Authors: James David Jordan

Tags: #Fiction, #Christian, #Suspense

Double Cross (8 page)

BOOK: Double Cross

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“About a year after I left your father.”

“It wasn’t just Dad. You left me, too, you know.”

“I know, and, believe me, I still feel terrible about it.” She took a drag from her cigarette and tilted her head back.

I waited for her to exhale, but she just sat there, holding the smoke in her lungs for what seemed like a full minute. Finally she exhaled through her nose. I exhaled, too, and realized I’d been holding my breath along with her.

“So, you’ve been on your medication for, what, nineteen years? You didn’t miss Dad and me enough to come back once your meds kicked in?” I folded my arms.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I wasn’t all the way better back then. It was just recently that I really got things straightened out.”

I wasn’t about to let her off the hook. “A few minutes ago you said you got your medicine within the first year after you left.”

She waved a hand in the air. “Honestly, I’m not really sure how much good the medicine even does.” She took a last drag, held the butt up, and examined the ring of lipstick on the filter. “What about you, though, honey? We’ve been spending all this time talking about me.”

She hadn’t answered my question, and I didn’t want to let it go. For the first time, though, she was asking about me, even if it was just because she wanted to change the subject. There would be other chances to get my answers. I put a foot up on the porch rail. “I went to Texas A&M, graduated in three years with honors, took a job with the Dallas Police, then got lucky and got a job with the Secret Service in Washington. Protecting VIPs, that sort of thing.”

“That sounds interesting. You know, the Secret Service was founded in 1865 to battle counterfeiting.”

I gave her a sideways glance. “As a matter of fact, that’s right. How did you know?”

“Oh, I read things. They sort of stick in my mind; I don’t know why. I’ve got loads of useless information floating around up here.” She tapped her head with her finger.

I rocked my chair and looked at a charcoal-colored cloud that the wind was steering over the backyard. The weather was darkening quickly. “Anyway, when I got out of the Secret Service, I started my own security business here in Dallas. That’s how I began working for Simon.”

She flicked the cigarette butt over the porch rail into a shrub, and it occurred to me that I should have given her something she could use as an ash tray. Now I could only hope that she wouldn’t catch the landscaping on fire.

“You know, I dated a security guard one time in New Mexico,” she said. “He was the surliest man I think I’ve ever met. He gave me a black and blue eye, right here.” She pointed just beneath her right eye.

“You mean he hit you?”

“With a ladle. We were making tortilla soup. I prefer the tortilla soup in Texas to the New Mexico style. More substance to it.”

I was detecting an attention deficit issue. I didn’t have a clue how to respond to her tortilla soup analysis, so I picked up where I’d left off. “Simon called me and said the FBI had warned him about some terrorist threats. He asked me to take over his security operations.”

“I heard. Who hasn’t heard? Why, Taylor, you’re famous. You and that Simon Mason fellow.”

“Would you please stop it? I know about you and Simon. He told me just before he left for Beirut that he’d had an affair with you. He told me about your son, too.”

She pulled the pack of Salems back out of her purse. “He did, huh?” She tapped the pack against the back of her hand until a cigarette slid out. “He was nobody then, just an assembly line worker in an auto plant.” She lit the cigarette and puffed. “He wasn’t even a preacher yet. Did he tell you that he knocked me up and then dumped me flat?”

“Not in exactly those terms. He said his wife had had an affair, and he was looking to get even.”

“Oh, he said that, did he?” Color rose in her cheeks. I wished I hadn’t said it.

“He said you were brilliant and troubled,” I continued. “He didn’t know if the affair meant anything to you or not.”

“Brilliant and troubled; resilient and muddled,” she muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Sometimes I make rhymes. Silly habit.”

“Why did you abandon Chase? He’s your son.”

“How did you know his name?”

“I’ve met him. So has Kacey. We went to see him in Houston after Simon died. So, why did you abandon him?”

“Do you badger Simon about why he abandoned him? Chase is Simon’s son, too, you know. That’s how it works.”

I studied her face for a hint as to why she would say something so bizarre. Her expression didn’t change. “Simon’s dead, remember? I can’t badger him about anything.”

She brushed at a hair that the wind had blown over her face. She seemed irritated to be reminded that Simon was no longer subject to interrogation the way she was. “Nevertheless, you’d think I’m the only person ever to do anything wrong,” she said. “Everyone is always so high and mighty with me.” She stood up, turned around, and leaned back with her hands braced behind her on the porch rail. The glowing tip of her cigarette was a fraction of an inch from the rail. I opened my mouth to tell her to be careful, but she lifted her hand and took a drag before I could say anything. Then, although the cigarette was only half gone, she flicked it into the same shrub as before. I didn’t know what was making me more nervous, the conversation or the fire risk.

“Chase has been adopted,” I said. “Did you know that? He lives in Katy, a suburb of Houston. His parents are nice people, an older couple.”

“They’re not his parents.”

“Yes, they are his parents. Didn’t you hear me? They adopted him. And as far as he’s concerned they’re the only parents he’s ever known, or at least can remember. What do you expect?”

“You don’t understand. I couldn’t keep him. It was impossible. If you knew how bad I was back then—” She straightened her back. “I’ve got to go.”

I held up a hand. “Wait. I’m sure you had your reasons for letting Chase go. I didn’t mean to sound so critical.” Actually, I wasn’t so sure at all, but there was another subject I had to discuss with her before she left. “There’s something else you need to know about Simon. Someone was trying to blackmail him. He told me about it before he left for Beirut.” I watched her eyes. No noticeable reaction.

She bent over to pick up her purse from beside the rocker. “Why are you telling me that? I was nothing to Simon, remember?”

“He never said you were nothing to him—and I’m telling you because he was being blackmailed about Chase. They told Simon that if he didn’t pay them, they would go public with the information that he had an illegitimate son. It could have ruined him.” I continued to watch her face. Still no reaction. “I wondered if you knew anything about it.”

“Oh, please, dear, if I wanted my pound of flesh from Simon, I would have gotten it years ago.”

“I didn’t say you were involved. I just wondered if you knew anything.”

“Well, I don’t.” She walked toward the back door.

“So this is it? Will it be another twenty years before I see you again?”

“I certainly hope not,” she said. “In fact, I would like for you to come over for brunch a week from Sunday morning. You can meet Stan the man.”

I cocked my head.

“I told you I like to make little rhymes.”

“Is Stan the man husband number three?”

“Yes. And I don’t like your judgmental tone. You apparently haven’t hooked even one husband yet.”

I got up out of the rocker. “Judgmental tone? All I asked was—”

“How about it? Say, 9:30?” She pulled a pen out of her purse. “I can write down some directions for you.”

By that time the swings in the conversation were making my brain hurt. I was thankful for a timeout. To be honest, though, I was also thankful to know that I would be seeing her again. “I’ll be there. Just give me the address. I’ll get the directions off the Internet.”

She put her hand on the back doorknob, then stopped. She turned toward me. For the first time that day, her voice softened. “Taylor, I know I haven’t been much of a mother. In fact, I haven’t been any mother at all, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t loved you.” She took a step forward and hugged me.

At first I just stood there, my arms at my sides. She held me for quite a while, though, and eventually I put my arms around her, too. By the time she let go, I was squeezing her far tighter than she was holding me, and she was the one who seemed to want to get away.

When she turned to walk into the house, I wiped my eye with the sleeve of my ski jacket and hoped she hadn’t seen.

CHAPTER

NINE

THE NEXT MORNING, FRIDAY, I was jogging on the treadmill at my fitness club when my phone rang. I toweled the sweat from my face and pushed the button on my earpiece. “Hello.”

“Taylor Pasbury?” It was a woman’s voice.

“Yes?”

“This is Katie Parst. I’m a reporter for the Morning News.”

I hit the down-speed button on the treadmill and slowed to a walk. “What now?” It seemed that we’d lived the entire past year with the press at our heels.

“Is this a bad time? You sound breathless.”

“The whole point is to be breathless. I’m on a treadmill.” I had never figured out how Simon could be so patient with these people.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your workout. I’m calling because I’ve obtained information that a substantial amount of money is missing from Simon Mason World Ministries. I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes.”

I stopped the treadmill and hopped off. “I’m not part of the management of the ministries. I was just Simon’s security chief.” I picked up my phone out of the cup holder, slung my towel over my shoulder, and walked to the exercise mats in the corner.

“I know, but other than his daughter and Elise Hovden, I understand that you were the person closest to him during the last few months of his life. I’ve been doing a series of reports on an extortion ring that I think is run by a crime organization in the Dallas area. I thought you might have information that could help me.”

I sat on one of the mats, spread my legs into a V, and bent forward at the waist, stretching my hamstrings. “If, for the sake of argument, you were correct that money was missing from Simon’s ministries, what makes you think extortion is involved?”

“If you’ll meet me somewhere to talk, I’ll tell you.”

“Look, I’m not going to bargain with you. You’re the one who wants to talk to me. Besides, I don’t have any authority to speak for the ministry.”

“I’m not asking you to speak for the ministry. I’m just asking what you know.”

I did a flash analysis of the potential costs and benefits of talking to her. News of the missing money was bound to become public soon anyway, and she might have information about who was blackmailing Simon. The upside of the interview could outweigh the downside. “I can meet you for a few minutes when I’m finished working out, but I can’t promise any information that will matter to you.”

“That’s fine. The worst that happens, then, is that we get acquainted. Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll come to you.” As boring as Kacey and I were, the gossip photographers wouldn’t give up on us since Simon’s death. I didn’t want them to get the idea that anything was brewing.

“I live in Coppell and I’ve got a meeting near my house at lunch. Can you come out here and meet me at around ten o’clock this morning? There’s a Starbucks just north of Sandy Lake Boulevard.”

“Fine, I’ll see you there at ten.”

“I’m five feet five and have auburn hair.”

“We must be related. I’m five nine and have auburn hair.”

“Maybe there’s another story here.”

I chuckled. “One thing I’ve learned in the past year is that where Simon Mason is involved, there’s always another story.” I had to admit, she seemed likable enough.

As soon as I hung up, I called Michael at the FBI. He had a lot of experience dealing with local reporters. As usual, he picked up the phone before the third ring.

“Michael, I need to pick your brain about something.”

“That shouldn’t take long.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m going to use a lobster fork.”

“Do they make a utensil smaller than that?”

“Not for use by adults.”

“That shouldn’t limit you, then, should it?”

I laughed again. “You’re on today. Did you have a second cup of coffee, or what?”

“I’m on my third.”

“That explains it. You’re high.”

“Buzzing.”

I grabbed my toes and stretched. “Have you got a minute?” I made an effort not to grunt as I tried to touch my nose to my knee.

“Yes.” I heard him tapping on his keyboard. “I’ve got a meeting coming up in, let’s see, eight minutes.”