

  He’d have to get Carter to help him. Something had to be done with the body. And they’d have to clean the rug. He sighed, heading for the stairs. Why did everything have to be so damn complicated?

  “What the hell is this?” Maudeen threw the credit card bill down on the desk, trying to hang on to some modicum of dignity.

  Carter looked up from the papers he was reading, a puzzled expression on his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “There are eighteen charges to the St. James on here, Carter. Eighteen.”

  “What are you doing with my private mail?” His eyes flashed dangerously, the telltale flush of his cheeks telling her he’d been drinking.

  A little voice in her head warned her to back off, but she brushed it aside, letting her anger push her on. “It was in the pouch Bill sent from Washington. He must have put it in there by mistake. I opened it before I realized what it was. Don’t try to turn this on me. This is about you and your indiscretions.”

  “I’m not trying to turn anything anywhere. You’re the one standing here with my mail, accusing me of duplicitous behavior.”

  “Duplicitous behavior? That’s a laugh. I’ve turned my back on your escapades for years, Carter, but I’m not immune to them, and I don’t intend to put up with them anymore.”

  “I hardly think you have a choice, Maudeen. In case you’ve forgotten it, you’re nothing more than an indiscretion.” His stood up, his eyes narrowing. “One I’m very much regretting at the moment.”

  “So what? You’re going to throw me out?” Maudeen tried to maintain some level of decorum, but her world was spinning out of control, taking all sense of ladylike behavior along with it.

  “Why not?” He shrugged. “Leon wanted me to wait until after the campaign, but since you’ve called the hand, maybe there’s no time like the present.”

  “Just like that?”

  “You’ve become a liability, Maudeen.”

  Her heart twisted, plummeting to her stomach. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not like this. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. I’ve put everything that I am into this relationship, Carter. I’ve worked with you. I’ve lived with you. Hell, I loved you. And what do I get for that?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Shown to the goddamned door!”

  “Now, Maudeen . . .” His voice was placating now, soothing, but she wasn’t buying.

  “Don’t you dare patronize me, Carter O’Brien. I’ve been around here long enough to recognize that tone. You just dumped me. And now you expect me to smile sweetly, pack my bags, and walk out of your life?”

  “I expect you to behave like a professional.”

  “Is that what you think I am? A pro? Well, fine then, I’ll charge like one.” Tears ran down her face, no doubt ruining her carefully applied makeup. Well, to hell with that. “How’s two hundred dollars an hour sound?” She clenched her fists, trying for control, but missing by a mile. “Oh, and I’ll expect back pay. Eighteen years worth.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “Well, that’s the implication, isn’t it? ‘Gee, Maudeen, the party’s over. I have to go and be President now.’ ” She glared at him, her mind trying but failing to find a way out. “God, I wish I’d told Jake Mahoney everything I know.”

  “What has Jake Mahoney got to do with any of this?” His anger was back.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” She smiled, but knew there was no humor reflected in the gesture.

  “Maudeen, don’t toy with me. What have you done?”

  Carter’s stance was menacing, and she took an involuntary step back, courage deserting her. “Nothing. I was just angry. I said the first thing that came into my head.”

  Carter’s eyes narrowed. “I don�
��t believe you.”

  She squared her shoulders, facing him with as much bravado as she could muster. “Well, you’ll just have to, won’t you?”

  He crossed the room in two strides, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “I know you better than you think, darlin’. You’re hiding something.” His grip tightened. “So tell me.”

  She searched his eyes, trying to find some hint of the man she loved. “It’s nothing.”

  “Maudeen.” He shook her. “Tell me.” His eyes glittered with anger, and fear rocketed through her.

  Fear laced with anger. “I don’t deserve any of this, Carter.”

  He released her, his eyes softening. “No. You probably don’t. But unfortunately, that doesn’t count for much. I am who I am, Maudeen. And I can’t give you what you want.”

  “Because of the presidency.”

  “It’s what we’ve worked for all these years. In the end, it’s the only thing that matters.”

  “Well, maybe you’d be better off without it.” She met his gaze, pleading.

  “So what did you do, Maudeen?” He was calmer now, almost relaxed.

  She drew in a breath. He was single-minded, but he’d never hurt her, and at the end of the day, she trusted him. She’d just have to make him understand. “I know about Caroline.”

  Confusion washed across his face. “I’m not following.”

  “I was there, Carter. I saw what happened to her.”

  Lightning filled the room, the static electricity almost palpable. “And you told Mahoney?” Carter’s voice was deceptively soft.

  Maudeen licked her lips nervously, trying to gauge his reaction. “I didn’t tell him anything. I just sort of hinted.”

  “Hinted?”

  “Yes. I sent him a copy of her autopsy report.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She closed her eyes, searching for strength, then opened them, meeting his gaze squarely. “The real report, Carter, not the doctored one.”

  “That’s impossible. All the copies were changed.”

  “No they weren’t. A copy of the original report was mailed to your office. I found it, and kept it.”

  “Why would you do that?” He spoke so quietly now, she almost couldn’t hear him, the lack of an explosion frightening her much more than if he’d been screaming.