Read The Unforgivable Fix Online
Authors: T. E. Woods
The Unforgivable Fix (30 page)
S
EATTLE
Lydia pressed the button on the intercom and waited. The wind blustered in off the water and whipped her hair about her face. She pressed the button four times in rapid succession. She tightened her jacket around her. When there was still no response, she pressed the button and held it until the irritating buzzer drove her prey out of his lair.
Mort Grant came through the sliding glass door and stepped onto the deck of his houseboat. He wore department-issued sweatpants and a flannel shirt. She estimated it had been three days since his face saw a razor.
Three daysâ¦that's how long Allie's been gone.
“I'm not in the mood for visitors, Lydia.” His voice sounded like he hadn't used it in a while. “I'd appreciate it if you went on back home.”
Lydia crossed the boardwalk and boarded his boat. “I'm here. Might as well show me your new place.”
Mort didn't budge. They stood two feet from each other while the gusts of November wind chilled them.
“I don't know what you want me to say, Mort.”
Mort looked to his left and studied a length of bright-red rope hanging from his deck into the cold waters of Lake Union.
“I imagine you might have some questions for me. Maybe some that weren't answered in Allie's letter.”
Mort's jaw tightened. “Go home, Lydia.”
“Say what you need to, Mort.” Lydia thrust her hands into her pockets and wished she'd worn gloves. “Maybe we could go inside. You don't want your new neighbors listening, do you?”
His eyes narrowed. “I don't want you in my house.” His voice was colder than the wind. He retreated back into his silent rage. Lydia watched the staccato pulse of his breath emerge, feathery white. It was more than a minute before he finally spoke.
“You let her go. I trusted you to take care of my daughter. And you let her go.”
“She knew what she was doing.”
“Did she?” He ran a hand through unwashed hair. “Allie's impulsive. Always has been. I counted on you to keep her safe.”
“You read her letter.”
He stepped toward her and, for a moment, Lydia felt the primal fear of an animal trapped as the hunter approaches. She focused on his face. This was Mort. Her pulse slowed.
“Don't talk to me about letters,” he sneered. “Tokarev will kill her. You know that.”
“She knew the risks.”
“You could have stopped her!” he roared.
“There was a helicopter, Mort. Men armed with submachine guns.”
“And I know you! Don't forget that. Not ever. The Fixer does what she wants and doesn't do what she doesn't want to do.”
Lydia looked to the houseboat docked next to Mort's. She didn't need anyone hearing his allusion to her past identity. But it was twelve thirty on a weekday afternoon. Whoever lived next door was probably off earning the exorbitant moorage fees life on Lake Union demanded.
“You never liked her.” His fury punctuated every word. “Not from the minute I brought her to you. I trusted you, Lydia. If you wanted her gone, you could have told me. I would have taken her someplace else. But instead you betrayed her to Tokarev.”
“The only way my guns could have stopped Allie from doing exactly what she wanted to do would be if I killed her before she had a chance to board that helicopter. Is that what you'd have me do?”
Mort stared at her and Lydia braced herself for his next tirade. Instead, she saw the wrath drain from his eyes, replaced with a disappointment she found even more painful. His voice was calm and resolute when he spoke.
“A while backâ¦when you came to help me pack up the old houseâ¦you told me you thought it might be best if we didn't see each other.” He stepped back and opened his sliding door. “You were right. Go home, Lydia. We're done.”
He turned his back and walked into his houseboat. She heard the lock click into place.
Lydia sat on her deck, wrapped in a blanket, and watched the whitecaps churn on Dana Passage as the sun dipped behind the Olympics. Frigid gusts slashed across her face. The night darkened from purple to black and still she sat, allowing her body to feel the same glacial numbness as her mind. High above her, she heard a call, from deep in the branches of a giant Douglas fir, faint above the rush of the wind.
“Who?”
I'm having so much fun with Mort, Lydia, and the rest of the crew, but clearly the most enjoyment I've received is from all the help I've gotten from so many folks along the way. There's no way one person brings these books to life, and my particular village is filled with wondrous folks. Victoria Skurnick is my uberagentâ¦the woman who believed in the project and urged me to go visit my darkest places in order to create the characters and situations you read in The Justice Series novels. My Random House team: Kate Miciak, my editor; and April Flores and Kimberly Cowser, my marketing team, have held my hand every step of the way. Any success these books have is to be laid right at the feet of these talented women. It has been my pleasure to develop a relationship with them I hope lasts a very long and lucrative time.
I've got my local ladies, too. Barbie and Julie and Judy and Cynthia: thanks for nudging me all those Wednesday afternoons when I hit walls and fell into pits of helpless despair. Teresa, Rosie, Patricia, and Anne: thanks for helping hash out plot points and getting characters from A to B. Suzanne, Kate, and Anne: those wine-filled evenings, talking out all the great existential questions of our timesâ¦I hear your voices as my fingers move across the keys.
I want to give a shout-out to the readers, too. Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking the time to read and review the books in this series. I derive so much encouragement and direction from your comments. Please keep them coming.
And through it all is my man. From the very moment I announced I wanted to write a murder mystery, he's been there. He's always assumed the books would succeed. He never allowed one tinge of negativity to color his picture of what my writing future would hold. I don't tell him enough, but I know he knows what he means to me. He's made my world the happiest and most secure place to be. Thank you, sweetheart. Waking each morning next to the finest man I've ever encountered has made me fearless.
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Fixed in Fear (coming soon)
Fixed in Blood
The Fixer
The Red Hot Fix
The Unforgivable Fix
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is a clinical psychologist and author living in Madison, Wisconsin. For random insight into how her strange mind works, follow her:
Every great mystery needs an Alibi
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