Hookers, that is.
And who can forget the gorgeous Gwen Peters, who, until recently, was Callie’s love interest?
But if Callie can only kill one of Creed’s former girlfriends—and that’s the legal limit, if she hopes to get away with it—she can’t waste her kill. She needs to go after the biggest threat.
Is that person Kathleen?
Possibly not.
Kathleen’s a former victim of spousal abuse. She’s also a burn center volunteer, and the adoptive mother of a physically ill, emotionally-scarred child named Addie, who also attended Creed’s surprise dinner last night.
Callie doubts Kathleen represents a serious threat to her future happiness.
Then again…you never know.
…Except that Callie will know…and soon.
Which brings us to Rachel Case.
Creed’s soft spot for Rachel makes less sense than a Kardashian board meeting. She’s currently locked away in a subterranean government facility having her eggs harvested by scientists who hope to create a Spanish Flu vaccine.
Jesus, Donovan.
Rachel Case?
How sick is this puppy? If a psychiatric scream mated with a jail-house sigh, their love child would be Rachel Case. What’s that old Mickey Mouse joke? Oh yeah: Micky was mad at Donald Duck for spreading rumors about Minnie Mouse’s sanity. Donald replied: I never said Minnie was crazy. I said she was fucking Goofy!
Well, Rachel’s not fucking goofy. She’s fucking crazy. If Creed goes back to her, Callie will kill him for bad judgment.
Which brings us to Beth Daniels.
Low level threat.
Classy? Sure. But Beth’s lifestyle is too quiet for Creed. The most exciting part of her day is making toast, and her biggest decision is whether to butter it. What will she have him do, walk the beach and collect shells?
Please.
Callie might pay her a visit anyway, just to be safe. But Beth is almost certain to survive the cut.
The odds-on favorite to die is Miranda Rodriguez.
Unless Callie’s meeting with Kathleen goes horribly wrong this afternoon, Miranda’s holding the short straw.
3.
LAST NIGHT CREED attended a dinner meeting at the Four Seasons restaurant with Dr. Gideon Box. Concerned about a possible ambush, Creed called Callie on his cell phone and kept the line open so she could monitor the conversation. Callie positioned herself outside the entrance on East 52nd to provide backup should he need it.
It was an ambush, all right, but not the deadly kind. Unless Callie decides to kill Dr. Box for setting Creed up with Kathleen in the first place. Box met Kathleen while treating Addie and learned they had a mutual friend, Donovan Creed. Except that Kathleen hadn’t been Creed’s friend, she’d been his fiancée, and their relationship ended badly.
Homeland Security told Kathleen that Creed died in a terrorist firefight, and she believed it after attending his funeral. But years later she learned he was alive, living in Las Vegas. To Kathleen’s credit, she never tried to contact him. They’d been apart for years, and the implication was clear: he didn’t want her, time to move on. But then Dr. Box started playing cupid, completely unaware Creed and Callie have become a couple.
She should kill him. Follow him home and fucking kill him.
Except that she owes Dr. Box, big time. He performed the surgery that gave Callie full use of her legs after a bullet crippled her.
Last night she listened as Creed approached the table and said, “Hello, Kathleen.” Callie wasn’t ready for that. Her brain cells spun like tumblers in a slot machine as she experienced the old emotions: Betrayal. Abandonment. Jealousy.
She wasn’t mad at Creed. He’d been set up. She could tell from his voice he was upset at being ambushed by Kathleen and Addie. But he maintained his cool.
Because of Callie.
Because the dinner had been one of Box’s conditions for performing Callie’s operation.
Callie spent the first ten minutes fighting the urge to storm the restaurant and spray the table with bullets. Especially after hearing Kathleen’s smartass comments and mocking tone.
The bitch was happier than a news crew at a plane crash! Everything about her voice suggested she wanted to have fun at Creed’s expense. Clearly trying to make him feel uncomfortable, her first comment was characteristically bitchy: “Are you still dating Gwen Peters, the teenager?”
Creed said, “How’d you hear about Gwen?”
“Same way I hear about all your girlfriends: Amber Alerts.”
“Funny,” Creed said.
Then Addie, the little bitch in training, said, “What do you call a fish with no eyes?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“A Fsh.”
“A what.”
“An F-s-h. Get it? No i’s?”
“Right. That’s funny. How have you been, Addie?”
“I’m good.”
“Do you remember me at all?” he said.
“Not really. Mom said you almost married her when I was little. She said you were really nice to me, and helped take care of me.”
“Well, you were a very special little girl.”
“She still is, Donovan,” Kathleen said.
You fucking bitch! He’s trying to be nice. He got forced into this bullshit confrontation because he wanted to save my legs, and here you are, sticking it to him. Is that your plan, Kathleen? Seriously? You better hope you don’t try to rekindle the relationship. Not tonight, and not ever. That would be a big mistake, because I don’t play well. I don’t share with others. Especially my lovers.
Creed knew Callie was listening. And fuming. After dinner, they met up in his limo, a block away, as planned.
“Sorry you had to hear all that,” he said.
“You handled yourself well.”
“I was afraid you’d be pissed.”
“I am. But you had a worse time than me.”
“Talk about awkward.”
“Let’s don’t.”
“Good idea.”
What Callie didn’t say is she left the restaurant ten minutes after Creed arrived. It’s not like her to leave her post, but something came up. Something crazy. Something she has no plans of sharing with him.
She saw someone.
Walking down East 52nd.
Someone familiar.
A woman.
It was…Creed’s former lover, Miranda Rodriguez. Miranda, who’s supposed to be traveling in Europe for a year. Only she’s not in Europe, she’s in Manhattan.
And she’s…
Pregnant.
Could Creed be the father?
Yes, of course he could. In fact, it’s a certainty. Eight months ago Miranda agreed to come work for Creed, but insisted on taking a year off so she could travel Europe.
Now Callie realizes what the year was for.
She raced down the street to confront Miranda. Wanted answers, and wanted them badly. But something stopped her in her tracks.
Some unseen force.
She was completely conscious, completely alert, but her feet seemed stuck to the pavement. She saw Dr. Box’s former nurse, Rose, staring at her.
Glaring at her.
Miranda looked concerned, but it didn’t matter.
Callie couldn’t move.
She heard thoughts in her head telling her to forget what she’d seen. The thoughts were powerful. Persuasive.
But Callie’s dealt with mental demons her whole life. She knows how to isolate unwanted messages. She simply puts them in folders in her brain, to be opened in the future, or kept locked away forever.
When Rose and Miranda hurried away, Callie was unable to follow them.
At first.
Her field of vision was limited, so she couldn’t tell if others noticed her predicament. Those who passed by her on the sidewalk seemed unaware of her presence.
Was she invisible?
A minute passed before the feeling came back. Callie took a few shaky s
teps, then raced to the corner where she last saw Miranda and Rose. Turned and ran several blocks, then retraced her steps, searching the stores. When she got back to the restaurant she realized what seemed like a half-hour was closer to three.
Though it wasn’t easy, Callie survived the assault Rose made on her mind. And came away remembering Miranda’s in Manhattan, pregnant, on the verge of giving birth.
To Donovan Creed’s child.
A child that could destroy her relationship with Creed.
Except that…
The message in her brain was about more than just forgetting what she saw. It also included knowledge that Miranda isn’t keeping the baby.
Rose is.
And Miranda won’t even remember birthing a child.
All Callie has to do is keep the information to herself. Put it in one of her mental files and lock it away.
No problem.
No one on earth is better at hiding secrets than Callie.
4.
Donovan Creed.
I’M LOOKING AT the sexiest sight Planet Earth has to offer: Callie Carpenter, naked, in my bed.
Okay, so I’m exaggerating.
A little.
I mean, she is in my bed, and she is naked, but she’s currently under the covers, which means it’s not quite the sexiest sight a man can view.
Still, I know what you expect of me. It might make Callie angry, but I’m here for you. So hang on a sec while I—
“What’ the hell?” Callie says.
I take it all in for you. Every curve, indentation, and both perfect protrusions. Then say, “I was just thinking the only thing sexier than lying beside you is seeing you naked.”
She frowns, grabs the covers, pulls them back up.
“A minute ago you asked me about Kathleen, now you want to see me naked? Should I connect the dots?”
I laugh. “I asked if you were still angry that Dr. Box stuck me with Kathleen last night. Are you?”
Callie says, “It’s over, right?”
“It’s been over for years.”
“So there’s no reason for you to ever speak to her again?”
“No reason I can think of.”
“Then no, I’m not angry.”
Callie may not be angry, but I am. I tried to corner Dr. Box after the setup last night, but he scampered off when Addie gave me a hug. I chose not to chase after him and make a scene, but I probably should have, since I can’t very well call the man while Callie’s here.
My phone vibrates. I listen a minute, then hang up.
Callie says, “What’s wrong?”
“Possible terrorist attack.”
“Where?”
“Arkansas.”
“Little Rock Air Force Base?”
“No.”
“Pine Bluff Arsenal?”
“What’s that?”
“Munitions storage.”
“How do you know these things?”
“How do you not?”
“Willow Lake,” I say. “It’s a resort town in the Ozarks.”
“It can’t be tourist season there.”
“No. The target appears to have been unoccupied vacation homes. The bombers purposely avoided population centers. If they wanted to kill large numbers of people they would’ve picked the town. Or an actual city. It’ll be classified as a terrorist attack, but that definition doesn’t pass the smell test. Not yet, anyway. It feels more like an attempted assassination. Or possibly—”
“—A test?” she says.
I nod.
“How bad was it?”
“Three witnesses, all shell-shocked, but no casualties. Numerous vacation homes leveled. It was definitely a military-style strike, with a two-phase bomb.”
“That requires at least two people, right?”
“I think so.”
“Then why are we sitting on our thumbs?”
“I’m part of the system now. I can’t just sneak in and out. I have to wait for all the proper clearances.”
“That sucks. But I’m going too, right?”
“I’d like you to.”
“Then I’m going. Who else are we bringing?”
“Joe Penny.”
She smiles. “You trust Joe above the government experts?”
“Not necessarily. But I can understand his explanations.”
Forty minutes later we’re on a jet helicopter awaiting takeoff when my phone rings. I check the caller ID and glance at Callie.
“Kathleen?” she says.
“Dani Ripper.”
I notice a slight change in Callie’s facial expression. I wouldn’t call it a positive change.
She says, “What’s Dani up to?”
I shrug, take the call.
5.
Callie Carpenter.
ANOTHER NAME FOR the list. Dani Ripper.
Callie doubts there’s anything going on between Creed and Dani, but if something is, she wouldn’t be the first woman to trust a man more than he deserved.
She hears Creed say, “Dani, I pride myself on always being available for you, but I’m kind of busy right now, unless your life’s in danger.”
What? He’s always available for her? And prides himself on it?
Dani just made the endangered species list.
She hears him say, “I’ll know more when we get there…Willow Lake, Arkansas. An entire neighborhood has just been blown off the map…We don’t know. Are you in danger?”
He covers the phone and asks the pilots how long we have before takeoff. Then says, “I’m on the tarmac, waiting to taxi…”
He’s on the tarmac? Not he and Callie?
“Just tell me what you need,” Creed says. Dani says something, and Creed responds, “That’s bullshit. We’ve been doing it for years…Homeland Security. CIA. FBI. The Pentagon. It’s not that big a deal…No. these are classified programs…not if we erased them…Is that it?...No problem…You, too.”
He hangs up, looks at Callie, and explains, “Dani had a technical question about erasing photos from cell phones.”
“Photos of what?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t ask.”
The “You, too.” bothers her. That’s the last thing he said before hanging up. If someone on the other end of the phone ends a call by saying, “I love you,” you’d respond, “I love you, too.”
If you’re free to speak.
But if you’re unable to speak because your girlfriend is sitting next to you in a jet helicopter, you might respond, “You, too.”
No sense asking him about it. If he’s innocent it’ll raise a red flag about her jealousy issues. And if he’s guilty, she’ll just be forcing him to lie. There are easier ways to determine if he and Dani are having an affair.
Torture comes to mind.
6.
Donovan Creed.
WE’RE FLYING TO Willow Lake with two pilots. Since only one is required to fly and land the chopper, I ask the copilot to take aerial photographs of the bomb site. As we approach the blast site, he directs the pilot to make a wide circle high above Leeds Road, then has him come closer, asks him to tilt, then make a tight circle.
After a few minutes, he turns to me and says, “We’re done.”
“Set her down, then,” I say.
The pilot puts the chopper on the center of Leeds Road, midway between ground zero and the police roadblock at Leeds and Route 53.
A young sheriff’s deputy races toward us. When he finally arrives he tries to speak, but can’t catch his breath. He puts his hands on his knees and pants like a dog.
“What’s up, deputy?”
He takes a few more seconds to recover, then says, “Who am I talking to?”
“Donovan Creed.”
“And you are?”
“I just told you. Donovan Creed.”
“You can’t be here, sir. This is Leeds Road. The bomb site’s less than half a mile south.” He points, in case I don’t know which direction is south. As if I didn’t survey the enti
re area before landing.
“Listen, son. We don’t have time for bullshit. We’ve wasted hours obtaining proper clearance.”
“No one told me about it.”
“Sort of sad, isn’t it? You do all the work but no one tells you anything? Get on the horn and tell them my name. Then tell me what I need to know. I saw two roadblocks, one on each end of the street.”
“Road, sir.”
“What?”
“We’re on Leeds Road, sir.”
I give him a look. “Are you fucking with me?”
“No, sir.”
“Don’t fuck with me son. I only saw one person at the blast site. That can’t be right.”
“There’s just the one, sir. Everyone else is outside the roadblock, protecting the integrity of the scene.”
“Integrity of the scene? Where’d you hear that?”
“Agent Phillips. FBI.”
“FBI’s here?”
“No sir, just Agent Phillips. But they’re on the way. With a task force, a federal bomb squad, and all sorts of experts.”
“That’s us.”
“You’re the experts? From Washington?”
“That’s right. I expect the president would want me to thank you for your dedication to duty.”
“Wow!”
“Who’s the guy I saw from the air? The one all alone at the blast site?”
“Agent Tyson Phillips, sir. He’s FBI.”
“You say that with reverence in your voice.”
“Well, I mean, it’s the FBI!”
“No one shits their pants any quicker.”
“Sir?”
“I know for a fact the FBI doesn’t have a field office in Willow Pointe.”
“Willow Lake, sir.”
“Whatever.”
“Agent Phillips is from Little Rock. He was here, visiting his sister. He’s been fielding questions, videoing the blast site, and live-streaming it to the task force.”
“Live-streaming, huh?”
“Yes, sir. And preserving the scene till the task force arrives.”
“With any luck we’ll be gone before they get here.”
He frowns. “The FBI’s got full jurisdiction, sir. Agent Phillips has papers and everything.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“FBI outranks us on this one. We were bombed!”