The Plot (29 page)

"Did she leave the flight information?"

"Yes.” She handed the paper to him.

He looked at it a moment, picturing the petite, dark haired woman whose entry into his world had changed it so dramatically. Suddenly, he was glad he wouldn't have to report to work tomorrow. “Don't worry, May Lee. I'll get her."

The lines around the woman's eyes smoothed a little, and she nodded. “Thank you, Max. That would be very kind of you.” She started back toward the house, then turned around. “I will always remember your kindness to me-and to Philip,” she said. “And I will pray for you."

"I will pray for you, too, May Lee,” he answered, but she had already started up the path away from him.

Max was waiting by the gate when Cassie emerged from the gangway. Seeing him was like awakening from a bad dream, and she had to fight the urge to throw her arms around him. She smiled and handed him the computer she'd lugged around for days. “What a nice surprise. I thought Jonathon would be here. Have you been waiting long?"

"Seems like a lifetime,” he answered, locking eyes with her. “But, no, not really,” he added after a moment, taking her by the elbow and guiding her toward the baggage claim. “Just about half an hour. How was your flight?"

"It was okay,” she sighed, a little disconcerted by the depth of emotion she'd seen in his eyes. “We were late getting out of Tampa, but everything else went smooth enough."

"Tampa? First you fly to Richmond instead of D.C., and now you say you went all the way to Tampa instead of just catching a flight out of Tallahassee. Aren't you taking a lot of detours?"

"You can't
imagine
how many. But I'll tell you about it later.” She pointed to the suitcase on the conveyor belt. “That's mine there."

Max picked it up and groaned. “Great goodness, woman. What d'ya have in here? Bricks?"

"You'll see. Just as soon as we're somewhere safe."

"And where would that be?” he asked as they threaded their way through the crowd to the outer doors.

She didn't answer until they were outside. The slanting rays of the mid-afternoon sun were blinding, and she raised her hand to shield her eyes. The sight of Max's familiar blue Ford Taurus a short distance away was reassuring-as was the feel of him close beside her as they crossed the parking lot. “I was thinking that I'd like to get a motel room-somewhere out of the way."

He wiggled his eyebrows up and down in a poor Groucho Marx imitation. “Should I plead for my reputation?"

Cassie blushed. “Well, uh, I thought, you know, separate rooms?"

Max grinned. “What a relief. I was beginning to fear for my virtue,” he said as they reached his car.

She smiled back at him.

"I know a nice little place not too far from here,” he added, depositing her suitcase and computer into the trunk. “It's clean, the beds are comfortable, and the restaurant serves home style food."

"Sounds perfect,” she replied, allowing him to help her into the car.

He walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat. As he started the engine and guided the car out onto the highway, Cassie leaned back and closed her eyes. This was the safest she'd felt in what seemed like a lifetime, and she hoped Selena and the others were out of harm's way, too. She felt a pang of guilt for bringing the Feds down on them. She and Selena had been able to just disappear. The rest of them
lived
in that area. Could they just retreat back into the wallpaper of their everyday lives? Maybe, but not Joshua. It had happened at his house. She imagined the scene when the Feds returned to find the house deserted and their men dead. They'd dust for fingerprints and vacuum for other evidence. She doubted they'd find any fingerprints-except Joshua's and Aggie's. And Lourdes'. And
mine. S
he suddenly remembered taking off her gloves in the bedroom while working at the computer. The only question was how long it would take to identify them and follow up. The government had records of everything, everyone.

She thought back to the meeting the cluster had held just before Lourdes drove her and Selena to Apalachicola. Joshua was still concerned about Max's involvement, but she'd convinced all of them that he could be trusted. Besides, as a detective, he was in a position to be of real help-if he would. And she was going to need a lot of help. Selena had been worried about
her
. Clearly, Cassie was now in the government's sights, too, and once she began approaching publishers, it would be hard to keep the information under wraps until the time was right. And publication would bring the full power and force of Penseur's operatives down on her. On me alone, she thought, wishing she hadn't had to leave her pistol with Carlos. She opened her eyes to look at the man beside her. He looked troubled. “Why the frown?” she asked.

He didn't answer right away. “Was I frowning? I'm sorry. Guess I've just got a lot on my mind. I'll tell you all about it when we get there."

He turned onto a narrow dirt road that led through the woods to a lake with several cabins along the shoreline to the right. There was a small marina near the dock and a single story motel and restaurant at the end of the road that circled halfway around the lake to the left. “Patterson's Fishing Village,” Cassie read aloud when they passed the big white sign with the black lettering, then added almost wistfully, “It looks so peaceful.” The farmhouse in Florida had looked peaceful, too.

Max nodded. “Cabin or motel?” he asked, stopping the car in front of the marina.

She looked across at the motel, then at the cabins to the right. “A cabin would be more comfortable. How many bedrooms do they have?"

"Two,” he replied, getting out of the car. She started to follow, but he told her to stay put. He'd be right back.

A middle-aged couple emerged just after Max went inside. Holding hands and smiling, they reminded Cassie of the way her mother and father had acted toward one another. How she envied them that closeness, their knowledge that they could count on each other. She remembered Alan and the love they had shared. She'd thought it would last a lifetime. It had.
His
. Not hers. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening.

"We've got the cabin at the far end,” Max said, setting a grocery bag on the seat between them before he climbed back into the car.

Cassie unlocked the cabin door and went inside. Max followed close behind carrying the suitcase and grocery bag.
Cozy
was the only way to describe it. A wood stove in the corner of the living room stood ready to ward off the chill of the coming winter. A plaid overstuffed couch and easy chair, separated by a small maple end table and tall brown ginger jar lamp, sat across from the wood stove. The large front window faced the lake; two smaller side windows overlooked the woods a short distance away.

Max set the grocery bag on the white Formica kitchen counter, then carried Cassie's suitcase into the bedroom to the right of the small hallway, while she set her computer on the round maple kitchen table and explored the cabinets and drawers.

"We've got dishes, pans, even a can opener,” she announced when Max emerged from the bedroom.

"All the comforts of home,” he replied and, rummaging around in the grocery bag, withdrew a T-Shirt and pair of khaki trousers. “That marina is a regular shopping mall,” he grinned, flourishing the new clothes like trophies.

She bit her lower lip. “Oh, Max. I didn't even think about your not being prepared to stay over."

"Are you kidding? ‘Prepared’ is my middle name. Why, I even have a toothbrush, shaving cream, and a razor in here. Not to mention the ‘unmentionables’ that I dare not take from this bag in the presence of a lady.” He did his Groucho Marx imitation again, and she laughed. It felt good. Very good.

While Max smuggled his “unmentionables” and new clothes into the bedroom at the left, Cassie unloaded the groceries. Instant coffee.
Good.
Cream, sugar, milk, and breakfast cereal. Even some Li'l Debbie Snack Cakes.
Good thinking. You never know when your sweet tooth is going to act up.
With her, it was usually in the middle of the night.

She was boiling water for coffee when Max came back into the room. “Aha! A woman who can boil water. Smells delicious.” He walked to the stove to make a big show of sniffing the steam.

"I have lots of talents,” she replied, feigning arrogance.

"I'm sure,” he answered, turning toward her. A more serious look crossed his face then disappeared as he turned his attention to spooning coffee into the mugs. “Want sugar? Cream?” he asked, stirring the hot water into the coffee.

"A little of both,” she said over her shoulder, going to the couch across the room. Sinking into it gratefully, she curled her legs up and leaned back.

"You look tired,” Max said, handing a cup to her before sitting in the chair to her right.

"I am.” Except for the short sleep she'd had at the farmhouse before all hell broke loose and her cat-nap on the boat, she hadn't slept in more than thirty-six hours. She felt Max's eyes on her and turned to look at him. The serious look had returned to his face. This time it remained. She uncurled her legs and sat up straighter. “You said in the car that you have a lot on your mind. Want to share it with me?"

"Maybe it ought to wait until you've had a good night's sleep."

"If it's that bad, I'd just as soon get it over with,” she responded, a sense of foreboding creeping into her mind.

He set his coffee cup on the lamp table and went into his bedroom, returning a moment later with yesterday's newspaper. “Here. Look at this...” He handed her the local section of the
Washington Post,
then picked up his coffee and sat beside her on the couch.

Cassie's eyes widened at the sight of four familiar faces beneath the headline across the top of the page.

On either side of the photos of Hamilton Bates, Max, Jonathon, and Philip were two smaller headlines. The more prominent one on the left announced, “Handyman killed, Hamilton Bates unharmed.” The one to the right, beside Max's image, read, “Cop suspended in shooting."

Stunned, Cassie scanned the articles, then looked up. “Oh, Max! How can this be? Jonathon was such a wonderful man.” She paused and took a long breath against the memory of the tall, wiry handyman who had seemed able to fix anything. Her bike. Her favorite doll. Even some of her attitudes. She bit her lip. He hadn't been able to fix the most important thing in his life-Philip. But why did he attack Uncle Hamilton? She caught her breath. Jonathon
knew
! He'd told Max that Daddy had confided in him, but why had he kept it a secret? Promises, she thought, shaking her head. Jonathon never broke a promise-no matter how misguided. The frown on Max's face interrupted her thoughts. “Why would they suspend you? You'd think they'd give you the Medal of Honor for saving the life of Hamilton Bates."

"It's routine,” he replied, shrugging. “Anytime a civilian is shot, the officer is suspended while Internal Affairs investigates the circumstances."

She re-read the paragraph describing Jonathon as “a long time employee of the late Madison Hart, whose recent death occurred at the hands of the employee's son.” Something about seeing her father's name associated with the attempt on Uncle Hamilton's life bothered Cassie almost as much as what had happened at Hamilton Bates’ house.

"Max? Why would Philip say he killed my father?” she asked, not looking up from the mug shot of the boy who'd been almost like her brother. “He didn't anymore kill my father than I did.” She shook her head, imagining the agony that had driven Philip to hang himself and how May Lee ...
Oh, my God. May Lee.
She stood up suddenly and began to pace. “Max, I need to find a telephone."

"You can use my cell."

"No. They keep records of every call. There must be a phone at the marina. Can I borrow your car?"

"Who do you have to call?” he asked, reaching into his pocket for the keys.

"May Lee. She must be beside herself and feeling so
alone,"
Cassie answered, holding out her hand.

Max left the keys in his pocket and stood up. “No, Cassie. You can't,” he said, walking toward her.

She felt her eyes flash at him. What do you mean I ‘
can't
?'” she snapped.

"She's not there."

"Not there? Don't be absurd. Oh, you mean at Daddy's house. So, I'll call her at home. I know the num...” She paused when he reached out and took hold of her arms.

"Cassie. May Lee is not at your father's. She's not at home. She's gone."

Sweet Jesus.
“She's dead, too...?” Her voice sounded shrill, even to herself.

"No, no, no.” Max shook his head. “She's been deported.” He led her back to the couch.

Cassie swallowed hard against the panic that had risen in her throat. May Lee was
alive.
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as Max's words took shape. “Deported,” she murmured, then blinked, and looked at him. “May Lee's been deported?"

He nodded, his dark eyes fixed on her. “Yes. She had until midnight yesterday to leave the United States."

"Why? She's done nothing wrong."

"They said it was because she no longer had a sponsor-your father-and was, therefore, no longer a legal alien."

"I could have been her sponsor. If only she could've waited until I got back."

"Yeah, but they were in one hell of a hurry. Normally, that kind of action takes weeks. They also cited Philip's arrest. Said she was ‘associating with a felon.’”

Cassie leaned her head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. “I feel like I'm being wrapped in a cocoon,” she murmured. “Bit by little bit, everyone I can count on is being taken from me.” Her voice, like her body, trembled.

He took her gently by the shoulders and pulled her to him. “I know,” he whispered, “but, Cassie, you're not alone.
I'm
here to help you ... if you'll let me."