Heartbreaker

  “You don’t like flying much, do you?”

  “No,” he answered curtly before turning to stare out the window again.

  “Want to hold my hand?”

  “It isn’t funny, Laurant.”

  She plied his hand away from the armrest and slipped her fingers through his. “I wasn’t teasing. Lots of people don’t like to fly.”

  “Is that right?”

  His grip was firm and she could feel the calluses on his hand. Working man’s hands, but today he was dressed like an executive on Wall Street. Another contradiction, she thought, another layer of his personality she found puzzling and fascinating. Tommy and Nick seemed so different from each other. They certainly had chosen different paths. Her brother was dedicated to the church. He always looked for the good in others, and his primary goal was to save souls.

  Nick seemed to have dedicated his life to fighting demons. His job was depressing and unending, and she wasn’t sure if the rewards were worth the price he paid. He seemed so cynical to her. He expected people to be bad, and thus far, he hadn’t been disappointed.

  The urge to comfort him took her by surprise. She leaned close and whispered, “We’re almost there.”

  “We aren’t there until or unless we land.”

  He was proving to be difficult to comfort. “Landings aren’t dangerous—”

  He snorted. “As long as the pilot knows what the hell he’s doing.”

  “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. Pilots are trained to land planes.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We’ve only got a few more minutes to go. We’re making our final descent.”

  His grip on her hand tightened. “How do you know that?”

  “The captain just told the attendants to sit down.”

  “Did you hear the landing gear go down? I sure as hell didn’t hear it.”

  “I did.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  He took a breath and told himself to calm down. “You do know that this is when most accidents happen, don’t you? Pilots misjudge the runway.”

  “Did you read that somewhere?”

  “No, I just figured it out. Simple physics. Things go wrong . . . human error. Think about it. One man’s trying to ease down over a hundred fifty tons of metal on a couple of little rubber rollers. It’s a damned miracle every time a plane lands.”

  She maintained a somber expression. “I see. Then you believe that if man were meant to fly, he would be born with wings.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Nick?”

  “What?” Now he sounded surly.

  “In your line of work . . . don’t you have to dodge bullets . . . and don’t you go into life-and-death situations sometimes? You’re an FBI agent for heaven’s sake. The cream of the crop. Yet you’re afraid of a little plane ride.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  She ignored the sarcasm in his voice. “I think you should talk to someone about this. Pete could help. He’s a psychiatrist, and he could surely help you get over this . . . worry.”

  He didn’t feel like telling her that Pete’s amusement at his phobia matched hers. “Maybe,” he shrugged.

  Because he was looking at her, he didn’t notice the ground coming up to meet the plane. The landing was smooth and uneventful, and by the time they had taxied to the gate, Nick’s complexion was looking healthy again.

  “Don’t you want to get down on your knees and kiss the ground?” she asked.

  “It’s plain cruel to make fun of a man’s phobias, Laurant.”

  “I wasn’t making fun.”

  “Sure you were,” he replied. He moved into the aisle, flipped open the overhead compartment, and pulled the bags down. “You’ve got a real mean streak inside you.”

  He stepped back so she could stand in front of him. “I do?”

  “Yeah. I like that.”

  She laughed. “Pretty cocky now that you’ve got your feet on the ground, aren’t you?”

  “I’m always cocky,” he boasted as he nudged her toward the exit.

  The airport was surprisingly crowded. As they threaded their way toward the baggage claim area, Nick noticed the number of men admiring Laurant. One man didn’t even try to be subtle. He did a double take, then turned completely around and followed them. Nick responded by throwing his arm around Laurant’s shoulders and pulling her into his side.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure you stay close,” he answered. He shot the gawker a hostile look, then grinned when the man turned and hurried the other way.

  “You wear your skirts too short.”

  “I do not.”

  “Okay, then you wear your legs too long.”

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. Keep moving.”

  He continued to scan faces as they walked through the crowd. He had to let go of her when they reached the escalator. She was frowning at him, but it was too late to take back the comment about her skirt.

  An agent was waiting for them outside the baggage area. The car, a 1999 Explorer, was parked in a No Loading zone. The agent handed Nick a folder stuffed with papers and the keys to the car, and then loaded their luggage into the back. Two airport security guards were huddled together on the sidewalk, shaking their heads and muttering over the fact that they couldn’t do anything about the illegally parked vehicle.

  The agent drew her attention then when he opened a large black case that was tucked into the rear corner of the cargo area. When she saw the display of weapons, she took an involuntary step back.

  Nick noticed. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Yes, it is.”

  The agent opened the passenger door for her, wished her good hunting, and then disappeared inside the terminal.

  Nick tossed his jacket into the backseat and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt as he got in behind the wheel, pushing the seat back as far as it would go to accommodate his long legs. There was a leather console between them. Inside was a map of Iowa.

  Laurant knew the way home, of course, but Nick still checked the route that someone had outlined with yellow Hi-Liter.

  “Did you hear what your friend said to me?” she asked.

  “What’s that?” he wondered, glancing up from the paper he held in his hand.

  “Good hunting.”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah, we always say that,” he explained. “Superstition.”

  “Like ‘break a leg’ before you go onstage?”

  “Yes.”

  She let him finish reading, and after he’d placed the file folder in the back, she asked, “Was there anything important?”

  “Just some update stuff.”

  “We better get going.”

  “Are you in a hurry?”

  “No, but those security policemen look like they want to cry because they can’t give you a ticket.”

  Nick waved to the guards as he pulled out into traffic. “Are you hungry?”

  “No,” she answered. “What about you?”

  “I can wait.”

  “Was there anything in the folder about the letter that man told Tommy he’d mailed to the Kansas City police?”

  “No, they still haven’t gotten anything.”

  “Why would he tell Tommy he’d mailed it when he obviously hadn’t?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was toying with him. I’ll let Pete figure that one out.”

  She was silent as Nick maneuvered through the heavy traffic. Once they were on the highway, he rolled up his sleeves and settled back in his seat. He had the next two hours to prepare her. He went through the list of all the things she wasn’t going to do and ended with the same reminder he’d given her at least ten times now.

  “You don’t believe anything anyone tells you, and you don’t go anywhere without me. You got that?”

  “Yes, I’ve got it.”

  “
Not even the ladies’ room in a restaurant.”

  “I know. Not even the ladies’ room.”

  He nodded, appeased for the moment. She wasn’t fooled. She knew he’d go through the list again in another hour or so. “Let’s go over your daily routine again.”

  “You should have it memorized by now.”

  “Okay, let’s see if I do. We get up around seven o’clock every morning, do our stretching exercises—”

  “To limber up,” she supplied.

  “Yeah, right, and then we go running . . . God help me . . . three and a half miles, start to finish. We take the path around the lake, beginning at the western tip, and we always go in the same direction.”

  “Yes.”

  “I hate running. It’s bad for the knees, you know.”

  “I find it invigorating. Maybe you will too,” she said. “You look like you’re in good shape. You can run three and a half miles, can’t you?”

  “Sure I can, but I’m going to be bitching the entire time.”

  She laughed. “I’ll look forward to that.”

  “Okay, so then we go back home and . . .”

  When he paused, she assumed she was supposed to continue. “And we shower and change into work clothes, and then we walk two blocks to the town square. I’ll spend most of the day getting my loft organized and unpacking boxes while the workmen finish up downstairs. With any luck at all, they should be done soon. I want to be open by the Fourth of July.”

  “That doesn’t give you much time.”

  “You’ll probably be back in Boston by the Fourth.”

  “You’re being optimistic. I could be in Holy Oaks for a month, maybe longer.”

  “How can you afford to take so much time?”

  “I promised your brother. I’m not leaving until we catch him . . . or . . .”

  “Or what?”

  “If he goes to ground, and I have to leave for whatever reason, I’m taking you with me. Don’t even think about arguing about that,” he warned.

  “I won’t, but you know what I think?”

  “No, what?”

  “I think it’s going to happen fast. I don’t think we’re going to have to wait long.”

  Nick nodded. “I feel the same. The way he sounded on the phone . . . yeah, he’s gonna be coming after you fast. Pete thinks so too.”

  “Good. I want this to be over as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah, well, God willing, it will be. You know, you’re going to be sick of me by the time I leave.”

  “On the contrary, I’m sure you’ll be sick of me.”

  “I doubt it. I’ll warn you now. I’m going to be taking a lot of liberties. Fact is, I’m going to be all over you.” He glanced at her before continuing. “The goal is to make the unsub crazed with jealousy. Right? And so angry, he’ll make that one little mistake . . .”

  “And then you can get him.”

  “That’s the plan. But I probably won’t be the one nailing him. Neither will Noah for that matter.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Noah’s going to be busy baby-sitting Tommy, and I’ll be busy . . . mauling you. I’m kind of looking forward to that. So tell me something. What kind of kisser are you?”

  She attempted a southern accent when she answered in a slow drawl, “I’m very . . . very . . . good.”

  He laughed. “How do you know you’re good?”

  “Andre Percelli,” she said. “He kissed me, and he told me I was good. That’s how I know.”

  “You never mentioned this Andre guy before. Who the hell is he?”

  “We met in fourth grade. But alas, our love affair ended as quickly as it had begun. We were in the cafeteria line when he kissed me, and I ended it then and there.”

  Nick smiled. “How come?”

  “He wasn’t a good kisser.”

  “But you were.”

  “That’s what Andre told me before I punched him.”

  He laughed. “You were a tough little kid, weren’t you?”

  “I could hold my own. I still can,” she boasted.

  “So, whatever happened to Andre?”

  “Nothing happened to him. Last I heard, he was married with two babies.”

  Nick changed the subject back to her routine. “We never talked about the evenings. What do you do at night?”

  Laurant was digging through her purse, looking for her hair clip. “Yes we did talk about the evenings,” she reminded him. “And I told you that there’s something scheduled every night for the next two weeks.”

  “Because of the wedding you’re going to be in?”

  “Partly,” she answered. “But also because I promised the abbot I’d help clean out the attic. He’s spring cleaning before the anniversary celebration.”

  “Which is also happening on the Fourth of July. Bad timing,” he added.

  “The wedding’s the Saturday before,” she told him. She found the clip at the bottom of her purse.

  “This anniversary thing . . . it’s going to be a mess. I hope to God we get this tied up before then. Tommy told me the town’s going to be loaded with strangers coming in from all over the United States.”

  She pulled her hair back and clipped it in place. “Actually, they’ll be coming in from Europe too,” she said. “Assumption Abbey opened its doors one hundred years ago. There might even be a cardinal attending.”

  “Great,” he muttered. “It’s going to be a security nightmare. I’m telling you, Laurant, if we don’t catch this creep quick, I’m getting you out of there until the celebration is over.”

  “Agreed,” she replied. “Pete said to take it a day at a time, remember?”

  “Until the first of July. Then we leave.”

  She put her hand up. “I’m not arguing with you, but it doesn’t give us much time.”

  “Unless he makes his move fast. Listen, it’s real important you don’t . . . relax. You understand? Relaxing your guard can be dangerous.”

  “I know and I won’t relax. Could I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “If I weren’t me . . . what I mean to say is . . . if I weren’t your best friend’s sister and we were complete strangers to each other before this happened, then would you have been as resistant to setting a trap?”

  “You mean using you as bait?”

  “Yes.”

  “The problem is, you are my friend’s sister. I can’t separate that.”

  “But what if . . . ?”

  Nick’s immediate reaction was to tell her yes, he would have been just as resistant because he knew firsthand how plans could blow up in your face, but after mulling the theoretical question over in his mind for another minute, he admitted it was a golden opportunity and he probably wouldn’t pass it up.

  “It’s fifty-fifty.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’d weigh the dangers against the possibility of catching this creep before he kills again. And then . . .”

  “Then what?”

  He sighed. “I’d go for the trap.”

  “Have you ever been scared?”

  “Hell, yes. I’ve seen what can happen. We don’t always get the bad guys, Laurant, no matter what you’ve seen on television. Sometimes, they stay on the loose for years. The son of a bitch on the top of the ‘most wanted’ list, Emmett Haskell, broke out of a high-security mental ward in Michigan over a year ago, and we still haven’t caught up with him.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He killed a lot of people. That’s what he did. Seven dead so far, but those are only the ones we know about. There could be more. Haskell told the shrinks that killing brought him good luck. He liked to bet the horses and always went to the track the first Saturday of every month, so the first Friday of every month, he had to kill someone. Didn’t matter who,” he added. “Anyone would do. Man, woman, child. He was real partial to women though. The prettier, the better . . . for luck, you see.”

  “Tommy told me . . .”


  “What?”

  “You hadn’t told him in confidence or he never would have said anything, but I asked him why he was so worried about you and he mentioned . . .”

  He knew where she was leading—the Stark case. He had told Tommy about that one, hoping that talking about it would help him forget. It hadn’t helped him though, not one little bit.

  “He mentioned I killed a woman, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I did what I had to do.”

  “You don’t have to defend your actions to me, Nick.”

  “There really wasn’t any other choice. Maybe if I’d been a little smarter about it, I could have gotten her cuffed . . . but I left the house, and that gave her time to get the kid and prepare.”

  A shiver ran down her arms. “Prepare for what?”

  “Me. She knew I was coming back, and she wanted me to watch her kill the little boy.”

  Laurant saw the troubled look that crossed Nick’s eyes. “How do you get rid of it?” she asked. “Do you block out the memories?”

  “No, I don’t block anything out. I deal with it.”

  “But how?”

  He shrugged. “I keep busy.”

  “Keeping busy isn’t dealing with it.”

  “Don’t you tell Noah I said this, but sometimes I wish I were more like him. He can shrug it all off when he has to.”

  She disagreed. “He’s paying a price, just like you. He’s just got tougher shields.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But as long as animals like Haskell and Stark are out there, I can’t relax. I want to get them.”

  “There’s always going to be another one, isn’t there? Nick, you need a normal life outside of your work.”

  “Now you sound like Pete, and this is damned heavy chitchat.”

  He picked up the phone, punched in a number, and then spoke into the mouthpiece, “We’re taking the next exit and finding something to eat. By the way, you’re following too close.”

  After he’d put the phone back, she turned around to look out the back window. “The blue car, right?”

  “No, the gray Honda behind the blue.”

  “How long have they been following us?”

  “Since we left the airport. This car has a tracking device with a fifty-mile radius, and once we’re in Holy Oaks, Jules Wesson, the senior agent in charge of this operation, will always have us under surveillance.”