The Lazarus Trap (18 page)

Val stared out his side window. Passengers disembarked all around them, hugging friends and relatives, shaking hands, waving farewell. Val sat in a late-model sedan with a loan shark for company. Yet he made no move to leave. Vince did not press him. He seemed to be waiting as well.

Val turned around. “Who do you think my enemy is here?”

“You know this guy, not me.”

“I'm not talking about the guy. I'm talking about the woman who's hunting me. You talked with her. Tell me what you think.”

Vince gave his single nod, clearly approving of the question. He settled a fraction back into the seat. Probably it was as close to relaxed as this man ever came. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he did on the hotel's countertop. Once. Twice. Even this simple gesture revealed Vince's quiet menace.

“A bad cop, like I said. I'm guessing early thirties. Dark hair. Everything about her very tight, you know what I mean? The lady stays in shape. Definitely somebody who'll never run from a fight.”

“A bad cop,” Val repeated, searching for a handle.

“Lot of them out there, believe me. Probably on the job awhile. Got greedy. Might have a drug habit, but I doubt it. She don't have the look for that either. Most of your bad cops are heavy on the juice. But she didn't have the look. Probably got into a lotta trouble over something. Gambling, maybe. Or a scam that went wrong. End result, she tumbled.”

“Sorry, I don't follow you.”

“What, that she tumbled? Means she started off taking one wrong step, now she's dragged down so far she'll do anything, say anything, just to stay alive. You know what I'm saying?”

“I hear the words, but that's all.”

Vince slowed down, giving it to him with patience. “We're talking street here. She slipped up. Maybe she thought she could get into the man for a taste. Needed some extra cash, liked the thrill, was angry with the boss over something, whatever. You remember what I told those guys wanting to do business? Most people on the street, you get into them, they
own
you. My guess is, she got into the wrong guy in a big way. This guy, he's keeping her on a tight leash, and it's killing her breath by breath. She's desperate and looking for a way out.”

“What does this mean as far as I'm concerned?”

“Yeah, that's what you got to be thinking on.” Vince gave him the gunslinger's grin, there and gone so fast it might never have happened. “If I'm right here, one thing you can say for certain about the lady. She thinks you're her meal ticket, you better watch out. This dame won't leave you breathing.”

“You're about to get me very scared here.”

“The people you got after you, fear's a good thing to have on your side. Help you grow eyes in the back of your head. Which you're gonna need.” Vince took aim with his pistol of a forefinger. Cocked his thumb. “You see them coming at you, run.”

Val bought a nylon duffel bag at an airport newsstand, then returned to Vince's car and packed up all his belongings. Vince drove away without a backward glance. Val checked in and went straight through security. He seated himself two stations down from his departure gate and watched the hustling flow. Val spotted no familiar face, nor anyone who paid him more than passing notice. After a while the faces became part of a half-seen collage.

A young woman took the chair opposite his. She held a young girl, scarcely more than an infant. The daughter fretted and kicked. Finally the woman let her child down onto the floor. The girl used her mother's finger as a support and rose unsteadily to her feet. Then she sang a child's laughter. Most of the surrounding travelers turned to smile with her.

Val should have walked away. There was no need to remain and be tortured by a fragmented past he was determined to leave behind. But walking away would make no difference. He ached for what had been denied him. He did not need a perfect set of memories to know he had never seen his daughter laugh. Nor that this life sentence was the work of one man.

Val had never known hatred before. He had never thought it was possible to want to murder another man. But Terrance d'Arcy had created in Val a rage of the lethal variety. The divorce, the revelation about Terrance's affair with his wife, the child, the stolen promotion— the body-blows had almost destroyed him. One thing had kept Val intact. One thing had given a framework for his otherwise negated life.

Val knew his current rage was a mere shadow of what he had lived with for almost a year and a half. Which was as it should be. He was, after all, a different man.

A half hour before his flight was scheduled to depart, Val walked to the men's room and washed his face. He stared at himself in the mirror long enough for others using the facilities to glance nervously in his direction. Val paid them no mind. He was too busy searching for a future.

He was as free as any man could ever be. He did not even possess a decent set of memories. All he had to do was arrive safely in England, make it to Jersey, pick up his two million and change, gather up Audrey, and disappear before Terrance could destroy anything more. Simple.

Yet all he could find in his gaze was the same empty core.

When his flight was finally called, Val was first in line. But the questions barked at his heels. The bored New York attendant took forever to stop tapping into his computer and process Val's boarding card. Val scouted the hall a final time, seeing nothing because there was nothing to be seen. He found no comfort in that, however. The faceless crowd only amplified his own solitude. When the attendant wished him a good journey, Val breathed a silent farewell to all he hoped would chase him no longer.

The race was on.

THE SUN WAS AN INCH AWAY FROM MELTING INTO ORLANDO'S western buildings. Don Winslow and Jack Budrow ordered an early dinner and ate seated at the corporate boardroom, which was connected to Jack's office by the Insignia trophy hall. Don had little appetite. Nor was he all that keen to spend more time in the chairman's company. But the day had been too full for them to speak privately. Outsiders swarmed all over the company. Reporters crammed the lobby and streets surrounding the building. Even their homes were marked. Don pushed food around his plate and watched a pair of thunderclouds mar the sunset. The coming tropical storm was a fitting end to a torrential day.

Jack Budrow did not look well. Which was not altogether bad, since his face was the public image for Insignia's gaping wound. Don might have worried about the man's long-term prospects, if he could have spared a thought. Which he couldn't. Not then. “Looks like we might have a handle on Val Haines.”

“You're absolutely certain this Haines is still alive?”

Don stared at his boss. The man shoveled prime rib into his mouth like a demented robot. “We've covered this, what, a billion times already. Yes, Jack. Val is above ground. But not for long.”

“Where is he headed?”

“Terrance found the guy who supplied Val with a fake passport. So we assume Val's headed for Jersey and his stash. Our security lady put Terrance in contact with people over there. She claims we can trust them with this job.”

“This job,” Jack muttered around his next bite. “This
job
.”

Don decided to let that one slide. “Right now Terrance is meeting New York's finest, giving them the lay of the land. Soon as we hear from the people over there, he'll wing his way across the Atlantic.”

Jack dropped his knife and fork with a clatter. “I'm still concerned about trusting d'Arcy with this.”

Don had played long enough with food his stomach didn't want. He pushed his plate aside. “Terrance is perfect as far as we're concerned. Those two guys have been enemies for years. Terrance and Val joined the company about six months apart. Val was dating a sweet young thing from Palm Beach. Terrance fell hard for her too, but Val won that round. Soon after he and the lady were married, Val beat Terrance out of a vice-presidency. Terrance doesn't take losing well, Jack. He just smiled and pretended everything was fine. And he waited. Then Val and his lady started having trouble on the children front. They went through all the doctors and clinics, apparently because Val was the one hot for a kid. He was desperate to be a dad. Don't ask me why.”

“Terrance stole the man's wife?”

“About the same time he stole Val's promotion. Sweet, wouldn't you say?”

Jack hid his reaction by swivelling his chair around. “Which drove Val to steal from the company, something I never thought would happen.”

“Two million and change. I've seen the records.”

A bit of the acid emerged. “You're certain Terrance didn't doctor those books as well?”

“Ease up on your partner, Jack. We're not after a choirboy here.” Don knew the real reason behind Jack's ire was that Terrance had caught Jack with his own hand in the till. But there was nothing to be gained from mentioning that. “You know who Terrance's father is, right?”

“Some employee of mine, you've already—”

“Arthur d'Arcy is a divisional manager. An engineer by training. Came up through production. Runs the facility we acquired a while back over in Hastings, England. Young Terrance, now, he and the old man don't get along. Not at all. We're talking about some serious friction.”

Jack turned back around and gave Don his full attention. “You know why, don't you?”

“Makes for a fascinating tale. Terrance's grandfather was the real deal. A duke. Made a fortune in shipping. Some of it very shadowy, from what I hear. When Terrance was nine, his grandfather divorced Terrance's grandmother. Two days after the divorce was final, the old man married a twenty-four-year-old blond dumpling, then adopted her two-year-old son. Later blood tests proved the kid was his. The grandfather was apparently a real piece of work. The day Terrance turned eleven, the old man kicked the bucket. Problem was, the old man left everything to this young kid and the blond dumpling. Titles, lands, country estate, shipping company, London townhouse, money, the works. Not a cent to Terrance's father, or to Terrance. Who, by the way, was formerly listed as the old man's heir apparent.”

“Is that legal?”

“Terrance's mother didn't think so. Her name's Eleanor, by the way. Lives here in Orlando now. Her house is connected to Terrance's.”

“Eleanor d'Arcy. Of course. I've met her several times. Quite an impressive lady. But she's not British.”

“Born and raised in Philadelphia. Old family. As close to aristocracy as America can claim. She pressed her husband, Terrance's father, to take the old man's estate to court. Arthur d'Arcy refused. Claimed it was a matter of principle.”

Jack stared out over the dimming twilight, no doubt imagining the same happening to him. He said, “Eleanor did not take this well.”

“To say the least. Divorced her husband, scooped up their son, and left. Bang and gone. Terrance did his studies here in the U.S. and joined us straight out of school. Never mentioned who his father was. Worked his way up through our ranks. Finally Terrance won promotion to VP and in-house auditor. Through some real shenanigans. Like I said, he basically stole the position from Val Haines, who's been his chief rival for years. He planted some incriminating evidence suggesting Val had botched a serious project and tried to hide it. Terrance was given the top slot and Val was sidelined in the pensions department. Left there to rot, basically.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because Terrance told me. I suspected. I asked. He makes no bones about it. Not between us. We're almost family now, right, Jack?”

The CEO stared out the window at the gathering night.

“Pay attention, Jack. It's important you understand how Terrance is earning his keep here. He hasn't just laid blame for this fiasco on our dear departed Val. He's also slipped in a hidden kicker. When the authorities start their investigation, they'll discover that Val managed to keep this from us because he had a secret partner in crime. One far enough away to hide his work from the U.S. authorities.”