Shot Through Velvet (42 page)

“Not right off the bat. Hell, I thought he was already dead. I just finished the job.” He stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles. “I didn’t know you were going to show up the next morning to see him pulled up out of the soup.”

“Didn’t Kira want to let him go?” Lacey asked
.

Hank sat down on the desk and faced her. He gently pushed the hair out of her face.

“If it was anybody else in the world but Rod Gibbs, yeah, I’d have let him go. You know what his last words were? ‘I’ll see you in prison, Hank. I’ll ruin you. I’ll kill you.’ ”

“Famous last words,” Lacey said.

Hank snorted. He rubbed her shoulders for a moment. “You all right? You know, I like you, Miss Smithsonian. I never had any use for reporters before, but you were different. You wanted to write about our factory and our people. Just a pretty girl reporter who likes pretty clothes and thinks they tell stories.”

It wasn’t the time to argue the point. “That’s me. Listen, Hank, it’s over. You don’t want to do this anymore. You’re going to get yourself killed. What will that prove?” The ties hurt her wrists, but the felt was soft. She thought she might be able to stretch them. A little.

“You think I care if I live or die? Everything’s been taken away from me. Lost my job. No family. I can’t have Kira. My boat? I’m leaving that to Sykes. Sometimes I think taking my own life would be a relief.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry for tying you up.”

“Let me go and we’ll forget all about it.”

“Got things to do first. Velvet Avenger stuff. Gotta hand out a couple of blue ribbons.” He took another strip of felt and carefully gagged her with it, pulling her hair out of her mouth. “Someone will find you up here. Eventually. Don’t you worry, you’ll be okay. You’re safer up here anyway. I got work to do. Now be cool.” He patted her head.

Hank picked up the gun and put it in his waistband. He took aviator sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. With the shades and suit and his shaved head, he looked completely different from the shaggy blond Viking she’d seen sucking down beers at the lake the day before. Hank peered through the window and shut the door quietly behind him.

The Velvet Avenger was on the hunt.

Chapter 38

Lacey told herself not to panic, but panic was winning.

Her cell phone started ringing and she couldn’t reach it. It was probably Vic checking up on her. For a brief moment, she was glad he couldn’t see her like this. She felt idiotic. Thank God there was no video of this to show up on YouTube. If only she could reach her phone. She tried scooting the chair over to it, but it wouldn’t scoot; it was caught in some of the fabric.

Get a grip, Lacey! And figure out how to get out of this mess
.

She could hear the music and the crowd gathering downstairs. Vic and Turtledove would be busy guarding Claudia and the congressman. The cops were guarding the entryways. No one else knew Hank Richards was already inside the building.

The felt could be stretched. Lacey strained her wrists against the fabric until she felt the fibers begin to pull away. She worked at it relentlessly until she could free her hands from the chair and tear the gag from her mouth. She stood up and rubbed her hands, sore from the effort. Her wrists were burning. She grabbed her bag and stuffed the felt ties into it, flipped open her cell phone, and headed for the door.

Lacey ran as fast as she could in her heels while trying to dial Vic. It wasn’t working. Her fingers were too numb. She barreled into Turtledove herding the congressman up the stairs as she was tearing down them. She flattened herself against the big man and tried to catch her breath.

Flanders was annoyed. “Excuse me? I don’t have time for this. I must get ready for my speech—” He tried to get around his large bodyguard, but Turtledove put out a restraining arm as solid as a brown tree trunk.

“Lacey, where have you been? Vic’s looking for you. He gets really excitable when there’s trouble brewing and he can’t find you. You guys have a history.”

“Tied up.” She pulled one of the ties from her bag. Turtledove turned her wrists and looked at her bruises. “Literally.”

“Vic is not going to like this,” he said.

“Hank Richards is here. Inside the building. He got in early, before the cops. He has a gun. He’s shaved his head. Bald, clean shaven, dark suit, dark sunglasses, dark turtleneck. He looks very different. We need to tell Vic.”

She saw the color drain from Flanders’s artificially tanned face as Turtledove pulled out his two-way radio.

“Code Blue Velvet. Lacey’s fine—I’m with her.” Turtledove was saying. “Yes, subject at large in the crowd. Location unknown. Armed. Altered appearance.”

“Big-time,” Lacey said. “He could pass for a cop or a bodyguard.”

Turtledove relayed the details, listened for a moment, turned his gaze on Lacey, and clicked off. “Vic said to come with me. He’s calling the cops. I’ll lock down the congressman.”

“Where’s Vic?”

“Let’s go. Vic’s on the move.” And so was Turtledove, dragging Flanders with him at top speed, back down the stairs toward the secure staging area for the speakers. He assumed Lacey was right behind him. But she wasn’t.

She had no intention of getting locked down with Flanders when she could spot Richards and help Vic. She was the only one who had seen the new Hank Richards, the Velvet Avenger. She ran back up to the second floor and sprinted around the railing overlooking the ground floor’s center hall to get a better view of the action. She could see the broadcast reporters below the podium, setting up cameras and mikes to catch Flanders announcing his candidacy for governor. Her cell phone rang.

“Lacey, what the hell—” Vic began.

“No time, Vic. Hank is here. He looks very different. I’m trying to spot him.”

“Where are you? Aren’t you with Turtledove?”

“No, I’m on the second floor by the circular staircase—you know, with all the sculpted faces on it.” The decorated staircase wrapped around the old smokestack. Her view from there commanded the entire first floor. “Where are you?”

“Center hall, side stairway, first floor. Securing Claudia. Why didn’t you go with—”

“Oh my God. He’s there, Vic. Downstairs by the cellophane horses studio, walking past the pottery. Near the big torpedo. Walking fast.”

“By the big—? Got him. I see him.” Vic hung up. Lacey flew down the stairs right past
The Eye
’s head photographer. Hansen, as usual, was draped with cameras.

“Lacey,” he said in greeting. “Wait. Where’s—”

“No time, Hansen.” She made it down the stairs and started pushing her way through the crowd, just in time to witness Vic tackle Hank Richards. The two men crashed to the floor and disappeared behind the throng. Partygoers were scattering in all directions, leaving a circle for the men to struggle in. Lacey caught a glimpse of them rolling on the floor, grappling and trading punches. TV cameras swung around wildly, trying to catch the action. People were screaming and running for the doors. Lacey was aware of Claudia Darnell running toward her, still holding her new dream catcher, and Hansen lifting a camera to his eye and squinting through the viewfinder. Claudia stopped next to Lacey, an expression of horror and fascination on her face.

Hank Richards was a strong, fit, and desperate man. He managed to scramble away from Vic and get back on his feet. Hank pulled his gun from his waistband, but Vic kicked it out of his hand. It went flying across the floor and skittered past Lacey’s feet. Hank spun around, his eyes following the gun. He saw Lacey and Claudia. His face changed and his expression hardened. He pushed people out of his way left and right and headed straight for Claudia, who seemed glued to the spot.

Lacey shoved her publisher behind her and grabbed the only thing that came to hand, the way Kira had grabbed a softball trophy. Lacey barely had time to swing the big dream catcher by its heavy metal ring as Richards put his head down and charged. He was so intent on reaching his prey, he never saw the dream catcher coming.

Lacey slammed it down over Hank’s shiny bald head and pulled the metal circle up as hard as she could, ensnaring his head and shoulders in the knotted leather web. She felt leather thongs start to pop and give way, but some of the knots held fast. Hank fell through the hoop, tangled and off balance. He dove forward, his hands outstretched to grab something, anything. Lacey couldn’t tell whether Hank was trying to shove her out of the way or hold on to her, before she lost her own footing and landed on her butt, still holding on to the metal hoop. She was vaguely aware of her French twist coming loose. In a moment, she was aware that Vic was there beside her, diving onto Hank and driving him down to the concrete floor.

Lacey had managed to entangle Hank for the few seconds it took Vic to close the gap. Vic landed on Hank’s back with both hands and ripped the tangled dream catcher from the Velvet Avenger’s head and shoulders. He tossed the bent ring in the air, and Claudia caught it. Vic already had a firm grip on the killer’s throat. He slammed Hank facedown against the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back in one smooth motion.

It was a madhouse. Lacey heard cameras clicking, uncomfortably aware that they were taking pictures of her on the floor as she got to her feet and dusted herself off. Uniformed Alexandria cops were pushing through the crowd, trying to bring order to this chaos. They took Hank from Vic and escorted him away. Vic caught Lacey’s eye and smiled at her. He cocked his head. She nodded to say,
Yes, I’m okay.
Vic nodded back and went with the cops.

As they led Hank Richards away, Lacey heard him yelling, “You should have just killed me!”

Claudia stared after Hank until he disappeared from sight. She still dangled the crumpled piece of expensive art in her hands, its bent copper rim, its torn leather webbing, its tattered feathers and beads.

All Lacey could think of was the price tag on the thing she had taken from her publisher’s hands and destroyed in a heartbeat.

“Sorry, Claudia. I just grabbed the first thing I could.” Lacey swallowed and hoped her publisher wouldn’t make her pay for this ruined, overpriced crafts project. “I’m sure they could make you another—”

Claudia turned around with a wry smile and quick hug. “No, Lacey. I like it this way. It may not have caught a dream, but it caught a killer. It makes a better story.”

“Yeah,” Lacey agreed. “A better story.”

“Where’s Hansen? Let’s get a picture. Hansen!”

Lacey sighed with relief and leaned against the wall. It did make a better story. The picture might even make the front page of
The Eye.
An Alexandria policeman stepped up to Claudia. He cleared his throat.

“Ma’am? I’m going to have to take that for evidence.”

 

Late that night, after it was all over, after all the police interviews, after all the media sound bites, after the cops and the crowd went home, in the nearly deserted Torpedo Factory, Vic held her tight for the longest time. He took her breath away with his embrace, and Lacey felt tears tickling her eyes as she closed them.

“So, how much did that fancy wall hanging cost?” he asked softly. “The one you and Hank ruined.”

“A lot.” She sighed. “But at least it’s not coming out of my paycheck.”

“So you still have a job?”

“The fashion beat will go on,” Lacey said.

“I guess that’s the way of the dragon slayer, isn’t it? You slay one dragon and the beat goes on.” Vic took her hand. “Let’s go home, Lacey.”

Chapter 39

Everyone was mad.

Brooke was mad. Damon was mad. Stella was mad. Lady Gwendolyn Griffin was mad. Tony Trujillo was hopping mad. They were all mad at Lacey. All because they weren’t there on Monday night to take part in the take-down of the Velvet Avenger.

But Lacey felt sure they would all get over it.
Eventually
. Most likely in time for Stella’s nuptials with Nigel. Yes, definitely in time for Lacey to wear some perfectly atrocious bridesmaid’s dress, playing second banana to the irrepressible and adorable Stella.

On the plus side, cub reporter Kelly Kavanaugh was so mad about missing another good story that she begged Mac to let her go back to the police beat. And Mac let her go. She had written her first, and last, Fashion Bite.

Lacey arrived at the newsroom Tuesday afternoon, looking as fresh as possible under the circumstances. She wore her favorite black vintage suit with the jeweled button covers, the one designed by Gloria Adams, a young designer in the 1940s who had died before her talent could be recognized. Lacey felt the suit gave her the extra bit of courage she needed. She refused to give anyone the impression she couldn’t handle her own beat by herself. After all, it was just the fashion beat. And a little extra.

Mac Jones told Lacey to write her story of being abducted by the Velvet Avenger as an exclusive interview with the killer. Front page. Above the fold.

Mac thought this was a big plus, for Lacey and for
The Eye.
But she balked at Mac’s eyewitness-interview-with-the-killer angle. Her encounter with Hank Richards was seared into her brain. But it wasn’t as if she had taken notes and flagged quotes. To her thinking, it wasn’t quite a professional-quality interview.

Mac snorted. “From what I heard, Smithsonian, it couldn’t be more exclusive.” His dark eyebrows lifted, daring her to object. “It’s a hell of an exclusive. It’s practically front-line combat reporting. You’re a professional. You had your eyes and ears open. And you’re all in one piece, right? Who better to write this thing?”

“But I can’t confirm my quotes, Mac. They won’t let me talk to Richards yet. No notes, no tape. It’s all from memory, too much excitement, and I might get something wrong. And it won’t be very objective.”

“That’s what editor’s notes are for.” He wore his smuggest look. His eyebrows were happy. “I’ll just put one at the top of your story: From the Editor. I’ll vouch for your journalistic integrity.”