The Winner

“That’s what drew him to me initially, I would imagine.” LuAnn drew in a small breath of relief as she saw Jackson nod slightly at this remark. He apparently had arrived at the same conclusion. “He thought I would confess to some big conspiracy, I guess.”

Jackson’s eyes glittered darkly. “Did he mention any other theories, like the lottery being fixed?”

To hesitate now would be disastrous, LuAnn knew, so she plunged ahead. “No. Although he thought he had a big story. I told him to talk directly to the investment firm, that I had nothing to hide. That seemed to take the wind out of his sails. I told him if he wanted to contact the Georgia police he could go ahead. Maybe it was time to get things out in the open.”

“You weren’t being serious.”

“I wanted him to believe I was. I figured if I made a big deal out of resisting or wanting to hide anything, he’d get even more suspicious. As it was, everything sort of fizzled for him.”

“How did you leave it?”

“He thanked me for meeting with him, even apologized for troubling me. He said he might contact me later, but kind of doubted it.” Once again LuAnn saw Jackson incline his head slightly. This was working out better than she could have expected. “He got out of my car and into his. That’s the last I saw of him.”

Jackson was silent for several moments and then he slowly rose, silently clapping his hands together. “I love a good performance and I think you handled the situation very well, LuAnn.”

“I had a good teacher.”

“What?”

“Ten years ago. The airport, where you impersonated an impersonation. You told me the best way to hide is to stick out, because it runs counterintuitive to human nature. I used the same principle. Be overly open, cooperative, and honest, and even suspicious people tend to rethink things.”

“I am honored that you remembered all that.”

A little ego-stroking went a long way with most men, LuAnn knew, and Jackson, exceptional though he was in many ways, was no exception in that regard. In an understatement of mammoth proportions, LuAnn said, “You’re a little hard to forget. So you don’t have to do anything with Donovan, he’s harmless. Now tell me about Riggs.”

A smile formed on the man’s lips. “I witnessed your impromptu meeting with Riggs on the rear grounds this morning. It was rather picturesque. From your state of undress, I imagine he had quite a pleasant morning.”

LuAnn hid her anger at this barb. Right now she needed information. She replied, “All the more reason why I should know all about him.”

“Well, let’s start with his real name: Daniel Buckman.”

“Buckman? Why would he have a different name?”

“Funny question coming from you. Why do people change their names, LuAnn?”

Perspiration sprouted on her forehead. “Because they have something to hide.”

“Precisely.”

“Was he a spy?”

Jackson laughed. “Not quite. Actually, he’s not anything.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that dead men, technically, can’t be anything other than dead, correct?”

“Dead?” LuAnn’s entire body froze. Had Jackson killed Matthew? It couldn’t be. She fought with all her might not to plunge to the floor. Luckily, Jackson continued.

“I obtained his fingerprints, had them run through a database and the computer told me that he’s dead.”

“The computer’s wrong.”

“The computer only relays what it’s been told. Someone wanted it to appear that Riggs was dead in case anyone came looking.”

“Came looking? Like who?”

“His enemies.” When LuAnn didn’t respond, Jackson said, “Have you ever heard of the Witness Protection and Relocation Program?”

“No. Should I?”

“You’ve lived abroad for so long, I suppose not. It’s run by the federal government, more particularly by the United States Marshal’s Service. It’s to protect persons testifying against dangerous criminals or organizations. They get new identities, new lives. Officially, Riggs is dead. Shows up in a small town, starts a new life under a new identity. Maybe his features have been altered somewhat. I don’t know for certain, but it’s an educated guess on my part that Riggs is a member of that select group.”

“Riggs — Buckman — was a witness? To what?”

Jackson shrugged. “Who knows? Who cares? What I’m telling you is that Riggs is a criminal. Or was a criminal. Probably drugs or something like that. Maybe Mafia informant. Witness Protection isn’t used for purse snatchers.”

LuAnn settled back against the wall to keep herself from falling. Riggs was a criminal.

“I hope you haven’t confided anything to him. There’s no telling what his agenda might be.”

“I haven’t,” LuAnn managed to say.

“So what can you tell me about the man?”

“Not as much as you just told me. He doesn’t know any more than he did before. He’s not pushing the issue. He thinks Donovan was a potential kidnapper. From what you just said, I’m sure he doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself.”

“True, that’s very good for us. And I’m sure your little rendezvous this morning didn’t hurt at all.”

“That’s really none of your business,” she retorted hotly. With their exchange of information at an end, she wasn’t going to let that remark pass.

“Ah, your first mistake this session. You just can’t make it through without committing some blunder, can you?” He pointed a slender finger at her. “Everything about you is my business. I made you. And in a real sense I feel responsible for your well-being. I don’t take that responsibility lightly.”

LuAnn blurted out, “Look, the ten years is up. You’ve made your money. I’ve made mine. I say we call it a day, forever. In thirty-six hours I’ll be on the other side of the world. You go your way, I’ll go mine, because I’m more than real tired of all this.”

“You disobeyed me.”

“Right, well I spent ten damn years in twenty different countries, constantly looking over my shoulder, obeying your instructions. And I guess now I’ll spend the rest of my life doing the same thing. So let me get to it.” The two engaged in a stare-down of prolonged duration.

“You’ll leave right away?”

“Just give me time to pack my bags. We’ll be gone by tomorrow morning.”

Jackson rubbed his chin as he considered this proposal. “Tell me something, LuAnn, tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

She had been prepared for that question. “Because Donovan might find it a little peculiar that right after he talks to me I end up a corpse. He’s not suspicious now. I think I can guarantee you that would get his radar going. You really want that kind of trouble?”

Jackson pursed his lips for a moment and then motioned to the door. “Go pack.”

LuAnn looked at him and motioned to the door. “You first.”

“Let’s leave together, LuAnn. That way, we’ll each have a reasonable chance at reciprocating in kind in the event one of us tries something violent.”

They went to the door together, their gazes glued to each other.

Right when Jackson put his hand on the doorknob, the door burst open, almost knocking him down.

Riggs stood there, his gun leveled on Jackson. Before he could fire, Jackson pulled LuAnn in front of him, his hand edging downward.

“Matthew, don’t,” LuAnn cried out.

Riggs shot her a glance. “LuAnn—”

LuAnn sensed rather than saw Jackson cock his arm. He was using an underhanded throwing method to hurl the knife, but it wouldn’t be any less deadly that way.

Her hand shot out, partially colliding with Jackson’s forearm. The next instant Riggs was grunting in pain, the knife sticking out of his arm. He dropped to the floor, clutching at the blade’s handle. LuAnn pulled her gun out of her pocket and whipped around, trying to draw a bead on Jackson. At the very same time, Jackson pulled her backward against him.

Their combined momentum sent Jackson and LuAnn crashing through the glass window. LuAnn landed on top of him as they hit the porch, hard. LuAnn’s pistol squirted free from her hand and slid across the porch. Each felt the subtle but undeniable strength of the other as they wrestled amid the thick, slippery shards of glass, trying to gain some footage. He clutched at her neck, she kicked at his groin, one of her elbows levered against his chin. Locked tightly together, they both rose slowly, each seeking an advantage. She noted the blood pouring from the grisly wound on Jackson’s hand; he must have cut it going through the window. His grip couldn’t be a hundred percent, she thought. With a sudden burst of strength that seemed to astonish even Jackson, LuAnn tore free from him, seized him by his belt and shirt front, and threw him face first against the side of the cottage where he slumped down, momentarily stunned from the impact. Without wasting an instant or any unnecessary motion, LuAnn propelled herself forward, straddled his back, gripped his chin with both hands, and pulled it backward, trying her best to crack his spine. Jackson screamed in pain as she pulled harder and harder. Another inch and he was a dead man. Her hands, however, suddenly slipped and she fell backward, landing in the glass. She exploded up and then froze as she looked down. In her hands was Jackson’s face.

Jackson staggered up. For one terrible instant their eyes locked on each other. And for the first time, LuAnn was staring at Jackson’s real face.

Jackson looked down at her hands. He touched his face, felt his own skin, his own hair, his breath coming in great gasps. Now she could identify him. Now she had to die.

The same thought occurred to LuAnn. She dove for the gun at the same time Jackson pounced on her; they slid together along the porch, both straining for the gun.

“Get off her, you bastard!” Riggs screamed. LuAnn turned to see the man, deathly pale, standing at the window, his shirt entirely red, the gun in his shaky hands. With an enviable bit of speed Jackson leapt over the porch railing. Riggs fired an instant too late, the bullets striking the porch instead of flesh.

“Shit!” Riggs groaned and dropped to his knees, disappearing from LuAnn’s line of sight.

“Matthew!” LuAnn sprung to the window. Meanwhile, Jackson had disappeared into the woods.

LuAnn raced through the door, pulling off her jacket as she did so. She was next to Riggs in an instant. “Wait, don’t pull it out, Matthew.” Using her teeth, she tore her jacket sleeve apart and into strips. Next, she ripped open his shirtsleeve and exposed the wound. At first she tried to staunch the bleeding with the cloths, but she couldn’t. She searched under Riggs’s armpit and applied pressure with her finger at a certain spot. The flow of blood finally stopped. As gently as she could LuAnn pulled the knife free while Riggs’s fingers dug into her arm, his teeth almost biting through his lip. She tossed the blade down.

“Matthew, hold your finger right here, don’t push too hard, you need to allow a little blood to flow through.” She guided his finger to the pressure point under his arm that she had been pressing against.

“I’ve got a first-aid kit in my car. I’ll dress it as best as I can. Then we need to get you to a doctor.”

LuAnn retrieved her gun from the porch and they hustled out to the BMW, where LuAnn cleaned and dressed the wound using the first-aid kit from her glove compartment. As she cut the last piece of tape off with her teeth and wound it around the gauze, Riggs looked at her. “Where did you learn to do this stuff?”

LuAnn grunted. “Hell, the first time I ever saw a doctor was when Lisa was born. And even then it was only for about twenty minutes. You live in the boonies with no money, you have to learn how to do this just to survive.”

When they got to an urgent care center off Route 29, LuAnn started to get out of the car to help Riggs in. He stopped her.

“Look, I think it’ll be better if I go in alone. I’ve been to this place before, they know me. General contractors get hurt a lot. I’ll tell ’em I slipped and stuck a hunting knife in my arm.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I think I made a big enough mess for you already.”

He struggled out of the car.

“I’ll be here when you get out, I promise,” she said.

He smiled weakly, and holding his injured arm, he went inside.

LuAnn pulled the BMW around and backed into the parking space so she could see anyone coming in. She locked the doors and then swore under her breath. Riggs had come to her rescue, for that she could hardly fault him. But right before that she had Jackson convinced that everything was okay. Another minute and they would’ve been home free. God, the timing. She slumped against the seat. It was possible that she could explain Riggs’s sudden and armed presence away. Riggs had been concerned for her safety, followed her, thinking maybe that the man she was meeting was Donovan. But Riggs had done something else, something that she couldn’t explain away. She let out a loud groan as she watched the traffic pass by on Route 29.

In front of Jackson, Riggs had called her LuAnn. That one word had destroyed everything. There was no way he would’ve missed that. Now, Jackson knew she had lied to him about what Riggs knew. She had no doubt what the punishment for that would be. Her spirits had been so high barely thirty minutes ago. Now all bets were off.

She glanced down at the seat and saw the white piece of paper there. She picked up Donovan’s card and looked at the phone number. She thought for a moment and then picked up the phone. She silently cursed when she only got the answering machine. She left a lengthy message telling Donovan what had happened. She implored him once again to go underground, that she would pay for everything. He was a good man looking for the truth. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want anyone else to die because of her. She hoped to God he would live to get the message.





Jackson pressed the cloth against his palm. He had indeed badly cut his hand going through the glass. Damn the woman. Riggs would’ve been dead if she hadn’t hit Jackson’s arm a millisecond before he released the knife.

He gingerly touched his real skin. A small lump had appeared thanks to one of her blows. He had finally felt her raw strength and he had to admit, it exceeded his own. Who would have thought it? The big muscle-bound types never possessed genuine God-given strength like that; that kind you couldn’t manufacture in a health spa. It was a combination of both inner and outer phenomena, working in precise, albeit spontaneous, bursts when called upon. One couldn’t measure it or quantify it, because it came and went upon demand by its owner and varied in its intensity depending on the situation, rising to the occasion and mustering just enough reserve so that failure was never a possibility. Either you had that type of power or you didn’t. LuAnn Tyler clearly did. He would not forget that. He would not seek to conquer her that way, but, as always, he would adapt around it. And the stakes were as high as they were ever likely to climb, for one specific reason.

The irony was he had believed her. He had been prepared to let her walk away. LuAnn had confided in Riggs, that was clear. Riggs knew her real name. There were few actions that angered Jackson more than prevarication by his own people. Disloyalty could not and would not be tolerated. If she had lied about Riggs, it was more than probable that she had lied about Donovan. Jackson had to assume that the Trib reporter was closing in on the truth. Thus, he had to be stopped as well.

As these thoughts were going around in Jackson’s mind, his portable phone rang. He picked it up. He listened, asked a few questions, conveyed some clear instructions, and when he hung up, a deep look of satisfaction graced his true features. The timing couldn’t have been better: His trap had just been sprung.





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN




The Bell Ranger helicopter landed in a grassy field where three black sedans bearing government license plates were waiting. George Masters alighted from the chopper, another agent, Lou Berman, right at his elbow. They climbed in one of the cars and started off. Riggs had seriously underestimated the quickness of the response time from Washington.

Twenty minutes later the procession made its way down the gravel road and stopped in front of Riggs’s home. Car doors swung open and serious-looking men, weapons out and ready, swarmed the front and back of the house and barn.

Masters strode up to the front door. When his knocks were not answered, he motioned to one of his men. The burly agent planted one foot directly against the lock and the door flew open, crashing against the interior wall. After they searched the house thoroughly, they finally converged in Riggs’s office.

Masters sat down at the desk and quickly rustled through the papers, his eyes alighting on one set of notes. Masters leaned back in the chair and intently studied Riggs’s scribbles on LuAnn Tyler and someone named Catherine Savage. He looked up at Berman. “Tyler disappears and Catherine Savage reappears. That’s the cover.”

“We can check the airports, see if Catherine Savage flew out ten years ago,” Berman said.

Masters shook his head. “We don’t need to do that. They’re one and the same. Tyler is here. Find out Savage’s address pronto. Call up some of the high-end real estate agents around here. I don’t