Crimson Eve (11 page)
Yesterday Bryson (I still have to call him Senator Hanley in front of anybody else) handed me some papers, and our hands touched. I swear I felt like I’d been plugged in. He felt it too. He stopped, those deep brown eyes of his just looking at me. His fingers slid over mine and pressed.
Good thing the door was closed. Anybody seeing us could tell what we were thinking. Jilke would’ve had a heart attack. I think he’s about to have one already. Every time I come out of a private meeting with Bryson, Jilke shoots me this hard look, like he’s trying to see right through me. Like he knows.
I got all fluttery when Bryson held my hand. I started to breathe hard. His gaze dropped to my chest, then back up to my face. I couldn’t think of one smart-alecky thing to say. We just stood there looking at each other. Then he let go of my hand.
After work that night I went out with Scott. We parked in our usual place in the forest. And every time he touched me, I thought of Bryson.
I love Scott. But Bryson’s so much more. He’s everything I ever needed. He makes me feel safe. I know he could sweep me away like a prince. Away from this run-down house and Mom’s sarcastic mouth, and her cigarettes, and her hatred of life — which she always takes out on me.
But there’s this thing about Bryson. He’s strong and powerful, and everybody in the city loves him. But sometimes when he looks at me, I see his needs. Almost like he’s lonely. Like I could make him happy, while he’s stuck dealing with his jealous wife and doing everything the public wants him to do. He looks at me in a way that makes me think,
I’m the only one who knows your struggles. Who
really understands you.
Then — today.
Bryson asked me to come into his office. Jilke was out meeting with some campaign donors. I walked in with my pad of paper and pen, pretending to be all business, when deep down I
knew.
Bryson closed the door. He had his suit coat off and hung on a hook on his wall, as usual. I love to see him like that. The politician, taking off his jacket to get down to work. I sat in my usual chair. He walked over and stood looking down at me. My heart started beating so hard, I thought it would rip out of my chest. He gently took the paper and pen from my fingers, placed them on his desk. Then he held out his hand to me. I stared at it for a second, then took it. He pulled me to my feet.
Bryson ran a finger down my cheek. He had to feel me shaking, but he didn’t let on. “You are the most beautiful gi
rl I have ever seen.” His voice sounded low and rough. “That black shiny hair, your dark eyes, your body. Everything.”
He slid his hands to my shoulders. I could feel heat coming off him. It was sure coming off me. I knew if the next move happened we could never go back. I didn’t care. I wanted it more than anything.
Washington State Senator Bryson Hanley — next year US senator — pulled me close and kissed me.
At first it was gentle. Like the first time Scott kissed me. Then a shuddering breath passed through him. He gripped me tighter, and my arms slipped around him. He started kissing me with a passion I’ve never felt before. Nobody has ever kissed me like that, not even Scott in his wildest moments. Bryson wasn’t some guy my age kissing me; he was a
man
. Out of control and in control at the same time.
I don’t know how long we kissed or what finally broke us apart. But it seemed like a long time. He held my face in his hands. “I think about you every waking moment. You make me feel so . . .” He shook his head.
“I know.”
What a dumb thing to say. Like I’m the one who had all the power over him. But I still just couldn’t believe what was happening. That this man cared about me.
Me
.
He pushed back a strand of my hair. “You can’t tell anyone, you know that, don’t you? I’m risking so very much just being honest with you.”
The words hung in the air.
Risking so very much.
I knew he was. And just to be with me. Bryson Hanley — Washington’s favorite son. I have never felt so worthy, so special, in all my life.
“I won’t tell anyone, ever. Promise. I would never hurt you.”
He smiled and kissed me again, slow and easy. Like we had all the time in the world and we’d take every second of it. Suddenly I realized I wasn’t shaking anymore.
Bryson pulled away. “Is there a way I can see you this weekend? Alone?”
Was he
kidding
? Name the hour. “Yeah, sure.”
He closed his eyes, as if to say,
Yes, oh, thank you!
“Tell you what, Carla.” I tingled all over again at the sound of my name. Somehow now, coming from lips that had kissed me, it sounded different. “I have a cabin in the woods. It’s my private place. No one goes there but me. I often visit it on weekends just to get away for a while. Can you meet me there tomorrow?”
I thought about it. What I’d tell my friends. How I’d get there. None of that mattered. I’d walk if I had to.
I looked into his dark eyes and nearly drowned in them. “Sure. Just tell me the time.”
Less than five hours.
Tony punched the steering wheel. He was parked outside a hotel on Highway 95 south of Moscow, feeling like a wreck. Ten minutes ago he’d gone in to use the bathroom and buy some coffee and a bagel. The food hadn’t helped much. His face still looked like he’d spent two days in the sun. He was dog tired and madder than ever. And that was the good news.
All night and long after dawn he’d searched for Carla Radling — at every motel in Moscow, then Pullman. As much as he’d wanted to flash her picture to every clerk behind a counter, he’d resisted. He couldn’t afford to have someone connect his face with hers once she was officially “missing.”
Finally, after making a needed purchase, he’d headed back to Highway 95. The trooper patrolling twenty miles south hadn’t seen Carla’s Toyota. But according to the Durango’s navigation system, there were quite a few motels along that twenty-mile strip. Tony should have checked them hours ago — but had no time until now. Even if Miss Wit had stayed in one, she was probably long gone.
No matter
. If she was headed south, he’d hear about it.
Impatient as he felt, Tony knew he was closing in on her. Shouldn’t be long now. He had new pairs of eyes watching the roads to the west and north, and in Moscow.
And Andy, his buddy from Spokane, had called in early that morning when he’d taken up his post in Kanner Lake.
Tony didn’t have all the resources he wished he had — not what would be available to him if he appealed to his boss. But that was out of the question. On the other hand, every person he brought in only increased his risk of getting caught.
Best-case scenario: you do a job yourself, no help. Which is exactly what would have happened at the Edna San estate. Now he’d had to bring in other people. When Miss Wit’s picture started showing up on the news as a missing person, somebody just might remember a certain assignment — and wonder about the connection.
In the end, Tony counted on their own guilt to keep them silent. What state trooper would admit being paid to hunt down a woman?
Tony started the car. “I finish this job, I’m
out
of here.” The minute he got paid, he’d move Robyn and Timmy as far away as he could get. Like to China.
The “Barry” cell phone rang. Tony snatched it from a cup holder on the console and flipped it open. “Yeah.”
“Andy here. Got a couple of hits for you.”
“Shoot.”
Andy told him two pieces of information. The first was useless, except that it told him he’d succeeded in scaring Carla Radling away from her friends. He smiled at that
.
The second made no sense. Heat flushed through Tony. “That it? That’s all you
got
?”
“Hey, man, I’m just the messenger.”
He gritted his teeth. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks a bunch.”
Tony slapped the phone closed, then on impulse flipped it open again. Time to rattle Miss Wit’s cage. Make her pay for the night she’d cost him. He punched in her number, threats crowding his tongue.
The line clicked on to a recorded message.
Tony smacked his cell shut and threw it on the floor.
He pressed back in the seat, glaring out the windshield. In a field beyond the parking lot, tall green-yellow grasses rippled in a breeze. His mind flashed to a summer outing with Timmy, when they’d run through open land, trying to fly a new bird-shaped kite. Timmy had finally given up, sinking to his knees with the melodrama of a three-year-old. “I can’t do it, Daddy,” he sobbed. “I
can’t
.”
“Sure you can, Son.” Tony plunked down beside him, pulling Timmy to his chest. “Sometimes the best things in life are hard to do. You just have to keep trying . . .”
Tony shut his eyes and tried to push the memory away.
Four hours.
His thoughts returned to his target. How sweet the revenge would be when he found Carla Radling. The hunting knife he’d bought that morning in Moscow cried to be used. Over eight inches long, with a four-inch razor-sharp blade. Its outer layer was of 420 J2 stainless steel, covering an inside layer of VG – 10 steel. The handle curved perfectly in his hand.
If Miss Wit had taken something important from her home and hid it somewhere, thinking to save her own skin, she was sorely misguided. His knife would soon prove that. And if she hadn’t taken anything — too bad she’d aroused his suspicions. With such a fine instrument in his hand, he wouldn’t be persuaded easily.
Tony opened gritty eyes and focused on the blowing grass. The alternating yellows and greens flashed his thoughts to the two baseball caps topping the stack in Carla Radling’s hatbox.
Had
she taken something from there? Something from years ago?
Years ago . . .
The words triggered a replay of his phone conversation with Andy. The man’s second piece of information had included th
ose two words. Tony honed in on them. What could they mean? Could be important. Made no sense to
him
, but it could mean a great deal to his boss.
Which meant he should report it. Besides, it could spell possible interference with his own plans.
But if he reported it, he’d have to say where the information came from. There’d be questions. Answering those questions would mean admitting he’d lost his target. Robyn and Timmy would be in instant danger.
Besides, it couldn’t matter. He’d have his target within a few hours at most. Not enough time for some outsider to cause problems.
Tony thumped a fist against the steering wheel, weighing his options.
He had no choice, really. For his family’s sake, he couldn’t tell his boss.
His nose was running again. He wiped it with two tissues and tossed them in the plastic bag on the passenger seat. Time to get back to his search. Only a few more hotels between him and that twenty-mile mark. If those were all clear he’d return to Moscow, knowing he was that much closer to his
very
enjoyable meeting with Miss Wit.
Tony backed out of the parking space and headed toward Highway 95.
In her office with the door closed, Tanya Evans stared mindlessly at the document before her. She’d read the first two paragraphs three times, and still the words wouldn’t register. Her concentration had been amorphous all morning, no logical thought patterns able to form. Whatever she looked at changed into the face of Carla Radling. Whatever voice she heard pulsed with the threat from last night:
With one word I can make you disappear . . .
Tanya tapped her pen against the paper, reliving the call she’d placed that morning from a pay phone. She’d been too afraid to use her home phone or cell, or even a line at work. Who knew how she might be watched? A red SUV with tinted glass had cruised by while she was in the phone booth. The car slowed to a crawl, the driver rolling down his window and glaring at her. As if to say,
Watch yourself, Tanya, we know what you’re up
to.
She hung up in a hurry and ran to her car, heart beating in her throat.
During lunch hour she would dare to find another pay phone in downtown Seattle and call Java Joint again. She had to get a message to Carla, convince her to meet. Which might be difficult. Carla thought she was hiding secrets from the world — and she was. But Tanya knew more than she did.
Now that Tanya had made her decision, she couldn’t find Carla fast enough. But she hadn’t figured out the logistics. She couldn’t imagine confessing over the phone, but ne
ither could she just take off for Kanner Lake. If she was being watched —which now seemed highly likely — they’d know where she was headed. She’d never get there alive.
We were expecting Carla quite a while ago
.
Bailey Truitt’s voice repeated like a stuck record in Tanya’s head. She so wanted to believe this was mere coincidence. Carla was running behind; she’d had a flat tire. There could be a dozen explanations for showing up late. But in light of her own terrifying visitor last night, Tanya couldn’t help wondering if Carla had encountered one of her own.
Closing her eyes, Tanya prayed to a God she didn’t know, hoping He would cease cosmic pursuits long enough to hear. If He’d whirled this earth into existence, shouldn’t He care what happened on it?
Please, if You’re listening, keep Carla safe. And let me find her
in time.
It’s time. I’m ready to go see Bryson.
Good thing Mom’s working a double shift today. If she saw me taking so long with my makeup, she’d wonder.
Mary Kay said I could borrow her clunker car. I told her I needed to go to Seattle and buy some office supplies for Senator Hanley. She wanted to come with me. I said I needed the time alone. That Mom’s really been on me lately — probably ’cause she’s jealous of my job. Mom still can’t figure out why her “stupid daughter” works for a senator while she’s slinging burgers and fries.
If she only knew. I’m a whole lot better than she could ever imagine.
Mary Kay frowned. She got the mom part — she knows my mother — but I’ve never told my best friend I’d rather be alone than with her. “So let’s talk about it while we’re driving,” she said.
