Fixed in Fear (16 page)

I'm on it.

She'd spoken to Mort. He'd been at Robbie and Claire's for dinner, trying to calm them after what had happened at the twins' school that morning. His son and daughter-in-law were trying to find a delicate balance with the girls. They wanted them to appreciate the need to steer clear of Allie, but they didn't want to inspire any fear or anxiety.

“Hayden seems to get it,” Mort told Lydia. “At least as far as obeying the rules. She still has a lot of questions about why we don't want them near their aunt. Hadley's another story, though. She sees Allie as a fairy tale come to life. Eager to get to know her glamorous new family member.”

Lydia had promised she'd do what she could. She told him she was certain Allie was still in the United States, making up a story about checking with Homeland Security and passport tracking. She didn't tell him she already knew where Allie was staying, how long she'd planned to be there, or that she'd ordered a plane with room to carry four people when she checked out.

And she certainly didn't mention she had seen her in Oliver Bane's coffee shop earlier that evening.

By nine thirty Lydia was settled in her living room with a glass of merlot. There was nothing more she could do. No more information to gather. She'd monitor Allie's movements and plan her actions accordingly.

Then the living room lights dimmed, just for an instant.

To anyone in the room or viewing from outside Lydia's house, it would have looked like an everyday energy dip. But Lydia had wired her home to be totally self-contained for electric power. Her system ran parallel generators with instant backup. Her computer and communication systems demanded it.

So did her safety.

When she'd worked with the electrical contractors, she'd arranged the subtle dimming of the lights as a signal that someone was approaching down her drive. She'd told the team of electricians she planned to entertain often and wanted a way to know when guests were arriving without disturbing whoever might already be in attendance. They chalked it up, she was certain, to the quirkiness of their client. But as long as she was paying top dollar, they'd indulged her.

They'd never need to know that Lydia would be warned someone was coming. She could have arranged for an alarm to sound, but then whoever was approaching would know she'd been alerted.

Lydia much preferred the element of surprise.

She rose from the sofa, leaving her glass of wine on the coffee table, and walked to the front entry. She stopped at the credenza there and pulled a Beretta from the drawer. Lydia didn't need to look at the gun. Her weekly checks of all the weapons scattered in hiding places throughout her home assured her the pistol was clean and loaded. She clicked off the safety as she stepped toward her locked front door and peered out of the small side window. The earlier rain had stopped, giving her a clear view.

The bronze Mercedes had stopped in front of her house. The massive size of the driver was evident as the giant man unfolded himself from the front seat, stepped around to open the rear door, then held out his hand to guide a slender woman out of the sedan.

Allie Grant was exquisite. The ponytail Lydia had seen earlier was gone. Instead, Allie's golden hair, styled in a blunt-cut cascade, fell unbound to just below her shoulders. Her unbuttoned trench coat covered a camel pencil skirt and white silk blouse. Brown leather heels and handbag completed her ensemble. Mort's daughter had mirrored Grace Kelly's elegance.

No one would imagine she'd been the lover of two of the most deadly men on the planet.

Lydia reengaged the Beretta's safety and tucked the gun in the back of her yoga pants. She fluffed her T-shirt to cover any bulge the revolver made and opened the door before Allie had the chance to knock. For a moment, the two women stared at each other. It was Allie who smiled first.

“It's good to see you, Lydia.” Allie looked to her left and right. “I'm glad you haven't moved. I'd hate to have been this close to the woman who saved my life and not been able to stop by to offer my gratitude. I apologize for the late hour. I was actually going to stop by earlier, but I got to Olympia during work hours. I figured you'd still be doing whatever it is you do in your therapy office, so I stopped instead for a cup of coffee.” She paused, lowering her eyes. “I met a very nice man and, well, you could just say one thing led to another.” She looked up at Lydia, as though expecting some words of welcome. “May I come in?”

Lydia looked beyond her to the tall, powerful man standing next to Allie's car. Though the rain had stopped, the damp night air hinted it may resume at any time. “Is your friend coming, too?”

“Staz?” Allie took one step closer to Lydia. “No. He'll stay out here. I'm sorry for dropping by unannounced. I've been in the area a few days and wanted to make certain I saw you.” She leaned forward and looked down Lydia's entryway. “You're alone, of course. Like always?”

Lydia didn't reply. Instead, she stepped aside and let Allie pass. A whispered scent of roses trailed in Allie's wake. Lydia gave another look toward the man standing motionless beside the Mercedes. Then she closed and locked the door.

Allie looked surprised. “That's not necessary,” she said.

Lydia walked down her entry hall toward where Allie stood in the living room. “What isn't?”

“Locking the door.” Allie slipped out of her trench coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa. “No one's here to harm you. But if I wanted Staz to come inside, surely you know no lock would stop him.” She pointed to the wineglass on the table. “Do you have a glass for me? Merlot is your drink, if I recall. Never the highest quality, but always a very good label. Am I right?”

“Why are you here, Allie?”

Allie ignored her question. Instead, she took her time surveying the room. “Your home is as lovely as ever. You have excellent taste.” She nodded toward the large bank of windows. “Sadly, the sun has left us. I've been all around the world and I have to say, your view here rivals the best I've experienced. I would love to have seen it again.”

“The last time you were here you had a helicopter's view.” Lydia resumed her spot on the sofa and pointed an invitation to the chair next to it.

“That was a dark night, too.” Allie sat and crossed her long legs at the knee. “But let's not dwell on the past. You were kind to me, Lydia. When Daddy brought me here, you didn't need to take me in, but you did. I'll always be grateful for that. It was a very difficult period in my life.”

Lydia was impressed with how lightly Allie characterized that time. Her manipulation of Lydia could have resulted in both their deaths. And her betrayal of her lover, her father, her brother, and several federal and international law enforcement agencies was near biblical in scope.

“What do you want, Allie?” Lydia asked again. “Why are you here?”

Allie tilted her head, her blue eyes wide and soft. She spoke in the timid voice of a vulnerable child. “Do you have so many friends that you can be cold to the person who only wants to thank you for your generosity?” She glanced down at her hands. “I know I don't. I was hoping we could talk. If only for a short while. I'd love to hear stories of Mort Grant and that houseboat of his. Has he taken up fishing?”

Lydia felt like she was back in her office, evaluating a patient who had so lost touch with reality she was living in a world of her own design. A world in which she could make small talk with a woman she'd arranged to have assaulted about a man she'd tried her best to destroy.

“Really, Allie? You've come all this way to have a chat with me?”

Allie met Lydia's incredulous stare with warm, pleading eyes. “Would that be so difficult to believe? A pleasant conversation about simple matters sounds very appealing to me. My work takes me to so many places. It doesn't allow much time for friendships.”

“I can imagine. International crime doesn't allow you to stay in one place very long, does it?” Lydia almost regretted the cruelty in her tone.

Allie rested one hand over the other, staring down at them for several moments. When she lifted her eyes back toward Lydia, her voice was quiet but direct. “
You
seem to have found a way.”

Lydia's breath quickened at the reference to her life as The Fixer. Allie had made the connection during her time living under Lydia's protection. It hadn't taken long for Allie to come to the realization that Lydia, her father's mysterious new friend, was indeed The Fixer her father had been hunting the year before.

“Why are you here, Allie?” Lydia forced herself to remain calm.

Allie heaved a heavy sigh. “Once again, I need your help.”

Lydia was again struck with Allie's ability to overlook her previous abuse of everyone who had tried so hard to protect her. She pushed away the instinct to consider various diagnoses that might explain her obvious expectation that despite all the chaos she'd rained down on everyone who loved her, Lydia would stand ready to help her again.

“What is it you want?”

Allie sighed softly, as though steeling herself to make the request. “I'm asking for your support as I try to reestablish a relationship with my family. I pose no threat to anyone. I need you to let my father know that.”

Lydia studied her and contemplated the epic audacity of the woman seated several feet from her. “How in the world do you expect me to do that?”

Allie's smile was hopeful. “You're the only one who can. I haven't been the daughter of Mort Grant's dreams. How's that for an understatement? The last time we visited, I used him. I'll admit that. I told him many lies, and those lies led him to lose face with his colleagues. As such, it's highly unlikely my father would believe me when I tell him the truth. And the truth is that I miss my family. I want us to be close again. But he would believe you. In many ways, you're the daughter he deserves.” She paused. “He loves you.”

Lydia balked at her description of Mort's feelings for her. “He's seen the video, Allie. The video of that little girl's death. The death you ordered.”

Allie was silent for several moments. Lydia waited to see if she'd offer a denial or feign ignorance of the crime all together. But what Allie finally said stunned her.

“That girl was Chris Novak's daughter.” Allie's voice was as calm as if she was describing the weather she'd encountered on her drive to Lydia's home. “Chris was the local manager of an operation under my control.”

“Your father told me about the prostitution ring you ran. He knows everything.”

Lydia wasn't sure if the flash she glimpsed in Allie's eyes was shame or rage. It disappeared too swiftly for further assessment. “Then he knows Chris was using the women in my employ as sacrifices in snuff films. It was an enterprise I did not, nor would ever, condone. Young women died as a result of Chris's behavior. I demanded he stop on more than one occasion. Each time he ignored me. I couldn't allow innocent women to continue to be killed. I had to do something to stop it.” She gave Lydia a firm, unwavering stare. “You would have done the same.”

Lydia steeled herself again at Allie's reference to The Fixer's activities. She was right. Lydia
would
have done something to stop those snuff films from continuing. But she never would have harmed an innocent in order to stop the guilty. Allie didn't know that Delbe Jensen, the last of Allie's “employees” killed, had been a patient of Lydia's. And no one knew she
had
done something to ensure the man behind the snuff films would never make another.

“You know it's the truth, Lydia.” Allie's blue eyes softened again. “I miss my family. My work finds me in a position of what some would call power. I…” She paused as though thinking of the right word. “I
supervise
a great number of people and manage a significant financial enterprise. As you can imagine, people treat me in whatever way they need to to stay on my good side. But that's not real love.” She looked away for a moment. “I haven't felt that since Patrick, actually.”

And look how well that turned out for him,
Lydia thought.
Dead at the hands of a murderer you sent. A murderer you then took as a lover.

“I have a lot to offer my family,” said Allie, justifying her outrageous request. “Financial security. Travel. Access to a world they'd never be able to experience without me standing next to them.”

For an instant, Lydia felt sympathy for Allie. They were alike in some ways. Both lived in a dangerous and lonely world. Both had constructed that world based on their own decisions and behaviors.

But I'm not like you, Allie. I don't hurt for personal gain.
I don't hurt for sport.
Lydia looked around her exquisite home, then shook her head at her own hypocrisy.

“I can't do it, Allie.” Lydia kept her voice level. She understood she was in no position to judge. “What's going on between you and your father has to remain between the two of you. Talk to Mort. Tell him your plans. Tell him what you need and listen, really listen, to what he needs from you. He loves you, Allie. Despite everything, I know he does.”

“You're saying
no,
then.” Allie stood and took her trench coat from the sofa's arm.

Lydia stood, too. She nodded. “I'm saying I can't…run interference for you.”

Allie held Lydia's gaze. She reached into the pocket of her trench coat, pulled out a small square box, and handed it to Lydia. Lydia opened it and bit her bottom lip to keep from reaching behind her back for the Beretta. She'd seen the medal nestled in the box before.

It belonged to Oliver Bane.

Lydia felt the memories rush over her. She'd seen the medal in Oliver's house. He'd been awarded it years earlier by the Washington Association of Sheriffs and Police Chiefs for his work in successfully prosecuting a statewide cartel of meth producers. It was a prized possession of his—a reminder that sometimes, just maybe, the good guys could win.