William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“Just a roll of film. For the cameras.”

Travis fingered the tiny binoculars. “And I guess this is how you spy on your neighbors.”

Curran ignored him.

“So what’s the story, super spook? Are you working for the Outfit or the FBI?”

A pained expression crossed Curran’s face. “Neither one.”

“Then what—”

“I’m on my own.”

“On your own? Not a Green Beret anymore?”

“I had a disagreement with my commanding officer. Several, actually.”

“But why are you following us? What do you want?”

Curran twisted his head around as much as Travis’s grip permitted. “I want you dead.”

“Me? Dead?” Travis stared back at him, dumbfounded. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

Curran looked straight ahead and kept his mouth shut.

Cavanaugh pushed her gun into Curran’s ribs. “Answer him.”

“It’s not what you did to me,” Curran replied curtly. “It’s what you did to my sister.”

Travis released Curran’s neck. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your sister.”

“You had everything to do with humiliating her in court. You’re doing everything you can to help Moroconi escape punishment for what he did to her.”

“I was defending Moroconi, if that’s what you mean. The prosecution’s case against him is flimsy at best. Even scum are entitled to a fair trial. If you take that away, the whole system falls apart.”

Cavanaugh stepped between them. “I don’t think he’s in the mood for a civics lesson, Travis. Look, Curran, I’m on the prosecution side of the courtroom. You can trust me. This desire to exact vengeance by projecting your anger onto the defendant’s lawyer is very common, although most people don’t do it with Puukko knives and laserscope rifles. But surely you can see you’re misdirecting your anger. Your beef is against the men who attacked your sister.”

“If I knew who those men were, I’d go after them,” Curran said. “In the meantime, I’ll settle for Byrne.”

“Great.” Travis slumped down beside the hot tub. “Just what I need. Someone else who wants to kill me.”

“There are others?”

“Take a number, kid. I’m not sure you’re even in the top five.”

“Look, Curran,” Cavanaugh said, “I’m sympathetic. I share your frustration. But I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. Why don’t we all put away our big guns and just talk for a few minutes? Then you can decide if you still want to kill Travis.”

Travis stared at her. “Put our guns away! And what if he decides he still wants to kill me?”

“One thing at a time, Travis. Can we talk, Curran?”

Curran frowned. “I suppose. As long as Byrne doesn’t try to get away.”

“He won’t. I’ve got the car keys. Mario !”

Mario crawled out from behind the pool table. “Yes?” he whispered.

“Show us to the den, Mario, and unlock the liquor cabinet. We’re going to have a nice, friendly chat.”

While Mario retired to his master bedroom to pull himself together, Cavanaugh tried to convince Curran that Travis was as much a pawn as his sister had been. She explained that Travis had been appointed to represent Moroconi, that he had precious little choice in the matter, and that once appointed, he had an obligation to do his best to exonerate Moroconi. Most important, she tried to convince him that the last thing on earth Travis needed was another person trying to kill him.

“Who are these other people?” Curran asked, still suspicious. “Did you humiliate their relatives in public, too?”

Travis ignored the barb. “I thought one group was the FBI, but the FBI has never heard of them. I thought the other group was the mob, although the FBI assures me the mob has been cleaned out of Dallas. The paper trail leads to some corporation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Join the club.”

Curran was silent for a moment. “Do you think these people who are after you could be the same people who attacked my sister?”

“I don’t know,” Travis said honestly. “Moroconi always claimed someone had framed him. At the least I think they know something about it.”

“Then I’m in.”

Travis blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. I’m in. I’ll help.”

“Forget it. I’m not letting you anywhere near a weapon.”

“Wait a minute,” Cavanaugh said. “What exactly are you saying, Curran?”

“I’m saying I want to help you.”

“What do you think we’re going to do?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I listened in on part of your conversation with Mario after you hauled him out of the hot tub. You’re going after Moroconi.”

“So?”

“So, I’m coming along. If these people know who attacked my sister, then I have as much right to go after them as you do.”

“This isn’t just a vigilante mission,” Travis insisted. “They’ve kidnapped a little girl. I have to find her by midnight or they’ll kill her.”

“Then you’d better have me along.”

“He has a point, you know,” Cavanaugh said. “He’s far better trained for this sort of mission than either of us.” She eyed Curran carefully. “And you promise you won’t hurt Travis till we’re done?”

“I promise. Till we’re done.”

“Good. Travis, I think we should let him join the party.”

Travis threw up his hands. “Cavanaugh, he tried to kill me!”

“But he promised not to try again. Till we’re done.”

“Oh, well then. If the man who’s been stalking me for days promises, then fine. Here, Curran. Have a machete.”

“I think he’s okay,” Cavanaugh said. “Just a little headstrong.”

“Just a little—” Travis walked up to Curran and grabbed him by the lapel. “Look, Mr. Green Beret. How do I know you won’t kill me in some gruesome super-secret way the first opportunity you get?”

“I gave you my word.”

“I’d prefer a more tangible form of security.”

“Like what?”

Travis pushed him away. “Forget it. Come on, Cavanaugh. We don’t have time to mess around with him.”

“ No !”

The sudden rise in Curran’s voice took them both by surprise. Curran’s face was transfixed by some new, unrecognizable emotion. He seated himself in an armchair and stared into the fireplace.

“Mary Ann is more than just my sister,” he said quietly. “She’s my twin.”

Of course. Travis had noticed the similarity in their features before.

“When we were growing up, we did everything together. We were the best of friends. She was always frail, timid. I was her protector. I was supposed to look out for her.

“I remember a time when we were in the fifth or sixth grade. I was supposed to walk her home, but I got sidetracked with some of my friends on the football team. Some bully hassled her on the way home. Actually, I think he had a crush on her but didn’t know how to show it. Anyway, he pushed her down and scraped up her knee. She ran home crying. She scared so easily. When I saw her, I put my arms around her and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mary Ann. I should have been with you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.’ ”

Cavanaugh gently laid her hand on his shoulder. “Curran, you’re not to blame for what happened to your sister.”

“Oh?” His eyes burned into hers. “What do you know about it? I was visiting her when it happened. We had shared a pizza earlier that evening. I walked her back to her sorority house and heard her say she was going to that bar to find her roommate.” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “I could have gone with her. She invited me. But it was late, and I was tired. So I left her alone. Just when she needed me most.”