Saving Rachel: A Donovan Creed Novel

But Kevin Vaughn got her. He caught her at the exact moment in her life, and he won her over and got her to do all the sick, twisted, sexy, passionate, loving things I’d dreamed of her doing to me.

I’m bullshitting you. I’m Kevin Vaughn.

Chapter 35

To be precise, Rachel knows me as Kevin Vaughn. My idea was to take the remaining fifty million dollars I had and put it into a corporation. This is a sum of money the government would feel good about confiscating someday, so I figured I may as well make it easy for them to find. I had our geek squad do a patent search for anything related to health or healthy lifestyles, Rachel’s specialty. It took a couple of months, but they located a home fitness product that had a chance to sell enough units to actually turn a profit. I also put a few hundred thousand into a webzine that had a small but powerful subscriber base. Then I brought these products to Rachel’s company and asked to see examples of work produced by the various account reps.

Naturally, I loved Rachel’s work and surprised everyone by insisting she lead the team to overhaul my webzine and promote my fitness product. This appreciation of her skill was like catnip to a kitten for an underappreciated wife in the death throes of her marriage.

Big-budget advertising requires a lot of initial face time between the ad coordinator and the company rep. It thoroughly impressed Rachel, as well as her company, that I involved myself personally in the meetings. And there were lots of meetings, lots of late-nighters. I should mention I’m extremely good-looking. I say this sincerely, as a matter of fact, with no conceit. You can ask anyone—or if you want, just look at me.

Before you judge me for these comments, you should be aware I take no pride in my looks. They’re not mine, after all. They’re the result of a total facial reconstruction by the top plastic surgeons in the world, a procedure that left me with movie-star looks. I didn’t ask for these looks, and I don’t like them. They were forced on me by the Agency while I was in a coma. Everything from the tip of my head to the base of my neck began as a fantasy in the minds of the world’s greatest plastic surgeons. The coma lasted three years, during which time, I had the opportunity to heal in an antiseptic, controlled environment. I’ve been told there has never been a more successful plastic surgery performed and probably such a surgery will never be performed again.

I took my time with Rachel. My flirting, was subtle, just enough to pique her interest, not enough to cause alarm. There was no sexual pressure. I knew I couldn’t push her and didn’t need to. I’d seen her naked hundreds of times over the previous fifteen months, so I was in no hurry to get her clothes off—which made me that much more appealing to her.

She’d never met anyone as understanding as me, as wealthy, or as good-looking. (I know, I know. But these were her words, not mine.) I never spoke ill of her husband, and in the early days, when she brought his name up, I changed the subject.

This was not about sex or lust or power or control or any of those things—not completely any of those things. It was more about Rachel being the kind of woman that fits my biological imperative. Millions of years of gene programming led me to be attracted to a certain type of woman.

Actually, that’s a crock, since I’m attracted to most types of women. But women like Rachel give me reason to care.

My job precludes normal, healthy relationships. I’ve been married once (Janet) and have a wonderful daughter (Kimberly). I fell in love about five years ago, just before the coma (Kathleen), but the Agency told everyone I’d died and had a mock funeral for me. Kathleen, thinking I was dead, fell in love with the next guy who came along and got married. Most of the years before and after Kathleen were spent in the company of hookers, several of whom have become close friends.

Janet was far too bitchy, Kathleen far too sweet. Rachel’s a happy medium.

Our first time?

Well, our first time was tentative. She wanted me to make the first move. I did. Then I pulled back, and she pushed things further. Then she pulled back, and I advanced. We continued this push-me-pull-you dance until we had expended ourselves completely.

Then she looked into my eyes and said, “This can never happen again.”

“It won’t,” I said. “I promise.”

Thirty minutes later, we were all over each other, and this time, nothing was tentative. It was as if the floodgates had burst and all her pent-up passion could finally be released.

Chapter 36

That was six months ago. And we’ve grown closer ever since. I’m not kidding. I’m crazy about her.

A couple of months into the relationship, she told me she planned to divorce Sam. I strongly discouraged it, for two reasons. First, from day one, I’d told Rachel I have no interest in living with or marrying anyone ever again (Of course, she feels she’ll be able to change my mind). Second, I told her she couldn’t afford a divorce because virtually all of Sam’s income is off the books.

As for not wanting to live with or marry her, that has nothing to do with Rachel and everything to do with my job. I kill people for a living. If my enemies found out about Rachel, her life would be in constant danger. As for Sam’s income being off the books, I have an obvious conflict of interest: if the authorities dig into Sam’s activities, they might eventually find my money and seize it.

This topic consumed many hours of our conversation, and I began wondering if there might be another way to solve Rachel’s dilemma. If I could find a way to rob Sam’s clients, I could siphon off enough money to make Rachel financially independent. Then she could afford to leave Sam without making any demands on his income. I got with Victor, and he surprised me by insisting we hire a team of former FBI profilers to do a psychological evaluation on Sam in order to decide how best to deal with him.

Between Lou Kelly and me, we had reams of information on Sam, enough to get a definitive conclusion by the profilers.

Their conclusion was you don’t torture a left-brain genius guy like Sam. His personality is fragile, and he could go into a meltdown and become completely unresponsive.

“This kind of guy is very unique,” the head profiler told me. “He’s one in a hundred million, which is how he was able to develop this type of computer program in the first place.” “So how do we get him to reveal sensitive information?” I said. “The best way is to short-circuit his brain.” “Come again?”

“Sam Case is an extreme detail guy. You’re going to want to throw as much at him as you can. Hit him with circular references and things that make no sense. Put him on sensory overload. Confuse him. Put him in unfamiliar situations.”

“Give him a complete mind fuck?” I said.

“Precisely.”

I lined up Callie Carpenter to be his girlfriend, which took a hell of a lot longer than we intended. Sam being a workaholic, we couldn’t find a plausible way for them to “meet.” In the meantime, Callie established her identity as Karen Vogel. With our Agency connections, she managed to get a Kentucky driver’s license, Social Security card, and several credit cards. Then she got a job and a checking account and bought a condo in Karen’s name. She made the connection with Mary’s friend and co-worker, Chuck.

While all this was going on, Victor and I assembled the team and equipment we would need to put Sam’s brain into overload.

Finally, five weeks ago, we managed to get Karen and Sam in the same place at the same time in a plausible scenario that allowed Callie to manipulate him into making his move. The rest, as they say, is history.

Then we had Karen break the news about Rachel’s affair to Chuck, who told Mary. At first, Mary didn’t believe it, so she followed us to a hotel one night. Mary, protective big sister that she was, gave Rachel an ultimatum: confess the affair to Sam, or she would. Mary and Rachel argued back and forth for several days, and as the anger escalated, the fights became heated. And one day, without any input from me, my friend Salvatore Bonadello, crime boss of the Midwestern United States, got a call from a woman named Rachel Case of Louisville, Kentucky.

Rachel wanted to know how to go about hiring a hit man to kill her sister.

You could have knocked me over with a feather! My intention had been to have Mary meet Sam and tell him about the affair. Then we were going to orchestrate an entire drama around his trying to catch Rachel in the act. We had all sorts of twists and turns to confuse him.

But Rachel had taken things into her own hands.

I told Sal to let it slide. The original plan would work, and no one had to die. Sal wanted the forty grand he was going to charge Rachel for the hit. He wanted me to take the contract and split the fee. I told him if he insisted on killing Rachel’s sister, he’d have to cut the fee to twenty grand and we’d give the entire sum to Jimmy Squint, because I didn’t want Rachel to pay any more than she had to. Sal is not the sort to leave money on the table, but after I reminded him that his take of the heist would be five hundred million dollars, he reluctantly agreed to the twenty g’s.

Karen told Chuck that Rachel’s boyfriend was unstable and that he might harm Mary if she met with Sam. She thought Sam and Mary should meet in a public place, like Seneca Park, and Sam shouldn’t know what the meeting was about beforehand. Karen said she’d talk to Sam and make sure he showed.

At the last minute, Chuck talked Mary into letting him come to the meeting at the park. He had an authentic police uniform he’d bought for a costume party and felt that wearing the uniform might discourage Rachel’s unstable boyfriend from making a scene—which is why the twenty grand suddenly had to cover two killings instead of one. Jimmy Squint didn’t mind. He was in the middle of a financial drought and thankful to get whatever I could give him.

We planned for Sam’s meeting with Mary to coincide with Sam’s first sexual encounter with Karen. This was simple to arrange, since Karen controlled both the meeting with Mary and the hotel room with Sam.

Rachel and I explored all realms of her sexuality, and I found a use for the photograph I had taken of her rape fantasy several months ago, where she pretended to be tied down in her bra and panties. I drew the “K” and “V” on her cups with a marker to identify her as my property, and later on, when making the decision to rob Sam’s clients, I gave Callie the name Karen Vogel in order to match the initials.

As we got close to the big event, Sal Bonadello learned his part, and we hired some grifters to play the parts of Aiden Fry and the other camera crew members. We rehearsed in the underground parking lot Victor had purchased.

Speaking of Victor, he always goes all out with these productions. I assured him that all we had to do was build a few soundproof cells in his parking garage. But he had this wild idea of building soundproofed Lucite containers, equipping them with vacuum pumps, and fitting them to flatbed trucks! He barely got the trucks finished in time, but I never doubted he would, having worked with him successfully several times in the past.

Then, with everyone and everything in place, we decided to give Sam a proper mind fuck.

The wild card was Rachel. We had no idea how she would react to being kidnapped. I was concerned about her, so Lou (the voice Sam and Rachel would hear in their cells) kept me constantly informed as to her physical and emotional state.

I had a bit of trepidation allowing Callie and me to be placed into the Lucite containers, so I had prearranged a number of safeguards with Lou Kelly, Callie, Sal Bonadello, and even Victor. You can never be certain about the people working a heist with you, but I figured with so much money to share, we’d be able to trust each other. Plus, we had a history of working together, and that counts for a lot.

From the moment Rachel and Sam were locked in Lucite, I was able to hear everything they said and heard. The only thing I didn’t get to see was Callie getting naked for Sam. I’ve known Callie a third of her life, and I can tell you, I’m jealous that Sam managed to bang my ultimate fantasy girl, something I’ve never managed to do.

Not that it matters, and it’s not even relative to the discussion, but Callie’s a lesbian. She has a wonderful live-in relationship with a female trapeze artist in Las Vegas, so I know it wasn’t easy for her to sneak away for three months and seduce Sam Case.

Actually, it wasn’t that hard. Callie’s hopelessly in love with her girlfriend, Eva LeSage, but I expect she’d seduce a rabid grizzly bear for a billion dollars.

I know I would.

Which brings us to the present, where Sam, Rachel, and I are in our containers, and Rachel has just chosen me to live and sentenced her husband to die. I’m dressed in a business suit, pretending to be Kevin Vaughn, and Sam is pretending he doesn’t know I’m Donovan Creed.

Chapter 37

I admit Rachel’s attitude toward Sam is giving me pause.

I’ve always said the way to really know a woman is to lock her in a cage and poke her with a stick. This isn’t quite the same, but it’s close. And what I’ve learned about my girlfriend, Rachel, during this short period of captivity is revealing and more than a little disturbing. Starting with the obvious, she doesn’t appear to be an overly compassionate person. Her colorful vocabulary could benefit from a makeover. The fact that she was entirely convincing when begging Sam to choose her over Karen tells me she’s not just a capable liar but probably a pathological one as well. Her ability to be completely sensual and loving one moment and capable of murdering her sister or husband the next suggests an undiagnosed schizophrenic personality disorder.

Then again, I kill people for a living, so which of us is perfect?

I’m crazy about Rachel. And while crazy might be the operative word, I’m already looking forward to seeing how we click when it’s just the two of us living in her attic.

Okay, so let me catch you up in real time: Lou Kelly (the voice) has just said, “Sorry for the delay. We’re good to go. Make your peace, Sam. I’ll give you ten seconds.” Sam said, “You get nine billion dollars, and I get ten seconds, huh?” Lou: “Doesn’t hardly seem fair, does it?” Sam: “When does the countdown begin?” Lou: “Now … unless anyone has a final comment … No? In that case—” I clear my throat and say, “Actually, if I may, I’d like to ask Sam a quick question.”

Sam looks up at me. So does Rachel. She looks worried and says, “Kevin, we’re so close. Please, hon, let’s just end this and go home.” Sam says to me, “What’s your question?” I answer, “Did you type my code last?” Rachel says, “What?” “It was all happening so fast,” Sam says, “but yes. I entered your code last, like we discussed.” “Good man.”

Rachel begins screaming incoherently, something about, “You know him? What the hell is going on here? What the fuck does this mean? Answer me! Answer me, you son of a bitch—” That sort of thing.

I turn to her, knowing what to look for. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about dating relationships, it’s that being able to predict your partner’s moods is of paramount importance. In Rachel’s case (pardon the play on words), her face is her barometer, so I am reassured to see her neck, ears, and face gaining color quickly. I’ve noticed her face only turns crimson when she’s furious or craving sex, and I’ve been teaching myself to know which is which. It’s these little things you learn about the people you’re dating that mean so much down the road. I let her yammer on awhile before focusing on her husband. “Sam,” I say, “There’s no way to dance around the issue. I’m in love with your wife.” Rachel immediately stops screaming. “What? Wait—did you just say you’re in love with me?” I smile. “I am. Hopelessly.”

She settles down and places her hand on the glass in a loving manner, while her face remains bright red. See what I mean? From furious to sensual in nothing flat—what a woman! Sam says, “I find that impossible to believe.” Rachel says, “Shut up, Sam. Shut up and die.” Like I said, Rachel ain’t perfect. Sam says, “Rachel, you might want to ask Kevin what his real name is.” I say, “Sam, with all due respect, that’s a matter between Rachel and me.” “Fuck you both,” he says. “Sam, I was hoping we could all leave here as friends.” He looks at me as if I come from another dimension, a place where we all look normal, but nothing we say makes sense. “Friends? You want to be friends?” I nod.

“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” he says. “I agreed to protect your blood money. In return, you broke into my house, hacked into my computer, monitored my every move, fucked my wife, set me up with a hooker, drugged and kidnapped me twice, murdered my wife’s sister and at least one innocent man, kept me and my wife imprisoned for two days, nearly killing Rachel in the process, forced me to sentence Karen to die, stole more than nine billion dollars from my clients—which means even if you let me go, my life expectancy is now what, three days? Wait, don’t answer. I’m not finished. You put me out of business, put me through mental and physical anguish, forced me to learn my wife has been having a six-month affair with my own client, made me endure the humiliation of having my own wife sentence me to die, and now you tell me you’re in love with my wife and plan to take her away from me, but you want us to be friends?” “Yes, that’s it,” I say. “Except for the part about physical anguish. I think that’s a bit hyperbolic.” “You do,” he says. I nod. “But other than that?” “I’d say you have a good grasp on it. Except for one thing.” “What’s that?” “I’m going to give you a quarter billion of the take.” “Big deal. I’ll be dead within days.” “I’ll help you get a new face, new identity, and a new life.” “With Karen Vogel?” “Get real, son.” “Okay,” he says. “I’ll take it.” “Lou,” I say, “open the containers and let’s wrap things up. Rachel and I have a lot to talk about.” Nothing happens. “Lou?”

Chapter 38

Some time goes by. Too much time. Finally, Lou says, “Uh, Donovan? We never talked about Sam getting a quarter billion dollars.” “I’m giving it to him out of my part. I’m giving Rachel twenty-five million as well.” Rachel looks at me and smiles. “Thank you, Kevin,” she says. I smile back. Lou says, “We haven’t really discussed this, but do you think you could get out of that cage without my help?” I say, “Lou, we’ve been together a long time.”

“True,” he says. “But your share is weighing heavy on me right now. Not saying I’m ungrateful or anything, but five hundred million dollars seemed a lot bigger to me when this plan was first hatched.” “Half a billion dollars seems small to you?” “Compared to you getting six times as much, and Sam getting half as much, and both of you being in a cage and all.” “You figure to kill me and take my three billion?”

“I feel terrible about it,” Lou says. “You know I’ve always been a team player, but I’ve got two monitors in front of me. One shows three containers with helpless people inside. The other shows more than nine billion dollars sitting in a bank account, waiting to be accessed. I can’t help but notice that two clicks would change everything. One click and the vacuum pumps kill you in five minutes. A click on the bank account and your share—three billion dollars—goes into my personal account, along with the half billion we talked about.”

“Lou, I’m disappointed in you.”

“I was disappointed in you a couple years back, when you killed your best friend. I can only wonder how quickly you’d put a bullet in my head if I ever displeased you.”

“That’s totally unrelated, and you know it. You’re rationalizing.”

“Maybe so, but I guess it takes a certain amount of rationalizing to turn my back on the man who’s saved my life several times.” “Don’t let that part weigh on you,” I say. “You’ve saved my life too.” “Thanks for acknowledging it.” I keep my voice even. “Lou, if it helps you decide, I guarantee I can get out of this cage in less than five minutes.”

He pauses a full minute, weighing my words. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I’ve gone over this a hundred times in my head. I spent several hours in one of the units the other day and tried to find a way out. There was none. Victor does great work, you know that.” “You think Victor’s going to let you walk with my share? Or Sal?” “No. But I think if you’re dead, they’d each take a billion not to come after me.” “I’m not even dead yet, and the three billion you’re stealing is already down to one.”

“True,” Lou says. “But it’s still three times as much as I’ve got now. Every time I tell myself this is a horrible thing to do, I realize I can triple my take by pressing two buttons.” “What about the midgets?” “They’re on break until I tell them to come back and drive. I’m good for at least an hour.” “You’re all alone?” “All alone and getting greedier by the minute.” “Victor is monitoring everything you’re doing,” I say. “He was until I cut his live feed a couple of minutes ago.” “Don’t do it, Lou.” “I can’t help myself. I wish I could.” “Will you at least set Sam and Rachel free?” “No. It’s got to be all or none.” Rachel says, “Kevin?” “Not now, hon, I’m kind of busy.”

I know the clock is running. Every second counts. I kick off my shoes and pry the heels off. I catch Lou off guard, but he recovers quickly. He throws the switch, and the vacuum pump comes on in my cell.

Chapter 39

I pull the plastic explosives from the hollowed-out heels of my shoes, pull off my suit jacket, and remove my shirt and tie. I remove the wires from my shirt collar, where you’d normally find the collar stays. Rachel says, “Kevin!” “Not now, sweetheart,” I say. “But don’t worry. I’ll get you out in a couple of minutes.” “You promise?” I stop working for a second. I need to think it through. I take my promises seriously. I perform some calculations in my head. “Kevin?” she says. “Yes,” I say. “I promise I’ll save you.” “Thank you. I love you.” “Love you too.”

I place one of the charges above the check valve in the floor, the one that allows the air to flow in one direction at a time. I uncoil ten feet of the detonator wire I’d taken from one of my collars and push it into place.

Sam says, “Not to interrupt, but what about me?”

I stop long enough to look at him. Poor Sam, always sucking hind tit. Then again, he had sex with Callie, so he’s already gotten his break in life. “Sorry, Sam, I’ve only got two charges.” He nods and says, “Typical.” The vacuum pump is doing its job, but it is at least a minute away from affecting me. “Hey, Rachel?” I say. “Yes?” “Tell me when your pump comes on, okay?” “Uh, it’s been on about thirty seconds.”

Shit! “Really?” “Really. Is that okay?” I try to sound cheerful. “That’s perfect,” I say. “See you soon then.” “Okay.” “Can’t hardly wait,” she says.

I grab the cooler, lift the lid, and check for the little hole in the hinge I’d told Victor to install as a last resort, the one that covered the blasting cap. I find it, run the detonator wire through it, and wad up the balance of the wire to create extra friction. I slam the lid shut, creating enough energy to set off the chemical reaction.

The blast is instantaneous, and everything I’m about to tell you takes place in a half second. But here’s how it works: When the chemical reaction begins, C-4 decomposes to release nitrogen and carbon oxides. The gases expand over 26,000 feet per second, applying trauma force to anything in the immediate area.

That’s why I used such a small amount of C-4, just enough to do the job, not enough to blow myself to hell.

A C-4 explosion has two phases. In the first phase, the initial explosion blows the check valve open, rendering the vacuum pump ineffective. This phase creates an extreme low-pressure area at the point of origin which blows the gases outward, lifts me off my feet, and hurls me toward the back wall. In phase two, a millisecond later, the gases rush back into the partial vacuum, creating a second, less-destructive inward energy wave, sufficient to implode the Lucite walls, one of which knocks me to the floor and nearly renders me unconscious. My ears are ringing from the explosion, but I manage to hear something that sounds like Rachel’s voice. “Oh my God, Kevin, are you all right?” Rachel says. I’m not—not yet. But my speakers are blown, so how the hell can I hear her? “Kevin? Kevin!” “His name’s Donovan Creed,” Sam says. “Fuck you, Sam!” Rachel says. Then she shouts, “You’re all right! Thank God! I see you moving!”

I am all right, but why am I able to hear everyone? Lou must be on the run, must have turned on the speakers throughout the garage so he could hear what was going on as he made his escape—unless he’s coming after me with a gun to finish me off!

No. Lou wouldn’t take that big of a chance. He knows the trucks have pump-action shotguns in the cabs.

I work my way out of the cage, not an easy thing to do with a thick wall of Lucite on my back. I look around. Unfortunately, I can’t find the rest of the plastic explosive. It has been knocked from my hand. I could probably find it eventually, but I’ve also lost the second detonator wire.

I have to save Rachel, but I have nothing to work with.

She picks up on my expression. Her eyes grow wide with terror. Wait, I think. The truck!

I jump into the cab of Rachel’s truck, roll down both windows, and fire it up. These things aren’t built for speed, and it takes me most of the parking lot to get above twenty miles an hour. By then, I am closing in on the far wall quickly. I make a hairpin turn and manage to miss the wall. But that’s not what I’m hoping for. I’m trying to flip the truck onto its side. I get the truck turned around and head back in the direction we’d started in, only now I am up to thirty. I cut the steering wheel, trying to jackknife the cargo area. Two of the wheels come up slightly, but the truck rocks back into place.

Damn!

I turn again, heading back to the far wall. I cut the wheel sharply one way and then the other. Finally, the truck lurches. I slam on the brake, and it continues pitching over onto its side. While bracing myself for the impact, I pray Rachel will survive the crash.

The truck rests on the driver’s side with the passenger side straight up. I grab the shotgun from under the seat, push it through the open window, and climb out after it. I jump to the parking lot floor, grab the shotgun, and run to the back of the truck to make sure Rachel is alive.

She is!

I motion her to make her way to the back of the truck. She does. I motion her to stay there. Then I walk back to the side where the bottom of the truck is exposed and find the check valve. I pump a shell into the chamber, back up a few yards, and fire into the valve at an angle, hoping not to catch any shrapnel from the ricochet. The valve blows open. I take a deep breath. Rachel is safe.

I turn my attention to Sam. He’s lying on the floor unconscious. But at least he’s lying at the far side of the check valve. I know I don’t have enough time to flip his truck. I pump another round into the shotgun, climb under the truck, place the barrel against the check valve, and wedge the shotgun into place.

I can only think of one way to pull the trigger without getting seriously injured or killed from the shell rebound.

I remove my belt and wedge the buckle under the trigger. It doesn’t quite reach the side of the truck, which means it’s still too dangerous. I take off my pants, tie one leg around the belt, and hold on to the end of the other pant leg. I climb onto the narrow ledge on the side of the truck and pull the pant leg as hard as I can. The shotgun fires. I jump down and climb under the truck to inspect my work. And see a nice-sized hole where the check valve used to be. If Sam is still alive, he’ll be okay soon.

I leave my belt but grab my pants, climb into Sam’s truck, buckle up, and head for the garage door at full speed, which is about thirty. But it’s enough to break through, and within minutes, I’m in the control room with my pants on. Since the containers were built to open from the very back, neither has suffered any damage. I press a button on the console and pop them both open. Then I walk back to check on my girlfriend and her husband.

Chapter 40

Sam is closer, so I start with him. I climb into the cubicle and hoist him out. He is unconscious but breathing, so I lay him out on the floor and go to get Rachel. She meets me halfway, and we do that movie thing where we run to each other from opposite directions and embrace when we meet. She actually squeals and jumps into my arms, and I think of Lula and Sailor in Wild at Heart.

By the time we get back to the room where I’d set Sam down, he is gone.

I know where he’ll be.

Rachel and I continue to the control room where I’d gone moments earlier to set them free. Sam is so out of it he is fairly swooning, but he sits at the computer, trying to track the money. When Rachel and I approach, he gives her a withering look. She stiffens and leans into my side. “I love him, Sam. You’re just going to have to deal with it,” Rachel says. Sam ignores the remark, proving he’d rather lose Rachel than the money.

“Nothing makes sense,” he says. “My Web site’s totally trashed. I see the money in an account, but it’s an account I’ve never seen. I keep trying to access the funds, but the screen remains unchanged.” “That’s Lou Kelly’s bank account,” I say. “The screen is locked on it.” “So you’ve lost your money,” he says, “which means I’ve lost mine.” “Kevin,” Rachel says, “I’d rather have you than twenty-five million any day!” “For the love of God,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.

Rachel is about to respond, and if she’d had the chance, I would have expected some cussing to pass her lips. But she sees what we all see on one of the security monitors: someone approaching the front door.

Lou Kelly comes in first, followed closely by Callie. Lou’s arms are behind his back, which tells me Callie has twist-tied his wrists with plastic. “It’s Karen!” Sam says. Rachel’s back seems to arch. “I don’t want her here!” she says. “Relax,” I say. “She’s bringing Lou back.” “Could be a trap,” Sam says. “He’s twice her size. What’re the chances she got the drop on him?” “A hundred percent,” I say. “Lou’s a good hand, but he’s older and partially paralyzed on his left side. Callie knows that.” Sam sets his jaw. I say, “Tread lightly, Sam. Callie will fuck you up.” “Yeah? Well, I’m not old or paralyzed,” he says.

We watch them on the bank of monitors. Callie nudges Lou into the hallway. Lou isn’t fighting her over it. As they’re about to enter the war room where we stand watching them, I say, “Be nice. Both of you.” “But, Kevin,” Rachel whines. “I mean it. You and Callie are going to be friends.” “Fat chance,” Rachel says. “Fucking whore.” “For once, we agree,” Sam says. I give Rachel a look that makes her wince. She says, “Sorry, Kevin. I’ll try.” “See that you do.” Lou and Callie approach. “Lou,” I say. “Donovan.” After a moment of us looking at each other, I say, “What was that all about, Lou?”

He presses his lips together tightly, then opens them, and takes a breath. “Ah, shit, Donovan. I can’t explain it. I would have bet I was a better person than that.” I nod. Lou says, “By the way, that was incredible.” “My escape?”

“Looked like the old days, back in Europe. I should have left sooner, but I just had to watch, you know? It was like watching a movie.”

“Like Rambo or something?” “Yeah. Like that.” “The critics panned those shows,” I say. “But they were entertaining.” “Sly’s one-dimensional,” Lou says. “But if a guy’s entertaining enough, one dimension’s all you need.” I pause. “About the money …”

“I want to make it right,” Lou says. “I know things will never be the same between us, but I want to put the finances back like they were. Let me go and I’ll transfer the full three to your account.” “Before the heist, I started with two-fifty of my own,” I say. “I thought that was part of the three,” Lou says. “Nope. Same with Victor. We both had two-fifty in. We get that back first, then the split.” “If I knew that, I would have tried to shoot you!” Lou says. “Lucky me.” He chuckles.

Sam and Rachel look at Callie. Callie puts her hand out to Rachel. Rachel looks at me. I nod. Rachel approaches Callie and embraces her. “I’m sorry I called you a whore,” she says. Callie bristles. “You probably should have kept that remark to yourself.” “Well, you did sleep with her husband,” I say. Callie says, “We can get past that.” She smiles at me and says, “You’ve got your hands full with this one.” Sam says, “Hey, Karen, how about a quick fuck before you hit the road?”

I kneel down and lift Sam’s head off the floor so he won’t choke on his own blood. Lou hands me his jacket, and I stuff it under Sam’s head. To Callie, Rachel says, “What did you hit him with? I never saw you move a muscle.” Callie looks at her but says nothing. Rachel steps slightly behind me to make herself less of a target—just in case. Lou says to Rachel, “You can see why I surrendered so easily.” “Lou,” I say again. “About the money …”

Chapter 41

Lou says, “I can put it back. Three point two-five billion. Take me thirty seconds. But I need your word.” One of Sam’s fingers starts twitching. “That’s a good sign,” I say. Callie says, “You have a reason to want him alive? Because the only way I can get the stench off me is to end the memory.” “I might have a use for him,” I say. Callie cocks her head at me. “My understanding was Sam wasn’t coming out of the cage alive.” “Look at him,” I say. “Guy’s lost his wife, his job. Don’t you think he’s been through enough?”

Callie gives me a puzzled look. In front of my chest, where Rachel can’t see, I point my thumb toward myself and move it slightly to indicate Rachel. Callie picks up on it and nods. “Fine,” she says. “We’ll keep him alive then.” “I might have a use for him,” I repeat. “He’s got a mouth on him, though,” Callie says. “I think you solved that problem already.”

To Lou, I say, “We’ve been through a lot, and like you said before, I’m running out of friends. We can’t work together anymore, but I’m willing to let you walk out of here and build a life.” “Thank you, Donovan. I’ll transfer the money as soon as I get some distance between us,” he says. “I’ll trust you to do it,” I say. We shake hands. He hesitates. “I have your word on this, right?” he says. “You do.” He looks at Callie. “Are we going to have a problem?” She looks at me and then back at Lou. “I guess not. Looks like everyone gets a free pass today.” “Thanks, guys,” Lou says. “Old times, huh?” “Old times,” I say. “Uh … if it’s not too much trouble …” Lou says.

With a quickness to rival Jimmy Squint, Callie produces a knife. She cuts him loose from his plastic twist ties, and Lou walks away. Rachel says, “You trust that guy to wire three billion to your account?” I laugh. “I think if he had the money he would.” “He doesn’t have the money?” Callie says.

Sam is still unconscious, but his arm is jerking in a strange motion above his chest, as though he were swatting flies in slow motion.

I say, “Remember how I told Sam to enter my code last?”

Callie nods.

“As you know, Victor is a computer genius too. He’s been working with Sam’s Web site for months. He couldn’t access the accounts without the names, but he reset all the data parameters. All the funds went to the last account entered.”

“But Lou said he personally put the money in his account,” Rachel says.

“This computer had nothing to do with the accounts,” I say. “That’s why Sam couldn’t make it work a few minutes ago. Lou was inputting data directly onto Victor’s computer screen, not the bank’s. We wouldn’t have trusted anyone with nine billion dollars and a keystroke. Not even Lou Kelly.” “So he never saw the money at all,” Callie says. “The nine billion was just a made-up number?” I nod. “It’s a close estimate. We won’t know how much there is until I access my account. That’s where the money is.” “Victor trusts you to do the right thing?” Callie says. “Wouldn’t you?” “I would,” she says. “You may be a killer, but you’re not a crook.”

From behind me, Rachel pipes up. “Kevin is not a killer. He’s the nicest man I know.” Callie says, “You poor thing.” I kneel back down and check Sam’s pulse. To Rachel, I say, “He’s going to be all right. You want to go home now?” She looks puzzled. “You mean we get to keep the house?” I smile. “To pack some clothes. We’re going on vacation.” “What about my job?” “You’re quitting.” “But—” “Come here a sec. I want to show you something.” I sit at the computer, log into the Citizen’s Bank Web page, and type in an account number. Rachel’s name comes up. “That’s my name,” she says. “But I don’t bank there.” “I opened this account for you,” I say, pulling up her balance. “Check it out.” “Twenty-five million dollars?” I nod.

“Oh … my … God!”

She starts dancing around the room, hopping up and down and squealing like a banshee with her first orgasm. While she does that, I access my account and check the last deposit.

“Nine billion seven hundred million and change,” I say.

“Nice haul,” Callie says.

“You and Eva have plans for spending it?”

“Not yet. We’ll kick back and enjoy our life awhile.”

“How many years can she perform?”

“Solo trapeze? If she stays injury free, one, maybe two more years.”

“She won’t stay on after she gets demoted?”

Callie smiles. “She won’t need to, now.”

Rachel’s pirouette ends. She kisses my cheek and says, “I love you, Kevin.”

“Does that mean you’ll vacation with me?”

“Can I bring my sex toys?”

“That’s my girl!”

Sam starts coming to.

“Will he be okay?” Rachel asks.

“I think so. Just to be safe, I’ll have Callie take him to a hospital.”

“Thanks, Callie,” Rachel says.

“My pleasure,” Callie says, sweetly.

Then she and I exchange a knowing look.