After the Fall (34 page)

“No, I work at the FDA. I admit, I was going too fast. Distracted, I guess. I'm getting married tomorrow.”

The detectives, however, did not show up. Must've been called to work another crime. The young doctor did proceed with her plan, subjecting Jake to a brain MRI—negative—and to a chest X-ray—two cracked ribs. Five hours later, now nine p.m., he left the hospital in a cab and headed to Addie's apartment.

Addie was home now, but not alone. She appeared to be in deep discussion with a Middle Eastern-looking man. Could this be Dru? Her friend from Detroit, originally from Iraq, the one who'd helped her out when she first came to the States as a university student in Ann Arbor. The one who was now acting as a liaison between her and her parents in Iraq.

The man's loud voice sounded angry, but he stopped talking when Jake entered the room.

“Jake, this is Dru,” Addie said, hastening across the room to meet him. “He's here to help me with my travel plans for Friday.”

“Dru, this is Jake.”
Not, this is Jake, my fiancé
.

Jake had so much to discuss with Addie. Immunone's approval. Her status with Replica. Their wedding plans tomorrow. And why the hell had she been talking to Laura Nelson.

“Glad to meet you, Dru. Addie's told me about you. But now's not a good time. We have—”

“Jake, are you okay?” Addie had noticed the bruised left side of his face and the discoloration settling in his left eye socket.

“Adawia, tell your guest to come back another time,” Dru said, dismissing Jake as if he'd just delivered a pizza.

The pain in the back of his chest—the site of two fractured ribs—had escalated on the jostling cab ride. Jake now figured he should have taken the Percocet, but hadn't, wanting to
stay clearheaded as he sorted out this Addie-Laura Nelson relationship. Right now, he didn't have the patience or the intention to deal with Addie's friend.

When Dru walked to him, placing the heel of his hand against his chest, Jake only wished he had his Glock. Pain or no pain, it'd be fun to scare the hell out of this creep.

“Move,” Dru said. “Now. Out.”

Jake was about to shove him, when Addie stepped between them.

“Dru,” she said, tugging at the guy's arm, “we're about finished, aren't we? I understand the urgency and the timing. I'll be there.”

“Be where?” Jake interrupted, taking a step back. Why was Addie having this cryptic conversation, now, when he needed her undivided attention? He had his own questions and concerns, and they didn't involve this Iraqi dude from her past.

“No.” Addie's appeal had failed. “Get rid of him. Now.” Dru yanked his arm out of Addie's grasp.

“Jake, could you give me and Dru a few more minutes? Alone?”

What was all that shit about the man's dominance in Muslim relationships? Addie's lack of deference to him, her future husband, was both startling and unacceptable.

Jake faltered. His woman. He desperately needed to talk to her. This Arab creep had to go.

The flashing of a knife, an extended four-inch steel blade, made his decision. It appeared so fast, demonstrating the user's obvious expertise. If he'd had his piece, Jake wouldn't have hesitated. He'd have taken out this bastard in four seconds. When the cops had been all over him in the ER today, he'd been grateful not to be carrying, but now—

“You get the fuck outta here, man. And I mean forever. You and this woman are through. Forget you ever met her.”

“Dru, this is Jake. I told you about him. About—”

In a swift move, knife in one hand, Dru turned and slapped Addie. Hard. “You shut up and do as I tell you, Adawia.”

Addie fell back against the arm of a sofa, a moaning sob escaping, breaking Jake's heart. He may have shot a woman dead, but he'd never, ever, hit one. This asshole would pay.

Dru bolted toward Jake, still hovering close to the door. The knife gleamed as light played on the steely surface. Jake recognized the fight stance and the determined, yet desperate, look in the eyes of his attacker. He backed to the door, his hands finding the knob. An easy twist and he all but fell into the opening door, sending a current of pain throughout his chest. He did not hesitate. He was gone. Out of Addie's apartment, hustling down the hall to the elevator. Once on the street, he gingerly raised an arm to hail a cab to take him to the Budget Car Rental in Bethesda.

W
EDNESDAY
, M
ARCH
4

Dru flinched as Adawia fingered her bruised cheek. A unexpected pang of shame for striking a woman.

“Sorry, Adawia, I didn't mean to hurt you,” Dru said, closing the door to her apartment, bolting it. “I had to get rid of that man.”

“That's Jake, the man I'm going to marry.”

“Sit down, Adawia. I have a lot to talk to you about. I got picked up by the FBI and they took me to—”

“The FBI? Dru, I saw you at—”

“Come, please,” Dru interrupted, gesturing for her to take a seat on the sofa. When she complied, he continued, “They took me to the Pentagon. Left me there with agents that were more like the CIA, but they go by DIA. Defense Intelligence.”

Dru paced as he let her absorb this. She seemed less shocked than he'd anticipated.

“They know I'm connected to you and to your family, specifically, to your father. You see why I had to get rid of your friend Jake?” Dru stopped mid-step to stare at her. “Shit. Did you tell the bastard about your father? His connections in Baghdad?”

“Of course not,” Addie said. “Nothing. Maybe after we're married. Dru, do you share everything with your wife?”

“Of course not,” he said.
Especially not that I'm with you in your apartment tonight
.

“Oh,” Adawia sounded deflated. “We're getting married tomorrow. I think being married will give me some stability with my family. Plus, an American husband will give me some protection.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Dru couldn't believe the woman's naiveté “Your family has a husband picked out for you. Your father told me. Arrangements have been set.”

“That's exactly why I want to be married before I get there. I can't stand even the thought of being married to the repulsive man they picked out for me.”

“Gabir Rahman. He's not so bad.” Dru considered the man a bastard, but this was not the time to share that opinion.

Adawia jumped up and glowered at him. “You knew about Gabir?”

“Let's get back to reality. You're not marrying Harter. And now that the American government is involved—”

“Tomorrow, Dru. We have a Maryland marriage license. Jake and I are getting married tomorrow. That way, when I get the Immunone money on Friday, I will have someone to take care of my affairs over here.”

She turned away, sat down again on the sofa, and pulled up her knees.

“You're getting the money Friday?” Dru spun around, incredulous. “Since when?”

“The FDA will approve Immunone on Friday. There'll be a press conference. They may even want me to participate. Since my flight to London isn't until 11:00 p.m., I should be okay.”

Dru was trying to figure the implications of this distribution of money when Addie said, “I was at the Pentagon today too. Agents picked me up in the parking lot at the FDA. Same as you, DIA agents.”

“What?” was all he could say.

“They know about my father. They know about you. I saw you there when they were taking me out. What did you tell them?”

They'd questioned Adawia?

“What did you tell them? About me?” Dru could feel the sweat start to bead on his forehead, in his armpits. If she'd told them he'd been in Baghdad last week… Dru's hand fingered the knife, now tucked into his pants pocket. If they'd known he'd lied, they surely wouldn't have returned the knife. “Adawia,” his voice raised in an angry fear, “what did you tell those agents about me?”

He had to leave the US. Join Shada in Canada. Get a new identity, a new life.

But as Adawia repeated the agents' questions and her answers, his desperation abated. She had not betrayed him. If she was telling him the truth, and he judged she was, their stories lined up perfectly.

Although his priority was getting Adawia to Iraq as ordered, Dru found himself distracted by that $7.5 million coming to her in just two days. Friday, the day she was to leave for the homeland. Could he manipulate his way into at least of piece of that money? He could use it to establish a new life for Shada and the boys in Canada.

Dru's mind started to spin. Now that Immunone's approval and Adawia's payout were scheduled, could he, as her banker, handle the funds? She'd be in no position to invest the money from Iraq. Of course, she'd need to assign him power of attorney. Who better to trust? But first, he had to eliminate Jake Harter.

“Okay, here's what you're going to do,” he told her. “Break off with Harter. You are not to marry him. With your father so high up in the regime, with you replacing him, do you think they'd allow an American husband? So get over that stupid idea right away.”

“I thought my parents would adjust—even if they consider Jake an infidel, but—”

“They will not tolerate him. Period. Before you leave Friday, you sign over power of attorney to me. That's the important thing. I'll invest your money somewhere safe.”

“Somewhere like Switzerland?” Adawia asked.

“Wherever is safest. You know that's my expertise.”

“If only—”

“Adawia, they will kill you and your entire family if you don't leave for Baghdad. First leg, London, Friday night.”

“I guess I've always known my family wouldn't accept an American,” she said, starting to cry, “but Jake makes me feel safe, and he says he'll become a Muslim—”

“Jake doesn't know shit about Iraq, about Islam, about sharia law. I'm not saying he's a bad person, but he doesn't deserve the trouble you'll bring down on him.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Adawia said with a sniffle. “I do think he loves me. Enough to—”

“It doesn't matter. You have to leave the United States.” Dru went into Addie's small bathroom, brought back a box of tissues. “Here. Stop crying.”

Adawia blew her nose. “I forgot to tell you. The DIA agents know I told the detectives from Rockville I was with you when Jake's wife was murdered. They knew that I need for you to give me an alibi.”

“That's bullshit. They think you killed that man's wife?”

The telephone rang. Dru told Adawia not to answer it.

When it rang again, he got up and disconnected it.

“Look, you're out of here in two days. I'm not volunteering to talk to the cops. Besides, the Feds never mentioned that to me. If they did, I'd admit I was with you that night. So don't worry.”

“What if that call was from Jake?” Adawia asked, standing over his shoulder now, still sniffling.

“You're done with him. So forget about it.”

Adawia would never talk to Jake
, Dru assured himself,
because I will not let her out of my sight
.

W
EDNESDAY
, M
ARCH
4

Jake rented a charcoal-gray Chevy Blazer SUV with 4-wheel drive. Not as tough a ride as his Jeep Cherokee, but sturdy, dependable, with only 600 miles on the odometer. He tried to concentrate on his plan, but his head pounded, and his anger surged, and every bump he took felt like hell. First, that Dru pal of Addie's would pay. Tonight. Next would be Addie's new girlfriend, Dr. Laura Nelson.

Jake stormed into his house, barging into the walk-in closet off the hall, stopping at the hidden compartment in the rear where he kept his guns and emergency supplies. Just a few steps from where his wife had died, and the police hadn't even found it. Karolee hated guns, one of their many differences. As for Jake, his thing for firearms had begun in the Marines, and over the years, he'd collected some nice ones.

The closet was packed tight. It contained food items, water, cash, first-aid supplies, flashlights, but, by far, most space was taken up by guns and ammo. Handguns hung from hooks; twin Glock 9mms sharing the same hook; the Browning .22 caliber fitted with a six-inch suppressor on another; the Beretta, a third. All were loaded. His long guns rested in the corners: a Mossberg 12-gauge tactical shotgun, a Bushmaster .223 outfitted with a Zeiss scope, and an AK 47 he'd won playing cards. Jake loved his guns, and felt an instant of nostalgia for the Smith & Wesson
.38 that had terminated the life of Karolee—his Saturday night special now rusting in Croydon Creek.

Jake considered his strategy. Should he take only the two weapons he'd need tonight: the Browning with the silencer, carried in his jacket pocket, and the Beretta for backup in an ankle holster? So far, the cops had not discovered his arsenal, but his instinct told him to take them all. Survival mode.
Once a Marine, always a Marine
.