Cold Comfort (17 page)

"I knew Burley was a crook. It's a perfect tie-in."

"You'd just like him to be. He refused to do business with them. Hard to argue with that." He glanced at a couple of other references. "There's no apparent connection—some enterprising reporter spotted the link between Burley, the nephew, and the Geminellis and mentioned it. This is really about Trapp—the police called him a 'person of interest' in the disappearance of a woman last seen at the casino."

He read on. "I don't see anything else about Fortunato." Riley spun his chair around to study Claire, slumped in her chair. She looked dazed. To her, the Mafia and hit men were probably on a level with Martians, only rumored to exist. He closed his hand over her cold one.

"I called the police. A hot-shot lawyer showed up and arranged for Fortunato's release." Riley wanted to check out a couple of things, and he planned to start with Joey Fortunato, not something he could do with Claire.

"What? How can he be out?"

"That's the way it works. The only one hurt was Fortunato, so the magistrate had no reason to deny bail."

Claire shook her head. "Those men could have killed someone—meant to."

"We can't prove it." He squatted in front of the fireplace and added more wood. "I got Fortunato's address. He lives in Jersey, told the police he works at the Trevi Casino." And Riley intended to pay the man a visit. He stoked the fire, then returned to close the search engine on the computer.

"Wait. Before you shut down, would you see if there's a Dr. Amos Clary listed in McClellanville?"

"Clary? The one who delivered you?"

"Yes. If he's still there, I want to talk to him."

Riley tapped the keys, and the screen filled with data. "Here he is—could be a son, but the name's right."

Claire wrote down the address and phone number. "Thanks."

"All right." Riley switched off the computer and turned to face her, uncomfortable with what he wanted to say—she wasn't going to like it. "Claire, this is getting more dangerous. If they'd come into a busy shop after you, they aren't going to back off. As long as you're out in public, there's only so much I can do. Mistletoe is too risky. I want you to stay here, safely out of the way, while I check some things."

"I can't sit here and do nothing—"

"And I can't stay at Mistletoe—we'll never figure this out unless we go after them. Fortunato's a starting place. But I can't do it unless you'll be safe—here, where someone can keep on eye on you."

"What?" She planted her hands on her hips and faced him. "You seriously expect me to sit here with a babysitter and do nothing?"

"My job is to keep you safe, and by god I intend to do it. I want you glued to my side or somewhere out of the way with people I trust. I need to see Fortunato."

She stared at him for a second, her eyes wide. "I feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole." She pressed her fingers to her temples. "I'm not a prisoner, Riley. I won't sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you do all the—whatever you do. I have ideas too."

"And I'll listen. Just tell me."

"I want to talk to Dr. Clary, see if he remembers anything."

"He might. Call him. He may be able to tell you about Blanche." He ran his hands through his hair. He could pick up something to eat, make a few calls while out of her hearing. Once he arranged it, she'd see the logic and agree to stay. "I need to find out who's behind this, and right now, our best bet is Joey Fortunato. I'm going to find him, but he'll be in his territory and he may have friends. I can't risk having you with me."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she tilted her head and met his gaze. "Do what you have to, Riley. Go."

She sounded resigned, or maybe sad. He expected an argument. What was she thinking?

"Why don't you take Ray? What if the other man is with him?"

Riley hoped so but doubted it. "I'll be okay." He figured it would take a couple of days to get the information from Fortunato and track down his boss. And maybe
his
boss—whatever it took to find the person behind all this. "I need to get some food in here before I leave."

"Good, I'll make a list." She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Why don't you go while I take a nap? Would you mind?"

"Okay, but no promises. I'm not much of a shopper," he said. She appeared to have accepted his plan, but he wondered.

* * *

Claire jotted down a list of food and handed it to Riley. "It's mostly canned or frozen things. Anything we don't use right away will keep." He'd never forgive her.

"Good idea." He stuffed the paper in his shirt pocket and shrugged into his jacket. "Don't let anyone in but Ray. Be careful."

"I will. Riley, thanks for...everything." She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek.

"No problem. We'll find out what's going on." He pressed his hand over hers and left.

She hated to do this, but she wasn't some hothouse flower who needed protection from every little raindrop. She dressed quickly in slacks and a sweater and grabbed her coat and bag. If she let him, Riley would smother her—
and he said he wasn't a bodyguard
. Well of course she wasn't going to win in hand-to-hand combat, but she did have a brain. Now that Riley put her on the right track, she could do a great deal on her own. McClellanville. No one would be looking for her there, and she'd be very, very careful.

"Goodbye, Spike."

The cat scooted out the door when she opened it, glanced at her, and disappeared behind the enormous pile of wood. Claire hurried to her car, tossed her bag in the passenger seat, and drove to the gate.
Oh, no.
The lock hung from the gate. She left the Fiat idling and ran to it. He'd hooked the padlock through the latch but hadn't closed it.
Thank goodness.
Her hands shook as she slid it out of the latch, constantly checking the road for Riley's Bronco.

Few cars ventured out this Sunday morning, and she took the first turnoff she came to, winding through back roads, heading in the general direction of the Newport News airport and the Avis desk. The Fiat, aside from being distinctive, wasn't reliable enough for a long road trip. She planned to withdraw the maximum amount of cash from the bank, rent a car, and head for McClellanville.

She'd have to get a map and decide on a route. Riley, if he wasn't too angry, might come after her. But he wouldn't know what she was driving.

Chapter 12

The gate was closed but the padlock wasn't in the latch. Riley shoved the gate out of the way, leapt into the Bronco, and tore down the drive.
What happened?
Anxious to get back to Claire, he'd left it unlocked, and they'd found her.
Christ, not again, not Claire.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he skidded to a halt in a spray of gravel. He was at the door, his gun out, before he realized the Fiat was gone. No cars around. Would they have taken her car? Why?

He fumbled the lock open and ran inside. "Claire, Claire!" He searched the house—bedroom, closet, bath—in seconds, stopped at the phone to call for help when he saw the note.
Ransom? What could they want?
His heart hammered against his chest as he opened the folded paper.

Riley,

I'm so sorry, but I have to do this. You can't shut me away or protect me from everything. Don't worry—I'll be fine. I'll call you in a couple of days.

Forgive me,

Claire

"She left? Just walked away?" Stunned, he dropped into the big chair. The first flush of anger hit him. He crumpled the note and hurled it into the fire, watched it slowly unfurl, the corners blacken and flame.

What the hell was she thinking? Didn't she know what could happen to her? Fortunato was a killer, and the other one was a sadist.
Fuck.
The word didn't come close to expressing his feelings. Neither did the string of expletives that followed. Images of Nadia flashed before his eyes. The bloody face morphed into Claire's.

He had to do something. Where would she go? Not home. He thought back to their conversation. "McClellanville." He snapped his fingers and picked up the phone. "Jocko, I need a plane right away. How close can you get me to McClellanville, South Carolina? I'm on my way to the airport. Call me asap."
No answer, dammit.
He punched in another number.

"Will, I need to access a credit card or bank account. Call me."
Where the hell is everybody?

He threw some clothes and his Dopp kit into a canvas bag, then pulled an ammo canister out of the closet and shoved a fresh magazine into the Glock, put some extras in the bag. He slipped his old Gerber Air Ranger into his jeans pocket. The knife fit comfortably in his hand and opened easily with the thumb button. "Be prepared," his father said, but he'd handed Riley a condom.
Those were the days.

The Glock went into his holster, and the Walther PPK fit into a zip pocket in his jacket. Whoever stole her birth certificate knew about McClellanville, and Riley planned to be ready. Briefly he considered duct tape, pictured Claire secured to a chair, but once he caught up with her, he wouldn't let her out of his sight—now that he knew what to expect.

In eight minutes he was out the door. He stopped only to lock the gate, cursing himself for not doing it earlier. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Will.

"Can you get me any card use for Claire Spencer?" Riley gave him rest of the info as he wheeled around a Cadillac. Damn Sunday driver.

"I'll try. Anything else? I know there's more—there always is with you," Will said.

"Her bank account. I know you can't get anything until tomorrow, but I need the location of any withdrawals, starting today."

"Okay, I'm on it."

"One more thing—Joseph Fortunato, Atlantic City, New Jersey. I need his credit card activity too." What if they figured out where Claire would go? If either of them laid a finger on her, Riley would see them both in hell. His stomach tied itself in knots. Images of Nadia hovered like ghosts at the edges of his mind.

He'd barely flipped the phone closed when it signaled a message. He punched in the code and listened. "I'm at the hangar, ready. Send your ETA and I'll clear us for takeoff."

Jocko. Great. No delay
.

He waited in the cockpit while Riley climbed in. In seconds they were taxing down the runway. He turned to Jocko. "We're looking for a red 1978 Fiat Spider." He described the little car. "I'm almost certain she's headed for McClellanville, but I don't know which route. My guess is it won't be 95. The Fiat may not be up to it." Riley opened a map and located the little fishing village.

"Red Fiat Spider? Not too common. How about that one?" Jocko pointed and angled the plane so Riley could see. "There, in the parking lot. She got you, Riley. She's either flying or she's rented a car."

Riley gritted his teeth. "Ah, shit. I should have checked. Can you land again? I need to find out what she's doing."

It took him more than an hour, using his ID, phone calls to Washington, and threats, to get the license number and description of the car she'd rented.

"Goddammit. Every third car on the road is a white Ford Focus," Riley told Jocko. "She has a two-hour head start. She could have taken the Interstate, probably would if she's in a good car she thinks is anonymous. Let's start where she'd pick up 95."

"You know, there's a reason you shouldn't get emotionally involved. You don't think straight," Jocko said. "What if we see her? What are you going to do—jump out and land on her roof? Do flyovers till she gets there?"

What was he planning? He just wanted to find her, hadn't thought any further. "Okay, but I'm not involved. She's a client and I don't want her to get hurt."

Jocko raised his eyebrows but didn't comment.

"The odds are no one will be looking for her in McClellanville. Let's find her and make sure that's where she's going. Then take me to the closest car rental, probably Georgetown or Charleston."

"Where're you going from there?"

"I'm hoping Will can find a credit card charge, but there are only a few places she's likely to stay. I'll find her." He had hoped to be on offense by now, tackling Joey Fortunato, but chasing Claire set him back on defense.

What would the slimebag after Claire do next? His goals seemed to be getting rid of her
and
finding something about her birth. Riley thought if the guy couldn't find Claire, he'd go to McClellanville.

* * *

Riley, using his cell phone, found a rental company in Georgetown and arranged for someone to leave a car at the Georgetown airport for him. He figured the trip would take Claire about six hours, so if she made a reservation anywhere, he could be waiting for her.

"Stay cool," Jocko said as Riley left him. "Call if you need me."

"Thanks. I will." He picked up a Chevy Tahoe, the only SUV available, and reviewed the local accommodations. He needed to find Claire before anyone else stumbled across her. He didn't make a reservation for himself—he planned on sticking to Claire like a limpet mine on a steel hull.