Split Second (41 page)

M
aggie had passed the exit for Quantico without a glance and had gone straight home after her meeting with Kernan. Meeting? That was a joke. She shook her head and now continued to pace in her living room. The hour-long drive from D.C. hadn’t even begun to cool off her anger. What kind of psychologist left his patients wanting to slam fists through walls?

She noticed her bags at the bottom of the staircase, still packed from her Kansas City trip. Boxes remained stacked in the corners. Her nerves felt as if they had been rubbed raw. A knot tightened at the base of her neck and her head throbbed. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten. It had probably been on the flight last night.

She considered changing and going for a run. It was getting dark but that had never stopped her before. No, what did stop her was knowing Stucky could be watching. Had he returned from Kansas City? Was he out there somewhere hiding, waiting, watching? She paced from window to window, examining the street and then the woods behind her house, squinting to study the twilight shadows dancing behind the trees. She searched for anything out of the ordinary, anything that moved, but in the light breeze every rustle of a bush, every sway of a branch made her uneasy. She could already feel her muscles tightening, her nerves unraveling.

Earlier she had noticed a construction worker at the end of her street inspecting sewage grates and setting up pylons. His coveralls had been too clean, his shoes too polished. Maggie knew immediately that he had to be one of Cunningham’s surveillance crew. How the hell did Cunningham expect to catch Stucky with such amateurish strategies? If Maggie had been able to see through the impostor, certainly Stucky, a professional chameleon, would find it laughable. Stucky took on identities and roles with such ease that surely he would spot someone doing the same thing, only doing it poorly.

She hated feeling like a caged animal in her own home. To make matters worse, the house was deathly quiet. Other than the clicking of her heels on the polished wood floor, Maggie heard nothing. No lawn mowers, no car engines, no children playing. But wasn’t the peace and quiet, a piece of seclusion, exactly what she longed for when she bought this house? Hadn’t that been her intention? What was that old saying—be careful what you wish for?

She unearthed her CD player, an inexpensive oversize boom box. She dug through the overflowing box of CDs. Some were in sealed wrappers, gifts from friends she hadn’t taken time to open, let alone enjoy. Finally she decided on an early Jim Brickman, hoping the piano solos would soothe her agitated insides. The music barely began when Maggie noticed Susan Lyndell making her way up the circular drive. It looked as though there would be no stress relief.

She opened the door before Susan made it up the steps to the portico. Her eyes darted everywhere but at Susan, checking, double-checking.

“How was your trip?” Susan asked as though they were old friends.

“It was fine.” Maggie grabbed the woman’s elbow gently and quickly urged her into the foyer.

Susan stared at her, surprised. On her first visit Maggie had barely let the woman through the door, and now she was pulling her in.

“I got back late last night,” Maggie continued, closing the door. All she could think about was Stucky watching. Stucky choosing his next victim.

“I tried to call but you’re not listed yet.”

“No, I’m not,” she said with finality in case Susan expected she might tell her. “Did you speak with Detective Manx?”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you. I think I was mistaken about what we discussed the other day.”

“Why do think you were mistaken?” Maggie waited while her neighbor glanced around at her stacked cartons, taking in Maggie’s living room and probably wondering how Maggie could ever afford such a house.

“I spoke with Sid,” Susan told her, finally looking at Maggie, though she still seemed distracted by Maggie’s things, or rather her lack of things.

“Mr. Endicott? What exactly did you speak to him about?”

“Sid’s a good man. I hate to see him going through this all alone. I felt he had a right to know. Well, you know…about Rachel and that man.”

“The telephone repairman?”

“Yes.” Now Susan wouldn’t meet Maggie’s eyes, but it had nothing to do with the surroundings.

“What did you tell him?”

“Just that quite possibly she may have left with him.”

“I see.” She wondered why Susan Lyndell could so easily betray her friend. And why was it suddenly so easy to believe Rachel had left with some stranger who, only days ago, Susan thought might hurt her friend? “And what did Mr. Endicott say?”

“Oh, maybe you haven’t heard. Rachel’s car was not in the garage. The police initially saw Sid’s Mercedes and didn’t realize that Rachel’s was gone. See, she usually drives Sid to the airport when he goes out of town so he won’t need to leave the car in airport parking. Sid’s always worried about his car. Anyway, I think Rachel must have taken off with this guy. She was certainly infatuated by him.”

“What about the dog?”

“The dog?”

“We found her dog stabbed…injured under the bed.”

Susan shrugged. “I have no idea about that,” she said as if she couldn’t be expected to figure out everything.

Maggie’s cellular phone started ringing from inside her jacket pocket. She hesitated. Susan waved a birdlike hand at her to go ahead and get it as she backed away. “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to fill you in.” Before Maggie could protest, her neighbor was out the door and walking down the driveway in what Maggie thought looked almost like a skip. She definitely didn’t seem like the same nervous, anxious woman she had met a few days ago.

Maggie quickly closed the door and took time to activate the alarm system while the phone continued to ring. Finished, she twisted the contraption out of her pocket.

“Maggie O’Dell.”

“Jesus, finally. You need a better cell phone, Maggie. I think your battery must be low again.”

Immediately, Maggie felt the tension return to her neck and shoulders. Greg’s greetings always sounded like scoldings.

“My phone’s been off. I’ve been out of town. You got my message.” She went directly to the point, not wanting to encourage his attempt to chastise her for being unreachable.

“You should have some sort of messaging service,” he persisted. “Your mother called me a couple of days ago. She didn’t even know you moved. For Christ’s sake, Maggie, you could at least call your mother and give her your new number.”

“I did call her. Is she okay?”

“She sounded great. Said she was in Las Vegas.”

“Las Vegas?” Her mother never left Richmond. And what a choice. Yes, LasVegas was the perfect place for a suicidal alcoholic.

“She said she was with a Reverend Everett. You need to keep better tabs on her, Maggie. She is your mother.”

Maggie leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. Greg had never understood the dynamics between Maggie and her mother. How could he? He came from a family that looked as if it had been special-ordered from a 1950s family catalog.

“Greg, did I leave a carton at the condo?”

“No, there’s nothing here. You do realize that none of this would have happened if you had used United?”

Maggie ignored his I-told-you-so. “Are you sure? Look, I don’t care if you’ve opened it or if you’ve gone through it.”

“Listen to you. You don’t trust or believe anybody anymore. Can’t you see what this goddamn job is doing to you?”

She rubbed her neck and squeezed at the knot. Why did he have to make this so difficult?

“Did you check in the basement?” she asked, knowing there was no way it had ended up there, but giving him one last chance for a way out if he had, indeed, opened the box.

“No, there’s nothing. What was in it? One of your precious guns? Are you not able to sleep at night without all three or four or however many of those things you have?”

“I have two, Greg. It’s not unusual for an agent to have a backup.”

“Right. Well, that’s one too many for me.”

“Would you just call me if the carton shows up?”

“It’s not here.”

“Okay, fine. Goodbye.”

“Call your mom sometime soon,” he said in place of a closing and hung up.

She leaned her head against the wall and shut her eyes. She tried to calm the throbbing in her head and neck and shoulders. The doorbell chimed, and she was grabbing for her revolver before she even realized it. Jesus! Maybe Greg was right. She did live in a crazy paranoid world.

Beside a lamppost in her driveway, she could see a van with Riley’s Veterinary Clinic imprinted on the side. A man in white overalls and a baseball cap stood on the portico. Sitting patiently beside him with a blue collar and leash was a white Labrador retriever. Despite there being no massive bandage around the dog’s chest and shoulder, Maggie recognized it as the dog she had helped rescue from the Endicotts’ house. Nevertheless, she examined the man, making certain this wasn’t a disguise. Finally she decided he was too short to be Stucky.

“The Endicotts live farther down the street,” she said as soon as she opened the door.

“I know that,” the man snapped. His jaw was taut, his face red, his forehead glistening with sweat as though he had run here instead of driving. “Mr. Endicott refuses to take the dog.”

“He what?”

“He won’t take the dog.”

“Is that what he said?” Maggie thought the idea incredible after what the dog had been through.

“Well, his exact words were, it’s his wife’s frickin’ dog—excuse my language, I’m just repeating what he said, but let me tell you, he didn’t use ‘frickin’,’okay? Anyway, he said it’s his wife’s frickin’ dog and if she took off and left the stupid dog, then he doesn’t want him either.”

Maggie glanced at the dog who cowered close to the ground, either from the man’s raised voice or because he knew they were talking about him.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do. I don’t think my talking to Mr. Endicott will change his mind. I don’t even know the man.”

“Your name and address is on the release form you signed when you brought in the dog. Detective Manx told us to leave the dog with you.”

“He did, did he?” Of all the nerve. It was Manx’s one last dig. “And what if I refuse to take him? What will you do with him?”

“I have orders from Mr. Endicott to take him to the pound.”

Maggie looked at the dog again, and as if on cue he stared up at her with sad, pathetic brown eyes. Damn it! What did she know about taking care of a dog? She wasn’t home enough to take care of a dog. She couldn’t have a dog. Her mother had never allowed her to have one while she was growing up. Greg was allergic to dogs and cats, or so he had said once when she had brought home a stray she had found while out running. Allergic or not, she knew he would never have been able to tolerate anything with four paws climbing on his precious leather furniture. Suddenly Maggie realized that seemed like a good enough reason.

“What’s his name,” she asked as she took the dog’s leash from the man’s hand.

“It’s Harvey.”

Boston, Massachusetts
Thursday, April 2

W
ill Finley couldn’t sit still. He had been jumpy all morning. Now he roamed the halls of the county courthouse. He swiped a jerky hand over his face. Too much caffeine. That was his problem. That and very little sleep. It also didn’t help matters that Tess McGowan hadn’t returned any of his phone calls. Today was already Thursday. Since Monday, he had left messages on her answering machine and at her office. Or, at least, what he thought was her office. He had taken one of her business cards from the antique desk in her bedroom. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had her home phone number or known her last name. Hell, he had even tried leaving her messages at Louie’s until the burly owner told him to “leave Tess alone and fuck off.”

So why couldn’t he leave her alone? Why did she consume his thoughts? He had never been obsessed with a woman before. Why this one? Even Melissa had noticed his preoccupation, but she had accepted his explanation of being overloaded at his new job and stressed out about all the last-minute wedding preparations.

It didn’t help matters that he had avoided having sex with her since his night with Tess. Hell, it had only been three nights and yet he’d been afraid Melissa would notice, especially last night when she had hinted about spending the night at his place. He had practically shoved her out the door, using the lame excuse that he had to get some sleep for a big trial in the morning. What was his problem? Was he really afraid that Melissa would discover his betrayal somehow if he touched her differently? Or did he simply not want to erase the memories of having sex with Tess? Because he had played back that night over and over in his head so many times he could conjure it up at will.

Shit, he was fucked up!

As he turned the corner, heading to Records he ran into Nick Morrelli. The contents of Will’s folder spilled across the floor, and he was on his knees before Nick had a chance to know what hit him.

“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Nick said, joining Will on the floor.

Others stepped around them, not paying any attention as their heels smashed and crumpled the scattered papers.

Nick handed him the papers he had gathered while they stood up. But Will’s eyes darted across the floor, making sure he had everything. That was all he needed—to lose some piece of paper that would give the defense an edge in whatever this trial was.

“So what’s the rush?” Nick asked again, hands in his pockets, waiting.

“No rush.” Will straightened the stack and raked his fingers through his hair. He wondered if Nick could see the slight tremor in his hand. Although the two men were new to the D.A.’s office, Nick had been one of Will’s professors in law school back at the University of Nebraska. He still looked up to Nick as a mentor instead of a colleague. And he knew Nick had sort of taken him under his wing, helping a fellow Midwesterner adjust to the rush of big-city life in Boston.

“You look like shit.” Nick looked concerned. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. I’m fine.”

Nick didn’t look convinced. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost lunchtime. How ’bout we get burgers down the street? I’m buying.”

“Okay. Yeah, sure. If you’re buying.” Geez! Even his speech was jerky. “Let me drop this stuff at Records.”

It was warm enough for shirtsleeves, but both men wore their jackets. Will realized he’d need to wear his jacket for the rest of the day if the pools under his arms were as obvious as they felt. Maybe all these physical reactions were simply cold feet. After all, the wedding was, what, three or four weeks away? Holy crap! How could it be that close?

Will filled the conversation with boring stuff about the trials Nick had missed while in Kansas City. It was the only way to ignore the concerned look in his ex-professor’s eyes. Nick politely listened, then seemed to wait until Will’s mouth was full of fries before he asked.

“So you ready to tell me what the hell’s bugging you?”

Will wiped away the ketchup on the corner of his mouth and swallowed. He grabbed his Pepsi and washed down what threatened to stick in his throat.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“I didn’t say wrong. I said what’s bugging you?”

“Oh.” He wiped his mouth again, buying time. Leave it to a lawyer to fuss over the wording.

“So what’s wrong?”

Will shoved his plate aside. He had managed to wolf down half his burger and almost all his fries before Nick had taken a second bite of his burger. He could feel the heartburn tightening into a fist and settling in the middle of his chest. As if he needed one more physical discomfort.

“I think I fucked up big time.”

Nick continued eating, waiting, examining him over the burger that he held with both hands. Finally he said, “It wasn’t the Prucello case, was it?”

“No. No, it wasn’t anything to do with work.”

Nick looked relieved. Then his brow furrowed again. “You getting cold feet about the wedding?”

Will gulped his Pepsi. He waved at the waiter and pointed to his glass for another, wishing he could trade it for something stronger.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Then he pulled in his chair and leaned across the table so he could keep his voice down despite the noisy lunch-hour crowd. Two of the tables next to them were filled with people he knew from the courthouse.

“Sunday night I met this woman. Christ, Nick! She was…incredible. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.”

Nick chewed and watched him as if contemplating what to say. If anyone would understand, surely it would be Nick Morrelli. Will knew that years ago, all the talk around campus about Nick and some of his own students, as well as several female professors, had not been idle rumor. Nick Morrelli had had his share of one-night stands. Even after he had left the university to take the position as sheriff of Platte City, the reputation and the activity had followed him.

“This woman,” Nick said slowly, carefully, “was she a hooker?”

Will almost choked.

“No, hell no,” he said, glancing around the small diner to make certain no one noticed he was agitated. “The guys—Mickey, Rob, Bennet—they sort of dared me into picking up this woman who was at the bar. She was incredible, sexy and so…I don’t know, uninhibited. But no, she’s no goddamn hooker.” He stopped and lowered his voice, noticing two women at the next table staring at him. “She’s older, probably about your age. Very attractive with this amazing…sensuality. But in a sophisticated sort of way, not, you know, cheap or anything like that. In fact, I think she’s a real estate agent or something.”

The waiter brought Will’s refill. He slid back in his chair, grabbed the glass and gulped half of it. Nick continued eating, as if it was no big deal. Will started feeling anxious and a bit angry. Hell, he had just spilled his guts, and Nick seemed more interested in finishing his goddamn burger.

“So what you’re really saying is that she’s a pretty incredible fuck?”

“Jesus Christ, Nick!”

“Well? Isn’t that what this is all about?”

“You know, man, I thought you of all people would understand this. But forget it. Forget I mentioned it.” Will pulled his plate closer and started shoving French fries into his mouth, avoiding looking at Nick. One of the women at the next table smiled at him. Evidently she didn’t know that he was an idiot.

“Come on, Will. Be sensible for one minute.” Nick waited until he had Will’s attention. “Are you willing to piss away three or four years with Melissa for one incredible fuck?”

“No. Of course not.” Will slumped in his chair and wrestled with the knot in his tie. He looked up and met Nick’s eyes. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Look, Will. I’ve been with a lot of women, incredible women. But you can’t let one incredible fuck rule your life’s decisions.”

They sat in silence as Nick finished eating. Will sat up, leaned across the table again, only now noticing the sleeve of his jacket dripping with ketchup. Shit! These days he seemed to spend more money on dry cleaning than he did on food.

“It wasn’t just the sex, Nick.” He felt he needed to explain, but wasn’t sure he understood it himself. “There was something else. I don’t know what. Something about her. I can’t get her out of my mind. I mean, here’s this strong, passionate, sexy, independent woman, who could also be…oh, hell I don’t know…vulnerable and sweet and funny and…and real. I know we both had too much to drink, and we know very little about each other, but…I can’t stop thinking about her.”

He watched Nick take out crisp bills and lay them on the plastic tray with the tab. Had it been a mistake to say any of this out loud? Should he have kept it to himself?

“Okay, so what do you want to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Will said, giving in and fidgeting with the ketchup on his sleeve. “I guess maybe I want to see her again, just to talk, to see…hell, I don’t know, Nick.”

“So call her. What’s stopping you?”

“I tried. She won’t return my messages.”

“Then stop by and see her, buy her lunch. Women like a guy taking action, not just talking.”

“It’s not that easy. It’s a five-hour drive. She lives in this little town outside D.C.—Newton, Newberry, Newburgh. Yeah, Newburgh, I think.”

“Wait a minute. Outside D.C.? Newburgh Heights? In Virginia?”

“Yeah. You know it?”

“I think a friend of mine bought a house there.”

“Small world.” Will watched Nick, whose mind suddenly seemed preoccupied. “You think they know each other?”

“I doubt it. Maggie’s an FBI profiler.”

“Hold on. Is this the same FBI Maggie who helped you on that case last fall?”

Nick nodded, but he didn’t need to answer at all. Will could see it was the same woman. Will had noticed months ago that this woman couldn’t be mentioned in general conversation without Nick getting all weirded out. Maybe this woman was Nick’s obsession.

“So how come you’ve never called this Maggie or stopped by to see her?”

“Well, for one thing I didn’t realize until a few days ago that she was getting a divorce.”

“A few days ago? Wait a minute. Was she at the Kansas City thing?”

“Yes, she was at the Kansas City thing. She was one of the presenters.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

Will noticed Nick’s demeanor had changed to frustration with a hint of irritation. Yep, he was all weirded out again.

“But you saw her, right? You talked to her?”

“Yeah. We spent an afternoon digging through garbage together.”

“Excuse me? Is that some new code for foreplay?”

“No, it isn’t,” Nick snapped, suddenly not in the mood for Will’s attempt at humor. “Come on. Let’s get back to work.”

Nick stood, straightening his lopsided tie and buttoning his jacket, indicating that was the end of this conversation. Will decided to ignore it and press on.

“It sounds like this Maggie is your Tess.”

“Jesus, kid. What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Nick shot him a look, and Will knew he was right.

“This Maggie drives you as crazy as Tess drives me. Maybe we both need to make a trip down to Newburgh Heights.”