Dying to Tell (27 page)

sixty-two

“And now you'll do
what, Raina?” Angel fixed her eyes on Raina's gun. “Kill someone else? First William, then Karen Simms, then …”

“Quiet.” Raina reached out her hand. “Now, Angela Tucker, give me your cell phone.”

Cell phone? Good idea. “Yeah, Angel. Give her your cell phone. And turn it on when you do.”

Angel hesitated but Raina jammed her gun against her chest. In a slow, careful movement, Angel slid her cell phone out of her pocket and tapped the side button to turn it on. Then she held it out to Raina.

The cell phone lit up.

And so did I.

As Raina took hold of the phone, I grabbed hold, too. The small surge of electricity was all I needed. The charge stung my fingers and started up my arm, surging through me like fire. In seconds, the current filled me and Raina's eyes locked onto mine as fear electrified the air between us.

She saw me.

“What?” Raina yanked the cell phone from Angel's fingers and backpedaled. “Who … no, no …
shabah, no!”

“Hi, Raina.” I stepped toward her. “Boo, bitch.”

Raina stumbled back another step and tripped over one of the fallen shipping crates behind her. “No,
shabah
… it is not possible.
La, baaid 'annee
!”

I jumped forward and kicked at the gun in her hand. The little juice I got from the cell phone wasn't enough to kick it free, but it startled Raina and she dropped the gun amid the fallen boxes around her.

“Run, Angel! Run!”

Before she did, she took a step toward Raina, reared back, and drove a vicious kick into Raina's jaw. It jarred her head and sent her eyes rolling back. Without looking back, Angel dashed for the warehouse office and was gone.

I stayed long enough to make sure Angel was clear of the building and safely to her Explorer. As we drove away from the warehouse, the last of the energy in me faded and was gone.

“You did good, Angel. Real good. Get out of the city fast. Find a convenience store and call Bear. Let him know what happened and he can get some DC cops down there. Maybe we'll get lucky and catch her packing.”

Angel floored the Explorer, veered out onto a wide boulevard and continued for three blocks, checking behind her the entire way.

“I don't think she followed us, Tuck,” she said and slowed. “You need to get back to Winchester. You have to figure out who got into William's vault and sold those artifacts to Raina. I don't think she killed William, or she'd already have her grandfather's antiquities. She'll head back there when she wakes up and God knows what she'll do. She'll stop at nothing to get those artifacts back—nothing.”

She was right. If I couldn't find who led Raina to Winchester, that person would be long gone once Raina got what she'd come for.

Long gone or worse.

sixty-three

Angel left the Washington
Metropolitan traffic thirty miles behind her and began the climb up Mount Weather along Route 7. She crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains out of Loudoun County through Snickers Gap and into Clarke County to the west. She'd stopped at a convenience store and called Bear to warn him about Raina Iskandr. During the trip back to Winchester, she fought the fear that each set of telltale headlights behind her might be Raina.

The road was slick as the winter night took hold and froze the inch of newfallen snow and ice. Twice she almost lost control as her Explorer drifted lanes as she headed down the mountain to the bridge spanning the Shenandoah.

“Tuck? Are you here?” She knew better—he'd gone ahead. She felt foolish calling for him, especially since she'd wished him away so many times in the past week. “Damn.” She wiped tears away and wished him back.

She eased off the gas and glanced into the rearview mirror as bright lights glared from behind. “Come on, pal, go around …”

The crash into the Explorer bucked it forward in a violent surge. The rear end fishtailed and Angel frantically struggled to regain control a hundred yards before the Shenandoah River Bridge. A large vehicle—its bright lights blinding her through her mirrors—slammed into her a second time. This time, it stayed against her rear bumper and plowed her forward.

She tried to regain control but the wet roads and assault made it almost impossible. The vehicle behind her slowed and she gained a few feet of distance before it rammed her again. As she started to slide, she looked for escape—nothing but trees and darkness ahead. The river fast approached, its embankment dropping away as it led to the water's edge. Cold, icy water waited.

No cars to offer help. No homes to seek shelter in. No rescue.

The vehicle rammed again, pushed her, and tried to spin her off the road.

The bridge was almost beneath her. She began to slide.

She dared a glance into her side mirror just as the dark vehicle smashed into her again.

“Tuck!”

sixty-four

The Kit Kat West
was dark. The outside floodlights that normally bathed the club were off and the parking lot—overflowing any other evening—was empty. The club was closed Wednesdays and it was Wednesday, or so said the sign posted near the entrance. The oasis of light that lit up the sky for miles around was a dark, empty shell now.

I'd spent the past two hours looking for any missed clue that might lead me to William Mendelson's killer. I'd been to the bank annex and William's vault. I'd searched William and Marshal's homes again for any scrap. I'd even returned to Bear's office, but he and Cal were nowhere to be found. So far, I'd come to one big conclusion: I hadn't a clue who killed him.

The Kit Kat was next on my list.

I wasn't as certain as Angel that Raina Iskandr hadn't killed William. Maybe she hadn't recovered her grandfather's antiquities, but that didn't mean she hadn't killed William trying to. Or maybe it did. Raina Iskandr was one crazy lady—albeit sexy—and anything was possible.

But I'm a pro and couldn't let good looks, brains, and a little case of whacko cloud my judgment. Four people came out of Egypt in World War II who knew about William's stash. Cy Gray, who was dead. Claude Holister, who was dead. William Mendelson, who was dead. And Keys Hawkins, who was, last I checked,
not
dead—yet.

As I stepped off the spook express and onto the front steps of the club, Ollie was waiting. His normal upbeat smile and easy mood were still gone. In their place were concern and angst.

“ 'Bout time, kid. I thought I was gonna have to deal with this on my own.”

“Deal with what?”

“That crazy Egyptian skirt.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “She's inside with some party guests.”

“Okay, what's the plan?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don't have a plan. How about you?”

“Me?”

“You're the detective, kid. I've been dead too long. And all I want to know is who killed Youssif. After I find that out, well, I'll make it up as I go along.”

“Make it up? I thought you were a big hero? OSS, CIA. What kind of spy makes it up as they go along?”

“The best ones.” He winked. “I remember back in the Sudan, I was …”

“Later, Granddad. Let's go see the crazy Egyptian skirt.”

We walked into the Kit Kat's bar and into a gathering of very unhappy people.

We were definitely going to need a plan.

Keys was bound to a chair near the bar with heavy gray duct tape. His face was swollen and bloody. His head rolled from side to side and he mumbled something I couldn't understand, but the man standing in front of him did—he was interrogating him and Keys's answers weren't stopping the onslaught.

Raina stood across the room. She seemed unconcerned about the pain inflicted on the elderly Keys, and her attention—along with her gun—was focused on Lee Hawkins sitting in a chair six feet away and crying.

Raina and the man—a short, muscular man dressed in jeans and a dirty sweatshirt—readied for another round of “questions.” If I were a betting man, I'd make two wagers. First, the thug beating Keys had a balaclava in his wardrobe, and second, he also had a bandage around a gunshot wound on his arm.

This was the bank robber who'd tried to take Angel hostage.

Lee was unblemished—for now—and tried to run to her grandfather to comfort him. The thug grabbed her and pulled her away, pushing her back into the chair she'd been sitting in.

Raina walked slowly to Keys and leaned down, face to face. “I do not like this violence, Keys Hawkins. I regret B.C. must use it. But he and I have a new arrangement and how he fulfills his end is not my concern. B.C. is a dangerous man, is he not?”

“What do you want, Raina?” Keys's words slurred together. “I don't have your grandfather's loot. I told you, this thug stole it from William's vault before he killed him.”

Raina tapped Keys on his leg with her gun. “I want the truth, Mr. Hawkins. Which of you killed my grandfather—William or you? Whoever did that to my family is a murderer
and
a traitor.”

“William!” Lee shouted. “I already told you a dozen times. It was William!”

“I am not so convinced. A granddaughter will do many things for family. Lie, perhaps? Worse?”

Keys coughed a strange, nervous laugh. “Or kill, like you, Raina?”

B.C., the thug and bank robber, landed two powerful punches into Keys's midsection. The blows on an ordinary man would be painful, but at his age, they could be deadly.

Keys gasped for air—almost failing—and spit blood. He cried out and went limp.

“Stop it. You'll kill him,” Lee cried, and ran to him again. “You
bitch
! B.C. has what you want. Leave us alone.”

“For now, perhaps it is enough.” Raina waved her gun at B.C. “When will I see the rest of my possessions? I was promised they would be here.”

B.C. shrugged and rubbed his knuckles. “I told you, lady—I ain't got that junk. I never did. I left that bank
empty
-h
anded
.”

“I think you are all lying. Unless you provide me my grandfather's property, I will have to convince you. For now, get to the truth.” Raina moved close to Keys and placed the barrel of her gun against his forehead. “Consider your next words carefully, Keys Hawkins.”

Ollie walked over to Raina. “This dame's serious as a heart attack, kid. You better find a way to get your cop pals here, fast. If you don't, Keys is a goner. But not too fast, you know? I want to know the truth, too. I want Youssif's killer. I think maybe she can find out.”

“Are you insane? They'll kill him.”

“Naw.” Ollie grinned an evil grin. “Not yet, anyway.”

Keys lifted his head and tried to steady his eyes on Raina. “Kill me then. What difference does it make now who killed your grandfather? I'm dead either way. You can go to hell wondering, bitch.”

“We had a deal, Raina!” Lee yelled. “You said if we helped you get your grandfather's treasure, you'd leave us alone. I'll do anything for Keys, anything. Just tell me what you want.”

Raina turned the gun on Lee. “That was before William's passing. Now there is only
your
grandfather to tell me the truth about
my
grandfather. How fitting, is it not? Be quiet and don't force one granddaughter to kill the other.”

I said, “Ollie, you can do more than I can. I'll get Bear and you …”

Cold fingers jabbed into my head and stole my breath. My vision went fuzzy and if I weren't dead, I would have vomited. Then, from far away, a whisper grew into a long, hollow cry.

Tuck! Help me! Tuck!

sixty-five

Oh, dear God …
no!

The dark, overcast sky was assailed by a kaleidoscope of dancing red, blue, and white lights. The circus of emergency vehicles was parked along Route 7 at the Shenandoah River bridge. The air gurgled with radios, voices, and the mayhem of adrenaline. The wind blew snow and ice. Clouds of anxious breath billowed out from the firemen and sheriff's deputies circling the ambulance.

At the ambulance's doors—pale and drawn—stood Bear.

He was crying.

The ambulance left the roadside and headed toward Winchester. Either slick roads or a lack of urgency kept the vehicle from progressing quickly. A sheriff's cruiser pulled out ahead of it and began the escort westward.

“Angel?” I tried to reach her—tried to will myself to her—but I couldn't move. “No. No. No. Not you.”

I never should have left her—dear God what did I do?

“Bear?” I turned as he collapsed onto the side of a cruiser and waved two deputies away. He turned his back to them and slammed fists into the cruiser's hood. He let loose a howl that silenced the dozen onlookers and froze them in their tracks.

Pain.

I ran down the bank from Route 7, through the cracked scrub trees and lifeless bushes, to where the Explorer lay dead on its roof. A tall oak tree had stopped the vehicle's tumble deeper down the slope. Two doors were open—one bent back and crushed—and the glass had scattered from two or three rotations as the vehicle rolled over and over until it found rest on the oak. My heart exploded at the sight of the open driver's door and the seatbelt that hung where it had been cut to remove my Angel.

I walked around the vehicle and with each step, my fear turned colder and colder. The cause of the crash was obvious. The Explorer's flesh was crumpled and torn. The vehicle's sides were mangled from its death roll. But it was the rear of the vehicle that told me what I wanted to know. The rear bumper, broken free before leaving the road, was crushed in, showing signs of a violent impact—something strange given the vehicle had rolled sideways down the embankment. The Explorer's rear hatch was twisted and crushed in—again, unlikely the result of rolling. And even without a flashlight, I could see the scrapes of darker paint that had transferred from one vehicle to another.

Someone did this. Someone rammed Angel from the road.

“Bear!” I ran back through the group of deputies over to him. “Is she alive?”

Nothing. Tears and more assault on his cruiser. “Bear, tell me she's alive?”

“Tuck?”

The voice behind me was weak and disconcerted—familiar, though I willed it not to be. That one word—my name—cast disbelief and agony so thick that I feared it would consume me.

No, not Angel.

“Tuck, I'm here. I'm right here.”

I turned away from Bear and prayed I was wrong.

Angel.

“No, babe. No … no … no.”

She came to me and wrapped her arms around me. I felt her—not in any physical sense—but a bond of essence and love deeper than any embrace could provide. “It's all right, Tuck. Things will be better now. You'll see. You and me now.”

“No.” I pulled away. My beautiful Angel still wore her jeans and long wool overcoat. Her eyes danced and sparked—like they had after our first kiss. The contentment in her smile … happiness? She had no bruises or cuts. Her long auburn hair was combed perfectly—even the blowing wind couldn't dishevel it, and the falling snow couldn't find her.

Two firemen walked past her without a notice. A deputy taking photographs would have collided with her but he passed through her on the move. Even Bear was oblivious to her.

Angel was in my world. And I'd never felt so alone before.

“Angel, what happened? Who did this to you?”

She embraced me again, and when she released me, she looked confused. “I don't remember. I don't know what happened. It's all so confusing. I was driving home. Then, I don't know
—I
was very cold. Freezing. It all went black until the lights and noise, and then I was here, waiting for you. I knew you'd come for me.”

The dead don't cry, but I did. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I took her hands. “No, Angel. This isn't right. Not you, too. You can't be …”

“It's all right, Tuck.” She was just a whisper in the snow now, fading and nearly gone. “I'm so confused … wait for me, Tuck. I'll be right back.”

“No.”

“Tuck? What the hell?” Bear spun around and stared at me. He turned to the deputies who watched him and said, “Get to work, dammit! Find me evidence. Move!”

The mice scurried about.

“What the hell, Tuck? Who were you talking to?”

The answer choked me. “Angel.”

“Oh, shit. They said there was a chance. Dammit.” He turned away. The living cry, too.

The tow truck strained pulling Angel's Explorer back to level ground. Over the groans, I said, “What happened, Bear? Who did this? Someone pushed her over the bank. Someone murdered her.”

“A lawyer heading home saw the bridge apron railing broken in and vehicle tracks going over the side of the embankment. He called it in. A Clarke County patrol was close by and got here fast. He yanked her out but she was … was … The paramedics thought she was gone but they worked on her the whole time anyway, Tuck.”

“She was here, Bear. Right here.” The tow truck righted her Explorer and it punched me in the gut. “She's gone—with me, now—at least, I hope with me.” For the first time I wondered what my days would be like if Angel died and moved on without me. My brain skittered away from the thought. I needed to focus now, and thinking like that would only slow me down.

Bear erupted again. He covered his face with his meaty hands. He shook and fought the emotions that rushed from him in torrents of rage and grief.

“We gotta get those bastards, Bear—listen …” I told him about Lee and Keys Hawkins, and Raina and her new pals at the Kit Kat. It took time to fight through the words—a battle with grief—but I told him everything that had happened since Angel and I were in DC. “I'm going back, Bear. Send a patrol to the club but don't let them go in unless I tell you to. Maybe that crazy bitch Raina will confess or give us some clues.”

His voice was a quiver of edgy, raspy anger. “Okay. But no matter what happens, I want whoever killed Angela.”

“Only after I get through with them.”