Hand of Fate (9 page)

Leif's expression turned serious. "Don't worry. Everybody knows that if you give Nicole Hedges a case, you had better stand back, because she'll go after it with a vengeance."

Back at the office, Nic had immediately been engulfed in a series of meetings and phone calls and database searches, activities so routine they took some of the edge off the events earlier in the day.

Now her father said, "You're drooping, sweetheart. Do you want to sleep here tonight?"

"Thanks, Daddy, but I'm going to go on home. I've got to get an early start in the morning. I'll bring over some clothes for Makayla on the way in to the office."

"Please, can't I come with you, and then you can bring me back in the morning?" her daughter begged. "I want to get some books and my Game Boy."

"You can just give me a list."

"But I won't remember everything I need. Please?"

Nic was too tired to argue. "Okay, baby. But you can't complain if I wake you up really early."

She helped her mother carry the serving dishes into the kitchen. It would all be packaged into Tupperware, which Daddy might tuck into late at night. Nic envied her father's ability to eat whatever he wanted in huge quantities and not gain an ounce. Spending her lunch hours in the gym and her weekends with a Thai boxing instructor was the only reason Nic's butt wasn't as big as the planet.

She was turning to go back to the dining room when Mama laid a hand on her arm. "There's something you need to know. Makayla was asking questions about her father today."

An icy finger slowly traced her spine. "What did you tell her?" "That we don't have contact with him. And that she has you an
d m
e and your father and brothers, and that should be enough." "It will have to be enough," Nic said. "Won't it?"

"I'll be praying for you to have wisdom," Mama said.

Nic bit her lip to stifle a retort. Ten years ago she had pleaded in desperation for God to help her, and what had He done? Nothing.

Hoping that Makayla would realize this was no time for asking difficult questions, Nic took her daughter and drove the two miles home.

The first thing she did after locking the front door was to unbuckle her holster and put her Glock in the gun safe. As an FBI agent, Nic carried her Glock to dinner, to the grocery store, and to her kid's third-grade play. The FBI required that agents be ready for duty at all times.

When Makayla was younger, the gun had fascinated her. Nic had told her that she could ask to see the gun as often as she wanted, but only in the house and only when the two of them were alone. And she was never, ever to touch it. Now Makayla took the gun for granted, no more remarkable than her mother's car keys.

In a daze of exhaustion, Nic helped Makayla pack up her things (including a stuffed bear named Fred that Makayla pretended she didn't really care if she brought with her or not), and then got ready for bed. Nic would have to get up at five to have time to drop Makayla off and still drive down to Clackamas County to observe the autopsy.

Two hours later, she was still turning restlessly. Questions ran through her mind. Why had Jim Fate been killed? How would she react if Makayla started questioning her? What would have become of he
r so d
aughter if Nic had died in the stairwell? And Leif--what was Nic going to do about him?

For some reason, Nic thought of Mrs. Lofland, the way her lips had moved in silent prayer for others, and she felt herself calm a fraction.

Chapter
14 Pierce Residence

Wednesday, February 8

Allison woke, but didn't open her eyes. She didn't feel rested at all. Why were her shoulders and hips so achy? Was she sick? And that faint breathing next to her--had Marshall gotten up and the cat sneaked in to steal his place?

Then she remembered. Remembered walking miles and miles with a toddler in her arms, trying to escape the terror of downtown. Her eyes flew open. And there was Estella, lying on her side facing Allison, watching her with huge, dark eyes.

When Allison opened her eyes, the little girl smiled.

As Allison reached out to hug her, she hesitated. This was not her child. Her own child was growing in her belly. This girl had her own mother someplace, a mother who must be frantic to find her. So Allison contented herself with brushing back her hair.

Something delicious scented the air. Pancakes. "Comida?" she ventured, remembering one of the words Marshall had used the night before. "Comida, Estella?"

She was rewarded with a small nod and another smile.

Leading Estella to the kitchen by one hand, Allison checked her phone with the other. There were texts from Nicole and Cassidy
,
saying they were okay and asking how she was. It was too complicate
d t
o explain what had happened, so she just texted them both back:

FINE. X0. TALK SOON.

In the kitchen, Marshall was pouring batter into the frying pan, with a stack of just-made pancakes on a plate next to him. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Probably about as well as you did. I heard her crying for her mother in the middle of the night."

They both looked at Estella, who now seemed to have forgotten the terrors of the night. Children, Allison guessed, lived in the here and now.

She was just pouring Estella a cup of milk when the phone rang. Marshall answered it. Whatever he heard made his forehead wrinkle. Without thinking, Allison gripped Estella's shoulder, only becoming aware of it when the girl gave a frightened little squeak.

"It's a caseworker from Child Protective Services." He handed her the phone.

She swallowed, and then said, "This is Allison Pierce."

"Hi, Allison. This is Joyce Bernstein. I'm sorry our staff wasn't able to help you last night. It was pretty crazy. Now that things are calming down, we're starting to get up to speed over here. We'll be sending someone by to pick your girl up in about twenty minutes. Thanks for being flexible."

"No problem." Allison kept her voice steady. It was illogical, but it hurt to think about giving Estella back. "So you found her parents?"

"Not yet. But she's not the only child who got separated from her family. It's been a mess. Not only did we end up with a half-dozen other kids who were totally on their own, but three day care centers downtown got evacuated. And with the phones basically being down
,
no one could get in touch with anyone else. We're only just now getting things straightened out."

It seemed important to have Estella fed and presentable before the caseworker showed up. Sensing that her world was about to change, she clung to Allison, refusing to sit on the telephone book that had served as a makeshift booster seat the night before. Allison ended up feeding her on her lap. Then she wiped Estella's face and hands with a damp paper towel and tried to gingerly brush the snarls from her hair. Only then did she think about her own appearance. She quickly changed out of her pajamas.

All too soon, there was a knock on the door. Marshall answered it, while Allison hung back. She told herself it was hormones that were making this so difficult. Giving Estella to the authorities would be the quickest way to unite this girl and her family.

At the sight of the middle-aged stranger wearing a red sweater and a wide smile, Estella started to cry. She buried her head against Allison's chest, her little hands clinging tightly to her blouse. Allison kissed the top of her head, inhaled her sweet aroma, and then gently began to pry her fingers loose. "They're going to find your mami, Estella. Mami."

Her dark eyes were full of confusion and pain. Even if Allison had spoken Spanish, she had a feeling that Estella was too young to understand why her world was changing yet again. As she got one small hand loose, Allison braced herself. Would Estella scream and flail? But instead, when Allison held the girl out to the social worker, Estella gave her a look of dull despair. It was as if she was resigned to always losing the people she needed.

Allison managed to hold it together }until the caseworker had Estella settled in a car seat and was pulling out of the driveway.

Once she was inside the door, she let the tears come.

Chapter
15

Riverside Condominiums

Six hours after she had washed down two Somulex with a glass of wine, Cassidy woke with a jolt. It was daylight. She was freezing, shaking so hard from the cold that she could hear her teeth knocking together. Where was she? She was surrounded by low-burning candles, lying naked in a cold bath from which the bubbles had long ago dissipated.

Blearily, she looked at her watch. She had been lying in deep, cold water, basically passed out, for most of the night. What if she had slipped under the surface? Cassidy jumped up, blew out the candles, and grabbed a towel, vowing never again to do anything so stupid.

In the kitchen, she drank one, two, three cups of coffee, trying to shake off the grogginess that made her eyelids droop. Her body ached from sleeping half sitting up in cold water. She turned on the radio. It was tuned to KNWS, but to her surprise what she heard wasn't a national feed.

The person on the air was Victoria Hanawa. Jim's cohost. Cassidy thought about what Jim had told her about,Victoria. How much of it had been true? How much of it had been designed to make Cassidy do what he wanted? Jim wasn't above shading the truth and even ignoring facts that didn't fit his theories.

Cassidy had a theory about people who spent their working lives entertaining the public. Actors. Comics. People in TV and radio. Secretly they were all just a tad insecure. No matter how many listeners or viewers they had, it was never enough. Like the philosopher who wondered if a tree falling in a forest made any noise if no one was there to hear it, people who made their living as entertainers--and Cassidy counted herself among them--wondered if their lives had meaning once the cameras or microphones were turned off.

Which is why it made perfect sense that Victoria was processing the horror she had just witnessed by talking about it to an eager audience.

"Hello, Kim in Portland," she said. "You're on the air with Victoria Hanawa, and of course we are talking about the tragic, tragic death yesterday of Jim Fate, who I had the honor of working with right up until the end. Kim, what memory would you like to share of Jim?"

"I just can't believe he's gone!" A woman's voice, rough with emotion, edged toward hysteria.

"It's almost impossible to believe, isn't it?" Victoria's own voice broke. "Only twenty-four hours ago we were talking about our weekend plans. And now he's gone." She heaved a shaky sigh. "Is there a story about Jim you would like to share, Kim?"

"It's just--just everything. He spoke up for us, you know? The little guy. He wasn't afraid to say what was wrong with this world. Who will do that now?"

"Jim certainly leaves big shoes to fill," Victoria agreed. "Whatever happens, it won't be the same."

"You were there, right, Victoria? You were there when it happened?"

"The authorities have asked me not to say anything about how Jim died. They are concentrating on bringing his killer to justice. The
y d
on't want me to reveal any clues they already have. But let me just say this: whoever it was didn't have the courage to look Jim in the eye. Whoever killed Jim was the lowest kind of coward." Victoria's voice strengthened. "But if he or she thought that by killing Jim, they would silence his voice or his thoughts, they were wrong. We will pick up his banner and carry it forward. He cannot be silenced that easily. Jim lives on in each of us."

One by one, listeners called in to agree with Victoria or to build on what she said.

"Jim didn't sound like anybody else, and it was because he was on fire," said Maribel in San Francisco. "He was passionate. He truly believed everything he said."

Zach in Spokane said, "I ran for city council because of Jim Fate. He inspired me to quit complaining about government and go out and do something about it."

"I'm sure Jim would be proud to hear that," Victoria said. "That is the kind of legacy that he leaves behind, and that we can all carry forward. And now we're going out to Phil in Tigard. Phil, what's your reaction to Jim's murder?"

"I didn't tell the guy who answered the phone this, but I'm not sorry."

"What?"

"I'm not sorry he's dead. That Fate guy was a blowhard. He just lapped up attention, and he did anything he could to get it. If he were alive now, he would be loving this. He would be eating it up. That was his goal, to get everybody talking about Jim Fate. Well, you know what? In six months no one _will even remember his name. He was just--just flavor of the month. Only it was more like flavor of the day. Just some loudmouthed jerk who liked to rile everybody up."

"You certainly don't think he deserved to die, do you?" When there was no answer, Victoria's voice sharpened. "Do you?" "Someone finally took care of him. It's about time."

Cassidy stared at the radio in disbelief. Jim was always talking about people who hated him. But she had thought of it like hating taxes or someone who cut you off in traffic. You didn't really mean it. Oh, sure, you complained to your friends, swore under your breath, or even sent a nasty e-mail that got you the Nut of the Day award, but you didn't go any further than that. You didn't get confused and decide it was something that someone deserved to die for.