My Everything (8 page)

The fact bothered him. He had loved Julie with all his heart, and he was still loyal to her memory. But he felt a powerful connection with Grace, too. Even now, he found himself growing hard, just thinking about that connection. He adjusted himself in his seat and growled, frustrated by the involuntary physical response. He had her cell phone number. He could call her, arrange to see her again. He’d committed the number to memory and then torn the sheet of paper into pieces, along with the two sheets beneath it, and flushed them. He wouldn’t risk entering her number into his cell phone. Whatever Tom was involved in Ben wanted to keep Grace far away from it.

No, he wouldn’t call her, at least not now.

As Ben watched, Tom exited the building. Ben’s lips twitched. As usual, not a hair on his friend’s head was out of place. Tom headed straight for the stoplight at the corner and waited for the light to change.

To Ben’s surprise, a wave of homesickness washed over him, for everyone and everything he’d left behind. Tom was his friend. He hadn’t seen him in a long time.

Brushing the nostalgic feeling aside, Ben waited and watched carefully. Nobody exited the building after Tom. No car door opened. Not another door opened onto the busy street. Nobody lounged against a stoop, and he didn’t see any homeless people about. An elderly woman pushed a small shopping cart along the sidewalk beside his car. A young woman carrying an armload of flowers slid into the backseat of a waiting taxi. As Ben watched, the cab pulled away from the curb and disappeared into traffic.

Tom vanished into the dark interior of the deli.

Ben removed the key from the ignition, folded his newspaper, stuck it under his arm and climbed out of his car. His movements were casual, designed not to attract attention. He locked the car and headed down the street with a purposeful stride. He used his peripheral vision to check for any sudden or untoward movement in any of the doorways and windows as he passed by. He strode right past the door of the deli without a glance, headed through the park gate and took a seat on a shaded bench at the far end of the grassy meadow. Mothers and grandmothers walked by the fence pushing babies in strollers. He opened his newspaper to the
Help Wanted
section and waited. Within five minutes his cell phone vibrated. Ben recognized the number. It was the pay phone from the deli. He heard Tom’s voice.

“Go get a cup of coffee. I’ll join you shortly.”

Ben clicked off his phone, folded his newspaper and left the park. He strolled three blocks to the local espresso place, ordered a large black coffee and took a seat at a small table in the back facing the door. At lunch hour the place was packed with locals listening to music, using the internet, and playing chess and backgammon.

After a few minutes, Tom entered. He stopped for an instant, allowing his eyes to adjust from the sunlight outside to the dim interior. He spotted Ben, and headed toward him, his expression unreadable. Ben kept his eyes focused on the door behind Tom, automatically watching his back just in case.

Tom turned his chair around, keeping his profile to the door. His eyes met Ben’s. He looked careworn, anxious, stressed. He didn’t speak a word of greeting. He kept his voice low-pitched for Ben’s ears alone.

“Last week, two of our men were murdered, Eckert and Dobson.”

Ben made no obvious reaction.

“They were providing security for the transfer of two million in government bonds to Great Western Financial. The shooter didn’t want the bonds. He waited until the delivery had been completed and the men were walking to their car. Eckert was shot from behind. Dobson as he turned to draw his gun. The murder weapon was found at the scene. The gun was licensed to you. The only fingerprints on it were yours.”

Ben forced himself to remain expressionless, but he sat back in his seat, waiting for Tom to continue.

“The locals came to me. I told them you’d vanished over a year ago in Sudan and were presumed dead. The gun was from your apartment, from Evan Spencer’s apartment. It’s got to be an inside job, Ben, but I don’t have a clue who or how.”

Ben drummed his fingers lightly on the table. “Eckert has three kids,” he said in a clipped voice. “Dobson just got married a couple of years ago.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” said Tom. “It’s the worst kind of hell for their families, Ben, and our staff is edgy, walking on egg shells, wondering who’s next. What if someone is watching my house? I’m terrified for Mallory and the girls, but I’m afraid to move them.” Tom paused to fold his hands together. “And it gets worse. I hate to be the one to tell you this. Two days after the murders, Angel vanished. Your mother called me. She wanted my help. Whoever killed Eckert and Dobson has Angel. That much I know.”

Ben felt his heart speed up. His mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara. “How do you know there’s a connection?”

Tom slid a piece of paper across the table. It was torn from a school notebook. Ben turned it over. The words were scrawled in pencil, the handwriting childish.

It read, “Will exchange her for her brother. Tell anyone and she’s dead. Wait for my instructions.”

“I’ve had forensics go over it a million times,” Tom said. “There are no prints, there’s no saliva, no dog hair, no pollen, nothing. It showed up in front of the door to the office, just like this, three days ago.”

Ben couldn’t speak for a moment. His thoughts were racing. “How is my mother? How much does she know?”

“I won’t kid you, Ben, she’s a wreck. She still thinks you’re dead. I figured it would be safer if I left it that way. The police in Austin are on it, but they don’t have any more information than I do. Angel vanished on her way home from a swimming party at Lake Travis. She was with her boyfriend. He was found unconscious in his car near Shoal Creek Boulevard. He’s in the hospital with a concussion. He doesn’t remember anything. The car was clean. Angel’s purse and her backpack were left on the front seat. We’ve checked and rechecked the vehicle. Her cell phone was in her purse, no unknown callers. There’s nothing suspicious on her computer. As of right now, we have no leads.”

“Jawar’s men?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Tom. “I honestly don’t know. If it is, his organization has someone in Aris, and that would be next to impossible. I’ve pulled all the personnel files, studied them under a microscope. If there’s someone on the inside, they’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to cover their tracks, and it doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t hired anyone in a year and a half.”

Ben thought for a minute. “Frank Ceja? He doesn’t seem the type. I checked him out myself before I left. What about the security tapes? The tapes should show who dropped the note.”

“No, they don’t,” said Tom. “There was a blown fuse that night. The cleaning crew in the offices upstairs claimed they must have overloaded the circuits, maybe tripped the circuit breaker. Shut down the security cameras and the alarm system for ten minutes. I got a call that night from our security department. I headed to the office right away. That’s when I found the note.”

“Too convenient,” said Ben. “You look at the cleaning crew?”

“Yes, but I’ve found nothing. Same crew’s been working the upstairs offices for years. Nobody new, nobody’s disappeared, nobody spending large sums of money. We’ve got eyes on them just in case.”

“Who knows about the note?” asked Ben.

“Me, and now you, and whoever wrote it,” replied Tom. “The feds know about the gun, and they’ve been to the apartment. It’s intact, for the most part. I’ve convinced them you didn’t pull the trigger. I think they believed me.” Tom pushed his chair back from the table. “I gotta get going. I don’t think I’m being followed, but I don’t want to be gone too long. Stay in contact.” Tom was about to rise then he paused and stuck out a hand. He looked like he wanted to embrace Ben, but he didn’t. “It’s good to have you back, old friend. I wish it were under better circumstances. What will you do first?”

“Check out your place, see if anyone’s watching Mallory. Whether someone is or not, we should get them out of here. Send them to stay with our friend in D.C. until we figure this out,” Ben said.

“If you can contact him for me I’d appreciate it.” Relief was evident on Tom’s face. “I haven’t been able to do anything myself without arousing suspicion.”

“Consider it done,” replied Ben. “Call the school right now.” He handed Tom his phone. “Talk to the principal. Tell her to keep the girls in the office after school and send someone out to get Mallory. I’ll meet her there. I’ll get them to LAX and make sure they get on the plane. Zane still in charge of security at LAX?”

Tom nodded.

“Call him, too. Get them security clearance. Have him meet us at the entrance to the domestic terminal with a team.”

“You’re dead, remember?”

“Not anymore,” said Ben. “Whoever has Angel already knows I’m alive. What kind of car does Mallory drive these days?”

“A royal blue Toyota Highlander. I bought it for her six months ago.”

It was Ben’s turn to nod. “All right, I’ll go by your house when I leave here and make sure she’s not followed on her way to the school, and I’ll check the apartment this evening. We’ll figure this out, Tom. Whoever this is, they won’t beat us at our own game,” said Ben, tasting bile as he choked back his growing rage. “Angel better be alive and well or there will be hell to pay.”

Grace couldn’t concentrate.
Every time she tried to focus, the only thing she managed to focus on was the weight of Ben on top of her, the feel of him behind her, moving inside her. She repeatedly experienced that distinct clench in her belly, a sensation she hadn’t felt in over two years. It was welcome and disconcerting at the same time. She wanted to be with him again, now, tonight, as soon as possible. It wasn’t just the sex, although under other circumstances, that might have been enough. It was the vivid memories she still carried of her earlier relationship with Ben.

She had fallen desperately in love with him when she was eighteen, before he’d vanished from her life. Back then, drawing upon the resilience of youth, she’d swallowed the hurt and the feelings of rejection, and eventually fallen in love again. She kept telling herself it wasn’t personal. Ben had a plan. There were things he planned to do that did not involve her. And he never, ever made any promises. He gave her thirty days.

Grace decided that thirty days and one morning, no matter how intense, weren’t enough. Come hell or high water, she wanted more.

Grace finished up her presentation and made an appearance at the faculty cocktail party. This time she stuck with club soda and a squeeze of lime. Some of the participants hung around to ask questions in a more informal setting, keeping Grace occupied until dinner was announced. All of the faculty and most of the students attended. Grace stopped in the courtyard in front of the reception room to switch on her cell phone. No missed calls. With a big sigh, she switched it back off.

What did she expect? Ben’s life didn’t involve her in the slightest. Truth be told, she didn’t know anything about what he’d done or where he’d been for the past ten years. She only knew he’d loved a woman and lost her along with their child. And he carried a gun.

But the longing in her gut didn’t change.

Grace wanted to be with him for many reasons. Some reasons were as clear as day‍—‌the sex was mind-blowing‍—‌but other reasons flitted through her consciousness, some involved true love, others hinted at her isolation and loneliness.

Grace swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat and turned her attention to the open set of double doors. She gazed at the crowded room and was seized by an impulse to run to her car and drive straight to the airport.

Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

She drove the impulse back, and instead, she smiled and stepped forward and was quickly swallowed by the crowd of doctors, therapists and her fellow nurses.

The hazy California
sun had finally set, its golden light fading into the deep blue Pacific. Ben sat in an old arm chair in front of the big bay window in the apartment of his friend, Mrs. Muir. She lived directly across from the front door of his old apartment building. He did what he usually did, watched and waited. He’d been there for over an hour, thinking. He’d already delivered Tom’s wife and daughters to an old friend. Zane had met them at LAX and escorted Mallory and the girls to a secure room to wait for their flight. Zane had raised an eyebrow at the sight of Ben McCall back from the dead, but he hadn’t asked any questions. Zane was smarter than that.