Now You See It (18 page)

“I didn’t even know he had one. But that doesn’t mean anything,
obviously. Doug might know.”

Mike shook his head. “Probably not. He hasn’t mentioned it, has
he?”

“No,” Gemma answered.

“So, Ned’s financial manager either doesn’t know about the box,
or doesn’t want us to know about it,” Brady said, coming out of the darkness.
Gemma jumped at his sudden appearance, and he sent her a slight smile of
apology.

“Which would make sense only if he is a co-owner of the box and
can sign on the account,” Mike said.

“So the key won’t help us?” she asked.

“Not in Washington. If we find the bank, you’ll need a death
certificate. That could take six weeks. There’s probably not a lot of doubt
about the cause of death, but they’re going to want the tox and all the labs
back before making a formal determination. You’ll need that and the key to get
in. Even a court order is iffy—the bank gets to decide whether to honor it.”
Mike turned the key this way and that way. “No way to tell which bank it is, or
which branch.”

“We could check the banks these statements are from.”

“I can find it,” Brady assured them.

“Why didn’t he just put all these papers into the safety
deposit box?” she asked.

“No time, maybe?” Mike suggested.

“Or he didn’t want to go there very often,” Brady said. “Maybe
he didn’t want anyone to know he had stuff stashed somewhere.”

“So, the key you found, Gemma? Why did he hide it if it’s just
to a trunk full of sleeping bags?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Where was it?” Brady asked.

“In a CD case, in the living room bookshelves. I found it when
I was packing. After the house was vandalized, I gave it to Mike for
safekeeping.” She put down the papers she was holding. “Mike—”

“Yeah?”

“Doug said Mark Taylor has gone into hiding.”

“Yeah. Smart guy.”

Gemma took a last sip of the excellent brandy. “You guys, I’m
done in. The brandy went right to my head, and I’m going to go sleep as long as
I can.”

* * *

“So,” Brady said, “I suppose it’s too much to hope you
brought marshmallows?”

Mike laughed, and glanced guiltily toward the tent and lowered
his voice. He was quiet for too long.

“Spill it,” Brady said.

“Did Gemma tell you about losing the baby? About the phone call
saying Ned was dead?”

A flash of cold shot through Brady. He clenched his muscles
hard and let them go to ease the sudden tension. “You mean she knew before the
cops showed up? I don’t believe it.”

Mike shook his head and took a swallow of whiskey. “Not then.
Two years ago.”

“No.”

“First off, I think she really only married Ned because she
always wanted kids. A couple of years after they were married, she finally got
pregnant, but lost the baby in the third month. When she got pregnant again, it
seemed to take. Then at about four months she started to have problems, so the
OB put her on the next thing to bed rest: stay quiet, stay calm. He even put her
on tranquilizers so she wouldn’t get stressed. Really good drugs. She didn’t
want to take them, because she was worried about what they’d do to the baby, and
of course Ned was right in there with scare stories. So she was doing meditation
and a lot of light reading. It seemed to be working. Then she dropped out of
contact. What we didn’t know then...” he told Brady about the phony call, Ned
showing up, the miscarriage.

“Son of a bitch.”

“No argument there. And afterward, he told her there had been
too much damage, and she couldn’t have any more kids.” Mike slid a file across
the tabletop.

“What’s this?”

“A very preliminary autopsy report. Don’t ask how I got it.
Seems Ned got himself a vasectomy not quite two years ago. Now why do you
suppose he did that?”

Brady thought a minute. “Maybe so he wouldn’t get one of his
playmates knocked up.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. He could always use a condom with them.
And in Gemma’s photo, it looks like he’s doing exactly that. It might be harder
to explain to a wife. Didn’t want her to know he’d had himself fixed because how
would he explain it? If she couldn’t conceive, why would he need to worry about
it? Anyway, I thought you should know Gemma’s not sterile.” Mike dropped his
eyes looking uncomfortable, and his cheeks darkened in the lantern light.

He took an angry breath, and went on. “I wish you’d known her
before she met that s.o.b. She was always the prettiest, the brightest. She lit
up a room when she walked in. And a tongue that would slice solid oak. And he
broke her. It kills me she thinks she’s such a space case. I never knew anyone
more in charge of their world than she was.”

“It probably started out as protective coloration,” Brady said.
“It’s like any other cover, though—stay under too long, and you start to grow
into it. You know, it’s not that hard to tear down a person’s self-confidence.
It’s actually a pretty standard interrogation technique if you’ve got a little
time with the subject.” He took a sip of brandy. “So, what was your dad
like?”

Mike met his eyes squarely. “He was the kind of dad I try to
be.”

Brady stared into the darkness.

“You’re thinking about cycles of abuse,” Mike said.

“Yeah.”

Mike shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. There’s no history
of abuse in our family. Gemma was raised to be independent. We both were. I’ve
never understood what Ned did to change her so much, so fast.”

“History can make it easier, but it’s not critical,” Brady
said. “It’s a destabilizing process, essentially. Very effective. He probably
hadn’t had training in the intensive version. So he’d start out by learning what
she liked about herself, what she’s proud of. Then he’d begin slowly to
undermine those areas. Start with little questions or criticisms, build up later
to full-fledged attacks. Start off sounding knowing, reasonable, more
experienced or worldly or sophisticated. Be slightly patronizing as he imparts
wisdom from his higher perspective.”

He lowered his voice and smoothed the tone a bit. “‘But,
darling, I just don’t want to see you get hurt when you don’t succeed. Besides,
it doesn’t make sense to start a career you’ll just have to give up when the
babies come along.’ Smile, do something patronizing like a chuck under the chin.
She wishes she were more organized? Criticize her disorganized thinking, sloppy
habits, lack of coordination, whatever. Anyway, you get the idea. It doesn’t
take very long, really. Especially if at the same time, he’s isolating her from
any sources of support like friends, or family.”

Mike swallowed hard. “I can almost hear the bastard saying
something like that. From some of the things Gemma told M-K and me, I’d say
you’re dead on target. When she met Ned, she was still grieving for Trevor. We
were really worried about her.”

Brady hated to ask, but couldn’t resist pressing on the sore
spot. “Trevor.” He felt his gut twist. “Trevor?”

Mike grinned. “He was a fighter jock. Flew Hornets off the
Big Stick
. Went down in Bosnia just a few weeks
before they were supposed to get married.”

“I’d forgotten about that. I remember when you went home for
his funeral.”

“In high school, there were the four of us—Mary Kate and me,
and Gemma and Trevor.”

“Yeah. I remember that part, too, now that you mention it.”

“Ned was about as different from him as Gemma could manage.
Different looks, attitude, background, you name it.”

“She must have loved him a lot.”

“Trevor? Yeah. You’d have liked him.”

Brady stood and started putting the documents back into the
box. “Got the key?”

“Nope. It was right on the table earlier.”

Brady looked around, brought the lantern closer, moved utensils
and gear, but the key had vanished. “Ah, dammit, Gemma,” he said under his
breath.

Mike stood to put on his jacket. “What’s up?”

“I thought I’d left the key here on the table.” Brady watched
Mike surreptitiously check his pockets before he started to his car.

“It will probably turn up.”

Mike didn’t seem too worried, but as Brady watched him back out
of the campsite, he decided they were going to have to come clean with each
other, and soon. It was too hard trying to remember who was supposed to know
what information, and who was supposed to know what who knew...just thinking
about it made his brain spin. He was getting too old for this shit.

* * *

“Slow down, M-K. Now, what happened?” Mike pulled the
car to the shoulder so he could concentrate. Mary Kate was nearly hysterical.
His strong, steady Mary Kate was babbling in relief and fear. Pressure built in
his head and chest and he worked to slow his breathing. “No, sweetheart. Don’t
call anyone yet. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’m nearly at Northgate. Are
you all right? Tim okay?” He listened, willing the red fog to clear from his
eyes and mind, afraid she would hear the rage and terror in his voice. “We’ll
call the police after I look around. I’ll be right there. I love you.”

Damn
, he thought as he pulled back
onto I-5. Gemma always said Nikki would protect people, but he’d never believed
it. Not until tonight. And it could have been nothing, a stray cat in the yard,
a four-year-old boy’s imagination. He didn’t believe that for a second. Someone
had threatened his family, and he hadn’t been there.

He pulled back out onto I-5 and stood on the gas pedal.

* * *

Mike burst into the room and pulled Mary Kate into a
hard, close embrace before he’d even dropped his keys.

“Dad!” Tim yelled, and charged into Mike’s legs. He started
climbing up, and Mike hoisted him onto his hip.

“So,” Mike said, his lips against his wife’s hair, “tell me
what happened.”

Tim couldn’t wait. “There was ninja guy at the window. Nikki
saved me. I wanted Mom to bring your pistol, but she didn’t need it. She scared
the ninja guy away, and he jumped in his car and drove off.”

Mary Kate looked up from his free arm. “Nikki woke me. When I
got to Tim’s room, she was standing over him, growling and snarling at the
window. The man must have run when I turned the light on. I’ve never heard her
growl like that. She sounded like the Hound of the Baskervilles, baying and
snarling. I was afraid she’d gone crazy.”

“It’s okay,” Mike said, kissing Timmy’s damp forehead and
breathing in the scent of his son’s hair “It’s okay. Sweetheart, I think you and
Tim need a little vacation,” he said, giving Mary Kate a straight look over
Tim’s head. “What do you think about spending a few days with Grandpa?” he asked
the boy.

“Bonzo!” Tim yelled. “Can I take my suitcase?”

“What do you say, Mary Katherine?” Mary Kate nodded, her eyes
cold. “I’ll call first thing in the morning and let them know we’re coming.”

“Why don’t you go sort your stuff, Tim? Decide what you want to
take with you.”

“X-L!” Tim shouted and clambered down. His feet barely seemed
to touch the floor as he skidded into his room.

“
Bonzo?
” Mike mouthed at M-K.

“Newest word,” she said. Her smile faded. “You aren’t coming
with us?”

He compressed his lips and shook his head. “I need to make
arrangements for a couple of cases. I can’t just leave them hanging.”

“Mike—”

“I know what I’m willing to do and what I’m not willing to do,
Mary Kate. I have a trial in two days I can’t postpone. I tried when all this
started, but the judge didn’t care. I need to get someone to take over for me
and read them in. As soon as that’s done, I’ll come. I’ll catch the red eye. If
not, first thing next morning.”

She tightened her mouth and shook her head, turning away from
him. He put a hand on her arm, but she pulled free. “I need to know
you’re
safe,” she shouted. “And that Tim’s safe. And
that whatever craziness Gem’s gotten into isn’t going to spill over onto my home
and my son.”

“It’s not Gemma’s fault—” he began.

“I don’t care! I don’t care whose fault it is. And don’t tell
me to be fair. I don’t want to be fair.”

“Okay, then try to be reasonable.”

“That just means, ‘Do what I want you to, Mary Kate.’ Well, I
don’t want to be reasonable, either,” she snapped.

They glared at each other for a few seconds. He looked away
first, but only by a fraction of a second. “I’m sorry,
a
chuisle
.” It meant,
My Love, the beat of my
heart.
She was that to him, and more.

I hate this,” she said. She didn’t come into his arms. “You’ll
take care of yourself?”

“Of course, and I’ll have the world’s greatest watchdog with
me. Right, Nikki?”

Chapter Fourteen

Gemma squinted and gave serious thought to retreating to the tent. The morning sunlight pierced right into her brain. This was so not right. No way she deserved a hangover. She’d had exactly two brandies the night before. Two. She hadn’t even felt a buzz. It was hugely unfair that her head felt as if it had been jammed with moldy straw that poked painfully against her skull whenever she moved.

Brady smiled and slid his cup over toward her. “Bad head?” He laughed as he handed her three ibuprofen. “You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

He was right. The coffee helped. The pills would take a little longer, but her headache was already subsiding to a dull throb. Until he told her about the key.

“So, I’m hoping you put it back into your pocket,” he said.

She swallowed and looked away. “No. I left it on the table.”

“Shit, Gemma. If you were going to
file
something, why did it have to be the fucking key?”

“I have no idea. Maybe because we’d been focusing on it, and then we got distracted.”

He lowered his chin and raised one eyebrow.

“Okay. And I got loaded. What was in that brandy, anyway?”

“Probably all the stress of the twenty-four hours before you drank it.”

Gemma pointed toward Brady’s cell. He nodded, but before she could touch it, it lit up and rang. “Hey, Mike,” she called as she took the phone from Brady’s hand.

“Hey, Gemma.”

His voice was tight, and all Gemma’s instincts went on alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone tried to break into the house last night.”

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Wait. Let me put you on speaker.”

“Brady, you there?” Mike asked.

“I’m here.”

“Okay. Nikki ran the guy off, but I don’t think it’s safe here. So Mary Kate is taking Timmy to her folks’ place in Ohio. Until this is all over,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Gemma gasped and tried to swallow. “Is everyone all right?” she said.

“Yeah. Pretty much. Pretty shaken up. Tim’s all bent because M-K didn’t come charging into his bedroom with my pistol, but otherwise, pretty much okay.”

“Mike, I’m so sorry about this,” Gemma began. “This is my fault. I feel responsible for causing all this trouble.”

“You’re not causing it, Gemma. I told you before, you’re the focus of it, not the cause.”

That wasn’t a lot of help. She’d felt the tension between her brother and sister-in-law, but hadn’t acted on her instincts.

Mike said, “I’ve got tickets on the red-eye tonight, but—Brady still around? Tell him I’ll be over there this evening.”

“He’s here.” She put the phone into Brady’s upturned hand.

He punched off the speaker. “Mike? I’m on my way. What do you need?” He listened for a minute, snapped the phone closed and handed it to her.

He swung out of the picnic bench. “You’ve got food, water, and a weapon,” he began. “Just stay alert, you’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, no. No. Dammit, I’m willing to admit you’re the security expert. But I’m sick of you rapping out orders and expecting me to obey them. There’s no reason for you to be so pushy when we’re not being held at gunpoint, or whatever.”

“Pushy?”

“Pushy, sexist...”

“Sexist? Me? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding.”

“Gemma, I can’t stay. I have to be in the field, but I need you safe.”

She pushed out both hands in an abrupt gesture. “I don’t want to hear it. No. The answer to whatever you’re going to say is ‘no.’”

“Gemma, I know how to evade surveillance. I used to do it for a living, remember?”

“There is no way I’m going to stay up here, all safe and cozy, wringing my hands and getting the vapors when my family is in danger. No. So either we pack all this stuff up now, or we come back to get it later. Because I’m going with you. Maybe between us we can solve this before anyone else dies. So help me get this damned tent down.”

“Huh. Remind me to clear out next time you want to tie one on. You’re crabby when you’re hungover.”

“You’re crabby when you don’t get any,” she hissed, winding the guy lines into sailor’s loops for storage.

“I,” he said loftily, hands full of tent pegs, “am suffering because I am too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a woman who’s three sheets to the wind.”

“Not up to the challenge, more like.”

His eyes lit. “Want to see about that?”

“Too late,” she said with a smirk, and pulled the center frame tube out of its holder, sending the tent billowing to the ground at their feet.

* * *

Brady had carved his permanent apartment out of the middle of the two upper floors of his workshop building. He’d built himself a fort within a fortress, guarded by the best electronic security available. No building was entirely secure, but Gemma felt safe here, nonetheless, as if the outside world could never reach them.

Their worries and fears, on the other hand, they had brought in themselves.

“I can’t believe Mary Kate left Mike. I could tell by his voice he isn’t sure she’s coming back,” Gemma said. “God, that hurts so much. And I feel responsible.” She shook her head miserably. “I knew there was something wrong lately. I could feel it. Ever since I started seeing them again.”

“You think you’re the problem?”

“Not all of it. I don’t think these things have just one cause. Do you?”

“I’m no expert, but no, I don’t. They’ve been together for, how long, now? Since eighth grade?”

“Ninth grade for Mike, eighth for me and M-K.”

“This has been hard on everybody, Gemma. They’ll work it out, once it all blows over.”

“I hope so. Want me to make tea?”

“Uh, no. That’s okay. Really.” He held back a shudder at the memory of Gemma’s tea. “I’ll just put the kettle on myself. You relax and, uh, maybe pick out some music. Mike won’t be here for four or five hours yet.”

When he ducked into the kitchen, she laughed softly.

He stuck his head around the corner into the living room. “If you want to call him, you can use my cell. Anybody else, use one of the throwaways on the counter.”

Gemma glanced at the clock in the bookcase. Mary Kate was probably at her parents’ by now, but Gemma wasn’t sure M-K would take her call. Instead, she picked up one of the disposable phones Brady had set on the counter, took a deep breath, and called Doug.

“Gemma?” He sounded astonished. “Are you all right? Where are you? The police, everyone’s looking—”

“I’m fine. I’m safe.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. Very sure.”

He was silent for a few long seconds. “I assume that means you’re with McGrath.”

“Doug—”

“Do you even know who he is? Or what he is? He probably started the fire to destroy evidence.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Doug. I’ve told you before—”

“Christ, Gemma. You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

“I called to let you know I’m all right. And I’m sorry now I didn’t just let you worry.”

“Don’t hang up, Gemma. Wait, please. I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s just...it’s a disappointment, you know? I’d hoped—well, you know what I was hoping.”

“I don’t know what to say, Doug. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Or anyone
.

“If there’s anything I can do...”

“I’ll let you know. I will,” she added, wondering if it was true.

“Take care, Gemma.”

“You too.”

Well, that was a total disaster
. She could hear Brady talking in his office. The words were indistinct, but the rising and falling cadence of his voice reassured her. When the call showed no signs of ending soon, she decided to take advantage of the time to shower and wash her hair.

Brady’s array of bath products came as a surprise after the sketchy amenities in his Redmond “escape hatch.” Gemma picked up the bottle of shampoo and smelled rosemary and mint. Matching conditioner sat cap-down in a metal rack beside the shower head. Even more surprising was the skin toner arranged between the aftershave and an old-fashioned shaving cup and brush on a stainless steel tray. She wouldn’t have taken Brady for a metro-male—was that the word? Whatever it was, she liked a man who took care of himself.

She washed off the camp grunge and wood smoke with the delicious Richard James soap she remembered from the first day she saw Brady. She sighed as she stuck her head under the shower. The rosemary shampoo smelled like heaven. Gemma turned the hot, pounding spray onto her shoulder blades and was working up a second lather when she felt his arms slide around her.

She melted back against him, luxuriating in the textures of his body. The smooth, water-slick skin contrasted with the bristly prickle of his morning beard and of the thatch around the impressive erection rubbing into her back. She pushed her hips against him, moving side to side and loving the feel of his rigid shaft rolling as she moved. He groaned in her ear, and she bent forward, hands against the shower wall, keeping her buttocks tight against him, unwilling to lose the delicious pressure. That freed his hands to roam—one to cup her breast, the other to stroke down her outer thigh and over her knee and up the tender skin on the inner side. Amazing sensations followed his light touch and she cried out as he reached the apex and his fingers slid into her. “Now!” she called out. “Oh, God, Brady, now.”

Instead, he turned her and pressed her against the shower wall, as the tip of his tongue touched, then slid over hers to rim her lips lightly before he plunged deeper into the kiss, his mouth questioning, then demanding, taking, being taken.

He broke the kiss and his lips moved along her jawline to the sensitive spot just below her ear, then lower to where neck met shoulder. His lips moved lightly across the top of her breast, the feathery movement created a tingling trail wherever he touched her. She couldn’t hold still under the tender, tantalizing assault. As his mouth drew closer to her straining nipple, he began to intersperse tiny nips, lightly scraping his teeth over her skin until he latched on and suckled, teasing with his tongue, and she could feel each flick and movement all the way to her core. After a few endless seconds, his mouth began to move again lower, lower, as he slowly sank to his knees so he could pleasure them both.

As she gathered and broke, he rose and slid inside her, and they came together under the shower’s pounding heat.

* * *

Clean, wonderfully relaxed and turbaned in towels, Gemma checked her messages for the first time since the fire. She’d been wrong about Brady. He was definitely up to the challenge. Challenges. She’d lost count. She felt warm and loose and golden. The man certainly knew his way around a woman’s body.
Okay, Gemma, concentrate
, she told herself as the recorded voice began dumping information in her ear.

“Oh, duh! Brady!” She could see him wiping the steam off the mirror, face full of soap. She smiled at the hominess of it before she blurted out the news. “Mike got a court order for the bank box. They won’t let us remove anything, but we can look. He’ll meet us there. You didn’t tell me you’d located the bank.”

He came out, razor in hand. “Nothing to it. It’s the one you found the letter from, yesterday. I verified the account, and Mike was able to get the order. All I had to do was peek. He had the hard part. Give me five minutes,” he said. “Get your ID together—and your marriage certificate.” He held up the other hand. The safety deposit key was clasped between his thumb and forefinger.

“Where was that?”

“In my shaving cup. Your gremlin has a weird sense of humor.”

* * *

The bank branch in Canyon Park was too small to accommodate a separate area for customers to go through their valuables in privacy. Gemma and Brady stood close together inside the safety deposit vault. Mike took one look at the four-by-twelve-foot floor space and announced he’d wait for them in the bank lobby, since there obviously wasn’t enough room for his shoulders and Brady’s inside. The bank manager wanted to stay with them to assure they complied with the order, but there was no room for her, either, so she took station near Mike, where she could keep an uneasy eye on them.

Gemma would happily have traded places with her. The walls of the vault crowded in on her, lined to the ceiling with steel boxes of varying sizes, with double locks and engraved numbers. The vault doors, though, as much as the narrow space, made Gemma’s heart skip a beat every few seconds. She had to tell herself to keep breathing, and kept glancing over to be sure the foot-thick steel door was still open.

“You okay?” Brady asked.

She nodded. “Fine. Just, this place makes me edgy.”

“You should try a mini-sub, sometime.”

Gemma perked up. “That would be cool,” she said.

He stared at her.

“I don’t know. Don’t ask. It’s just different. Okay?”

He grinned as she lifted everything out onto the small Formica countertop. He slowly scanned the interior and exterior, ran his hand over surfaces all the way to the back of the box. “Okay,” he said, and set the box on the floor. The rear half was filled with stacks of hundred-dollar bills bound with rubber bands.

Gemma set the money aside, and looked through the pile of papers and velvet jewelry boxes.

“Anything?” Brady asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t get this. There’s nothing here I can see. The money, but...”

“There’s nothing, period. Do you recognize the jewelry?”

“Um hmm, most of it’s my grandmother’s. The watch he inherited. There wasn’t anything else?”

“That’s it.”

She shook her head. “Why hide the key, then, if this is all there was?”

“Maybe to keep you or your attorney from finding the money, maybe just for the hell of it. Or maybe he was planning to put something in here, but never got the chance. There’s no way to know.”

“So, now what?”

“Now we start over again, from the beginning.” He grinned at her pained expression. “Cop work’s not your thing, huh?”

Gemma slumped against the counter. “I’d rather build grant budgets.”

“You said you hate building budgets.”

“Exactly my point.”

* * *

Yeah, Lyons decided as Justin shambled into the small interrogation room and sat jumpily on the edge of the chair. The arresting officer had definitely made the right call. A couple of hours alone in a cell had reduced Justin to a blubbering mess of tears and snot, and he added insult to repulsiveness by wiping his nose and tears on the hem of his T-shirt. “So. Justin Falco?”