The Confession (31 page)

I
listened to Alec's heavy heartbeat, my cheek against his chest, my arm wrapped so far around him that my fingers rested between his back and the mattress. He held me, too, one hand on the small of my back, the other tangled in my hair. My head was pleasantly fuzzy from what he'd done to me, but that didn't stop the doubt from squeezing in.

Morning was coming, and that judge, and the twelve men and women of the jury, had the power to take away the man I loved more than anything in this world. They had the power to condemn me, too, though the last time I'd talked to the prosecutor, it had sounded like I was in the clear.

Hooray. That made me feel so much better.

I thought back over the utter train wreck that was my testimony, wondering if I could have said something different to clear Alec's name. Stein's attorney had run me straight into the ground, first by alluding that I was a money-grubbing whore, and then with Jessica Rowe's accusation that I'd had an affair with her boss. It didn't make sense how she would have known I'd been in Miami any time, much less February.

It didn't make any sense at all actually.

I sat up.

“Who knew that I was taken to Miami?” I asked Alec.

He lifted himself onto his elbows, and even in the dark room I could see the scowl on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Who knew?” I asked. “You and me. Maxim, obviously, and Jeremiah Barlow. Janelle, and maybe her team. Who else?”

“No one else that I know of,” he said.

“Did Janelle tell anyone else about the pictures?”

“No,” he said. “She was clear they'd stay between us until she had enough evidence to bring down Max and Barlow.”

“She never told the prosecutor they were taken in Miami?”

“No. Where's this . . .”

“Did
you
tell anyone else they were taken in Miami?”

“You know I wouldn't.”

He was sitting fully upright now, and placed a hand on my knee.

“What's going on?” he asked, concerned. “Did you remember something?”

My head wasn't foggy anymore. It was crystal clear. I sprang from the bed.

“Maxim Stein never came within a hundred feet of Jessica Rowe, that's what Janelle said. The FBI would have intercepted any calls she made or received.”

Alec swung his long legs off the side of the mattress while I began to pace.

“She knew I was in Miami, Alec. Stein's attorney told me she testified that I was there with him in February. Why would she say that?”

He rose. “To add fuel to the theory that you had a relationship with Max.”

“But why Miami? Why not pick New York? Or London? Or goddamn Pakistan?”

He tilted his head.

“She knew I was there, she just lied about
when
.”

Alec turned, and snagged a pair of jeans from the dresser drawer.

“Your dad tailed her down to the Keys,” he said. “That's only miles from the hotel where you were taken.”

My hands started to shake.

“She could have been there when I was.”

I'd thought Maxim had gotten to her, scared her, and that's why she'd testified the way she had. But now it seemed entirely possible that she'd planned on protecting him the entire time.

He jerked on his jeans, and flipped on the light. His phone was on the dresser, and he reached for it now, scanning through a list of numbers before he pressed Send.

“Who are you calling?” I asked.

“The hotel in Miami.”

“I thought you said it was closed for renovations.” I found my dress on the floor, and hurriedly pulled it on.

“The other hotel, across the street.”

Where the pictures could have been taken.

“Mark, hi, it's Alec Flynn, we talked last week about . . . Yes, that's right. Listen, I have another favor to ask of you.”

I listened as he gave the details of Jessica's appearance and was put on hold. While he waited, I raced to the kitchen, where the prepaid phone had been placed back in the drawer beside Alec's gun.

I reached for them both now.

Quickly, I dialed my father's number, placing the weapon on the counter. It went straight to voice mail. Thinking he was just on the other line, I called again, but again, there was no answer.

“Dad, it's me, call me at this number as soon as you get this.” I nearly hung up, and then stopped myself. “Just look in your missed calls folder and press SEND. Yeah, yeah, I know, you're a detective, of course you could have figured that out.”

I hung up and dialed the next number.

“This is Marcos.”

“Hey, it's me. Have you found anything on Jeremiah Barlow yet?”

He sighed. “No. But look, he's not in the wind, yet. We'll catch him.”

“I want you to check on Jessica Rowe, Maxim Stein's secretary.”

“Yeah, I know who she is. Why?”

“I need to see her.”

“Pretty sure the FBI's not going to go for that.”

“I think she's a part of this,” I said. “I think she helped Jeremiah Barlow somehow.”

He sighed.

I waited.

“How sure are you?” he asked.

“Do you want to know an honest percentage?” I asked. “Or can I get away with just saying I've got a really strong feeling about it?”

He sighed again. “I'm near the hotel where she's being held. I'll go do a wellness check. Say someone called in that she was trying to jump out her window or something.”

“I love you, Marcos.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He hung up.

When I turned around, Alec was fully dressed, standing in the threshold of the bedroom door.

“A woman matching Jessica Rowe's description checked in at the hotel next door the night you were taken,” he said. “She stayed one night, and paid in cash. The manager had been prioritizing guests to views that faced the ocean or the strip on account of the construction, but she specifically requested a room on that side.”

My knees weakened, and I sat on a nearby stool.

“She took the pictures,” I said. “Or someone did from her room.”

Alec came to me, and knelt, taking my hands in his.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“We call the FBI and tell them what we know. Mark, the hotel manager, says he'll do whatever he can to help.”

I could hardly believe this was happening. It seemed too good to be true.

Alec smiled, and then he laughed, and kissed me hard on the mouth.

Jessica wouldn't be able to talk herself out of this. She was still the key to this trial, only not in the way I'd thought. Her part in my abduction would lead to the unraveling of Maxim Stein's whole defense. It would start with his parole violation when he'd gone to Miami, a desperate attempt to create a false reason for Alec to bring a case against him, and fall apart from there.

The prepaid phone I'd set on the counter rang. It was so loud, I jumped.

“Marcos,” I said when I recognized the number. Alec nodded.

“Hey,” I said. “That was fast . . .”

“She's not there,” he said. “FBI had a guard on her, but he thinks she might have ducked out when he checked the floor.”

“Maybe she really jumped,” I offered morbidly.

“Someone would have seen that,” said Marcos. “She's running. Only question is, where to?”

I set the phone down.

“She's gone,” I told Alec.

*   *   *

“Janelle's contacting the local PD about roadblocks in and out of the city,” Alec said as he hung up the phone. “She's going to the port authority, too, just in case Jessica tries to get on a cargo or cruise ship.”

We were in the SUV, driving over the waterway toward the police department where we were supposed to meet the FBI. Alec drove fast, but not fast enough to keep up with my flying pulse. We had hours left until the jury shared their findings, and already I could feel the dark sky beginning to gray with the impending dawn.

“She knew she was going down,” I said. “Lying under oath was just the start of it. She's making one last attempt to get out before they cart her off to jail.”

And cart you off, too.

I shivered.

“Where would she go?” Alec muttered. “She wouldn't go back to anyplace she'd been, that would be stupid. She knows your dad tracked her across Florida.”

“If I was her, I'd leave the country,” I said. “Somewhere that the United States couldn't haul me back.”

“She can't get on a plane without an ID,” he said. “Not even a jet.”

“Not even if it's one of her boss's jets?”

“They're all grounded . . .” he trailed off.

I stared at him, Mike's voice in my head.

“
He's been chartering one of his private jets out to old oil company clients for money.”
It was how Maxim Stein had continued to fund his legal defense.

“Alec,” I said. “Jeremiah Barlow's a pilot.”

“Shit,” he said. “Hold on.”

With a screech of tires, he cut across three lanes of traffic to catch the exit that would take us toward the airport.

A
lec drove straight to the back entrance of the airport where the private jets were housed in their enormous domed hangars. It had been a long time since I'd been here—the last time Alec had taken me on my first private jet flight. It was when I'd learned he was scared to death of flying. It wasn't until later I'd found out that he'd gone to the FBI while I'd been walking around Central Park, completely oblivious to the nature of his “meeting.”

When we got to the security gate, Alec muttered something about letting him do the talking, but I wasn't given the chance. The booth beside the gate was empty, despite the fact that the light was on.

“The guard must be on a break,” said Alec, but I wasn't so sure. TSA initiatives had made airports some of the most secure places in the country, and an unmanned entrance that gave access to private planes seemed highly suspicious.

Wanted felons, like Jeremiah Barlow, might even be able to slip through.

Alec put the car in park and stepped outside. I shivered as he pulled his shirt over the gun, tucked into the back of his waistband. After looking around, he climbed into the security booth and lifted a clipboard. I watched him tear a paper off the top, and shove it into his pocket. Then, he pressed a code into the security box, and the electronic gate rolled open.

The clock on the dash flashed 1:47 a.m. as Alec reentered the car and sped down the road beside the runways.

“This is crazy,” I said. “Jessica's probably just going to confession or something.” That was probably the best place for her now.

Alec reached for my hand.

“And even if she did come here, she could be anywhere. She could have gotten on any of these planes.”

He squeezed.

“And even if she
did
come for Stein's plane, who's to say it's even here? It could be halfway over the Atlantic right now.”

Alec released my hand to reach in his pocket. He removed a crumpled paper, which I smoothed out over my lap—a computer printout with a list of times and corresponding numbers.

“What is this?”

“Flight manifest,” he said. “The fourth on the list is Stein's plane. Check the time.”

“Oh-two hundred,” I said, checking the clock again. “Two a.m. That's ten minutes from now.”

The engine roared as he switched gears. In the distance, a large commercial plane descended. It looked as if it was heading straight toward us.

Alec made a small, audible moan. I touched his cheek, already finding it clammy. He leaned into my hand.

“There,” he said, pointing ahead. Only the car's headlights and the red blinking lights that lined the runway lit our path, but up ahead were a dozen hangars. Half of them were open. Most of them were dark. All except the one on the end.

“Is that Force?” I asked, trying to remember where Stein's planes were housed.

“Yes.”

It could have been perfectly innocent. Just some wealthy clients getting ready to board their flight to somewhere in Oil-land. But the needling in my gut told me differently. I leaned forward in the seat as Alec slowed, and parked in the shadowed alley between two hangars.

“Stay in the car. I'm going to take a look.” He withdrew his phone from the cupholder where he'd tossed it, and placed it in my hand.

He stepped outside. With the door open I could already hear the loud whir of the plane's engine, even through the metal wall of the hangar

“Stay in the car,”
I repeated. Not likely. If backstabbing Jessica Rowe was here, I wanted to see her for myself. And if Jeremiah Barlow was here, I sure as hell wasn't going to get caught alone with him.

Closing my door softly, I crept toward the enormous open garage, my sandals making soft crunching noises over the gravel. Alec saw me and motioned back to the car, but I ignored him. I squeezed the phone tightly in my hand, getting closer to the building's gaping mouth where we'd be able to look inside. Voices could be heard now, muffled over the noises of the plane.

Heart pounding, I followed as Alec grabbed my wrist and held me close behind him. When we reached the edge of the hangar, he looked first, and I could tell from the stone hard grip on my arm that we'd found what we were looking for.

I smashed myself between the metal wall and his body, taking a quick glance around the corner. Thirty feet away in the large, brightly lit room, a white sedan parked beside a private luxury jet.

Not just any white car.
The
white car. The one that had stopped behind me at the park, and had nearly hit me when I'd run into the bar. The same car that had been photographed in the security tapes leaving the renovated hotel in Miami. Now that I'd seen it I felt confident that Jeremiah had been following me for some time.

Hunched over, reaching into the backseat, was a woman in a black wrap dress. She stood suddenly and slammed the door, gripping her mousy brown hair in both hands. After a second, she released it, and spun toward the plane.

Even from the distance I could see the difference in her appearance. She wasn't ragged and beaten anymore. This was the ice queen, complete with her designer dress and spike heels.

The anger spiked in my chest. I backed up a step, and dialed Marcos's number.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“It's me,” I whispered. “We're at the airport. The private hangars. You better get over here quick. Jessica Rowe's here, and it looks like she's about to get on a plane.”

I glanced around the corner again, Alec keeping a firm grip on my shoulder.

“On my way.” Over the line, I heard the rising scream of his patrol car's siren. “Anna, you gotta get out of there, okay? Cops show up, there's going to have a lot of questions as to what you're doing . . .”

I didn't hear what else he said.

A man was jogging down the steps that led into the cabin. A young pilot, in navy slacks and a white collared shirt. He didn't have to turn to the side for me to see the large black star tattoo on his neck.

The walls holding back the memories were shaking, or maybe that was Alec's hand, still on my arm. I could hear his teeth grinding near my ear, feel the anger rise up in him like a cobra ready to strike.

Jeremiah Barlow strode past Jessica Rowe, opened the back door of the sedan, and dragged another man out. The second man wavered on his feet, shoulders thrown back awkwardly but head bowed. It took a moment to realize his arms must have been bound behind his back; they were hidden beneath his brown leather flight jacket. Though he wasn't facing us, I could tell it wasn't Maxim Stein. This man was too tall, and his hair was light, not the full platinum wave that Stein sported.

“Anna, get in the car,” Alec said.

The man struggled as Jeremiah pulled him toward the plane.

“Anna, go.” Alec jerked me back, but it was too late. I'd seen the man's face, bruised, and bearing a hard grimace.

I dropped the phone.

There was no thinking, just a pure rush of adrenaline as I shook free of Alec's grasp. I felt his grip burn my skin as I fell to the ground, and scrambled back to my feet. My vision had compressed, closing in on all sides. I could only see my father. My
dad
. The man who couldn't be hurt. Captured by a man I knew to be even more dangerous than Maxim Stein.

I didn't make it five steps into the hangar before they saw me.

“Let him go!” Alec yelled from behind me.

Jeremiah moved fast. He grabbed my father, and had a gun pointed to his temple before I could skid to a stop. I stared at them, hate and fear merging into a powerful, lethal drug that scored through my system.

“Get on the plane!” Jessica shouted, leading the way.

Jeremiah followed her order, pulling my father backward to the steps. My dad didn't make it easy. He dropped down, forcing the younger man to carry him. Still, Jeremiah was strong, and with his forearm pressed against my father's throat, he succeeded in getting him up the steps.

Alec passed me, gun braced before him in his strong, steady hands.

“Anna, back up,” Alec said, voice cold. “Go. I've got this.”

“Get her out of here!” my dad yelled, just as he disappeared into the cabin.

“No!” I ran toward the plane again, unarmed, but strong enough to tear that jet apart piece by piece.

As we passed the car, a gunshot ricocheted through the air. Instinctively, both Alec and I ducked, and before I could raise my eyes again, I was shoved hard to the side, behind the back tires of the white sedan.

“Stay down.” Alec's eyes were wild, though not half as crazed as I felt. Beneath the car I could see the stairs that led into the cabin of the plane lift, revealing the landing gear behind it. I'd fallen onto my side, but rose into a crouch to see over the trunk of the car.

The door was closing. The jet's engines made a loud churning sound as it lurched forward.

“Dad!”

If that plane took off, my father was gone. I'd never see him again. I knew this as clearly as I knew my own name.

Alec's fist tangled in my hair. He pulled my face to his, and smashed his mouth against mine for one hard kiss.

“I love you,” he said.

And then he ran for the closing door.

The plane turned hard toward the exit behind me, and I watched, horrified, as Alec ducked beneath the tip of the wing. The blast of wind from the engine caught his clothes, and they rippled across his body as he leaned against their pull.

Gun still in one hand, he made it to the door of the plane. His hands reached into the side, but couldn't pull it down while still holding the gun. The plane rolled past me, the wing hanging halfway over the roof of the car.

In Alec's efforts to open the door, he dropped the gun. He glanced after it as it clattered to the ground, and even in that split second I could see the decision in his eyes. Get on the plane, or go for the weapon. Leaving it where it fell, he jerked the door open, and forced down the steps, arms flexing. Before I saw if Jeremiah or Jessica was waiting in the threshold, I was on my feet, unwilling to leave Alec undefended to face two dangerous criminals.

Alec crawled into the plane, disappearing into the shadowed interior.

A second later I heard his shout of pain.

I swept the gun off the ground, and raced toward the still open door. The plane was rolling, but not fast enough that I couldn't hop aboard the bottom step. Still, I scraped my knees on the skid-proof pad, and had to cling to the base of the steel railing so I didn't topple off. When I regained my balance, I clutched the heavy gun against my chest and crawled up into the cabin.

A shadowed figure stood above me, and even as I lifted the gun, I knew I was too late.

“Anna,” said Maxim Stein. “So nice of you to join us.”