Chapter 67
Joe’s back in his room when his cell rings. He glances at the screen and flips open the phone.
“Goodman.”
“It’s Nadar.”
“Hey, Chan.”
Forty-five minutes have passed. Joe has contemplated returning to Clearwater but thinks otherwise. He decides to wait until later on tonight. That way he can surprise Damian, catch him off guard when he least expects it.
“Talk to me,” Joe exclaims.
“I’ve got the information you asked for. You ready?” Chan asks.
Joe sits up, grabbing his memo pad and a hotel pen.
“Shoot.”
“Okay. I managed to get Mr. Rein’s corporate American Express. He’s been busy. Made a trip to Miami a few days ago, and was here in D.C. about three weeks ago—”
“Wait a sec,” Joe interrupts. “Damian was in D.C.?”
“Yes, sir. Stayed two nights at the Radisson, Crystal City.”
“Son of a bitch! He lied to me.” Joe recalls asking Damian if he’d been to D.C. recently. “Sorry, Chan. What else?”
“He purchased a ticket today, Jet Blue, Tampa to D.C. Flight 410. First class. Departed Tampa at eleven fifty-five
AM
, arrived D.C. three-forty this afternoon.”
“Shit! That cocksucker is in D.C. and I’m here? Fuck!”
“Is something wrong, Joe?” Chan asks.
“No, I’m cool. Just thinking out loud,” Joe replies.
“Whatever you say, Joe.” Chan chuckles. “I’ve got some other stuff, mostly routine. Address, license, registration. I’m still checking on other credit cards. I pulled his credit report, and he’s got a ton of credit cards that he uses for six months or a year and then closes. I have a feeling he’s hiding something, but I need more time to be sure.”
“Chan, this is great work. Thank you.”
“Just doing my job, Joe. But you’re welcome.”
“Call me if you uncover anything else,” Joe says.
“Will do.”
Joe ends the call. Speed-dials Kennedy’s new cell and waits impatiently for it to connect.
She doesn’t answer.
Joe snaps his cell shut.
Opens and hits redial.
No luck getting through.
He contemplates leaving a message. But what should he say?
Damian Rein is now in D.C. I need you to be extremely careful. We need to assume this guy is dangerous.
And one more thing.
A body was found earlier today in the Everglades. The police down here think it might be Dawn, but they won’t know for sure until they cross-check DNA.
No.
He can’t leave that in a message.
He hangs up.
Joe gets up and goes for his garment bag.
Time to get back to D.C. ASAP!
Call the front desk, see if the concierge can get him a flight straight back home.
NOW.
Before Damian Rein does something stupid.
Chapter 68
Damian Rein’s head is about to explode.
There’s a dull throb at the base of his skull. It feeds the pain up in his forehead and temples. He’s drained the Tylenol bottle that was in his carry-on. But the Tylenol’s no longer effective.
Tired, pissed off, he’s ready to hurt somebody.
That fucking cop is history.
Amanda’s call gave him a huge jolt.
Joe Goodman. Down in Tampa? Looking for him there?
Incredible.
How long before the detective connects the dots?
The body in the swamp. Identity tracked back to him. Which is why he needs to be here now.
Washington, D.C.
To finish things.
He’ll deal with the cop as soon as he’s done here.
As soon as his work is complete.
It’s all been leading up to this.
A path that he had no control over.
One that he did not choose.
It chose him.
All because of
her.
It’s her fault that he’s here in the nation’s capital, having to deal with this shit instead of being home, in Clearwater, with the woman who used to be his wife.
Damian is sitting in a rental car on Taylor Street. It’s dark. The street is quiet. He watches the Handley house like an owl. He knows someone’s inside. The lights are on. But who’s home?
That bitch, Mocha?
No way to be sure.
And he needs to be sure.
Damian massages his temples with his fingertips. It does nothing to slow the roar inside his head.
He closes his eyes. Sees red behind his eyelids before it passes. Then it’s blackness, like molasses, just the way he likes it.
For a moment he feels untroubled and controlled.
And he can actually think.
A story comes to mind.
One of his favorites.
Once upon a time there was a gentle man who loved his woman.
She meant the world to him. So he made her his wife.
He doted on her. Gave her things she’d never imagined.
A wonderful home. Peace and security. A glorious future stretched before them.
For a while, life was grand.
Magnificent.
How he loved her.
And she loved him back.
But then, something changed. She withdrew, grew secretive.
And those lies.
Those fucking lies did her in.
When she left him, the pain commenced.
It was a pain like no other.
Deep, rampant, out of control.
From that point on it grew like a cancer inside him, devastating him with its poison.
It was never far away, as if he were carrying it around like loose change.
The pain was a tumor.
The pain would kill him.
If he didn’t excise it.
So he did.
The gentle man became a violent man.
Took care of her.
Took care so that she could never hurt another living soul.
Found her living her new, secretive life.
Located her, even though she didn’t want to be found.
Punished her for what had done to him. To
them . . .
And that other bitch is next.
Mocha.
Bitches think they own the world.
Think they can waltz in and out of someone’s life, wreak havoc and harm, and then tiptoe away as if nothing happened.
Well, the gentle man who became a violent man isn’t about to let that shit happen.
Not on his watch.
If he goes down, then so be it.
One way or another, the pain will cease.
He will rip out this throbbing cancer, as God is his witness.
Stomp it to death if he has to.
Then the violent man can once again become a gentle man.
And move on.
The end.
The garage door suddenly opens, bringing Damian out of his reverie.
A sleek black BMW hooks a left into the street and accelerates to the corner.
Damian feels his heat spike.
He spies her behind the wheel as she waits at the light.
Mocha.
Damian takes a slow, steady breath as he eases out from his parking spot.
Eases into the street, taking up position behind her, but not too close.
Heart rate thumping.
Like the pulse in his temples, forehead, and neck.
The light turns green.
Damian steps on the accelerator.
Let the games begin....
Kennedy is at a light on Sixteenth Street.
She glances down at her new BlackBerry on the seat beside her.
Checks her features in the rearview mirror.
Picks up the cell and speed-dials Michael.
The anxiety is there.
In her chest.
She feels like she’s back in high school.
The anticipation of what’s to come sends her stomach into somersaults.
He picks up on the fourth ring.
“Hey, it’s me,” she begins, trying to sound anything but nervous.
“Hi,” he responds.
“I’m running a few minutes behind. I’m on Sixteenth. Just wanted you to know.”
The truth: Kennedy has spent the past hour searching her closet for the right thing to wear.
Didn’t want to overdo it.
Was looking for the right mix of sensuality and practicality.
Wanted her husband to
see
her.
See her in a way he hasn’t in weeks.
In the end she selected a pair of Michael’s favorite jeans that hugged her curves in all the right places.
Knee-high black boots.
Formfitting white turtleneck.
Silver hanging earrings.
A black stone pendant.
Makeup done just right.
Hair flat-ironed down her back, straight out of a Rihanna video.
Yeah. Michael
would
notice her tonight.
She had made sure of that.
“Okay,” Michael says. “We’re just crossing the bridge now. Should be there shortly.”
Kennedy nods.
Considers leaving it at that and ending the call.
But she simply can’t.
She misses him too much.
“Thank you, Michael. For doing this.”
“No problem.”
Actually, it had been Zack’s idea.
He’d been missing the three of them together.
So he suggested they go ice-skating.
As a family again.
Michael wasn’t going to say no to his son.
And Kennedy was beside herself with glee when he’d called with the proposal.
It was a small thing.
Just an hour together—the three of them—out on Michael’s night with Zack.
No dinner, just ice-skating at the outdoor rink not far from his job.
Just the three of them.
Like old times.
Kennedy smiles.
It’s a small thing.
But it’s a start.
Chapter 69
Kennedy parks on Constitution Avenue and checks herself once again in the mirror.
Satisfied, she grabs her BlackBerry and gets out, locking the door with the remote.
The Sculpture Garden rink is a block and a half away, on the corner, across from the National Gallery of Art. The rink is lit up like a carousel, and she can see crowds of people gliding around the ice.
The weather tonight is cooperating. Not too cold, just right for early December in Washington.
She can’t wait to see Zack. Even though she had dropped him off at school only this morning, it feels like a lifetime ago.
For the past few hours she’s been running scenarios through her mind.
Michael will be relaxed and in a great mood. He’ll be happy to see her. He’ll take them out for a late-night snack afterward. Zack will say he wants to sleep in his own bed, and Michael will consent. He’ll follow them home in the Range Rover. Help tuck Zack into bed, and then trail Kennedy to their room, where she’ll undress him, and lead him to bed.
Kennedy smiles.
The thought is alluring.
What she wouldn’t give to put this horrible mess behind her.
Become a family once again.
She’d give anything to have her family back together.
Kennedy angles toward the rink. Couples with their young children are loitering by the entrance, laughing and carrying on, their breath visible in the air.
“MOMMY!”
Kennedy turns and grins.
Zack is stampeding toward her.
Michael stands twenty yards away, smiling as he observes his son. Zack barrels into his mother, who scoops him up in her arms.
“How are you?”
“Good,” Zack answers breathlessly. “This is so cool, don’t you think, Mommy?”
She’s not exactly sure what he’s referring to: the fact that they are out as a family again, or this ice-skating rink, or the fact that he’ll get to stay up late tonight.
Kennedy grins.
“Absolutely! Are you ready to go skating?”
“Yup!”
“Zack, ‘yup’ is not a word. Say ‘yes.’ ”
“Yes, Mommy.”
Michael comes up and says hello.
He’s looking scrumptious in his stonewashed jeans and boots, thin sweater under a sport jacket. She stares for a second longer than she should at the spot where his legs come together.
Spies the bulge, which she knows all too well.
Forces her eyes to creep upward and meet his gaze. Kennedy smiles back.
“Hey. You ready to do this?” she asks innocently.
“Let’s do it,” Michael says.
“All right!” Zack chimes in.
Inside and to the left is the counter where they can rent skates. They go over; Michael speaks to the attendant and fishes out his wallet to pay for the rentals. Moments later they are sitting on a long, narrow bench, lacing up their skates.
Kennedy attends to Zack, then dons her own skates. By the time she’s done, Michael is standing beside her, ready.
They walk carefully toward the ice.
Christmas music is playing.
The trees surrounding the rink are decorated with thousands of tiny white lights.
The moon is rising into a nighttime sky.
“It’s beautiful,” Kennedy murmurs to Michael, who is alongside her.
“Yes, it is.”
Zack gets to the ice first, steps on it unsurely, and once both feet are no longer wobbling, he takes off.
“Zack, wait for us!” Kennedy yells, but her words go unheeded. Michael shakes his head.
“He’s your son,” he muses.
They begin to skate.
Slowly, not in any rush, following the current of folks gliding around the smooth white ice. Overhead the stars are out, twinkling in the moonlight.
“Haven’t done this in a while,” Kennedy says to Michael, who nods silently. She almost adds with a smirk, “There are a few other things we haven’t done in a while,” but holds her tongue.
An African-American couple glides in front of them. They are in their mid-thirties, bundled up, and holding hands.
Kennedy resists the urge to reach out and take Michael by the hand. She’s hoping he is focused on them as well.
Thinking about the connection between two people when they are in love.
The bond that is strong as steel.
And as long lasting.
She hopes her husband is contemplating the same thing she is.
Damian Rein is lacing up his skates.
His long overcoat is heavy from what’s deep in his right pocket. He’s been watching Mocha and Dude for the past twenty minutes.
And their cute little son.
For a moment Damian forgets why he’s here. Instead he simply watches them skate together as a family.
And he considers: This could have been me.
If only she hadn’t turned deceitful and rotten.
It would be him with his family right now.
Under a cheerful moon.
Holiday music playing.
Lights blinking.
But it is not to be.
Damian shakes away the mental picture.
Stands awkwardly and takes a moment to get his balance. Slowly, he makes his way to the ice.
There’s a throng of people out on the ice, and a bunch of youngsters who are showboating, whipping in and out of the crowd like aggressive drivers as they glide on steel.
Plenty of cover.
Plenty of distraction.
Damian steps onto the ice and enters the traffic flow.
He doesn’t glance around or do anything to draw attention to himself.
The Handley family is in front, a good fifty yards away.
Perfect.
Arms held behind him, fingers interlocked, looking completely relaxed, Damian hastens toward them.