Shit!
If she'd dropped anything else, she would've told him to keep it. She didn't want to speak to him right now, didn't want to let him know she'd been crying. But her wallet contained all her money and credit cards, as well as her driver's license. She had to get it back, and the sooner the better.
Great way to top off the evening, Jane.
Lowering the window, she kept her face averted while he handed it to her.
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"Thank you," she said, but she knew her voice sounded far too polite. She added a
"Sorry" that only made it worse as she began to roll the window back up. She wanted to get out of the lot before he noticed her tears. But a quick glance showed his stricken expression: it was already too late.
She wondered if she should try to explain. She would've tried, but she wasn't sure she could. He hadn't done anything wrong. These were
her
issues, issues she'd been dealing with for years. He couldn't take the blame for that. Anyway, she had no business crying. At least she was alive. At least she had Kate. That was enough.
Plenty of other victims weren't so lucky. She should be grateful, not wallowing in self-pity because she didn't know how to act like a normal human being anymore.
Determined to put this behind her, to forge ahead as she'd done since Oliver's death, she shifted into reverse.
Forget and move on.
That was the name of the game.
Don't look back.
Those who did never escaped.
"Jane, wait a minute! I'm sorry," he called after her, but she didn't stop. She backed out of the parking space and drove away.
Malcolm had given Marcie and Latisha some sleeping pills so he wouldn't have to hear from them tonight. It was a relief to know they'd be out for a good twelve hours, that they wouldn't wake and start scheming against him. Maybe kidnapping had taken the thrill of wielding his badge to greater heights--they'd done most everything he told them to with a "Yes, sir"--but he should've let them go after scaring them senseless. That was what he usually did. Playing cop made for an enjoyable evening. He could order people around, act like the Big Man, and no one ever questioned him. The prostitutes on Franklin Boulevard were especially impressed when he told them he was undercover, so impressed they often gave him whatever he wanted for free.
Officer Boss.
Hearing people call him that cracked Malcolm up, which was why he'd chosen the name.
But he'd taken things too far with Marcie and Latisha. Now that he'd have to kill them, it was no longer a game.
After lowering the volume on the TV, Malcolm dialed the cell phone number he'd kept in his wallet. It rang once before he got a recording: "Please enjoy the music while your party is reached."
A country song came on.
Trying to quell his impatience, Malcolm tapped the arm of the couch. He'd have some answers soon, he told himself. It was the middle of the night. Pam 126
Wartle had to be home.
But Pam didn't pick up. From "You Look Good in My Shirt" he was transferred to voice mail.
With a curse, he hung up and dialed again. Not only was it late, it was during the work week and she had a family as well as a regular nine-to-five job.
Where the hell was she?
Finally he heard a sleepy voice. "Hello?"
He tried to gauge whether he had the right person. It was definitely a female--but was it Pam or her daughter?
"Hello?"
Malcolm let his breath go. It was Pam. "Hey."
He could sense the tension in her breathing, even though she spoke only two words. "Hang on."
"Pam?"
Silence.
"Pam!"
At last she responded, but this time her voice was soft and low and he assumed she was hiding in a closet or a bathroom--somewhere her husband wouldn't be able to hear her. "This had better not be who I think it is," she hissed.
"If you're having an illicit affair, it's not your lover. Does that help?"
"No! What the hell are you doing calling me? You swore you'd never contact me again!"
He straightened his uniform. He rarely wore it out of the house--regular clothes and a Kojak light worked better since he no longer had a cop car--but he'd wanted to wear it tonight. It gave him a chance to relive the good times he'd had in the past, reminded him of the power he'd once legitimately held. "Calm down. I blocked my number."
"That's not enough!" she snapped. "I have a husband, kids. I don't want to be forced to explain to them why Mommy's getting phone calls in the middle of the night!"
"Tell them it's job-related. They'll believe you."
"Forensic technicians don't have job-related calls after midnight. That only happens in the movies."
Even on low, the noise from the television was irritating. Malcolm muted it.
"Take it easy. I'll make this quick. I have a question."
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"What could you possibly want from me? We concluded our business over a year ago."
"I need to know what's been going on since I left."
"What do you think? Nothing! It went down just the way we planned it. If something had gone wrong, you wouldn't be walking around a free man."
"I'm free for now, but I can't be sure it will last. I have no idea whether or not I should be looking over my shoulder."
"And I'm supposed to care?" she snarled.
"I can't help wondering what's happening back home."
"As you can tell, I don't give a shit. I've got to go. Don't
ever
call me again."
"Wait! Just one more question."
There was another long silence, but he didn't hear a click, so he spoke up.
"Have you heard of a man named Sebastian Costas?"
"You're kidding, right?"
Her response surprised him. "No. Why would I be kidding?"
"Anyone remotely associated with you has heard of Sebastian Costas."
He gripped the phone tighter. "He's contacted you?"
"He's contacted anyone and everyone who's ever known you. When you got me into this, you didn't tell me I'd have him on my ass every step of the way."
Malcolm didn't react to the accusation in that statement. He was too preoccupied with what her words signified. "He's looking for me, then." He'd been afraid of this. Sebastian had been a thorn in his side from day one....
"What'd you expect? That you could kill his son and he wouldn't mind?
Why'd you have to do that, anyway? You didn't say anything about shooting the boy. You only mentioned Emily."
"What did you
think
would happen to Colton, Pam?"
"You could've left him alive. His father would've taken him."
"His father would've gone after the money."
"You mean like he's doing now? God, I wish I'd never met you."
"It's a little late for that, isn't it? You wanted twenty thousand dollars to pay off your credit cards before your husband found out you'd been shopping again, and I gave you the opportunity to earn it. Now you want to blame
me?"
"I'm hanging up."
"Wait! So everyone knows I'm alive?"
"Sebastian knows. Or at least he's guessed. But the DNA evidence has 128
everyone else convinced you were in that car--so unless he can prove otherwise you're fine."
Except that he was probably doing his damnedest...
"You're lucky your family cremated that body before he started raising hell,"
she added.
Thank goodness his mother had followed through. He'd laid the groundwork several weeks in advance by telling her he wanted to be cremated if anything ever happened to him. But until this moment, he hadn't been sure she'd acted on his request. He'd watched the papers online, but they'd never included this detail. Not even the obituary had mentioned it. And until now he hadn't dared contact Pam, who was the only person on earth who was supposed to know he wasn't dead.
"You're even luckier than I am," he said.
Obviously uncertain how to take this statement, she didn't respond right away. When she did, her tone was wary. "What do you mean by that?"
"What we did saved your marriage, your family. Mine is gone."
"Don't cry on
my
shoulder. You're the reason they're gone. You wanted it.
You could've spared the boy and you didn't."
Because he'd hated Colton almost as much as Colton's father. That boy was all Emily had lived for. "It was the only way our plan could work, and you know it."
"No. You could've taken the money just like you did. Chasing five hundred thousand dollars would be a lot less of a motivation than chasing your child's killer. You might've signed your own death warrant and mine, too."
"Oh, quit sniveling. You were able to pay your bills, weren't you?"
"And you paid for a new life. I hope you're happy with it."
"Up yours." He disconnected, then sat staring at the flickering TV. Damn Pam Wartle. And damn Sebastian Costas. Sebastian and Colton were all Emily could ever talk about. Sebastian never would've treated me this way....
Sebastian
will pay for it. He wants Colton to have whatever he needs.... I'll ask Sebastian for
a list of stocks. Maybe he can help us with some investments.... You ever touch
Colton like that again, and I'll tell Sebastian....
She'd always acted as if Sebastian was tougher, smarter and more dependable than he was. She was proud her son was turning out so much like his father because she'd been in love with her ex. She'd probably been sleeping with him the whole time.
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So why the hell hadn't he shot Sebastian, too? He could've called him up and had him come over to find Emily and Colton, then placed a slug in his head. The bastard deserved it.
Malcolm smiled as he imagined Sebastian's reaction had he been invited to that party--his shock and horror, his heartbreak when he saw his son lying in a pool of blood, his righteous but impotent anger as he faced the barrel of Malcolm's Glock.
But it was just a dream. Malcolm hadn't killed Emily's ex. He'd told himself it was smarter to work quickly and efficiently, smarter not to include anyone else.
The fewer victims, the better his chances of pulling it off.
Too bad. Not killing Sebastian had been a mistake. Now he had to worry, watch his back. And he couldn't have that if he planned to start a new life with Mary.
He needed a clean slate, no one chasing him from the past--which meant he had to deal with Sebastian once and for all.
"Where were you last night?"
Jane's hand froze, her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. The few hours she'd slept had been restless. Between the knowledge of what she'd done with Sebastian, skipping her workout routine and Kate's absence at the breakfast table, it had already been an odd morning. Getting a call from Jonathan made it even more unusual. They spoke at the office whenever they passed each other, but he'd never called her before. And he'd certainly never questioned her whereabouts.
Trying to play it cool, she put her mug down. She didn't want anyone at TLS
to become aware of the fact that she'd slept with someone involved in her first case. Sleeping with Sebastian wasn't a conflict of interest, but it wasn't very professional. She was embarrassed by her own actions, and by the neediness that had caused them. "I went to bed early. Why?"
"At your place?"
His apparent confusion surprised her. She'd missed a call from him late last night, but she hadn't thought much about it. If he was on an important case, either one of his own or one for TLS, he worked around the clock. She'd figured she'd touch base with him when she got to the office. "Of course. Where else would I sleep?"
"I don't know, but you weren't at home."
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"Yes, I was," she argued. "This morning I saw that I missed your call, but I had my phone turned off when you tried to reach me." At least that much was true.
His voice grew firmer. "Jane, I dropped by."
Damn!
What was he doing coming to her house? He'd never done that before. "When?"
"Just after midnight."
"What was so important that you'd visit that late?"
"I was worried about you. I was at The Last Stand using the Internet because my laptop battery is on the blink. Then, out of nowhere, this guy showed up, asking for you. I said I was the only one there, but he demanded I tell him where you live or call you for him. He was angry that your business card doesn't have your cell phone number."
"Who was it?" she asked.
"Said his name was Luther. Wouldn't give a last name."
Latisha's father. As long as she wasn't facing his pit bulls, she could relax. "I know who he is."
"You do?"
"Of course. He's connected to my case."
"He wasn't too happy when he left. On the off-chance he managed to find you, I drove over to make sure you were safe. But you didn't answer the door."
"I must've been sleeping too deeply to hear the bell."
"Come on, Jane. Your car was gone. I was worried enough to cruise the lot several times."
She was making this worse by the second. Jonathan was a private investigator, someone trained to notice details. She should've known better than to bullshit him. She should just tell him the truth--or as much of the truth as she was comfortable revealing. "All right, I was with someone," she admitted. "But please, don't tell David or anyone at TLS. I don't want to deal with this at work."
There was a long silence. "Secrets make me uncomfortable, Jane."
"This isn't a secret. It's my private business. There's a difference."
"If you'd told me you were out with someone when I first brought it up, it would've ended there."
She rolled her eyes. "Jonathan, it's nothing, really. I lied because...because it's none of your concern. I can see whomever I want."
"Jane, that guy who came here last night was dangerous. I'm pretty sure he 131
was on drugs, and I know he was packing a gun. You have to watch out for yourself, especially if you're coming home late."
"He doesn't know where I live. My number's unlisted, so he couldn't find me even if he wanted to."
"There are ways..."
"For people like you. We're talking about a pimp from Oak Park."