Uncharted Fate (18 page)

“Cam probably saved your life, you little fool. I asked you a question. How long did you expect to get away with this?”

“Now you're beginning to act like a cop,” Mallory sneered, sitting up to give him a hateful glare.

Jeff leaned over and slapped his hands on the arms of her chair, towering over her. “I
am
a cop. And you’re not about to forget it, because I told your mother I’m arresting you for possession of marijuana.”

Mallory’s mouth fell open in shock, her eyes going round as saucers. “No, you can’t!”

“I can and I’m going to. With your shoplifting stunt, you'll no doubt end up in juvie. The longer I stand here talking to you, the more convinced I am it’s the only way we have a chance of getting through to you.”

“Please, Jeff. Don’t do this,” Anna pleaded, pulling on his arm. Mallory started to cry. “Mallory will stop. I know she will. Won’t you?” Anna turned to her daughter with hope in her eyes. Mallory nodded vigorously, tears streaming down her face. “See?” She tightened her hold on his arm.

“She told Cam she didn’t think she could stop. I think we’ve got to force her to for her own good.” He pushed Anna’s hand away and headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Anna asked.

“To find some evidence. And if I find anything, I’m taking her in.”

“Wait,” cried Mallory. “There’s nothing there. When I found out Cam was coming over, I flushed everything down the toilet.” Her voice sounded terrified.

Jeff hesitated a moment, then turned back to continue up the stairs.

He heard Anna gasp behind him. “Don’t you believe her?”

“Frankly? No.” He tossed the words over his shoulder. “An addict will lie like a horse thief to save his skin.” He kept going until he stood in Mallory’s bedroom.

Anna ran after him. “She’s not an addict. How can you say that? And get out of there. Mallory said there’s nothing in her room and I believe her.”

“I don’t.” He started pulling open drawers, and looked in them, under them, and around them. He went to the closet and started going through the contents, adept at knowing where and how to look.

Anna tried to pull him away. “Get out of here, Jeff. I mean it.”

“No. I have to do this,” he said, shaking her off. "If you insist, I'll get a warrant but I'll be back before you can contact your lawyer. You might as well just give me permission now because it's going to happen, one way or another."

"All right. Go ahead. Do it now and get it over with."

Standing in the middle of the mess accumulating on the floor, Anna watched, hands on hips, as he attacked the items on Mallory’s desk. "I may never speak to you after this incident."

“I’ll have to take that chance.” Now as angry as she was, Jeff turned his attention to the bookshelf over her bed, leafing through the books and throwing them on the bed as he finished with them.

Anna pivoted and fled, her heavy breathing audible from where he stood. He heard her stomp down the stairs to the front door. He imagined her leaning back against it, her arms crossed in front of her as she tried to work through her fury.

He regretted having to do this to Anna and Mallory, but he knew from experience that the sooner an addict could get help, the better their chances for recovery. He also knew he was jeopardizing his chances with Anna, but right now her daughter needed his help and he could only hope Anna would understand that when she had time to think.

Part of why he was doing this was because of the cop in him, but mainly it was because he loved Anna and her family so much he was willing to lose Anna if it meant helping Mallory. He'd faced many tough choices in his years on the force, but this one, above anything he'd ever had to do before, was the hardest of all. His stomach churned so badly he was afraid he was going to vomit, but he kept going.

Ten long minutes later, Jeff came out of the bedroom and stood, hands in pockets, facing Anna and her daughter. “It’s clean.”

Mallory, visibly frightened, started to leap out of the chair to leave. Anna stopped her with a sharp, “Don’t even think about it.”

Anna turned on Jeff. “She told you that you wouldn't find anything,” she snapped.

“Only because your daughter dumped everything earlier.” His angry eyes targeted Mallory and trapped her, trembling, in her chair. “I won’t arrest you tonight because I can’t without some kind of hard evidence, but you listen to me.” He jabbed his finger at her for emphasis. “If I ever, ever even
suspect
you’re on something when I come here again, you’ll be down at the police station so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

Anna’s next words made his blood run cold. “I don’t think you need to worry about him catching you here, Mallory. He won’t be coming back.”

Jeff spun to face her, dismayed at the hardness in her eyes. The mother panther had roared. “You don’t mean that. You’re upset.”

“I do mean it. Anyone who would arrest the daughter of the woman he claims to love must be a little sick. He can’t really know what love is.”

“I’d arrest my
own
son if I thought it was the only way to keep him from killing himself. That’s love.”

“Your distorted view of love, maybe. At the moment it’s making me ill to even look at you.”

“It’s your thinking that’s distorted around her,” Jeff shouted, pointing at Mallory, whose head was swiveling back and forth as she watched them yell as if they were competing in the finals at Wimbledon. “I think you’re right. I ought to leave.”

“Good. Good-bye.” Anna stepped away from the door and Jeff stalked through it without another word or glance at Anna. She slammed the door behind him.

Chapter 16

When Anna dragged herself out of bed for work a few long, despondent hours later, she felt as if she’d lived through a hurricane. She'd tried to talk to Mallory after Jeff thundered out, but her daughter was tied up in as many knots as Anna herself and they hadn’t gotten far. She’d given up about five-thirty, and they'd gone to their separate nightmares.

In the morning, Mallory dressed, grabbed her lunch off the kitchen table, and ran out the door without breakfast before Anna could stop her. Even Brian sensed the disturbing vibes in the air, and ate his way silently through a bowl of cereal.

Unsure how she was even going to get through the day, Anna dressed in her black skirt and a white chiffon long-sleeved blouse with ruffles on the neck and sleeves. She was folding napkins later that morning, fighting yawns, when Henri came and told her someone on the phone had asked for her.

Alarmed, she went to his office to answer it. Was it Jeff? Could it be the school, informing her the police raided Mallory’s locker and found a cache of marijuana there?

It was neither. Mrs. Kilty, her real estate agent, had called for her. Anna stifled an expression of exasperation.

“Mrs. Lamoreaux,” Mrs. Kilty said, “the people who looked at your house a few days ago are interested in making you an offer.”

As Anna debated whether to feel happy or sad, the real estate agent added, “There’s been a bit of a problem, however. They were concerned about the high taxes, and they asked me to check and see if the assessment could be lowered. I told them I didn’t think it could, since it is not far out of line with other properties in the area. I checked anyway. When the clerk at the tax office went through your file, she said there was no record of your having paid the January city taxes. Can you remember if you paid them?”

Anna covered the receiver and moaned. This was all she needed today. Bracing herself, she removed her hand and replied, “Of course I paid it. I remember doing it.”

“The clerk said the records show you were sent a reminder two months ago. If you'd opened it, it would have told you something was amiss. Did you get it?”

“I remember getting an envelope, but I figured it was my receipt, and I don’t think I even bothered opening it. I threw it in my tax file.”

“Mrs. Lamoreaux, I do think you ought to check this out. It wouldn’t look good if I went back to my buyers and told them there are delinquent taxes due on the property. They’re about ready to sign. Something like this could make them think twice and might cost us the sale.”

“Wait a minute, Mrs. Kilty. Let’s not panic. Let me get my checkbook and I’ll see if I have a record of the check being written.” Setting down the phone, Anna pulled her purse out of the small locker in the back of Henri’s office and leafed through to late February. There it was—check number 1362, made out to the City of Binghamton. “Mrs. Kilty, I have my stub right here. I made out the check on February 27. There’s no checkmark next to the check number, which means it’s still outstanding. That’s odd. I wrote it with all the others after I got my husband’s insurance check. Everything else I wrote the same day has come back.”

“You work over there in downtown, don’t you? Maybe you could run over to the city hall on your lunch break and check it out.”

“Oh, Mrs. Kilty. I just can’t deal with this today. It’s been a rough day. I’ll write a letter sometime in the next couple of days.”

“Honey, these people are ready to sign. I don’t think you can afford to take the chance this’ll scare them away. People who are spending as much money for a house as they are want to know the sale will go off without any hitches.”

“All right, all right. You win. I’ll go on my lunch break today.”

“Fine. You really are better off getting it settled right away before you incur any more penalties from them thinking your payment is nearly a year late. I’m sure it’s merely some kind of mix-up. Do you know where the tax office is? If you go across the promenade of the city hall complex, it’ll put you on the floor where the main lobby is.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Yes, please do call me back. I’ll be here at my desk all afternoon.”

“Fine. Talk to you later.” Anna hung up the phone and sank onto Henri’s desk chair with her elbows on the desktop and her face in her hands. She was exhausted and so worried about Mallory she couldn't think straight. And Jeff . . . she was still angry at him. In her opinion, he’d acted in an unreasonable fashion, letting his sense of duty override everything else. And duty was what it was, in spite of all his protests about doing it for Mallory’s good. He always seemed strong and able; maybe he was too strong.

Overbearing. No, he’d never struck her as overbearing before. He’d always come across to her as gentle. The strength was underneath. He'd been standing up for something he believed in, and it meant something to her. Even in the heat of the moment last night, she’d seen that, although she hadn’t let him know it. She’d needed to fight against him for her daughter’s freedom, and his stubbornness made her angry.

But strangely, in spite of her wrath, she missed him already and wondered if he was suffering as much as she was. Now, this. It was a small, niggling, stupid thing, but it almost pushed her over the edge.

It was after two o’clock before she could leave the restaurant. She didn’t know how long her errand would take, and decided to eat when she got back. At least the day was sunny and nice for walking. As she headed for the stairs leading to the promenade, she glanced down at the police car on the basement level and her thoughts went to Jeff again. Anger and despair battled for precedence in her head.

She looked up at the four-story, modern gray granite and smoked-glass city hall in front of her. Going through the doors thrust her into the dim, elegant interior of the main lobby, and it was hard to see anything after the glare of the sun outside. She squinted, trying to find the sign with all of the offices on different floors listed. The lobby was surprisingly crowded. Ahead of her, she saw a sign she wanted and headed for it.

Before she’d even taken a full step, there was a frantic commotion around her, and a woman screamed in terror. Shoes scuffed on the floor as people tried to run, shouting. Over the din Anna heard something that made her stop dead, despite the fight-or-flight adrenaline beginning to surge through her.

“He’s got a gun!” one man yelled.

Anna’s eyes swung around in horror, her eyes flickering over the panic-stricken crowd. With her thoughts full of the all-too-frequent news stories of gunmen shooting hordes of people, the flight response finally won out and she started to run with the pushing, jostling, stampeding crowd, wildly searching for whoever had the gun, so she could avoid him as she ran for the exit.

A shot rang out, whizzing through the air over her head and hitting the plate glass behind her, shattering it like a thousand crystal goblets dropped on a cement floor. “Don’t come near me. Please. Don’t.” cried a voice, sharp and high with panic. A familiar voice.

Anna skidded to a stop as the crowd flew by her and she spun around in disbelief. “Mark.” There he was in his faded jeans, his body taut as he squared off with a huge, ugly gun clutched in both fists. He was swinging it from side to side like a lunatic, wild and crazy.

He turned when Anna shouted his name, and spotted her in the crowd. With a cry, he leapt forward and grabbed her by the wrist, jerking her around in front of him. His arm pinned her against his chest and she gasped in shock. In an instant, his gun was pointed to her temple, and he was shouting again, his voice hoarse and panic-ridden. “Don’t come any closer. I’ll shoot her.”

He swiveled in a circle as if trying to keep track of everyone around him, including the security guards cautiously making their way around in back of him. His arm clamped like a vise across Anna’s neck and she couldn't breathe, even if she dared move enough to breathe.

Choking, Anna knew she must do something, try to stop this horrific situation. She had to try talking to him, and risk jarring the gun pressed cold to her temple. “Mark, you can’t do this,” she whispered. “You can’t hurt me. Let me go.”

“Quiet!” he screeched, and she realized with a new, terrified fear that Mark was beyond reason. He backed to the elevators, dragging her with him. The door behind him opened, spilling out a handful of startled people. He dragged her inside, now holding the gun pointed at the door until it closed.

He jerked her around as he moved toward a list of offices on each floor. "Mayor’s office—fourth floor," he mumbled. “Aha.” He pushed the button labeled ‘four.’

“Mark, you can’t mean to—”

“Quiet, I said.” Anna could feel his body quiver violently behind hers, and she swallowed the rest of her sentence.

The door slid open with a silent swish, and he thrust the cold muzzle against her temple. An elderly man, who'd been about to get on the elevator, jumped back as they exited on the fourth floor.

“Open the door.” He pointed with his elbow to the smoked glass door leading to the mayor’s office. A clerk at the far side of the room noticed the commotion, and started to stand.

Before she could come to her feet, Mark dragged Anna to the desk, his hand trembling as he held the gun on her. “Where’s the mayor’s office?”

The secretary froze, her mouth moving but nothing coming out.

"Come on." He prodded Anna with the pistol.

“Uh,” the secretary stammered, obviously trying to stall. Mark must have seen her eyes flit for a microsecond to the doorway behind her, because he rushed through it, shoving Anna into the room. He slammed the door behind him with his shoulder.

Mayor Stanton was coming around his desk when they burst into the room. His eyes went past Anna to the scruffy, tattered figure of Mark, whose breathing was heavy while holding the door closed.

Then the mayor’s gaze must have taken in the gun, because he stopped in his tracks, speaking in a calming voice. “Take it easy, young man. No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to do anything you don’t want them to do. Let the woman go.”

Mark hesitated for an instant and looked through the glass beside the door. There was chaos in the hall with people rushing to hide from the gunman. “Okay. Both of you over there where I can keep an eye on you.” He pointed with the gun and released Anna who wobbled over to the mayor on unsteady feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, reassuringly. But he never took his eyes off Mark.

Outside the office, Anna could see that pandemonium still reigned. The secretary phoned someone. Seconds later, a security team came running through the door of the glass- surrounded mayoral suite. Everywhere else, people were running out, trying to escape the danger.

Mark opened the mayor’s door a sliver. His frightened voice boomed out over the confusion. “I want this section of the floor cleared. Everyone else into the outer hall where I can see you.”

One of the security team started clearing everyone out and Anna could hear him say, “Everyone stay calm. We’re not going to take any chances with personnel. We know how to handle this. Come on. Everybody out.”

A tall, blond young man tried to hang back and slip into his office adjoining the mayor’s. Mark must have seen him and motioned with his gun. “You too, you sonofabitch.”

In the police department eight floors below, Jeff was sitting, despondent, staring at nothing in particular when the call from upstairs came through.

“Holy shit,” he heard the desk sergeant cry. “We’ll get some men up there right away.”

Jeff strode to his office doorway to stare at the sergeant. The old man had been through every sort of crisis imaginable in the department, and nothing ever fazed him anymore. Something big must have happened. “What’s up?”

“Jeff,” the sergeant said, his eyes huge, “some idiot with a gun is holed up in the mayor’s office. He has the mayor and a woman in there as hostages.”

“Good God.” The blood drained from Jeff’s face and he felt a little dizzy. This was one of the ultimate fears of being a policeman. A hostage situation. They seldom ended without someone getting hurt or killed. And sometimes it was the policeman. It had happened in Elmira only a few months earlier, ending in three casualties—a hostage, a cop, and the perp.

And the mayor’s involvement made it twice as bad. It would hit the news services like a bomb and the whole place would be swarming with reporters and satellite trucks before he could blink an eyelash.

Since he was the hostage negotiator for the force, the situation was his to deal with. He called the captain and apprised him of the situation. Then, grabbing his bullet-proof vest, he ran to get Detective Carruthers and two patrolmen and headed, heart pounding, for the elevator.

At the fourth floor, the door slid open to a scene of chaos and disorder. Everyone was frightened and milling around in the hallway. The noise level was horrendous.

He held up his arms. “Attention. This is the police. Clear the floor this instant. Go home. The offices on this floor are now closed. That’s an order. Go home.”

A young man came up to him and introduced himself. “I’m Mayor Stanton’s executive assistant, Steve Dimecco. I think it would be helpful if I stayed. I know the whole layout, and can give you a hand placing your men.”

“Okay, good idea. Where can we set up headquarters, man phones and such?”

“The closest office is data processing, the first door on the right down this hall.” He pointed in one direction, and Jeff followed him down the hall, Detective Carruthers and several patrolmen trailing behind to keep an eye on the situation. They cleared the office clutter off a few desks and moved all the computer consoles over to one table.

“Dimecco, see if you can find me a floor plan of the building in case we need to storm the office if things get desperate. Before you go, tell me how I get through to the mayor’s private line. And have all incoming calls rerouted. We’d better talk to this guy and find out who else he’s got in there and what he wants. He must want something. I only hope we can give it to him.”