Not This Time (36 page)

“Who killed him?”

Raven didn’t dare admit the truth. “It’ll be in the out-briefing. Initial indications are one of our own went rogue.” Raven hadn’t put a fall girl in place for nothing. If someone went down, it wouldn’t be her. The way things were shaping up, it seemed that preparation was wiser than originally anticipated. In fact, she could kill two birds with one stone.
You’re nobody’s fool
. Raven had to move up or out in the organization, and Jackal and Phoenix clearly were angling to position Phoenix as Raven’s replacement. That was not going to happen. Raven’s future would be secured.

“Can you use Tack Grady?”

“He’s fine for political purposes but incompetent at this type of thing.” She checked the yard; she was still alone. “I’m handling it myself.”

“Are you telling me there’s jeopardy of a compromise?”

Foolish question. There were always risks of compromise. “Mine or the mission’s?”

“Either.”

Her position with the locals guaranteed her acceptance; none suspected she was Raven. If not for Nora, she could have remained active here indefinitely. Doubt niggled. Had Nora told anyone her suspicions? Unlikely, though she had been about to. She clearly deduced the truth at her apartment, but when Tack snipped the phone line, it had been ringing; no one had answered. Nora tried to out her. That infuriated Raven. “I have no immediate compromise concerns, but delivering the target alive is no longer an option.” She was in too tight with Jeff.

“Eliminate her then.” He switched subjects. “Has Phoenix emerged?”

“Not yet. He didn’t retrieve the money from the river or the Gulf.” She didn’t like having to report anything less than a hundred percent success on
one of her missions, but considering she wanted Phoenix to fail to ruin his credibility, it wasn’t completely painful.

“This mission is taking too long, Raven. The board is increasingly concerned …”

“Everything is under control. I just need a little time.”

“How much time?”

“Ten days.” Far more than she needed.

“Whatever is unresolved in a week, destroy, and shut Dead Game down.”

“Shut it down?” In twenty years, she’d never shut down an operation.

“Yes.” He grunted. “That village has become a bane to us—and one more thing.”

“Yes sir?” If she shut down Dead Game, her future couldn’t be bleaker.

“Do not disappoint me again.”

“No sir.” She knew that tone for the warning it was. She’d used it herself many times. Fail and she’d be terminated. “Raven out.”

18

A
bad feeling dragged at Beth’s stomach.

She sat silently as Joe drove to Marietta, following Sam’s e-mail draft directions to the estate he believed belonged to Robert’s parents. Looking out the window, she saw nothing that should incite dread. The Martins’ was an exclusive, old-money neighborhood filled with huge magnolia trees, manicured lawns, and stately old houses. Calm and serene.

“If Robert’s parents live here, he had to be a silver-spoon kid.” Beth removed her sunglasses and looked more closely at the gracious homes.

“Looks like.” Joe pulled close to the curb. “This is it.”

Beth took a deep breath. “Are we walking into the lions’ den?”

“Maybe.” Joe removed the keys. “You take the lead and I’ll back you up as needed.”

“You’re the pro.”

“Yes, I am. And we’re dealing with southern parents about their child. Woman to woman is our best bet for getting maximum information. You relate on a whole different level.”

“Better than a pro?”

“Frankly, no. This is just more expedient.” He wrinkled his nose. “You’re fretting. Don’t. Just be yourself. I’m here and I’ll do my part, but we’ll get what we need sooner through you.”

“Is that an attempt to avoid emotion?” When he frowned, she added, “Just curious, not judging.”

“Sha, I’m all about emotion with you. This is logic based on scientific study—and not knowing if the Martins are ordinary people or in with NINA.”

“Ah, the whole truth dawns.”

If he used interrogation techniques on them and they were NINA, they’d spot them immediately. He was good—had an amazing dossier—but he was human.

“Gorgeous and bright. Heady combination.” He squeezed her arm. “Takes my breath away.”

“Focus, Joseph.” She admonished him but couldn’t muster any heat. “Remember the lions’ den.”

“Right.” His expression sobered and a distant look replaced the warmth in his eyes.

They could be NINA?
Beth tried to calm down and left the car. At Joe’s side, she walked up the old brick walkway, circled a fountain in its center, then stepped under the covered porch to the front door and rang the bell.

A maid answered, wearing a traditional black-and-white starched uniform. “Good evening. May I help you?”

Joe told her who they were, then asked, “May we have a word with Linda or James Martin?”

Beth hid her surprise.

The maid asked them to wait, then closed the door.

“Martin?” she whispered to Joe. “I thought this was Robert’s parents.”

“It is.” He looked at her, about to explain, but the door opened.

“I’m sorry,” the maid said. “Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Martin are available.” She started to close the door.

Martin
. That had to have come from his intelligence sources. Beth stretched out a hand, stopped her. “Wait. Please. Just five minutes.” She let the woman see her worry. “I’m begging them. We’ve come all the way from Florida. It’s so important.” She fished a business card from her purse. “Here, give them my card. They can check me out online or I can give them Detective Meyers’s phone number. He’s a police detective in Seagrove Village, Florida. That’s where we’re from.” She shoved the card into the woman’s hand. Maybe with all that,
with her website and the
ichthus
symbol on her card, they’d at least give them a chance. “I could be killed. Tell them that. It’s true, I swear it.”

The maid’s eyes stretched wide. She glanced at the card, measured Beth, and then nodded. “I’ll tell them. You wait here.”

The door closed and the lock clicked into place. Beth’s heart sank.

“She isn’t sure if we’re honest, criminals, or just crazy.”

Beth frowned at Joe. “Do you blame her? It’s what we’d think.”

Minutes ticked by. Three, then five. Finally the door opened and the maid showed them in. “They’re in the library. This way, please.”

The turn-of-the-century mansion was in pristine condition, and the architectural details were gorgeous. Beth turned into the library, a masculine room filled with shelves of books lining all the walls. In the center of the open space, two sofas faced each other, and on the east and west stood leather wingback chairs. A third that matched sat near a window, and from its worn patina reflecting in the lamplight, it was someone’s favorite and had been for many years.

Beth skirted a bust of Shakespeare on a bronze column and saw the Martins. Robert’s resemblance was striking; James and Linda Martin were definitely his parents. In twenty years, Robert would look exactly like his father. His mother was tiny, a fragile-looking woman with silver hair and tender blue eyes, but Robert was clearly her son.

“Thank you for seeing us.” Beth extended her hand. “I’m Beth Dawson and this is—”

“Jared Blanchard,” Joe said.

Beth wasn’t prepared for that name but didn’t dare let it show.

“Please, sit down.” Mr. Martin’s tone was formal and stiff, his gray hair freshly clipped and neat. He wore a tan summer sweater that should be yet wasn’t rumpled, as if it knew he wouldn’t tolerate a crease.

“May Selina get you a beverage?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Martin,” Beth said. “We apologize for intruding, but it’s critical to my well-being that we talk with you about your son, Robert.”

Her composure melted, Linda Martin shot a worried look at her husband. He went to her side, stood with a protective hand on her shoulder. “Robert is no longer mentioned in our home, Miss Dawson.” Mrs. Martin telegraphed how hard that loss was for her.

“I’m sorry. Please, may I explain the necessity?”

Beth waited for their approval. Joe seemed uncertain they would agree. That instilled doubt in her. If they refused, then what?

The Martins shared a look. Mr. Martin nodded. “Very well, Miss Dawson.”

Any hope for cooperation rested with total honesty. Otherwise, they wouldn’t reveal a thing. She hated the pain the truth about Robert would inflict.
The facts, as objectively as possible
. Resolved, Beth began with Robert meeting Sara in Atlanta.

When she was done, Mr. Martin stared at the floor for a long moment. “Our son is capable of great evil, Miss Dawson. He is driven by money—it’s what divided us. He took advantage of a woman whose husband was terminally ill. The police came here looking for him. When he phoned, we told him to stay away from us.”

Mrs. Martin wrung her hands. “You must understand. Robert has always been in trouble. We tried everything, but nothing worked. When we refused to help him evade police, he threatened us.”

“Did he escape?” Joe asked.

“As far as we know.” Mr. Martin stuffed a hand in his pocket. “We haven’t heard from him again. For a few years, we had no idea where he was, but then my wife saw a photograph of him in the society page with your friend Sara Jones.”

Sara Jones-Tayton
. Why were they refusing to acknowledge Sara? Even if their son was a slug, she was their daughter-in-law. Mrs. Martin projected a strong, controlled image, but her son’s heinous acts broke her heart; it showed in every weary line on her face.

“We heard about the kidnapping, of course—Sara was on the news all
day—and then that Robert was … dead.” Fat tears rolled down Mrs. Martin’s cheeks.

Her husband pretended not to see them and Beth and Joe followed his lead. Mr. Martin sat on the sofa across from them, as if Robert’s death had physically knocked his legs out from under him. Their raw pain choked Beth up.
Help them, Lord. They’re so hurt …

Silence fell. Long recuperative minutes were needed and taken.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” Joe asked.

Mr. Martin sucked in a ragged breath, his agony in his eyes, in the slump of his shoulders. “Over three years.” He blew out a staggered breath. “Our son disappointed us in many ways, but after hearing about this current situation, I’m convinced we never really knew him. Even at his worst, we never considered him capable of anything like … this.”

“James,” his wife said, “we tried everything.”

“Yes.” Anger seeped into Mr. Martin’s voice. He focused on Joe. “Robert had everything and appreciated nothing. In his eyes, the world belonged to him and having it all was his right.”

“I’m afraid he clung to that arrogance,” Joe said.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mr. Martin looked beyond the wall and into the past. “We taught him privilege carries responsibility, but he refused to learn that and much more.”

Mrs. Martin entered the conversation. “It wasn’t a matter of intellect. Robert was very bright. We insisted he do something worthy to help the community. He was wonderful with the patients.”

The patients? Beth alerted.

Mrs. Martin went on before she could ask. “With him, it was always a lack of character. Robert consistently made unwise choices that hurt others. He hurt himself as well—we have no idea why, though we’ve spent many hours speculating.” She tilted her head. Her silver hair gleamed in the light. “He was a medical student, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Beth said, seizing the opening to return to this. “He’s very private.”

Mrs. Martin lifted her eyebrows. “For good reason, considering his crimes.”

“That was the crux in his fall from grace.” Mr. Martin sat back, lifted his glasses, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Robert thought he was above having to do the work required of him as a student. His attitude was arrogant and ironic. Of all the students in his class, he was one of a precious few not working his way through medical school. We handed it to him, so he had more time to do the work and study than most in his class. Instead, he cheated.”

“It was an absolute disgrace.” Mrs. Martin sniffed.

“To him, Linda, not to us,” Mr. Martin reminded his wife. “Robert followed the path of least resistance. It was easier to cheat than to study, so he cheated. In his mind, he was above the rules. They only applied to others.”

Beth glanced at Joe. A medical student could draw blood. A shiver crept up her spine.

“So he was caught cheating?” Joe asked.

“Yes. During that ordeal we discovered he was taking advantage of an elderly woman.” Mr. Martin frowned, his brows meeting in the center of his forehead. “That’s when we realized how serious a problem his arrogance had become.”

“It ruined him.” Mrs. Martin pulled a hanky out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “We just couldn’t believe it.”

They were unassuming. It wouldn’t occur to them to think as Robert did. He’d devastated them. Still devastated them.

Mr. Martin stood and paced behind the sofa, the discussion cutting too close to the bone. “We could have donated a new building and the dean would have allowed Robert to stay in medical school. I’m ashamed to say Linda and I discussed it.”