First Drop

Three

“OK, Trey,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road ahead of us. “I think now would be a really good time for you to tell me who’s after you.”

I was rewarded by another silent hunch of the boy’s shoulders. Still he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I pressed my lips together and let my breath out slowly through my nose, willing the tension to escape with it. The technique didn’t work particularly well.

In reality, I didn’t need him to tell me who was after him. I already knew that. What I really needed to find out, though, was why.

We’d passed the exits for Boca Raton and Deerfield Beach. Maybe, once, they’d been individual places, but now they just seemed to be part of one huge urban sprawl. It started around about West Palm Beach and went all the way down to Miami in the south, swallowing Fort Lauderdale on the way. We were nearly at the junction for the house.

I knew I needed answers before we got there. Trey hadn’t spoken at all since we’d got back into the car. I was only too well aware how shock has its own way of shielding the mind, but I didn’t have time for gentle psychology.

“Is this a straightforward kidnap?” I wondered, more to myself than to the boy. “Was he planning on holding you to ransom?”

Trey snorted suddenly. “For what?” he demanded. “You gotta, like, have a lotta dough to be kidnapped, don’t you? We’re broke.”

“Broke?” I echoed blankly, thinking of the mansion and the wedge of cash in my pocket.

“Yeah,” he said, scathing at my lack of comprehension. “The people Dad works for rent the house and give him, like, an allowance. Like he was a kid or something.”

“Well somebody’s after you.” I said. “You do know who that guy was, don’t you?” It was almost a rhetorical question. After all, the kid had been brought home by Oakley man, sat in a car with him, been torn off a strip in front of him. How could Trey possibly have failed to recognise him?

The kid glanced at me, little more than a sliding skim that settled longest, I noticed, on the blood which had dried on my shirt and on my skin. I resisted the impulse to scratch at it.

But I’d caught something in his eyes. Something knowing. Something that made me suspect he wasn’t as horrorstruck by what he’d seen as he was making out.

“Why was a cop trying to kill you, Trey?” I asked now, more brutal, trying to shake it loose. “What have you done?”

“I ain’t done nothing!” The words had burst free before he had the chance to stop them. Too fast, perhaps? The way the guiltiest kid in the class will issue an instant denial before he’s even been accused of the crime. “I ain’t done nothing,” he repeated, quieter this time.

“You must have done something for those two cops to have picked you up at the Galleria,” I said. “It was only the day before yesterday. What happened?”

Of course, I’d heard the official version of events from Gerri Raybourn’s second-in-command, Jim Whitmarsh. He’d filled me in later, on the day I’d first arrived, although it was only after he’d begun speaking that I’d worked out that the Galleria was the name of the local shopping centre – a place so mammoth it made Meadowhall in Sheffield look like the corner Spar.

Trey had been caught near a store that sold computer accessories with a considerable amount of unpaid-for merchandise stashed in his school bag. The store manager had been all for pressing charges until Whitmarsh and Sean had been down there.

It was Sean, I’d gathered, who had politely pointed out the name of the company Trey’s father worked for. It might not have been up to Microsoft standards, but it still had enough clout in that field to dampen the guy’s enthusiasm for a prosecution. Particularly when Sean had hinted that the company might possibly be needing a rake of new hardware in the near future. By the time they’d left, he’d told me, the manager was falling over himself to be helpful.

Now, I waited for Trey’s side of the story. It took him a while to get it straight in his head before he tried it out on me.

“They set me up,” he muttered.

I ducked my head to catch the words, unsure for a moment that I’d heard him right. I couldn’t believe he’d actually come out with that one as a viable excuse, but I put a lot of effort into keeping my voice neutral. “Who set you up?”

Again, that sideways flick of the eyes from beneath his lashes, to check how this was going down. “That cop and my dad,” he said at last. “He didn’t want me to go up to Daytona for Spring Break, so he set it up just so’s he could ground me.”

I actually felt my mouth fall open, had to consciously issue the instructions to my jaw to close it. Don’t jump, I told myself. Think it through before you rip his head off.

It was certainly true that after the shoplifting incident Keith had, in no uncertain terms, forbidden his son to go to Daytona Beach for the annual Spring Break weekend coming up.

This was, I gathered by Trey’s reaction at the time, a major catastrophe. He’d sunk past being upset and had moved almost into grief-stricken at the prospect of missing out. In the end I had to brave Lonnie’s condescending attitude and check with him what the story was.

“It’s the first major school vacation since Christmas,” he’d told me. “The kids kinda go a little wild, let their hair down, y’know?”

“So what happens at Daytona Beach that’s so special?”

“Lots of partying, lots of drink, maybe a little drugs,” he’d said, flashing me the kind of perfect smile Trey would be able to muster in a few years’ time if he kept up with those braces. “The kids with the cool cars go down there and hang out, do some cruising on the beach. There’s a big car stereo competition they all go to. It’s a cool time, y’know?”

“So, missing out on it is a big deal?”

“Oh yeah,” he’d said. “It’s a big deal all right. Trey is not gonna forgive him easy for this one.”

Now, as I took in the thin set line of the boy’s mouth, I would have to say I agreed with Lonnie that Trey hadn’t forgiven his father. To the point where he was prepared to spin me this ludicrous story to explain what had just happened.

“Don’t you think,” I said, allowing a trace of acid to leak through my voice, “that there were easier ways of your dad stopping you going to Spring Break if he didn’t want you to, other than organising an elaborate setup with a couple of local cops?”

The sudden thought occurred to me that what if Oakley man wasn’t a cop at all? What if his fat sergeant hadn’t been a cop either? What if this whole thing had been a set-up right from the start? Where did that leave us?

“You don’t believe me,” Trey said, flushed and defensive. “No one ever does! I’m just a kid, right? I don’t know nothing, right? Well how the fuck do you explain what that cop did then, huh?” His voice had risen sharply, the note cracking. “How do you explain that?” And he waved his hand towards the bloodstains on my arms and clothing.

I didn’t answer straight away because, the truth was, I didn’t have one to give him.

***

I deliberately exited I-95 a junction early, turning left towards the sea. I’d quickly discovered that most of the city layouts were dead easy to navigate. If you made a mistake there was no need to do a U-turn when everything was laid out on a grid pattern. Two wrongs may not make a right, but in the States three lefts generally do.

I was searching for something specific. Somewhere I could leave Trey in reasonable safety. It went against all my instincts not to have him with me, where I could protect him, but for what I needed to do now it was just too risky to take him along. I’d just have to pray I’d been good enough for them not to follow me from the park this far. For both our sakes . . .

It wasn’t long before I found what I was looking for. A little independent diner with few cars in the parking area. It was only after we’d actually stopped that Trey seemed to notice where we were.

He eyed me with disgust. “You wanna eat?”

“No,” I said. “Look Trey, I’ll level with you.” Which was more than he was doing with me, I reckoned, but one of us had to make the first move. “No-one’s answering the phones at the house. I need to go back and check what’s happened there and I don’t want to take you with me while I do that.”

“I can handle it,” he shot back, touchy. “I’m not a baby.”

I shook my head. “I don’t doubt it,” I lied, “but that’s not the reason.” I paused while I gathered my thoughts. Treating him like a kid wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Besides, I’d already proved how bad I was at handling kids. I was going to have to pick another strategy.

“OK, let’s look at what’s happened today,” I said. “Someone’s made an attempt on you. A pretty serious attempt, yes?” Trey’s face froze up at that, as though he was trying to keep some emotion from skating across the surface, but he nodded at least.

I tried a reassuring smile, not sure if this was the best approach, but at the moment it was the only one I’d got. “OK, so far we don’t know if this attempt extends to Keith or not,” I went on, using his father’s name to detach the whole thing, make it into an academic exercise, depersonalise it. “If I take you back to the house now, I could be delivering you into a trap, you understand? I need you to sit tight here and if it all looks OK, I’ll come back and get you.”

For a few moments Trey said nothing, staring at part of the dashboard and biting his lip. I almost thought that the events of the day had finally caught up with him, that they were finally beginning to sink in.

“If you’re the main target,” I added, aiming to appeal to his ego, “we’d be giving them exactly what they want.”

“I don’t see why I can’t come with you,” he said, as stubborn and sulky as he’d ever been. So much for treating him like an adult.

“It might be dangerous.” I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Yeah, smart thinking, Fox, that’s really going to put off a fifteen-year-old boy who spends his free time riding rollercoasters.

“So what?” He flashed me a resentful look. “You’re going and you’re just a girl! You’re just somebody’s girlfriend who came along for a free ride—” He broke off then, abruptly, as if he’d suddenly realised that he’d said way too much.

“And where exactly did you get that idea?” I said, hearing the soft note of anger in my own voice.

Trey swallowed, hung his head, “I overheard Mr Whitmarsh talking to Dad this morning,” he mumbled.

I was glad he wasn’t looking at my face as he spoke. Well, that explained a lot. And there was I thinking Sean and I had been so careful . . .

“Well, look on the bright side,” I said with a touch of bite, opening my car door and climbing out into instant heat. I ducked back and met his eyes. “I may just be ‘somebody’s girlfriend’ as you put it, but I’ve managed to keep you alive ‘til now.”

***

As we walked into the diner one of the waitresses grabbed two wipe-clean menus from the rack and hustled towards us. She was middle-aged and the kind of slim you get from constant hard work rather than fashionable exercise. But even her jaded gaze fluttered slightly at our appearance.

“Hi there, how ya doing?” she greeted us, her mouth on automatic pilot as though bloodstained people walked in off the street all the time. Only her eyes betrayed the hint of nervousness. “Just two? Smoking or non?”

“Non,” I said.

She led us to a corner booth. I sat with my back to the window, facing the door. Trey slid in opposite.

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” the waitress asked, plonking the menus on the scuffed laminate in front of us. Her badge said her name was Joyce and she was happy to help.

Despite his distaste at the idea of food, now we were sitting down Trey ordered a Coke. I shook my head and asked the way to the ladies’ room instead. It was right at the back, Joyce told me, next to the kitchen.

On my way there I took a long but casual look at the other occupants of the booths, but nobody set the alarm bells ringing. Inside the washroom I got my first proper look at myself in the half-length mirror, and Joyce’s apprehension became all the more understandable. The blood might have lost some of its impact now it had dried to a dullish dark hue, but there seemed to be a hell of a lot of it. Some had even splashed up onto the underside of my chin.

I suppressed a shudder and ran hot water into the sink. There were no plugs so I had to wad toilet paper into the plug hole until I’d got half a basinful, then I scrubbed at my arms and face until the skin was pink, although I couldn’t do much about my shirt. I’d just have to wait and change when I got back to the house.

I left the washroom and moved out past the kitchen again. Ahead of me, at the counter, Joyce was talking in low tones with one of the cooks, glancing constantly in the direction of the restrooms. She broke off quickly when she saw me coming.

By the doorway was a staff notice board which seemed to be covered more in personal photographs than official paperwork. My eye landed on one of the snapshots, which was unmistakably of Joyce, kneeling on a lawn with a pair of German Shepherd dogs.

Inspiration was born of desperation.

I walked as casually as I was able back through the diner towards our booth, managing to snag the waitress between tables.

“Joyce,” I said, earnest, “I need to ask you a really big favour.”

She eyed me warily, her jaw working gum as a reflex action. “What is it, honey?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be looking after Trey over there,” I said, nodding in the direction of the kid’s back. “And well, this afternoon his dog got loose on the road and got himself run over.”

“Oh jeez, that’s terrible,” she said, her face animating for the first time as the relief flooded in. “Oh, the poor kid.”

“Yeah,” I said, waving a hand towards my shirt. “It wasn’t nice. We did everything we could, but . . .” I let my voice trail off, shaking my head, getting into my stride. “The thing is,” I went on, “I’ve got the dog in the back of the car and I really need to go and take him to the nearest vet’s where they can, you know, dispose of him, but I don’t want Trey to be any more upset today. You see, it happened right in front of him.”

I swear I saw a tear start to well up in Joyce’s eye and I felt a stir of guilt at playing on the woman’s emotions like this.

“No problem, honey, you leave the kid right here and I’ll take real good care of him for you.”

I dug in my pocket for some of the cash Keith Pelzner had given to me that morning and pulled out a fifty. “Would you get him whatever he wants to eat until I get back?” I asked. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”

She nodded and smiled, relaxed now as she followed me back to the table. I put my hand on Trey’s shoulder.

“OK,” I said carefully, “I’m going to go and take care of Rex now, so I want you to stay here with Joyce for a while.”

Trey opened his mouth to ask what the hell I was talking about. I surreptitiously dug my thumb into the front of his protruding collarbone hard enough to shut him up. He squirmed out from under my hand and glared at me with resentment.

Joyce watched this display of belligerence indulgently. “Don’t you worry,” she said to me. “He’ll be just fine.” Some waitressing sixth sense made her aware then that one of the other diners was approaching the counter, clutching his bill. “I’ll be right with you,” she said and hurried away.

“No arguments!” I warned Trey quietly when she was out of earshot. “Now, for God’s sake try to look upset about this mythical dog who’s just been run over, and stay put until I get back.”

I straightened up, was about to turn away when he stopped me.

“So what happens,” he said in an uncharacteristically small voice, “if you don’t come back?”

“Trey,” I said, passing him a grim smile, “I don’t think you could be that lucky, do you?”

It was only when I was safely in the Mercury and had pulled out onto the road that I allowed the real worry to surface. It welled up and washed over me like a blocked drain, only smelling twice as bad.

I reached for the mobile and re-dialled the numbers for the house, Whitmarsh, and Sean, but with no joy on any of them. I stuffed the phone back into my pocket, frustrated. Instinct told me that going to the house wasn’t a good idea, that my actions were being dictated to me, but what else could I do?

I knew this wasn’t a straightforward kidnap attempt on the boy, otherwise I would have been able to contact them by now. All the worst possibilities I could come up with flooded in, but whatever had happened, I told myself, it was better to know now.

I considered calling the cops and letting them check it out, but then I remembered Oakley man. I couldn’t identify him by name and I hadn’t been close enough to him when he’d come to the house to read his badge number. Supposing he was the one they sent to investigate? I could try explaining the whole scenario but I knew just who the police were likely to believe first. And it wasn’t me.

OK Fox, on your own again.

It took less than ten minutes before I was turning into the end of the Pelzners’ road and crawling down towards the house. The dead-end layout made it impossible to do a drive-by. I was going to have to go straight in and get it over with.

I drove slowly right to the end and swung the car in a circle, as though I was simply turning round. The house looked quiet, but then, all the houses along this road looked quiet. It was too upmarket an area to stand for untidy rowdiness on the front lawn.

The opener for the electric gate was attached to the Mercury’s sun visor, but I didn’t want to take it right into the driveway. Instead I pulled up by the kerb next door, leaving the car facing the main road. No other vehicles had followed me into the street and none were already parked there. Nevertheless, I’d already started to sweat before I even got out of the car and it had little to do with the heat.

I took the opener with me, walking quickly across the road and through the gap as soon as it was wide enough, then closing the gates behind me. I did a rapid circuit of the exterior of the house, checking for obvious signs of forced entry. There weren’t any.

I even peered in through a couple of the ground-floor windows. The furniture was all in its usual carefully co-ordinated positions. Juanita and the other maids kept the place immaculate, as though in readiness for a magazine photo shoot. If Keith Pelzner had been taken from here, he – and his bodyguards – had gone without a fight.

I went in via the door to the kitchen, which was the only one I had a key for. There was a keypad for the alarm next to it. A glance at the panel on my way in told me the system hadn’t been set.

I did a fast sweep of the ground floor rather than a thorough search but even so there was nothing to find. No disturbance. No breakages. No sign of hurry. It was like they’d all simply got up and walked out of the front door. And then someone had sent the cleaners in.

I carefully used the bottom of my shirt to touch the door handles. If the place had been wiped down I didn’t want mine to be the only prints they found.

Upstairs I ran through the bedrooms in the main part of the house but they were all empty. Nothing in the drawers or the wardrobes, no personal effects at all. Even Keith’s study had been stripped of its usual mess of paper printouts and notes. His computer was gone, too.

With my heart in my mouth, I walked along the corridor to the rooms they’d given to me and to Sean. I looked in my own first. My bag and all my clothes had been taken.

I’d put my passport in the top drawer of the dressing table. I almost didn’t have to check to know it wouldn’t be there but I couldn’t suppress the squirt of panic when I proved myself right, even so. The feeling of being trapped with no back door out of there was suffocating me.

I took a couple of deep breaths, acutely aware of the amount of time I’d been in the house already. The longer I was there, the greater the risk. Still I couldn’t put it off any longer. I moved from my room to Sean’s. They were next door to each other, back to back. His was a mirror image of mine.

I knew the layout pretty well, because I’d spent the previous night there.

***

I’d gone simply to talk to him. At least, that’s what I’d told myself to begin with. Not so much talk as argue, really. I was pissed off with the way the job was unfolding and he was the only one I could shout at about it.

Ten minutes after I’d heard him go in I was outside, banging on the door. At first I thought he was avoiding me. He’d seen at dinner how annoyed I was at Whitmarsh’s automatic assumption that my sole purpose in life was to look after the kid. It was only Sean’s warning glance and his murmured, “later,” that had stopped me shooting my mouth off there and then.

I knocked again, louder this time. I was about to give it a third go when the door opened and there was Sean, wearing nothing but a towel round his hips, water glistening across his naked upper body.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing at the back of his dark hair with another towel. “I was in the shower.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”

I swallowed, the action ungluing my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Look,” I said, my anger fleeing, “you’re busy. I can come back la—”

“Charlie,” he said, cutting me off in mid-waffle, pinning me with that deadly gaze. “Shut up and come in.”

I did as I was told almost meekly. He shut the door and turned to face me, a smile playing round his lips. I was trying not to look at the expanse of skin on view, but I couldn’t help it.

Even though he’d been out of the army for the best part of four years by that time, Sean was still fighting fit in the true sense of the word. Every lean inch of him was packed with the muscle of an athlete rather than a weight-lifter. He’d always been wide across the shoulders but he’d never used that as an excuse to bulk up.

My eyes strayed to the small scar just below the point of his left shoulder. The memory of how close I’d come to losing him hit me like a blow.

I realised Sean hadn’t moved but was just standing there without conceit watching me, watching him. I tore my eyes away, face heating, and sat down on the bed rather abruptly.

“So,” he said, “what’s on your mind?”

The flush, which had been starting to subside, flared painfully.

He laughed softly, then reached over to a chair and picked up a bundle of clothing. “Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll take myself out of your sight into the bathroom. You can yell at me from here.”

It was only when he was safely in the other room that my brain seemed inclined to resume normal service. “What the hell is going on, Sean?” I demanded, trying to pick up the thread of my earlier indignation. “Did you know I was going to be here as some kind of glorified nanny?”

“No.” His voice floated back to me. He’d left the door open just a slit and I could see him moving about behind it in a series of tantalising snatches. “I can’t start kicking up too much of a fuss about the way Whitmarsh is handling you, because as soon as he asks for a list of your previous jobs, we’re a bit snookered. It’s one of those difficult situations where nobody wants you without experience, but to get the experience . . .” I heard rather than saw him shrug. “You’ve no idea how much bullshitting you have to do to get started in this business.”

“So I just have to bite my tongue, is that it?” I said, aware of a weary kind of resentment.

“No,” he said again, emerging from the bathroom. This time when he appeared the towel had been replaced by a pair of dark tan chinos. But he had yet to put on a shirt, or buckle the belt. It seemed a wanton invitation.

My eyes suddenly became fixed on the chevron of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. I could feel my body reacting, however much my mind told it not to.

“Keep looking at me like that, Charlie,” Sean said, his voice husky, “and talking is the last thing we’re going to be doing.”

He moved in closer, pulling me to my feet, running his fingers lightly down my arms. My skin came up in goose bumps instantly.

“I though you’d lost interest,” I managed, suddenly breathless.

He shook his head. “Oh no,” he said, rueful. “I’ve been going cross-eyed trying to let you move at your own pace, but I really think you ought to leave now, because otherwise I’m going to be so tempted to push you faster than you want to go.”

I had every opportunity to move away from him then, but I didn’t. It was time. I was ready. I stepped in closer and lifted my face to his, my voice little more than a whisper. “Who says I don’t want that, too?”

***

It was only later – much later – that we had resumed our conversation.

“To go back to an earlier subject, something’s clearly wrong out here, and I think both of us are being kept in the dark about it,” Sean said, settling so I could lie with my head resting on his shoulder and listen to his heartbeat recover its steady rhythm. Above us, I could hear the quiet rustle of the ceiling fan as it gently cooled the sweat on our bodies.

“I know,” I said. “While you were out today a taxi arrived to take Keith and Trey to the airport.”

“The airport?” Sean queried. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I spoke to the driver myself, until Keith came out and made out like he hadn’t ordered a taxi, it was all some big mistake. He was getting quite irate, though it was hard to tell if that was because the taxi had turned up at all, or because I’d intercepted it.”

“What happened?”

“Well, in the end Keith paid the guy off and he went away swearing merrily in that cheery way of disappointed taxi drivers the world over.”

I felt rather than saw Sean smile into the darkness. “So,” he said, “is Keith planning a great escape, or is somebody just trying to wind him up?”

“You think there might be something serious going on here after all?”

He shrugged slightly. “Could be.”

I started to shift round to face him. As I did so my hand brushed against something cold and hard under the pillow. I hardly needed more than that to identify the object for what it was.

“Sean,” I said, my voice calm, “why have you got a gun under your pillow?”

“It could just be that I’m pleased to see you,” he said. He eased away from me, leaning across to flick on the bedside light.

I blinked for a moment, propping myself up on one elbow while he retrieved the gun. It was a SIG Sauer 9mm pistol, a P225 – similar to the one I’d used in Germany but without the double-stacked magazine, giving it a slimmer profile.

“How the hell did you manage to get that onto a plane?”

He grinned at my consternation. “I didn’t,” he said. “I was working out here a couple of years ago and I left this behind. All I did this time was detour on my way from the airport and pick it up.”

“Does Gerri Raybourn know you’re carrying?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said, “and that’s how I aim to keep it. I learned the hard way never to play all your aces at once.”

“So,” I said, “what happens now?”

“Well give me a minute, Charlie,” he said, mocking. “I’m only human.”

I shot him what I hoped was a stern glance. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“OK, OK,” he said, laughing. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Ms Raybourn tomorrow while you’re baby-sitting Trey at the theme park. By the time you get back I should have some answers, otherwise we’re on the next plane out of here.”

“Just do me one favour.”

“What?”

I nodded to the SIG. “Take that with you,” I said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Don’t worry,” Sean said. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere without it.”

***

Now, I walked into the room that had been Sean’s and looked around me. It was as empty and as lifeless as my own, as though he’d never been there at all. On impulse I picked up one of the pillows, just to see if it still smelt of him. I sat down on the bed and pressed my face into the cotton cover. The faintest trace of his aftershave still lingered somewhere in the fabric.

But as I went to put the pillow down again I noticed something just sticking out from under the sheet. When I pulled the covers back there it was.

Sean’s SIG.

I picked the gun up slowly, slipped the magazine out and saw that it was fully loaded. And suddenly a rush of emotion came rocketing up out of the depths of nowhere and hit me in the face. Tears exploded. I sat there, on my own in a deserted house, clutching a gun and sobbing my guts out.

Sean had said he wouldn’t leave the house unarmed, and that could mean one of two things. Either he’d been taken prisoner, against his will.

Or he was already dead.