Kill for Me

Chapter Twenty-five

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:50 p.m.

Get away. Frantically Susannah scrambled up the stairs as Bobby scrabbled for the gun. The carpet was slick and her cuffed hands couldn’t hang on. A hand clamped on to her ankle and the sound of Bobby’s pleased laughter chilled her blood.

“Got it,” Bobby crowed. “You’re dead, Vartanian.”

A shot split the air and Susannah froze, waiting for the pain. But there was none.

She twisted around, and for a second only blinked, stunned at what she saw. Bobby lay on the stairs, her chin propped on one of the stairs so that she stared up at Susannah, blue eyes wide, a surprised look on her face. A blood stain was spreading on the back of her shirt. Frozen, Susannah watched Bobby lift her gun once again. A second shot rang out and Bobby’s body jolted, then slumped, her blue eyes now blank.

Nearly hyperventilating, her gaze locked with Bobby’s dead stare, Susannah crawled up a few more steps before looking up. Luke stood in the doorway, pale, breathing hard, the gun he clutched hanging limply at his side. Behind him Pete knelt next to Hank’s body. Stiffly, mechanically, Luke walked over to the stairs, reached over Bobby, and took the gun from her hand. He checked her pulse, then looked up to meet Susannah’s eyes, his dark and seething with fear and fury. “She’s dead.”

Relief stripped the air from her lungs, rendered her boneless, and Susannah slumped against the stairs, shaking uncontrollably. Then Luke was lifting her up, wrapping his arms around her, his hold desperate, his whisper fierce. “Did she hurt you?”

“I don’t know.” She burrowed into him, needing him, so scared, shaken. “I don’t think so.” The wave of terror ebbed enough so that she could draw a breath. She pulled back to see his face. “Hank is dead. She killed him. I saw him die.”

“I know. I heard the shot. I thought it was you. I thought you were dead.” Luke’s dark eyes flashed, fury and grief combined. “Hank was supposed to wait for me.”

“No, no. Bobby lured him in. I tried to warn him but it was too late. He was trying to save my life and now he’s dead.” She looked at Pete, who still knelt next to Germanio, his expression stricken. “Bobby shot Talia. She’s under the stairs.”

Pete was heaving his shoulder into the door in the staircase when two uniformed police cautiously approached the open front door.

“Agent Papadopoulos?” one asked, and Luke gently let Susannah go, lowering her to sit on the stair. Beneath them, wood splintered as Pete broke the door free.

“She’s alive,” Pete said, breathless from the effort. “Shit, Talia, you’re a mess.”

Pete leaned into the crawlspace while Luke unlocked Susannah’s handcuffs and rubbed her wrists gently. He let out a slow breath before turning to the officers. “We’re clear,” Luke said, his voice steady again. “We’ll call the crime lab and the ME. Can you call that ambulance up to the house? We need to get Agent Scott to a hospital.”

“No!” Talia’s refusal burst from inside the closet. Susannah heard angry whispers, then Pete crawled out holding the strip of duct tape that had covered Talia’s mouth.

“We’re okay here,” he said to the officers. “Thank you.” When the officers were gone, he pulled Talia from the crawlspace. Her hands and feet were still cuffed. She was still hog-tied. Her slacks were covered in blood, her eyes filled with mortified rage.

“Just get the damn cuffs off,” she gritted. “Please.”

Pete unlocked the cuffs and rolled her to her back. “The medics are coming.”

“No.” Talia pushed herself up to a sitting position. “Bad enough she got me. I’ll walk out on my own two feet.” Luke and Pete each took one of her arms and lifted her. She grimaced, her cheeks red. “This is humiliating,” she muttered.

“What happened?” Luke asked carefully.

Talia’s glare was defiant. “Bitch got the drop on me. Tasered me.”

“How did she get the drop on you?” Pete asked.

Talia lifted her chin, daring them to push her further. “I had something in my eye.”

Tears, Susannah thought, remembering the hitch in Talia’s voice as she’d offered comfort. “Now the bitch is dead,” Susannah murmured. “So is Germanio.”

Talia’s glare faded abruptly. “I heard. I also heard you on the phone with Luke. That was fast thinking. Luke, get Arthur’s journals out of the study. They explain everything. Pete, get me out of here, please, and make me look like I’m walking on my own.”

Pete helped her out, hesitating before he lifted her over Germanio’s body. “Damn it, Hank,” he murmured. “I’ll update Chase, and get a location on the others.”

“What others?” Susannah asked. “Does he mean Charles Grant? I know about him. It’s all in Arthur’s journals. You didn’t find him?”

“Not yet. Can you walk?” Luke asked Susannah.

“Yeah.” Hanging on to the banister, Susannah eased her way past Bobby’s body, resisting the urge to kick her. Luke helped her down the final step, then dragged her close again, arms hard around her. “I’m okay,” she whispered.

“I know.” A shudder shook him. “I just keep seeing her pointing a gun at you, again and again. Susannah, we found some things you need to read.”

“Later,” she said wearily. “I’ve read enough for one day.”

“I’ll take you back to my place. You can have some peace and quiet.”

“I don’t want quiet.” She looked over at Germanio’s body, then quickly looked away. “I don’t want to think. I want… I need supergluing.”

He frowned, puzzled. “What?”

She looked up at him. “Can you take me to your mother’s house, please?”

This made him smile, although his eyes remained worried. “That I can do. Stay here. I’ll get Arthur’s journals, then I’m getting you out of here.” He walked down the hall into the study. “Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “Susannah, there’s thousands of dollars in this safe.”

“The journals are worth more,” she said. “They’re worth justice,” she added in a murmur, just before her body went rigid, a scream froze in her throat, and a hand clamped over her mouth. A gun was shoved against her temple. Again. Goddammit.

“Which is why those journals will never leave this house.” The words were whispered silkily into her ear. Mr. Grant. “Which is why you’ll never leave this house, my dear.”

Luke went down on one knee to gather the journals from Arthur’s study floor and let his shoulders sag. Oh God. His stomach was rolling. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to wipe from his mind the picture of Susannah clawing up those stairs, Bobby’s gun aimed at her head. She’s safe. He heard the words, but his heart was still thumping to beat all hell. She’s safe. Maybe in a million years, he’d be able to believe it.

Drawing a deep breath, he stood, arms filled with journals and ledgers, then frowned when the sharp smell of gasoline filled his nose. He turned and froze, raw fury rapidly replacing the shock of seeing one more gun pointed at Susannah.

Charles Grant stood in the doorway, his gun to Susannah’s temple. At his side was a gas can. Over his shoulder was a backpack, and Luke could see the outline of sharp corners through the canvas. The bag held a box that appeared to have some weight. Hooked through a strap on the backpack was Grant’s walking stick. A glance down at his feet revealed the same shoes Luke had seen in Mansfield ’s grainy photo.

“Agent Papadopoulos,” he said mildly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home to welcome you this afternoon. Your visit was rudely unannounced.”

Luke’s mind raced. Use what you know. He didn’t look at Susannah. One look at her would leave him shaken with fear. He had to stay focused on Grant. “We didn’t need a guided tour. We found what we were looking for. We know it all, Mr. Grant.”

Charles smiled. “I’m sure you think you do.”

Luke regarded him carefully. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know everything. Like, how the hell you got in here. We have cars guarding the entrance.”

“There’s a road that comes in from the back of the property,” Susannah said quietly.

“It’s how Judge Vartanian would welcome his midnight callers,” Charles said.

“Is that how you intend to get out of here?” Luke asked. “Sneak out the back way like all the other criminals?”

“Not exactly. Drop the journals and place your weapon on the floor.”

He’s waiting for Paul Houston, Luke thought, and hoped to hell Chase still knew where Houston was. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Then she dies.”

“You’re going to kill her anyway. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do.”

“You have no idea what I’ve always wanted to do,” Charles said with contempt.

“I think I do. Because I know a great deal more about you than you think I do.” He paused, lifted a brow. “Ray, isn’t it? Ray Kraemer.”

Charles stiffened, eyes flashing in anger. “Now she’ll die pain- fully.”

“I know you know how to do that. I found Judge Borenson. You’re a sick bastard.”

“Then I have nothing to lose, do I?” Charles asked. “You’ll charge me with murder.”

The man’s voice was mild but the hand that clutched Susannah’s shoulder was white-knuckled. “Multiple murders, Ray,” Luke said. “We found your journals.”

Again Charles’s eyes flashed, but his voice remained calm. “So what’s one more?”

“You kept journals?” Susannah asked. “You and Arthur were both that arrogant?”

“Perhaps,” Charles said, amused. “Your father was a lawyer. He kept impeccable records. And I am an English teacher, my dear. Journals are kind of my thing.”

“Arthur was not my father and you are a cold-blooded killer,” Susannah said stonily.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Charles drawled. “Killing is an art. A passion. When done well, it’s extremely satisfying.”

“And when you can manipulate others to do your killing for you?” she asked.

“Ahh, now that’s the cherry on top. Agent Papadopoulos. Your weapon.” Charles jabbed the gun harder and Susannah winced, her jaw squaring with pain. “Now.”

Luke knelt, carefully putting the books on the floor. He chanced a glance at Susannah and saw her gray eyes narrowed, watching every move he made. He moved slowly, betting that Grant wouldn’t shoot Susannah, that he planned to use her as a hostage once Paul Houston arrived to take him away.

“You’re stalling, Mr. Grant,” she said. “Or Mr. Kraemer, or whatever your name is. What are you waiting for? You’ve got a gun to my head. Why not just kill me?”

Luke knew she was baiting Charles on purpose. She’d understood Luke’s plan to push the man and was helping. Still her words left his mouth bone dry.

“You want to die, Susannah?” Charles asked smoothly.

“No. But I’m wondering why you seem like you’re… killing time. Instead of me.”

Charles chuckled. “You were as smart as Daniel and much saner than Simon.”

“Speaking of Simon,” she said grimly, “did you know he was alive all those years?”

He laughed softly. “Who do you think taught him to play the role of an old man so well?” Luke’s stomach turned over. Simon Vartanian had lured his victims dressed as an old man. Simon had also stalked Susannah in the same guise.

“You?” Susannah breathed. “You taught him?”

“Oh, yes. Simon thought it was all his idea to stalk you in the park in New York. It was always easiest to allow Simon to believe things were his idea, but it was indeed me. You, on the other hand… I could have done great things with you, my dear.” His smile disappeared. “But you didn’t want to play with me. You avoided me.”

“I was a rape victim.” Her voice shook with outrage. “And you knew that.”

“I have to say I was surprised you confessed the whole Darcy affair. That couldn’t have been easy for you, admitting to everyone how depraved you are. How hard the mighty have fallen. It didn’t take Darcy more than a few months to turn you.”

Her hands tightened into fists. “You recruited Marcy Linton, used her to extort rich men who liked sex with underage girls.”

“It beat waiting tables as a way for her to pay for college,” Charles said blandly.

“She never got to college. You killed her. Why? Why did you have to kill her?”

Charles’s bland façade was replaced with cold fury. “Because of you. You ruined her. Made her soft.”

“Darcy changed her mind, didn’t she? I remember that last night. She tried to talk me out of going, but it was a special date, the anniversary of the day I became a rape victim,” she said bitterly. “I was going to show myself and the world that I had control. I never had control. You did. You orchestrated the whole damn thing, you sonofabitch. All of it. You put Simon and Toby Granville up to raping me. You fucking coward.”

Luke saw the minute movement, the slackening of the hand on Susannah’s shoulder just as Susannah jerked away. But Charles wasn’t that off guard. He grabbed her with a snarl, jabbing the gun into her head so hard she cried out. His forearm closed over her throat. Her hands clawed at his arm so that she could breathe. Luke took an involuntary step forward, still on one knee.

“Little bitch,” Charles muttered. “Papadopoulos, now. Gun on the floor now or I’ll break her goddamn neck. She’ll still look alive and I’ll still have my human shield.”

Luke placed his gun on the floor, then held his hands out. “There. I’m unarmed.”

“Your backup, too.”

“Don’t have one,” Luke lied. “I’m wearing boots, not shoes like you. I like your shoes, Ray Kraemer. They’re what helped us identify you.” He was talking fast, not allowing Charles to calm down. “ Mansfield took some pictures in the bunker, for insurance. Maybe even revenge. Got one of a man with a walking stick, whose left shoe has a higher heel. It’s because Michael Ellis shot you in ’ Nam. Shot you in the leg and left you to die like a dog. It messed up your leg and that’s why you walk with the stick.” Luke hoped Susannah was paying attention.

“Shut up,” Charles said through clenched teeth.

“So you got your revenge on Ellis. You took his son, made him yours. He’s still yours, isn’t he, Ray Kraemer?” Every time he used Charles’s real name, the man flinched. “He’s useful to you, being a cop and all. You think he’s coming to get you now, but you’re wrong. We have Paul Houston in custody and he’s going to prison for a very long time.” The custody was a lie, but it did the trick.

Charles’s face became florid and his breathing hitched. “No. You can’t have him.”

Stay with me, Susannah. “It’s too late, Ray Kraemer. I have him already. Paul is mine. You have nothing left.” And on the last word Susannah kicked Charles hard on his left leg, sending them both to the floor. Charles landed on the backpack, the sharp corners of the box he carried knocking the breath from his lungs. Susannah took the advantage, thrashing and clawing like a trapped cat.

The moment she broke free, Luke lunged, grabbing Charles’s wrist with both hands, his elbow digging into Charles’s throat. But the old man was much stronger than he appeared. Luke’s arms burned from the struggle until he heard a snap of Charles’s wrist bone and a hoarse cry. Charles’s hand released the gun and, fueled by adrenaline and rage, Luke sat on his chest, clutching the old man by the throat.

“Fucking sonofabitch,” Luke snarled. His hands tightened, shaking Charles until he gasped for breath. Luke bore down, feeling the give of throat cartilage. Kill him. He drew back his fist, then froze. The old man was incapacitated. Injured. Unarmed. Kill him. Luke could hear the words in his mind, a primal chant that throbbed through every inch of his body. Kill him. Kill him with your bare hands. Kill him for Susannah. For Monica and Angel and Alicia Tremaine and every other victim.

Wait. The small voice in his mind was soft, but firm. This is not the man you are. Yes, it was. But it wasn’t the man Luke wanted to be. Disgusted both with Charles and with his own still, small voice, Luke grabbed Charles by the lapels, hauled him into a sitting position, and leaned in close. “I hope some prison con kills you like the dog you are.”

Charles’s mouth curved as a searing pain ripped through Luke’s biceps and too late he saw the short blade in Charles’s other hand. Sonofabitch.

“You’re the coward, not me. Never me. You’re weak,” Charles grunted, twisting, going for the gun with his unbroken hand. “Weak,” he repeated, and clumsily Luke grabbed at him, abruptly halting at the sickening sound of crushing bone.

Charles flew back, his head striking the carpet so hard it bounced. His body went still, his mouth wide open. Stunned, Luke looked up. Susannah stood over him, Charles’s walking stick clutched in her hands like a baseball bat. Her eyes were wild, turbulent, as she stared down at the man, who with so many others, had ruined her life.

“I’m not weak,” she said. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Luke grasped her wrist gently, tugging until she met his eyes. “You never were weak, Susannah. Never. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

Her shoulders sagged, her breathing strident. “Did I kill him? Please say I did.”

Luke pressed his fingers to Charles’s throat. “Yeah, honey. I think you did.”

“Good,” she said fiercely. She let the stick fall. For a moment they simply stared at each other, catching their breath. Then a voice called from the back of the house.

“Hello? Anybody here?” It was Chase.

Luke blew out a relieved breath and rose, his sliced arm burning like hell and bleeding sullenly. Luckily Charles hadn’t hit anything vital. “Back here, Chase.” With his good arm, he brought Susannah close, burying his face in her hair. “It’s done.”

She nodded against his chest. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live.”

She lifted her face, her lips curving in a trembling smile. “Good.”

He smiled back. “You could do some first aid, though. Rip off your blouse to make me a bandage, something like that.”

Her smile finally reached her eyes. “I think the medics have regulation bandages. But I’ll keep the blouse request in mind for later.”

“Oh my God.” Chase stopped in the doorway, shock on his face. “What happened here?”

“What? What happened?” Another man pushed past Chase, and Luke opened his mouth in warning, but caught Chase’s warning stare.

“This is Officer Houston,” Chase said soberly. “He’s searching for a suspect he tracked here. Of course we offered support. Houston, is this your man?”

Houston was stumbling forward, horrified. “No.”

“It’s not your man?” Chase asked carefully.

Houston fell to his knees next to Charles’s body. “Oh God. Oh no.” He looked up, the rage and fear in his eyes focused completely on Susannah. “You. You killed him.”

The remaining color drained from her face. “You. You raped me.” She looked at Luke, then Chase in confusion. “It’s him. Do something. Arrest him.”

“You killed him.” Houston lunged to his feet, reaching for Susannah. “You bitch.”

Chase was on him, suddenly joined by four agents. Quickly subdued, Houston still struggled, now sobbing. “You killed him. You bitch. He was mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Well, now he’s dead, dead, dead,” Susannah said with contempt.

“Take him,” Chase said. “Don’t forget to read him his rights.” Shoulders sagging, he turned to Susannah. “I’m so sorry. We had to link him with Charles or all we might have had would have been accounts from the criminals he was blackmailing. IA wanted him red-handed so we let him come here, hoping we could catch the two of them together.”

“Susannah hit Charles after he tried to grab the gun,” Luke said. “Self-defense.”

“I know,” Chase said and pulled an earbud from his ear. “Pete reported the whole thing.” He pointed to the window. Pete stood outside, glaring as Houston was dragged away. “Pete saw Charles drag you in here. He mobilized the GBI backup, including a sniper who had Charles in his sights almost the whole time. We were just waiting for a clean shot.” He noticed Luke’s arm and the bloody knife on the carpet. “You’re cut.”

“A scratch.” It was a lie, but he was more worried about Susannah. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” she said, which was also a lie. She was pale but alert as she examined the walking stick. “The top comes off.” She worked it free, then sucked in a breath. Inside was a swastika brand, the same size she wore on her hip. “He was there that night.” She looked at Charles’s backpack. “I want to see what’s inside. I need to know.”

“And you will know,” Chase said. “As soon as the crime lab is done with the scene, the ME is done with the bodies, we take statements, and you both get checked out at the ER. And don’t even consider arguing with me. I knew Grant had a gun to your head, but I had to pretend nothing was happening to keep Houston off guard.” And the haggard exhaustion in his eyes was testament to how hard that had been.

“I’m sorry, Chase,” she said. “You’re right. Luke needs medical attention first. I’ve waited thirteen years to understand. I can wait a few hours more.”

Atlanta , Monday, February 5, 5:30 p.m.

“Knock, knock,” Susannah said, and Monica Cassidy looked up, smiling.

“Mom, look.”

Mrs. Cassidy stood, considerably more relaxed than the last time they’d seen her. “Susannah, Agent Papadopoulos, come in. What happened to you two?”

Luke’s arm was in a sling after receiving twenty stitches to what he’d called “just a scratch.” Susannah had a black eye and a broken rib, courtesy of her fight with Bobby.

“We tangled with the bad guys,” Susannah said lightly.

Monica’s eyes went wary. “And?”

Susannah sobered. “We kicked their sorry asses.”

Monica’s lips curved. “And sent them to hell?”

“Forever and ever,” Luke said. “The woman who was transporting Genie and the man you heard in the bunker that day. Both gone to hell without a key.”

“Good,” Monica said. “What about Becky’s little sisters?”

Luke’s smile faded. “We’re still looking. They’d moved away. I’m sorry.”

Monica swallowed. “I know you can’t save them all, Agent Papadopoulos, but could you look real hard? Please?”

Luke nodded. “I give you my word.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“But we have good news,” Mrs. Cassidy said, patting Monica’s hand. “We got a call from Agent Grimes in Charlotte an hour ago.”

“They found my dad. His car was at the bottom of a lake, but he managed to get out of the car and swim to shore.”

“He was found with no identification,” Mrs. Cassidy said. “Some Good Samaritan took him to the hospital and he was unconscious until this morning. He’s on a ventilator, too, so he couldn’t tell them anything. One of Agent Grimes’s colleagues took his photo to all the area ER’s until he found him.”

“Agent Grimes said the man who hurt my father was the subject of an ongoing investigation,” Monica said, “and he couldn’t tell us anything yet. Can you?”

Luke nodded. “The man’s in custody. As soon as I leave here, I’ll call Agent Grimes and tell him. I’m glad your dad is okay, Monica. You’re looking pretty good, too.”

“They let me out of ICU this morning. I might get to eat some real food soon.” Her smile faltered. “Thank you, so, so much. If you two hadn’t come along…”

Susannah squeezed her hand. “But we did. You’re a survivor. Don’t look back.”

Monica nodded soberly. “I won’t if you won’t. Don’t feel guilty anymore, Susannah.”

Susannah’s throat tightened. “I’ll try.” She kissed Monica’s forehead. “Stay well.”

“You did that, even when you thought I didn’t know you were there,” Monica whispered. “But I knew. Thank you.”

Susannah managed a smile. “Don’t be a stranger, kid.”

Luke rubbed his hand over Susannah’s back. “We have a debriefing in a half hour, so we need to go. If any of you need us for any reason, don’t hesitate to call.”

They were quiet until they got to Luke’s car. “Did you mean it?” she asked.

He frowned, confused. “What?”

“You told Monica you’d keep searching for Becky’s little sisters. Did you mean it?”

“I gave her my word,” Luke said quietly. “So yes, I meant it.”

“Does that mean you’re going back to Internet Crimes?”

“Yeah. This case was supposed to be just a break, but I had to go back into The Room regardless. Maybe it’s meant to be. At least for now.” His eyes grew dark. “Did you mean it or was it part of the secret coded message?”

She knew what he meant. When she thought Bobby was going to kill her, telling him she loved him had seemed good and right and necessary. Now… “As much as I know how. But that might not be good enough for you.”

“Susannah, hearing you say something that stupid makes me want to scream. You have so much good in you, so much that not even Arthur Vartanian and Charles Grant could turn you. Don’t ever say that you’re not good enough. Never again.”

“It scares me,” she murmured. “I don’t know how to be with someone. But I want to learn.”

“I want to teach you.” He kissed her cheek. “Come or we’ll be late for the unveiling.”

He hadn’t said the words back. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed, so she made her tone light. “They’d better not open Grant’s box before we get there.”

“After everything you’ve been through, I’m sure they wouldn’t dare.”

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 6:00 p.m.

Luke was quite right. Everyone was gathered around the table, faces sober. Pete, Talia, Nancy, Chase, Ed, Chloe. Susannah had come to trust them all with her life over the last few days. There was an empty seat next to Chloe. Someone had draped a black scarf over the chair, for Germanio. The sight of it made Susannah’s chest ache.

Charles Grant’s ivory box sat on the table. Stacked next to the box were the journals that had belonged to Arthur Vartanian and the notebooks Luke told her they’d found in Charles Grant’s home. And next to those lay a simple manila envelope.

Susannah took the seat next to Luke. “Have you looked in Mr. Grant’s box?”

“Ed did,” Chase said, “to be sure nothing would explode, literally or figuratively.”

Ed’s expression was carefully blank, giving away nothing.

“What’s in the envelope?” Luke asked.

“It’s from Borenson,” Chase said. “He left instructions that if he died suspiciously or went missing, his safe-deposit box should be turned over to the authorities.”

“That was the key we found in Granville’s firebox,” Nancy said. “We think Grant sent Toby Granville to find the file, but Toby only found the key. It fits Borenson’s safe-deposit box in a Charleston bank. And it’s why Charles Grant tortured Borenson. He wanted to know where the papers were kept. They incriminate everyone.”

“Borenson’s attorney only learned of his disappearance this morning,” Chase said, “and dropped this off while we were all in Dutton. Borenson’s papers detail the ongoing rivalry between Arthur and Charles and throw in a few extras like the real death certificate for the body that was buried in Simon’s grave and proof of Charles Grant’s real identity, courtesy of Angie Delacroix. Looks like she had an ace up her sleeve, too.”

“It would have been nice if they’d come forward when it mattered,” Susannah said quietly. “Before dozens of people died. Did you arrest Angie?”

“We did,” Chloe said. “She participated in Charles Grant’s extortion, willingly or not.”

“And we convinced Paul Houston to tell us what he had on Leigh,” Pete said grimly.

Susannah’s stomach clenched at the mention of Paul Houston. “How?”

“How did we get him to tell?” Pete asked.

“Yes.”

Pete glanced at Chloe, who was looking up at the ceiling. “Paul might have tripped on the way to the car… once or twice. He was cryin’ so hard over Charles, you know. Couldn’t see where he was going.”

“It’s so sad when dirty cops have two left feet,” Chloe murmured.

“Ain’t it, though?” Pete said, still grimly. “About two years ago three little kids were killed when they were hit by a speeding vehicle. The kids were in a crosswalk, the car ran a light and didn’t stop. Paul Houston caught the case.”

Luke blew out a breath. “That was Leigh?”

“Yeah.” Pete shook his head. “ Houston found her pretty quickly, but told her he wouldn’t arrest her and strung her along until he needed her. That was this week.”

“We showed Houston ’s picture to Jeff Katowsky,” Chloe said, “the guy who tried to kill Captain Beardsley. He identified Houston as the cop who busted him. Same song as Leigh. Houston didn’t book him in exchange for future favors.”

“Did Houston keep a journal?” Susannah asked sarcastically.

Pete’s smile was wry. “No, but he’s willing to talk. He’s scared of Georgia jail.”

“And of New York jail,” Chloe added. “Al Landers plans to charge him with rape. Yours. You never got to confront Granville or Simon, but you can confront Houston.”

Talia leaned forward. “But only if you want to.”

Susannah felt every muscle in her body grow still. “Oh, yes. I want. Thank you.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, then Chase pointed to the ivory box. “Open it.”

Her hands steady, Susannah pulled on the gloves Ed offered and took the lid off the box. Then looked up with a frown. “Chess pieces? That’s all?”

Ed shook his head. “There’s a spring mechanism under the queen. Push it.”

She opened it. “His dog tags.” She pulled them out, let them dangle. “Ray Kraemer.”

“And a slug,” Luke murmured. “Looks old. Maybe the one Ellis shot into his leg.”

“Maybe. A photo.” Susannah’s breath caught. “It’s Mr. Grant, younger, with an older Asian man in robes. Oh my God. Mr. Grant’s got the walking stick.” She turned the picture over. “ ‘Ray Kraemer and Pham Duc Quam, Saigon, 1975.’ ”

Nancy studied it. “That’s Grant’s handwriting. I’ve been reading his journals all day.”

“I got Ray Kraemer’s and Michael Ellis’s military records,” Chase said. “Kraemer was captured in ’67, Ellis in ’68. It was thought Ellis was captured by the Vietcong while trying to desert, but nobody was sure. He found an army camp after escaping the POW camp. He’d been lost in the jungle for three weeks. Because they couldn’t prove he’d deserted, he was honorably discharged. Kraemer was listed MIA. Until today.”

“Mr. Grant was still there in 1975, according to this photo,” Susannah said. “He came back the next year, became Paul’s tutor. What did he do in between? Who is this man?”

“They look like they’re friends,” Luke said, then passed the photo around.

“We found robes similar to these in Charles’s closet,” Pete said. “Recently worn.”

“Here’s the Asian man again,” Susannah said, unfolding a frail piece of paper. “But not in the same robes. It looks like an advertisement. It’s got his name, then thây bói.”

“I had it translated while you were in the ER,” Ed said. “Pham’s a fortune-teller.”

“Why would Mr. Grant keep this?” Susannah asked, frowning.

“Because in addition to extorting money for secrets, Grant told the fortunes of a number of the wealthy women in Dutton,” Nancy said. “He kept records of how much they paid him, what he’d told them. Sometimes he paid out money to third parties to make the fortunes come true. Susannah, your mother was one of his clients.”

“Makes sense. Arthur said my mother was afraid of Grant’s ‘Asian voo-doo.’ ”

“Arthur’s journal says Borenson provided a fake death certificate for Simon the day before you heard that Simon was dead,” Nancy said. “Grant’s journal says that he read for your mother the day before Simon’s ‘death,’ that great tragedy was coming.”

“Because Arthur was going to tell her Simon was dead. Borenson must have told Grant,” Susannah said, pulling out more folded paper. “These are almost like playbills.”

Ed took them from her gently. “This one says this Pham person is a healer. This one says he channels spirits. This says they’re charging admission to hear him speak.”

“A flim-flam man,” Pete said, casting an arched brow at Nancy.

Nancy groaned. “Flim-flam Pham? Geeze, Pete.”

Susannah’s mouth turned up, then sobered abruptly. “Another journal.” It was small, hardly bigger than her palm. “The writing is so small.” She squinted. “The first entry is December 1968. ‘Today I realized I would not die. But I never want to forget the rage I feel. The man gave me this journal, so I’ll write it all down and never forget. Someday I’ll have revenge, against the USA for abandoning me in that hell-hole and against Mike Ellis. He’ll wish he’d turned that gun on his own head instead of my leg.’ ”

She skimmed. “Ray Kraemer dug the bullet out of his own leg after Ellis left him for dead. He crawled through the jungle till he passed out. When he woke up he was in a hut, burning up with fever, being cared for by a Vietnamese man. ‘I never thought I’d be grateful to one of them, but this guy has taken care of me. I still don’t know why.’ ”

She flipped ahead. “ ‘His name is Pham. He gives me food and shelter. After a year in one of their hell-holes, I’m finally full and dry. I thought Pham was a doctor, or maybe a teacher, or a priest. I realized today that Pham is a con artist. A chameleon. He has an uncanny ability to pick up on what people need him to be. He gives them something meaningless that makes them happy, then robs them blind. We ate well tonight.’ ”

“And so it began,” Chase said quietly, but Susannah was still reading.

“ ‘Today I finally understood why Pham saved me. I am his bodyguard. I stand taller than his enemies. Today a man attacked Pham, calling him a thief. It was true, of course, but still unacceptable. I grabbed the man by the collar. Without breaking stride, Pham told me to kill him, so I broke the man’s neck and tossed him aside. It felt good. Powerful. Nobody in this town will bother Pham again.’ ” She turned pages. “It keeps going, detailing their travels, adventures, all the people Ray Kraemer kills for Pham.” She cringed, horrified. “Dozens and dozens of people. My God.”

Luke took the book from her hands and flipped toward the end. “ ‘Pham is sick. It won’t be long now. He said I should go home, find the man who left me to die. I want to kill him, but Pham says there are better, wiser ways. Find what a man loves best, then take it from him.’ Three days later he writes, ‘Pham is gone.’ It starts back up again a week later. ‘It is long past time for me to go home. Ellis wanted to get home, to find his son. I will find Ellis and his son will die. Ellis will watch. I will have my revenge.’ ”

“But he didn’t kill Paul,” Chloe said. “Why not?”

Susannah reached into the drawer, felt a bent photo in the back. She tugged it free. It was Grant with a young Paul. “I think he grew to care for Paul. Everything here is from his life before he became Charles Grant, except that picture.”

Talia sighed. “In his own way I guess Charles loved him.”

Luke shook his head hard. “No. Charles possessed him. He used him. He manipulated him for his own purposes. That wasn’t love.”

Talia’s eyes widened at the vehemence in Luke’s tone. “Okay…”

But Susannah understood. Luke had promised to teach her. That had been his first lesson. No, not his first. He’d been teaching her about love and decency all along. She squeezed his knee under the table. “You all gave me the support I needed when I’d reached a crossroads, and I want to thank you.”

Ed was sober. “That sounds like good-bye, Susannah. Are you going home?”

“To New York? No. There’s nothing for me there.” She huffed a chuckle. “And certainly not to Dutton. I’ve had enough of that town for a lifetime.”

“Haven’t we all?” Chase asked wryly. “What will you do?”

“Well, Daniel and I have a lot of catching up to do.” Under the table Luke held her hand tight. “There’s the issue of all the people my… that Arthur extorted over the years. There needs to be righting of those wrongs. Restitution. I’ll need a good civil attorney.” Wryly she looked at Chloe. “And a criminal attorney, too, I suppose.”

“We’ve dropped the concealed-weapon charge in return for your cooperation in the resolution of Arthur Vartanian’s crimes.” Chloe smiled. “You had a good lawyer.”

Susannah’s pulse settled along with her stomach. “Thank you.”

Beside her, Luke let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you, Chloe.” He stood. “My mother said she’s made dinner for an army and to invite anyone who wants to come.” He looked down at Susannah with a smile that warmed her, inside and out. “There will be time for restitution tomorrow. Tonight we celebrate.”

Dutton, Thursday, February 8, 2:45 p.m.

It had been a quiet funeral service, few media and fewer mourners in attendance. A handful of deputies who’d served under Frank Loomis bore his coffin. There were no official honors, no twenty-one-gun salute, no taps.

Daniel sat in a wheelchair, pale and sober, Alex behind him and Susannah at his side. Luke held her hand until it was over.

“He was my father,” Susannah murmured. “And I never knew him.”

Daniel looked up at her, muted grief in his eyes. “He was a far better father to me than Arthur, Suze. I’m sorry you never knew him.”

Frank Loomis had one other mourner. Angie Delacroix stood off to the side, also pale and sober. A uniformed officer stood behind her.

Susannah squeezed Daniel’s hand. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Luke walked with her and she was grateful for him. Hand in hand, they stopped in front of Angie Delacroix. “Miss Angie,” Susannah said, “I need to know. Did you tell me the truth that night?”

“Everything I said was true. Frank never knew what happened to you. He would have come forward. It haunted him that you were his and he couldn’t claim you.”

Somehow that helped. “Why did you tell me?”

“Because Charles told me to.” Then she lifted her chin. “But I would have anyway. For Frank. You have his eyes.” She sighed. “Frank was a better man than he knew.”

By now Susannah had read most of Charles’s journals. She knew he’d used Angie Delacroix to listen for gossip for his blackmail schemes and to bring him wealthy women who’d believe he had the gift of clairvoyance. “You brought my mother to Charles.”

“She had money. Charles wanted it. I’m so sorry you were caught in the middle.”

“Why? Why did you do his bidding all those years?”

Angie’s eyes filled. “Whatever Charles made him do, Paul was still my son.”

Luke tugged Susannah’s hand. “Come on. The family’s waiting for us.”

The family. The very words were enough to chase away the sadness. Susannah walked to where Mama Papa and Luke’s father stood with Leo, Mitra, Demi, and Alex, and was enfolded in a group embrace that made her smile and want to weep all at once. But it felt good. I belong to these people. They’re mine. And I’m happy.

“Come,” Mama Papa said, taking her left arm. “We go home now.”

Mitra slipped her arm through Susannah’s right. “And later, we’ll go shopping.”

Luke waved her on. “I’ll push Daniel. You and Alex have girl time with my sisters.”

“That’s nice to see,” Daniel said huskily as the women chattered to raise Susannah’s spirits. “Suze has never had that before.”

“She’ll have it for as long as she wants it,” Luke said, muscling Daniel’s chair forward through the soft earth with his good arm.

“So what do you intend to do with my sister?” Daniel asked, very seriously.

Luke had to swallow his grin. Exactly what I did last night and this morning. But he kept his voice serious. “I could say it’s none of your business.”

“But you won’t,” Daniel said dryly.

“I want her to be happy. I don’t want her to wonder who her family is, ever again.”

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest. “You do realize this could make us related.”

“If I do it right, yes. I can deal with it if you can.”

“I can.” Daniel was quiet a moment. “I wouldn’t mind being an uncle. Just sayin’.”

Luke smiled. “Then I guess I really have to do it right.”