Extreme Denial (44 page)

“That still leaves another problem.... You.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Esperanza and I don’t have to worry about our fingerprints being identified. The Oldsmobile was destroyed by fire. So were the motel room in Closter and the doctor’s apartment in Manhattan. But what about
your
fingerprints? While you were asleep, we switched on the television so we could find out how the authorities were reacting to what happened last night. The FBI has stepped into the investigation of the Giordano deaths. There are reports that they’ve isolated fingerprints on a murder weapon left at Nick Giordano’s house. A log pick.” Beth seemed disturbed by the brutal implications of the weapon.

“And?”

“The authorities think it was a mob slaying, a war between rival gangs. But when they identify your prints ...”

“They’ll find the prints are registered to a man who died fifteen years ago.”

Beth stared.

“Where would you like to live?” Decker asked.

“Live?” Beth seemed puzzled by another sudden change of topic. “Back in Santa Fe, of course.”

“With me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Decker said.

“But the mob isn’t looking for me anymore.”

“Renata is.” Decker paused, letting silence emphasize what he had said. “As long as I’m alive, Renata might use you to get at me. You’ll be in danger.”

Beth became paler than she already was.

“Nothing’s changed,” Decker said. “So I’ll ask you again, where would you like to live?” .

Something in Beth’s eyes seemed to die.

“If we split up,” Decker said.

“Split up?” Beth looked bewildered. “But why on earth would—”

“If we had a very public argument back in Santa Fe, at noon in Escalera or some other popular restaurant, if word got around that we weren’t an item any longer, Renata might decide there’s no point in doing something to you, because she wouldn’t be torturing me if she killed someone I didn’t care about.”

Beth’s bewilderment intensified.

“In fact,” Decker said, giving her a way out, wanting to learn the truth, “the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced Renata
would
leave you alone if we broke up.”

“But ...” Beth’s voice didn’t want to work. No sound came out.

“It would have to be convincing,” Decker said. “I could accuse you of knowing who I was from the start of our relationship. I could make a scene about how you only pretended to love me, how you bribed me with sex, how all you wanted was a bodyguard living next door to you and sometimes in your house. In your bed.”

Beth started weeping.

“I could tell everybody that I’d been a fool, that I’d risked my life for nothing. If Renata was keeping tabs on me, she’d hear about the argument. She’d believe it. Especially if I left Santa Fe but you stayed.”

Beth wept harder.

“Who killed your husband?” Decker asked.

Beth didn’t answer.

“I suppose we could make up a theory,” Decker said, “about someone in the organization, maybe one of his guards, shooting him, taking the money, and blaming it on you. Another theory would be that Nick Giordano’s son, Frank, was so jealous of the attention his father gave to your husband that he decided to set matters straight and blame it on you.” Decker waited. “Which theory do
you
like?”

Beth wiped at her eyes. “Neither.”

“Then ...?”

“
I
did it,” Beth said.

Decker straightened.

“
I
shot my husband,” Beth said. “The son of a bitch won’t ever beat me again.”

“You took the money?”

“Yes.”

“That’s how you could afford the house in Santa Fe?”

“Yes. The money’s in a numbered bank account in the Bahamas. The Justice Department couldn’t get their hands on it, so they let me support myself with it—especially since they wanted my testimony.”

“Did you know who I was before you met me?”

“Yes.”

“Then you
did
use me.”

“For about forty-eight hours. I didn’t know I’d be so attracted to you. I certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with you.”

Blood trickled from one of the open gashes on Decker’s face. “I wish I could believe you.”

“I’ve always had an inclination to live in the south of France,” Beth said unexpectedly.

Now it was Decker who wasn’t prepared. “Excuse me?”

“Not the Riviera. Inland,” Beth said. “Southwestern France. The Pyrenees. I once read an article about them in a travel magazine. The photographs of the valleys, with pastures and forests and streams running down from the mountains, were incredibly beautiful. I think I could do some good painting there.... Provided you’re with me.”

“Knowing that you’d be putting your life in danger, that Renata would want to use you to get at me?”

“Yes.”

“For the rest of your days, always looking over your shoulder?”

“Without you”—Beth touched the blood trickling from the gash on his face—”I’d have nothing to look
ahead
to.”

“In that case,” Decker said, “we’re going back to Santa Fe.”

3

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Esperanza asked.

“No. But it makes more sense to me than the alternatives,” Decker said. They were in the clamorous, crowded expanse of Newark International Airport. Decker had just come back from the United Airlines counter, rejoining Esperanza and Beth, where they waited for him in an alcove near rest rooms and schedule-of-flights monitors. He handed out tickets. “I’ve got us on an eight-thirty flight. We switch planes in Denver and arrive in Albuquerque at twelve-forty-eight this afternoon.”

“These seats aren’t together,” Beth said.

“Two of them are. One of us will have to sit farther back.”

“I will,” Esperanza said. “I’ll check to see if any passengers show unusual interest in you.”

“With my crutches, I’m afraid I can’t help being noticed,” Beth said.

“And the scratches on my face definitely attracted attention from the woman at the United counter.” Decker looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “But I don’t see how Renata could anticipate which airport we would use. I’m not worried that she’s in the area. When we get back to Santa Fe, that’s when we start worrying.”

“You’re sure she’ll be waiting for us there?” Beth asked. “What other choice does she have? She needs to start somewhere to find us, and Santa Fe is her best bet. She knows if I’m not coming back, I’ll need to sell my house and transfer my bank account. She’ll want to be around to persuade the Realtor or the bank manager to tell her where the money is being sent.”

Beth frowned toward passengers hurrying past, as if afraid that Renata would suddenly lunge from among them. “But that information is confidential. She can’t just walk into the real estate agency or the bank and expect someone to tell her your new address.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a gun to the head when the Realtor or the bank manager came home from work,” Decker said. “Renata’s an expert at terrorizing. In addition to hating me because I killed her brothers, she has the incentive of the million dollars of her money that I’ve got in this carry-on bag. She’ll do everything possible to get even. In her place, I’d be waiting in Santa Fe until I knew in which direction to start hunting.”

Esperanza glanced at his watch. “We’d better head to the gate.”

Uneasy about showing themselves, they left the alcove and started through the crowd, each man flanking Beth to make sure no one jostled against her as she used her crutches. Not that she looked unsteady. Although she hadn’t been given much opportunity to practice with the crutches, her natural physical abilities had made it possible for her to develop a confident stride.

Decker felt a surge of admiration for her. She looked determined, oblivious to her pain, ready to do whatever was necessary.

And what about
you
? Decker asked himself. You’ve been through a hell of a lot. Are
you
ready?

For anything.

But he wasn’t being entirely truthful with himself. Now that the immediate practical details had been taken care of, he didn’t have anything to distract him from his emotions. He couldn’t adjust to the reality that Beth was next to him. He had a squirming sensation of incompleteness if he wasn’t with her. Even the brief time he had been away to buy the plane tickets had been exceedingly uncomfortable for him.

Ready for anything? he repeated to himself as he walked with Beth and Esperanza toward the line at the security checkpoint. Not quite everything. I’m not ready for Beth to be hurt again. I’m not ready to learn that she still might be lying to me about her feelings for me. I’m not ready to discover that I’ve been a fool.

At the security checkpoint, he hung back, letting Esperanza and Beth go through a minute before he did in case the ten thousand one-hundred-dollar bills in his carry-on looked suspicious to the guard checking the X-ray monitor. If Decker was asked to open the bag, he would have a hard time explaining to the authorities how he had acquired a million dollars. The security officers would immediately assume that the money had something to do with drugs, and he didn’t want Beth or Esperanza to appear to be associated with him. The X-ray monitor showed the outlines of nonmetallic objects as well as metal ones, so to make the bills look less obvious, Decker had removed the rubber bands around the stacks and jumbled them in the large bag, adding a dirty shirt, a notepad and pen, a toilet kit, a deck of cards, a newspaper, and a paperback novel. With luck, the X-ray guard wouldn’t pay any attention to the visual chaos once he satisfied himself that the bag did not contain a weapon.

A woman ahead of Decker set her purse on the monitor’s conveyor belt, then stepped through the metal detector with no trouble. His pulse rate increasing, Decker took her place, setting the heavy bag onto the belt. The X-ray guard looked strangely at him. Ignoring the attention he received, Decker put his diver’s watch and his car keys into a basket that a uniformed woman in charge of the metal detector took from him. Decker wasn’t worried that the metal detector would find a weapon on him—he and Esperanza had taken care to disassemble their handguns and drop them into a sewer before they set out toward the airport. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to take the chance of any metal object, no matter how innocent, setting off the detector and drawing further attention to him.

“What happened to your face?” the female guard asked.

“Car accident.” Decker stepped through the metal detector.

The machine remained silent.

“Looks painful,” the guard said.

“It could have been worse.” Decker took his watch and car keys. “The drunk who ran the red light and hit me went to the morgue.”

“Lucky. You’d better take care.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.” Decker walked toward the conveyor belt that led from the X-ray monitor. But his chest tightened when he saw that the belt wasn’t moving. The guard in charge of the monitor had stopped the conveyor while he took a solemn look at the fuzzy image of what was in Decker’s carry-on.

Decker waited, a traveler who had a plane to catch but who was trying to be reasonable about security, even though there obviously couldn’t possibly be anything wrong with that carry-on.

The guard scowled, looking closer at the monitor.

Decker heard pounding behind his ears.

With a shrug, the guard pressed a button that reengaged the conveyor belt. The carry-on emerged from the machine.

“Your face makes me sore just to look at it,” the guard said.

“It feels even worse than it looks.” Decker picked up the million dollars and walked with other passengers along the concourse.

He stopped at a pay phone, asked the information operator for the airport’s number, then pressed buttons for the number he was given. “Airport security, please.”

Pause.
Click.
“Security,” a smooth-voiced man said.

“Check your parking area for a Pontiac, this year’s make, dark blue.” Decker gave the license number. “Have you got all that? Did you write it down?”

“Yes, but—”

“You’ll find explosives in the trunk.”

“
What?
”

“Not connected to a detonator. The car is safe, but you’d better be careful all the same.”

“
Who
—”

“This isn’t a threat to the airport. It’s just that I find myself with a lot of C-four on my hands, and I can’t think of a safer way to surrender it.”

“But—”

“Have a nice day.” Decker broke the connection. Before leaving the Pontiac in the parking area, he had rubbed a soapy washcloth over any sections where they might have left fingerprints. Normally, he would have left the car where street kids would soon steal it, but he didn’t want them screwing around with the explosives. By the time the Pontiac and the C-four were found, he would be on his way to Denver.

He walked swiftly toward the gate, where Beth and Esperanza waited anxiously for him.

“You took so long, I got worried,” Beth said.

Decker noticed the glance she directed toward his carry-on. Is the money what she really cares about? he wondered. “I was beginning to feel a little tense myself.”

“They’ve already started boarding,” Esperanza said. “My seat number was called. I’d better get moving.”

Decker nodded. He had spent so much time with Esperanza the past few days that he felt odd being separated from him. “See you in Denver.”

“Right.”

As Esperanza followed passengers down the Jetway, Beth gave Decker an affectionate smile. “We’ve never traveled together. This will be the start of a whole lot of new experiences for us.”

“As long as they’re better than what happened since Friday night.” Decker tried to make it sound like a joke.

“Anything
would be better.”

“Let’s hope.” But what if it gets even worse? Decker wondered.

Beth glanced toward the check-in counter. “They’re calling our seat numbers.”

“Let’s go. I’m sure you can use a rest from those crutches.” Heading back to Santa Fe, am I doing the right thing? Decker brooded. Am I absolutely sure this is going to work?