Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic) (34 page)

Stone’s gaze latched onto Susan’s name. He wasn’t sure if he should be happy at the clue or panicked at the confirmation Joseph Francisco had her.

He read further.

James said he wants to “make up.” Can you believe that shit? Maria and I decided to get the hell out of Dodge for a few days. I need time figure shit out. I know you’ll understand.

Stay safe.

Peter

He wasn’t sure what it was about the letter that didn’t ring true. He read it once more, looking for some clue why he sent an email instead of mentioning all this crap when he’d called. Or why he’d bothered to call when the same information was in the note.

It hadn’t occurred to him when Peter first told him to ask how James had reacted to learning he was Francisco’s son. He imagined James must have gone ape-shit at first. Was all the killing and kidnapping some kind of revenge scheme by James? Against who, though? If he’d been James, he would have been angry with John Caravello for not telling him, not at Joseph Francisco for keeping his distance.

If James was responsible for some of these deaths, had he embraced Dominick as his brother and was willing to work with him? Or had he washed his hands of Francisco the day he found out he was his son?

With no facts to back up any of the idle speculation, he went in search of coffee.

While the cup heated, he printed out the email, hoping a fresh eye could spot something he’d missed.

* * * *

Susan scooted backwards as the door bowed inward from the pounding.

“Unlock the door.” At first, his voice was pleading. Now he sounded royally pissed.

“Who are you?”

“The person who saved you, goddammit. Don’t make me break down my own door.”

He would. “Okay.” He could always shoot his way in, and the bathroom wasn’t big enough for her to safely hide.

She rolled onto her sore knees, flipped the lock upward, and pulled open the door. Her heart stuck in her throat when she recognized him. “You.”

He held out his hand, his face softening. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s a long story. Come down for breakfast and I’ll tell you what happened.”

The food part sounded good, as did the more information part. Could she eat the food? If he wanted her dead, he’d have already poisoned her. “Okay, but I can’t walk. My feet are too numb.”

“Do you think a warm bath would help?”

Was he kidding? “A bath sounds wonderful.” Maybe he was on the up-and-up. According to Stone, Peter was innocent. Maybe his brother was, too.

“Can you run the water yourself?”

Maybe she’d totally misjudged James Caravello. Hell, she’d thought Stone was a killer at one time. She needed to work on her people skills. “Yes.”

His gaze slipped to the right. “Take a bath. I’ll have food ready when you’re done.”

He spun around and left before she had a chance to say thank you.

She wasn’t sure she could get into the tub without help, but she sure as hell would try. She ran her hands over her feet to massage them. The skin was cold but not so dead she didn’t feel something.

Filling the tub with warm, not hot water, might help ease the transition from frozen to normal. She locked the door again, not wanting him to come in, not that Caravello hadn’t seen her naked, but why tempt fate. She figured he wasn’t married or she’d be wearing something a little more feminine.

With effort, she eased into the sudsy water. Her feet stung as the blood raced through her veins. She welcomed the pain as the re-warming meant one step closer to recovery. Not wanting to piss off James by keeping him waiting, she only stayed in long enough to stop shivering. This time when she stood, her legs held. Relief ran over her. She’d have breakfast and ask to borrow James’ phone to contact Stone.

Once again dressed in the borrowed pajamas, she inched her way across the room, her toes still not responding well, but at least she could walk. Noise from the kitchen and the aroma of strong coffee made the direction clear.

James was at the kitchen counter with a pile of scrambled eggs and English muffins beside him. He looked up and smiled.

“You’re looking much better.”

“Thank you. The bath helped.” She scooted onto the stool next to him. Her chest and face wound needed some bandages, but she’d cover her injuries once she got home. Wonderful home. The next time she saw Stone, she’d tell him how she felt. The day Joseph Francisco was put behind bars, maybe she and Stone could actually go on a date without having to look over their shoulders.

He slid a cup of coffee toward her. “Sugar and cream over there.”

She took a sip. “Mmm.” She’d eat, then find out how he’d found her. “The eggs are delicious. Thank you.”

He merely nodded as she filled her belly. It was time to learn how she’d ended up at his house. “Did you hear my banging on the shed door? Is that how you found me?”

“Actually the dog found you. He trotted back inside and barked up a storm. I’m surprised you don’t remember him.”

A half-filled dog dish sat in the corner, confirming his story. “How did I land on your property?”

“Peter, my brother, I found out, has been in cahoots with Joseph Francisco. In fact, he plans on marrying his daughter.”

Maria. That wasn’t the story Stone said Peter told him. “Are you saying he kidnapped me and tossed me into your shed?”

“Yes. To frame me. He always wanted to take over Dad’s business and was jealous of me.” He drained the rest of his coffee. “Only you were supposed to die. He figured that when the gardener discovered your body the next day and called the police, I would have been accused of murder.”

The news overwhelmed her. Here, she’d thought Peter was the good son and James the bad. Where did Stone fit into this scheme? “Did Peter tell you all of this?”

A noise sounded behind her. She turned around and gasped. A man wearing a ski mask, dressed all in black, came at her.

“I see she didn’t die after all.”

Peter?

James jumped up from the stool and lunged at the intruder. The masked man punched James in the gut. He stumbled backwards and hit his back against the counter. Before she could even get off the stool to escape, the masked man took two steps toward her and stabbed a needle in her neck.

Not again. Airflow stopped and her eyes rolled back into her head.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The team didn’t have squat. After they met with a dead end at the Francisco house, Stone wasn’t sure which way to turn. Harrison sat at the head of the large conference table. Tom, William Burroughs and Nancy Darden faced Stone. The missing seat, usually occupied by Richard Thomason remained empty. Stone wasn’t ready to say he was glad Richard was dead, but the person in charge of finding safe houses for witnesses should have gotten help the moment someone threatened his wife and children.

Six people had died because of him. Six people who were doing their civic duty, who had families who loved them. He knew life wasn’t fair, but these deaths could have been avoided.

“You said Peter e-mailed you this morning?” T-Squared interrupted his internal rant.

His friend was the only one who’d met Peter and understood the childhood connection between them.

“Yes.”

Stone passed out a copy of the e-mail to the team and studied their reactions. Tom’s eyes widened, whereas Harrison adjusted his tie, a sure sign of agitation and frustration. Nancy clasped a hand to her chest. William sat stone-faced as if he’d known the information all along.

Harrison looked up. “Any suggestions on how we should proceed? According to Richard’s research, you’ve been friends with the Caravellos for years. How do you interpret this e-mail?”

He hadn’t wanted his background exposed to the department in this manner. Now they’d reconsider his involvement with the jurors’ deaths. The TV commercial where the guy wanted a Twix bar to stall for time flashed in his mind. He was surprised Harrison hadn’t reamed him out for asking for the assignment when he had a connection to the case.

“I knew Peter well, but James wasn’t around much when I was at the Caravellos.”

“Can you give us a personality sketch of James? Peter must have talked about his older brother.”

“Sure.” Stone’s phone vibrated at his hip. This was his disposable phone, and only Peter and Tom had the number. He pulled his cell from his pocket and checked the number. All it said was Out of Area. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He pushed back his chair and raced out. As the door to the room swung close, William mumbled something, probably derogatory.

Was this the kidnapper asking for a ransom? “Hello?”

The voice came out distorted. “You have ten minutes to get to Peter’s house if you want to see Susan and Peter alive. Bring even one FBI agent and I swear, I’ll kill them both. My men are scouting the whole area and will know if you try to pull any tricks.”

He was sure his heart had stopped beating. No air went into his lungs. Even if he’d wanted to answer, he’d lost his voice. The dial tone rang loud and clear. Susan had said the kidnapper’s voice had been distorted too.

A hand clasped on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Harrison. Shit. If he did as the killer asked, he’d be breaking all Bureau protocol. He’d lose his job and be thrown out of the only home he’d ever known—the FBI. Being jobless would suck, but his actions might save Susan and Peter.

Oh, shit. Would he end up like the chicken-shit Richard, thinking if he just did what the killer asked, all would be okay? Stone pulled up every ounce of control he had and faced his boss. “It’s my aunt. She’s been in a car accident. I have to go to the hospital.”

Harrison watched him for a long minute. Nine minutes left. Even if he raced out of the building and into his car right now, he might not make it to Peter’s in time, especially in this storm.

“I didn’t know you had an aunt.”

“She’s old. She was the one who refused to take me in when Mom died.” That part of the story was true.

Harrison stepped back. “Hurry back. We need you. And give me the damn number of your new cell.” His gaze shot to the phone in his hand.

“Sure. 555-2385.”

Harrison rushed over to an empty desk, ripped off a piece of paper for the pad and wrote down the number. “2395?”

Stay cool. Ten seconds won’t matter
. “2385.”

“Keep in touch.”

“Will do.”

He ducked into his office to grab his coat. The urge to run nearly toppled him. He strode with a purposeful step, guessing that if his aunt were in the hospital, rushing made sense.

The moment he pushed open the front door, his heart sank. White blanketed the ground. Not that Virginia didn’t get snow, but blizzards weren’t all that common. How could he get to Peter’s in under seven minutes? Impossible. But nothing would keep him from jumping in his car and driving like hell to get there.

His car needed new tires, but they should hold up for the eight-mile drive. Given the crappy conditions, he hoped the morning commuters would stay home. He slid in and cranked the key. The engine caught, then died. He slammed his hand against the wheel and worked the key again. This time, the idling engine sounded strong. Breath back into his body, he drove off. The roads around Quantico were clear, but when he came to the first road that wasn’t heavily traveled, the snow was a good inch deep. He hit an icy patch, turned toward the skid, and slowed down. He wished his heart would do the same.

Racing to Peter’s would only cause him to get in an accident. He needed to call the bastard back, to tell him he was on his way. Alone. He punched the redial number while keeping his gaze on the road. The windshield wipers barely kept up with clearing the driving snow. The phone rang and rang. “Pick up, dammit.”

The ringing stopped and Stone tossed the phone on the seat. “Useless piece of crap.”

Two cars had skidded off the side of the road. Instead of slowing, he sped up, his grip tight on the wheel. He had to make it, had to save the people who meant the most to him and put an end to the killer’s life.

With the voice distortion, he couldn’t identify the bastard. Was it Joseph Francisco? Only why would he be at Peter’s? To frame him, again?

Had James spilled the beans about Maria and Peter being a couple? If so, why involve Susan? His tired brain wasn’t connecting the dots. As he pulled to a stop one block away from Peter’s house, Stone checked the time. Nineteen minutes had passed since the phone call. His heart rattled in his chest. Would the killer have already committed the atrocity? If he called Harrison now, the FBI could back him up. But if they showed their faces too soon, the killer for sure would kill Susan.

He’d already lied to his boss. It was all he had, but Susan meant more to him than his job. If he knew the killer’s identity, he could decide what to do. Stone pulled to a stop near the house and raced toward Peter’s house. With his head down, he ducked in between the houses, dodging right, then left, in case he was caught in a sniper’s scope.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do once he arrived, but he didn’t want the killer to know when he was near. He patted his pocket for his secret weapon. While he carried two guns, he figured whoever was behind this would be clever enough to find both. With his bad leg, his ability to do hand-to-hand combat was limited, especially if more than one man was inside with her. Either he could knock on the front door and shoot the bastard the moment he opened up, or hope to surprise him at the back. He did, after all, have a key to Peter’s house, a fact he bet the killer didn’t know.