She Can Run (24 page)

Well, he remained determined to help them, despite her lack of cooperation. Just made his job more difficult. If someone had gone to the trouble to kidnap James Dieter and burn down his bar in order to get to Beth, then she was in even more danger than he’d realized. And the possibility that Dieter had divulged her location just upped the risk to DEFCON two.

Jack glanced at the still-black window. As soon as dawn broke, he was calling Sean about the new security system. Sean had put in an order for all the necessary parts and had blocked off several days the following week for his company to do the installation. A week suddenly seemed like a very long time.

Sean should also have the information on Beth’s past for him. With all the information Jack had put together, his cousin hadn’t thought that uncovering Beth’s real identity would be very difficult. How many ex–minor league baseball players turned firemen could have died in auto accidents in 2003?

Wes might have found the information faster, but Jack didn’t want to involve the department. Too many eyes, and paperwork left trails.

Jack glanced at the corner of the computer screen. Two hours till dawn. He closed Windows and shut down the computer. Then he selected one of his uncle’s—no wait, his—favorite Dominican cigars and snipped off the end with a cutter. Tucking a lighter in his pocket, he picked up his scotch and left the study. A minute later he slipped through the French doors. Pulling the dripping cover from a patio chair, he settled into the deep cushion and propped his aching leg up on the table.

He set his drink on the bronzed metal table and lit his cigar. The darkness was alive with chirping crickets, and the soft babble of the creek carried on the breeze across the back lawn. No honking horns interrupted his thoughts. No sirens floated on the night air. He sipped his drink and puffed his cigar. The flavors blended on his tongue and rose into his sinuses.

He rested his head on the back of the chair and glanced up at the sky. Caught in the soft breeze, gray clouds gave way to moonlight. Despite his frustration, the tension melted from his muscles. Jack scanned the expansive lawn, the intricate stone-work of the patio, and the old but comfortable furniture. It was all a far cry from the tiny balcony off his shabby apartment, which had been home to a single white plastic chair, an ancient rusted hibachi, and a dead plant.

An owl hooted from the woods beyond the yard and out-buildings. He closed his eyes and pictured the yard as it had looked in the summers of his youth. Rows of flowers had lined the beds in front of neatly trimmed shrubs. The lawn had been a deep, Irish green. Down by the garage his uncle had maintained a precisely measured horseshoe pit. Canoes, kayaks, and fishing gear had filled the boathouse. Dawn often found Jack and Quinn paddling through the mist over the glassy lake. Sean, five years younger, tagged along when he got old enough.

Despite the fact that Danny never married or had children of his own, he kept the estate ready for his nephews. Jack had spent every summer of his childhood with his uncle.

The decision flooded over him with the memories. He would bring it all back. Every blade of grass, every colorful bloom would be restored to its former glory. His nieces and nephews deserved to have the same memories.

In the darkness, he raised his glass in silent toast to his uncle, who was much more astute than Jack ever knew.

Here’s to you, Uncle Danny. Thanks
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

In the final weeks of summer, darkness fell earlier every day, as if the season itself were tired and in a hurry to be over. The soft evening light that lasted until nine o’clock in June faded before eight as September approached. By ten o’clock, night had fallen in earnest. Mary Ann steered her ancient Corolla through the last stoplight in town and turned onto the country road toward home. Her arches protested the extra half shift the manager had forced her to work after he’d fired the other waitress on duty for dropping a loaded tray. Carl hadn’t been nicknamed “The Prick” by accident. He’d earned it. Carl didn’t usually bother Mary Ann though, as her husband intimidated her boss at every opportunity.

Thoughts of Robert and home perked her up. She couldn’t wait to take a hot bath. Her husband would pour her a glass of wine and rub her feet. Maybe they’d work on making that baby tonight if she didn’t fall asleep first.

Ten minutes from home, Pink’s latest faded into Nickelback’s “If Today Was Your Last Day.” Mary Ann turned up the radio and was singing along when the steering wheel began to pull in her hands. She rolled down her window a few inches to hear a familiar
whump, whump, whump
.

Damn. She did not need this right now.

She pulled over to the shoulder of the dark road and got out of her old Toyota, circling around the front of the car to examine the front right tire. Giving in to a fleeting childish temper tantrum, she planted a solid kick on the flat rubber. She pulled her cell out of her pocket and held her breath as she illuminated the display. Reception was spotty on this stretch of road. Shoot. No bars. So much for her network.

The damp night air chilled her skin, raising goose bumps. Insect noises echoed from the surrounding woods. An owl screeched, and Mary Ann jumped. There wasn’t anything dangerous to humans out there in the forest, but still…Better get this done and get home. If she didn’t show up in the next thirty minutes, Robert would come looking for her. His protectiveness was legendary.

She circled around to the rear of the vehicle and opened the trunk. After lifting the rubbery carpet out of the way, she reached for the tire iron.

A car engine approached. She straightened and turned toward the sound. Headlights sped closer along the country lane, pulled to the side, and stopped behind her car. Mary Ann held up her hand and squinted against the glare. A figure exited the car, unidentifiable in silhouette against the bright light. The shadow walked toward her. She exhaled in relief when she saw the familiar face.

“Hey, there, Mary Ann. Can I give you a hand?”

Philadelphia was a beautiful city. Sure, like any other urban center, it had its problems, but this seat of American democracy was infused with history. Visitors could walk through the rooms where the founding fathers debated and wrote the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. From the aged red brick colonial buildings in Old City to the racing sculls at Boathouse Row, Philadelphia’s legacy shone like a patriotic beacon.

James would have enjoyed a few days to view the historic sights. Philadelphia reminded him of why he’d gone to war all those years ago, and what had been at stake. He’d been sent to Vietnam to preserve democracy. All those antiwar protesters could kiss his hairy old ass. Forty years might have passed, but the way he’d been treated when he’d returned still burned him. Bunch of commies.

But what really stuck in his throat was men like Baker, who used their position in government for their own gain and shit on people in the process. James took such acts of selfishness as a personal betrayal. He’d shed blood for this country. He’d watched countless men die protecting its ideals. No one should get away with corrupting it.

So, the sightseeing would have to wait. James had a mission. This visit would be all business.

He made his way to the affluent Main Line region northwest of the city after dark. Congressman Baker’s house was in the old money part of town, where homes all sold in the millions. James cruised down the tree-lined street at a leisurely pace, looking for an inconspicuous place to park his rented sedan. He drove past the congressman’s address without stopping. Mature and stately, the big stone house sat back from the road. Tasteful landscaping lights illuminated the shrubs and flowers lining the facade, which was partially hidden from view by a few massive oaks.

James left the car by a small park down the road, then walked back. He’d brought a cane, and added a stoop to his shoulders and a shuffle to his stride. He did his best to look frail, though the street was dark enough that his appearance didn’t matter much. Nobody really looked at old people.

Ten minutes later he gloved up, crouched behind a shrub, and picked the pathetic lock on Baker’s back door. Behind him a patch of woods provided excellent privacy. For an expensive home, the security system was a joke. James bypassed the alarm and entered the commercial quality kitchen in under ninety seconds.

Not bad for an old fart.

According to Baker’s agenda, the congressman would be in Washington until tomorrow afternoon. Then he was taking a long weekend at home. Based on James’s surveillance, he knew the housekeeper arrived around noon and stayed until eight, whether Baker was in residence or not. The gardener showed up at six a.m. So the place was fair game all night.

Here in the back of the house, James risked a quick sweep of his penlight to get the lay of the land. Acres of granite, marble, and stainless steel made the room feel about as inviting as a mausoleum. No need to fine-tooth the kitchen. Baker probably didn’t spend much time in there.

James ambled through the antique-filled living room, which looked more like a museum than a house. He bet nobody had ever put their feet up on the glossy Federal style coffee table or leaned back on that stiff leather settee and cracked a beer. A few photos of Beth were perched on the grand piano. Beautiful as always, but she didn’t look particularly happy in any of them. Newlywed bliss must have faded before the champagne toast. There were only two pictures of the kids.

He moved on to search the rest of the house. Baker was more likely to hide something interesting in the private rooms. A wall safe in the master bedroom yielded a few pieces of jewelry, no doubt the real deal, that James considered pocketing just for the hell of it. But a theft would tip Baker off that someone had been in his house, which would defeat the purpose of tonight’s maneuvers. The study held another safe. His gloved fingers worked their magic. Nothing exciting inside, just a pile of legal documents and a few grand in cash. Not enough to cause any real suspicion. For a guy with this kind of coin, a few thou was pocket change. Couldn’t take the money either. With a resigned sigh, James left the stacks of bills inside the safe.

But the basement proved to be a real treasure trove. James missed Baker’s cache on the first pass. But a second, slower perusal uncovered a well-concealed space underneath the stairs that held a collection of unmarked DVDs. Interesting. He slid two into his pocket for future viewing and swept the rest of the room once more before calling it a night.

He strolled back to his car, stooping his shoulders and walking with a practiced hitch in his gait. No one paid any attention.

Later, back in his elegant room at the Bellevue Hotel, he opened his laptop and slipped in one of the discs. The opening credits read “
Romeo and Julian
.”

He’d just confirmed his theory about Baker’s secret; now if only he could prove it.

With a click on the X, he closed the media player.

Beth must have discovered that her husband preferred other men. Must have been a hell of a surprise. He thought of her skittish behavior. Or maybe not. Powerful men with secrets were dangerous. Regardless, James needed some real proof. A couple of gay porn DVDs in the congressman’s basement didn’t prove anything. Hell, Baker would just claim they belonged to the gardener. And if the Mexican immigrant wanted to keep his green card, he’d dance out of the imaginary closet in yellow chiffon if his employer asked him to.

No, he needed real evidence of the congressman’s sexual preference. He wanted Baker by the short hairs. If James’s suspicions were right, that look he’d seen between Baker and his aide hadn’t been one of the boss-employee variety. Now, if the congressman was taking a long weekend off, what were the chances his boy toy might accompany him? Pretty damned good.

Going up against the congressman was dangerous business, but James didn’t care. He was old. Beth had her whole life ahead of her, and he’d do everything in his power to make sure she got to live it. If it was his time, so be it. As the saying went, he’d rather go out with a bang than a whimper, anyway. If that happened, he’d just have to make sure he took the congressman with him.

He needed to catch up with Beth soon. The visions were gaining clarity every day, but it still felt like he had some time. Hopefully enough time to get what he needed. He’d spend the weekend right here, with a telephoto lens aimed at the congressman’s window.