The Last Move
“You’re right. Taint is the word I meant to use. I’ve been to a few shrinks. The consensus is that I was intimate with William Bauldry and it destroyed my family, so since then I associate sex and closeness with trouble.”
“Do you like being alone?”
She dusted the bagel crumbs from her fingertips. “I understand the practicality of it.”
He shook his head. “Classic deflection, Dr. Hayden. Do you like it?”
“No. Not really. But it works for me.”
“How much longer do you think it’ll work?”
“I don’t know. For as long as I can take it, I suppose.”
“Why don’t you allow yourself a damn personal life?”
A brow arched. “With you?”
“Sure, why not? There’s a good chance I’ll be in Virginia by the end of the year. I’d like to see you again.”
She stood, moved to the sink, and poured out the coffee. “Like I said, once you get to know me, you’re going to be disappointed. I’m a workaholic, and I don’t leave my work at the office.”
He moved to within inches of her and leaned in a fraction to set his coffee cup on the counter next to hers.
She stiffened but did not pull away. “There are two monsters out there, and they both want to kill me. I don’t want you to get killed, too.”
“I’m a big boy. Besides, I hope ol’ Willie or this Drexler make a play. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to bring them both down.”
She laid her hands over his. “You’re cocky.”
“I’m confident. Big difference.” He kissed her.
She leaned into the kiss, and he could feel the fresh coat of ice melting. She pulled back. “We have to get to the station.”
“I know.” He glanced at the clock. “We still have half an hour.”
“A whole thirty minutes?”
“Yep.”
She smiled.
Drexler was glad to get out of the city. He couldn’t breathe around all the buildings and people. But under an open sky he felt free. He followed the directions William had given him. As he moved down the barren stretch of road, he saw in the distance the gates that seemed to open to nowhere. Nothing in Texas was nearby. No telling how many miles he’d drive once he turned onto the property.
Dust billowed around his tires as he came to a stop. The name of the ranch was The King’s Castle. A smile crooked the edge of his lips. Even he got this one.
“King’s Castle,” he said as he drove down the lane. More red dirt kicked up around him as he made the two-and-a-half-mile trek to the two-story brick home with a wide front porch. A couple of hundred feet beyond that was an outbuilding. He headed straight to the back barn.
He parked and got out, stretched his back a few times. He’d been on the run for days now, and it was beginning to take its toll.
He moved to the barn door and lifted the latch. He glanced back at the house to make sure no one was watching before opening the door. Inside to the right of the door was a light switch. He flipped it on.
The lights cast a warm glow and brightened his mood. Centered in the room was a stack of lumber, sawhorses, nails, hammers, and saws. All the supplies he needed to build one of his boxes.
Drexler skimmed his hand over the fine lumber. These weren’t discarded scraps, but oak that had been milled to a smooth finish.
He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a sawhorse. A scan of the room revealed a cot made neatly with white sheets and a green blanket, a sink, open cabinets stocked with canned goods, a hot plate, and a refrigerator. He looked behind a wooden partition to find a toilet. Bauldry was good with the details.
He opened the refrigerator and found it packed with beer. Pinned to the beer was an envelope. He studied the note a beat but reached for a beer first.
He popped the top, drained it, crushed the can, and tossed it toward the trash. He missed. Grabbing another beer, he opened the envelope. There were two images inside. The first featured a young girl. She had blond hair. Whoever took the picture captured her hair blowing back in the wind. She had a blush to her cheeks and perfect white teeth. She was petite, likely not more than five feet tall.
The picture behind the first featured a familiar face. The woman was Kate Hayden. She wore her dark badass FBI jacket, jeans, and boots. She was staring off into the distance.
He took a long swig as he continued to study the images. The lumber pile beckoned him. It was just enough for two boxes.
“Nice.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
New Year’s resolution: burn it all down.
San Antonio, Texas
Friday, December 1, 11:00 a.m.
Kate was in the conference room reviewing her notes on William when a uniformed officer knocked and entered. “Sorry to bother you, but there’s a Mark Westin here to see you. He said he’s the attorney for Charles Richardson.”
She let her pen drop and for a moment didn’t speak. “Where is he?”
“He’s in the front reception.”
“Right. I’ll be right there.”
When the door closed, she rolled her head from side to side trying to work some of the stiffness out. She’d dealt with Mr. Westin when Richardson had been arraigned, and the judge, based on her testimony, denied bail. Richardson had been furious, but Westin had taken it in stride, knowing there’d be other opportunities to help his client.
She slid on her jacket, pulled a brush from her backpack along with lipstick. Chin up, she closed her laptop, shoved it into her backpack, and dropped it in Mazur’s cubicle. He was on the phone. She mouthed, “Can I leave this here?”
He nodded and cupped his hand over the phone. “What’s going on?”
“Richardson’s defense attorney is in the lobby.”
Ignoring his frown, she wove through the cubicles toward the elevator and rode it down to the first floor. The scent of cologne greeted her as she stepped into the lobby. The room was buzzing with activity. In one corner, a mother and child were waiting. In another, a couple of cops were in a heated discussion. At the front desk a man in jeans, an old plaid shirt, and worn boots was shouting at the police sergeant behind the desk.
Westin stood by the front door. He wore his trademark handmade suit, white monogrammed shirt, red tie, and polished Italian wing tips.
She crossed the lobby. “Mr. Westin.”
He studied her. “Agent Hayden. We need to talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“You have a Samaritan killing right here in San Antonio. Considering you were instrumental in making sure my client didn’t get bail, I’d say this murder is proof positive that Dr. Richardson is not your man.”
“Wrong. I have Richardson dead to rights, and you know it.” She glanced around the noisy, chaotic room and then back at him. “But you know this. You know no judge will give Richardson bail. Why are you here?”
Westin stared at her, silent, and she knew he was weighing his words carefully.
She opened her phone and showed him a picture of William Bauldry. “This guy. William Bauldry. When did you see him last?”
“I’ve never met him before,” Westin said.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, bluffing. “I’d bet money Richardson has mentioned him.”
Westin’s jaw clenched and released. “Why would my client tell me about this guy?”
“Because this guy and Richardson crossed paths at Bastrop prison multiple times. They had the opportunity to discuss Richardson’s shootings and, I’d bet, to plan the murder in San Antonio.”