Talk (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 4) Page 26

  "Oh, what a question!"

  "But I mean, do you? Do you really think we'll be together? Or one day will you just decide that New York's too far and you won't come this time, and then you'll meet someone else who will make a home for you, who will be with you wherever you are—"

  "Alexandra, we do have a home together."

  "We have four at last count, Georgiana," Alexandra said, correcting her. "And two of them are right here in this city, which is exactly my point. You're there, I'm here, and somewhere in the shadows we live."

  "We have the farm," Georgiana said. "And it's been wonderful."

  Alexandra sighed, shaking her head. "It's just not going to be the same anymore."

  The actress studied her face. "Because Jessica's leaving.”

  Tears welled up in the anchorwoman's eyes. "Of course it's because Jessica's leaving! It's like my whole family's leaving. The idea of trying to carry on without Will and Jessica—" She searched for the words. "I just don't think I'm going to want to do it anymore, Georgiana. It won't be fun, it won't be—it won't be ours anymore. We built DBS together. And now there's not going to be anybody to share it with."

  "There's Cassy."

  "But that's just it, Georgiana," the anchorwoman said miserably, turning those eyes on her. "I don't think Cassy wants to go on, either."

  "Cordelia sends her love," Jackson told Cassy, walking into the den of their apartment after ending a phone call with his sister.

  "How's Little El doing?" she asked, referring to his ailing older brother.

  "He's about the same." Jackson sighed, and sat down heavily on the couch next to his wife. "I think I better go down. Cordie sounds exhausted."

  "I'd go with you, Jack, but—"

  "No, I know, there's no reason for you to have to."

  Cassy sighed, put her pencil down and slipped off her glasses. Then she leaned forward to dump the load of papers in her lap on the coffee table. "I should be with you in Hilleanderville. My son calls me from Chicago to tell me he's met the girl he wants to marry and I don't even have time to meet her. You and I haven't had more than two hours alone together for the last six months. What's wrong with this picture, Jack?"

  "It's not as if we haven't had a little excitement lately."

  "And now the excitement's over and I still don't have time to have a life."

  "I thought you said Henry was going to bring his girl here this weekend."

  "He is, but that's not the point."

  "Cassy," Jackson said, putting his arm around her, "Little El's going to hang on for a while. I really don't need you there with me now. Later, but not now. And you're going to meet Henry's girl this weekend. So, sweetheart, what is it really?"

  She closed her eyes, letting her head fall on his shoulder. "I'm just so tired, Jack. And nothing's turned out the way it's supposed to."

  "You mean about Jessica."

  "I mean about hiring Dirk who arranged to have my talent kidnapped—only they can't prove it. I mean this psycho stalker-murderer sitting around in a cell somewhere, not talking, getting his three squares. Jessica's been maimed and is suffering some kind of psychological trauma, our star news anchor is morosely depressed and is on the verge of quitting, my executive news producer won't come back to work, our advertisers are deserting the network and my son wants to get married and I can't deal with it because the last time I had a breather from work he was six years old!"

  Silence.

  "Is that all?" her husband asked with an understanding smile.

  "Oh, Jack. I hate it. I've lost all sense of hope. Or faith that any of this can be sorted out." She looked up at him. "And I'm getting old, Jack. I don't have the energy I used to."

  "That makes two of us, but the expression is 'getting older/ not old." He kissed her on the nose. "You don't have to continue, you know."

  "That's what scares me,” she murmured. "For the first time in my life, I feel sorely tempted to bag the whole thing. I just don't see it anymore. Why I'm doing this." She shrugged. "It's as if after all these years suddenly the wind is gone and I can't remember what the sails were for in the first place or why it was so important to have them. And where the hell it was we were going after we got them up."

  "It's hard, babe. There's no doubt about it. Creepin' crickets, Jessica built the network with you, Cass. And so did Will. It's a tremendous loss."

  Cassy closed her eyes again. "It's as though all of our mortality is staring us in the face."

  "I know," he murmured. "Langley's feeling it, too."

  She opened her eyes. "Is he?"

  Jackson nodded. "Belinda says he was up all last night talking about taking early retirement and running a logging camp."

  "A what?" Cassy asked, having to laugh.

  "I know." Jack laughed. "But you know Belinda, she's all for it. They're going to home-school the kids out in the woods and she's going to write a weekly column about it for HG and Lang's going to grow a beard."

  Cassy chuckled, nestling in against her husband's chest. After a while, though, her smile died. "The thing is, Jack," she said quietly, "right now, it sounds like the right thing to do."

  27

  “Really, I'm fine," Jessica insisted to Slim. "You're my bodyguard, not my nurse. Just screen the calls, will you? I don't think I can take the guilt by talking with anyone from West End right now."

  "But you've got to eat," the big guy insisted, pushing the bowl of soup on the tray toward her again.

  Jessica was sitting up in her own bed in her own apartment, lying back against the pillows, her bandaged hand and arm elevated slightly on a traction gizmo attached to her headboard. Her head and face still had the bruising on them, but a friend of Georgiana's had fitted her with a wig that, along with some eyebrow pencil, made her look something like her old self.

  "Thank you, Slim," Jessica said, "but Will will help me, I promise."

  Slim put his hands on his hips and looked to Will. "She has to eat to get her strength back."

  "You're absolutely right," Will said with a straight face, pulling a chair up to the side of Jessica's bed. "And we'll get right to it."

  As soon as Slim left the room, Jessica peered into the bowl, frowning. "What is that glop?"

  "It's okra jumbo," Will reported, taking the soupspoon into his hand and stirring it around.

  "Big okra soup? What the hell is big okra soup?" Jessica complained. "It's not that slimy stuff, is it?"

  "Just taste it, Jess," Will said quietly, holding his left hand under the spoon as he raised it to her mouth. "Please. A little taste."

  Jessica's frown deepened and then she opened her mouth a little, looking very apprehensive. She tasted. And closed her eyes. "It is that slimy stuff." Her eyes opened. "But it's not bad."

  "That's good, my love," Will murmured, ''because Slim's mother made it for you."

  "Oh," she said softly, taking the spoon from him and obediently continuing to eat.

  "And now the really good part," Will continued, pushing a plate closer to the bowl. "Some garlic bread."

  "Mmm," she said, after taking a bite. "You know," she said after swallowing, "even my teeth hurt. Why do you suppose that is?"

  "Your teeth hurt because you grind your teeth at night and don't wear your bite guard."

  She squinted at him. "You know far too much about me."

  "Eat," he directed.

  Out in the foyer the house telephone rang and Slim went to answer it. Then he came into the bedroom. "Detective Hepplewhite and Agent Cole are downstairs and wondered if they can come up to visit."

  Jessica said yes at the same time Will said no.

  "They're not supposed to talk to you until next week," Slim reminded her.

  "And they wouldn't be here unless it was important," Jessica said. "Will," she said, pleading her case, "how am I going to get better unless I know what's going on?"

  "Darling, you heard what the doctor said. You've had surgery, you're still in some shock from the ordeal, you're running on
adrenaline and you have to slow down."

  "Collapse, you mean, and forget it's not happening," Jessica said. "Tell them to get up here."

  Slim looked to Will. "I suppose," Will said reluctantly.

  "Look, sweetheart," Jessica said, taking his hand with her left. "I appreciate you trying to protect me, and taking care of me, but I'm not very good at taking orders from anyone. Not even you."

  "Hint taken," he said, lowering his eyes.

  Quietly, "I've hurt your feelings."

  He looked up and saw Jessica's eyes almost instantly fill with tears. "Oh, Will, I wouldn't hurt your feelings for anything. You've been so wonderful, I'm so sorry."

  "You're sorry? Jessica, do you know what you've been through? You don't, not really, I know it really hasn't sunk in yet. And Jessica, I'd do anything for you—So hurt my feelings—not that you did—break my arm, stomp on my face, I don't care, just let me help you."

  "I'm just not good at being vulnerable."

  "Who is? And I know I'm not much of a nurse—I don't know many guys who are, frankly, but I want to do something for you. And if I'm playing mother hen, I apologize, but—"

  "You tracked me down and saved me! For God's sake, what more can you do?" She smiled tenderly. "You're such a funny guy sometimes."

  "I don't want anything more to happen to you, that's all," he said softly, dropping his head in her lap and putting his arms around her. "I don't want to lose you."

  "But you won't," she murmured, stroking his hair. "You won't."

  Standing in the doorway, Slim cleared his voice. "Detective Hepplewhite and Agent Cole are here."

  Will sat up quickly and Jessica cleared her throat, wiping her eyes with the back of her good hand. "Hi, guys," she managed to say.

  "Sorry to intrude," Detective Hepplewhite said, watching Will offer Jessica his handkerchief.

  Will stood up to introduce Agent Cole to Jessica.

  "Thanks for finding me," she told them.

  "Our pleasure, believe me, Ms. Wright," Hepplewhite said. "How's the hand coming?"

  "I'm having more surgery next week," she said. "They did a skin graft in Buffalo, from my thigh, which is actually more painful than my hand at this point. Please, pull up a chair. I know you're not supposed to be talking to me yet, so I'm curious about what's up."

  Agent Cole grimaced. "We know. And we were kind of hoping this would be off the record."

  "Oh, goodie," Jessica said. "Then I'll have something to hang over you. Now, are you, Agent Cole, the one who worked with Will and Alexandra?"

  "Yes."

  "I've heard many good things about you. And again, thanks for finding me. Now, about you, Hepplewhite," she said, turning to the detective. ~'What I want to know is, are you or aren't you related to the furniture maker?"

  "Not unless he grew up in Harlem," the detective told her.

  Jessica laughed. "Dam, and I was hoping you would tell me if my two chairs in the dining room are real or not." She could feel herself getting hyper with nervous energy but she also felt helpless to stop it. "Cassy told me you always hated Dirk Lawson, too, Detective. Is that right?"

  "Mistrusted," Hepplewhite corrected.

  "Close enough. You and me, that makes a club. So what's going on? Going to put him away for a million and a half years I hope," she said, resettling herself against the pillows.

  Neither the agent nor the detective said anything, and Jessica felt a nauseous quease in her stomach. "Now don't sit there and tell me he's gotten away or something."

  "No!" Hepplewhite assured her. "No, no, we've got him locked away good and tight. Only—well, frankly, our case against him is not going as well as we had hoped."

  "Oh, God," Jessica groaned, letting her head fall back to look up at the ceiling. "What exactly is the problem?" Will asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing his hand on Jessica's arm. "We're having trouble linking Lawson to the kidnapping. We went through his apartment—" "What about his ski house?" Will asked. "He's got a place in Vermont."

  "We went through that, too," Agent Cole said.

  "And found nothing," Hepplewhite said. "We've got circumstantial evidence tying him to the kidnapping, but what we need is hard evidence. An eyewitness—"

  "He tried to kill the other kidnapper and you and Alexandra saw him!" Will cried. "What more evidence do you need?"

  "We know he wanted to kill him, but we can't prove it. He didn't actually do it, and it wasn't a gun, but a stun gun—"

  "And where did he get that from?" Will said. "They're illegal in New York State." "He says he found it in the hospital during the rescue and until we can prove differently—"

  Jessica brought her head back down to look at the detective. "What about Hurt Guy? I bet he could prove Dirk's involvement. I mean, he was his partner, right?"

  "His name is Denton, Calvin Denton," Agent Cole said.

  "And yes, while what you say is true, that we think he was Lawson's partner, Denton's been unable to speak." "Who is he? This Calvin Denton?" Will wanted to know. He looked to Jessica. "Have you ever heard of him?"

  "No."

  "Calvin Denton," Agent Cole explained, "is a former CIA operative. Agent Kunsa, in fact, worked with him once on cracking a Mexican heroin ring in the 1980s. Denton's been retired for a while—he's still young, in his forties, and he started a security outfit down in Atlanta. One of his children—he's got three—has severe epilepsy. Daily seizures, very violent, she's often hurt badly by them, but otherwise she's a hundred percent. Denton and his wife have taken this little girl everywhere, trying to find some treatment or operation that will keep her from having these seizures. Nothing has worked and so this otherwise normal little girl has to wear a helmet and face guard to school and then in front of all her friends—"

  The agent gestured with her hand in a way that let Jessica know it would only hurt to hear more details.

  "The long and the short of it is, insurance won't cover experimental treatments and that's the only hope for this little girl. So Denton's somewhere around three hundred thousand dollars in debt, he's got three kids under the age of eleven to care for. Somehow, we believe, Lawson knew of his situation and approached him about the kidnapping."

  "He was a nice guy," Jessica said. "I mean, I know he kidnapped me and everything, but I could tell. Really, I mean he was courteous, and direct and—Well, whatever. But what about Lawson, what the hell was his problem? I mean what was his motive? DBS paid him very well."

  "That's part of the problem," Hepplewhite acknowledged. "There's an absence of motive where he's concerned. He's made good money, he's put some away, has some investments. Now, his wife did divorce him a couple of years ago, and she got the house in Long Island and custody of the kids. He pays very high alimony and we're trying to see if this might have something to do with it."

  "Something like the fact he hates women," Jessica said. "I probably remind him of his wife."

  The agent and the detective looked at each other.

  "I was kidding," Jessica said.

  "Yeah, but you never know," Hepplewhite said.

  Agent Cole was making a note. "We look into every possibility." "You're not here to tell me he's going to get oft are you?" Jessica suddenly said.

  "No," Hepplewhite said.

  "Then what are you doing here? I don't know anything about that idiot Lawson, except he was always obnoxious and a pain in the neck."

  "We needed to talk to you," Hepplewhite said, "to bring you up to date on where the case now stands, and also to see if you might know of any detail, or any piece of information that might be of help to us."

  "Well, where exactly does the case stand?" Jessica said. "Nobody's really explained to me how this all went down."

  "What we think happened," Agent Cole said, "is that Lawson had been toying with the idea of kidnapping you, or perhaps Alexandra Waring if—and only if—·the right scenario happened to come up. And when James Plattener—Leopold—started sending his notes, Lawson immediately spotted
the possibility of a stalker in the making. So he took the opportunity to compose his own notes—in Leopold's name—to firmly establish the idea around West End that you definitely had a stalker, one who was not only obsessed with you, but obsessed with being with you. Then later, when it became clear that Plattener was a stalker, and did, in fact, successfully penetrate Lawson's own security measures at West End, Lawson knew he had his fall guy. All he had to do was play along, and start planning the kidnapping. But then the real Leopold acted in a way he hadn't anticipated."

  "He murdered Bea," Jessica said. "Leopold kept telling me how she was such a bad person and how it was a good thing she was dead."

  "Exactly," Hepplewhite said, picking up the story. "That's when Lawson knew he had to make his move, the sooner the better. He had the perfect foil. He lined up Denton to commit the actual kidnapping, he designed an electrical distraction and deterrent that was consistent with the electrical knowledge Leopold had previously displayed, and he even disagreed with the idea of using your publication party as a trap for Leopold, when, in fact, he was counting on us to do it, and counting on him to oversee the security operation."

  "But we changed the locale at the last minute."

  "Lawson selected the locale at the last moment," Agent Cole said. "He had handled security at Rockefeller Center a few years ago when the president visited, so he had extensive prior knowledge of the layout. So what he did was issue layouts of the complex which failed to include the very corridors he would direct Denton to use to get you out of there."

  "But that's proof right there, isn't it?" Will asked.

  "It's circumstantial," Hepplewhite said, "because we can't prove where the alterations to the layouts actually happen. But yes, this is, right now, our only real piece of evidence against him—and that it appeared he was about to kill Denton when we stopped him."

  "And that's not going to stand up, is it?" Jessica sighed. "So how much was he going to ransom me for, anyway?" "He wasn't," Agent Cole said. "He was going to have Denton stash you somewhere—"

  "Where?"

  "We haven't found it yet," Hepplewhite said.