You Belong to Me (45 page)

He glanced at Lucy from the corner of his eye. She’d turned in her seat, her arms crossed over her chest, watching him. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What do they want?’

‘They want to make you bait,’ he said flatly and watched her eyes narrow.

‘Protected bait,’ Stevie insisted.

‘I don’t like this, Peter,’ Daphne said forcefully. ‘She’s a civilian.’

‘She’s a state employee,’ Hyatt returned. ‘Still, it would have to be completely voluntary. We’d provide her with a security detail. What does she say, Fitzpatrick?’

‘Protected bait,’ JD told her, jaw clenched. ‘Hyatt wants to know what you say.’

She nodded once. ‘Tell him I say okay.’

‘I heard her,’ Hyatt said grimly. ‘Tell her I said thank you.’

‘Tell her she’s going to need to wear the bracelet,’ Stevie added.

‘You have to wear the bracelet,’ JD told her and watched her flinch.

But she nodded again. ‘Okay.’ She straightened in her seat. ‘Let’s do it.’

‘Bring her in,’ Hyatt said. ‘Drew, get a wire together. We want to know where she is at all times. Now I’ve got to get ready for the damn press. Meeting adjourned.’

Tuesday, May 4, 5.40 P.M.

Lucy was on the move. He stood on the deck of Trask’s boat, shading his eyes to better see the tracking screen on his cell phone. She was about to hit the Bay Bridge. That meant she’d be back in Baltimore in an hour. Ron Trask’s boat was fine and the winds were good, so Evan, Sonny and the Trasks should arrive at their destination an hour or two after that.

Then it was Ryan Agar’s turn at bat. So to speak. How painful it would be for Ryan would depend on the man himself. Edwards had made it very hard on himself by taking the moral high road and refusing to reveal the list. Hypocrite. Fucking hypocrite.

If Edwards had taken the high road when it really mattered, everything would be different.
Ileanna would be alive and my life would have been
. . .
not shit
.

James Cannon had fought back, stupidly. He’d been tied up.
And I had a bat. And a knife
. Like shooting fish in a barrel, except the fish got the last laugh that day. What was left of Cannon must have made them a nice snack.

Now, Bennett . . . He had to laugh. Bennett had tried to negotiate.
Negotiate
.

Bennett had nothing that would counterbalance what he’d done, anyway. He did provide information on Lucy, so he was useful. Plus he’d delivered the goods on Janet Gordon and several of the other parents who’d known what had happened – including Bennett’s own father.

Russ Bennett had thought he could buy his freedom, but he had thought wrong. He’d simply added another few names to the list.

The body slumped at his feet stirred. Westcott was regaining consciousness.

‘What?’ Westcott moaned. ‘What happened?’

‘You’ve been abducted,’ he said helpfully.

Westcott made a feeble attempt to roll over, only to find he’d been securely bound. ‘What the hell?’ he gritted through teeth clenched in what had to be agony.

‘You got hit in the head, Sonny.’

‘By what?’

‘By me. Technically, by my bat. I love hi tech, but often low tech is the best weapon. And the most satisfying.’

‘Why?’ he moaned.

He squatted next to Westcott so that he could clearly see his face. ‘Because you’re a stinkin’ prick, Sonny, and twenty-one years ago you did a very bad thing.’

Westcott struggled briefly, but gave up, closing his eyes. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

He stood and delivered a vicious kick to Westcott’s ribs, making the man cough convulsively. ‘Yeah, you did. I wouldn’t recommend trying to convince me otherwise. Your fate is in my hands, just like my sister’s fate was in yours. If you piss me off, you’ll pay the price. Did you read what happened to Russ Bennett?’

Westcott nodded, a small movement. ‘You’re going to kill me?’

‘Absolutely.’ He squatted again, glad to see Westcott coughing up blood. ‘See, I know what happened that night. I know what you did.’

‘Wait,’ Westcott said harshly. ‘I’ll pay you. I have money.’

Evan remained standing. ‘I’m listening.’

‘I can get a hundred thousand. But it’ll take me a few days.’

‘You don’t have a few days, Sonny.’

‘I’m serious.’ Westcott managed to move his head for emphasis, then moaned again. ‘I have investments, but I’ll have to sell some stock.’

‘When we get to where we’re going, you can tell me where those investments are. You know, account numbers. Passwords. That kind of thing.’

Westcott slumped. ‘I don’t know them.’

‘You were going to buy me off with stolen money? What kind of sheriff are you?’

‘They belong to my mother,’ he muttered.

‘Oh, now that’s just plain mean. Stealing from your mama. Shame on you. Bad, bad sheriff. So, did your mama know?’

‘About what?’

‘About what you and the others did not do?’

Sonny closed his eyes. ‘Have you seen it on CNN?’

Evan almost smiled. If Myrna Westcott had known, she never could have kept it to herself. ‘No.’

‘Then she didn’t know. You killed Ryan Agar’s mother. Why?’

‘I killed her because she did know. And like you, she did nothing. I tortured her because she profited from my loss. As, I suspect, did you.’

Westcott’s eyes flew open. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes you do. I was wondering how you got to be sheriff. I kept thinking, Sonny?
Really?
And then I thought the old sheriff would have a lot of say in who followed him.’

‘I got elected.’

‘That’s not what Ron Trask said. He said you threatened to spill the beans on Buck unless he threw his hat into your ring. You want to ask him? He’s in the hold.’

Westcott’s eyes flickered wildly. ‘You have Trask? Here?’

‘And his wife.’ He had to chuckle at the panicked expression on Westcott’s face. ‘You thought Trask could save you? Because he’s the only one that knew where you went? That’s priceless. Nobody knows where you are or who has you. Nobody’s going to do anything to help you. Which is justice, don’t you agree?’

Chapter Twenty

Tuesday, May 4, 5.45 P.M.

F
itzpatrick gripped his steering wheel until his knuckles were white. ‘This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Bait. Goddammit.’

‘I don’t know what you’re so upset about,’ she said, feeling a calm that rather surprised her. ‘I was his target anyway. Now I’m a protected target.’

‘You’re bait,’ he ground out.

‘You say tomato. He’s coming after me. That’s why I’m here, in this car. You feel a need to protect me. Which is nice,’ she allowed. ‘I’m not going to take unnecessary chances. If they want me to go on TV, shake the bracelet and say “come and get me, big boy”, well, then we’ll have a conversation. But this isn’t that. This is me, living my normal life. With bodyguards.’

Some of the whiteness faded from his knuckles. ‘ “Come and get me, big boy”?’

‘Gwyn’s the comic. Look, I’m not thrilled about wearing the bracelet again, but there are worse things. Kevin’s dead, as are two other people who had nothing to do with whatever happened to Ileanna Bryan. They deserve justice. Ileanna deserves justice.’

‘Her murderer’s dead, by his own hand.’

‘And her bracelet was under my brother’s bed in an old cigar box.’

‘Could he have killed her and not Ricky Joyner?’

‘I’ve been asking myself that. I want to say no, but nothing is what I thought it was. If Buck had any part at all in her death, that needs to come out.’

He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Even if it makes your mother more “fragile”?’

‘Yes.’

‘If I tell you that you weren’t responsible for your mother, would you believe me?’

She shrugged. ‘Probably not. She did take care of me, before Buck died. But then she had her breakdown and went away. I guess I never knew how much she protected me until she was gone. And I was mad at her for leaving.’

‘What did he do?’ Fitzpatrick asked softly. Menacingly, even, and she remembered the look on his face when he’d grabbed her father by the throat.

‘Nothing sexual, if that’s what you’re asking.’ She watched his shoulders slump in relief. ‘But he did hit. Hard. So I went to school and hit other people hard.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘It never seemed fair that I got in trouble for it and he never did.’ More guilt hit her for being so wrapped in her own woes. ‘But my childhood wasn’t awful until Buck died, just lonely. You had a bad time, too. Your mother didn’t take care of you either.’

‘No, she didn’t,’ he said. ‘Although sometimes she did try. Not well, but I hang onto that. Then again, this isn’t about me and my mother because I didn’t have to see her today.’

‘You still see her?’

He shifted his shoulders. ‘Occasionally. Seeing your dad today wasn’t easy. And being angry with your mom is understandable. But while believing you caused her mental breakdown may be understandable at fourteen, at thirty-five it’s not.’

She looked at the phone in her hand and changed the subject. ‘I was getting lousy reception in Anderson Ferry. I couldn’t download anything but texts until we hit the main road. I just got the autopsy reports on the PI, Nicki Fields and Jane Doe.’

‘The Jane Doe’s name was Sue Ellen Lamont. Drew found her in AFIS.’

‘Well, Sue Ellen ate steak before she died, probably fillet. Her blood alcohol was just a little elevated, so maybe a glass of wine. No drugs in her system. Nicki had an empty stomach and it appeared she was alive when he gutted her.’

Fitzpatrick flinched. ‘Oh, God.’

‘Yeah. No drugs in her system either. She was still alive when he cut her throat. His first knife wound missed her heart by an inch. I have to wonder why. He’s been so precise with his other victims. I have to wonder if he wanted her to suffer.’

‘Which would make her different than Kevin, who was wrong place, wrong time.’

‘Exactly. Craig didn’t send photos of the Fields scene, but the description was horrific. He stabbed her, slid the knife down her abdomen, then turned her and slit her throat. She would have been in excruciating pain. This seems personal.’

‘I’ll tell Stevie. She’s going to dig into the PI’s case tonight and I’m going to find out what happened to Ileanna’s family when they left Anderson Ferry – after I take you to be fitted for surveillance. Hyatt will assign you security for tonight.’

She turned her gaze out the window, pondering her next statement carefully. Below them was nothing but miles of water. They’d reached the midpoint on the Bay Bridge, which seemed too symbolic to ignore. ‘You could just stay,’ she said and felt him tense beside her.

‘As a bodyguard or . . .’ He exhaled. ‘Do you want me to stay because you want me?’

There was a carefulness to his phrasing. ‘Yes, JD. That’s why I asked. Well?’

‘I’d like to stay,’ he said simply.

She forged forward, still looking out the window. ‘About last night.’

His laugh was a little shaky. ‘Last night was . . . unforgettable. But not me. Amazing sex in alleys . . . I have to tell you that I’m not normally that exciting.’

She turned to glare at him. ‘You think I am? That I have sex in alleys on a routine basis?’

‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Am I in trouble?’

‘Probably,’ she said, irritated. ‘Good God. That was the first sex I’d had in years.’

He glanced at her, surprised. ‘Really? How many years?’

‘Why do guys always want to know that?’

‘Because guys have egos that need stroking,’ he said. ‘How many?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Seven. And he was my fiancé.’

‘Your fiancé died more than seven years ago.’

‘The first one did, that’s true.’

He blinked. ‘The
first
one? How many fiancés have you had?’

‘Two,’ she muttered, embarrassed as hell. ‘And before you ask me any more, be prepared to dish a little quid pro quo.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like, how many years had it been for you? And what about your wife, whose car still sits in your garage after three years?’ She began ticking off her fingers. ‘And what about
your
mother, for God’s sake? And what the hell does JD stand for anyway?’

His jaw went tight as he stared straight ahead at the road. She didn’t think he’d answer, but then he did. ‘Three years. Jack Daniel, which should also answer the question about my mother.’ He went still. ‘And I killed her.’

Lucy’s mouth fell open, at first thinking she’d heard him wrong. ‘Your mother?’

‘No, my wife. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a few phone calls. Would you mind handing me my phone?’

Unable to think of what to say, Lucy complied.

Tuesday, May 4, 6.45 P.M.

‘Oh my God,’ Gwyn said as soon as Lucy’s call connected. ‘I thought you were dead.’

Sliding her duffle to the shiny counter of the police station’s cafeteria, Lucy trapped her phone between her ear and shoulder as she searched for her wallet. ‘Why the hell would you think that? Dammit. Where is it?’

‘Where is what?’ Gwyn asked.

‘My wallet. Here it is. Hold on.’ She gave a twenty to the lady behind the counter. ‘Two coffees, please.’ Hefting the bag to her shoulder, she carried the tray to the condiment table. ‘Okay, I’m back.’

‘Why didn’t you call me earlier? I’ve been worried sick.’

‘I texted you that I was fine,’ Lucy said, downing a bracing gulp of her coffee. ‘You didn’t have to leave me ten messages. I didn’t have enough bars to make a call where I was. And don’t yell at me. I’ve had a long day.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwyn said more calmly, ‘but a text isn’t good enough. Anybody could have stolen your phone and been texting that you were fine, and not been you.’

Lucy sighed. ‘You read too many suspense novels. This is me. I am fine.’

‘Given that somebody’s leaving you hearts in baggies, I think I have reason to fret. But I’ll let it go. You sound whipped. What’s wrong and where are you?’

‘I’m in the police department.’ She stared at the second cup of coffee.
I’ve had sex with the man and I don’t even know how he takes his coffee
.