Aim to Kill (42 page)

At least that was one loose end tied up. He’d seriously considered offing Driscoll as repayment for stealing thirty-four years of his life.

He looked up at the house.
Her house.

She hadn’t come home yet, but that was okay. The two days he’d had since arriving in Virginia gave him time to plan. Not only how to kill the bitch who’d helped imprison him, but to figure out where he would go once she was dead.

Canada was relatively close, but he’d be better able to lose himself in Mexico. Cheaper to live there, too. And he had street smarts. It’d be easier to make it in Mexico. Not to mention it snowed in Canada. He hated the cold.

The whole thing was making him nervous. Not so much killing Olivia St. Martin, but being responsible for his own life. In prison, he didn’t have to think about earning money to eat, paying rent, or working.

He’d realized much too late that he should have waited to kill the cop and prosecutor until
after
he got his restitution money. He’d been mentally berating himself for the past two days.

A million dollars, thrown away, just like that. Gone. There was no way he could go back to California now; he’d made too many mistakes. For one, he’d used the same gun on both men. What was he thinking?

He hadn’t been thinking. The story of his fucking life, right? The reason Driscoll got away with framing him. Brian should have thought about who else could have killed that girl. If the cops had asked the questions the Seattle cop had asked, Brian would have figured out about Driscoll years ago.

One last debt to pay and he would truly be free. But while freedom was alluring, he’d begun to miss the structure and security he had in prison.

A fancy car pulled into St. Martin’s driveway. Brian shut off the radio and pretended to read the book he held while he watched a tall, skinny guy walk up to the front door with two bags of groceries in his arms.

This was it. His chance to get inside the house.

He crossed the street and approached the house. He hadn’t broken in when he’d first staked out the place yesterday morning because of the alarm system, but this guy entered and so must know the code.

Would he have locked the door? Brian hoped not. He didn’t want to kill the guy, but he’d do what he had to do.

Cautiously, he tried the front door. Unlocked. He glanced from left to right to make sure no one was watching him. The houses were set far apart, and with the park directly across the street, Brian felt safe enough to enter.

He listened in the doorway. His heart skipped a beat at the sound of rustling in the kitchen down the hall.

Directly in front of him was a staircase. The bedrooms would most likely be upstairs, but he’d inspect the entire house once the guy in the kitchen left. Find the best place to hide. Where she would least expect him.

Walking as silently as possible up the staircase, Brian Hall finished forming his plan.

He’d wait until Olivia St. Martin came home.

Then he’d kill her.

CHAPTER

34

Zack stayed the night, and early Monday morning he joined Olivia for a light breakfast with Quinn and Miranda Peterson.

“I’ll take you to the airport,” Zack said.

“I can’t let you do that,” Quinn said.

“Excuse me?” Zack glared at him. What was Quinn’s problem?

“She’s under federal protection; I’m flying out with her.”

Zack looked from Quinn to Olivia and said slowly, “What’s going on?”

“Oh,” Quinn said. “Miranda, I think we should step out of the room.”

“What’s going on?” Zack repeated as the Petersons left.

“I didn’t think to tell you—I’m sorry. It’s Hall.”

“Hall?”

“The police believe he killed two men involved with his prosecution in California. They think he’s coming after me.”

“Shit, Olivia!” He slammed his fist down. “You’ve been threatened and you didn’t tell me?”

“This all just happened. We don’t know where he is—he could have fled the country. His car was found at the San Francisco airport. It’s just—the FBI profiler believes he is seeking vengeance for being incarcerated. Hamilton, Gary Porter, now me. Federal protection is just a precaution. Hall has hardly any money, he has a record, and his photograph and description has been disseminated to all law enforcement agencies. It’s only a matter of time before he’s caught.”

“Before or after he tries to kill you?”

Zack yanked her from her chair. She was startled, but he didn’t care. “In the last seventy-two hours, you almost fell to your death in the Cascades, you were held hostage by a serial killer, and now a suspected murderer might be after you for revenge? And you think I’m letting you out of my sight for one minute?”

“I—”

He kissed her. Full on, open mouth. He pulled back, his heart racing.

“I don’t care what Quinn Peterson ends up doing, but where you go, I go, federal protection or not.”

By the time they reached Virginia, it was after six in the evening. Agent Tim Daly greeted them at the airport and took over from Quinn; Zack seemed to take the situation in stride. Daly drove them to Olivia’s small but elegant two-story house in Fairfax.

Olivia was embarrassed showing Zack her home. While the house was stylish, and the furniture expensive, it was empty. Barren. It wasn’t a
home
—it had no living plants, no photographs, nothing that said a content, fulfilled human being lived there. Even her bookshelves were tidy with a few, mostly decorative, books. The manuals she used for work were in her office. Model homes in new housing developments had more personality than Olivia’s, though she’d lived here for three years.

Agent Daly walked through the house. “Okay, the house is secure,” he said as he came down the stairs. “Director Stockton said to take it easy today, but plan on being at the lab tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred for debriefing.”

“Director Stockton?” Zack questioned.

“He’s in charge of the FBI laboratory,” Olivia explained, though she felt uncomfortable bringing it up with Zack. They hadn’t really talked about
what
she did for the FBI.

“Coffee, Tim?” she asked.

“That would be great, Dr. St. Martin.”

“It’ll just take a couple of minutes.”

“Don’t rush,” he said, and sat down.

She walked down the short hall to the kitchen and started coffee. Then she noticed the note on the refrigerator.

She frowned, until she recognized the small, perfect block letters on the front.
Greg.

She opened the note and read it.

“What’s that?” Zack asked.

“A note from Greg.”

“Your ex-husband Greg?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “He brought over some groceries yesterday when Rick told him I was coming back.”

“He has a key to your house?”

Olivia looked at Zack. The tone of his voice was odd—but his face was blank.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“This is the same Greg who ran DNA tests off-hours and who knew what you were doing from the beginning?”

“I explained that,” she said slowly. She’d thought they’d gotten beyond her lie.

Suddenly, she felt extremely weary and sank down into a chair, her head in her hands. “I can’t live like this.”

“Like what?”

“With you doubting and questioning me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Weren’t you?” She looked at Zack. “Why does it bother you that Greg knew what I was doing in Seattle?”

Zack shuffled his feet and looked sheepish. “
Liv
, if you think I don’t trust you, you’re wrong.”

“Then what?”

He didn’t say anything. Olivia replayed his comments in her mind. “Is it because Greg has a key to my house?”

Zack sighed. “I didn’t realize you were
that
close to your ex-husband.”

She almost laughed, but Zack looked so uncomfortable she didn’t have the heart. She stood up and kissed him on the cheek. “Zack, Greg and I are friends. We’re always going to be friends. But I love
you.
”

Zack pulled her close, kissed her, held her. “A lot of marriages don’t end in friendship. I haven’t talked to my ex-wife in years—she’s living in Los Angeles, last I heard. On her third husband.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. It was a mistake. We both knew it before our first anniversary.” He looked at her. “What happened with your marriage?”

“We wanted different things.”

“Do you still love him?”

Tension radiated from Zack’s body. This was important to him, Olivia realized.

“Not like I love you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Don’t be jealous, Zack. Greg and I were friends before we got married, and we’re still friends. I love him in the sense that he’s been a reliable part of my life for years. Plus, we have a lot in common.

“But,” she continued, “I mistook friendship and mutual respect for love. In fact, I don’t think I was truly capable of loving anyone then. I didn’t want anyone in my life, but I felt comfortable with Greg and I thought that was reason enough to marry him. It wasn’t.”

“I didn’t mean to sound jealous,
Liv
. There’s just so much I still need to learn about you.” He kissed her. “But I’m looking forward to it.”

A sound from the doorway made Olivia jump.

Tim Daly cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry, Dr. St. Martin. I was just going to help myself to the coffee.”

Olivia blushed and waved him away. “I’ll get it.”

While she poured coffee for the three of them, Zack commented, “Nice house.”

“Now that I look at it, it needs some sprucing up,” she said.

“You don’t spend much time here,” Zack said.

She shook her head and looked at him. “This house looks like me.”

“No,
Liv
, it doesn’t.”

She turned to him. “Yes, it was me—cold, sterile, and unemotional—until you came into my life.”

He reached out for her and she sank into his embrace.

Being in Zack’s arms,
this
was home.

It was after ten and another FBI agent, Pete
Hoge
, had replaced Tim Daly.

“I’m going to check the perimeter,”
Hoge
said. “Keep the door locked until I return.”

Olivia glanced at Zack, who seemed amused. He locked and bolted the door behind
Hoge
and pulled Olivia into his arms. “As soon as we get that guy settled, I’m taking you upstairs and making love to you.” He kissed her.

She smiled. “Again, Detective? I can hardly wait.”

Five minutes later,
Hoge
knocked on the door and Zack let him in, locking the door behind him.

“Everything looks good,”
Hoge
said.

“Help yourself to anything you need in the kitchen,” Olivia told him.

“Thank you, Dr. St. Martin.” He nodded to Zack, then walked down the hall to the kitchen.

“Almost alone,” Zack whispered in her ear. “Let’s go upstairs.”

They took the stairs two at a time and Olivia opened the door at the end of the hall. Zack picked her up and carried her across the threshold, laying her on the bed.

Zack stared at Olivia for a long minute. He’d almost lost her—twice. First to a killer. Involuntarily, his eyes dropped to the large, flesh-colored bandage on her neck and his heart tightened. She’d been so close to death, sitting in that car with Christopher Driscoll.

And then he’d also almost lost her to his own stupid pride. Thinking back to the last week and everything that had happened on the case and between them, Olivia had been a team player. She’d been an asset, and he should have been the first to admit it, instead of feeling betrayed because she’d misrepresented herself.

If he had walked away from her forever, he would be half a man today. She completed him in a way he didn’t know he needed until she came into his life.

He lay down next to her and rested his head on his hand. Tenderly, he brushed her hair off her forehead, kissed her soft, creamy skin. He ran a finger lightly over the small bandage on her chest. “How are you doing?”

“Stop worrying about me. I’m fine. A little sore, but really, I’m fine.”

“You know, I’m glad you’re not an FBI agent. I don’t think I could handle you being in the line of fire every day.”

She laughed. “Most agents aren’t in the line of fire
every
day.”

“Once in a lifetime is enough.”

“I agree. Besides, I like my job in the lab.”

“What exactly do you do?” He played with her hair. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. He didn’t want to.

“I analyze trace evidence, among other things. For example, in a case I worked on before I went to Seattle I compared carpet fibers found on three dumped bodies in Minnesota and confirmed that the victims were all wrapped in the same industrial-style carpet, down to the lot number and manufacturer. A lot of what I do is build evidence for trial.”