Don't Look Down (27 page)

Aware that she would probably already be in the house if he hadn’t insisted on tagging along, Richard waited for her signal and then scrambled forward to the lighting box. That had been fairly easy, though he sternly resisted the urge to grin at her. Damn it, he was supposed to be dissuading her from doing this sort of thing, not encouraging it. Drawing in his legs, he eased around the side to watch the camera. As soon as it swung past him, he broke into the open, running
toward the house and thankful that he still used the downstairs gym at Solano Dorado.

He slid in between the bushes and pressed himself against the wall beside her. “How was that?” he asked.

“Olympic.” She had a small scratch on one cheek, probably from the shrubbery, but she made no effort to disguise the fact that she was having a great time. “Okay. According to the blueprints, we’re leaning against the family room. Four windows down is the bathroom. That’s where we’re heading.”

It made sense. Small, enclosed, and since it was in the main part of the house, employees probably didn’t use it. He wouldn’t ask how she meant to open the window; the longer she spent having to stop and explain things, the greater the chance they’d get caught.

They pushed along the wall to the fourth window, and he boosted her up to the casing. A few seconds later he heard a small pop, and the shards of glass fell at his feet. She pushed up the frame and scrambled through the opening.

A second later she leaned out again. “Wait until I put a towel over the casement,” she whispered. “I don’t want any Rick Addison blood lying around.”

“I’m fairly thick-skinned,” he whispered back, then hopped up and in without waiting for her. “Somebody’s going to notice that the window’s broken,” he commented as she closed it behind them.

“I’ll stick a branch through it on the way out.”

For the first time Richard began to realize what a stroke of luck it had been that he’d caught her in the Rawley House library three weeks ago—or at Solano Dorado three months ago. She moved like a shadow, flitting past in the blink of an eye.

“So where’s the gun going to be?”

She went to the bathroom door and cracked it open. “Somewhere he could take peeks at it to remind himself that he had the balls to off his dad, close enough where the cops could almost find it but not quite. He’s an adrenaline junkie, too.”

Too
. Like her.

She’d been right about the security once they got inside the house; the motion detectors were turned off for the convenience of the staff, and he didn’t see any sign that security patrolled the hallways. Only the distant sound of salsa music coming from the direction of the kitchen gave away the fact that there was anyone else there at all.

Outside Charles’s office he slowed, but she continued in the direction of the back stairs. On the second floor she started peering through bedroom doorways. Richard caught on and headed up the far side of the hall. On a shelf just inside the third door he spied a yachting trophy. “Samantha.”

She joined him at the door, then slipped inside and closed it behind them. “You
are
a natural at this,” she said. “Check the closet, and I’ll take the desk and the chest.”

He was glad he’d remembered to bring gloves. Daniel probably had his own office in the house, but Richard agreed with Samantha that checking the bedroom first made the most sense. Adrenaline junkie or not, Daniel would want to be comfortable enough with the surroundings to figure he could hide the gun from the police. Gazing around the closet, Richard flipped on the light and started digging behind clothes. When she muttered his name a few minutes later, he joined her at the desk. “Daniel has a lot of polo shirts,” he commented.

Samantha gave a quick smile. “Does this look short to you?” she asked, pulling open the bottom desk drawer.

“How do you—” Abruptly he realized what she meant.
The desk itself was about twenty-four inches deep, but the drawer looked a good six inches short of that. “Can you lift it out?”

She knelt and slid the mahogany drawer free, tilting it up in the last inch or so to free it from the runner. That done, she bent down to peer into the opening. “Bingo.”

Samantha reached into the desk and pulled out a small metal box. Standing, she set it on the smooth mahogany surface.

Stepping in, Richard flipped the catch open and lifted the lid. A .45 lay in a loosely wrapped cloth, packets of what had to be cocaine stuffed in around it. “He keeps both bad habits together, anyway.”

Samantha, though, was looking into the box, her expression still and solemn. “Jesus,” she finally whispered. “He did it. He killed his own dad.” She visibly shook herself. “And we’re going to make sure he doesn’t shoot one of us with this thing.”

“But we can’t move it without compromising the police investigation.”

She picked up the lighter, pushed into one corner of the box. “Naughty Daniel, doing coke in his dad’s house,” she said, flipping it to him and closing the box again.

He caught it, watching as she uncoiled a copper-looking wire from her wrist and straightened the last few inches of it. At her gesture, he sparked the lighter, and she held the wire over the flame until it began to glow. Then she threaded it into the latch and twisted until the wire snapped. They repeated the procedure several times, until bits of hardening soldered wire jammed both hinges and the latch so solidly it would probably take a metal saw to break into the thing.

“Very nice, MacGyver. Will that do it?” he asked.

“Thanks. It’s pretty seat-of-your-pants, but I think so.
Give it another minute to cool off, and we’ll put it back and get the hell out of here.”

“The police will know it’s been tampered with.”

“Yes, but it’ll still hold a gun that has Daniel’s prints on it, and it’ll match the ballistics of the one that killed Charles. And they won’t be able to prove we were anywhere near it.”

“You’re a wonder,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“Yep, I can gum up the works like nobody’s business,” she said, putting the box back and stepping out of the way while he replaced the drawer. “Let’s get out of here. We should do the picnic thing for real, just to cover our bases.” Samantha kissed him back, on the mouth. “And I’m suddenly feeling kind of horny.”

“Suddenly? I’m not sure I’ll fit back through the window.”

“Mm. Don’t tease me, man. I hope you know a good private beach.”

Monday, 8:13 a.m.

“S
o let me get this straight,” Tom said, slamming a law book closed and not making any effort to conceal his annoyance. “You
don’t
want Walter Barstone released from jail?”

After the argument he and Tom had had about that very thing, Richard decided to leave the talking up to Samantha. He sat back in one of the law office’s comfortable client chairs and folded his arms.

“Correct,” she said, obviously wanting to fight, and ready to settle for Tom.

He could understand that; Stoney was her family, and now in order to reassure Laurie that the police had another suspect to look at besides her brother, the plan involved not rescuing him. They’d discussed alternatives most of yesterday afternoon, and whatever his personal feelings about Walter, for Samantha’s sake he’d made a genuine effort to come up with a way around this. Finally she’d been the one to come out and admit that Stoney needed to stay in jail.

“Shit.” The attorney rounded on Richard. “You’re going along with this?”

“It’s Samantha’s decision,” he returned, keeping his voice cool. One of them had to remain calm.

“After all the calls I made and all the favors I called in, now you aren’t going to do anything?”

“That’s what I said,” Samantha shot back.

A knock came at the closed office door, and Bill Rhodes stuck his head in. “Sorry I’m late. I was getting together some more information. Let’s go over everything; we have to be in court in less than an hour.”

“We’re not going to court,” Tom snapped, starting to stand up and then dropping into his chair again.

Rhodes came in the rest of the way and closed the door behind him. “What?”

“Go ahead, Jellicoe, tell him.”

“It’s not her fault, Tom,” Richard finally put in. “I’m the one who asked you to follow up on this.”

“That’s right, you did. You came to my house and ordered me to get this guy out of jail.”

Samantha turned in her chair and looked at him. Richard met her gaze, but didn’t say anything. Whatever he’d done, he’d done for her, but it didn’t matter at the moment—and they both knew it.

“You do realize I can probably get him back on the street with a minimal bond,” Rhodes went on, leaning one haunch on the edge of Tom’s credenza. “His last arrest was twenty years ago, and he’s been a Florida resident for the past three years.”

“I know all that,” Samantha returned, impatience and annoyance touching her voice.

“Then what—”

“Just don’t do anything, okay?” she blurted. “He has a court-appointed attorney, right?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t trust one overworked defense attorney to be able to—”

“That’s fine. Let his own lawyer worry about it.”

Both attorneys turned to Richard. “I don’t understand, Rick,” Rhodes said.

“It’s complicated. We might still need your help, but not today.”

“But today is his bond hearing.”

“And if somebody else is arrested for what they say he did,” Samantha broke in, “he’ll go free regardless.”

“But not today.”

“No, not today,” Samantha repeated, her voice rising. “That’s the point. Dammit, you guys are supposed to be smart. Just don’t show up in court! That’s it! The end.”

With a growl she stomped past the lot of them and slammed out the door. Richard stood, as well. “Sorry, gentlemen, but that’s the way it needs to be. I’ll explain it in a day or two.”

“You’d damned well better, Rick.” Donner slammed his fist into the desk again. “I used to be able to figure out what you were thinking. I didn’t always agree with it, but at least it made some sort of sense.”

“This does, too. Trust me.”

When he caught up to Samantha, she was already seated in the SLR in the parking garage. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and didn’t ask how she’d managed to open the hi-tech car without setting off the alarm. Not after what he’d participated in yesterday. They sat there for a moment while he gave her the time to explode if she felt the need. Instead she curled her feet under her bottom and looked out the window.

Finally he started the car. “Where to?”

“The courthouse,” she said, not moving otherwise.

That surprised him. “Are you certain?”

“When nobody shows up to get him out of jail, I at least want him to see my face.”

A tear ran down that same face, and she impatiently wiped it away. The deep anger that had been building in Richard since he’d realized someone was trying to hurt Samantha crawled closer to the surface. They might have taken the gun out of play, but there were other ways to wound her—and Laurie or Daniel had found a good one.

“He’ll understand, you know. When he sees you, he’ll realize you have a plan. It’ll be all right.”

“After I practically promised to bust in there and break him out.” She blew out her breath. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t even know where the courthouse was, and had to access the SLR’s GPS system to track it down in Delray Beach. Parking was full, but he managed to find a curbside space a block and a half down from the main building.

“You don’t have to go in,” she said as the doors flipped up and she climbed out of the car.

“Yes, I do.” He offered his hand.

She gripped it hard, and they walked up the street to the main doors. This had to be as difficult for her as going into a police station for the first time—she’d mentioned that during her father’s trial she hadn’t dared go near court, in case someone testifying against him happened to recognize her. She wasn’t in that kind of danger today, but the high security and the armed police everywhere didn’t make this a picnic, either.

Tom had given him the courtroom number, and he asked at the information desk where they might find it. “Third floor,” Samantha muttered as they headed for the stairs. “Too far to jump.”

“There will be no jumping in my presence.”

A light flashed in his eyes, and he started. Bloody great. Of course reporters would be assigned to hang around the courthouse. And of course they would be interested to see what Rick Addison might be doing there.

“Shit,” Samantha breathed. “Like I need this on top of everything else.”

“Just ignore them.”

“Why are you here, Mr. Addison?” a reporter said, rushing them. Immediately the rest of the herd followed.

“No comment,” he returned, keeping her close as he continued down the hallway. “Excuse me.”

“But—”

Rick slowed, catching the reporter with an annoyed glare. “No comment.”

The press backed off. He watched as they noted which courtroom he and Samantha were heading for and then ran downstairs to confirm who was on the docket this morning. One thing was for sure—Tom wasn’t going to like any of this.

As soon as they were through the courtroom doors her shoulders sagged. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I want to know which Kunz set him up,” she growled, sliding onto the bench at the back of the room. “Whoever did it, they are going to be very, very sorry. And I am going to see the look in their eyes when they get caught.”

The sight of the large bald black man in the orange jumpsuit was probably the worst thing Samantha had ever seen. Or so she thought, until she saw the expression in his eyes when he caught sight of her. “Oh, boy,” she breathed, sinking lower on the bench.

“He’ll get it,” Rick insisted, though even he was beginning to sound a bit dubious. And he was supposed to be the cheerleader.

When the bailiff called the case number, the court-assigned defense attorney made his way through the low, swinging gate. Stoney looked at him, then turned around to look at Sam again. He lowered both eyebrows, clearly asking her what the hell was going on.

Sorry
, she mouthed. Anything more substantial would have to wait until after the polo match and whatever came from that.

Rick held her hand, their fingers twined together. She was used to standing on her own two feet, making her own decisions, facing the resulting consequences. For probably the first time, though, it occurred to her that she wouldn’t have been able to do this on her own.

The prosecutor read the list of charges, and she winced. Robbery, possession of stolen property, breaking and entering, with a possible charge of murder to follow. “Jesus,” she whispered.

“You knew it would be like this,” Rick returned equally quietly. “Take it easy.”

His defense attorney then said that Walter pleaded not guilty, and noted exactly what Bill Rhodes had, that Stoney had had a clean record for the past twenty years, that he was an established resident of Palm Beach.

With barely a pause for the prosecutor to refute those two points, the judge denied bail and ordered Stoney remanded into custody. Stoney sent her a last annoyed look over his shoulder and vanished into the bowels of the courthouse.

The look actually reassured her a little. He knew she hadn’t abandoned him, at least. As for the rest, if she couldn’t follow through with the Kunzes, what happened to him next would be her fault.

“That sucked.”

“Yes, but you’ve done your part, and now it’s Laurie’s turn.”

“Yes, it is. And she’d better follow through.” She stood, abruptly wanting to get out of the solid, somber building. “Breakfast. And then we’d better talk to Castillo.”

They retrieved the car, and she let Rick choose the breakfast spot. To her surprise he pulled up in front of John G’s on South Ocean Boulevard. “You’re kidding me,” she said.

“What? I can’t know about good breakfast spots?”

“You’ve eaten here before?”

He nodded, escorting her to the front door. “Several times.”

“But
I’ve
eaten here. Their cinnamon-nut French toast is fab.”

“Yes, it is.”

The waitress seated them by the window and left them to look over the menu. Rick seemed amused at her surprise—he obviously didn’t get it. “What if we ate here at the same time?” she finally asked.

“We didn’t. Have you had the stuffed croissant?”

“Yes, and how do you know we were never here together?”

He smiled. “Because I would have noticed you.”

She couldn’t help grinning back at him. “You are so smooth.”

“Don’t you forget it.” He looked up as the waitress brought coffee. “Thank you, and a Diet Coke for the lady, if you please.”

“Ooh, and gallant, too.”

She didn’t know how he managed it, but abruptly the day didn’t seem nearly as gloomy. Hell, she was smiling. For a moment Samantha wondered again what in the world Patricia could have been thinking to screw things up so badly with him.

“What?” he asked, and she realized she’d been staring at him.

Samantha shook herself. “So tell me about a typical polo
match. And the layout of the grounds, too. I want to know what I’ll be walking into this afternoon.”

“Well, it’s a weekday event for charity, so we won’t be in the stadium. It’ll be a field with umbrellas and tables on one side, and a canopy or two for refreshments and more seating.”

“Reporters?”

“Tons of them. In addition to me, Trump shows up on occasion, and a handful of other celebrities, most of them just here for the Season.”

Another thought abruptly occurred to her. “You promised me some ex-girlfriends at the Everglades Club, and Patty showed up. So how many of those actresses and models you’ve left strewn in your wake will be around?”

His jaw twitched. “Some, probably. They can’t resist seeing me in my polo uniform. But how many former girlfriends must one have before they can said to be strewn?”

“The exact number that you have,” she retorted. She’d seen photos of him with them, on the Internet, in every national rag, and even the more reputable magazines. And she knew there’d only been maybe half a dozen of them, though with the intensive coverage, the numbers seemed much higher than that.

“Don’t worry, love. I won’t be paying attention to anyone but you, busily trapping thieves and killers and strewing them in
your
wake.”

“Yeah, and don’t you forget
that
.”

“So you made all these plans without telling me.” Frank paced back and forth in the small police interrogation room and glared at them.

Personally, Richard thought the detective needed to be a little more lenient. This was quite possibly Samantha’s least favorite place to be in the world, and yet she’d gone into the
room voluntarily, and she was currently doing a fair impression of one of those
Law and Order
detectives, standing with her hands braced on the back of one of the metal chairs.

“You knew the general plan. Now we’re telling you the details,” she said gruffly.

“You could have told them to me before you passed them on to the Kunz kids. Or yesterday, maybe.”

“We were doing that day of rest thing,” Samantha retorted.

“Or she could have skipped telling you about them at all,” Richard noted, ignoring that her idea of rest was breaking into a mansion. “The point being, we’re here. What’s the next step?”

“A wire,” the other two said in unison.

That was a little frightening. “I’m not that familiar with American criminal law, but don’t you have to have a court order or a warrant or something for that?”

Frank reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Nope. All you need is an okay from your captain. And like you said, I knew the general plan. I figured something like this would be involved.”

“Now we’re smokin’,” Samantha put in, taking the paper and reading through it. “Except for one problem.”

“And what might that be?” Castillo asked, leaning against the one-way mirror.

“Your request doesn’t say anything about how helpful I’ve been to your investigation, and how the police department will hold me harmless from any statements I might make in the course of nailing somebody’s ass to the wall.” She released the paper, and it floated down to the table.

“I thought about asking for it, but even though you’ve helped me out before, you’re not real popular around here. Especially not when your partner is already in jail on this same case.”

Richard looked at Samantha, abruptly worried. If pushed, would she choose Walter’s freedom over her own? She blamed herself for him being arrested, and as of an hour ago for not getting him out on bail. He wouldn’t allow her to go to prison for this—for anything.