Arctic Fire (33 page)

B
ILL GLANCED
across the kitchen table at Cheryl. For the last hour he’d been trying to find the right moment to talk to her. But he’d put it off every time he got the chance because he knew what was going to happen. Having “free and clear” money, as Cheryl had always called it, was a major hot button for her.

He couldn’t stall any longer. Personal relationships had to run a distant second to the country’s needs. The United States always had to come first. Lately he had to keep reminding himself of that. He never had before.

“Cheryl?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Why did you take ten thousand dollars out of your Citibank money market account a few days ago?”

Her gaze rose deliberately from the magazine she was reading. “
What?
”

He could see her eyes already burning. This was going to get nasty if he wasn’t careful. Normally she avoided conflict like the plague, but not when it came to this. Having her own account gave her independence. At least, she thought it did.

“What did you do with the money, Cheryl?”

“How do you know I took money out of that account, Bill?”

“Because I—”

“That’s supposed to be
my
account,” she snapped as she slapped the magazine shut and slammed it down on the wooden tabletop. “
Only
my account.”

He just prayed she hadn’t given that cash to Jack. If she had, she’d probably signed his death warrant. There were people waiting for him out there who were extraordinarily talented killers, and Jack would be helpless against them. Almost anyone would.

“That’s supposed to be my money to do whatever I want with,” she reminded him icily. “You always said that once it went into that account you’d never ask me what I did with it.”

“I never have.”

“You just did.”

“Things change,” Bill answered solemnly. “There are exceptions to every rule.” In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen her get this angry this fast. “You know that, Cheryl.” He shuddered as he thought of what those killers would do to Jack. “I need to know what you did with that money.”

“I can’t believe you!” she shouted. “I can’t believe you’re doing this!”

“
Quiet!
” Bill hissed.

Rita Hayes, his executive assistant, was just down the hall. She’d taken a Metro North train out from the city yesterday afternoon to have dinner with them, and she’d stayed the night. This morning she and Cheryl had ridden horses while he’d worked in his first-floor office of the mansion. Now she was watching TV in the living room.

“I don’t want Rita hearing us,” he muttered under his breath, motioning toward the kitchen doorway. “Please.”

“Do you have someone watching my account?” Cheryl demanded. “Are you so powerful you can have someone at another bank tell you when I make a withdrawal even though your name isn’t on the account?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“My God,” she whispered. “You’ve been watching me all these years.”

“Come on, Cheryl. You know what I do.” He’d been watching that account all these years because he never completely trusted anyone—which was an awful curse. Until now she’d never done anything suspicious with all that money he gave her every month. “I run First Manhattan, for Christ’s sake. It’s the biggest bank in the country.”

“I never thought you’d use your power against me.”

It was time to drop another bombshell. The shock value might be just what he needed to get the answer he sought. “Do you know that Troy just had a son with a young woman who lives in Brooklyn?” He saw that the newsflash had taken Cheryl completely by surprise. “Her name is Lisa Martinez.” She’d gotten no early warning about it from Troy. “The boy’s only a couple of months old. His name is Jack.”

Cheryl’s expression turned from shock to confusion. “What? I thought you said—”

“Jack’s been taking care of Lisa for Troy,” Bill explained. “And since the baby was born he’s been taking care of both of them. So she named the baby after Jack.”

He watched emotion overwhelm his wife—for her lost son and her unseen grandchild. Then he felt heat come to his own eyes. He loved Cheryl so much. He didn’t tell her that enough. In fact, he rarely did. He’d always regretted sending her away when they were young, when he’d been a foolish young man. And he’d
always regretted not treating Jack like his own son when Cheryl had come back pregnant with him.

“So…we’re grandparents,” Cheryl murmured.

To a boy whose mother’s last name was Martinez, Bill thought to himself in amazement. Never in his life would he have predicted that. But Lisa was a lovely young woman, and he was going to take excellent care of her—and Little Jack—now that Troy was gone. He was actually thinking of moving them here to the mansion.

“Yes, we are grandparents.”

“I don’t understand, Bill. Why wouldn’t Troy have told us that he’d—”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about Troy.” He’d explain all of that to her at some point, but there wasn’t time for a discussion of that magnitude right now. “Right now we need to focus on the ten thousand dollars you took out of Citibank.”

“Tell me what really happened to Troy,” she whispered as the emotion building in her heart worked its way into her voice. “I know you know.”

“Did you give that money to Jack?” he said, his voice steely. “Tell me, Cheryl.”

She stared back at him for several moments. “What happened to Troy?”

“
Did you give that money to Jack?
” Bill roared suddenly, rising from his chair and coming around the table to where she was sitting. He’d had enough of this. If Rita heard, so be it. “Damn it, Cheryl, you’ve got to tell me!”

“Why should I tell you?” she shouted back, rising quickly too. “And why do you care if I gave money to Jack? Do you hate him that much?”

He didn’t hate Jack. Down deep, he loved the boy. He’d just never been able to get over his bitterness at the fact that Jack was another man’s child. It wasn’t Jack’s fault, but he’d never been able to climb that tall mountain of terrible regret. He hated to admit
it, but every time he looked at Jack, he saw that other man. And Jack had paid the price.

God, he wished he could do things over.

“Have you spoken to Jack since that day you took the money out?” he asked, trying to push those regrets out of his mind for the moment. But he still couldn’t. “You’ve got to tell me if you have.” The only thing he could do now was try to help Jack. “You must tell me where he is.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

Bill couldn’t believe how hard she was fighting him. The few times they’d ever argued, she’d always crumbled when he’d started to yell. He’d never touched her in anger before, but he had to know what was going on. He grabbed her by both shoulders. “I’ve got to know right now—”

“What in God’s name is going on?”

Bill’s gaze shot to the hall doorway. Rita was standing there staring at him. He took his hands off Cheryl immediately, spread his arms, and tried to smile sincerely. “Rita, I was just—”

“Don’t touch her again,” Rita ordered sternly, stalking through the kitchen to Cheryl’s side and taking her trembling hand. “I mean it, Bill. I’ll call the police if you do. I don’t care who you are, I’ll call the cops.”

“I’m fine,” Cheryl whispered as she sobbed quietly. “I really am.”

“No, you’re not,” Rita said calmly, shaking her head at Bill as she led Cheryl away. “Come with me.”

Bill glared at them as they walked from the kitchen. Then he glanced out the bay window at the fields leading to the tree line in the distance. He couldn’t believe what he was thinking. It was the first time he had in as long as he could remember.

Maybe the country couldn’t always come first no matter what. Maybe there were actually times when family had to be the priority. Maybe this was one of those times.

He gazed at the far-off trees. He’d already lost one son. He couldn’t lose another.

“He’s beautiful,” Hunter murmured as he gazed down at the little boy Lisa was cradling in her arms. “This is Jack?”

She nodded happily. “Sí, this is Little Jack.”

He glanced into Lisa’s soft brown eyes. She was beautiful and sweet, and all she’d tried to do since he’d gotten here to Brooklyn was take care of him. She’d offered him food and drink over and over. She was a lot like Amy in that way. She just wanted to make people happy.

Hunter shut his eyes tightly. He still hadn’t called Jack. But if he didn’t soon, Amy would die. He was in hell, absolute hell. He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t. He was paralyzed, and the only thing he could think of doing today to make himself feel better was coming here to see if Lisa and Little Jack were all right. It had worked a little.

“Are you OK?”

He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice and the warm touch of her hand on his arm. “Yeah, Lisa, I’m—” The knock on the door interrupted him.

“Will you see who that is?” she whispered. “If it’s a man, please don’t answer. It’s probably my landlord, and I’m late on rent. My sisters and I won’t have it until tomorrow or the next day.”

“No worries.”

Hunter moved to the door and peered through the tiny peephole. When he did, his body froze. There was a man standing outside, all right, but it wasn’t the landlord. It was the little man who’d put him in hell. Hunter would never forget that face as long as he lived. He’d never forget how the man had watched calmly as the clear plastic bag did its work.

What in the hell was he doing here?

“Hello,” Speed Trap answered hesitantly.

“Is this Bobby Mitchell?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name’s Ross Turner. I’m a hunting guide out of Wasilla. I got a buddy named Wilson Keats who told me he talked to you about a hunt you went on last year on Kodiak Island. He said you bagged a huge bear on that trip. A nine-footer.”

“Yeah, that was in early October.” Speed Trap knew a guy named Wilson Keats, so Turner’s story sounded legit. “The thing was a monster.”

“You’re in Dutch, right? Wilson told me you’re on one of those crab boats over there.”

“Yeah, I’m on the
Arctic Fire
. So what?”

“Right. The
Arctic Fire
. Well, I’m gonna be over in Dutch real soon because I’m gonna try to hook on with a boat for the opilio season to make some quick cash. I was just hoping we could talk about your hunt. I’ll buy you a beer while we do.”

Just because Turner had mentioned Wilson Keats, Speed Trap wasn’t buying the story at face value. He had too much experience with Grant telling him lies to go for the bait that quickly. “Or we could talk about it right now on the phone.”

“We could,” Turner agreed deliberately, “but I’d rather talk about it in person. That OK?”

The odds were good that Ross Turner didn’t really want to talk about a bear hunt. He might at first, as a way in, but in the end he probably wanted to talk about something very different. Turner was probably a cop, and he probably wanted to talk about two people being lost off the
Arctic Fire
in two years—not what
had happened on Kodiak Island last October. Uncle Sage might get away with throwing one greenhorn overboard…not two.

But maybe it would be OK to talk to somebody outside the circle about what had happened, Speed Trap figured. He’d been terrified while Grant was holding him over the side of the
Arctic Fire
by his ankles, and maybe he needed to make a big decision after all. Because he was pretty sure that the next time Grant held him over the side of the ship by the ankles, he was going to drop him into those freezing waters.