The Gray Zone (11 page)

“Yes,” she croaked. “Please, I’m fine.” She coughed some more, still doubled over. “Old age is not for sissies.”

“Do you need help?” asked Jake, worried. It wasn’t a hot day, so
it couldn’t be heatstroke. Perhaps standing in line so long had weakened her. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Thank you,” whispered the woman. Jake supported her elbow with one hand and wrapped the other around her waist, guiding her gently down the hill. Her high-heeled pumps sank into the lawn with every step. As they approached the road, Jake saw a taxi waiting.

“This is my cab. Thank you for your chivalry.” Lydia Haines glanced up at Jake, still holding the handkerchief to her mouth. He helped her into the backseat.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked. “I can get you a bottle of water.”

She waved him off again. “You’ve been too kind already. Let’s go, please, driver.”

Jake shut the door firmly, still worried. He saw the old lady sinking down in her seat as the cab drove away. By the time it was almost out of sight, he couldn’t even see the top of her head.

Jake turned back to the tent. There were still a half dozen people waiting to greet Suzanne. Carlen had left her side and now stood with a group of men that included Todd Gillis. Jake watched Gillis for a moment, a kingmaker among kingmakers.

What Carlen had been telling him about group homes wasn’t news to Jake. He’d had enough experience as a criminal defender to know a thing or two about them. He didn’t doubt Gillis’s altruism, but he also knew it wasn’t only his money going into the home. For every child ranked at level 11 (very difficult), Gillis—or his foundation—would receive $10,000 to $11,000 per month from the state and federal governments. Most group homes housed such high-ranking kids. Still, it took a certain kind of person to choose to get involved with that kind of charity, and Jake had to admit a grudging respect for what Gillis did.

Jake felt a sudden stab of guilt about his mixed feelings. Porter
had never begrudged charity and made giving to others look easy. Jake thought about how Porter had behaved on the campaign trail, clasping hands in his trademark double-handed bear grasp. A born leader, Porter had been unusually skilled at making each person he greeted feel like the only one in the room. Watching him work a room had been a lesson in human dignity. His friend’s strong features and rangy presence gave him an all-American appeal. His self-deprecating sense of humor and talent for delivering pithy sound bites had been helping him poll well with both Democrats and Republicans, no mean feat in the polarized political arena. The DNC had been falling all over itself preparing for his presidential bid in four years.

Now, to Jake’s amazement, he stood at his friend’s grave, watching everyone—those who were overcome by jealousy and had secretly hated him, and those who had loved him—trying to be on their best behavior. The businessmen standing with Carlen chuckled softly. Carlen leaned forward into the group and said something. As the men laughed, Carlen whispered to the man next to him.

Suddenly Jake felt a movement at his side.

“You lost me a rather substantial bet.”

Jake turned. Todd Gillis stood beside him.

“I’m sorry to say I bet against you—a spur-of-the-moment whim. You can be sure I won’t do that again. It set me back around a million.”

In the millisecond before responding, Jake considered his reaction, and every muscle in his face awaited his command. He decided on reserve. One eyebrow lifted. His mouth curled.

“The Pantelli case?” prompted Gillis, not at all put off by Jake’s demeanor.

“I’m afraid I can’t take the credit,” answered Jake. “The jury decided the verdict based on the evidence presented.”

“Todd Gillis.” Gillis held out his hand.

Jake shook it. “Jake Brooks.”

Each man held the grip a second longer than usual.

Gillis grinned. “Tell me something. Was she innocent? The Platinum Widow?”

It seemed to Jake as though the case had been decided years ago, although it had been just a few weeks. Jake had managed to clear the good name of Jeanette Pantelli, the notorious Platinum Widow, saving her from conviction for the murder of her husband, Chubby Pantelli, despite testimony from a hit man claiming that Jeanette had hired him to pull the trigger. Jake had hammered the jury, the television cameras, and Jeanette herself with the message of her innocence—so much so, even she’d ended up believing it. He’d tracked down expert witnesses and dismantled the testimony of prosecution witnesses. The trial had lasted three months. The jury had deliberated for sixteen days, but at last they’d found her not guilty.

In the post-trial publicity, Jake had kept on message: Mrs. Pantelli was not guilty and the justice system had prevailed. Yet privately, Jake couldn’t take all the credit for the victory: The jury consultants had been top-notch. The ruling left the widow the sole owner of a dozen lucrative establishments in Las Vegas and Atlantic City, as well as clubs and restaurant chains around the country and even a theme park outside Pittsburgh.

Jake considered Gillis now. His eyes had a playful quality to them, echoed in the lines around his mouth, which looked teasing or amused, depending on your point of view. Everything else about Gillis was polished and sharp. More than he cared to admit, Jake wanted to hate this guy. Still, there was something appealing in Gillis’s bluntness.

“Everyone’s innocent until proven guilty.”

Gillis grinned. “So they say.” He softened his voice. “You were a friend of the congressman.”

“I knew him a long time. You?”

“I liked what I saw. Straight shooter. Fair. Heart in the right place, for politics anyway.”

Gillis’s bodyguard shuffled up and whispered something to his boss.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” declared Gillis abruptly, patting the back of Jake’s jacket. “Yes, a pleasure,” he repeated. “Let’s do it again.” Gillis moved quickly down the hill.

Jake realized he needed to get back to Suzanne.

“I’m just about finished here,” she whispered when he took his place next to her. Jake led her down to her limousine. As he helped her into the backseat, she bumped her head on the doorframe. She gritted her teeth together until Jake had gotten in the other side and pulled the door shut. Then, like a three-year-old, she burst into tears.

“Jake, I can’t handle this,” she sobbed. He folded her in his arms, her brittle shoulders heaving in an uncharacteristic moment of honesty. For reasons he didn’t care to figure out, it felt good just to hold Suzanne and rock back and forth. She held on even after she stopped sobbing.

“I did know,” she whispered. “I knew he was seeing someone.” Her shoulders shuddered. “And it hurt like hell.”

“It’s okay,” whispered Jake. “It’s okay.” Grief held them together, where life never had.

Long before the widow had stopped crying, the gravediggers tossed their shovels into the back of their pickup truck and quietly coasted down the hill.

KELLY CROUCHED IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE TAXI, her hands icy even in the black gloves. Her head was spinning; she could hardly think straight. She had seen the FBI agents staked around the crowd at the funeral, their alert eyes looking for any hints of Porter’s murderer. Her heart felt like an out-of-control airplane tumbling through the air as it lurched from feeling to feeling. Porter was dead. She would never love anyone like that again. She had shaken hands with his wife. Big players she recognized from Las Vegas had attended the funeral. The net was closing in on her.

“Please hurry. I need to get back to the hotel,” she said in a whispery voice.

The driver looked back in his mirror. “Lady, are you okay?”

Kelly slid farther down in the seat, feeling faint. “Fine,” she answered. “Please, just hurry.”

“Well, don’t puke in my cab,” the driver muttered.

Kelly fought to regain control, to force her mind to work like
a computer, dispassionately and fast. Typing away on her Sidekick, she did a Google search to locate a pay phone nearby. She sat upright and glanced out the window onto Cahuenga Boulevard. Her eyes searched for the phone booth that should be coming up on the right. She had at last faced up to what she had to do: get her kids someplace safe.

“Driver? Stop here, please,” Kelly demanded in a still shaky voice. The driver turned quickly, afraid of some imminent danger to his cab. And as soon as he pulled into the driveway and stopped, she headed for the phone booth—a rare commodity, since just about everyone from bankers to gangbangers now had mobile phones.

There’s not much difference in that spectrum anyway,
thought Kelly grimly, scooping a handful of coins out of her purse. She dialed a number in Las Vegas and peered around from under her hat, hunched her back in case anyone was watching. She was just old Lydia Haines, on a pay phone because she refused to learn how to use a newfangled cell phone. The line rang, and rang again.

Come on, answer,
Kelly prayed.

“Hello?”

“Holly, it’s me.”

“Sweetheart! Where are you?”

“I can’t talk long. But I need your help. Help with the kids. I’ve got to get them out of here.”

“Of course we’ll help, honey. We’d love to have them.”

“I’ll give you the directions. Can you come tonight?” The desperation in Kelly’s voice cut through any rudeness.

“Sure, sweetie. We’ll be there. Where are you?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Los Angeles?!”

“Please say you’ll come.” Kelly’s voice was thick with pleading.

“Of course we’ll come. How do we find you?”

Kelly spoke quickly and hung up the phone. In the cab, as the driver continued toward the hotel, she slid out of view of the rearview mirror, pulled chunks of putty from her face, and cleaned her makeup off using a wet wipe, keeping her hat on to shield the transformation her face had undergone.

“Pull up here, please,” she said, using Lydia’s thin voice once more.

She paid the cabbie, rolled up her skirt, and climbed out. She lost the hat when she was crossing the street to the hotel—watched as several cars ran over it.

When she got up to the room, the kids were glued to the Disney channel and the babysitter was flipping through fashion magazines. The girl was doughy and seemed a little dim, but the concierge had assured Kelly that the agency they used did background checks and the sitters were CPR certified. Kelly paid her and shut the door.

Out of necessity as a single mom, Kelly had occasionally had to leave her children with others. She knew the strict rules of Child Protective Services: If the children were found left alone or in incapable hands, even when
she
knew they were safe, they would be taken away from her. Kelly always made sure she had enough cash to stay at hotels that offered proper babysitting arrangements, and she always insisted on the best the agencies had. But leaving the children was always a leap of faith no matter her precautions, and every time she did, she was torn between what she had to do and what she wanted to do. But now she needed something safer and longer term for them. She had to get them out of the city.

Holly had been Kelly’s closest friend in Las Vegas over these past two years. They had met through Holly’s husband, Frank, who was the bartender at Shrake’s club. Holly and Kelly shared the kinship of motherhood, and Holly had pulled Kevin and Libby into her life along with Kelly. She joked that the two kids filled the void left by
her son, who had just started college. Kelly and Frank knew that was the truth. Holly was a natural mom, and the kids loved her like an aunt or, Kelly sometimes thought wistfully, a grandmother.

Kelly didn’t know that behind her back Holly and Frank talked about how she was the most seductive person they had ever met, which said a lot, coming from two seasoned natives of Las Vegas. Not seductive in a sexual way, they always said, although she was beautiful, and plenty of men and women were attracted to her for that. What made Kelly an exception was more a part of her personal demeanor, the way she made you feel as though she needed you for your unique self, not for what you could do for her. Holly and Frank teased each other that they were both in love with her. But it was a pure kind of love, de-sexualized, like what you might feel for a child or a pet. Indeed, Frank had always seen a hunted animal—perhaps a doe ready to take flight—under the brave façade of Kelly’s eyes, and he had felt a need to shelter and protect her.

As for Holly, she just loved Kelly for her directness, her sense of humor, and her clear love of her children. She’d thought a lot about Kelly’s looks and their effect on people. An ex-showgirl herself, Holly was beautiful. A little softer around the edges now, but no stranger to the power of beauty and the neuroses that can underlie it. She was most intrigued by how Kelly’s beauty didn’t alienate other women. Kelly had an equality about her and held other men and women up to equal scrutiny. When they got close, she allowed them equal access to her vulnerabilities and defenses.

With such strong chemistry among the three, they had developed a small extended family together that had been Kelly’s main source of emotional support in Las Vegas. There was no one else Kelly would dream of leaving her children with for more than a few hours.

It was past midnight by the time Holly called the hotel room
from her car. Kelly had explained to Kevin and Libby that they were going to spend a few days with Holly and Frank in Las Vegas, and they’d get to go on a road trip in their RV. Kelly would join them as soon as she could. It wouldn’t be long, just a few days. The two children had protested loudly, as was to be expected, but they perked up at the idea of spending the time in the RV. Kelly had managed to calm them down enough for them to get a few hours’ sleep before bundling them downstairs into the underground garage.

She found Holly’s car immediately in the prearranged spot, hugged her friends, and let Holly pack the kids in the backseat while she spoke further to Frank about her plans.

“Are you going to be okay?” murmured Frank, his sincere brown eyes moving from Kelly to the sleepy children. “You’ve never handed over the kids in such a rush. Is he on your trail?”