To Hell in a Handbasket (17 page)

“That scum brought Stephanie's killer to our house?” Nick's face went red and his hands tightened into fists.

“We have worse things to worry about,” Claire said. “Remember, Judy saw Petrov on the slope.”

Nick stared at Judy. Claire could see the wheels turning in his mind, and the moment when he reached the awful conclusion that rocked him back in his chair as if he had been punched in the gut.

“Oh, shit.” Eyes wide with fear, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Double shit.”

The emcee's voice sounded on the speakers, “—and the most important person we have to thank is Anthony Contino, who was tragically taken from us on Friday. Here in his place to accept his award for outstanding volunteer of the year is his son, Nickolas Contino.”

A round of hearty applause broke out. The emcee spotted Nick and signaled for him to come forward. People began to stare at him as he sat immobile.

Judy shook his arm. “You need to go up there, Nick.”

He grabbed Judy's hand. “I have to talk to you.”

With tears glistening in her eyes, Judy said, “I know. But right now, you've got to accept your father's award. Go.”

Nick finally seemed to notice the people applauding around him. He flushed and stood, wiping his hands on his pants. He approached the stage, fumbling for an index card in his jacket pocket. He dropped it, then picked it up again, moving slowly as if still dazed.

Roger returned with the drinks and handed them out before he took his seat. He watched Nick's awkward progress toward the stage. “Is he going to make it through this ceremony? He looks kind of shaky.”

Claire took a hefty gulp of her wine. “He's got more than grief working against him. Judy just told him she saw Petrov on the ski slope the day Stephanie was killed. He's still absorbing the impact.”

“Shit.” Roger glanced at Judy, but she was focused solely on Nick, as if willing him from afar to make it through the emcee's praise of his now-dead father and the short speech Nick would be obliged to give. “Double shit.”

Claire couldn't help her wry grin. “Precisely what Nick had to say on the subject.”

Owen returned to their table and leaned over to whisper to them. “I've got two patrolmen scouring the premises for Petrov and Ivanov. No sign of either yet. As soon as the patrolmen finish, they'll report to me here.”

He slid into the chair Nick had vacated. “One of them, Officer Ramstead, will take the first watch over Judy. There're a few things I should go over with you three.”

He glanced at Judy then followed her gaze to Nick on the stage. With hands tightly clasped, the young man stood next to the emcee rattling off his father's contributions, in time and money, to the Summit Foundation.

“We won't be able to tear her attention from Nick,” Claire said. “Tell us, and we'll make sure she hears it later.”

Owen cleared his throat meaningfully then looked at the two of them. “Ramstead, and whoever takes his place in the morning, should stay in the same room with Judy at all times. We can make an exception when she's in the bathroom. No windows in there, I presume?”

“Not in hers,” Roger said.

“Good. I plan to sit outside your place in my cruiser tonight, after I check for Ivanov at the Hilton.”

“I hope your wife's not too upset about that,” Claire said.

Owen rolled his shoulders, as if his jacket was binding him. “She'll get over it. This kinda stuff comes with being a cop's wife. I've arranged for someone else to drive her home. I need to be at your place. If Petrov makes a move for Judy, I think it'll be tonight.”

Claire sucked in a breath.

“Keep her inside and away from the Continos' house.” Owen glanced at Judy. “I know I'm asking a lot.”

“Yes, you are,” Claire replied, “but we'll do whatever it takes to keep her alive. What will you do if you can't find Petrov?”

“We've already got an APB out for him. I hope we flush him before he escapes back to Chile.”

“At least in Chile, he'd be away from Judy,” Claire said.

Judy leaned forward, her shoulders tense. Nick had started his acceptance speech.

A Summit County patrolman in the familiar black and green-gray uniform approached Owen and whispered in his ear.

“No luck yet.” Owen stood. “Let's go.”

Claire stood with him. “Judy won't want to leave before talking to Nick.”

Owen frowned. “Tell her to call him later. With Petrov on the loose, I'm nervous about leaving her out in an exposed area any longer.”

Roger went over to Judy and whispered in her ear. When she shook her head vigorously, he pulled her up out of her chair with a firm hand on her arm. “You can call him after we get home.”

“But—” Judy's gaze remained on Nick as they escorted her out of the ballroom.

He stumbled on his words as he watched them go.

Claire caught his attention and mimicked putting a phone to her ear while mouthing, “She'll call you.”

_____

When they reached the parking lot of their townhouse, Claire scanned the area, nervously checking for any signs of a lurking Russian hit man. As if there would be any.

Owen pulled his cruiser into the space next to theirs, and Officer Ramstead parked his at the end of the block. The two men got out of their vehicles and approached Roger's car.

“Stay here until I can check the place out.” Owen held out his hand to Roger. “House key?”

Roger handed Owen his keychain and showed him which key was for the door.

Owen turned to Ramstead. “You watch the front door and the Hanovers.” Owen drew his gun out of a holster hidden under his suit coat and entered the townhouse silently.

Claire, Roger, and Judy huddled together in the cooling car, with Ramstead standing guard and puffing clouds of condensation in the brisk night air. A few minutes later, Owen waved to them from the doorway. They climbed the steps and went inside.

Before Claire could say anything to her, Judy grabbed the phone and punched in a phone number, tossing her coat on the floor as she waited for the rings.

“Mrs. Contino, this is Judy. Please ask Nick to call me as soon as he gets home. It's important. And, Mrs. Contino, I'm so sorry about everything that's happened. I want to help—” She listened for a while, as tears came to her eyes. “Yes, I understand. Goodbye.”

She grabbed a tissue to wipe her eyes. “Mrs. Contino can barely talk, she's so choked up. I wish I could do something.”

Claire rubbed Judy's back. “So do I, honey, but grieving is a long and difficult process. We can't go through that for her. Or for Nick.”

“But I could be there when he needs to talk. If you'd let me.” She ground out the last four words.

“We feel for Nick, too,” Claire said. “But our first concern is your safety. How do you think Nick would feel if something happened to you?”

And if keeping Judy safe means breaking up her relationship with Nick, then by God, I'll do it, no matter how much it hurts her.

Judy eyed her mother suspiciously, as if she had heard Claire's thought. “I need to go to the bathroom.” She frowned at Officer Ramstead. “So you're to be my shadow, right?”

He cleared his throat and glanced at Owen. “Yes, ma'am.”

“I'm going downstairs.” She turned and walked to the staircase.

“She's not mad at you,” Claire said to the officer, “just that you need to watch her.”

“I understand.” Ramstead hurried down the stairs after Judy.

“If you're all set here, I'll head over to the Hilton,” Owen said. “I'll keep Ramstead posted via his police radio and be back as soon as I finish there.” He opened the door, made sure the lock was set, then closed it behind him.

Claire collapsed on the couch, too wrung out with tension to even remove her coat. She just unzipped it and threw it open. Her stomach growled, notifying her that one glass of wine did not constitute dinner. She glanced at her watch. A few minutes after eight o'clock. “Have we got anything to eat?”

Roger shot her a surprised glance from the kitchen where he had been pouring himself a glass of water. “You didn't get enough to eat at the party?”

“I didn't get anything to eat there, and I don't think Judy did either.”

Roger opened the cupboard doors. “Raisin bran, tortilla chips, microwave popcorn, baked beans—”

Ugh. Beans.
“How about popcorn?”

He put a bag in the microwave oven and brought Claire a glass of water and the ibuprofen bottle.

“Thanks, honey, for knowing exactly what I needed.”
One of the benefits of being married for twenty-six years.
Claire downed the pills, then dug into the popcorn when Roger brought over the bowl.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang, making Claire jump and spill the remaining popcorn.

Roger went to the door. “Who is it?” He waited then opened the door.

Nick stepped inside, his eyes dark wells of sadness, and nodded at Claire and Roger. “Mrs. Hanover, Mr. Hanover. I can't tell you how sorry I am that Judy got involved in our troubles. I'll do everything I can to protect her.”

Even if it means leaving her?
“We need to have a long talk, Nick. It's our right to know exactly what's going on, for Judy's sake.”

Looking even more miserable, Nick jammed his hands in his pockets. “Can I talk to Judy first? There are some things I need to say to her in private.”

So, maybe he does realize he has to leave her.

“She's downstairs,” Roger said. “But a policeman's with her. Unf
ortunately, he has to stay in the same room.”

Nick grimaced.

Claire's heart went out to the young man. “I'm sure he'll keep whatever he overhears to himself, Nick. Go on. She's anxious to see you, too.”

Head bowed, he clumped down the stairs.

Claire knelt on the floor to pick up the spilled popcorn.

Roger bent down to join her. “Actually, he seems like a nice young man.”

“Stuck in lousy circumstances, unfortunately.” Claire tossed a handful of kernels into the bowl. “Circumstances I don't want Judy involved in.”

Roger glanced down the stairs, a thoughtful expression on his face. “If only there was some way . . .”

Claire sat back on her heels. “I don't see how it's possible. The Russian mob is worldwide. If they want Nick, they can reach out and grab him wherever he goes. He's stuck. His father made damn sure of that.”

She pursed her lips. “But Judy isn't stuck. Not yet. No way is she going to be the wife of a criminal.”

Shaking his head, Roger dropped the last popcorn kernels into the bowl and brushed off his hands. “It's a damn shame.”

As Claire rose with the bowl, a whooshing sound downstairs froze her in place. “What was that?”

His brow furrowed, Roger said, “I don't know.”

Claire stood and called, “Judy!”

No answer.

“Nick? Officer Ramstead?”

Nothing.

Roger's gaze darted around the room, then he dashed for the fireplace and grabbed the poker. “All I could think of,” he whispered to Claire.

He motioned her to get behind him as he slowly made his way down the stairs, hugging the wall.

Claire followed. When they reached the bottom step and turned, she craned her neck to see around Roger's head and shoulders.

The back sliding glass door stood wide open. A frigid breeze slapped the vertical blinds against each other.

“Did they go outside?” Claire asked. “Where's Officer Ramstead?”

A toilet flushed and the two turned toward the bathroom. The door opened and the policeman stepped out. He looked around. “Where'd they go?” Then he spied the gaping sliding glass door. “Crap.”

He ran out and around the side of the townhouse. The roar of
an engine turning over filtered in through the open doorway. Soon Ramstead returned, chest heaving.

“That was a Range Rover with the two of them in it. I couldn't catch them.” He bent over and leaned his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Why'd you let them out of your sight?” Roger asked.

“The two lovebirds were so engrossed in whispering to each other, I decided to take a leak. Never thought they'd bail on me. I was supposed to keep someone from getting in, not her from getting out.” He groaned and stared at Claire. “What the hell do they think they're doing?”

“How should I know? I can't believe they would do something this stupid. All we can hope is that they went to Nick's house.”
And that no one followed them.

Anxious to get Judy back under police protection, Claire pointed to the radio on Ramstead's belt. “Can you contact Detective Silverstone on that?”

He keyed the radio. “Ramstead calling Silverstone.”

“Silverstone here. I'm almost there. Hold a couple of minutes.”

Ramstead tried to raise him again, but got no response.

Claire shivered. “Roger, could you close that door?”

As Roger slid the sliding glass door shut, the front doorbell rang.

“That must be Owen.” Claire ran upstairs, fear gnawing at her brain and jumbling her thoughts.
What if the kids didn't go to Nick's house? What if they couldn't be found until it was too late?

“Check first before you open it,” Roger called as he and Ramstead clomped up the stairs behind her.

“That you, Owen?” she asked through the door.

“Yes.”

Claire opened it and ushered him in. “Thank God you're here.”

Owen's eyes went wide. “Why? What happened?” When he saw Ramstead climbing the stairs, Owen repeated, “What the hell happened?”

“The gal and her boyfriend took off.” Ramstead slumped onto a kitchen stool.