The Unforgivable Fix (24 page)

“I can't do that.” Lydia was surprised at the stridency in her voice. “There's no way in hell I'm letting Brianna anywhere near Zach Edwards ever again. Not after what I heard on Heather's tapes. Not now that I know the tapes Zach has been giving me are phonies.”

Bauer reached over and touched her arm. “Easy there, supergirl. Do what you need to keep Brianna safe. Just do it on the QT, okay? Tell her Edwards has the flu or something. Say he's out of town. Can you just give me a couple of days to track down who's the voice on the tapes?”

Lydia's answer was stopped by the sight of Oliver Bane coming through the front door of his shop. Her breath caught in her chest and her gaze locked on him. He was alone, carrying two airpots in one hand and his battered canvas briefcase in the other. His smile was easy and welcoming as he greeted regular customers by name. The smile disappeared the moment he saw Lydia sitting in the corner. Oliver's step hesitated. A part of Lydia willed him to walk her way. Another was glad when he shifted his glance and resumed his path back to his office.

Bauer's hand tightened on her arm. “You okay? That guy bothering you?”

Lydia looked down at her rumpled clothes, ruined by her impulsive jog through the morning's downpour. She cringed inwardly at what she must have looked like to Oliver. But none of that mattered anymore. She turned toward the man across from her and forced a pleasant tone into her voice.

“I guess you could call it a personal thing.”

Bauer pulled his hand away. “I'm glad to hear that. I was afraid you spent all your nights alone in a dark room with seven cats.”

Lydia shook her head. “It's an old personal thing. He's nothing to me now.”

Bauer smiled and his eyes lost all of the professional intensity of a few moments ago. Instead golden flecks glittered and invited her in on some wonderful inside joke. “I'm glad to hear that, too.”

Mort jumped up from the sofa the moment Lydia entered the room. “What the hell happened? You're a mess.”

“I'm getting that a lot today. I went for a stroll in the rain. It's not as romantic as the personal ads might suggest.” She looked around the room. “Where's Allie?”

“In the bedroom. Came out once for a sandwich and a few pointed words about how I can't keep her a prisoner forever. That was around two o'clock.”

“What have you been doing all day?”

“On the phone, mostly. Coordinating with the folks in Seattle. Trying to get a bead on where Duncan may be.” He looked discouraged. “There's not a sign of him.”

She looked down at her ruined clothing. “I'm off to the shower. We can have some dinner after that.”

Mort stepped toward her. “If it's okay with you, Liddy, I'm headed to Seattle. I need to know what Duncan says about Allie the moment we nail him. You okay taking watch while I'm gone?”

Lydia glanced down the hall. How hard could it be to monitor a closed door? “Sure. Let me take a quick shower and you can be on your way.”

The door to Allie's room finally cracked open a few minutes past nine. She padded out to the living room, carrying her brother's book under her arm, and sat on the sofa opposite Lydia. Allie placed
The Fixer
on the coffee table that separated them.

“Pure genius. And I'm not just saying that because Robbie wrote it.”

Lydia sipped her glass of merlot and focused on the flames flickering in the stone fireplace. “You hungry? There's roasted chicken in the fridge.”

“Maybe later. Where's Dad?” Allie pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, drew up her knees, and snuggled into its warmth.

“He's off to Seattle. Trying to do what he can to save your butt.”

Allie was quiet for a while. “Did you have a nice day?”

She was trying to be pleasant, but the resentment Lydia had toward Allie kept her from welcoming it. She took another sip of wine and forced herself to be civil.

“I went for a run in the rain and ruined a perfectly good outfit. How's that for starters?”

Allie responded with a relaxed grin. “What made you do that?”

Lydia focused on the flames. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, no offense, but your entire wardrobe might benefit from being ruined. I don't mean to be cruel, but look at you, Lydia.” Allie held out her hands to encompass the entirety of Lydia's frame. “You could be a knockout. Seriously, you could. The bone structure in your face. Those wide blue eyes. That tight little body. Why do you go out of your way to frump yourself up?”

How could she explain to Allie that what the world would call beautiful, Lydia viewed as nothing more than the genetic legacy of a father she never met? Her mother had been a plain woman who took every opportunity to make certain her young daughter knew how much she resented her beauty. How could Lydia say that every time she looked into a mirror she saw the reason her mother left her to the foster system as an infant, only to reappear years later and introduce her to the world of sexual exploitation?
My mother hated my beauty. I would never call attention to it.

Lydia realized that was a lie. She had used her looks to full advantage during her years as The Fixer. She primped and preened and dressed her naturally lithe body however she needed to in order to snare her victims.

“Have I offended you, Lydia?”

Lydia refocused and assured Allie her mind had been elsewhere. “I guess I just prefer to be comfortable. It's easier to pull my hair into a ponytail than to style it. Call me lazy.”

Allie shook her head. “With your raw material, my guess is it takes more time to look as dowdy as you do than it would to just let your natural heat shine through.”

“Maybe I just don't see the point.” Lydia hoped that would end that particular topic of conversation.

Allie swung her legs off the sofa and leaned forward. “The point, dear Lydia, is
men.
Like it or not, how we look is what first attracts men to us. I guess it's the same the other way around. I don't think I could be drawn to a man who wasn't at least passably good-looking.”

Lydia imagined it was more the power of the man that would draw in Allie. “I'm not looking to attract a man.”

“What about that detective from the ice cream shop?” Allie fanned her face as though overcome with the vapors. “You may not be shopping, but when the world sends someone who looks like that across your path, you may want to get out your credit card. It wouldn't take much to get me dreaming about the way his shoulders filled out that sports coat.”

She had a point. Paul Bauer's sophisticated good looks were matched by an intelligence and keen sense of his place in the world. Lydia recalled the way his eyes frolicked when he let his playful side out.

“This isn't a slumber party,” Lydia said. “Let's just each get on with our evening.” She pointed to the book on the table. “If you want to read, I have plenty to choose from. Or you can watch television. Maybe you'd like to call your brother. I really don't care. But I've had a rough day. What I'd like to do is stare at the fire, finish my wine, and get a good night's sleep.”

Allie sat quietly for several minutes. Lydia hoped the calming influence of the crackling flames might settle Allie into an evening of peace. She was nearly finished with her wine before Allie broke the companionable silence.

“Do you think people can change, Lydia?” Her voice was low and her tone was sincere.

“I'm betting my life's work on it. I've seen it happen.”

“Really change? You've seen that?” Allie sounded like she had a point to make. “I'm not talking about people changing habits. That can be done. I'm talking about actually changing the core of who you are. Is that possible?”

“Are we talking about you, Allie?”

Allie considered that for a moment. “I'm talking about both of us. We may want to be different, but can people like us really change?”

Lydia set her glass on the table. She'd hoped the topic of her attire was over for the evening. “Listen, Allie, I like the way I dress, okay? I appreciate that people have different styles, but I—”

“I mean can I stop being an adventure junkie?” Allie interrupted, but kept her eyes on the fire. “Can you stop being an assassin?”

Lydia froze. Ancient defenses instantly accelerated her breathing and heart rate. She could feel the rush of hormones coursing through her body, preparing her to fight or run.

“Don't get me wrong.” Allie's voice was calm. “In a lot of ways I admire what you've done. So do most people, would be my guess. I mean, who doesn't wish there was some superhero out there making the world a safe and just place?” She turned to look at Lydia. “But you've killed people. A lot of people. My guess is my dad has convinced you not to continue in that hobby. Am I right?” She shook her head. “He can be such a Dudley Do-Right. But what happens the next time you come across somebody who's getting away with some pretty bad stuff. Isn't The Fixer gonna itch to come out again?”

Lydia's mind raced with options…most of them unacceptable.

“Your brother's book has you hyped up. And the situation you're in has you scared. I get that. But you need to be careful about conclusions you jump to…and doubly careful about accusations you make.”

Allie smiled. “I'm not judging you, Lydia. Not in the least. I mean it when I say I admire you for having the guts to act.” She sank back into the cushions. “And I'm not scared about my situation. You and I find ourselves in similar spots, don't we? We are who we are. And for whatever reason we can't be that way anymore. Me, because Patrick's going to get caught and that life is closed to me forever. And there's that whole prison thing. And you, well, you can't be The Fixer anymore because Dad figured out who you are and Robbie told the whole world about it in his book. So you've got to be something different.” She cocked her head to the side. “Robbie doesn't know, does he? No. He doesn't. He'd tell me.” Allie brought her focus back to her point. “I really want to know if it's genuinely possible for people like us to become something other than what we are.”

Lydia willed her voice to be calm. “I'm not going to participate in this fairy tale. You need to stop.”

“Don't underestimate me, Lydia. People who do soon learn they shouldn't have.” Allie's voice dropped to the tone of husky sophistication Lydia had heard when Allie made the call to Patrick.

“Are you threatening me, Allie?”

“Not at all.” Allie's smile took on a seductive quality. “What I'm saying is don't think I'm the impulsive girl who's still good deep down, the one I let my father see. I'm neither innocent nor stupid. My dad brags about how good you are at observing. I see things, too. And what I see tells me you're The Fixer. You're trying to be someone else, but like me, you are who you are.”

Lydia's feet and hands wanted to spring into action. She wanted to eliminate this threat seated on her sofa. But she was Mort's daughter. She couldn't just roll her off the cliff like she had the earlier invaders. “What is it you think you know, Allie?”

Allie's nose wrinkled. “You really need me to do this? Like some sixth-grade math teacher who wants me to show my work? Can't you just admit the fact you're a gun for hire, so we can get on with a really interesting conversation?”

Lydia said nothing.

Allie sighed. “All right. It all started that night those wolves came by. You came into the kitchen as cool as a cucumber, told me to head off to my room, lock the door, and not come out. You took complete charge in a scary situation. I wondered about it at the time, but now I realize it's because if anyone knows how to handle a dangerous situation, it's you.”

“I've lived here a long time. Critters come.”

“Yeah, right. And then there was that gun! For fuck's sake, Lydia. My eyes just about bugged out of my head, I was so freaked out. But my dad didn't even blink when I told him about the firepower you were packing.”

“Your father explained that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Again with living out here in the woods. See? This is what I mean when I say people shouldn't underestimate me. I knew he was lying the minute he started spinning the tale. He gets a hollowness in his voice when he lies. And when he was telling me about wildlife of the greater Olympia area, he sounded like he was in an empty tunnel.”

“Perhaps your father just wanted you to keep your nose out of things.”

“I might believe what you're saying if that was the only gun you had. But I gotta tell you, your house is one big arsenal. I went into your pantry looking for flour. Imagine my surprise when I found a pistol behind the pasta. Or that gun in the linen closet. I don't know what the heck that thing is next to the refrigerator in the garage, but I can tell there are bullets in it. Lots of them. You've got more guns and knives stashed around this house than any one person would need. And I don't care what kind of foxes or bears may be hiding in the bushes.”

“How I defend my home is no concern of yours, Allie. You asked me once if I was paranoid.” Lydia could feel her efforts crumbling. Allie knew. There would be no convincing her otherwise.

“I knew something was up,” Allie continued. “I just wasn't sure what. So I started thinking. You and Dad say you're friends.”

“We are. We met when our interests in the same case overlapped.” Perhaps there was still time to steer her off this course.

“I remember.” Allie pointed to the book. “Robbie mentions that. You were Savannah's psychologist and worried she might be involved in that murder of the professor guy. At first I thought maybe Savannah was The Fixer. But the more I thought about that, the less sense it made.”

Lydia felt the room grow smaller. She was trapped. She willed herself to stay calm and let Allie spin out her theories.

“My dad is very loyal to his friends. He keeps his circle tight. Mainly, they're cops, like Jimmy and Micki. But he's got Uncle Larry, too. Do you know him? He's the guy my dad does crossword puzzles with on Thursdays.”

“I think I've met him once.”

“Exactly!” Allie sounded pleased that Lydia had just made her point. “I was trying to figure out why Dad would venture outside of the cop world to develop a new friend. Especially one as young as you. Then I realized you're not in my father's circle.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, Dad keeps his circle tight. Jimmy, Micki, Larry, they all know one another. They all go to the same bar, eat the same pizza. They all have pictures of Robbie and his girls on their desks. They come over for cookouts and they watch sports together. My dad likes it that way. He always has. He probably likes it even more now that Mom's dead.”

“How would you know what your father's like since your mother died?” Lydia hoped a counterattack might steer Allie off topic. Instead, she just huffed out a laugh and plowed on.

“My father is one of the last of the Steady Eddies. He doesn't change. If you were a friend of his, Lydia, you'd be drinking beer at the Crystal. You'd have pictures of my nieces plastered on your refrigerator. That's how Mort Grant rolls. The two of you are something, but it's not
friends.
Dad has a lot of love for you. But something's off. Something that keeps him from intermingling you with his crew. I still couldn't figure it out. Then came the final link. It was like opening a lock.”

Lydia needed to hear how she'd made herself vulnerable. “What was that?”

“It was when Patrick didn't make an appearance at Dad's new houseboat. I'd made the call, set it up, and everyone was waiting for him. Remember that?”

Lydia numbly nodded her head.