Tell Me No Lies (28 page)

Mason smiled tightly. "Pretty much. Determined to clear her father's name at least."

"And get her revenge."

'That, too."

They stood in silence, the breeze making the water gurgle against the bank.

Hank's gut churned. "She's going to do this, isn't she? With or without us." "Probably."

Damn. He was afraid of that.

"I've seen her with Petrov. She's right he's... smitten."

"Unlike you?"

Hank turned his head. Mason was scrutinizing him with a dispassionate gaze that stripped Hank of pretense and exposed everything he wanted to hide. Even from himself.

He looked away. "She'll need help."

"She'll need someone who isn't emotionally involved."

Hank squinted out over the gleaming water in front of him. How well he knew the dangers of getting too close. Of not thinking clearly, of response time slowed to a crawl, of doubt and indecision, and the gamble of luck. Not mat he had much choice. She'd rolled the dice and it had come up him. She could die with his help, but she could also die without it. Besides, he still had a case to solve. One last bad guy to catch. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't make himself walk away.

"That's tough. She'll have to settle for you. And me."

A slow smile crept across Mason's face. "I've still got contacts. I'll arrange to get some men out here."

"We'll need audio surveillance."

"I can handle the wires, too."

"Good. It's too dicey to involve the department. As it is, I'm going so far out on a limb I'm sitting on air." Glumly, Hank turned to gaze back at the cabin, where Alex's shadow was outlined in the front window. "This is a bad idea, Mason."

"I know."

"Then why are we doing it?"

"Because we're all she's got."

Mason clapped him on the back and trudged to the cabin. Hank took out his cell phone and called Parnel.

It was just past midnight and the lieutenant answered in a sluggish voice.

"It's Bonner."

Parnell asked him to hold while he took the call in another room. A minute later, he was back. "Okay, Hank." His voice had shaken off the sleep and sounded keen and alert. "Where are your

Instead of answering, be asked Parnel about the shooting at Alex's house.

"We sent over a team. They didn't find much. Shooter was gone but trashed a couple of bedrooms. The place was a mess. Any idea what they might have been looking for?"

Oh yeah, he had a good idea. But he didn't say so. "I'm working on it. How about our guys? Did they find anything useful? Brass? Prints?"

"No prints and no shell casings. This guy is slick."

Damn. When were they going to catch a break?

"Where are you now?" Parnell asked again.

"I've got Alex stashed. She's safe."

"Bring her in. We can use a rotation of uniforms if you think she needs round-the-clock protection."

"She'll never agree. Too many people who could talk. To say she's skittish is an understatement. She's good here. I've got some help."

"What kind of help?"

Hank hesitated.

"What kind of help, Hank? Where are you? At what point are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

Hank pictured his boss's face, with its whip-smart eyes. He didn't imagine Parnell was happy about any of this. "When it's over."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"You wouldn't believe it if I did tell you."

"Did your hunch about her connection to the Kole murder pan out?"

"In more ways than one. Let's just say you can take Klimet off the Hudson Valley task force on the convenience store robberies."

Parnell was silent. Hank was positive his boss wasn't happy about what he was hearing.

"You're way out of procedure here, Hank."

"I know." He gazed at the lake, at the dark shadows of boats rocking against their docks. He knew what he had to do, but the words stuck in his throat. "Cut me loose if you have to. It's only four days short."

"Dammit, Hank."

"Hey, what's one less dick in the grand scheme of things?" He spoke lightly, but the words wrenched like a chain pulling out his heart. Funny. He couldn't wait to be free, and now that the time had come it actually hurt. Christ, he was a fucked-up mess.

"Look, Hank, this is bullshit and you know it. You're a good cop. I don't want to lose you. But right now I've had it up to here with you. I'm running blind. I don't know what the hell you're up to, except it involves a key player in this town's recovery. It's not just your job on the line here. It's mine, too. Not to mention the whole damn town. Now haul your ass down here and fill me in."

"Sorry, sir. Can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

He picked his words carefully. "I don't know what's going to happen. Could be okay. Could be a bad pile of shit. You don't want to get your feet dirty. Cut me loose. If things go wrong, the heat's on me and the department's in the clear."

"You got it all figured out, don't you? I'd like to say I'll have your badge for this, but you've already thrown it in my face."

There was a beat of silence. He liked Parnell. It was hard disappointing him.

"What are you trying to prove, Hank?"

"Just trying to keep all those balls in the air."

"I
think it's something else. What, I don't know, except that you don't have anything to prove. Not to me or anyone. And especially not to yourself. You got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"You coming in?"

"No, sir."

Parnell swore softly, but all he said before disconnecting was, "Watch your back."

Hank flipped the cell phone shut. For a smart guy Parnell was dead wrong. Hank had everything to prove. And he was scared to death to do it.

***

Yuri knocked on the penthouse door, flushed with excitement.

Petrov answered it, his silk robe flashing black and silver as he moved. "What happened?"

"What you wanted. A few broken windows, and a little something extra. A small shoot-out with the locals."

"Who?"

"The detective. Bonner. She was also there."

"Casualties?"

"Nyet."

"Good. A little fear stimulates the system, but we don't want our dear Miss Baker out of the picture. Yet. Soon she will show us whether or not she can be trusted." "She won't have to." Yuri threw down a set of photographs, proud at his accomplishment. "You can call off Dashevsky. I took the liberty of conducting a search. She's Baklanov's daughter all right."

***

Hank and Mason split the night watch, Hank taking first shift and Mason snoozing in his beat-up leather chair. Riven with the sharp suspicion that he couldn't keep Alex safe and the unbearable weight of trying, Hank couldn't have slept anyway.

Sometime between two and three, headlights cut across the cabin window, and Mason was instantly awake. He took one careful look out the window and signaled Hank to open the door.

The newcomer had a long, rat-shaped face and appeared to be older than Mason, who towered above him. "Kiley!" Mason greeted him with a smile and an outstretched hand. "Thanks for coming." He turned to Hank. "Our soundman. Local law," he said to Kiley, indicating Hank.

Kiley grunted a dismissive greeting, gaze already working the room. A wizened, scrawny scrap of a man, he didn't look like he could find his way through a phone book, let alone a complicated audio surveillance schematic. A pair of huge black-rimmed glasses sat on his pointy nose and a large metal suitcase swung from his hand.

He dropped the suitcase with a thud. "What do you got?"

"Two rooms," Mason said. "Here and there." He nodded toward the bedroom, where Alex slept

Kiley stepped farther into the cabin and turned a measured circle to see it from all angles. A man of no words, he returned to his case, knelt beside it with the energy of a far younger man, and popped it opened. Pulling out switches and fuses, cable, wire, and tools, he placed everything in precise piles on the floor. It was like watching a circus clown car empty. More stuff came out than the case seemed able to hold.

Starting in the kitchen, he moved to the living area, then to the bedroom, where he worked without waking Alex. Hank and Mason vacated each room to accommodate him, but though they watched constantly, he said nothing to them.

Instead, he muttered to himself, grumping about outdated circuits and used equipment, about retirement and being kept out of the loop. He worked steadily, fueled by the endless cups of coffee Mason shoved into his hand.

"Where'd you dig him up?" Hank whispered at one point to Mason.

"Best sound man I ever worked with. Forced into retirement ten years ago."

By six he was finished, by six-fifteen he'd pointed out the five hidden microphones one in the kitchen, two in the living area, one in the bedroom, and one in the bathroom, just in case someone needed privacy for a phone call. By six-forty-five he'd taught them how to turn on the recorder, which he'd hidden inside one of Mason's coolers, using the switch he'd disguised as a fishing reel and attached to one of the rods against the wall. He was gone by seven, a phantom chugging away in a 1972 Chevy Nova.

Hank stared after him, then turned slowly to examine the walls and floorboards for signs Kiley had been there, but the man had made the wiring disappear in plain sight.

Mason looked on, amused. "Told you he was good."

Sleep seemed an impossibility, but it
was Mason's turn to stand watch. Hank sank into the recliner, closed his eyes, and must have drifted off because when he opened them again the sun was blazing through the front windows and the smoky tang of bacon lingered in the air.

"Morning." Mason handed Hank his service weapon, which they'd each carried in turn.

"No trouble?"

Mason shook his head. "Peaceful as a snowfall."

"Where's the countess?"

Mason nodded toward the closed bedroom door. "Changing. I gave her an old pair of pants and a shirt. She's going to need some clothes."

Hank stood and groaned as muscle and bone realigned themselves. His head felt thick, so he slogged to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. The caffeine went down hard and fast, a jolt that helped wake him. "You tell her about the surveillance?"

Mason nodded. 'Taken care of. She knows where the switch is and how to turn it on. I'm heading out. Just waited for you to finish getting your beauty sleep. Can you handle things here for a day or two?"

An evil wind clawed up Hank's back. He didn't want Mason leaving him alone with her. Too much responsibility. Too much could go wrong. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"We don't have a choice. I need to round up a few people, and I don't want to do it over the phone."

"How many people?" Alex stood in the doorway, a pair of prehistoric khakis sagging over her hips and rolled up at the ankles. A faded flannel shirt, knotted loosely at her waist, swam on her.

"Two. With me and Hank that gives us four. The cabin is small. One man per wall should cover it."

She nodded calmly. He would have thought she planned for war every day. "I'll need supplies. Champagne, fruit, caviar. And some decent clothes." She rolled up her shirtsleeves. "I can't seduce Miki Petrov in this."

Coffee roiled in Hank's stomach. She looked sleep-tousled, and appealing, and the thought of her and Petrov made him nauseous. "You're not going to seduce him at all. He won't give you time."

She straightened her shoulders, an imperial gesture that came through, despite the clown-sized clothes. "I'm not going to argue about this all day."

"Of course not, Your Highness."

She smiled. "I'm too happy."

The smile transformed her face into something radiant and luminous. Stunned, Hank stared at her. "Happy? What the hell are you happy about?"

Before she could answer, Mason spoke. "You two kids work this oat when I'm gone." He poured coffee into a thermos and started for the door.

"Wait. Let me give you a list of things I need." Alex grabbed a paper towel and used a pencil hanging from a string near the phone to compose a list. "Make sure the champagne is French and the caviar Russian. Miki is very particular."

"Just write it all down."

The effort took longer than it should, and Mason growled at the delay.

"You can't possibly need all that."

"Trust me, I'm only skimming the surface." She handed him the paper. "If I think of anything else, I'll call."

"Anything else?" He skimmed down the list "I don't think there's anything else in the Western Hemisphere." He pointed to an item. "What are ... tap pants?"

Alex crossed her arms and pursed her lips, her expression

thoughtful. "You know what?" She slid the list out of Mason's

fingers, tore it in two, and handed Mason the smaller half.

"Why don't I let my secretary buy the clothes? I'll arrange for

her to overnight them. Would that work better?"

Mason winked at her. "You always were smart."

Not smart enough. "Petrov might be watching her," said Hank.

"That's all right," Mason said. And then to Alex, "Tell her to expect a call from a friend. I'll take care of the rest." He opened the door, then turned back to Alex, his face serious. "Don't give Hank a tough time, how. Listen to him. Do what he says." And to Hank, 'TDon't let her stray." Then he was gone.

Alone, Hank gave Alex plenty of room. He had a ridiculous but overwhelming compulsion to run his hands over her and make sure she was all right, which was why he stayed away.

She hummed as she poured herself coffee, and Hank watched, irritated. "For someone about to walk in front of a firing squad, you're in a damn good mood."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She sipped at the coffee, scrutinizing him. The silence between them was familiar; her secrets had always outweighed her frankness.

But something happened this time. She hitched her shoulders in a small shrug as though giving in. "You're the first person I've told the truth to in thirteen years." She sounded anything but defeated. In fact, she sounded almost buoyant. "I feel... free." Face pink with embarrassment, she crossed to the
door and opened it, gazing out at the lake. "I like the feeling. No more secrets. No more lies."