Impasse (35 page)

Stu smiled to himself. “Thanks. Already am.”

 

CHAPTER 43

Katherine knew something was wrong when Clay didn't return her calls for three days. The first time she left an upbeat message.
One day is fine,
she thought.
He'll be catching up at work.

Two days was more suspicious, but excusable, and she left a message with a curious tone.

Three days confused her.
I'm not some first date you don't call back,
she texted. He'd held her hand during their trip, and they'd talked about the future, at least the future of their business partnership. She cursed herself for pushing him for a deeper commitment to their personal relationship. A successful partnership and intermittent physical intimacy were enough for now, she decided. She left a message expressing mild concern.

When he didn't call her back on the fourth day, she left no message and drove straight to the office.

She found reception empty. Kaylee was gone, her computer turned off, the day's mail still piled on her sleek desk. And it was only three o'clock. Katherine grabbed the mail and smacked the button for the elevator.

The ride up was smooth, but she was rattled to a stop when she reached the top. The squeaky doors opened onto a quiet hallway. Empty cubicles. None of the temporary or fake associates were working. No paralegals or secretaries. As she made her way to Clay's large office in the rear, Katherine tried to remember if it was a holiday. Without Stu and his regimented calendar, she sometimes lost track of the days.

Clay was at his desk, his back to the door. When she entered, he spun in his high-backed brown leather chair and leaped up, grabbing for his desk drawer. When he saw it was her, he relaxed and sat back down.

“Come in. Don't bother knocking or anything.”

“I phoned ahead. No answer.”

“I've been busy.”

His tone was dismissive, and Katherine did not like it. She noticed that the glass in his hand was filled with amber-colored liquid.

“You're drinking,” she said. “That's new.”

“Special occasion.”

“Big news?” She smiled hopefully.

“You could say that.”

“I'd be happy to hear it.”

“Really? Would you be happy to hear that the fucking police called me?”

Escalating tone. Ominous. Dangerous. He swiveled his chair back and forth like a pacing animal. Katherine eased into the chair across the desk from him, still clutching the mail. She chose her words carefully.

“As your partner, I share your successes
and
your challenges. I'm here to listen.”

Clay rearranged himself in the chair. He looked at her, suspicious, then frowned. And, finally, he spoke.

“Seems an old friend of mine has accused me of something that happened over a decade ago during law school.”

“What is it?”

“It doesn't matter. The allegation alone is bad enough.”

“Who?”

“This fat fuck named Tom Franken.”

“Why would he accuse you of something that long ago?”

“Some detective contacted him about this thing. So now he's trying to save his own ass by accusing me. The officer made him give a statement saying I was responsible. Typical cop trick.”

“It's not true, right?”

Clay gave her a brow-lowered glare. “Right. Tom had problems in his wild youth, back when I knew him. It doesn't surprise me that he has problems now that he's a big-boy attorney. But he should know better than to cross me.”

“What do we do?”

“Nothing? Deny? Wait and see?” Clay took a drink. “If anything more happens, I'll have to get my own attorney. The problem should be too old for anything to come of it, but I don't remember the statute of limitations in Oregon for a class whatever-the-hell felony.”

Katherine looked around for something to occupy her while Clay brooded and the silence settled. She began to sort the letters from her lap, separating the junk and business mail atop Clay's desk, while Clay tapped his temple with an irritated finger.

After several uncomfortable moments, it was clear Clay had more to say.

“What is it?” Katherine asked. “There's something else. I can tell you're still upset.”

“You know the pilot who dropped off Stu in Alaska?”

“Yes.”

“Someone killed him with an ax.”

“My God.”

“Yeah. Ivan was one of Dugan's guys. Someone left the message about it with reception, but they didn't leave a name. I don't like it.”

Katherine held up a letter from the University of Oregon.

“Open it,” Clay commanded.

She did. It identified Clay. There was language about plagiarism and cheating and revoking his degree. It cited the confession from Tom Franken. At the bottom it was cc'd to the Massachusetts Bar Association. She stopped reading.

“I think you'd better look at this one.”

She handed it to him, and he read, his eyes growing wider as they scanned the page. Suddenly he began slapping the letter against the desk as though he could beat it into submission.

Katherine watched anxiously. “I hope it's not serious. Is it?”

“I don't know! Can the Massachusetts Bar act on old bullshit accusations? Do they need a conviction of some sort? Can any of this even be brought up after ten years? I don't know! That's the kind of crap Stu was good at.”

“How can I help?”

“You can't! I don't need you! I need your husband.”

Katherine pushed the rest of the mail away, wanting nothing to do with it, but Clay eyed the stack.

“Anything else?” he asked in a low growl.

“Bulk mail. Except this.” She pointed to a letter with a name above the return address. “Roger Rodan?”

“Sounds familiar.” Clay leaned out and plucked it from the desk, then sliced it open with a silver letter opener and began to read.

Katherine watched his face change. It was an unpleasant process, like watching a handsome Hollywood actor turn into a snarling werewolf. He put his drink on the desk and rose from the chair.

“Are you kidding me? No! Is this a joke?”

“What?”

Clay didn't answer. Instead he repeatedly jammed the letter opener into the antique desk she'd picked out for him to celebrate the remodel. “No! No! No!”

Katherine didn't dare speak.

Clay took a deep breath then leveled a malignant stare at her over the top of the quivering opener, which jutted from the wooden desktop. “Sylvia Molson is contesting our fee, just like Stu said.”

“What does that mean? Will this delay getting the money?”

“No! This won't delay the money! If Stu was right, this means the money's not coming at all!”

Katherine stared, trying to process the information. “Stu's usually right,” she whispered. “You didn't tell me that he—”

“It doesn't matter what I told you! We owe Joe Roff hundreds of thousands of dollars that aren't coming.”

“Oh God. I just bought the house.”

“This isn't about your house, you stupid bitch! He is going to burn quarters into my goddamned face!”

Katherine's mind reeled, and the words she had to say were painful. “I could sell it.”

“We can't sell this office we remodeled. We're renting it!”

Katherine felt a rising panic. “I'll talk to Joe. He likes me. I'll do whatever I need to do, like you said.”

Clay took a deep breath and flopped down in the chair. For a moment he just stared at the ceiling, then he coughed up a sardonic chuckle. “Kate, Kate, Kate,” he said. “You don't get it. Joe and Reggie thought it would be funny to fuck a prosecutor's wife; that was part of the agreement to advance us the money. But make no mistake: to men who can have nineteen-year-old strippers whenever they want, your middle-aged ass isn't worth three hundred thousand dollars.”

 

CHAPTER 44

Audry stood in the doorway, regarding Stu through her bug-eye glasses. She wore a skirt with heels and a white blouse. No pajamas this time—she had a habit of throwing them on as soon as the sun went down, like a kid eager for a bedtime story. No T-shirt and panties, either. She looked like a lawyer again.

“So you're just going to leave town? Run away? That's the plan?”

“Yes,” Stu lied. He found it hard to lie after so many years of seeking the truth.
I'll have to practice that,
he thought. “I've done the analysis. I can't take on an organized crime boss and his entire crew. If they want me gone, they'll get me. Worse, they'll go after people I care about, including you. It's better that they think I'm dead.”

“And I can't take any of the brilliant research I've done to the police.”

“Not a word.”

“So you're cutting me out.”

“I'm protecting you.”

“I'm a big girl, remember?”

Stu smiled and tried not to stare. “You certainly are. But career criminals are like wild animals. They do what they do, and if you get tangled up with them, they'll do it to you. I'm already tangled. You're not.”

“What about Clay?”

“I have a feeling his life is about to get very tangled. That's all you need to know.”

“You tease!” Audry shook her head then softened her tone. “And Katherine?”

“I don't know. I haven't been able to think through all the facts and make the necessary conclusions on that one yet.”

“You think too much. How do you feel?”

Stu hesitated. He'd been so busy gathering information and seeking answers that he hadn't decided how he felt. It was like a safety mechanism—focusing on logical solutions kept him from wanting to punch somebody in the nose.

“Angry,” he said finally. The answer surprised him.

It surprised Audry, too, but she nodded. “Okay, then. Go with that.”

Stu gathered his things. He found
Edwin's
in the bottom of his pack, tattered and torn. He flipped a few pages then realized he didn't need it anymore. He gave it a nostalgic pat and dropped it in the recycling bin.

When he was ready to leave, Audry hugged him. She was a whole-body hugger and squeezed like she meant it.

“This has been the best job ever,” she said into his shoulder.

“You know that's a really odd thing to say, given the circumstances, right?”

“You know what I mean. This is what it's all about. I'm helping a human being fix his life, not reviewing some boring precautionary contract provision for a proposed business venture. Not writing a will, just in case. You're real. And totally
not
boring.”

“I'm not?”

“Nope.” She finally released him from her clinch. “I've never dated someone who killed a man. Or a bear.”

“Both were self-defense.”

“I know.”

Stu was sad when she let go. It was the closest he'd felt to a person in … He couldn't remember how long.

“This is for you.” He handed her a thumb drive.

“What is it?”

“A list of our legitimate clients. You'll also find a signed letter of introduction for you, backdated to when I was alive. If Clay doesn't retain them for any reason, this will send them your way.”

“My own law firm?”

“It's a start.”

“Are you going to tell me where you're going?”

“No.”

Stu turned to go. Then he paused. It felt wrong that his last word to Audry might be
no
. He was already being less than chivalrous, disappearing after sharing an intimate night.
And waffles.
Especially after a trip across a metaphorical rope bridge together. He looked back over his shoulder. Though it was dangerous to promise, it had to be okay to hope.

“But I hear Oregon is nice.”

 

CHAPTER 45

Katherine took a long look out at Buzzards Bay from her half-furnished living room. It was a lonely view. A very nice home with no company had a way of feeling very empty. Clay had promised to call her as soon as his meeting with Roff was over. He hadn't, and it was getting late. It could mean a lot of things, none of them good.

They were criminals, Roff and Dugan. Hranic, too. She understood that now. They were the type of people her husband had prosecuted. It had been easier to switch sides than she'd thought. The line between law and outlaw was as thin as the line between Stu and Clay.

The doorbell rang with a ridiculously solemn bong that echoed about the room. Her heart skipped a beat. Clay was supposed to call, not drop by. What if it was Roff or Dugan? Or both? They burned quarters into the faces of people who owed them. Just when she was about to become the hottest middle-aged woman at the gym. She banished the thought—it was too ugly. But then she recalled that Raymond Butz worked for Dugan. Butz's wife had been made to disappear completely. Like Stu.

Oh no.…

Katherine took the phone with her to answer the bell, although she wasn't sure who she'd call if she needed help.

 

CHAPTER 46

Stu was curious to see how he would feel when he saw her. Over the previous six months he'd examined his marital situation from every angle. The disturbing facts he'd discovered upon his return added another layer of analysis, but none of it answered his most basic question about his wife. For that, he had to see her one more time.

And so he'd rung the bell and then ducked behind Katherine's perfect new row of boxwood hedges like a kid playing doorbell ditch. He peered at her through the branches, standing motionless and invisible in the brush, listening, watching, trying his best to get a sense of her karma as she stood in the doorway, staring into the night, skittish and wary. To his surprise, it took only a moment to answer his question. And the answer was
no
.

Seeing her brought none of the relief or joy he'd promised himself while in the wilderness. Instead he felt a gap. There had always been a distance between them, he realized. But he hadn't given it the weight it deserved, because it was an intangible thing, a space, a feeling, and he'd never trusted his feelings. He consulted them now, though, and found he no longer had the urge to go to her. She'd never been the right mate for him, and now she'd weakened, given up the struggle and taken the easy path, where the traps were laid. His instincts told him to walk away. It wasn't anger, exactly. It simply was not love.