Last to Die (32 page)

Why? he asked.

When she looked up, tears were welling in her eyes. I was afraid to tell you. I knew you'd think I was an idiot. She tricked me, Jack.

Tricked you? How?

She called and told me that she already knew that Tatum met with Sally before she was killed. She had all the details that Tatum gave us - the rainy night, the meeting at Theo's bar where she tried to hire him to kill her. The thing she had dead wrong was the timing. She claimed to have it from a reliable source that the meeting took place less than twenty-four hours before Sally turned up dead. I told her that her source was wrong. And then she got nasty.

What do you mean, nasty?

She made it absolutely clear that unless I told her differently, she was going to print the story as written: Tatum and Sally met twenty-four hours before her death. I told her she really needed to talk to you, but she said you hadn't returned her call and she was on deadline.

So what did you tell her?

I was totally firm. I said, I can't tell you whether there was a meeting or not. All I can tell you is that there definitely was no meeting twenty-four hours before Sally's death.'

Good answer.

But she wasn't happy with it. She said, Tell me when it happened, or I'm sticking with twenty-four hours.' I didn't know what to do, but in the heat of the moment I couldn't imagine that the smart thing was to stand aside and let her print something I knew was false. So I told her it wasn't twenty-four hours. It was more like two weeks.

Jack groaned. Damn it, Kesley, how could you not have known that she was fishing for confirmation that the meeting had taken place at all?

Because she already knew everything about the meeting.

She made you think she knew about it. All she had was a rumor. She couldn't print that. She was bluffing. But after talking to you, she had a source.

I'm so sorry.

I'm sure you are. But for God's sake, you can't let a reporter manipulate you like that.

I don't know what to say. I screwed up. You have to know that I haven't exactly been in my best frame of mind lately.

We've all been through a lot.

No, you don't understand. She sniffled and said, That man threatened Nate.

What?

The man who attacked me outside the law library. He said that if Tatum didn't drop out of the game Her voice cracked, as if she couldn't even say it.

He'd do what?

He said - She glanced at the framed photograph Jack kept on his desk, her boy perched on Jack's shoulders. Her lips quivered as she said, He told me Nate would go the way of Sally's daughter.

Jack felt his anger rise. That son of a bitch. You didn't even have to tell me, I knew that's the way that lowlife would operate.

That's why I sent him to stay with my mother, like you said.

I wish you'd take the rest of my advice and call the cops.

No. I can't. He said he'd hurt Nate if I did, and I'm not taking that risk. But don't you see what I'm going through, how I could have screwed up? I'm terrified. You know how a threat like that must have made me feel. It's horrible enough what happened to that poor little girl. But Nate - I told you the whole drowning story the first time you took him on Theo's boat. I still have nightmares.

When it comes to you and Nate, you won't find anyone more sympathetic than me. But you have to hold yourself together. You can't be putty in the hands of some reporter.

I accept that. But I hope it at least explains it. A man threatened to drown my own son if Tatum Knight doesn't drop out of the game. I was confused, not sure what to do, what to tell anyone. Out of the blue this reporter called and started asking questions about a conversation Tatum Knight had with Sally Fenning before she died.

You should have cut it off right there.

I know, but I swear, Jack, she already had the whole story. I thought I was helping our client by telling her that the meeting didn't take place just twenty-four hours before Sally ended up dead.

Jack gave her a hard look. He almost couldn't believe what he was about to say, but somewhere deep inside him the lawyer had taken over. Did you really think you were helping, Kelsey? Or did you think it was a way of giving your attacker exactly what he wanted: Get Tatum Knight out of the game?

Her mouth fell open. I can't believe you're accusing me of that.

I'm just asking the question.

The answer is no. Hell no.

Jack was starting to regret he'd asked the question so bluntly, but as Tatum's lawyer, he had to be firm.

Her voice shook. Do you really think I'd intentionally violate the attorney-client privilege? I'm not about to put myself on the blacklist of the Florida Bar before I've even graduated from law school.

Jack took a moment, breathed away some of his suspicion. She seemed too shaken by the whole experience to be able to lie about her intentions now. Okay, he said. You screwed up. We'll leave it at that. But what you did is still so wrong.

Stop it, Jack.

Stop what?

I've apologized fifty times. That reporter just caught me at exactly the wrong moment. I haven't had a decent night's sleep since the attack. All I've been able to think about is Nate, that little girl, and some psycho holding them down in this tub of bloody bathwater, their little legs kicking and -

She lost control, and the tears were flowing. She was practically slumping. On impulse, Jack went to her. She rose, and she seemed to want him to take her in his arms, but he stopped. He was suddenly feeling more like her employer than her rock. Hey, hey, he said as he laid a somewhat reassuring hand on her shoulder. It's going to be okay.

I feel awful. I wish I could fix this.

Don't worry. It's going to be all right.

He tried to step back and put some distance between their bodies, but she took his hand and said, Are you sure?

The truth is we were going to have to deal with this sooner or later. Tatum really did meet with Sally. And she did try to hire him to kill her. The one item of damage control we have to address is Deirdre's failure to include Tatum's denial that he took the job.

Can I help you with that?

I'll take care of it.

They were standing just a foot or so apart, a little too close for Jack's comfort. Kelsey had big, expressive eyes, and they were conveying a mix of emotions to him. Embarrassment. Remorse. She squeezed his hand and said, It's important to me that this doesn't change the way you see me.

He didn't say anything.

She forced a weak semblance of a smile. Do you think you can forgive a worried single mom for making a law student mistake?

He considered it, trying to ignore the look on her face and the touch of her hand, trying to blur his memory of the one bright moment they'd shared together on her front porch and the nights he'd spent alone wondering what might be between them. It would take a while for him to sort out his own emotions, and it bugged him a little that she'd played the single mom/law student card in this setting. But he said what he thought she needed to hear, just words, no feeling behind them. I can forgive you.

She smiled just enough to show her relief. Is everything going to be okay between us?

Sure. But the verdict is still out on the much tougher question.

What's that?

Will Tatum forgive you?

Chapter
Forty-Six The bar was packed, mostly a twenty-something crowd, young sheep who would drink battery acid so long as it was two-for-one. Deirdre Meadows was on her fourth gin and tonic, sharing a booth with her best girlfriend, Carmen Bell, a freelance journalist and self-proclaimed poet who would admit to no one but her buddy Deirdre that her true ambition in life was to write sappy greeting cards for Hallmark. They got together for drinks every Wednesday, Ladies' Night, after Deirdre met her deadline, but tonight was more special than most.

Page one A, said Carmen. Nice work, girl.

Deirdre crunched an ice cube with her teeth and smiled. Best is yet to come.

Tell me.

Deirdre checked over her shoulder, as if to make sure no one was listening. The booth behind them was filled with the usual after-work crowd, three guys shooting tequila while their girlfriends took turns trying the old teaspoon hanging from the nose trick.

Deirdre said, Remember how pissed I was when my editor nixed my idea for a three-part investigative piece on Sally Fenning?

Yeah, budget problems, blah, blah, blah.

Well, no more budget problems. It's now a green light.

Woo-hoo! You are on your way.

Deirdre picked a peanut from the bowl of party mix. Looks that way, doesn't it?

Carmen leaned into the table and spoke in the low voice she used only when trading secrets. So tell me. Who's the source?

Carmen! I'm surprised at you.

She smiled knowingly and said, You don't have any idea who he is, do you?

Nope, she said, and they shared a little laugh.

Then Carmen turned serious. Are you scared of him?

A little.

Just a little?

Well she said with a roll of her shoulders. I'm less scared now that I've talked to the police.

Wait a minute. Since when does a journalist tell the police about her sources?

This is different. This is a source who threatened to kill me.

Carmen's eyes widened. He what?

Nothing. Forget I said that. This is a celebration. Last thing I need is for you to get me all spooked out.

Carmen gnawed her plastic stirring straw until the full two inches protruding from her cocktail were completely flattened with teeth marks.

Will you please stop that? Deirdre said sharply.

Sorry. Just don't like it when my friends are getting death threats.

I'm being very careful, okay?

Good. And I hope you're being smart, too.

Oh, I am. How's this for smart? Johnny, I'm scared, can I sleep over tonight? Johnny, can you hold me? Johnny, it would help me sleep so much better if we could wake him up just one more time and put him right -

Okay, okay, I get it, she said with a smile.

Do you really get it?

Well, technically speaking, no.

Then that's one more way in which my life beats the hell out of yours right now, isn't it?

I hope you get crabs.

Deirdre laughed as she fished a ten-dollar bill from her purse. She laid it on the table, then flashed the key to her boyfriend's townhouse, and said, Sorry to drink and run, but Johnny puts the chain on the door if I don't get there before eleven.

Shit, Deirdre. When you gonna find a man who doesn't make you drive your own ass over to his place in order to see him naked?

As soon as I inherit forty-six million dollars.

Not that the money matters to you.

Of course not. Who needs money?

They managed to keep a straight face for about two seconds, then burst into laughter. I'll see you later, said Deirdre.

She zigzagged through the noisy crowd, and she could have sworn she was getting checked out more than usual. It was all in the attitude, and as of this morning she had a new one. A stranger even opened the door for her.

Thanks, she said with a smile, then stepped outside.

The sun having long-since dipped into the Everglades, it was one of those perfect autumn evenings with just enough bite in the air to make you forget the cursed summer heat and humidity that had stuck around till Halloween. Valet was a rip-off at eighteen bucks, and as usual Deirdre had come with no coins to feed the meters on the street, so she'd wedged her little Honda into a free spot in the alley beside the drugstore. This had seemed like a good idea when the store was open, but its windows were now black and there were no more customers coming and going. Nightfall had a way of changing everything.

She dug her key from her purse as she quickly crossed the lot. A guy in a red pickup truck was sitting behind the wheel, and the look on his face gave her concern at first, until she saw the mop of blond hair bobbing up and down in his lap. Pretty safe bet he wouldn't be following her. Her car was just around the corner, and the muffled drone of the bar crowd faded with each step farther into the darkness.

Her car alarm chirped as she hit the remote button. She got in, slammed the door shut, and aimed the key for the ignition. Jittery hands made a challenge out of the simple process of starting the car, definitely more nerves than the drinks.

Damn it, settle down, girl.

The engine fired on the second try. She put it into the gear and pulled away so fast that she sent some loose gravel flying. She turned on the radio to calm herself.

She'd lied to Carmen. Her source had her more than a little scared. She was well aware that submitting the story about Tatum Knight to her editors was an outright defiance of his orders. She wasn't sure what he might do about it, but he would surely do something. She'd gone to the police, hoping they might offer protection. They gave her a pamphlet filled with canned advice for stalking victims, told her to come back when she was willing to agree to a wiretap on her home and work telephones. Maybe then they'd talk protection.