Blood Trust (30 page)

On the other hand, Pawnhill was daily becoming more of a danger. This incident was merely the last straw. Gunn knew now that sooner rather than later he’d have to do something about Pawnhill, because everyone else involved lacked the guts to go after him. He wasn’t afraid of the man’s physical prowess or his connections, but he had to find a way to take him out without being hit by the inevitable shitstorm.

He felt a trickle of blood run down inside his collar and he smiled. He wouldn’t forget Pawnhill’s assault on his person. On the contrary, it would color the method of his demise.

“I apologize if I’ve offended you in any way, John. That was not my intention.” He shrugged. “I don’t like failure, that’s all.”

“Neither of us does.” Pawnhill reached around Gunn and, opening the glass door, took out a couple of Coca-Colas. He handed one to Gunn and they popped the tops, clinked bottles, and took good, long swigs. “Who murdered our people at Twilight? Have you gotten anywhere with that?”

“It’s too soon to—”

“It’s clear they were killed for the badge that got Dardan’s murderer into the Stem. That never should have happened, Gunn. You were in charge.”

“I can’t have my people everywhere, John. That kind of visibility in the midst of Billy Warren’s murder would have been lethal.”

“That fucking murder,” Pawnhill said. “That fucking murder started it all.” He tapped the neck of the bottle against his forehead. “Who’s mucking around in our patch?” He downed more Coke. “Shit, we’ll all suffer for Dardan’s death.”

Now Gunn understood the real reason why Pawnhill was on edge. “What will the reaction be?”

Pawnhill grunted. “One thing I know, the man who murdered Dardan is a dead man. No matter where he is or where he goes, Arian will hunt him down and kill him like a rabid dog.”

“And what of us?”

“What, indeed?” Pawnhill took another swig of Coke and swallowed noisily. “Someone will be coming, Gunn.” He glanced around the store as if the individual might already be there. “Someone who won’t be as easy to handle as Dardan was. Someone who will make us all pay the price for Dardan’s death.”

E
IGHTEEN

N
AOMI AND
McKinsey were out canvassing the area around Twilight, still trying to find someone—anyone—who knew Arjeta Kraja. It seemed increasingly odd to them that she could be living in the neighborhood without anyone knowing her or even seeing her, save at the club.

In addition to this frustration, Naomi felt increasingly uncomfortable in McKinsey’s presence. How much he was keeping from her she had no idea, but the fact that he was keeping anything creeped her out.

And there was the matter of Willowicz. If she could believe Annika Dementieva—and having crossed paths with him she was inclined to believe her—he was responsible for the torture and murder of Billy Warren, plus the murders of the two Twilight employees. In the normal course of things, she would have told Pete immediately. But this was definitely not the normal course of things and she felt the need to keep her own counsel. Still, how could she be effective on this case if she couldn’t rely on her partner?

Briefly, she had contemplated going to their superior at the Secret Service, but she had no real proof of any wrongdoing on his part. Plus, she couldn’t mention Roosevelt Island without spooking the mysterious Mbreti. And the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that “the King” was the key to Arian Xhafa’s operations in Washington—for all she knew, the entire United States.

They were about to knock on yet another door when her cell buzzed. Having called Jack several times, leaving voice mails as detailed as she dared, she hoped it was him as she checked the caller ID. It was Rachel’s home number. It was an odd occurrence for her sister to call during working hours. Signaling to McKinsey to continue, she stepped several paces away and answered the phone.

“Nomi?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She wondered how one word could carry such pain and heartache.

“Rachel, what is it?”

“It’s Larry.” Her husband.

“Is he okay? Has he been in an accident?”

“You could say that.” Rachel gave a shuddering laugh that collapsed into a fit of sobbing.

“Rachey, for God’s sake, is he okay?”

“You know, for once in my life I don’t give a shit.”

Uh-oh.

“Hang on. I’ll be right over.”

Closing the phone, she beckoned to McKinsey, who was already coming away from the door, shaking his head.

“What’s up?”

“It’s Rachel. There’s an emergency.”

“Is she hurt?”

“Yes, but not in the way you mean. I’ve got to get to her house.”

McKinsey took one look at her pinched, white face and said, “I’ll drive you.”

“I can—”

“The fuck you can,” he said. “I haven’t seen your hands shake like that since the night we spent doing Jell-O shots.”

*   *   *

J
ACK REACHED
out, grabbed Paull, and hauled him to his hands and knees.

“Those shots came from where Alli’s hiding,” he said as they crabbed their way toward the brow of the ridge.

But Paull pulled at him. “This way,” he said, moving off to their left.

In this direction, the ridge was high, wilder, rockier. From the moment they slid over the top they were exposed, but they tumbled over without having their heads blown off, scrambled down the other side, a steep drop off that pitched them off their feet. It was impossible to keep their equilibrium as they tumbled head over heels. Jack tried to roll, but they had gained too much momentum. All he could do was relax his body in order to decrease the risk of breaking an elbow or a rib.

The bottom was even rockier than the ridgeback itself, and for a moment the two men lay stunned, their breathing ragged and irregular. Then Jack coughed heavily and rolled over. Paull was on his knees, head wagging slowly back and forth while he tried to focus his eyes.

“Come on!” Jack said.

Paull whipped his semiautomatic off his back and fingered the trigger. He nodded and they struck out through the dense brush and stands of trees to where the boulder marked the spot where Alli was hiding. Jack signaled and they split up, approaching the boulder from either side. Jack wondered why all the firing had stopped and was now acutely wary of a trap. But the thought of Alli spurred him on.

Both men came around the boulder’s blocky sides at once. Alli stood up when they appeared. She wasn’t alone. Beside her was Thatë, grinning like a lunatic. He was armed with a handgun and an AK-47.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said with a jocularity Jack found eerie. “It took you long enough to get here.”

“Alli, are you okay?” Jack said.

“She’s fine, Jack.” Thatë raised an arm and six heavily armed men appeared from out of the forest.

Paull was apoplectic. “I told you. Godammit to hell, I told you.”

*   *   *

“H
E
’
S LEFT
me, Nomi. Left me and the kids.”

“What? Just like that?”

“He’s got a girl—a
girl,
Nomi! Maybe twenty-two or -three. Jesus!” Rachel ran a hand through her hair. She was, as usual, dressed impeccably, in a Michael Kors black-and-white polka-dot dress. Gold rings on her fingers, diamond studs in her ears, and a string of black pearls around her neck. She wore a pair of suede Christian Louboutin high heels. “You read about these things happening all the time—even to women you know—but, God, you never think it’ll happen to you.” Tears squeezed out of her eyes. “It’s like getting a terminal diagnosis.”

Naomi led Rachel into the living room and sat her down on one of the severe Italian sofas. McKinsey was outside, waiting in the car.

“No, it’s not, Rachey.” She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “And how do you know how old she is?”

“Because the fucker showed me photos of her! Can you fucking believe it? He’s proud of her, wanted to show her off.”

“A twinkie? I wouldn’t have thought it of Larry.”

Rachel groaned. “If only! She’s in her twenties and has a law degree from Harvard, which means she’s both younger
and
smarter than me.” She buried her face in her hands.

Naomi looked around the huge living room, filled with everything money could buy—carved Lalique crystal, a Calder sculpture, paintings by De Kooning, Basquiat, and Richter that would grace the walls of any museum of contemporary art. And then there was the explosion of photos of the family at graduations, parties, parasailing in Cancun, hiking in the Himalayas, snorkeling off the coast of the Maldives. And, finally, set aside in a space all its own, was a gleaming Steinway baby grand piano Rachel had unsuccessfully pushed both children to play.

“What about the kids?”

“What about them?” Rachel’s words were muffled by her fingers.

Naomi tossed her head. “Where are they?”

“Out. Anywhere. I don’t know. I tried their cells, but they’re not answering.”

“We should find them.”

“Good luck with that.”

Naomi touched the point of her sister’s reconstructed chin. “Rachey, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Rachel lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but the Botox protected her forehead from the folds of extreme emotion.

“I’m so sorry. I know how close the family is.”

Rachel made no response. Instead, she took in the grand room.

“He’s going to screw me.”

“What?” For a moment, Naomi thought she hadn’t heard right. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll ask around, we’ll get you the best divorce lawyer on the East Coast.”

“Are you shitting me?” There was fire in her sister’s eyes. Apparently, the period of mourning was over. “My soon-to-be ex-husband
is
the best divorce lawyer on the East Coast.” She wrung her hands. “Dear God, what d’you suppose my future is going to look like?”

Naomi was taken aback. “Rach, aren’t you the least bit—”

“What? The least bit what?”

“Isn’t there any chance to reconcile?”

“Don’t be dense. Larry’s been cheating on me for months—maybe years. This”—and here she used a four-letter expletive that made Naomi shudder—“is probably one of a long line of heifers.”

“I know he’s hurt you, but—”

Rachel shook her head. “Don’t you get it, Nomi? He’s made up his mind, and now he’s going to rape me. No decent attorney will stand up to him and he’s tight with every judge on the bench.”

“Surely you’ll get the kids. And he’ll have to pay child support as well as alimony.”

“What he’ll give me is a pittance.” Her fingers balled into fists. “I want my money, my home, my security. I won’t have shit when he’s done with me.” She began to sob again, and then she wailed, “I want my life back.”

Naomi sat back, feeling lost and helpless. Is this what life came down to, money? Is that all there was after the golden glow was gone? For the first time since they had been adults, she looked clear-eyed at her sister. For years she had bought into Rachel’s fairy-tale existence. But who was Rachel, except an adjunct of Larry, a possession not very different from the De Kooning or the Basquiat? She was cast off, like the Steinway, a presentation piece that had outlived its usefulness.

She sighed and took Rachel’s hands in hers. They were as cold as ice. “What can I do to help?”

The calculating look she knew so well had once again taken up residence in her sister’s eyes. “There’s this bank account Larry uses. I’m not supposed to know about it, but I do. God knows what he uses it for, but huge sums of money go in and out pretty regularly.” Rachel’s eyes sought hers. “Use your contacts at Treasury to have the funds frozen, maybe you can get them to start an investigation.”

On what grounds? Naomi was about to say, but a warning bell had gone off in the back of her mind. She knew herself well enough to pay attention when that bell rang.
“… there’s this bank account … huge sums of money go in and out regularly.”

“Nomi, this is life and death. Are you listening to me?”

Life and death, yes. And then it hit her like a thunderbolt.
Jesus Christ, I’ve been looking for a break in this case in all the wrong places.

*   *   *

P
AULL BROUGHT
his assault rifle to bear on Thatë. “You may have had Jack and the girl fooled, but not me. It was obvious you were Xhafa’s man all along.”

“Lower your weapon,” Thatë said softly.

Jack noted the change in his demeanor. Out here in the wild he was more confident, if not more aggressive. The kid’s appearance could explain the cease-fire, but something in this encounter didn’t feel right.

“Fuck you, sonny,” Paull said.

Jack put his hand on the barrel of the ArmaLite and pushed it down. “Do as he says, Dennis. Confrontation isn’t going to get us anywhere.”