Out of Control (37 page)
“Intimate?” Max interrupted.
“Sexual,” she defined. “Karmody also didn’t mention Indonesia to anyone—not even Starrett, whom he spoke with only hours before leaving San Diego. I don’t think he knew he was going until the last minute because he was completely open with Starrett about certain other details of his relationship. My guess is that Savannah used sex to make sure Karmody’d be willing to follow her anywhere.” She paused. “With your permission, I’m going to withhold that theory from Rose von Hopf.”
“Good idea.”
“I’ve called the Los Angeles office.” There was a framed picture of a pretty, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman on the senior chief’s desk. It was his wife, Teri, who was a helo pilot for the Coast Guard. In the photo, she was leaning over the edge of a hot tub, looking directly into the camera’s lens. The look in her eyes and on her face was a mixture of desire and pure love.
Alyssa had to move to the other side of Wolchonok’s desk. Looking at that picture made her acutely aware of everything that was missing in her own pathetic life.
“They’ve sent a couple of agents to LAX to talk to the airline personnel,” she continued. “See if anyone recalls Karmody and Savannah getting onto the plane. See if there was anything unusual about them in any way, see if he seemed at all coerced, or maybe drugged, or . . . I know I’m reaching here, but—”
“No, that’s good,” Max said. “Reach away. Did you get into Karmody’s apartment?”
“Sam had a key.” Alyssa silently cursed herself for slipping and calling him Sam. Starrett. She had to call the man Starrett. Make it sound as if he were just another source of information for this case. “Karmody’s got a house—two bedrooms, one of ’em filled with computers. He’s the team hacker, you know. A real gear-head.”
“I’m familiar with his talent. What’d you find?”
“He’s got a prototype of a tracking system running on one of his computers. He’d activated it before leaving San Diego. We managed to get a fairly accurate readout of his trail through Hong Kong, into Jakarta. He left the Jakarta airport either via boat or helo. But we lost him shortly after that, over the open ocean. At first we were thinking this wasn’t good news—that he was thrown over the side of the boat or something, but Sam—” Shit. “Starrett messed around with the program—came up with some kind of satellite error message, which hopefully means Karmody’s still alive. We’ve got the general direction he was heading, though—which could really help. I’ve downloaded everything, including the program. A copy’s already on its way to HQ, I gave a second to Tom Paoletti, and I’ll be hand delivering a third to you.”
“Good job,” Max said. “The New York office just got access to Savannah’s phone records—she received a call from Jakarta on Wednesday. It’s likely that was the ransom request—except the call was made from Alex’s hotel room. We’re sifting through hotel security tapes—see if we can’t ID whoever went into that room and made that call.”
“Wow,” Alyssa said. “Is this going to turn out to be easy?”
“Please God, I hope so,” Max said.
“Commander Paoletti has already called in a team,” she told him. “They’re ready to go wheels up at your go ahead. He thinks it would be worthwhile to get some men who know WildCard Karmody out into that jungle. He’s probably trying to call you right now.”
“Actually, I’ve just been told Paoletti’s on hold. Is there anything else you need to tell me before I take his call?”
“Not over the phone.”
“Uh, oh,” Max said. “Seeing Starrett was that bad?”
She had actually been thinking about the intimate details of WildCard and Savannah’s relationship. “No, sir. That was no problem at all,” she lied smoothly.
He laughed. “You know, I almost believe you.”
“Sir,” she said stiffly. “Commander Paoletti’s waiting for you.”
“I know,” Max said. “Alyssa, I’m sorry I had to ask you to go there.”
“Sir, I’m a professional and—”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still sorry. Now get your ass on a plane back to L.A. I’ll see you when you get to Jakarta.”
With a click of the connection, he was gone.
Alyssa hung up the phone and went looking for Jules—and came face to face with Sam and Mary Lou Starrett out in the hall, outside of Sam’s office, which was several doors down. Neither of them noticed her and she ducked back into Wolchonok’s cubby hole.
“What are you doing here?” Sam said. Alyssa could hear him quite clearly.
Mary Lou had managed finally to change her shirt. She sounded nervous, her voice a little wobbly, as if she were really upset. “When you called, you said you weren’t sure how long you’d be gone and I . . .” She cleared her throat. “I wanted to see you before you left. I thought you might want to say good-bye to Haley.”
Alyssa peeked around the corner—sure enough, there was Sam’s little baby, tucked into one of those carriers that doubled as a carseat.
“She’s asleep,” Sam said flatly.
There was silence for a moment, but then Mary Lou said, “Yes, she is. Just like you usually are the few hours you’re actually ever home.”
Sam sighed deeply. “I got things to do before we go wheels up. This is not the time for—”
“You talk in your sleep,” Mary Lou interrupted him. “Did you know that?”
“Shit.”
“Do you know what you say?”
“Jesus, Mary Lou—”
“You say, Alyssa,” Mary Lou said, and Alyssa cringed. Oh, Sam . . . “ ‘Oh, Lys . . . Don’t go, Lys . . . Alyssa, oh, God . . . oh, yes . . .’ “
“Aw, fuck.”
“Yes, I believe that sums up what you’re dreaming about quite nicely.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly. “I can’t help what I dream. If I could, I’d stop. I swear to you, I have not been unfaithful since that day we agreed to get married.”
“She’s black,” Mary Lou said.
And Alyssa, who’d been about to back away from the door after hearing that Sam called out for her in his sleep, froze. She waited to hear what he would say in response to that.
“She’s at least part African-American, yes.” Sam’s voice was a little less quiet now. “Why, is that some kind of problem for you?”
“I can’t believe it wasn’t a problem for you,” Mary Lou countered. “Unless it was just about the sex.” She must’ve seen something on Sam’s face, because she added, “Oh, my dear Lord, what did you think—that you were going to marry her? You actually think that would’ve worked? A white man and a black woman? You know, a woman like her never would’ve married someone like you! And even if she did—where would you live? Can you imagine her living on our street? Or maybe you’d prefer living in one of the black neighborhoods across town?” Her voice rose. “Don’t you walk away from me!”
“What do you want from me?” Sam asked, his voice low, intense. “How can you be so angry with me for something that never happened—something that’s only a might-have-been? I didn’t marry Alyssa. I married you. I come home to you and Haley every night. I’m working my ass off to pay for that house and the things you want to put inside it. What else do you want?”
Alyssa felt like crying. She knew she should close the door and plug her ears so she didn’t hear any of this. This was private between Sam and his wife. She shouldn’t be listening. But she couldn’t make herself stop.
“She wouldn’t have married you,” Mary Lou told Sam. She was really upset. She wasn’t the only one. “She was just playing you, Sam. You really think you meant anything more to her than a good-looking man with a big—”
Sam cut her off, from the sound of his voice, he was walking away. “I’ve got to go. Take care of the baby—and yourself, too, while I’m gone.”
“I’m not finished here!”
“Well I fucking am!” He took a deep breath, spoke more quietly. “I don’t want to fight with you. Especially not here. Jesus, Mary Lou.”
“Instead you’re going to go off and save the world—with her, right? She’s going, too. And I’m supposed to be okay with that?”
“Don’t let this craziness make you start drinking again,” Sam said. “Call your AA sponsor when you get home, okay? Promise me. Tell her I’m out of town for the next few weeks at the least.”
Mary Lou followed him. “Maybe you should take advantage of seeing her again,” she said shrilly. “Maybe you should go to her and finish what you started. That way when she drops you, it can really be over. That way you don’t have to spend the rest of your life wondering about those might-have-beens.”
Sam turned to face her. “Are you telling me to go have an affair with Alyssa Locke? Because if that’s really what you want, I will gladly—”
“Of course that’s not what I want!” Mary Lou was in tears now.
“Then tell me what you want,” he said again. “Do I need to open a vein and bleed for you? Will that help, Mary Lou? Because, frankly, I don’t know what the fuck else to do.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, and Alyssa peeked around the doorway to see her clinging to him. “I know you’re trying, I do. I’m sorry I got so upset. I was just so jealous and . . . and . . .”
And a mean-spirited racist bitch.
“And shocked when I saw her. She’s so beautiful and I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat,” Sam said tiredly as if they’d had this conversation too many times before. “You just had a baby. Give yourself a break.”
“I don’t want you to open a vein, Sam,” Mary Lou told him softly. “I want you to open your heart. You loved me once. Couldn’t you love me again?”
“Jesus, I’m trying my best,” he said, as if this were killing him.
And Alyssa knew. Whatever he’d once felt for Mary Lou, it hadn’t been love. And it would never be love as long as he was still dreaming about what he’d found with Alyssa.
She knew what she had to do. She had to talk to Sam.
Lucky for her—yeah, right, her luck was really holding here—they were both about to leave for Jakarta.
When Kenny had been gone for three hours, Savannah ate both the power bars, one right after the other.
She’d done as he’d asked and carefully used his knife to make the pants she was wearing into shorts. She’d sewn up the ends of the cutoff legs and made odd-looking sacks large enough to carry the dynamite, feeling vaguely like the Martha Stewart of the jungle as she worked.
Ken’s undershirt, which had been holding the dynamite up to now, was badly stretched out of shape. She tried it on—wearing it was as good as going naked. The armholes were too large, the cotton awfully thin. But if Kenny came back—when not if. When. He’d need to wear the shirt he’d first given her or else risk getting more rope burns from the vines—
Savannah dug through her purse and found her extra pair of pantyhose. God, why didn’t she think of this yesterday? Martha Stewart, indeed. Uses for pantyhose number 43,516. It wouldn’t take the attaché case’s full weight, but they could use it along with the vines to tie the case to his back. It would certainly help so that he could—as he continued to insist was vitally important—keep his hands free and his Uzi at the ready.
She glanced at the gun that he’d left behind; it had been her sole companion for all of the hours he’d been gone. She knew Ken had left it so she’d feel more secure, but in truth it made her uneasy. She didn’t want to shoot anyone. She wasn’t going to touch it. He should have just taken it with him.
Thoughts of the Uzi invariably led back to thoughts of the way Ken had kissed her right before he’d left. For the past four hours, everything she’d done had led to thoughts of that kiss.
What did it mean?
She honestly didn’t know. Ever since he’d shown up at the airport he’d alternated between icy silence and rude disdain.
And yes, okay, to be fair, there had been plenty of moments when he’d laughed or been impossibly kind, and he’d turned back into the man she’d found so irresistible that night at his house. That night she’d broken all of her personal rules and slept with him.
He’d kissed her on the helo, but that had only been to shut her up. She knew that.
Was that kiss he’d given her this morning more of the same?
She would ask him. She’d just look him in the eye and confront him, right when he got back.
Until then, there was nothing to do but drowse in the heat. Or finally read her grandmother’s book.
What would Rose do? It was the question she’d asked herself repeatedly, ever since this fiasco began.
According to family legend—and God knows she’d heard the story so many times she really didn’t need to read about it in a book—Rose was just one step down from Superwoman. Because, of course, she couldn’t fly. But aside from that, she was strong and unstoppable. Determined and invincible.
Rose would eat bugs if she had to. Rose wouldn’t complain about covering herself with slime. Rose would refuse to believe that Alex was dead, would find him and bring him to safety. And everyone—both good guys and bad—would fall completely in love with her along the way.
Those were pretty intense footsteps to follow. And so far Savannah was failing miserably. She’d managed to make Kenny dislike her. She was a pain in his butt, a problem that needed taking care of, someone to slow him down.
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Sent by Margaret Peterson Haddix
