Nothing To Lose: A Grey Justice Novel (9 page)

But…what if someone had wanted it to look like a random act of violence? If so, why would the man who killed Thomas sacrifice his own life? Or had he not been meant to die?

Her thoughts scattering in a thousand different directions, Kennedy pushed her fingers through her hair. How had she not known about Thomas’s investigation? She had slept beside him every night. They had talked endlessly on a variety of different matters regarding his job. No subject was off-limits for them. They had shared every secret. Thomas had always been honest and up front with her. How could he have kept this from her?

If he had been so worried for her safety, why had he hidden the key from her? She’d only found it by chance. Had he meant to give it to her and hid it away until an opportune moment? Even with the dire warnings in the letter, perhaps even Thomas hadn’t realized just how much danger he was in.

And now what was she to do? Thomas wanted her to begin a new life? Get a new identity?

A wave of fury swept through her. This time it was directed at one person only.
Thomas.
He had done this to them. If he had just let things go, he would still be alive. Their baby might still be alive. Instead of being totally alone, she’d still have her beloved family, her happy home. How could she not be furious with him?

She brushed aside the anger. That would have to wait. Feeling as though a new destiny awaited her, Kennedy began to look through the pages attached to the letter. Her eyes scanned the lengthy and detailed list Thomas had provided. A new identity, with a new name, birth certificate, Social Security number, etc. Everything she would need to become someone else and the names of people who could apparently make that happen.

Additionally, he had listed diversionary tactics for her to use to ensure she wouldn’t be followed, along with names of people who would assist her with that, too.

He had thought of everything, and even though it was obvious what Thomas wanted her to do, this had to be her decision. Her choice, no matter which one she chose, would be monumental. Stay and fight, putting her life and those she cared about in danger? Run and hide, change her identity and start all over again?
 

Or was there a third possibility?

Despite her disappointment and anger at Thomas, the blame wasn’t his. It belonged to the Slater family. These people obviously believed they could do anything they wanted and get away with it. She refused to allow them to have control over her life. They were finished playing God.

She had to call Nick and give him what information she knew. It wasn’t much. Apparently, what had been in the large envelope was what had gotten Thomas killed. But, still, Nick needed to know what had happened. Then she would do what she had to do to survive.

The man who’d run her off the road had been trying to kill her—his words had indicated as much. It was beyond a miracle that she wasn’t dead. He had obviously known what was inside the envelope he stole. But how had he known that she would go to the bank today? Or that she had found a lock-box key?
 

She froze as the answer came to her with the force of a wrecking ball: She was being watched. There was no other explanation. Somehow they knew she had found the key and was going after the information Thomas had hidden. If that was the case, it could mean only one thing. There were cameras inside her house.
Sweet Lord!

Suddenly, she felt their eyes on her. Who were they? The Slaters? Someone who worked for them? Thomas had feared they had eyes and ears everywhere. Had they been able to read the letter? Did the man know he hadn’t taken the only information Thomas had left? Were they coming for her?
 

Should she just run out of the house now? Take nothing and leave forever?
 

She took a breath to steady herself. Yes, she did need to leave but not in a panic. Even though she felt that any second armed gunmen would burst through her door, Kennedy calmly stood and walked upstairs. She packed quickly and efficiently, taking only what she felt she couldn’t live without.

Gun in one hand, a large suitcase in the other, she went into the garage. Hoping to time it just right, she cranked the car and pressed the garage door opener. The instant the doors were clear, she backed out and then zoomed out of the driveway. Thankfully the rain had stopped, but clouds covered the sky, making for an ink-dark night. Were they following her? Every headlight behind her had her tensing up. Would the man who’d slammed his car into hers try to finish the job?

Finally miles away from her house, with no visible car following her, Kennedy allowed herself to think about her next move. A plan began to form—one that would most certainly have horrified Thomas. She had no experience in things like this. She was a law student, not a cop. But she was something else, too—a born researcher. How many times had the law firms she freelanced for told her she was worth her weight in all the information she supplied them? She knew how to dig deep for obscure information. She could do this.

But could she really? Did she have the stamina? The courage to see it through? A small voice inside her screamed a resounding,
Yes
! She had already lost the love of her life and her precious child. Everything she had always dreamed of having had been taken from her. She had nothing left to lose. It was time to turn the tables and take her power back. So, could she really do this? The answer came in a firm, definitive: Oh hell yes, she could. And she would.
 

Chapter Seven

Milton Ward gnawed at the hangnail on his pinkie finger as he waited for Detective Gallagher. Every noise had him turning right or left. The Slaters were a powerful family and had spies everywhere. They were looking for him…he had no doubts about that.

Doug’s was quiet this time of day. Too early for dinner, too late for lunch. Only a few people sat at the counter, seeming uninterested in him as he cowered in the back corner booth, nursing his coffee and jumping at every sound. He kept his eyes on them, taking no one for granted. The Slaters were as crafty as they were crooked.

He’d hightailed it out of the city the day before Thomas O’Connell’s death. After hearing through the grapevine that two hits had been ordered, it didn’t take a genius to know that he’d been one of the two. He didn’t bother to question how the Slaters had discovered that he had snitched on them. His only thought had been to get away. It had bothered him that he hadn’t let O’Connell know. Then when he’d heard about the man’s widow losing her baby… That was some bad karma shit. It was too late to save O’Connell, but that didn’t mean the Slaters should be able to get away with murder.

He was taking a big chance on coming back to Houston, but his conscience had made him return. O’Connell hadn’t deserved to die. If Milton hadn’t contacted the man and told him about the papers he’d stolen, none of this would be happening. But when he’d heard from a friend that O’Connell was doing some poking around on the Slaters, he hadn’t been able to resist. And now, look what had happened.

But what was done was done. Main thing was to give the information to someone he could trust and hide till the Slaters got what was coming to them.

The squeaking door alerted him that someone had entered the restaurant. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a hard, uncompromising expression on his face headed toward him. His thick brown hair glistened with rain, water dripped from the black leather jacket covering his large frame. Fear clutched at Milton’s chest, turned his bowels to liquid. Had the Slaters’ hit man found him?

Apparently reading his terrified expression, the big man said, “Relax. I’m Gallagher.”

Breath whooshed from Milton’s body as he slumped back into his chair. “I hope nobody followed you.”

Gallagher sat across from him and seared him with a fierce look. “Like who?”

“If I tell you, you’ll have to offer me the same deal as O’Connell. And protection, too.”

“Tell me what this is about, and we’ll talk about whether I can give you anything.”

Figuring that was the best he could hope for right now, Milton said, “I was a clerk in the offices of McClusky and Hendrix.”

“And they are?”

“The accounting firm that handles the Slater family.”
 

A dangerous light flared in Gallagher’s eyes. Milton swallowed hard and continued, “One night after everybody was gone and I was working late, I went into Hendrix’s office to see if he had a file I was looking for. I sat down at his desk, and my knee bumped something underneath. I looked down and saw this little cubbyhole with this file sticking out of it. My curiosity got the better of me, so I pulled it out. It was a file detailing some of the Slaters’ dealings.”

“If the accounting firm is used for tax purposes, all those holdings would be legitimate.”

Milton shook his head. “Oh, there’s legit stuff, too. I’ve handled a couple accounts for them. I had no idea any of this other stuff was happening till I came upon that file. From what I could tell, Hendrix is in deep with the Slaters. In cahoots, I guess you could say. The file was full of documented shipments to and from various ports, along with the contents of each shipment.”

“Such as?”

“You name it, they shipped it.”

“In other words, everything illegal.”

“Exactly.”

“You told this to Detective O’Connell?”

Milton nodded. “We met a few days ago. I gave him copies of all the documents. I was even willing to testify, only—” Milton broke off, embarrassed to admit that he’d run like a scalded cat when he’d heard they were on to him.

“But you heard that the Slaters found out you had snitched on them and you ran.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how they found out, but a friend of a friend heard about it and gave me the heads-up. I was gonna call O’Connell and let him know as soon as I got someplace safe. Then I saw on the news about him getting killed. I know it was supposed to be a robbery of some kind, but it seemed too much of a coincidence to me.”

Gallagher’s face had gotten grimmer with each additional detail. Cold eyes roamed over Milton’s face, and he swallowed hard again.
Damn.
O’Connell had been no pushover, but this guy looked as ruthless as any stone-cold killer the Slaters might hire.
 

“So what’s in it for you?” Gallagher asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you just trying to be a good citizen or is there an ulterior motive?”

“O’Connell promised me a reward…monetary.”

“Nice try.” Gallagher stood, threw down a dollar for the cup of coffee he hadn’t touched and turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Milton called out, panicked. Okay, so the guy was no dummy. Even if he got nothing for his troubles, he still needed protection. Gallagher was the only man O’Connell had said he trusted. “Can you at least keep me safe?”

The big man turned back to him. “I can do that.”

Milton blew out a long, jagged sigh. So maybe he couldn’t make any money off this deal, at least he’d be alive and his conscience would be clean.

“You still have copies of the information you gave Detective O’Connell?”

“Yeah. It’s in a safe place. I didn’t bring it with me in case you weren’t on the up-and-up.”

Gallagher nodded toward the door. “Then let’s go.”

“You want to follow me?”

“No, we go together. Stay behind me till we get to my car.”

Milton walked out the door behind the detective, sticking to him like he was glued to his back.

“My car’s over there.” Gallagher pointed to a dark sedan only a few feet away.

His head down to avoid the pounding rain and feeling safe for the first time in days, Milton stepped around Gallagher and ran toward the car.
 

Gallagher shouted, “Wait!”
 

A pop-pop-pop sounded. Milton whirled. Gallagher was lying faceup on the wet sidewalk. Blood mixed with rainwater swirled around his head.

Survival instinct kicked in… Milton took a running step. Too late. A blinding, piercing agony exploded in his head. And then nothing.

Kennedy gripped the phone. Nick wasn’t answering his cellphone. She had considered calling him at work, but Thomas had said trust no one. What if someone heard him talking on the phone call? She couldn’t take the chance.

The only thing she could do was leave a vague voice mail. “Nick, it’s Kennedy. I need to talk to you.”
 

The man behind her muttered something. She bit her lip and continued with her message, “I’ll call you back.”

She turned to the little old man staring up at her with worried eyes. Everett Meacham was the first man on Thomas’s contact list. He was apparently going to get her started on a new identity.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Meacham. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I’m just wondering if you’re sure you’re doing the right thing. I mean…um…are you sure you’re thinking…um…rationally?”

Rationally? No, she couldn’t say with any degree of confidence that her thinking was remotely rational. In the span of just over a week, she’d lost her husband, her baby, and the happy life she treasured. She had just learned that her husband’s death had been a hit, and now she was on the run from people she didn’t even know. So, hell no, she wasn’t thinking rationally. She was acting on instinct and a whole lot of fear. Both were telling her to hide. But something else transcended her need to run and hide—full-blown fury.