Castillo Linda - Outsider

Tomasetti steps in. “BCI will have someone at scene.”

Gina turns a hollow-eyed look on him. “There’s no way they got there fast enough. Even if Bertrand or Mercer hired some thug to do the murder, you know someone from the vice unit got there first and took what they wanted.”

Silence ensues, everything that’s been said settling uncomfortably.

After a few minutes, Tomasetti turns to me. “I see you got the Explorer out.”

I tell him about Adam using the draft horses to pull our vehicles from the snow. “We parked Gina’s F-150 in the barn. Out of sight.”

He nods. “Electricity is still out at the farm. Utility company says they should have things up and running inside of twenty-four hours. Linemen are having a tough time getting out,” he says. “You want the bad news?”

I groan.

“There’s another round of snow and wind in the forecast for tonight.”

Gina makes a sound of disgust. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

He lifts his lip in a poor imitation of a smile. “You guys all set here as far as supplies?”

I smile. “Adam’s only got a few hundred jars of canned vegetables and meats,” I say dryly. “I think he’s going to try to get out and cut some wood tomorrow.”

“Sounds like the Amish are faring a lot better than the rest of us,” he says.

I don’t mention that this kind of extreme weather makes caring for livestock exponentially more difficult. That the Amish have to deal with frozen drinking water and frozen pipes just like everyone else, only without the added benefit of electricity.

“You have time for a cup of coffee?” I ask.

“I’m going to head home. Get on the phone. See what else I can find out about Tyson.”

“Keep me posted, will you?”

He leans in for a kiss, then motions with his eyes toward Gina. “Keep an eye on her.”

His cell phone pinged at the stroke of midnight and vibrated across the polished wood surface of the night table next to the bed. Ken Mercer rolled away from his sleeping wife, reached for it, and squinted at the display. Though the number was unfamiliar, his heart quickened. How very like her to call at the witching hour.…

Rising, he cast a final look at his wife’s form and went through the door, closing it behind him. “Yeah,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice.

“Took you long enough,” came the female voice on the other end. “I didn’t catch you in the middle of something, did I?”

Regardless of her words—whether they were cutting or kind or somewhere in between—the sound of her voice always had the same effect. It put him on edge. Aroused him in ways that weren’t quite sexual. Made him feel like the man he hadn’t been for a long time.

“Where the hell are you?” he whispered. “I’ve been out of my fucking mind. Why didn’t you call? I thought they’d…” His voice breaks. “For God’s sake, I thought the next call I got was going to be about someone finding your body in a goddamn field.”

“I’m fine,” she said, unaffected. “Safe.”

“They said you were hit. There was blood at the scene.”

“I got it taken care of. I’m okay.”

His breathing was elevated. He was wide awake now. Senses humming an uneven refrain. As always, she had his undivided attention. “I was afraid to call you. Even on the burner.”

“You’re the only one who has the number. What do you think I am, a rookie?”

No, he didn’t think that. Not by a long shot. She hadn’t been a rookie for a very long time. “Where are you?” he asked. Trying not to sound too anxious. Too needy. Not wanting her to know just how desperate he’d been to hear from her.

“You know I can’t tell you,” she said. “Plausible deniability, remember? You never know when someone is going to be looking at your cell phone records.”

He sighed. “Look, all hell is breaking loose here. There’s an APB out for you. They IDed the truck you were using and you’re fucking Al Capone. Monaghan is shitting bricks, and everyone and their uncle is looking for you.”

“They can look all they want. They won’t find me.” Despite the situation, confidence and arrogance rang in her voice. With any other woman, those traits would have been brash and unappealing. Not this woman. She wore both of those traits like a second skin that was as taut and polished as her own.

“What happened to Jack Tyson?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard.”

Even now, after everything that had transpired between them, he didn’t like lying to her. The feeling wasn’t reciprocal; lying was second nature to her. She was good at it and enjoyed the game—often at his expense. He’d learned to accept it, look past it, embrace it even. Some things were more important than the truth.

“Did they kill him?” she asked.

“No way. Tyson was solid. Everyone trusted him.” Another lie, but such was the nature of their relationship. “Could have been a gang hit.”

“I don’t like the timing.”

“Welcome to the club,” he said. “I don’t like any of this.”

Silence sizzled over the miles between them. His need for her stirred low in his gut.

“They think you took the money,” he said after a moment.

She laughed. Of course, she would laugh. Not only did she have a penchant for lying, but she had no problem courting danger. Such a volatile combination. He wondered if she knew just how much danger she’d stepped into this time.

“Maybe I did,” she said.

“I guess that means you’ve been a bad girl.”

“That’s exactly why you can’t get enough of me,” she whispered. “That’s why you’re standing in the hall outside your bedroom door with a raging hard-on. That’s why you’re going to leave your wife and spend the rest of your life trying to live up to my expectations. Isn’t it?”

He steeled himself against the truth of it, the tinge of cruelty in her voice. “Is it in a safe place?” he asked.

“Very safe,” she said, and then her voice went soft. “I miss you, too, by the way.”

“I can’t wait to get my hands on you,” he said, hating it that his voice betrayed him, revealing the urgency that had his heart racing. The desperation that had his gut tied in knots. Not for the first time he lamented his weakness, the fact that he could no more control any of it than he could his need for his next breath. God knows he’d tried …

“Can you get away?” she asked. “Can we meet?”

“You know things are too hot,” he said. “We need to let things quiet down, babes. A few days.”

“I’m not sure I can wait that long.”

“We’ll have to make up for lost time.”

The silence that followed pricked at his nerves, making them tingle until his hands shook and his armpits dampened with sweat.

“You know they’re not going to let us walk away from this,” she said.

“So we’ll run. The money’ll get us where we need to go.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, finally in a softer voice that promised all the things he craved from her. All the things that, until now, had seemed so out of reach.

“Stay put and lay low,” he said.

“I’m not very good at laying low.”

“They haven’t found you yet so just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll be there. You can count on me.”

“How do I reach you?” he asked.

“You won’t,” she said. “I’ll call you.”

“I love you, baby.” He closed his eyes, thought he could smell her scent, feel the warmth of her breath against his face. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of—”

The line went dead.