The Honeymoon Assignment Read online

  “Where did Harold go?” Kelley asked the question almost casually, as though she hadn’t heard Helen’s warning. She ignored Sam’s glare, too, when he tried to warn her into silence.

  Helen hesitated, and then, to Sam’s surprise, seemed to decide it wouldn’t do any harm to answer. “To the boat, of course,” she said.

  Sam didn’t like the fact that she seemed willing to let them in on what was happening. Only very confident criminals felt it was safe to talk to their intended victims.

  But Kelley’s question, and Helen’s answer, made something click in Sam’s brain. “The boat,” he echoed. “That’s where you’ve got Steve Cormier stashed.”

  “That’s right. Although Wayland didn’t realize that when he went to secure things last night.”

  “I thought I was doing you a favor.” Wayland sounded bitter about it.

  His mother turned to look at him briefly. “And when you ‘borrowed’ those twenty-dollar bills from the kitchen drawer?” she said. “Did you think that was doing us a favor, too?”

  Wayland shrugged defensively. “I needed a few bucks,” he said. “I never thought—” He lifted his hands from the steering wheel, then grasped it again to turn the minivan.

  From his position on the floor Sam could see the sign for the firing range, clear against the scudding clouds overhead. The memory of his own useless attempt to hit a target a couple of days ago assailed him suddenly. He could feel the frustration and the failure of it settling into him again, and he fought hard for the strength he knew he had to hang on to.

  “Somehow it’s hard to imagine your own parents turning out to be counterfeiters, isn’t it?” Wayland continued.

  “There’s no need to be flippant, Wayland. This is a very serious business.”

  “I already figured that out.” Wayland’s bitterness spilled over as he spoke. “It’s bad enough to find out the family fortune I’m supposed to inherit doesn’t even exist anymore. But the idea of you getting yourselves deep in debt to the mob to build the Windspray Community, for God’s sake—”

  “That’s enough.” Helen cut him off. “Keep your eyes on the road. There are a lot of branches down after that storm.”

  Sam looked over at Kelley and saw her brow furrowed in thought.

  Stay quiet, he warned her silently.

  She frowned at him and ignored the clear message in his eyes.

  “So building the Windspray Community was a last-ditch way to make enough money to rebuild the family fortunes,” she said. “It must have been hard to imagine going bankrupt, when the Prices have always been so wealthy and prominent.”

  She was quick at putting ideas together, Sam had to hand it to her. If only she would stop prodding Helen Price—

  Once again, though, Helen answered readily enough. Was it some magic in Kelley’s voice that did it, Sam wondered, or was the older woman secretly glad to be getting the story off her chest?

  “It was impossible to imagine going bankrupt,” she corrected. “The sales of the Windspray cottages were supposed to bail us out. Harold never would have considered building a resort community on his family property otherwise. But when the bottom fell out of the real estate market—”

  She shrugged. The motion was enough to give Sam a glimpse of Kelley’s pistol in her right hand, loaded and at the ready. He groaned inwardly and clamped his teeth together.

  “Mob financiers aren’t terribly sympathetic about things like real-estate slumps,” Kelley said. “Did they call in your loan?”

  “Yes. With interest.” Helen sounded grim now. “Thank goodness I had that old engraving talent I could parlay into a deal, or Harold and I would have been in a real jam.” It didn’t seem to bother her in the least that Sam and Kelley were now in just as serious a jam.

  “So you agreed to turn out counterfeit money for the mob as a way of paying back your debt,” Kelley said. “And everybody was happy until Wayland moved back home and stumbled on a few loose bills that he figured nobody would miss.”

  “None of this was my fault.” Wayland sounded petulant. “I never made any counterfeit bills. I wish everybody would stop—”

  “Of course it wasn’t your fault.” Kelley’s smooth voice slid in over his. “It’s obvious you didn’t know what was going on—Sam and I can both testify how surprised you seemed when you came back from fastening down that sailboat last night.”

  “You bet I was surprised.” For once Wayland sounded absolutely sincere. “Hell, I thought that guy Cormier was on my trail—thought my wife sicced him on me to see if she could get her hands on some of my family money. And now it turns out there’s no family money anyway, and it’s you two who are the private investigators, and my parents are the criminals. If I didn’t—”

  And then, suddenly, Kelley’s words seemed to sink in. “Testify?” he repeated, more slowly now. “You mean you could—”

  “Never mind, Wayland,” Helen snapped. “There’s the spot. Pull over the lip of the hill. We don’t want anybody to see us, not that anybody’s likely to be around at this hour on a Sunday morning.”

  Kelley hadn’t given up. Sam clenched his teeth again and wondered if this meant she was sticking with her own plan and ignoring his. If he had to jump Helen alone—

  “Until now, you haven’t done anything wrong, Wayland.” Kelley sounded so cool that Sam almost wanted to believe in the calmness she was projecting. “But now that you’re actively helping Harold and Helen—”

  The fury in Helen’s once-gentle brown eyes as she turned to face the back of the van made Sam wince inside. “Just because Wayland acts like a half-wit, don’t make the mistake of assuming that I’m one, too,” she said. “I see what you’re trying to do. It won’t help.”

  Sam saw Wayland look over his shoulder, first at Kelley and then at his mother. He seemed to be deep in thought. Sam couldn’t decide whether that was a good sign or not.

  “Park,” Helen commanded. “Here.”

  Wayland guided the van into a spot just over the crest of a hill. Sam could hear the wind slacken slightly as the vehicle pulled into the sheltered area. In the moment of silence just after Wayland shut off the engine, he managed to catch Kelley’s eye, and was startled and relieved to see her almost imperceptible nod.

  She hadn’t ignored him. The thought made him exultant.

  They were still partners, in spite of everything. She was going along with his plan.

  And the time to put the plan into action was right now. Sam nodded in return, and the two of them scrambled upright in unison, fighting for balance, careening against each other as they launched themselves toward the front of the van and over the seat at Helen Price.

  It was a crazy thing to do. Sam was aware of that. But it was the only chance he could see. If Helen was surprised enough to let go of the gun, and if Wayland was ambivalent enough not to pick it up—

  That was already more ifs than Sam was comfortable with. But the situation was desperate enough that it was worth a desperate attempt to get out of it.

  At first he thought they’d pulled it off. Helen gave an enraged shout as Kelley and Sam hit her, and Sam could hear the welcome sound of the pistol thudding against the carpeted floor at her feet.

  “Wayland, don’t get yourself into something you can’t get out of!” Even with that streak of urgency cutting through it, Kelley’s voice was still as sweet as honey, still hard to resist. “You deserve better than to spend time in jail for something your parents did.”

  Between the two of them, they had Helen pinned to the seat now. And Wayland was hesitating, refusing to jump in to his mother’s rescue despite her angry demands that he help her.

  Sam hauled his tied legs all the way over the seat, managing not to land a boot in Wayland’s face. “Come on, pal,” he said. “Listen to Kelley. Untie us and we’ll make sure you get out of—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. The passenger door swung open without warning, and Kelley, who’d braced herself against it, los
t her balance and collapsed on the grass outside the minivan at Harold Price’s feet.

  She wrestled herself to a sitting position almost immediately, but Harold ignored her, knowing—Sam had to admit it—that she had no chance of escaping now.

  The whole plan had depended on getting to wherever they were going before Harold showed up to join them.

  But it hadn’t worked.

  Harold reached in and picked up the pistol that had fallen from his wife’s grip. He was glowering at his son, at Sam, at everything his bristling blue eyes touched on.

  “Your brother assured me that his people were extremely persistent when we hired you,” he said. “But surely, Mr. Cotter, even you can see that the time for persistence is over now.”

  Chapter 14

  It’s over now…

  The words kept echoing in Kelley’s head.

  Harold had hauled her roughly to her feet and kept a firm hand on her elbow as he propelled her across the wet grass. Her low leather pumps kept skidding out from under her, and she protested against Harold’s pace.

  He paid no attention. His concentration, and Helen’s, seemed to be directed wholly toward their son. “We’ll go over this one last time,” Harold said, “and so help me, boy, if you mess it up—”

  “Stop bugging me, all right?” Wayland sounded like a sulky teenager, Kelley thought. It was still the single hopeful thing she could see about this whole ugly situation.

  The firing range sloped down toward the beach on the other side of the hill they’d just crested. Kelley could see the huddled body of a man at one of the target markers ahead of them. When he lifted his head slightly, revealing wind-tossed red hair, she recognized Steve Cormier. Harold must have brought him here on the boat, she thought, and marched him from the shore. From the cautious way Cormier was holding himself, it appeared that Harold had been none too gentle about it.

  “You do realize, of course, that that man is a federal agent.” Sam’s voice was hard and angry.

  “Of course we realize it,” Helen Price snapped.

  “A federal—” Wayland sounded incredulous. “I don’t believe this is actually happening.”

  “Well, you’d better believe it,” Harold said. “And unless we can dispose of Cormier and these two in some plausible way, we’re going to have no chance of this thing ever dying down.”

  “The boat is anchored just offshore,” Helen said. “We’ll be on it as soon as this is over. Do try to keep your head on straight, Wayland, for once in your life.”

  “Wayland.” Kelley half turned and met Wayland’s confused gaze. “You’re smarter than they’re giving you credit for, smart enough to see—”

  “Shut up.” Harold shook her arm roughly, and once again Kelley had to scramble to keep her footing. “You’re wasting your time. Wayland is with us. He has no other choice.”

  “You’re sure we have to leave the country?” Wayland sounded as though he was desperately trying to find another choice for himself. “Couldn’t we just—”

  “It’s all settled.” Harold came to an abrupt stop. “The people we owe money to aren’t going to just forget about it. And neither is the federal government. We’ve got to get out of the country, the sooner the better. Now all we have to do—”

  Out of the corner of her eye Kelley saw Sam move suddenly. His raincoat was a blur against the green grass and gray sky, and she knew he must have been waiting to take advantage of the fact that the Prices had untied Sam’s and Kelley’s feet so that they could walk across the broad field.

  But once again, he was outmatched. She watched Wayland lunge for Sam’s feet, and in no time at all Helen Price was standing over him, weapon pressing into the back of his neck.

  “Don’t shoot him!” The words felt as though they were ripped out of her. “Sam—”

  Harold Price laughed. Kelley could feel the sound vibrating unpleasantly at the spot where Harold was gripping her arm. “I keep forgetting that true-lover act of yours wasn’t just an act,” he said. “I’m sorry, Ms. Landis, but we’re going to have to shoot him—and you too.”

  “And Steve Cormier—or whatever his name really is.” Helen nodded at the roped and tied FBI agent they were approaching.

  Kelley’s heart rate had slammed into high speed at the sight of Helen’s gun—Kelley’s own gun, the one Sam had helped her buy—at Sam’s neck. It was impossible to keep her voice steady as she said, “How exactly are you planning to make this look plausible?”

  “It’s simple.” Harold started walking again. “We’re sticking with our original story—that Cormier is a badapple agent, and actually in league with the mob masterminding the whole counterfeit scheme.”

  It did happen, Kelley knew. Jack Cotter had told her tales of federal agents who’d crossed the line to become criminals.

  “We’ll make it look as though you found the equipment at his cottage, he ran and you tracked him down. Most of the evidence is already planted—that’s why we were so late getting back to Cairo this morning. Once we move the heavy equipment from our basement, we’ll be done. When the FBI traces you, they’ll come to the conclusion that you spotted Cormier and trailed him back here when he came to pick up the rest of his stuff.”

  “And then we all accidentally happened to shoot each other.” Sam’s deep voice was hoarse with cynicism.

  “No.” Helen Price took over. “You fired at Cormier, but because your aim isn’t what it once was—” Kelley saw Sam wince with the sudden realization of how his own old injury was playing into the Prices’ hands “—you hit Ms. Landis instead.”

  “No.” His voice was low, but the instinctive protest in it made Kelley flinch.

  “She, meanwhile, also fired at Cormier—and hit him. But in remorse at the realization that you’d mortally wounded your girlfriend, you—what’s the phrase the papers always use, Harold? You turned the gun on yourself. That’s it.”

  She sounded crisp and businesslike. And they were all getting close enough to Steve Cormier now that Kelley knew there wasn’t a lot of time left for talking—or for anything at all.

  She looked over her shoulder again and saw Sam wrestling against Wayland’s restraining grip. But Wayland was physically strong, even if he had the moral backbone of a pollywog, and Sam’s struggles were doing him no good.

  They never do, she wanted to say to him.

  She thought of the way he’d reacted when she’d first mentioned the child they had lost.

  And the way he’d bolted out of bed this morning, escaping back into the Windspray case because it was easier than dealing with all the feelings their lovemaking had conjured up during the night.

  Pain did that to Sam, she thought—it drove him in on himself, into that empty place where he never allowed anyone to follow.

  The thought that they probably weren’t going to make it out of here alive—that Sam might go to his death still mired in that bleak, lonely landscape inside him—made Kelley want to cry.

  Or fight.

  Her relationship with Sam had been a struggle from the first day they’d met. This past week alone, she realized suddenly, she felt as though she’d been wrestling one giant after another—Sam’s silence, her own fears, their shared losses, the hope that kept flaring up at all the wrong times.

  Was all that struggle going to be for nothing?

  For this?

  For a brutal death on a windswept field, without one word of love being exchanged between them?

  Her mind wouldn’t accept it.

  Her heart wouldn’t accept it.

  And when Sam raised his steely eyes to meet hers, she locked on to his gaze with a ferocity that seemed to startle him.

  Good, she thought. Now listen.

  She had to mouth the words quickly, while the Prices’ attention was elsewhere.

  What she wanted to say was I love you.

  And, I won’t lose you like this.

  And, We can start again.

  What she had to say—the only words she had time f
or— was very different.

  “Work on Wayland.”

  She shaped the syllables as clearly as she could, and felt her neck jerk painfully as Harold started walking her closer to Steve Cormier. In a few minutes she would probably be dead. So would Cormier.

  And once the Prices had had a chance to switch the guns to make things look authentic, Sam would be dead, too.

  She tried to look back at him, but Harold Price was blocking her way. She felt a surge of panic so strong it made her knees buckle. She tried for speech, tried to find a way to convince Harold and Helen that they were only creating more trouble for themselves, but the words wouldn’t form. She was simply too scared.

  And she hadn’t told Sam she loved him….

  The tears came without warning, although she tried to fight them back.

  “Sam…” She said his name, but it was too soft to carry over the gusty wind.

  What was he thinking right now? She reached desperately for the kind of near-telepathic communication they had sometimes shared, but she felt no connection between them, nothing but empty air.

  Was he thinking that this was the way all partnerships ended?

  That it was no surprise his relationship with Kelley had come to this?

  “No…” She couldn’t hold back the soft protest as she thought of how sweetly they’d loved each other last night, how instinctively they’d been drawn back together this past week in spite of all their efforts to stay apart.

  Was Sam thinking now that it would have been better if none of this had ever happened?

  The thought that she hadn’t told him how much she loved him was bad enough.

  The thought that he might not want her love was a thousand times worse.

  And none of it mattered anyway, because Harold Price was holding her steady now, and Helen was taking up a position several yards away, obviously getting ready to simulate the gun battle they were hoping the authorities would reconstruct when this was all over. Kelley closed her eyes and prayed it would be quick, and that neither she nor Sam would suffer for long.