Deadly Sins (13 page)

The name struck a memory. “Royce. He’s named after your father?”

Her smile vanished. “I’m sorry to bother you like this. I can call a cab.”

“Something tells me the ambulance cost is going to be plenty for the day.” Her barely perceptible wince told him that his guess was correct. He pulled his cell out of his pocket, sent a quick message to his driver. “Are you done here?”

“Yes.” He fell into step beside her, and she headed out of the waiting room and down a white tile hallway. “Mother insisted on a wheelchair, at least as far as the front doors. She can be a bit . . . overbearing in times of stress.”

He remembered. He also recalled that Patricia Marlowe and her daughter had been somewhat estranged when he and Jaid had been together. Their relationship was one more bit of evidence that time had clearly marched forward.

“Faster, Grandmother. Like run. I want to see if this thing will do a wheelie.”

At the sound of the voice up ahead, Jaid broke into a trot.

“I don’t run, dear, and the last thing you need to be trying are more of your tricks. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if your mother takes away that skateboard of yours for good. If she doesn’t, I certainly will.”

Adam and Jaid rounded the corner to see a tall woman with perfectly coiffed ash brown hair pushing a child-sized wheelchair sedately. The boy in it was leaning forward, as if to add momentum.

“Take it easy, champ. You and your grandmother have had enough excitement for one day.” Jaid caught up with them. Laid her hand on the boy’s shoulder as she walked beside him.

Adam knew almost nothing about kids. He’d been one—a lifetime ago—in years if not in maturity. So he wasn’t much of a judge. But this one appeared to be seven or so, with a mop of dark hair and a freshly plastered right arm in bright blue.

“Can we get McDonald’s on the way home, Mom?” The kid sent a wheedling look over his shoulder with eyes the same dark brown as Jaid’s. Other than their coloring, the two shared little resemblance. Catching sight of Adam, Royce looked past his mother and went silent for a moment. “Who are you?”

Patricia Marlowe turned her head, frowning, and Adam found himself the focus of the entire family.

“This is Adam Raiker,” Jaid put in. “He and I are working together.”

“What happened to your eye?”

The elder Marlowe shushed her grandson. “Royce, your manners!”

But when the boy didn’t take his gaze off Adam, he pointed at his eye patch. “Knife.”

Royce nodded sagely. Pointed to his arm. “Skateboard.” Adam could see that he had the vehicle of destruction wedged in the seat next to him. “Hey, you can sign my cast if you want. They gave me a marker. The doctor signed it already. So did Mom. Grandmother didn’t want to. She said it would only encourage me.”

“Mr. Raiker is going to see us home. My car is still at work.”

“How very kind of you, Mr. Raiker.” Although it was clear from Patricia Marlowe’s expression that she was full of questions, she was much too well-bred to ask them, at least in public. With her light-colored hair and eyes, it was unclear where Jaid had gotten her coloring. “Jaidlyn, how will you get to work if you leave your car in the city tonight?”

Before Jaid could answer, he put in, “My driver will pick her up tomorrow morning.”

She slanted him a glance, even as he ushered them through the front door where Reno had pulled up to the curb. “That won’t be necessary. I appreciate everything you’re doing, but we’ve put you out enough.”

“It’s just logical.” He broke off to open the front passenger door on the sedan. “Mrs. Marlowe, why don’t you sit up front? I think you’ll find it most comfortable.”

“Oh, but . . .” She looked uncertainly at her daughter.

“Royce can sit in back by the door, so he has the door armrest to prop his cast on. Jaid, you’ll want to slide in next to him.”

The first two Marlowes did as he suggested. It was the last that shook her head in bemusement, staring at him.

A light mist had begun to fall. Droplets clung to her dark hair. The pavement glistened wetly in the dim glow of a nearby streetlight. “Does the earth spin on its axis when you order it, too?”

“If it’s spinning right now, the answer must be yes.”

Still she stood on the curb, looking up at him with those doe eyes that had once made him ignore every ounce of sense he’d possessed. “I’ve been knocked a bit off my stride today. But as a general rule, I don’t follow orders as meekly as I did eight years ago.”

Meek had never been an adjective he would have applied to her. Tough. Tenacious, but with an underlying vulnerability. He’d spent his fair share of time over the years wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t listened to him back then.

Afraid of what she might see in his expression, he gave her a nudge, and she turned and slid into the car. With a feeling of foreboding, he followed her inside and settled himself on the seat next to her.

The photos on the computer screen were arrayed in a slideshow. His horror and fear increased with each new view. A dozen shots in all. Anyone else would find them ordinary. Nonthreatening.

But they represented the possible destruction of his entire life. Of everything he’d agonized over.

They’d been careful so long.

He wiped his face, surprised to find tears running down it. The pictures transfixed him. The threat they represented was eviscerating.

Everything they’d worked for could be destroyed upon the whim of one man.

When his cell phone rang a moment later, he started. The number in the call screen was familiar. Dread washed over him. He thought about not answering it. But the pictures on the computer screen warned him otherwise.

Anger rushed in then, and he snatched up the phone. “What are you doing? Leave my family alone!”

Silence for a moment. Then that eerie voice distorted by a voice changer. “You got my slideshow, Junior? How did you like it? I think your mother is quite photogenic for her age.”

“Don’t call me that.” The nickname was from another lifetime ago. How had this man discovered it? His limbs were trembling. He swiped at his wet cheeks. “I know what you did. You killed those two men. You shot Justice Reinbeck.”

There was a distant sound in the background of the call. A moment later Junior recognized it as clapping. “Very good, you can connect the dots. Just remember I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I didn’t know what you were planning!”

“But you do now, don’t you? And your conscience is being an absolute bitch about it. The photos are just a reminder of how much you have to lose if you decide to tell anyone. After all your mother has sacrificed for you, it’d be sort of unfair for you to abandon her now, wouldn’t it? One word from me and her whereabouts will be broadcast to the world. I understand there are still many parties who would be interested in that information. Even more who would like a shot at you. Given who you are.”

Sick fear twisted through him. Old demons easily summoned sprang forth, still capable of causing a childlike terror.

“You’ll be tempted to use your position to try to find a way out of this. But there is no escape, Junior. I hold your mother’s future in my hands. Your future. You’ll do anything to protect that, won’t you? Think about that every time you’re tempted to confess your part in our little scheme.”

Junior dropped his head in his hands, crying in earnest now. “But I didn’t know!”

“You do now though, don’t you?” The voice was inexorable. “Remember what you have to lose. Watch your computer.” The call was disconnected.

He raised his gaze, and through his tears he saw the slideshow re-form into a photo array of picture columns before going fuzzy at the edges. Melding. A new picture formed in the center. Of a man long dead. But the visual was enough to turn his bowels to ice.

The images disappeared from the screen. He knew from experience there would be no trace of them on his computer. It was as if his tormentor controlled the machine the same way he did Junior.

Shoving away from the desk, he got up, paced. Shoved the fear back and the past away, and frantically examined his options. Found them limited. He’d moved his mother once, after the first contact. And two days later photos very similar to the ones that had just vanished had appeared in his in-box.

Junior wasn’t an accomplice in all this. He wasn’t! There was no way he could have known what the man wanted his help for.

But he knew now. His stomach clenched and twisted. For a moment he thought that he would be sick. Coincidence. That’s what he’d thought when he heard about Patterson’s death. He’d wanted to believe it. But with Reinbeck’s he had to face the awful truth. That he’d had a hand in it, however unwittingly. Maybe if he’d gone to the police after Patterson’s death, Justice Reinbeck would still be alive.

But he hadn’t dared do so then. He didn’t dare now, either.

Not even when he knew who the next victim would be.

The buzzer sounded in the middle of Adam’s third set of reps. He lowered the weights to the stand and sat, grabbing the towel he’d left nearby to swipe at his face and chest. He levered himself up using a bar on the next piece of equipment. Grabbing his cane, he headed toward the door.

The fact that the buzzer sounded three times during the course of his journey said far more about the visitor’s impatience than Adam’s speed.

He stabbed a finger at the intercom button. “Yes.”

“It’s me. Buzz me up.”

Adam typed in the command on the keypad that would allow Paulie access to his private elevator and stop it at the appropriate floor. Adam swung open the door to the hallway. His friend strolled in from the foyer minutes later.

“Hey, it’s looking better in here. You’re settling in.”

“It’s a warehouse. It still looks like a warehouse.” Without asking he headed to the wet bar tucked in a corner of the room and splashed some Scotch in a couple glasses. Added ice.

Paulie sighed but accepted the glass and settled onto a stool at the bar. “Loft, Adam. It’s a two-story loft. They’re considered quite trendy these days.”

The correction was lost on Adam. He wasn’t in one place long enough to feel at home anywhere. At least so he’d thought until Jennings, his would-be assassin, had blown his penthouse to bits by shooting an incendiary device through a window. Ridiculous to feel loss over a place he rarely spent a week straight in.

He sent a look around the area. It was functional. Exercise room, bathroom, Jacuzzi, wet bar, and a big-screen TV he rarely watched filled the lower area. A large study, two bedrooms, kitchen, and a bathroom big enough to move a bed into dominated the upstairs. The Realtor had certainly agreed with Paulie that it was trendy. More importantly, once it had been outfitted with blast-proof doors and bulletproof windows, it was a modicum safer.

And he hated the necessity for the added safety features even more than being forced to move to a different place.

“What do you hear about my car?”

“That it’s going to be a guest of the body shop for weeks.” Paulie took a healthy swallow, his normally effusive mood subdued. His burgundy tie was decorated with dollar bills and poker chips. For him, that was subdued, too.

Studying him over the rim of his glass, Adam guessed, “Bad game?”

“Lost a little more than I wanted at the track this evening, so I called it a night.” He raised his glass in a mock salute. “Know when to beat a strategic retreat, right?”

Adam raised the glass. Took a swallow. Tongue firmly in cheek, he offered, “I could probably loan you a fifty if you need it.”

Paulie snorted, but his normal good humor made a reappearance. “Thanks, buddy. That’ll come in handy next time I want to tip the cabbie. My luck will change. It always does.” He gave Adam a pointed look. “Of course, I’ve never had your kind of luck, at least when it comes to dodging bullets. I figure you’ve got about one or two of your nine lives left.” He dug in his pocket, laid a set of keys and Adam’s garage door opener on the marble top of the bar. “Left your new lease in your garage downstairs. Same make and model as yours. Is Reno still around? I’m going to need a ride home.”