The Heaven Trilogy (33 page)

“I'm as serious as a heart attack, Honey.”

She heard his words the way one might see a bomb's distant mushroom cloud, but it took a second for the impact to reach in and shake her bones. Her first thought was denial. But it fled before his glare, and she knew he was just that: as serious as a heart attack.

“You're going to
steal?”

He nodded, grinning.

“You're going to steal twenty
million?”

He nodded, still wearing that thin grin. “That's a lot of money, isn't it? It's the amount that I stood to earn from my bonus if Borst and Bentley hadn't pilfered it.” He said the names through a sudden snarl. And then, more matter-of-factly, he added, “I'm going to take it.”

Lacy was flabbergasted. “But how? From them? You can't just steal twenty million dollars and not expect to get caught!”

“No? I'm not touching Borst and Bentley, at least not at first. Even if they had that kind of money, you're right—it would be suicide to take such a sum from anyone.”

He lifted the cup again, slowly, staring into it, and he spoke just before the rim touched his lips. “Which is why I will take it from no one.” He drank, and she watched him, caught up in his drama.

She thought he had flipped his lid—all theatrical and making no sense at all. He lowered the cup to the table, landing it without a sound. “I will take it from one hundred million accounts. Next month, one hundred million interbank ATM service fees will be slightly inflated on selected customers' statements. Not a soul will even suspect a theft has occurred.”

She blinked at him several times, trying to understand. And then she did. “They will see it!”

“Service fees are not reconciled, Lacy. When was the last time you even checked on the accuracy of those little charges?” He raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?” She shook her head. “You're crazy. Someone will notice. It's too much!”

“The banks will not know except through the odd customer who complains. When someone complains, what do they do? They run a query. A query that I will be able to detect. Any account queried, regardless of the nature of that query, will receive a correction. In the world of computing, anomalies do occur, Lacy. In this case, the anomaly will be corrected on all accounts in which it is detected. Either way, the transactions will be nontraceable.”

“But that's impossible. Every transaction is traceable.”

“Oh?” He let it stand at that and just stared at her, his head still angled in a rather sinister manor, she thought.

Lacy stared at Kent and began to believe him. He was, after all, no idiot. She didn't know the inner workings of a bank's finances, but she knew that Kent did. If anybody could do what he suggested, he could. Goodness! Was he actually planning on stealing twenty million dollars? It was insane! Twenty
million
dollars! Her heart thumped in her chest.

She swallowed. “Even if you could pull it off, it's . . . it's wrong. And you know how it feels to be wronged.”

“Don't even begin to compare this with my loss,” he shot back. “And who is being wronged here? You think losing a few cents will make anyone feel
wronged?
Like,
Oh, my stars, Gertrude! I've been robbed blind!
Besides, you have to know something in order to feel anything about it. And they will not know.”

“It's the principle of it, Kent. You're stealing twenty million dollars, for heaven's sake! That's wrong.”

His eyes flashed. “Wrong? Says who? What's happened to me—now,
that's
wrong. The way I'm looking at it, I'm just getting centered again.”

“That doesn't make it right.” So this was what he'd come to tell her. That he was about to become a world-class criminal. Mafia type. And she'd bared her soul to the man.

She frowned. “Even if you pull it off, you'll spend the rest of your life running. How are you going to explain all that money? It'll catch up to you one day.”

“No. You see, actually that's what I came to tell you. Nothing will ever catch up to me, because I don't plan on being around to be caught up to. I'm leaving. Forever.”

“Come on, Kent. With international laws and extradition treaties, they can track you down anywhere. What are you going to do, hide out in some tropical jungle?”

His blue eyes twinkled. She furrowed her brows.

He just smiled and crossed his legs. “We'll see, Lacy, but I wanted you to know that. Because tonight may be the last time you see me.”

Then she understood why Kent had come. He had not come to ask her to share his life; he can come to say good-bye. He was tossing her out of his life as he had done once before. He had bound her to this secret of his—this crime— and now he intended to heave her overboard.

The realization spread over her like a flow of red-hot lava, searing right through to her bones. Her heart seized for a few moments. She knew it! She knew it, she knew it, she knew it! She'd been a fool to let him anywhere
near
her heart.

Kent's face suddenly fell, and she thought he had sensed her emotions. The instinct proved wrong.

“There will be a death involved, Lacy, but don't believe what you read in the papers. Things will not be what they seem. I can promise you that.”

She recoiled at his admission, now stunned by the incongruity facing her.
You promise me, do you, Kent? Oh, well, that fills the cockles of my heart with delight, my strapping young monster! My blue-eyed psycho . . .

“Lacy.” Kent's voice jarred her back to the table. “You okay?”

She drew a breath and settled in the chair. It occurred to her that the time she had spent hurriedly doing her face and cleaning the condo had been wasted. Entirely. “I don't know, Kent. Am I supposed to be okay?” She eyed him pointedly, thinking to thrust a dagger there.

He sat up, aware for the first time, perhaps, that she was not taking all of this with a warm, cuddly heart. “I'm sharing something with you here, Lacy. I'm
exposing
myself. I don't just walk around flashing for the public, you know. Lighten up.”

“Lighten up? You waltz into my place, swear me to secrecy, and then dump all over me! How dare you? And you just want me to lighten up?” She knew that nasty little quiver had taken to her lips, but she was powerless to stop it. “And don't assume everyone you flash will like what they see!”

Lacy felt a sudden furious urge to reach out and slap him.
Don't be an imbecile, Kent! You can't just run off and steal twenty million dollars! And you can't just run off, period! Not this time!

And then she did. In a blinding fit of anger she just reached out and slapped him across the cheek! Hard.
Smack!
The sound echoed in the room as if someone had detonated a small firecracker. Kent reeled back, grabbing at the table for support and gasping in shock.

“Whaa—”

“Don't you
what
me, Kent Anthony!” Heat washed down Lacy's neck. Her hand was stinging. Maybe she had swung a bit hard. Goodness, she had
never
slapped a man! “You're killing me here!”

His eyes flashed with anger, and he scowled. “Look.
I'm
the one who's going out on the line here. I'm risking my neck, for Pete's sake. I'm sorry I've burdened you with my life, but at least you don't have to live it. I've lost everything!” His face throbbed red. “Everything, you hear me? It's either this or suicide, and if you don't believe me, you just watch, Honey!” He jerked away from her, and she saw that his eyes had blurred with tears.

Lacy gripped her fingers into a fist and closed her eyes.
Okay, slow down, Lacy. Relax. He's just hurt.
You're
hurt.
She put her palms flat on the table, took several long pulls of air, and finally looked up at him.

He was staring at her again with those blue eyes, searching her. For what? Maybe she had mistaken his signals all along. Maybe those baby blues were looking at her as a link to reality, a partner in crime, a simple companion. God knew he was living in a void these days. And now she knew why—he was stepping off a cliff. He was playing with death. It was why the meeting with the cop had him wringing his hands.

She should be angry with herself more than with him, she thought. He had not misled her; she had simply been on the wrong track. Thinking foolish thoughts of falling in love with Kent again, while he had his eyes on this—this crime of new beginnings. And a death. Good heavens! He was planning on killing somebody!

“I
will
have to live with it, Kent,” she said gently. “Whatever happens to you, happens to me now. You see that, don't you? You've climbed back into my heart.” She shrugged. “And now you've just made me an accomplice, sworn to secrecy. You can understand how that might upset me a little, can't you?”

He blinked and leaned back. She could see that the thought was running through his mind for the first time.
Goodness. Men could be such apes.

She rescued him. “But you're right. You're going to live the brunt of it all. So I may not see you again? Ever?”

He swallowed. “Maybe not. I'm sorry, Lacy. I must sound like a fool coming here and telling you all of this. I've been insensitive.”

She held up a hand. “No, it's okay. It's not something I asked for, but now that it's done, I'm sure I can handle it.” She looked at him and decided not to press the issue. Enough was enough. “And I shouldn't have slapped you.”

“No, I guess I had that coming.”

She hesitated. “Yes, I guess you did.”

He gave off a nervous
humph
, off balance now.

“So, you really think striped pajamas and a buzz cut will disguise you, Kent? Maybe a ball and chain to boot? It'll be a new life, all right. Don't worry. I'll visit you often.” She allowed a small grin.

He chuckled, and the tension fell like loosened shackles. “No way, Honey. If you think I'm going to prison, you obviously don't know me like you think you do.”

But that was the problem. She did know him. And she knew that one way or another, his life was about to change forever. And with it, possibly hers.

“You're right. Well, I would wish you luck, but somehow it doesn't quite feel right, if you know what I mean. And I can't very well wish you failure, because I don't really go for watching people jerk and foam in electric chairs. So, I'll just hope that you change your mind. In the meantime, my lips are sealed. Fair enough?”

He nodded and grinned.

They drank coffee and talked for another hour before Kent left. He pecked her on the cheek at the door. She did not return the kiss.

Lacy cried a lot that night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Saturday

STEALING TWENTY million dollars, no matter how well planned, engenders undeniable risks. Big, monstrous risks. Although Kent had rehearsed each phase of the two-day operation a thousand times in his mind, the actual execution would involve dozens of unforeseen possibilities. The least of these was probably the likelihood of a Volkswagen-sized asteroid striking downtown Denver and ending his day along with a few million others'—not much he could do about that. But somewhere between
Armageddon Two
and the real world lay the lurking monsters that seemed to ruin every crook's good intentions.

Kent let the booze knock him out late Friday night. After his little confessional with Lacy he deserved a good, long drink. Besides, with nerves strung like piano wires, he doubted sleep would come any other way. There would be no drinking for the robbery's duration, which meant he would have to lay off for a few days. Or maybe forever. The nasty stuff was beginning to show.

When consciousness returned at six o'clock Saturday morning, it came like an electric shock, and he bolted from bed.

It was Saturday!
The
Saturday. Six o'clock? He was already late! He stared around his bedroom, straining his eyes against a throbbing headache. His sheets lay in a wrinkled mess, wet from sweat.

A chill flashed down his spine. Who did he think he was, off to steal twenty million dollars?
Hello there, my name is Kent. I am a criminal. Wanted by the FBI.
The whole notion suddenly struck him as nonsense! He decided then, sitting in his bed, wet with cooling sweat at a hair past six Saturday morning, to discard the whole plan.

Seven deliberate seconds passed before he rescinded the decision and threw his sheets from his legs. Twenty million good old American greenbacks had his name on them, and he wasn't about to let them go to Borst and Tomato-Head.

The trip to Salt Lake City would take nine hours, which left him two hours to dress, confirm the order for the
fish,
and retrieve the truck.

Kent ran into the bathroom, cursing himself for the alcohol. He dipped his head under the tap, ignoring the pooling water at his beltline. No time for a shower. He wasn't planning on running into anyone who would mind anyway.

He dressed on the fly, pulling on a baggy shirt and khaki slacks. Within ten minutes of his first jolt in bed, Kent was ready to leave. For good. The thought stopped him at his bedroom door. Yes, for good. He had no plans of returning to the house again—a prospect he'd thought might bring on some nostalgia. But scanning the room now, he felt only anxious to leave.

It had to look as if he'd left with the full intention of returning, which was why he took nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a tube of toothpaste, not an extra pair of socks, not even a comb. It was always something simple that tipped off the investigators. Truly brain-dead criminals like those from Stupid Street might empty their bank accounts the day before planning a getaway. Those with no mind at all might even run around town kissing loved ones good-bye and grinning ear to ear about some secret.
Gosh, I'm sorry, Mildred. I just can't tell you. But believe me, I'm gonna be soakin' up the sun in Hawaii while you're here workin' like an idiot for the rest of your miserable life!