Kill for Me (44 page)

“So you got your revenge on Ellis. You took his son, made him yours. He’s still yours, isn’t he, Ray Kraemer?” Every time he used Charles’s real name, the man flinched. “He’s useful to you, being a cop and all. You think he’s coming to get you now, but you’re wrong. We have Paul Houston in custody and he’s going to prison for a very long time.” The custody was a lie, but it did the trick.

Charles’s face became florid and his breathing hitched. “No. You can’t have him.”

Stay with me, Susannah
. “It’s too late, Ray Kraemer. I have him already. Paul is
mine
. You have nothing
left
.” And on the last word Susannah kicked Charles hard on his left leg, sending them both to the floor. Charles landed on the backpack, the sharp corners of the box he carried knocking the breath from his lungs. Susannah took the advantage, thrashing and clawing like a trapped cat.

The moment she broke free, Luke lunged, grabbing Charles’s wrist with both hands, his elbow digging into Charles’s throat. But the old man was much stronger than he appeared. Luke’s arms burned from the struggle until he heard a snap of Charles’s wrist bone and a hoarse cry. Charles’s hand released the gun and, fueled by adrenaline and rage, Luke sat on his chest, clutching the old man by the throat.

“Fucking sonofabitch,” Luke snarled. His hands tightened, shaking Charles until he gasped for breath. Luke bore down, feeling the give of throat cartilage.
Kill him.
He drew back his fist, then froze. The old man was incapacitated. Injured. Unarmed.
Kill him
. Luke could hear the words in his mind, a primal chant that throbbed through every inch of his body.
Kill him. Kill him with your bare hands. Kill him for Susannah.
For Monica and Angel and Alicia Tremaine and every other victim.

Wait
. The small voice in his mind was soft, but firm.
This is not the man you are
. Yes, it was. But it wasn’t the man Luke wanted to be. Disgusted both with Charles and with his own still, small voice, Luke grabbed Charles by the lapels, hauled him into a sitting position, and leaned in close. “I hope some prison con kills you like the dog you are.”

Charles’s mouth curved as a searing pain ripped through Luke’s biceps and too late he saw the short blade in Charles’s other hand.
Sonofabitch
.

“
You’re
the coward, not me. Never me. You’re weak,” Charles grunted, twisting, going for the gun with his unbroken hand. “Weak,” he repeated, and clumsily Luke grabbed at him, abruptly halting at the sickening sound of crushing bone.

Charles flew back, his head striking the carpet so hard it bounced. His body went still, his mouth wide open. Stunned, Luke looked up. Susannah stood over him, Charles’s walking stick clutched in her hands like a baseball bat. Her eyes were wild, turbulent, as she stared down at the man, who with so many others, had ruined her life.

“I’m not weak,” she said. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Luke grasped her wrist gently, tugging until she met his eyes. “You never were weak, Susannah. Never. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

Her shoulders sagged, her breathing strident. “Did I kill him? Please say I did.”

Luke pressed his fingers to Charles’s throat. “Yeah, honey. I think you did.”

“Good,” she said fiercely. She let the stick fall. For a moment they simply stared at each other, catching their breath. Then a voice called from the back of the house.

“Hello? Anybody here?” It was Chase.

Luke blew out a relieved breath and rose, his sliced arm burning like hell and bleeding sullenly. Luckily Charles hadn’t hit anything vital. “Back here, Chase.” With his good arm, he brought Susannah close, burying his face in her hair. “It’s done.”

She nodded against his chest. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live.”

She lifted her face, her lips curving in a trembling smile. “Good.”

He smiled back. “You could do some first aid, though. Rip off your blouse to make me a bandage, something like that.”

Her smile finally reached her eyes. “I think the medics have regulation bandages. But I’ll keep the blouse request in mind for later.”

“Oh my God.” Chase stopped in the doorway, shock on his face. “What happened here?”

“What? What happened?” Another man pushed past Chase, and Luke opened his mouth in warning, but caught Chase’s warning stare.

“This is Officer Houston,” Chase said soberly. “He’s searching for a suspect he tracked here. Of course we offered support. Houston, is this your man?”

Houston was stumbling forward, horrified. “No.”

“It’s not your man?” Chase asked carefully.

Houston fell to his knees next to Charles’s body. “Oh God. Oh no.” He looked up, the rage and fear in his eyes focused completely on Susannah. “
You
. You killed him.”

The remaining color drained from her face. “You. You raped me.” She looked at Luke, then Chase in confusion. “It’s him. Do something. Arrest him.”

“You killed him.” Houston lunged to his feet, reaching for Susannah. “You bitch.”

Chase was on him, suddenly joined by four agents. Quickly subdued, Houston still struggled, now sobbing. “You killed him. You bitch. He was mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Well, now he’s dead, dead, dead,” Susannah said with contempt.

“Take him,” Chase said. “Don’t forget to read him his rights.” Shoulders sagging, he turned to Susannah. “I’m so sorry. We had to link him with Charles or all we might have had would have been accounts from the criminals he was blackmailing. IA wanted him red-handed so we let him come here, hoping we could catch the two of them together.”

“Susannah hit Charles after he tried to grab the gun,” Luke said. “Self-defense.”

“I know,” Chase said and pulled an earbud from his ear. “Pete reported the whole thing.” He pointed to the window. Pete stood outside, glaring as Houston was dragged away. “Pete saw Charles drag you in here. He mobilized the GBI backup, including a sniper who had Charles in his sights almost the whole time. We were just waiting for a clean shot.” He noticed Luke’s arm and the bloody knife on the carpet. “You’re cut.”

“A scratch.” It was a lie, but he was more worried about Susannah. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” she said, which was also a lie. She was pale but alert as she examined the walking stick. “The top comes off.” She worked it free, then sucked in a breath. Inside was a swastika brand, the same size she wore on her hip. “He was there that night.” She looked at Charles’s backpack. “I want to see what’s inside. I need to know.”

“And you will know,” Chase said. “As soon as the crime lab is done with the scene, the ME is done with the bodies, we take statements, and you both get checked out at the ER. And don’t even
consider
arguing with me. I knew Grant had a gun to your head, but I had to pretend nothing was happening to keep Houston off guard.” And the haggard exhaustion in his eyes was testament to how hard that had been.

“I’m sorry, Chase,” she said. “You’re right. Luke needs medical attention first. I’ve waited thirteen years to understand. I can wait a few hours more.”

Atlanta, Monday, February 5, 5:30 p.m.

“Knock, knock,” Susannah said, and Monica Cassidy looked up, smiling.

“Mom, look.”

Mrs. Cassidy stood, considerably more relaxed than the last time they’d seen her. “Susannah, Agent Papadopoulos, come in. What happened to you two?”

Luke’s arm was in a sling after receiving twenty stitches to what he’d called “just a scratch.” Susannah had a black eye and a broken rib, courtesy of her fight with Bobby.

“We tangled with the bad guys,” Susannah said lightly.

Monica’s eyes went wary. “And?”

Susannah sobered. “We kicked their sorry asses.”

Monica’s lips curved. “And sent them to hell?”

“Forever and ever,” Luke said. “The woman who was transporting Genie and the man you heard in the bunker that day. Both gone to hell without a key.”

“Good,” Monica said. “What about Becky’s little sisters?”

Luke’s smile faded. “We’re still looking. They’d moved away. I’m sorry.”

Monica swallowed. “I know you can’t save them all, Agent Papadopoulos, but could you look real hard? Please?”

Luke nodded. “I give you my word.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“But we have good news,” Mrs. Cassidy said, patting Monica’s hand. “We got a call from Agent Grimes in Charlotte an hour ago.”

“They found my dad. His car was at the bottom of a lake, but he managed to get out of the car and swim to shore.”

“He was found with no identification,” Mrs. Cassidy said. “Some Good Samaritan took him to the hospital and he was unconscious until this morning. He’s on a ventilator, too, so he couldn’t tell them anything. One of Agent Grimes’s colleagues took his photo to all the area ER’s until he found him.”

“Agent Grimes said the man who hurt my father was the subject of an ongoing investigation,” Monica said, “and he couldn’t tell us anything yet. Can you?”

Luke nodded. “The man’s in custody. As soon as I leave here, I’ll call Agent Grimes and tell him. I’m glad your dad is okay, Monica. You’re looking pretty good, too.”

“They let me out of ICU this morning. I might get to eat some real food soon.” Her smile faltered. “Thank you, so, so much. If you two hadn’t come along . . .”

Susannah squeezed her hand. “But we did. You’re a survivor. Don’t look back.”

Monica nodded soberly. “I won’t if you won’t. Don’t feel guilty anymore, Susannah.”

Susannah’s throat tightened. “I’ll try.” She kissed Monica’s forehead. “Stay well.”

“You did that, even when you thought I didn’t know you were there,” Monica whispered. “But I knew. Thank you.”

Susannah managed a smile. “Don’t be a stranger, kid.”

Luke rubbed his hand over Susannah’s back. “We have a debriefing in a half hour, so we need to go. If any of you need us for any reason, don’t hesitate to call.”

They were quiet until they got to Luke’s car. “Did you mean it?” she asked.

He frowned, confused. “What?”

“You told Monica you’d keep searching for Becky’s little sisters. Did you mean it?”

“I gave her my word,” Luke said quietly. “So yes, I meant it.”

“Does that mean you’re going back to Internet Crimes?”

“Yeah. This case was supposed to be just a break, but I had to go back into The Room regardless. Maybe it’s meant to be. At least for now.” His eyes grew dark. “Did
you
mean it or was it part of the secret coded message?”

She knew what he meant. When she thought Bobby was going to kill her, telling him she loved him had seemed good and right and
necessary
. Now . . . “As much as I know how. But that might not be good enough for you.”

“Susannah, hearing you say something that stupid makes me want to scream. You have so much good in you, so much that not even Arthur Vartanian and Charles Grant could turn you. Don’t ever say that you’re not good enough. Never again.”

“It scares me,” she murmured. “I don’t know how to be with someone. But I want to learn.”

“I want to teach you.” He kissed her cheek. “Come or we’ll be late for the unveiling.”

He hadn’t said the words back. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed, so she made her tone light. “They’d better not open Grant’s box before we get there.”

“After everything you’ve been through, I’m sure they wouldn’t dare.”

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 6:00 p.m.

Luke was quite right. Everyone was gathered around the table, faces sober. Pete, Talia, Nancy, Chase, Ed, Chloe. Susannah had come to trust them all with her life over the last few days. There was an empty seat next to Chloe. Someone had draped a black scarf over the chair, for Germanio. The sight of it made Susannah’s chest ache.

Charles Grant’s ivory box sat on the table. Stacked next to the box were the journals that had belonged to Arthur Vartanian and the notebooks Luke told her they’d found in Charles Grant’s home. And next to those lay a simple manila envelope.

Susannah took the seat next to Luke. “Have you looked in Mr. Grant’s box?”

“Ed did,” Chase said, “to be sure nothing would explode, literally or figuratively.”

Ed’s expression was carefully blank, giving away nothing.

“What’s in the envelope?” Luke asked.

“It’s from Borenson,” Chase said. “He left instructions that if he died suspiciously or went missing, his safe-deposit box should be turned over to the authorities.”

“That was the key we found in Granville’s firebox,” Nancy said. “We think Grant sent Toby Granville to find the file, but Toby only found the key. It fits Borenson’s safe-deposit box in a Charleston bank. And it’s why Charles Grant tortured Borenson. He wanted to know where the papers were kept. They incriminate everyone.”

“Borenson’s attorney only learned of his disappearance this morning,” Chase said, “and dropped this off while we were all in Dutton. Borenson’s papers detail the ongoing rivalry between Arthur and Charles and throw in a few extras like the real death certificate for the body that was buried in Simon’s grave and proof of Charles Grant’s real identity, courtesy of Angie Delacroix. Looks like she had an ace up her sleeve, too.”

“It would have been nice if they’d come forward when it mattered,” Susannah said quietly. “Before dozens of people died. Did you arrest Angie?”

“We did,” Chloe said. “She participated in Charles Grant’s extortion, willingly or not.”

“And we convinced Paul Houston to tell us what he had on Leigh,” Pete said grimly.

Susannah’s stomach clenched at the mention of Paul Houston. “How?”

“How did we get him to tell?” Pete asked.

“Yes.”

Pete glanced at Chloe, who was looking up at the ceiling. “Paul might have tripped on the way to the car . . . once or twice. He was cryin’ so hard over Charles, you know. Couldn’t see where he was going.”

“It’s so sad when dirty cops have two left feet,” Chloe murmured.

“Ain’t it, though?” Pete said, still grimly. “About two years ago three little kids were killed when they were hit by a speeding vehicle. The kids were in a crosswalk, the car ran a light and didn’t stop. Paul Houston caught the case.”