Deadly Intent (13 page)

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Just do it.” He repeated the time and place, then hung up.

Estimating he had been in the bathroom about thirty seconds, he flushed the toilet, washed his hands and dried them. He looked at his watch again. That had taken ten more seconds. He’d have to remember that.

When he walked out, Arturo gave him only a cursory glance before returning his attention to the TV screen. Ian took his position on the bed again, his back resting against the headboard. An idea had occurred to him while he was drying his hands, but its execution would require a second trip to the bathroom.

At six o’clock, as Ian woke up from a nap, he yawned loudly while studying Arturo, who was now watching The Three Stooges and laughing like an idiot. “Hey, Arturo,” he said casually. “I’m getting hungry. How about we order some chow? A pizza maybe? Or I could go and pick up some Chinese.”

Arturo slanted him one of those looks. “Yeah, right.” He pointed at the motel phone on the coffee table. ‘ ‘Order a pizza, large, sausage and pepperoni. And extra cheese.” And just to make sure Ian wouldn’t do anything stupid, he took out his knife again and snapped the blade open. “What the fuck you waiting for?”

A half hour later, there was a knock on the door. With the knife, Arturo motioned for Ian to answer it while he slipped out of sight, staying close enough to ram the blade into Ian’s back if necessary.

It took no more than ten minutes for Arturo to devour enough pizza to make a bull burst at the seams. He also downed three of Ian’s beers and smoked two cigarettes. The man was much more relaxed now but no less watchful. If Ian had had any hope his captor would doze off, they evaporated quickly.

Still, this was as good a time as any to put phase two of his plan into action. He stood up and started to head for the bathroom.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going?” Arturo demanded.

“To the can, man.”

“You just went. What’s the matter with you? You got a problem or something?”

“No, I don’t have a problem. It’s been five hours since I went. Don’t you ever take a piss?”

Arturo waved the knife. “Okay, okay, stop whining. Go.”

Back in the bathroom, Ian checked the time, then yanked Rose’s nightgown from the hanger. Working quickly, he unwound the hanger, the way a buddy of his had showed him once, until he had one long piece of wire which he fashioned into a garrote, with two loop handles on each end.

He tested his new weapon for flexibility a few times, then, satisfied it would do the trick, he slid it into his pant leg and went back to the bedroom.

He was ready.

Fourteen

Abbie had stuffed the forty-eight thousand dollars, all in hundred and fifty-dollar bills, into an old leather satchel, which now sat on the Acura’s passenger seat. The money had been waiting for her when she had arrived at the bank earlier, and a teller Abbie knew had escorted her to a private room where the bundles were counted.

Abbie was glad Ron Meltzer hadn’t been at his usual post. It saved her from telling another lie, although she was certain he knew about the withdrawal. Not much went on in that bank without him being aware of it. Maybe his absence from his desk was intentional after all. It was entirely possible that he had wanted to spare them both an embarrassing moment.

Now, as she drove home in the rain, she kept thinking about Ian’s phone call. This sudden change of plan had unsettled her. It was clear from the way he had whispered his instructions that someone had been standing nearby. But who? And more important, how would this silly cloak-and-dagger game affect her? Was she in some kind of danger? With Ian’s track record and the company he had kept over the years, that wouldn’t surprise her.

A few minutes later she pulled into the garage and got out of the truck, leaving the satchel on the passenger seat where it would be safe. Then, when the garage door was once again closed, she walked into the house.

The sight of Ben and Tiffany sitting at the kitchen table, one doing homework, the other cramming for exams, brought a sense of normalcy back into her life. “Hi, guys.”

She gave Ben a quick kiss. He didn’t mind if she kissed him in front of Tiffany because he had seen the baby-sitter do the same with her brothers. “How was your day?”

“Good.” He reached between the pages of his math book and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is from the summer-camp director,” he said. “You need to fill it out and sign it.”

Joining them at the table, Abbie glanced at the form, almost identical to the one she had filled out the two previous years. Almost. “Ben, this isn’t for day camp.”

“I know,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m too big for day camp, Mom. That’s why I signed up for Camp Kettle Run this year.”

“But you’ll be gone for two whole weeks!”

“So?”

So, she wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready to be in this big house for fourteen days and nights, all alone, worrying about him. Only a year ago, he hadn’t wanted to hear anything about Camp Kettle Run. He had been happy enough to be dropped off at his regular day camp at nine and come home at four, ready to swim or go to Jimmy Hernandez’s house and play catch.

She caught a flicker of worry in his eyes. “It’s okay, isn’t it, Mom? I can go?”

He’s nine years old, Abbie. This is how you raised him to be—independent, confident and adventurous.

She smiled as she caught Tiffany’s amused glance. “Of course you can go.”

“Don’t forget to sign the form, then. The camp is filling up fast.”

“I won’t forget.” She stole another kiss, then quickly got out of her chair. “Sloppy joes okay for dinner?”

“With fries?”

“Fries it is.”

An hour and a half later, while Ben and Tiffany were eating dinner, Abbie ran upstairs, locked the bedroom door behind her and walked straight to the armoire where she kept the PPK. This time, however, she didn’t put it back. Then, reaching under her mattress, she took out the box of ammo. Her hand shook slightly as she loaded all seven bullets into the magazine, but she lost none of her concentration. Her nerves steady, she checked the safety, as she had done dozens of times, and put the gun in her purse.

Then, feeling remarkably calm, she hooked the strap around her shoulder and walked back downstairs, where she found Claudia waiting for her.

“Claudia.” The bag around her shoulder seemed to suddenly weigh a ton. “Did I know you were coming?”

“No.” Her friend’s concern was apparent. “I was worried about you,” Claudia whispered as they hugged. “We haven’t talked since Wednesday.”

Abbie let out a nervous laugh. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve been busy, that’s all.” Before Claudia could reply, Abbie went to kiss Ben goodbye, promised Tiffany she’d be home early for a change and ushered Claudia toward the garage.

“What is the matter with you,” Claudia said once they were out of earshot. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were not only avoiding me, but trying to get rid of me as well.”

Abbie pushed a button on the wall and the garage door slid open. “Don’t be silly. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I disagreed with you the other day about handling Ian on your own?”

“That’s nonsense. You know how much I value your opinion.”

“Good, because whatever course of action you choose to take, I’m here for you. You know that, don’t you?”

Abbie wondered if Claudia would still feel the same way if she knew about the loaded gun in her purse, a gun she intended to use if Ian so much as lifted a finger against her. “Of course I do. It’s just that...” She hesitated. “I don’t want to get you involved.”

“I’m your friend! I want to be involved.”

The sincerity in Claudia’s tone gave a huge boost to Abbie’s spirits and made it easier to tell her the truth. “I’m going to pay him off, Claudia.”

Claudia didn’t seem surprised. “When?” she asked simply.

“Tonight. I was supposed to drop the money off at his motel at three-thirty, but he called just before I left the restaurant and told me there was a change of plan. I’m meeting him at the Lake Carnegie pier at ten o’clock, with the cash.”

“A hundred thousand dollars? I thought you said you didn’t have that kind of money.”

They started walking toward Claudia’s van. “I don’t. I cashed in all my savings and came up with forty-eight thousand dollars. Ian agreed to take it.”

“And he’ll leave you alone after that?”

“He gave me his word.”

Claudia made a derisive sound. “What’s the word of a con man worth these days?”

“Not much, I suppose, but I have to trust him. I have no choice.”

“He’ll be back for more, Abbie. You know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t believe he will. He knows I don’t have any more money.”

Claudia gave a firm nod. “All right, end of lecture. I have one request, though. Let me come with you.”

Having expected the offer, Abbie gave an emphatic shake of her head. “Absolutely not. I told you, I don’t want you involved. And anyway, Ian would freak out if he saw I brought someone with me.”

“He won’t know. I’ll hide.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Abbie smiled. “I think you’ve seen too many reruns of Magnum. Thanks for the offer, but the answer is still no.”

“Then promise me you’ll call when you get back and let me know all went well.”

“I will.” Abbie kissed Claudia’s cheek, aware that her friend hugged her a little tighter than usual. “Now, let me go,” she said in a teasing tone. “Some of us have to work for a living, you know.”

Ian knew that for his plan to work, it was essential that he and Arturo walk to the pier rather than drive.

“I know it’s raining,” he had told Arturo, “but Abbie knows I’ll be on foot. If she gets there first and sees a car anywhere in the vicinity, she’ll just keep on going.”

Arturo had given a grunt of disapproval, but offered no other protest.

Halfway to their destination, Ian began to put his plan into action. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, he removed the wire from inside his pant leg and held it casually by his side. His friend had explained the garrote was no weapon for amateurs. It required precision, speed and great strength. An untrained killer could easily miss the mark—the intended victim’s neck—and get the wire caught on the nose, or the chin, making it possible for the victim

to grab the weapon and turn it against his attacker. While Ian had never killed anyone or even attempted to kill anyone with a garrote, he had seen the weapon demonstrated enough times, once in prison, to feel fairly confident he could do the job. Arturo may be a big man, but Ian had the element of surprise on his side. And one major incentive—survival.

It was a dark, cloud-filled night, illuminated only by the high beams of an occasional car as it traveled up and down Route 27.

“That it?” Arturo pointed at a car that had slowed down.

“I don’t know. I can’t see. Is it a red SUV?”

As if on cue, Arturo turned his back to Ian, bending a little to peer through the trees.

Ian sprang into action. Holding the wire by the handles, he looped it over Arturo’s head, wrapped it around his neck and pulled tight. At the same time, he positioned his knee in the small of Arturo’s back for balance.

As expected, Arturo twisted and clawed, trying to get his fingers under the wire. Ian held on tight, his face contorted with the effort it took to keep that oversize beast from wiggling free.

But instead of falling to his knees as he should have by now, Arturo stumbled back, knocking Ian off his feet. His head slammed against a tree with enough force to stun him for a few seconds.

When he opened his eyes again and tried to shake the dizziness away, Arturo had ripped the garrote from around his neck. For a moment, he just stood there, his long arms hanging at his sides, looking like a big, nasty ape.

“You son of a bitch,” he muttered just before he lunged at Ian.

The two men rolled around on the wet leaves, shouting and cursing, but it was soon obvious that Ian was no match

for the bigger man. In less than ten seconds, Arturo had Ian flat on his back and was straddling him.

“You made a big mistake, amigo,” he said, holding him between his powerful thighs.

Ian never saw him pull out his switchblade, but all of a sudden, there it was, looking more lethal than ever. Arturo held it like a small sword, between the thumb and index finger, while the other fingers were wrapped around the handle.

Ian couldn’t think of anything helpful to say, so he threw a couple of punches, but Arturo kept dodging his head, laughing at him, enjoying the moment.

“You thought you could fuck with me, punk? You thought you could take me on? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Ian started to plead, but Arturo shut him up with a hard backhanded slap. “I warned you, didn’t I? I told what I’d do to you if you played games.”

Ian never had a chance to reply. With a look of sheer pleasure on his face, Arturo plunged the blade into Ian’s gut. Not once or twice, but in a succession of vicious stabs, each followed by a grunt.

Pain exploded throughout Ian’s entire body. He no longer felt the rain, or the fear. Just the pain, hot, raw, unbearable.

Above him, the trees began to tilt, first to the right, then to the left. Ian lifted his head off the ground in a desperate attempt to call for help, but he couldn’t find the strength to utter a single word, so he let his head fall back to the ground with a dull thud.

A large shadow stood over him, out of focus. Arturo? He wanted to talk to him, but he was having a hard time forming words. The trees began their crazy dance again, spinning faster and faster.

His hands clenched his belly, from where the pain radiated. He needed help, someone to stop whatever was happening to him. His lips moved as his lungs fought for air, yet strangely, as he grew weaker, so did the pain. That had to be a good sign. Maybe lady luck had decided to shine upon him one more time after all.

He wanted to laugh. He had always been a lucky son of a bitch.

From somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of a car engine. Someone was coming for him. He would be fine. All he had to do was keep still, conserve his energy, and everything would be all right. The pain was almost gone now. And the trees had stopped spinning.

Relieved, he closed his eyes.

Fifteen

The pace in Campagne’s busy kitchen hadn’t let up once, but for Abbie, who was a nervous wreck, the evening had gone excruciatingly slow. More than anything, she wanted this day to be over and for her life to go back to normal.

At nine forty-five, she removed her apron and tossed it in a straw basket marked Laundry, trying to appear as casual as possible, considering her heart rate had almost tripled in the last few minutes.

“Leaving early?” Brady asked.

“Yes.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “Tiffany is studying for finals and I told her I’d be home early. You don’t mind closing up, do you?”

“Of course not.” He glanced at the leather satchel she had hooked around her shoulder along with her purse. “That looks heavy. Want me to carry it to the car for you?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” But she wasn’t fine at all. She was scared, and breathing so fast she thought she’d start hyperventilating any minute.

As Brady continued to scrutinize her, she gave his arm a quick squeeze and wondered if he could see how nervous she was. Brady had always been intuitive. Until now, that sixth sense of his had been the subject of happy banter between them. Tonight, she found it unsettling. Rather than

answer any more questions, she tossed a quick goodnight to the rest of the staff and walked out.

Thank God, the nightmare was almost over. Twenty minutes from now, she would be back home, kissing her little boy on the forehead as she did every night, and Ian would be on a bus to wherever.

The rain had intensified, hampering her visibility and forcing her to drive slowly. But even with the reduced speed, it took her no more than eight minutes to reach Lake Carnegie. During the day, this section of Route 27 was heavily traveled, but tonight, due to the rain and the late hour, it was relatively quiet.

Several large boulders marked the entrance to the parking area. Abbie made the wide turn, brought the Acura to a crawl and peered through the wet windshield in search of Ian. To her left was the boathouse where the university rowing team kept their gear, and straight ahead was a densely wooded area that extended from the water’s edge to the road.

Ian was nowhere in sight.

She inched the truck closer to the trees and stopped. With one hand on her purse so she could quickly get to her gun if she had to, she pressed a button on the door panel. The window on the driver’s side slid down noiselessly. She stopped it halfway and stuck her head out. “Ian,” she called out. “Are you there?”

No answer.

Her mouth dry, she glanced at the clock on the dash. She was a few minutes late, but surely he would have waited.

A pair of headlights suddenly appeared around the bend, and for a moment she thought the car was slowing down. Worried it might be a state trooper in an unmarked car, she turned off her lights. She didn’t want to have to explain to

a police officer what she was doing here at this time of night and in this weather. She waited until the car drove off before calling Ian’s name again.

Nothing.

She was debating whether or not to stay, when a man lunged at her truck. His right hand gripped the window, while the left held a knife.

Abbie’s heart lurched in her chest and she let out a scream. As she pulled back, her fingers searched frantically for the window button.

“Where’s the money?” The man tried to open the driver’s door and became even more enraged when he realized it was locked. “Give me the fucking money!”

Abbie finally found the button, but her attacker held the window down with such force that it didn’t budge an inch.

The gun, Abbie. Get out the gun.

Her right hand went inside her purse and found the PPK. “Get away,” she screamed as she released the safety. “I have a gun and I will use it!”

“Give me the money, you bitch!” The man stuck the knife through the window, slashing it in the air, back and forth. With each stroke, the blade seemed to get closer to Abbie’s face.

Pull the trigger!

The words her instructors had said to her over and over flashed through her head. “Never pull out a gun you don’t intend to fire—your opponent will see your fear, take your gun and use it against you.”

She could do this. She would not be a victim.

Her attacker’s arm was inside the car, trying to snatch the gun from her. With a scream, Abbie yanked her hand back. She threw the weapon on the seat next to her. Fighting this maniac was out of the question. Her priority right now was to get out of here.

Slapping the gearshift into drive, she slammed her foot on the gas pedal. The Acura shot forward and she started to swerve right and left in an attempt to get her attacker to let go.

But he held on. “Give me the money!” This time the blade whooshed by her cheek and grazed her hair.

She screamed again, but didn’t lose her hold on the steering wheel. She kept swerving, and although she could see the man’s body being jerked around, he wouldn’t let go. At one point, she almost drove into the water, then quickly realized where she was and brought the SUV back onto firm ground.

The rain beat furiously now, running down from the man’s bald head onto his face, making him look more like a beast than a human being. Desperate to get away from him, Abbie gunned the engine, pressing her foot to the floorboard as far as it would go and sped across the length of the parking area. Then, just as suddenly, she jammed her foot on the brake, bracing herself for the snap of the seat belt around her chest.

She saw the look of surprise on the man’s face as the jolt knocked him off. Not waiting for him to get back on his feet, she put the Acura into reverse, then drive, and took off. Before exiting the parking area, she glanced back and saw her attacker sprawled out on the ground, motionless.

Dear God, had she killed him?

She kept on driving, heading for home, but by the time she reached the traffic light at the corner of Nassau Street and Van deventer, the adrenaline that had kept her going through the past few minutes had drained out of her, leaving her trembling from head to toe.

She couldn’t go any farther. The thought she may have killed a man was almost paralyzing. But he had attacked

her! With a knife. Given the chance, he would have killed her. So why was she worrying about his fate instead of counting her blessings that she was still alive?

The light turned green, but instead of heading toward home, she made a U-turn and headed back toward the lake. She had to see if he was dead, although she had no idea what she would do if he was. Hopefully he would only be hurt, in which case she would call for help and hang up before anyone had a chance to ask for her name.

This time she kept her window rolled up. No matter how badly the man was hurt, she would not allow herself to get within striking distance of him. She stopped the car and scanned the area, staring at the spot where he had fallen. It was empty.

The man had vanished.

Leaning back against her seat, she heaved a sigh of relief. If he had walked away of his own free will, then he must be all right. She hadn’t harmed him.

Thank you, God.

Shaken but relieved, she turned the truck around, retraced the route she had taken a moment earlier and drove home, this time without stopping.

“You killed him?”

Tony stared at Arturo in total disbelief. “You killed McGregor?”

Dripping wet from the heavy rain, Arturo threw the truck keys on the bed. “What the fuck did you want me to do? The son of a bitch tried to kill me first. Take a look at this if you don’t believe me.” He yanked down his T-shirt.

Tony saw the raw red gash around Arturo’s neck. “How did he do that?”

“The bastard had a garrote with him. Can you believe it? He was planning to kill me all along.”

“So you killed him? Couldn’t you just have knocked him out or something? How hard could that be? You’re twice his size.”

Arturo started to pace the small room, his giant stride covering the width of the living area in just a few steps. “He tricked me! He made a fool out of me, man, pretending he had to take a piss, and the whole time he was making that damn garrote.”

Tony sank into a chair, wishing he’d had the foresight to go to McGregor’s motel room with Arturo. He should have known something would go wrong. It always did with Arturo. Trouble had a way of following him like a lost puppy.

But murder?

He watched his brother walk over to a cabinet, uncap a bottle of rum and take a long drink, right out of the bottle. “That woman.” Tony spoke calmly, reminding himself he was the strong one, the sensible one. “McGregor’s sister. Did she have a good look at you?”

“Hell, yes. The bitch pulled a gun on me.”

“So she can identify you.”

Arturo took another swig of the liquor and didn’t answer.

“What about the truck?”

“What about it?”

“Did anyone see you drive out of the motel parking lot?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Did you see anyone?” Tony asked patiently.

“I wasn’t paying attention. I had other things on my mind.”

Tony picked up his cell phone, remembering what Enrique had said about his calls being forwarded to the house. Hopefully he’d be home.

Arturo gave him a dark look. “What are you doing?”