Where Evil Waits (3 page)

She looked him straight in the eyes. “Mine.”

K
ARA TURNED TO LEAVE
but Varón’s hand clamped on to her arm.

Yes,
she thought, with a thump in her chest.
Please.

“Yours?” He sounded incredulous.

“And my son’s,” she said. “We need to fake our deaths. We need to disappear.”

He looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to curse or laugh. In the end, he simply said, “I’m listening.”

His hand burned her arm like a brand. He was too close again, the heat of a summer night intensified by the heat rolling off his body. And the strength. For a moment, Kara was certain she had done the right thing. Luke Varón was sheer power. In retrospect, she knew that his calm arrogance when she’d prosecuted him for murder had been born of utter certainty the charges would never hold up. The man had strings to places she couldn’t begin to reach, a network of gorillas to do anything he asked, and was capable of acts of deceit she could only imagine.

“Let go of me,” she said. “I won’t be manhandled.”

His lashes dipped to her throat, where she had buttoned
her blouse all the way to the top. “Sex is okay, but no manhandling?”

“I said, let go of me.”

He dropped his hand. Instantly, Kara found it easier to breathe.

Do it. Tell him enough to get him on board
. “I believe my son and I are in danger,” she said. “I want you to fake our deaths, then provide us with the protection and the resources I need to find out who’s responsible.”

Varón cocked his head. “I think you have me confused with the police, Ms. Chandler.”

“I already talked to a detective.”

“And?”

And within hours, he was dead.
Just like Penny Wolff. Both of them gone right after Kara had spoken to them.

A wave of conscience hit and she glanced around the alley, wondering if the killer was out there this very moment, targeting Varón next. She tamped back a pang of guilt. For God’s sake, Varón was cold and evil and lethal. A month ago, she’d led the charge to put him on Death Row.

Besides, he was untouchable. He was the last person she should worry about.

“The police can’t help me,” she said. “For God’s sake, do you think I would choose to deal with the likes of you if I had any other option?”

“You really need to work on your flattery.”

“One week, Mr. Varón. Take us underground and give me seven days.”

He crossed his arms. “What makes you think I can do what the police couldn’t?”

“Don’t toy with me,” she snapped, taking a step toward him. “You work with a network that’s better organized, better trained, better financed, and better armed than any
police department in this country. You can find out anything about anybody, and you can cover your tracks doing it. I know how to run an investigation. All I need from you is—”

“A goon?” He crossed his arms. “The way I remember it, your husband’s firm went bankrupt, left you with a heap of bills to pay. I doubt you can afford my services, Ms. Chandler.”

Kara powered down a sneer of revulsion. “I can afford you,” she said. “Name your price.”

His brows went up and it was all Kara could do not to back up a step. “Well, I’ll have to think about that, now, won’t I?” he asked. “But what if I say yes and at the end of the week, you’re still in danger?”

“Then my son and I will take our new identities and disappear. By then, I’ll wager I will have committed a number of crimes—this being one of them. I won’t be in much of a position to prosecute you for yours.”

He thought about it for a long moment and Kara found herself holding her breath. Dear God, she needed him. She needed him to stand between Aidan and her, and a murderer. She needed him because he was capable and strong and invulnerable, and wouldn’t be hindered by obeying the law.

But he wasn’t buying it. He shook his head and did the one thing she’d been afraid of: He laughed.

Kara’s heart plunged to her belly. The bastard. She’d risked everything coming to him. “Answer me, damn you. Yes or no?”

He stopped laughing, then reached out to smooth a lock of hair behind her ear. “No,” he said. “In fact, not just no, but
fuck
no.”

Kara felt as if she’d been kicked in the chest. He couldn’t
be doing this. Andrew’s killer was out there. He’d killed Penny Wolff and Louie. She and Aidan had to get away.

But not with any help from Varón. He’d made that perfectly clear.

She stepped back, her knees unsteady, swallowing the panic that rose to the back of her throat. She turned and forced her legs to move, spine straight and chin high, leaving Varón in the alley behind her. Dread congealed in her chest, growing thicker with every step, and she picked up speed to put distance between her and the crazy ruse that had brought her to that alley and Luke Varón. By the time she hiked back to where she’d left her car, she was shaking with emotion. Fury, grief, fear.

Mostly, fear.

“Damn him,” she said, swinging out into the street. Not even just
No
, but
Fuck, no.
The bastard.

She drove out of town and headed north. All right, so Varón was out of it. But she still had to move. On to Plan B. It had even less to recommend it than Plan A—Varón—but people were dying everywhere she turned.

So screw Varón. For all his arrogance, he was right about one thing: He wasn’t the only criminal she knew.

She found an all-night Walmart, bought a ready-to-use phone, and punched in Jay Kemp’s number. Kemp was a bouncer who had acted as an informant on a case a couple of years ago, in exchange for a plea in his own case. He was an asshole, and greedy. He would be capable of the boat explosion. Beyond that, she would be on her own. He didn’t have the resources Varón did to keep her and Aidan safe or give them new identities.

Still, he was the only choice left.

The call lasted thirty seconds. Yes, Kemp was interested. Yes, he would meet her. The bar where he worked
closed at two. Three o’clock, then, in the parking lot of a boarded-up bowling alley on Hawkins Store Road. Empty lot, abandoned. No cameras.

Enough time to check on Aidan.

Kara drove out of her way and rolled past a trash can, dumping the phone from Walmart. She parked and, using her iPhone, called Sally Guilford. It was almost one in the morning, but she knew Sally would be up.

Sally was planning Louie’s funeral.

Seth answered. “Aunt Kara. Mom and I were just talking about you. We decided you wouldn’t be up this late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Kara lied. So many lies, now. She wondered if she would ever keep them straight.

“We’re going through pictures of Dad,” Seth said, his voice thin. “We just found a bunch from that time at Stone Mountain when you and Uncle Andr—” He stopped, and Kara closed her eyes.

“I remember,” she said. “Andrew got stung by a bee.”

“Yeah,” Seth said, and Kara fought to keep the tears from her voice. No teenage boy should have to watch his father die. And no teenage boy should lose his best friend.

That’s what would happen if she went through with her plan to disappear with Aidan. Seth and Sally would think they were dead, right on the heels of losing Louie. How could she do this to them?

Reality gripped her. How could she not?

She smothered a stab of guilt and forced herself to speak. “Is Aidan asleep?”

A strange silence came over the phone. Kara heard Seth whisper something, then he said, “Here’s Mom.”

Sally came on. The back of Kara’s neck prickled.

“Kara, aren’t you at home?” Sally asked.

“Uh, no. Did Aidan fall asleep?”

Sally hesitated and Kara’s heart skipped a beat. “He said he wanted to go home and be with you tonight. I took him over to your house after dinner. He said you’d be home soon.”

Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God. The trembling started. It was all Kara could do to speak. “Okay. I’m on my way there now. Let me call him. Thanks.”

She couldn’t disconnect fast enough. Her fingers shook on the phone and as she dialed she peeled out of the parking lot, gunning toward her house. She listened through the rings, her heart thumping faster with every passing second. Aidan’s answering message picked up.

No
.

She fumbled with the phone and dialed again, wheeling around a corner. Again, no answer. Oh, God.

Aidan.

L
UKE STAYED WITH
K
ARA
Chandler for five miles, then passed her surveillance off to an agent named Garrett and drove to an all-night Kwik-Mart on Chase Street. He stuck the gas nozzle in the tank of his car—a loaded Porsche Carrera that had been waiting for him at Customs when he’d returned to the U.S. a little over a year ago—and ducked into the store. He headed for the second stall of the restroom, removed his suit coat and rolled up his sleeve, then lifted the lid of the toilet tank and withdrew a small, waterproof box. He pocketed the cell phone from inside the box, washed his hands and restored his clothing, and paid for the gas in cash.

A mile later, he pulled over and punched POWER on the phone, noticed a message, and dialed Vince Knutson. “What did you find out about Andrew Chandler’s widow?”

“Check the phone. I already sent it.”

Luke’s gut loosened a fraction. Knutson was on it. In his late fifties, Knutson had a genius for computers and access to virtually everything the FBI had. The DEA was a different matter. Turf wars.

“What did she want?” Knutson asked.

“She wants me to explode her boat and make it look like she and her kid die in the fire.”

“Ah, Christ,” Knutson said. “She’s running.”

“From what?”

“I don’t know. Best I can tell is she may be running from a sniper.”

“What?”

“Yesterday afternoon, Kara Chandler went to see a detective in the Atlanta Police Department—a buddy of her late husband’s named Louie Guilford. After they spoke, Guilford pulled the file on her husband’s accident, started poking around.”

Luke frowned. Her husband had been dead for a year. “I’ve been through Andrew Chandler’s killing a hundred times. There’s nothing there. Guilford couldn’t have found anything.”

“We’ll never know,” Knutson said. “Last night, when you were en route to Savannah, Louie Guilford got picked off by a seven-millimeter Remington Magnum before a Braves game, walking to the gate with his son. Kara Chandler was there. He died in her arms.”

The police can’t help me.
Something tugged in Luke’s chest. No wonder she was willing to do anything to get out of sight. She was one scared lady.

But she was also a lady who could send Collado into hiding. Luke clenched his fists, as if trying to hang on to everything they’d put in place over the past year. “She says she has evidence against Montiel.”

Knutson cursed. “I thought we’d put a lid on that. We’ve almost got this thing in the bag, Luke. Between us and the DEA we’ve got agents at every location, ready to pull the plug. But if Kara Chandler leaks something about
Montiel beforehand, it’s all over. We’ll never see those drugs except through the autopsies of kids they kill.”

I’ll never see Collado.

“Did Mrs. Chandler seem determined to carry this thing through?” Knutson asked.

Luke recalled her slender fingers on the buttons, her pale breasts glowing like half moons, while a man she believed to be beyond redemption looked on.
Name your price.

“Pretty determined, I’d say.”

“Then she’s onto something. And if it’s big enough to make her threaten Montiel with evidence the DA’s office has been ordered to sit on, she’ll find someone else to do what she wants. We’re just lucky you’re the first place she turned.”

“Second,” Luke said darkly. “Louie Guilford was the first.”

“So watch your back.” A phone rang on Knutson’s end. “Hold on.”

Luke tried to jostle pieces into place: Andrew Chandler had been dead for a year, because of a random drunk driver, and now his wife was picking up the scent of murder when Luke had never picked up the scent of anything. The cop she’d confided in was dead. And Kara herself was scared enough to try to hire a known criminal to help her disappear, and ballsy enough to harbor evidence against Montiel as insurance to pull it off.

But she was in over her head.

Knutson came back. “That was Garrett. Kara Chandler just hit a Walmart near Eaton and bought a prepaid cell phone. He watched her pull over and make a call, then peel out.”

Luke swore. He hadn’t expected her to move so
quickly. “So, who’s Public Enemy Number Two? Since I refused her job, who would she go to next?”

“I don’t know. Garrett picked up the phone she dumped, so we’ll find out. But meanwhile, she’s moving, and everywhere she turns, she’s tripping wires. You gotta stop her.”

Luke bullied his brow with his fingers. “Rig her boat and stash the detonator. Get her some papers and IDs, and send me someone to make them over. Call me when you’re ready.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna break into her house, find out what the hell is going on.”

“Better hurry. Garrett says that woman is
moving.
”

Kara raced toward Buckhead, dialing Aidan again and again. Terror clouded her vision.

Look what you’ve done.

She got to the intersection just outside her neighborhood and saw blue lights. God, God, God. A car blocked the street, and two police cruisers. A tow truck was working on the car.

No. She pounded the steering wheel, her heart lodged in her throat. “Go,” she said through clenched teeth, and kept dialing Aidan. She thought about backing out and going another direction but there wasn’t another quick route, thought about pleading with one of the officers to go on to her house in front of her, but couldn’t get past the memory of Louie in her arms, drawing his last breath. She thought about why Aidan might not be answering his phone and let the tears flow, more helpless than she had ever been in her life, and then, suddenly, the stalled car was out of the way, the cruisers pulled to the side, and an officer waved her through.

She raced into her neighborhood and swung into the driveway. She ran to the porch, fumbling the key into the lock and slamming the door closed behind her. She started to dash upstairs to Aidan’s bedroom, then veered to the great room first, hardly able to think. If anything had happened to Aid—

She stopped. Relief poured into her lungs.

He was there, sprawled on the couch in plaid pajama bottoms, his chest rising and falling in even motions. His phone sat on the end table showing her missed calls, and a set of headphones was strung to his ears. He was asleep, music playing.

Kara closed her eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch him, brush the rusty lock of hair back from his forehead like she had when he was little. But she didn’t. Don’t wake him yet. The time would come soon enough. With or without Luke Varón, the Chandlers were going to disappear tonight.

She went back to the foyer and sank against the wall, looking around at the welcoming entrance hall, cozy living room, homey great room. Sorrow welled up inside. For most of her life, from the rolling hills of Virginia horse country to high-class boarding schools in England to chalets in the north of France, she’d never felt at home. Her father had showered her with gifts but little else and her young adult years had been spent following Andrew around, mothering Aidan, and picking up her education one or two courses at a time. Finally, they’d settled in Atlanta and
this
house was hers. It hadn’t been Andrew’s choice—it wasn’t big enough, elegant enough, showy enough. But Kara liked the simplicity and wanted Aidan to grow up in a normal home with a normal mother and father, not with maids and cooks and gardeners. This home had become her haven.

After tonight, she might never see it again.

She drew a deep breath and looked at her watch. An hour and a half before she had to meet Jay Kemp. She pushed from the wall and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she dumped out the macramé bag on her bed. Her gun, a .38 Glock Andrew had insisted she carry after her first contentious case in the DA’s office. Cash, the thick roll she’d collected as payment for Varón. Her wallet and the standard IDs—driver’s license, credit cards, courthouse pass. She wouldn’t need them anymore, but it would look strange to investigators for her to have left home without them. Her iPhone.

She stopped, clutching the damnable phone. She didn’t want to take it. She wanted to throw it against the fireplace or crush it beneath her heel. But she couldn’t. She was too much a prosecutor to destroy evidence. And this phone contained evidence of the most horrific kin—

Fwsshhh.

A whisper of sound brushed behind her. Every nerve turned to steel. She listened, afraid to turn, straining to hear past the sudden drumming in her temples.

The pistol lay on the bed and she inched her hand toward it, hardly daring to breathe. Behind her, the air went dead silent and the thought passed that maybe she was just hearing thi—

Fwsshhh
. A soft brush of satin. The drapes.

Dear God, someone was there. Aidan? No, he moved through the house like a bull. Besides, he was downstairs sleeping.

Please, Aidan, don’t wake up.

Kara curled her hand around the pistol grip, slid her finger over the trigger. She took a deep breath and whirled.

“Freeze,” she said. “Don’t move.”