J. Robb - Kindred In Death

“Can’t. I’m on an op, and subject sighted,” she said. “Hold positions. Let him get inside the gate, then move in.”

“What?”

“Just keep talking,” she said to Charles. “Roarke, talk to Charles.”

“Have you made your honeymoon plans?” Roarke asked pleasantly even as his eyes tracked over to the man who strolled down the sidewalk carrying a shopping bag.

“Ah, yes. We’re going to Tuscany.”

“Don’t look around, Charles. Talk to Roarke.”

“We… have a villa there for a couple of weeks. Then we-”

“It was great to see you.” Eve shot him a huge smile, lifting her voice as Pauley reached out for his garden gate. “Wish we had more time, but we have to… Go!”

She sprinted, caught the gate Pauley left to swing shut behind him. And pressed her weapon to the back of his neck. “You don’t want to move.”

Ten armed officers surrounded the courtyard, weapons aimed. The bag Pauley held fell to the ground, shattering the contents.

“What’s going on? What’s the problem?”

“Hands behind your back. Oh, please hesitate. Please try to run or resist. Give me an excuse.”

“I’m cooperating.” He put his hands behind his back, and Eve cuffed him. “I don’t want any trouble. I don’t understand.”

“Then I’ll explain.” She jerked him around to face her. “Vance Pauley, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, two counts, and conspiracy with intent to murder, one count. You have the right to remain silent.”

“I don’t-”

“Shut up. Didn’t I just tell you you have the right to remain silent?” She completed the Revised Miranda, then kicked at the shards of glass on the ground. “Bought some prime brew. I guess you planned a little celebration for your son when he got home tonight. The thing is, he won’t be coming home, for the rest of his life. And he flipped on you, Daddy.”

He went pale, and his eyes dark and angry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where is my son? I have a right to-”

“I gave you all the rights you’re going to get. Like father, like son. When push came to shove, he covered his own ass.”

“That’s bullshit. He’d never say anything against me.”

She smiled. “Take this delusional asshole into Central. Book him on the counts charged and put him in a cage. We’ll be talking soon, Vance. Real soon.”

She turned to Roarke and a fascinated Charles. “Now you and the e-geeks can bypass security. By the numbers, people,” she called out. “Records on, I want top to bottom, inside and out. Bag it, tag it, log it.”

“Well.” Charles smiled at her. “This was certainly an exciting walk around the neighborhood.”

“Making your streets safer for newlyweds. I gotta go. I’ll see you to morrow.”

“I’ll be there. Oh, tell Louise, when you see her, tell her I can’t wait.”

“I’ll do that.”

She took him alone. She saw no reason to keep any of the team on the clock any longer. Carrying a large box, she went into Interview.

“Record on,” she began.

“This is some sort of ridiculous mistake. I haven’t asked for a lawyer-yet-because I don’t want to make it more complicated. Now, I demand to see my son.”

“No. Shut up and listen, because this really isn’t going to take that long. And I’ve got things to do. We’ve confiscated all your electronics, and we already have all the data you accumulated on Deena MacMasters, Karlene Robins, Charity Mimoto, Elysse-well, you know who they are. You kept excellent records of your research, your video documentation. Oh, just for the hell of it, we’re throwing in the ID fraud charges and all that. We brought your workshop in, too. Plus, there’s the illegals. It just keeps piling on, Vance.”

“Look, you don’t understand.” He spread his hands, a man of perfect reason. “I have to see my boy. I have to make sure he’s all right. You… something’s wrong with him. I’m afraid he might have done something. He might have done something horrible. I’ve tried to take care of him, but he’s been-”

“Do you think I’m going to buy that bullshit?” She let her fury go, just go, and hauled him out of the chair. “You disgusting fucker. You made him, and now you’d let him fry. Just like you let her. To save yourself.”

She all but threw him back into the chair. “You have no idea what I’d like to do to you, with my bare hands. So don’t fuck with me. You made a monster out of him. You raped his mind, filled it with hate and loathing and lies. What makes people like you, fathers like you who’d do that to their children?”

She stepped away, stared at herself in the two-way mirror. Her heart beat too fast, and her hands wanted to tremble. It was getting away from her, she thought. She couldn’t let it get away from her.

She lifted one hand, laid her palm on the glass. A mirror on one side, a window on the other. And she imagined Roarke’s palm pressed to hers.

He knew her, she reminded herself. All there was. He was there, and he’d keep being there. She could handle this. She could handle anything.

Okay, she thought. I’m okay.

For another moment, she stared into her own eyes. “She didn’t love him either, or not enough. He was… secondary to her. It was all about you.” Steady again, she turned back. “She protected you and didn’t spare him a backward glance. And when you got over your head with the Stallions, you offered her. She was secondary to you, after your own ass. She was someone to be used. That’s all she was to you. A bargaining chip.”

“That’s not true.” He said it slowly, his voice thickening, his eyes taking on a sheen. “I loved my son’s mother.”

“You can’t even say his name. You don’t know which name to use. He never really had one,” she added. Neither had she. They hadn’t named her so she’d remain nothing.

“He told us everything.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh yes, he would.” Some of her fatigue came through, so she used it and angled it toward a kind of boredom. “In his twisted way, he was making you a hero.” She walked back, leaned down. “He was bragging about you, Vance. How you taught him everything, told him everything. How you found your targets together. How you did the stalking, the research, shared that with him. How you planned it all out.

“And even if I didn’t have all that-on the record…”

She began pulling items out of the box. “Discs-with data on the two people he murdered, the woman he tried to kill just today, on the one he planned to kill next week, and so on. On their families, their habits, their work, their friends.

“Very thorough.”

She pulled out stacks of photos. “Visuals of same-including the ones he took of Deena and Karlene after he’d finished with them, so he could share the triumph with you. There’s more. There’s so much more. It’s just a freaking banquet of evidence. I know an APA who’s going to be shedding tears of joy.”

“I can make a deal.” He gestured with his hands, like a politician, she thought, emphasizing a talking point. “There’s a lot you don’t know. I’ll give you information.”

“Gee, that’s some offer. But, no thanks. I’ve got more than I need, and jeez, it’s been a long day already. Your prints are all over this stuff. All over it.”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’m showing remorse. He pulled me into it. He’s my son, and he needed my help. I raised him on my own, just him and me. And losing his mother the way we did, it… marked us. I was going to talk him into turning himself in, to get help.”

“Would that be after he killed Judge Mimoto’s mother today, or maybe just one or two more?”