The Unforgivable Fix (29 page)

A bead of sweat formed on Walder's upper lip. Still he sat, immobile and silent.

Peggy Goines stepped clear of Bauer and headed toward Walder. “Zach said you were going to give him five hundred thousand dollars. He said if you didn't, he had a package that would make you want to give him even more. Did you do this to my Zach, Mr. Walder?”

“Peggy, stop!” Lydia barked. “Don't come any closer.”

“Can you show me the package, Peggy?” Bauer asked.

Peggy looked confused. She took another look at her dead boyfriend and started to shake.

“Peggy, where's the package?” Bauer's voice was calm and reassuring. “It may help us learn who did this to Zach.”

Peggy pointed toward the stack of boxes. Mort crossed the room.

“This one?” he asked, picking one up.

Peggy shook her head. “The one next to it. Inside. The envelope with zebra stripes.”

Mort pulled out a padded envelope with black and white markings. He carried it over to her. “Is this it?”

Peggy opened the envelope and pulled out three flash drives. She handed them to Paul Bauer. “Zach says this explains all about the business plan between him and Mr. Walder. He says there's even an audio contract on there.” She started to cry again. “Zach was so good with technology.”

Lydia slid her Beretta back into her jacket pocket, crossed the room, and took the sobbing girl into her arms. “Yes, Peggy. Yes, he was.”

When Peggy's tears had subsided enough that she could focus, Lydia led her back downstairs, careful to put herself between Zach's body and his distraught girlfriend. As they descended the stairs, she heard Paul Bauer read Kenton Walder his Miranda rights. She wondered how Walder was going to explain this to Dee.

Lydia looked at her watch for the third time in ten minutes. She'd agreed to pick up Mort's daughter at the salon, and Allie was supposed to be ready a half hour ago. Bauer had asked Mort to stay with him at Zach Edwards's place until the police came to haul Kenton Walder off to jail. Mort hesitated, saying he needed to get back up to Seattle. Lydia knew he was eager to learn how vulnerable Allie was now that Patrick Duncan was dead. Lydia offered to fetch Allie and keep her at her house.

“For as long as it takes,” she'd promised him. She understood that if Mort determined Allie had nothing to fear from the Russian, he'd get busy trying to save her from the DEA.

Two women wearing the same black aprons as every other stylist in the salon came smiling toward Lydia.

“Are you ready?” The woman whose name tag identified her as Nola asked.

“I wish we'd taken before photos,” Nola's companion, Sterling, said. “This is our best work, I think.” She waved her hand and Allie stepped around the corner to stand in the center of the day spa's waiting room.

Lydia was stunned by the transformation. Gone was the young woman with the all-American good looks. She'd been replaced by a sleek goddess oozing European sophistication from the top of her newly cropped chin-length hair to the tips of her black leather stilettos. Allie was dressed entirely in black, and none of her apparel had come from Lydia's closet. Allie's leggings accentuated the length of her toned legs. A silk blouse was cut close enough to showcase her breasts without being the least bit tawdry. She wore no jewelry. Her makeup had been expertly designed to focus all attention on her luminescent blue eyes and fire-engine red lips.

“What do you think?” Allie tucked a freshly highlighted strand of hair behind her ear.

Lydia gave a smile to the woman who was so obviously pleased with herself. “I think every dime of your father's money was well spent. You look terrific.”

“Good enough to take out on the town?” Allie did a pirouette. “What do you say we call that sexy detective friend of yours and see if he'd like to take a couple of dames out for dinner?”

Lydia stood and pointed toward the door. “It's you and me and dinner in the kitchen, I'm afraid. Your dad's taking care of stuff up north.”

Allie nodded and Lydia caught a look in Allie's eye that told her those plans suited her just fine.

Lydia pulled her head up from the pillow and glanced at the clock beside her bed. Ghostly green numbers glowed
11:14
in the darkness of her bedroom. She'd said good night to Allie more than an hour ago, and still sleep eluded her. She looked outside at the wide expanse of lawn separating her home from the cliff overlooking Dana Passage. Low clouds blocked any starlight. The moon was a faint tint overhead.

She had to admit the evening had been pleasant. Allie sat at the breakfast nook table wearing a pair of Lydia's pajamas while Lydia sautéed vegetables, steamed rice, and broiled a steak large enough for two. There was no talk of who knew what about whom. Instead, Allie had been almost melancholy as she told stories of her childhood in Seattle. Lydia heard genuine tenderness in Allie's voice as she reminisced about her mother.

“She was so incredibly lovely,” Allie had said with a wistfulness that relayed no hint of jealousy. “I remember the way my father used to look at her…even after they'd been married over twenty years. I'd wonder if I would ever have a man look at me like that. The love would just come off him in these comforting waves that made you realize everything was going to be all right. Even when they fought. They made me believe the four of us, them, me, and my brother, we were all snug and safe inside this bubble. Like as long as we stayed together nothing bad would happen.” Allie had shaken her head. “I sure made a mess of that little fantasy, didn't I?”

Lydia assumed at that point she was supposed to step in and assure Allie that whatever she'd done wasn't really all that bad. But Lydia said nothing and was impressed when Allie didn't pout or ask for comfort. Instead, they'd shared their dinner, making small talk that started out tense, but moved on to a semblance of pleasant. Lydia had even found herself joining Allie in poking fun at her father's recent move.

“Had he ever said he wanted to live on a boat?” Lydia had asked.

“I saw him throw up off the side of a canoe one time when Robbie got frisky on a camping trip. This whole houseboat thing won't last past summer.”

A scraping sound pulled Lydia out of her replay of the evening. She pulled herself up onto one elbow and listened. When she heard muffled footsteps, she slid out of bed, reached for the gun in the nightstand drawer, and headed down the hall to the living room. She saw Allie outlined in the moonlight and clicked on the lights.

Allie turned, obviously startled. “Damn.” She pointed to the Beretta in Lydia's right hand. “Do you go anywhere unarmed?”

Lydia was surprised to see Allie in the same all-black ensemble she'd worn at the salon. She looked closer. Allie's makeup had been refreshed. Her hair was brushed and styled. She looked to the left and saw the Hermès Birkin bag Allie brought with her when she first arrived sitting by the door leading to the backyard.

“You planning on taking my car again?” Lydia asked.

Allie tossed two envelopes on the coffee table. “Would you mind getting these to my father and brother, please? I'd appreciate it.”

“Your dad's going to be here in the morning.” Lydia put her gun on the entryway table. “Thanksgiving's only eight days away. Robbie and the girls will be here. You can do it yourself.”

Allie looked out the window and then at her watch. “You and I both know that's never going to happen.” Her smile was one of resignation. “Those twins were barely walking the last time I saw them. Robbie says they're real spitfires. I think I would have liked being their aunt.”

“Patrick's dead, Allie.” Lydia was surprised to hear herself pleading with Allie to stay. “Let your father do what he can with the DEA. Surely after all those years with Patrick you have something you could offer them. Names of Patrick's cohorts, maybe? Places of manufacture…points of entry…maybe you even know which government officials are looking the other way when shipments come in. You don't have to run away.”

Allie shook her head. “The truth, Lydia, is that I know everything about Patrick's organization. And that's exactly why I have to leave.”

“I don't understand.”

“Why do you think I tried so hard to get my dad to put me anywhere but with the cops when I first came back? I'm dead the moment I walk into a police station. Word would get back to Mexico or Colombia before they had time to read me my rights. Nuñez and Durazo always hated that Patrick included me in the details of the operation. But they needed me to control Patrick's temper. They're fully aware of what I know. One hint that I'm sitting down with the DEA and they'd send people to stop me. Permanently.”

“What about witness protection?”

Allie's laugh was harsh. “You know who's in that? Italian gangsters. You know why? Because running numbers, prostitution, grand theft, murder…those crimes are nickel and dime. Nobody gives a rat's ass about who does what except the goombahs who may be personally offended. But the international manufacture, sale, and distribution of drugs? Lydia, more money passed through Patrick's organization on an annual basis than the entire economies of every nation in Africa and the Caribbean and General Motors combined. Can you get your mind around that? Can you conceive of the infrastructure it takes to keep that running? You don't retire from that, Lydia. You don't waltz into government-secured housing with a brand-new identity.” Allie again looked at her watch. “I can give you the names of six plants on the witness-protection payroll without even having to refer to my notes.”

“Not everyone is on the take, Allie. Let your father help you.”

“And put him in danger? The only reason he's still alive is because I've made no move to talk to anyone. Do you get that? These people will stop at nothing to make sure I don't say a word about what I know. And they'd start with Dad…or Robbie.” Her voice choked. “Or Robbie's girls. Patrick cut off the hands of Tokarev's lover. And that was just because of something he
thought.
Imagine what these people would do if they
knew
I was bartering with the DEA.”

Lydia remembered how easily The Fixer got to her targets. And she was one woman acting alone. The scope of Allie's drug life was worldwide, with thousands of people dedicated to one thing: keeping the money coming in.

“So what will you do?” Lydia pointed to Allie's suitcase. “Where will you go?”

“There's only one place I can be safe.”

The inevitability of Allie's position sank in. “Tokarev.”

“He knows I'm here. He's coming for me at midnight.”

“He'll kill you. You were Patrick's woman. He'll want revenge.”

Allie sighed. “That's a risk, I won't deny it. But I know how these men operate. He'll want to rape me first. Put his mark on me. In his own twisted way, he'll see that as victory over Patrick and vengeance for his lover.”

“And you'll willingly walk into that?”

“It's my one shot.” She fluffed her hair and struck a Grace Kelly pose. “Don't I look like someone a Russian thug with a third-grade education would love to have on his arm at the next borscht fest? The way I see it is that I have the trip to wherever Tokarev plans to kill me to convince him I'd make a better lover than a corpse. Then, of course, I'll have to make the sex so compelling he has no choice but to keep me alive for a while.” Her lovely eyes were empty. “You'll have to trust me on this one, Lydia. I can handle it. From there I'll share with him everything I know about Patrick's cartel. I'll hand him sixty countries on a silver platter and convince him he needs me to stay on top. Just like Patrick did.”

Lydia shook her head. “But what kind of life—”

“How much do you earn in a year, Lydia?” Allie interrupted with a defiant tone. “A hundred thousand? Maybe one fifty? I spend more than ten times that on one party. On a dress. This visit to Kansas these past couple of weeks has served my purposes, but it's time for me to go back to Oz.”

Lydia wasn't buying her bravado for one moment. Allie was scared out of her wits. “Stay here, Allie. You know what your father is capable of. You have no idea what I am. We can figure out a way to make this work.”

A distant whir sounded overhead.

“And do what, Lydia? Live in your spare bedroom for the rest of my life? Smuggle in visits from Robbie and those nieces of mine every Christmas Eve, hoping to God the ten people Durazo and Nuñez have watching my brother's every move all stepped out for eggnog at the exact same moment?”

The whir grew closer and louder. Lydia felt sonic waves pulsing in her chest.

“How long do you think it would be before I took one of those guns you have planted around the house and stuck it in my mouth?” Allie was shrilling now over the din. “How long before you and my dad both began praying I would?”

A near-blinding beam of light bathed Lydia's backyard in lurid relief. The evergreen trees surrounding her property were buffeted by heavy manufactured wind. Lydia saw the helicopter descend.

“My father knows I love him.” Allie grabbed her bag and reached for the door. “Tell him I know he loves me.”

The helicopter had now landed in Lydia's yard. She reached for her Beretta as the blades slowed and the side door slid opened. Allie stood on the deck, her bag at her side. Two men with automatic rifles leapt from the chopper and surveyed the darkened area. Moments later, a stocky man dressed entirely in black emerged. Sparked by moonlight, a large diamond flashed on his hand. Without hesitation, he strode toward Allie, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her to the chopper.

Lydia watched through her picture window as though viewing a Hollywood action movie. She saw Tokarev and Allie stop midway to the chopper. Allie turned to face her abductor. She threw her shoulders back and thrust out a defiant chin. Lydia saw her mouth moving and she saw Tokarev grab her arm and pull. Allie dug her stilettos into the grass and held her position, pointing back to the house.

Lydia tightened her grip on her gun and stepped back toward the stairs leading to her basement. If Allie was sending Tokarev and his henchmen in to kill her, she'd need every weapon in her arsenal to stay alive.

Tokarev looked her way. He turned to the man on his left and said something Lydia couldn't hear. The man trotted toward the house as Lydia stepped backward, toward the stairs.

The man stepped up onto Lydia's deck, grabbed Allie's bag, and ran it back to the chopper. Lydia watched Allie shake her arm free and walk ahead of the Russian. She boarded the helicopter with the grace of a princess entering her limousine.

Lydia stood in the shadows in her hallway and watched the chopper rise into the dark sky.