CARRIE'S PROTECTOR Read online

  Rita Madison must have been keeping one eye on the door. She glanced up, spotted them and stiffened. For a moment, Carrie thought she had recognized them from the news reports of the murder. Or could the police have shown her pictures of them?

  Then she told herself that the woman was probably only wondering who these people were that she didn’t know. Was Rita worried about her husband’s associates? Did she think some of them might show up and cause trouble?

  Carrie hated having to speculate on every small thing that happened. It would be great to have her nice, normal life back. Or would it? That life hadn’t included Wyatt Hawk. When this was over, she could imagine that he’d walk away from her—because he thought it was the right thing to do. Never mind what she thought.

  She struggled to put those particular speculations aside as she crossed the room with Wyatt at her side.

  “Mrs. Madison?” Carrie said. “I’m sorry to be meeting you under such sad circumstances, but we wanted to stop by and pay our respects.”

  The minister touched her shoulder. “I’ll just go and get some coffee and leave you to greet your guests.”

  It looked as if Rita wasn’t sure she wanted the man to leave her side. But she didn’t stop him from heading into the dining room, where he started filling a plate at the buffet table.

  The widow turned to Carrie. Her voice was cool as she asked, “Who are you?”

  Wyatt answered. “We know...or rather I knew Aaron from the club. He and I used to get into conversations in the weight room. We had a little competition going about how much we could bench-press.”

  “Yes, Aaron was very competitive,” Rita murmured.

  “I’m Will Hanks. And this is my wife, Carolyn,” Wyatt said.

  “Nice to meet you.” She stopped and sighed. “I guess that’s not the right way to put it. I’m not sure what the right way is.”

  “I know,” Carrie said sympathetically. “I lost my first husband a few years ago, so I know what you’re going through.”

  Rita nodded.

  “I’m wondering if we could speak in private,” Wyatt said.

  “About what?”

  “Something Aaron wouldn’t want us discussing in front of a bunch of people.”

  The words must have raised alarm bells, because she gave Wyatt and Carrie a penetrating look.

  “Could we please talk privately?” Carrie said again. “It’s important.”

  The woman hesitated, glancing around the room. Lowering her voice, she said, “I guess you’re not going to murder me if we step into the bedroom.”

  “Hardly,” Wyatt answered.

  She turned and walked quickly down the hall, and they followed.

  Carrie gave Wyatt a look that said, Easier than I expected.

  He gave her a cautious look in return.

  They reached a large bedroom, decorated in similar style to the rest of the apartment.

  Once inside, Rita closed the door, then crossed to the bedside table and bent down to open a drawer. When she turned to face them again, she was holding a small revolver in a hand that wasn’t quite steady.

  Carrie choked back a gasp. Beside her she could feel the tension radiating through Wyatt’s body.

  “You’re lying about how you knew Aaron. I think you’d better tell me what’s going on,” the widow said in a hard voice. “Or maybe tell me why I shouldn’t call 911.”

  Carrie’s heart leaped into her throat as she looked from the gun to the angry eyes confronting her. As she struggled to speak, Wyatt said, “We came to you because we’re in trouble, and we hope you can help us.”

  “You’re the couple the police are looking for, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you kill my husband?”

  “No.”

  “But you were at his house last night. And everything you’ve said about your background is a lie. You didn’t know Aaron.”

  “I met him because he was involved in Carrie’s case,” Wyatt said. “I’m sorry we made up a story, but we needed a reason to walk into your home, because we need to ask you some questions.”

  “What do you know about my husband’s death?”

  “When we arrived at the house he was lying on the floor, bleeding,” Wyatt answered. “There was nothing we could do for him.”

  Rita made a moaning sound. “If I’d been there...”

  “They probably would have killed you, too,” Wyatt said.

  Carrie watched a shudder go through the woman.

  To Carrie’s relief, she lowered the gun. But she didn’t put it down. “Tell me what you found.”

  “The house had been searched by someone who didn’t care about making a mess. Aaron was in his office. He was struggling to give us information—before it was too late. He gave me the combination to his safe.”

  Mrs. Madison’s eyes widened. “His safe.”

  “Did you know what was in it?”

  “Aaron never gave me the combination. What did you find?”

  “For one thing—money. Which is still there.”

  “And a book with notations that we can’t decipher.” Wyatt kept his gaze on the woman’s face. “I want to show you what we found. I’m going to reach slowly into my pocket so you can see exactly what I’m doing. I’m not armed. Don’t shoot me.”

  Moving very slowly as promised, he slid his hand into the pocket of his sports coat and pulled out the little book he’d taken from the safe. Carrie hadn’t even known that he’d brought it along.

  “Can you tell us what it is?” he asked.

  Chapter Nine

  Rita reached out and took the book from Wyatt, looking as if she was testing its weight in her hand.

  “Have you ever seen this before?” Wyatt asked.

  “I don’t think so.” She riffled through the pages, looking at the sets of numbers.

  She shook her head. “This appears to be something Aaron hid from me.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe he was ashamed of what it represented.”

  “Because?” Wyatt pressed.

  Carrie’s breathing stilled as she waited to hear more.

  “I think these are notations of his gambling wins and losses,” Rita said.

  “Gambling?” Wyatt asked, clearly surprised by the unexpected answer.

  As Rita put the gun back into the drawer, her expression turned sad. “I didn’t know it when we married, but he was heavily addicted. At first he won, and I wondered where he got the extra cash, since he couldn’t be making that much money as a junior prosecutor. We had a confrontation, and he bragged about how good he was at picking horses and playing blackjack. Then his luck changed. He never talked about it, but I knew from the way he was acting.

  “I suspected he owed a lot of money. I was so frightened about what would happen if he couldn’t pay. I begged him to get help, but he wouldn’t do it. That’s why I left him.”

  Carrie thought about the woman’s family background. “Couldn’t your parents cover his debts?”

  “I’d asked them to bail him out a few years ago. They’d made it clear that they wouldn’t do it again.”

  Carrie nodded.

  “So he might have done something for money—something that he wouldn’t have considered under other circumstances?” Wyatt pressed.

  She gave him a pleading look. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “Once he sold a piece of jewelry that had been in my family for generations. After that, I put my valuable pieces in a safe-deposit box—one where he didn’t have the key.”

  Carrie nodded sympathetically.

  “It was like he was on drugs,” Rita went on, speaking more to herself than to them. “A sickness he couldn’t free himsel
f from. I tried to help, but I couldn’t reach him. Not on that.”

  Carrie put a hand on her arm. “We’re both sorry to be pressing you, and I’m sorry that we made up a story about Wyatt’s knowing your husband, but we’re in a terrible situation. In the last few days, there have been two attempts on our lives. We’re trying to figure out who’s behind the attacks. I mean, besides the obvious answer of the terrorists.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, and I’m sorry I pulled a gun on you.”

  “It’s understandable,” Wyatt answered, “given that the cops are making it look like we’re suspects. Did they tell you anything they haven’t said in public?”

  “No. Just that they wanted to talk to you about...what happened last night.”

  Wyatt’s expression turned grim. “I think we’d better leave,” he said. He gave the widow a direct look. “They may be looking at security tapes from the building, and they may ask what we said to each other. I’d appreciate your not telling them we were here. But if you’re forced to, you can say we came here looking for information.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Did you talk to the police about Aaron’s gambling problem?”

  She flushed. “No.”

  “You might want to tell them.”

  “Why?”

  “It gives them another motive for his murder—one that doesn’t lead back to us.”

  She nodded. “You said there was money in the safe? Could you give me the combination?”

  “Yes.” Wyatt gave her the numbers and the directions, which she wrote down on a piece of paper and put in the drawer with the gun.

  “Thank you.”

  Carrie stepped forward and hugged her. “I’m so sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry that we had to approach you this way.”

  “I understand.”

  “We’d better go,” Wyatt said. “And again, we’re sorry for the intrusion.”

  “Let me go back to the living room and make sure the coast is clear,” Rita said.

  When she’d left the room, Carrie looked at Wyatt. “You think Aaron Madison could have told the terrorists where and when I was meeting—for money?”

  “It could be. He’d do anything he had to—if the mob was going to come after him for money.”

  “The mob?”

  “He wasn’t placing bets with the Easter Bunny.”

  Before Carrie could reply, Rita hurried back into the room. “There’s a police detective Langley in the living room.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “He wants information about Aaron. I hate to tell him about the gambling.”

  Carrie clamped her hand on Wyatt’s arm. “What about us? If they find us here, they’ll take us down to the station house.”

  “I’m thinking.” He turned to Rita. “Is there another way out of the apartment?”

  “There’s a service door in the kitchen, but you have to get back to the living room before you can use it.”

  Wyatt looked at Carrie. “You can change clothes with the maid.”

  Carrie stared at him. “What?”

  “That will get you out of here.”

  “What about you?” Carrie asked.

  “I’m going to have to use another method.” He turned to Rita. “Ask the maid to step in here.” When she’d gone, he turned to Carrie. “We’ve got to make it look like Rita and the maid weren’t cooperating with us, which will be better for both of them when the cops start asking questions.”

  “How?”

  “We’re going to force them.”

  Mrs. Madison was back with the maid in a few moments. When she stepped into the room, Wyatt pulled out the gun he’d concealed under his jacket.

  Rita and the maid, whose name tag said Pamela, gasped.

  “My partner needs to wear your uniform. Take it off,” he said to the maid in a harsh voice. “You can wear my partner’s clothing.”

  When she stared at him in dumb shock, he growled, “Hurry. We don’t have a lot of time. Or do you want me to take it off of you?”

  Pamela began hastily unbuttoning her uniform, while Carrie took off her slacks and jacket. The uniform was a little large on Carrie, but it would have to do.

  When the clothing exchange was finished, Wyatt turned to the maid. “Get in the bathroom and stay there. You, too,” he said to Rita. “And keep your mouths shut for the next twenty minutes.”

  She looked shocked but did as he’d asked.

  When he’d closed the door behind the women, he turned to Carrie.

  “Walk down the hall to the kitchen, and leave the apartment through that door. Exit the building through the service entrance,” he said to her. “Meet me at the car.”

  She answered with a tight nod.

  Wyatt grabbed a chair and tipped it up so that the back held the bathroom door closed. Then he turned back to Carrie.

  “You’d better get going.”

  Her heart was pounding as she asked, “How long should I wait at the car?”

  “No more than ten minutes. If you hear sirens, get the hell out of here.”

  “I—”

  “Go.”

  She gave him a fierce hug, then made herself step away. Everything they did was crumbling into a mess, but she wasn’t going to just turn herself in to that detective in the living room.

  Trying to look normal, she walked down the hall. When the police detective’s gaze flicked her way, she forced herself to keep walking, then breathed out a sigh as she stepped into the kitchen. Every moment she expected him to come charging after her, but nobody followed. With a sigh of relief, she stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her. She should have asked where the service entrance was, but she’d been too shocked to think of that detail.

  When the elevator arrived, Carrie stepped inside and studied the buttons. There was one for the lower lobby, and she thought that might be the right place. Or maybe she could go out through the garage.

  At the lower level, she exited and looked around, remembering that Wyatt had cautioned her to keep her head down. She could see she was definitely in a service area. Upstairs, there had been marble, polished chrome and the smell of air freshener. Down here, there were cinder-block walls, cement floors and the smell of laundry detergent. A sign had various directions on it—pointing to the laundry room, the trash room, the storage room, the garage, and deliveries.

  She could get out through the garage or the trash room. Which was better? she wondered as she headed down the hall. Probably she’d encounter fewer people in the trash room.

  The sound of voices stopped her, and she stepped around a corner as two women in maid’s uniforms passed. They paid her no attention, and she walked right on past.

  Praying the cops hadn’t stationed someone to guard the exit, she stepped inside the trash room. Nothing assaulted her but the smell of ripe garbage.

  At the other end of the room was a door that led outside. As she entered a rectangular area at the end of a wide driveway, she let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d feared she wouldn’t get out of the building, but here she was in the open air. Still, she couldn’t let down her guard. Surely there was a camera out here. Forcing herself not to run, she walked up a ramp and found herself in an alley between two apartment buildings.

  After hurrying down the narrow cement lane to the street, she paused to get her bearings, then decided that the car must be on the street to the right.

  She’d been terrified that she’d be caught before she could get away. Now that she was outside, she found herself praying that Wyatt would show up quickly. If she reached the ten-minute limit, she’d have to decide what to do.

  That was the least of her problems, she realized, as she spotted two uniformed officers walking down the street checking the license plates
on the cars.

  * * *

  UPSTAIRS, WYATT walked to the sliding glass doors that made up most of the bedroom wall.

  When he opened the curtains, he found a wide balcony with a couple of expensive patio chairs and a table between them.

  He opened the doors and stepped out, looking down at the three-story drop.

  Wishing he’d come prepared, he scanned the bedroom and saw nothing immediately useful. With a grimace, he glanced at the bathroom door, then he stripped the spread off the queen-size bed and pulled the top sheet free.

  But now what? He had one sheet and three balconies before ground level.

  Using his teeth, he started a tear in the fabric, then ripped it in half. He took the two halves outside and tied one to the railing, testing the knot. If he fell, it was going to be a long drop to the ground.

  But he had no other options at the moment. The women in the bathroom could start yelling. Or the cop in the living room could come back to find out what was keeping Rita.

  When the knot on the sheet held, Wyatt pulled it into a narrow rope. With the second sheet tied around his waist, he stepped off the side of the balcony, using his legs to take some of the pressure off his arms. Still, the bullet wound stung as he descended to the next level down. Glancing at the curtains on the bedroom window, he saw that they were closed and thanked God for small favors.

  There was no way to get the first half of the sheet free, so he had to leave it where it was like a signpost announcing his escape route. With a grimace, he tied the second sheet to the current railing and repeated the procedure, climbing over the side and lowering himself down as fast as he could.

  A muffled scream made him almost let go of the sheet as he reached the balcony below. Looking toward the window, he saw an elderly woman dressed in a bra and panties standing inside the bedroom staring at him in horror.

  “Sorry,” he called out and turned quickly away. He didn’t have another rope, but he was close to the ground. Probably the woman was calling 911, he thought as he climbed over the railing and lowered himself as far as he could before letting go. He landed on the lawn at the side of the building and wavered on his feet.