Dark Waters (2013) (23 page)

It sure felt good to be home.

Cops were saying Marco was dead. Kudrow had gotten a phone call asking if he could help identify the corpse. Kudrow had been real sorry he couldn’t help. But it raised the question how they’d known to connect the firm with the aborted attack on Brent Carver’s house. Anna Silver had blabbed to someone, but Rand doubted she’d told them the whole truth.

Assuming another of his false identities, he’d decided to retrace his steps.

Last night Kudrow had called to say Anna Silver and an unknown male—probably Carver—had turned up at her dad’s place in Chicago. Vic had compounded a litany of fuckups and lost her. But her turning up there meant she hadn’t found the envelope yet, because if she had, she’d either turn it over to the cops and they were all fucked, or she’d disappear with all their hard-earned cash. Sixty million was a lot of money and he’d bet—if someone hadn’t stolen all his frickin’ money—on the latter. She was still looking for it, just the same way they were, and now he wasn’t just pissed. He wanted retribution.

It was Wednesday. Given the snail pace of the postal service, it could still be a few days until the damn thing arrived, but with two dead cops, they were running out of time before law enforcement started asking the tough questions. Petrie was looking at other angles to figure out where Davis might have funneled the money, but Rand wasn’t holding his breath.

He got dressed. Pulled on a knit cap. Walked the six blocks to a sweet little ranch house with its white picket fence and sweet scented garden. Checked the mailbox before heading around the back with a handful of shit. Fucking flyers.

Cauldwell Lake was nothing more than a subdivision serving the Twin Cities. Anna’s house had been around since the fifties and the city had finally encroached on its borders.

He pulled on latex gloves and removed his lock-picking kit out of his back pocket. It took all of thirty seconds to let himself in, and thanks to the mature, leafy garden, none of the neighbors could see a thing. The kitchen was bright white with oak counters. Nice, classy. He looked around. Examined the quality of the silence, every sense on high alert for a surprise party. Sensing nothing, he searched each room carefully before allowing himself to relax his guard. The first time he’d been here, he’d done a quick search for obvious bolt holes. Now he knew she was smarter than that, plus she had help. He needed to delve deeper to see if he could figure out what made her tick and where she might go. He started in the bedroom. A big-ass painting hung over the bed. Pretty perfume bottles lined the small dressing table along with a framed wedding portrait of her mother and father. He opened the closet and dropped to his knees as he began going through all her junk. Shoe boxes, shoes, jewelry, paperbacks. Nothing.

He rose to his feet, took a walk to her office, and eyeballed the books on the shelves. A lot of self-help books and how to survive abuse bullshit. A small smile curved his lips—at least she’d be well ahead of the game after he finished with her—except, of course, she’d be dead. He stared at the filing cabinet, opened the drawer, and found her banking details and credit card bills. Petrie already had this so he ignored it and dug deeper. Everything was alphabetized and filed within an inch of its life.

No address book, though.

He put aside postcards she’d sent to herself from various places around the country—sad—and a few from friends. He noted their names. Next on the list would be checking into their phone records and see if they’d received any calls from burner cells.

Time was running out and the team would need to get out of Chicago ASAP. The game was over as far as the charity side of things was concerned. In the past, the IRS and Treasury Department had steered clear of probing too deep into the charity’s books. The government used their services often enough that they didn’t want their dealings to become public knowledge. But, with the bodies piling up, there would be an investigation. He could almost hear the feds crunching their teeth on subpoenas and warrants. When they figured out who else Rand & Co had been working for over the last eighteen months, the whole team would be fucked six ways to Sunday. And Rand sure as hell didn’t intend to be extradited to the Middle East to face criminal charges if the administration of the day decided they wanted some political leverage. He knew how to disappear, but he wanted his damn money first.

He sat back on his heels and eyed a stack of color-coordinated boxes.
Holy crap
. Pain shot through his jaw as he clenched his teeth. For all her organization she still kept too much shit. Why did people do that?

There was a sound at the front door and he drew his weapon.

“Anna. Anna! I know you’re in there. I’m sorry. Please, can we talk about this?”

A smile curled Rand’s lips.
Romeo, Romeo. Oh, fucking Romeo
.

“I messed up. I’m sorry, but I’ve never dated a girl like you before and I’m…I’m out of my league.”

Rand twitched the curtain in the living room.
You’ve got that right, pal.

“I’m on my way to work, but I’m not going anywhere until we talk this through. I’m staying right here.”

Persistent little prick. Noisy too.

Rand thought about it for three whole seconds and then opened the door. The guy blinked as he hauled him one-handed inside, closing the front door with his foot.

“Who the hell are you? Where’s Anna?”

Rand stuffed his gun in the back of his waistband and leaned down until they were nose-to-nose. “She’s already forgotten you, asshole.”

The little toad started scrambling, legs seeking purchase on the ground and not finding it.

“OK, this is what we’re going to do.” Rand took Romeo by the scruff and marched him into the kitchen. He shoved him into a chair and closed the blinds.

The guy made a break for the door and Rand brought his elbow across his face and heard the bone snap. The guy screamed and Rand grabbed him in one hand, the dish towel in the other. Blood poured down the man’s crisp white shirt. Rand stuffed the towel in his mouth, shoved him face-first on the linoleum, and gagged him. He used another tea towel around the wrists. The guy struggled uselessly, wriggling like a worm on a hook.

Once he had his wrists and ankles secure, Rand climbed to his feet. Scared eyes met his from the kitchen floor. Rand extracted the Ka-Bar knife from the sheath strapped to his leg.

“You’re going to tell me where Anna might be, and if I think you’re telling the truth, I might leave your dick attached.” He crouched next to the guy. “What’s your name?”

The guy grunted and Rand pulled the gag out for a second.

“Peter,” the guy gasped.

Rand replaced the gag and nodded. “OK, Peter. Here’s what we’re going to do.” Peter tried to scoot across the pristine floor but it wasn’t happening. “I’m going to cut you every time you don’t answer a question truthfully. Got it?”

Peter’s eyes bugged. Rand smiled. “Too slow.” He swiped the knife across Peter’s cheekbone and watched him bleed. “Got it?”

Peter nodded fast and furious.

Having someone at your mercy was a hell of a high. No wonder there were so many serial killers roaming the world. But he wasn’t doing this for fun. He thought about the redhead and grinned. That had been fun. Anna was going to be fun too.

“Where’s Anna likely to go?” He lowered the rag but already knew the guy didn’t have a clue. Peter shook his head and Rand held his jaw closed with his hand as he skinned the top of his ear. “Now you might not think you know but dig deep, OK, Peter?”

The poor guy nodded frantically, blood and snot dripping down his face.

Rand wiped his knife on Peter’s expensive pants. “Just tell me what you know, all right?”

Again the frantic nodding.

“How long you and Anna been dating?”

“Six months.”

“You doing her?” Rand asked.

Peter’s spastic head shaking made Rand still the knife. “Six months and you haven’t fucked her yet?”

Peter gasped for a decent breath. “She doesn’t like being touched. She won’t let me anywhere near her.”

Rand replaced the gag. The idea of Anna being frigid was an unexpected turn-on. The thought of how desperately she’d fight him…shit, he shifted uncomfortably, he’d need another redhead if Anna didn’t show up soon.

He smiled. Maybe he’d let Peter live, poor bastard. “She has something of mine.” Sixty million—split five ways now Marco was dead—and a shedload of battered pride. “I need to find her and get it back.” Rand lowered the gag to show his sincerity. Helped the guy sit up with his back against the kitchen counter.

“I don’t know where she is.”

“What do you know?” asked Rand.

“She works at Oakwood School. Has a couple of girlfriends, I can tell you where they live. Works out at a gym three times a week two blocks from here.”

Sold out only five minutes into a new relationship. Such was life.

He nodded encouragingly. “Keep going, Peter. You’re doing great. But give me some names and addresses now. Details.”

Blood covered the guy’s shirt front, lower face, and neck. Rand was beginning to feel a little sorry for the guy. Six months dating and no action?
Christ
. He’d have dumped her after the second date—somewhere wild and remote. The woman was a goddamned prick tease.

Fear churned in Brent’s stomach for both Anna’s safety and his own freedom, because even the idea of prison was like a noose around his throat. Brent drove. Hell, he’d been driving for hours. They hadn’t checked out of the hotel in Chicago. In fact, they’d booked the suite for the whole week and left the rental in the parking garage—just in case anyone tracked them to that hotel. Let them think he and Anna were holed up, having marathon, dirty-old-man-doing-his-PA sex. Instead, they’d grabbed their stuff, hired another vehicle, and hit the road.

The foreign landscape hadn’t improved his mood. He missed the ocean. This vast expanse of land felt too static, claustrophobic. How did anyone stand it without going nuts? Plus there were all these cars going in every direction. Cars on both sides of him, pressed close, front and back. His stomach started to churn.

What sort of pansy-ass was scared of fricking driving?

Gritty eyed, he signaled and pulled into a drive-through for coffee. Glancing quickly at Anna dozing in the passenger seat, he couldn’t help thinking that this was the sort of future he’d denied himself when he’d killed his father.

Too bad. Get over it
.

He ordered them both coffee at the window and Anna woke up, blinking widely. “Where are we?”

“Thirty minutes out. You want to drive?”

“Sure, you must be exhausted.”

He wasn’t tired. His brain felt like it had been hotwired, and until this thing was finished, he didn’t feel like closing his eyes.
But a mental break would help, and she knew her way around the city.

Pansy-ass
.

They swapped seats, and before long they pulled up in a neighborhood of bungalows and swing sets. He frowned. “Where are you going?” They’d agreed on finding a motel and contacting some of her friends and colleagues from the school.

Her back was straight. Jaw set. “It’s early. We should check the mail at my house before there are too many people around. And I can grab some stuff from my house.”

“What stuff?”

“Work, for school.” Tendons shone white through the skin on her knuckles. This was her way of gaining control of the situation. He got that, but…“It’ll take just a couple of minutes. I have everything on an external drive and in a single box file. That’s all I need.” Her eyes were hard, determined. “We grab it, the mail, and get out of there.”

His heart turned into a stone that rattled around his chest. He should have known she’d do something like this, and with her hands on the steering wheel, he was powerless to stop her without crashing the damn car. Although maybe it was better to get this over with. A quick in and out early in the morning. He ran his hand through his short spiky hair. “Fine. Don’t pull up outside your place. Do a drive-by, we’ll see if anyone is camped out front, then park around the corner.” He grabbed his hat and put it on her head. “Keep it on,” he ordered when she went to jerk it off.

“But the car windows are tinted.” She scowled but left the hat in place. They pulled into a quiet street lined with mature trees. He saw the white picket fence ahead on the right and immediately knew it was hers.

“Don’t slow down.”

She drove past and Brent checked it out. Pink roses nestled in green leaves, looking like some idyllic grotto. It wasn’t his beach, but it was pretty. He hated it, and didn’t know why.

There didn’t seem to be anyone watching the place from the street. “Pull over up ahead.” They were far enough away to not be noticeable.

The silence was intense. “They can’t watch everywhere, right?”

“They tracked you all the way to Bamfield. Putting someone on your house seems like a no-brainer.”

She went white, but these guys were not playing games. He wasn’t going to sugarcoat reality just so she could get herself killed. It was early. The neighborhood was quiet. That perfect morning light filtering through the leafy canopy.