Fatal Secrets

CHAPTER TEN

Noel Marchand did not react well to bad news.

Mr. Ling drove. They were headed to the river, to his meeting with Jones. Noel glanced at Tobias in the rear seat watching the lights pass by as if he were a child. Noel harbored no guilt for what he planned.

That Johan had failed to terminate the whore made this miserable day worse. What was so complicated about walking into a hospital room and injecting arsenic into the veins of an unconscious girl?

Mr. Ling said, “Perhaps we should abandon this project and go home.”

Ling meant home to Mexico, not the hotel. If any other employee suggested such a thing, Noel would have killed him. But he valued and respected Ling, whose advice and loyalty were exemplary.

“Perhaps,” he said without seriously considering the option. “There is a lot riding on this exchange. A new venue, a new client, new opportunities. I like their innovative ideas. Interactive online sex. Brilliant. We provide the girls, and we get residuals for years. Like royalties on movies. One girl will pay off long after she’s used up. And they want a minimum of two hundred annually? No more dealing with middlemen like Jones.”

True, Xavier Jones had originated this deal and expected a cut from every sale, but a dead man couldn’t get paid, could he?

“We can approach them later. When things settle.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Ling, but it won’t be much longer. If we abandon this deal now, they’ll go to someone else-like the damn Russians. I’ll be cautious. On our other matter of the girl, find an attorney and educate him. As long as Johan doesn’t talk before Monday, the attorney will be paid handsomely.”

“Very well, Mr. Marchand.”

Noel wasn’t personally worried about Johan. He was a hired assassin and didn’t know anything about Noel or Tobias. His contact was Mr. Ling.

Mr. Ling continued. “I’ve narrowed the possibilities of Jones’s betrayer.”

“Who are the lucky dead men?”

“Craig Gleason, his chief of staff.”

“Gleason?”

“Thinking as Machiavelli would, he may figure that with Mr. Jones out of the picture, he would rise quicker in the hierarchy.”

Noel considered the arrogant lobbyist. “He doesn’t have the balls to risk it.”

“You may be right.”

“Anyone else?”

“Gregory Vega.”

“Far more likely-he certainly has the spine for it. He’s straightforward and has been with Jones for many years.” Noel had intended to put Vega in charge once Jones was out of the way. If he was a traitor … “Why him?”

“His wife has been getting her affairs in order.”

“Elaborate.”

“She allowed her magazine subscriptions to lapse. She’s searched the Internet for houses and school districts in other states.”

“School districts?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“And Jones didn’t insist on terminating the pregnancy?”

“It’s not his child.”

“Does not matter. Kids are nothing but problems. They force Americans to make stupid business decisions. But that’s no reason to think Vega is talking to the feds.”

Mr. Ling pushed a button on the dashboard of the car. He said, “After our conversation this morning, I took the liberty of planting a bug in the Vega residence. He sweeps the place regularly, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try one. He doesn’t sweep daily, after all.”

Another reason Noel appreciated Mr. Ling: his foresight.

“This conversation took place shortly before we left the hotel.”

Through the car speakers, an indistinct verbal banter could be heard over the clattering of dishes. A chair scraped the floor. The pouring of liquid, ring of utensils.

“It’s great, Kendra,” a male voice said. Greg Vega.

“Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t be on your feet. I don’t mind eating takeout.”

“I like to cook. The baby likes it. If it’s a girl, what do you think about the name Emily? I know, it’s trendy, but ‘Emily Vega’ has a nice sound. Or Elizabeth.”

“You like the ‘E’ names? For a boy you wanted Ethan.”

“You nixed that idea.”

Noel snapped, “This is ridiculous.”

“It gets better.”

If Noel was willingly going to have a kid, he would choose the name. He didn’t give a damn what the whore wanted. She’d be dead as soon as she delivered. There would be no emotional maternal influence over any child of his.

“-in Pennsylvania.”

“Shh,” Vega said.

“Do you think they’ll send us there? It’s beautiful. Very green. Maybe you can ask-”

A loud crash of dishes followed by the bellow, “Shut up!”

A moment later Noel heard the sound of a sobbing woman, and Vega mumble, “Fuck.”

The tape stopped.

Noel was furious. He was an outstanding judge of character, but he’d been wrong about Greg Vega. He loathed being wrong.

“I will take care of them,” Noel said through clenched teeth. “Personally.”

Sonia sat in a chair next to Riley’s hospital bed while he slept. It was late, near the end of visiting hours, and she’d just kissed her parents good-bye. She was exhausted and wanted to go home and sleep for a week, but she couldn’t leave without absolutely knowing her brother was going to be okay.

He looked so … helpless. “Helpless” and “Riley Knight” didn’t belong in the same sentence. He’d truly been her knight in shining armor from the beginning. After her rescue as a child, she’d lived with Wendell Knight for nine months. He taught her that she was a survivor. He showed her the first unconditional love she’d experienced. And then he died.

She was terrified to move to California and live with Wendell’s brother and family, but it had worked out.

Sonia adored her adopted mother, but it was Riley she had bonded with. They’d gone through high school together-she was a year older than everyone in their grade and still struggled, but Riley helped her with homework every night. Without him, she’d never have graduated. Without him, she’d never have felt comfortable around boys. Around men. Without Riley, she would have been lonely and lost. He had always treated her like she was normal. And normal was good. That was what she needed, because she knew deep in her heart that she wasn’t like all the other girls in her school. She wasn’t normal. With Riley she could be anything, do anything, and grow into a normal adult.

He listened and didn’t judge; he believed in her; he didn’t tell her not to do something because of her background or because she was too emotionally invested. He called her to the carpet when necessary, but never had Sonia felt anything but brotherly love and respect.

“Damn you, Riley, you can’t get hurt like this again. It’ll just kill me.”

“Hmmm.”

She jerked her head up. “Are you awake?”

“Hmmm. Yeah.” His voice was weak, but he was talking.

She took his hand and held it to her face. “You scared me to death.”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing scares you, sis.”

“Losing you scares me,” she whispered. “You’re my best friend.” He was her only friend. At least the only friend she could truly talk to.

“I love you, sis.”

“Love you, too, Riley. Now get some sleep.”

“You too.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. When healthy, Riley was the life of the party, cracking jokes and smiling. He shouldn’t be in a hospital bed. He shouldn’t have needed a blood transfusion.

Sonia would find out who was responsible for nearly killing her brother. She would make him pay.

Charlie’s instincts were sizzling; something was going down. And none of it was good.

It was five to midnight and he was crouched among scraggly trees and shrubs along the bank of the Sacramento River. Jones wanted him to stay back, hidden, and observe. If anything weird happened, his orders were to shoot.

Jones didn’t tell Charlie who he was meeting; when Charlie asked, Jones simply said, “My supplier.” Charlie knew damn well that Jones had multiple suppliers, but he didn’t push because Jones didn’t know what Charlie knew.

You could have told Sonia about this meeting.

Stakeouts take time to set up.

Not for Sonia. She’s sharp.

Charlie rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. He had to stop thinking about Sonia. Focus on the goal: saving Ashley Fox. That’s all that mattered. He’d almost broken the code in Jones’s journal. As soon as he did, he’d have what he needed.

He’d rescue Ashley, then he’d send the books to Sonia. Not the FBI and that arrogant agent Dean Hooper, but Sonia Knight. He owed her …

You owe her nothing.

No, Charlie owed her his honor. He wasn’t a bad person, no matter what she thought. He would prove it to her. He had to. Isn’t that why he sent her intelligence every now and again when something crossed her jurisdiction?

You didn’t tell her about Xavier Jones.

Obviously, he didn’t need to. She already knew something was up with him. She must have found the missing kid. Jones was still looking for him, which was good news. The kid didn’t know much, but when Charlie learned that he was to be killed, he couldn’t in good conscience allow it to happen. Not to a ten-year-old boy. Charlie would not be party to the murder of a child.

Jones walked around the perimeter of the restaurant, as if checking out his property. Charlie wasn’t quite sure whether it was an act of nonchalance or if he was truly inspecting the place. It was after midnight; Jones’s meeting was late.

Headlights cut the darkness on the road above Charlie. Gun in hand, he crouched and waited for the vehicle to pass.

It didn’t.

The car turned into the parking lot of the closed riverfront restaurant, cut its lights, and parked.

Two men got out.

They met at the rear of the car and spoke quietly. Charlie could barely make out shadows let alone features. The car started rocking back and forth. The larger of the two men opened the rear door and a tall, beefy man emerged. He seemed agitated and his voice rose over the still, warm air.

“I don’t like the water!” he exclaimed.

The others admonished him. Jones emerged from behind the restaurant.

Charlie braced himself, gun in hand.

Noel turned from Mr. Ling and Tobias and smiled at Xavier Jones. “Good to see you again.” He extended his hand.

Jones took it. His palms were dry, but his grip wasn’t as firm as Noel would have liked. Nervous? Perhaps. As well he should be.

“Did you bring the kid?”

Jones shook his head slightly, clearly somewhat disconcerted by Tobias’s bizarre behavior. “The kid’s still missing. But he hasn’t been picked up by the police or social workers. He’s in hiding. I’ll find him. I have good men on the job.”

Noel scowled. “I thought I made it clear that I wanted the kid tonight.”

“Yes, you did. But I’m certain he’s not anywhere he can do harm. He’s very likely lost. Dead.”

“Then why can’t you find him?”

“I would know if he were in custody.”

“I’m sure you would.” Noel emphasized each word.

“I don’t like your tone.”

“I don’t ask for a lot from our agreement, Mr. Jones. I expect solid negotiations, clean deals, and prompt payment. So far, you’ve provided such.”

“That’s my job.”

“Exactly.” Noel grinned. Jones cowered. Good. He should be scared. Noel had been told he looked more dangerous when he smiled.

“I’m confident that he will be found. I promise to deal with the problem swiftly. The shipment from China is secured. Everything is on schedule.”

“And the FBI?”

“I explained that. They’re fishing. They didn’t get anything incriminating because there is nothing incriminating to find.”

“And why do you think the FBI is looking at you at all?”

“Because they always look at the rich. I have money, therefore I must be dirty,” Jones replied sarcastically.

“You are, Mr. Jones.”

“I am extremely diligent. I’ve been in this business for a long time, Noel, without a single blemish. None of my people have been arrested; none of my people are a threat to me or you.” Jones was working himself up, playing the indignant, righteous victim. “The FBI didn’t even mention anything related to our business arrangement; it was all about money. I’ve been through three audits in the last ten years and twice the IRS ended up paying me money for their mistakes.”

“All it takes is one slip-up and we’re all in jeopardy.”

“The FBI can’t touch you.”

“They can work with other agencies with a longer reach. I don’t want to have to disappear. I happen to like my current situation very, very much. I’ve had to reinvent myself far too many times; I’m content.”

“You’re safe.” Jones waved his hand dismissively.

The gesture fueled Noel’s silent rage. “No one is safe.” Jones was not taking this situation seriously. Noel expected him to be contrite, repentant-he should be on his knees begging for one more chance. Instead, he was brushing aside the government investigation as if it were an annoying mosquito. People died from mosquito bites. The FBI was the malaria-carrying mosquito; Jones would be its victim. His cavalier attitude confirmed it.

Noel continued. “I know who ratted you out to the FBI.”

“Not one of my people!” Jones’s odd loyalty to his employees made no sense to Noel. “But it’s a moot point: the FBI has nothing. They are going away. My attorney is already working on harassment charges.”

“Greg Vega,” Noel said.

Jones laughed nervously. “Greg is one of my most dedicated, disciplined employees. He has been with me for eight years. He is completely loyal.”

“And his wife is pregnant and he’s thinking about the future. And that future has nothing to do with you or your business.”

“I want proof. If it’s true, I will take care of it.”

“My word is proof enough.” Noel took his hand out of his pocket and said, as he pulled the trigger of the 9mm Beretta, “You have become a liability.”

Jones fell to the asphalt, clutching his gut. He tried to reach inside his jacket. Tobias jumped up and down and clapped, looking ridiculous. “Can we do that again?” the idiot begged. “Please?”

Noel shot Jones three more times, then put a final bullet in Jones’s head just because he was pissed off.

Noel commanded his brother, “Pick him up. We need to move him.”

Tobias picked up the body with ease, without regard to the blood, and asked, “Where?”

“Behind the restaurant.”

Noel followed as Tobias carried Xavier Jones down to the dock. He stopped in the middle and frowned. Noel said, “To the end. You have to drop him into the river.”

Noel didn’t care if Jones was found or not; he simply wanted to get Tobias to the edge.

“I don’t want to fall in,” Tobias whined.

“You won’t.”

Cautiously, Tobias approached the edge of the short pier. He dropped the body into the water without preamble. “He’s sinking!” Tobias called.

He’d surface soon enough, Noel knew from experience. “Thank you, Tobias.”

His brother turned and beamed at him with that sick, excited grin. How Tobias could have killed so many women was a shock in and of itself. Their father, who had watched Tobias in action once, remarked that Tobias didn’t understand the difference between fantasy and reality. “He’s the type of boy who didn’t understand that fish die from lack of food or water, or that puppies’ skulls are easily crushed. He takes what he wants with the girls and enjoys himself, and sometimes they die.”

It wouldn’t matter anymore.

“Mr. Ling. Please.” Noel had some compassion for Tobias. It wasn’t solely his brother’s fault he was a stupid brute.

Mr. Ling raised his gun and fired three bullets into Tobias’s chest. Tobias stared at Ling, stunned, raw emotions emblazoned across his face as he stepped backward. He turned his dark eyes toward Noel, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. He fell back into the river with a splash.

“Mr. Ling?” Noel said.

Ling walked over to the edge and shined a bright light into the water.

“He’s gone.”

“Good riddance. Let’s go.”