Tonight I Said Goodbye (St. Martin's Minotaur Mystery) (27 page)

"Don't forget my ice cream," she said as she went inside. "I beat you."

"I won't forget," I said.

Twenty minutes later, Julie joined me. She noticed the gun, but she didn't comment on it.

"We need to talk," she said.

I nodded. "That would probably be a good idea."

She dropped into the plastic chair beside me. "What do you think I should do, Lincoln? I'm so scared, and so confused. But I know we can't keep this up. We need to take some sort of action instead of just delaying."

I told her about my conversations with Joe and Amy and about Yuri Belov.

"Amy thinks you should let her write the story," I said. "She thinks if everything was made public, it would eliminate the threat you pose to some people."

She leaned forward, interested. "What do you think of that?"

I shrugged. "I don't think it's a cure-all. To the Russians, it will probably just be added motivation. As far as Jeremiah Hubbard is concerned, it might be pretty powerful, though. He's a well-known public figure, and he cares about image." I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair and sighed. None of the solutions looked too promising.

"I'd normally urge you to go straight to the police," I said. "But my partner feels Hubbard might have some pretty powerful sources there. If we rush into that, it could work out badly."

"So what do you suggest?"

"I still suggest the police, actually, but we need to approach them carefully. What we need to do is select a trustworthy, high-level police source and go there with your story. And we need to explain our concerns about Hubbard's influence and connections."

"I don't want to go into witness protection," she said softly.

I nodded. "I know that. And I can help you disappear on your own if that's the route you decide to take. I can probably find some people who know how to do that awfully well, in fact. But witness protection isn't the biggest issue here, Julie. Your husband was murdered, and so was Randy Hartwick. People need to be brought to justice for that. You
can't leave everyone wondering about you and your daughter, either, and you sure as hell can't leave them suspecting you were murdered by your own husband. I can't allow that to happen to John Weston."

It was a stronger speech than I'd expected to give, but I meant every bit of it. Last night I'd been so startled by finding Julie Weston and so unnerved by Cody's apparent connection to Hubbard that I'd needed some time to think the situation out. But there was clearly only one solution, and that was using Julie's testimony and knowledge to bring about justice. Now it was my job to see that it was done, and that she and her daughter remained safe while it was done.

"I was hired by your father-in-law," I said. "My duty to him is to explain what happened to his family the night his son was murdered. I intend to fulfill that obligation. But I've given myself a second duty now, and that's keeping you and Betsy safe." I leaned forward and took her hand in mine. "I
will
keep you safe."

She smiled and squeezed my hand before I released hers. "I haven't felt truly safe for a while now, but somehow I believe you. And you're right. I have to talk to the police, or the FBI, or whoever. But shouldn't we go back to Cleveland for that? I don't really like the idea of going to police here in South Carolina who have no idea what's been going on."

"I was going to suggest returning to Cleveland. It's definitely the place to get started."

I expected her to say more about the interviews and testimony to come, but instead she looked up at the sky and sighed.

"The moon's still beautiful. Another beautiful night in general. Do you know what it must be like in Cleveland tonight?"

"About the same," I said. "There might be some frost on the palm trees by morning, though."

She laughed and looked down at the pool. "Oh, that whirlpool looks inviting. I'd love to sneak back down."

"Go for it. I'll stay here and watch Betsy."

"She doesn't need much watching. She's sound asleep. You could set fireworks off in there and she wouldn't budge." She stood, leaned back
against the balcony railing, and studied me. "Let's go down for half an hour, at least."

I started to say I wasn't comfortable leaving the girl alone, but the thought died someone between my brain and my lips, smothered by the realization that I could see Julie in her swimsuit again if I went along with the suggestion.

"Why not?" I said. "Just half an hour."

Five minutes later we locked the room behind us and went downstairs. Julie was wearing the same black two-piece swimsuit she'd had on the night before, and she looked amazing.

I turned the jets on, and we shed our towels and settled into the warm water. The breeze was there just as it had been the night before, as was the moon, and from all sensory perspectives the experience felt identical to the previous night. From a mental perspective, though, it felt as if months had passed since then.

"Wow, that feels good," Julie said, putting her back against one of the jets. "I could never have one of these things in my home, though. I'd never be able to leave it."

"I think I could take one," I said. "A half hour a night in this would reduce my stress level by a factor of ten."

We made small talk for a while and then fell silent, each with our own thoughts. I'd brought the cell phone to the edge of the water with me, and I found myself glancing at it, wishing Joe would call. He and Kinkaid had been planning on pursuing more information about the Russians in the afternoon, and I hadn't heard from him since. I didn't like that. I also wanted to tell him about Yuri Belov.

While I was busy thinking about Joe, I suddenly became aware of a soft, gentle sobbing beside me. I looked down at Julie and realized she was crying.

"Julie," I said, reaching out to her without stopping to think about it and putting my arm around her shoulders. "It's going to be all right." She turned to me, wrapped her arms around me, and put her face against my bare chest, crying harder now. I was surprised initially, but
then I realized I shouldn't be. The woman was running for her life, and her husband had been murdered. Just because she had done such a good job of holding up throughout the day didn't mean I should expect it to continue. That wasn't fair to her.

I didn't say anything, because I knew there weren't any words to comfort her for what she was feeling. Instead, I just held her while she cried. You do what you can. A few minutes passed, and then she got the tears under control and looked up at me, forcing a smile.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to make you endure that."

"Don't apologize," I said. She hadn't pulled away from me yet, and her arms were still around me. I didn't have any desire to move them.

"It's been hard," she said. "It's been really hard, but I have to put on the brave, happy face for Betsy. I can't let her see how scared I am. I can't afford to let that happen now."

"I understand," I said.

She exhaled heavily and put the side of her head against my chest. "I hope you understand how thankful I am to have you here. I hope you know how much you helped today, and how much better I feel knowing you're here with us." She lifted her head and looked into my eyes, our faces just inches apart, and I was very aware of the press of her breasts against my chest. "I've been so scared, and so lonely," she whispered, squeezing the back of my neck with her hand. "So lonely."

For one electric moment we remained in that position, staring into each other's eyes, and then she leaned forward and brushed her lips lightly against mine. It was probably intended to be little more than a peck--a gesture of appreciation in a moment of emotion. I went with it, though, returning the kiss. I couldn't help myself.

It was a long, good kiss. When she finally broke away, she was smiling, and I felt very small. I thought of John Weston, his dead son, and his granddaughter Betsy asleep upstairs, and I was ashamed.

"I shouldn't have done that," I began, but she leaned back in and kissed me again. And I meant to push her away, I really did, but I
couldn't. I was too attracted to her. I went with the kiss again, and she shifted in the water, sliding her thighs over mine so she was sitting on my lap, still squeezing my neck and kissing me, her breasts rising and falling against my chest as my hands glided across her back, smoothing the beads of water against her skin.

If I'd ever been more aroused, I couldn't remember it. But even as our bodies pressed together and our lips met, other images were flashing through my mind. I saw the crime scene photographs of Wayne Weston's corpse, and I saw his father sitting on the deck of his son's house staring at the snowman with the world's loneliest eyes. This time, I broke the kiss.

"We can't," I said, breathing heavily.

"Ssshh," she said, putting her index finger to my lips.

"I have an obligation to John," I said. "It's not that I don't want to, but I can't . . ."I let my words trail off as she began kissing the side of my neck, and then I said the hell with it. I'd given her the chance to reconsider, and she'd passed. I wanted the woman, and I wanted her badly. I pulled her head toward me and kissed her again.

She ran her hands through my hair and over my shoulders as we kissed, and I let my fingers wander up her back to the strings of her swimsuit top. I ran my fingertips over the knot, and she kissed me harder and squeezed me with her legs, encouraging me. I pulled at the knot, loosening the strings and letting her swimsuit top slide free, leaving her breasts bare and warm against my chest. We were alone in the whirlpool, but it was a hotel, and people could walk by at any minute. I wasn't even aware of the surroundings, though. Julie was all I could think about.

She slid farther up on my lap, lifting her chest slightly out of the water, the swimsuit top falling away completely, and she ran the palm of her hand up the inside of my thigh to my groin. And then my phone rang.

"Shit," I breathed between kisses. This couldn't be happening. Not now.

"Ignore it," she whispered, caressing my jawline with the tip of her tongue.

I twisted my head slightly and leaned back so I could see the cell phone's display. The caller ID was flashing the number, clearly illuminated against the green backlight. It was Joe.

"I've got to answer," I said, "it's my partner."

"No," she said, kissing my neck. "Call him back."

I pushed down the urge to take her advice, and I reached for the phone with my left arm. She groaned softly and nipped my earlobe with her teeth. I got my fingers around the phone and brought it to my mouth. She sighed and slid off my lap, feeling in the water for the top of her swimsuit. As I pressed a button to receive the call, I felt like screaming at Joe to leave me alone and call back in an hour. Or six.

"You've got amazingly bad timing," I said instead.

"I don't care," he said, and his voice was tense. "Lincoln, we've got major trouble."

"What is it?" Julie had found her swimsuit top, and she was retying it behind her back. Now she looked at me, catching the concern in my voice.

"Kinkaid and I couldn't find the Russians this afternoon," he said. "I had a bad feeling about it, so I drove out to the airport and showed the attendants some photographs. Krashakov and Rakic took a plane out of the city today, Lincoln. They're on their way to South Carolina. They're coming after you."

I
TURNED
away from Julie, not trusting myself to keep my face from showing the chill that Joe's news sent through me.

"Are you sure?" I asked, but I knew he was. Joe was not a man prone to false assumptions.

"Positive," he said. "Kinkaid and I drove down to their house today, planning to keep an eye on them all night. The SUV was in the driveway, but it didn't look like anyone was home. I went for a walk around the block and talked to one of the neighbors, an old lady who was out feeding stray cats. She told me she'd seen the Russians leave in a cab an hour before we got there. I didn't like that at all--why leave in a cab when your own car is sitting in the drive, you know? So I went back and talked it over with Kinkaid. He thought maybe they were just trying to avoid using their own vehicle because they were going someplace where they didn't want to be noticed, but I disagreed. I was thinking about the airport right away. I made him go out there with me, and we showed pictures around until we found someone who recognized them."

"What time was their flight?" I asked. I had climbed out of the whirlpool now. The wind was cold against my wet body. My eyes were locked on the window of Julie's hotel room, where Betsy Weston slept alone.

"Four-thirty," he said. "There was a stopover, though, so the flight was expected to get into Myrtle Beach around nine tonight."

"What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

"Shit, Joe. Why the hell did you wait until now to call?"

"I've been trying to call, LP. It kept telling me your phone was either turned off or out of range."

Cell phones. You gotta love 'em.

"You need to get moving," Joe said. "Fast. According to the airport attendants I spoke with, Krashakov and Rakic were with two other men."

"Four of them," I said, my voice an unnatural monotone. "Great."