Reconcilable Differences Page 13

  “It’s just a drizzle. I’ll jog in the mall. If you remember, we often did that.”

  She was out the door before he could even get his shoes on, and he caught up with her at the elevator.

  “Why is this a must, Trish?”

  “I’m restless, that’s all.”

  “What’s wrong with working it out on the treadmill in the weight room?”

  “Because I want to run, Dave. It’s not necessary for you to come along. After all, we did make the paper. I don’t think we have to continually appear in public together.”

  He didn’t want to tell her of her father’s warning last night. If Henry was telling the truth, it no longer was a matter of using Trish as a decoy to draw out McDermott—now the trouble would be to keep the bastard from killing her. Maybe the time had come to tell her of her father’s warning.

  “Hold up a minute,” he said when they reached the mall. Her unexpected insistence on going jogging had caused the squad to scramble and he wanted to make sure they were in place.

  Raising his wrist to his mouth, he said, “Report.” The watches they were all wearing contained transmitters. Instantly the men responded.

  “Sneezy clear,” Bolen said.

  “Dopey clear,” Fraser reported.

  “Bashful clear,” Addison replied.

  At least they were all in the strategic places he had assigned to them. He wished Bledsoe and Williams were available though. The mall was big, with plenty of places for a killer to conceal himself.

  Thank God the layout of the place hadn’t changed drastically in the past years, so as they jogged he was able to analyze the exits and vacant stores as well as getting a good read on the people who were walking the mall.

  He concentrated on the men who were McDermott’s height. Trouble was, he had no way of knowing who he was looking for if McDermott had an accomplice. It would be a hell of a lot easier if Intel could give them a better description.

  The complete circuit of the mall was a mile, and they were on their third time around when Trish began to slow up. He wasn’t even winded.

  “Have you had enough running for now?” he said.

  “How much farther to the entrance?” she asked breathlessly.

  “About a quarter of a mile.”

  “Damn you, Dave, you haven’t even broken a sweat.”

  “You want to finish it in a walk?”

  “Of course not. I always do three miles. Trouble is I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

  “There’s one coming up.” He stopped running and shifted into a fast walk. “So slow down so you don’t pull a muscle.”

  When they reached the rest room, Dave waited outside the door while Trish went inside. A couple approached and the woman went into the ladies’ room while the man continued on. Dave felt uneasy.

  Within seconds what sounded like a gunshot rang out ahead and he heard some screaming and shouting. His duty was to protect Trish, so he followed his instinct, drew his weapon and entered the ladies’ room.

  Trish was at a sink washing her hands and the woman had just come out of a stall with a drawn knife.

  “Drop it,” he yelled.

  The woman lunged at Trish, and he fired. His shot caught her in the right shoulder and she fell back as the knife dropped to the ground.

  Mouth agape, Trish stared in shock. A black wig was askew on the head of the fallen figure and the hair underneath was blond.

  Dave walked over and kicked the knife well out of the woman’s reach, then he checked her pulse. She was still alive. He pulled out his cell phone and called the police. “Are you okay?” he asked Trish, when he finished.

  Trish managed to nod. At that moment, Fraser’s voice interrupted them.

  “I’m at the north end of the mall in pursuit of some guy who fired a shot.”

  “I see you,” Addison said. “I’m on my way.”

  “We’re in the ladies’ room near the flower shop,” Dave answered. “I just took out a woman who tried to kill Trish.” He gave them a quick description of the man who’d been with the woman.

  “Sounds like the guy I’m after,” Fraser said.

  “I’m getting Trish out of here. Sneezy, where are you?”

  “Almost right on top of you,” Bolen replied.

  “Then come here and don’t let anyone enter that ladies’ room until the police arrive.”

  “Let’s go,” he said to Trish.

  “What about her?”

  “Kurt will handle her.” He grabbed Trish’s hand and they ran out of the lounge just as Kurt arrived on the scene.

  Dave headed back in the direction they came from to a vacant store he’d noticed in passing. He kicked open the door and then raced toward the exit on the opposite end of the store that opened onto the parking lot.

  They ran outside into pouring rain—and two security guards with drawn weapons.

  “Hold it, you two, and get your arms up,” one said.

  “I’m a federal agent, officer,” Dave said. “My shield’s in my wallet.”

  “Keep those arms above your head,” the guard ordered, while the other one pulled out Dave’s wallet.

  “Okay, you can lower your arms,” he said, after a glance at the shield. “What’s going on in there? We got a call that a shot was fired.”

  “You’ll find another federal agent stationed at the entrance to the ladies’ room near the flower shop on the south end of the mall,” Dave told him. “There’s a wounded woman in the ladies’ room who tried to kill this woman.”

  “What’s your name, lady?” the guard asked.

  “It’s classified. She’s under federal protection right now. There are also two more federal agents inside in pursuit of at least one accomplice we’re aware of. Could be more. Will you guys relieve the agent at the entrance to the ladies’ room? No one is to enter until the police arrive.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the guards said. The two men hurried away.

  “Why don’t we go back and wait for the police?” Trish asked.

  “I want you someplace where I know you’ll be safe. And maybe we can keep your name out of the papers, too.”

  “I don’t understand all this. Who was that woman? Why would she try to kill me? Is this all to do with McDermott?”

  “Calm down, Trish, you’re babbling,” he warned.

  She had begun to tremble and Dave didn’t know if it was from fright or the rain. Regardless, he had to get her home.

  “Trish, we’ll talk about it when I get you back to the apartment. Are you up to some more running?”

  “Anything to get out of this rain and get some answers.” She took off on a run.

  She had spunk. Within the past week she’d been almost raped in Morocco, escaped under fire, shot at in Germany, her husband had been murdered, and now, she had just witnessed the shooting of a woman who had tried to cut her throat.

  He had to give credit where credit was due. Trish might have been spoiled and pampered her whole life, but she sure as hell had grit.

  Chapter 10

  By the time they reached the apartment, both of them were dripping wet. Trish went into her bedroom and Dave headed for the utility room. He stripped down to his shorts and tossed the rest of his wet clothing into the dryer. What the heck, Trish had seen him in briefs before.

  After getting a pot of coffee brewing, he called Bolen. The police had arrived on the scene and taken over. They were all at the police station. The fellow they’d been chasing had gotten away. The woman Dave had shot was still alive and had been taken to the hospital.

  After hanging up, Dave dialed the Agency. Mike Bishop was not too thrilled. Bolen had already broken the news to him.

  “I told Bolen as soon as the police get their statements to go home and dry out. We’ll send a couple of intelligence agents to the hospital to talk to the woman when they let us. McDermott’s still on the loose so you’d better stay with Mrs. Manning. Apparently she’s his next target.”

  “What about th
e police? I’m sure they want to talk to me,” Dave said, “since I’m the one who shot the woman. Unless she was recognized, I kept Trish’s name out of it.”

  “We’re going to need velvet gloves on this one,” Mike said. “I’ll talk to them and tell them you’ll be in to give them a statement. They know from the team’s statements they took that Mrs. Manning was an intended victim. Where are you now?”

  “At Trish’s apartment. We both got soaking wet getting back here.”

  “Good. Stay put until you hear from me.”

  Stay put. What choice did he have?—at least until his pants dried.

  “What if the cops show up here again and pull us in?”

  “Call me.”

  “That’s comforting. Wouldn’t the FBI be more efficient at this type of witness protection detail than we are? I’m no expert at this, Mike. A few seconds more and Trish would have ended up on the floor with her throat cut.”

  Bishop chuckled. “She didn’t, though, did she? You did your job.” His tone sobered. “Look, Dave, I know how you feel. I went through the same thing when we were protecting Ann. I know it’s tough to stay objective when there’s an emotional involvement.”

  “Trish and I are ancient history. But that doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to her. I just believe there are agents who are specifically trained for this kind of duty.”

  “Right. But between you and me, would you trust any one of them to protect her more than you do yourself?”

  “Your point being?”

  “Ancient history like hell! I caught that picture of you and her in the paper the other day.”

  “Didn’t you imply you wanted us to look like a twosome?”

  “You sure convinced me, pal. It’s good to see you’re happy in your work.”

  After shedding her wet clothes, Trish stepped into the shower. Soon the steam and hot water routed the chill that had held her in its shivery grasp.

  Only then could she think about her harrowing experience earlier that day.

  She would be dead now if Mike hadn’t interceded. Why did McDermott—if it was McDermott—want to kill her? Surely the man had to know she knew nothing about Robert’s illegal dealings.

  Until today, she hadn’t been frightened. But now she had to wonder when the next attempt would be made on her life.

  She finally got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her head and dried off. Then after putting on a bra and panties, she reached for her white robe.

  Desolately, she sat down on the side of the bed. Life was becoming more and more complicated.

  That very morning she had made up her mind to turn her life around, and within hours she’d been drawn back into the turbulence of her past with Robert Manning.

  The only good thing that had come out of it was Dave’s return. Despite her gloom, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

  Someone’s trying to kill me—but you’re back in my life. Another bittersweet analogy, isn’t it, Dave?

  She combed out her hair, gathered up her wet clothing and towels and left the bedroom.

  Trish drew up sharply when she saw Dave wearing only a pair of boxer shorts as he stood at the stove frying bacon and eggs.

  She’d always loved his body. It was long and muscular. Dave had never fixated on muscle-building and the like, although he had always jogged and worked out enough to stay in shape. Other than smoking a few joints in college, he didn’t do drugs or smoke cigarettes. Nor did he ever indulge himself excessively with food or alcohol.

  Now his body appeared to be in even better condition. His muscles were tighter and looked larger. Trish felt the stirrings of arousal, recalling what it was like to be in his arms with that long, muscular body pressed against her.

  Don’t go there, Trish. He’s not ready for it yet.

  She hurried into the utility room and threw all the wet clothing and towels into the washer. Checking the dryer, she removed his clothes and carried them out to him.

  “These are dry now. You’d better put them back on before you catch a cold.”

  He looked at her and grinned. “Thanks.”

  Trish avoided looking at him when he pulled on the jeans and shirt.

  “Sit down,” he said, when he finished. “I figured you were as hungry as I was. This was all I could find. I think we really ought to get some food in this place.”

  “I agree. If you recall, I had just barely moved back in here, and I hadn’t anticipated overnight guests. Maybe when it stops raining, we can go shopping.”

  “I just talked to the Agency. Bishop told me we should lay low.”

  “For how long?”

  “I imagine until this mall thing settles down. We’ll have to go in and give the police our statements. I also talked to Kurt. The woman’s accomplice got away.”

  “Well, whether this mess is resolved or not, on Monday I have a painting crew coming in.”

  “I’d cancel that until things quieted down.”

  “And what about my luncheon date with Deb today?”

  “Cancel.”

  “Really, Dave, do you expect me to stay caged up in this apartment until McDermott is caught? I thought we were to be out and around purposely to draw him out.”

  He put a plate of eggs and bacon down in front of her. “Eat, Trish. Then we have to talk.”

  It seemed so natural to be sitting across a table in their kitchen.

  She and Dave had been together for six months; she and Robert had lived there together for the same length of time—even though she’d quit sharing a bed with him. But she still thought of this as their kitchen—hers and Dave’s. She took a long look at him. And it will be again, my love.

  “Speaking of painters, what color do you think I should use in the living and dining room?”

  He shrugged. “That’s your call. You’re the interior decorator.”

  “It never hurts to hear another person’s opinion.”

  “I always liked the beige look when we were together. It was calming after a hard day. This black-and-white deco look is a bit too extreme for my tastes. I’m not sure whether that long wall in the living room is a checkerboard, but I’m certain the design on the wall in the office is for playing tick tack toe.”

  “The whole look is another reflection of Robert’s screwed-up psyche.”

  “Don’t tell me you or Deb did this.”

  Trish giggled. “Deb disliked him enough to do it to him, but he had some woman he was sleeping with at the time do the decorating. When I saw it for the first time, I figured it must have been her revenge.”

  “There must have been somebody who liked the man.”

  “My dad came nearest to being the only one I know of. Tom Carpenter loathed him. He almost threw a punch at Robert shortly after we were married. Can you imagine? Pleasant, easygoing Tom.

  “We’d had the Carpenters over for dinner one night and Robert suggested we play a game of wife-swapping.” She shook her head in disgust. “Robert was so depraved. Why do you think I insisted upon separate bedrooms?”

  “He sounds like a guy who wouldn’t let a closed door stand in the way of what he wanted,” Dave said, his expression tight.

  “A closed, locked door,” she corrected. “But actually, it didn’t matter to him. I told you we didn’t marry for love. He had a harem of women at his disposal and said I was no great loss. He said that I was cold and unresponsive, and having sex with me was like making out with the walking dead.” She half smiled. “I don’t have to tell you that the term he used for making out was considerably more crude.”

  A long silence prevailed before he asked solemnly. “Why did you even remain here, Trish?”

  “Dad had a long talk with Robert and convinced him to go into therapy. He told me the least I could do was support him for the effort, and accused me of still mooning over you and not giving my marriage a fair chance to succeed. I admit I couldn’t bear to have Robert touch me, so I figured I did have to accept some of the blame.”


  “And did the therapy help?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she scoffed. “He flaunted his female friends in public more than ever. He even started to bring them here at night.”

  “So you moved back home.”

  She paused and gazed into space as she dredged up that painful memory.

  “I’m sorry, Trish. Forget it. It’s none of my business,” Dave said.

  “No, I want to tell you, Dave. I’ve kept it inside too long as it is. I didn’t even tell Deb or my Dad the full story.”

  “Then why tell me?”

  She didn’t know why herself. But she knew if they were ever going to get together again that it was important he understood all there was to know about her relationship with Robert.

  “The morning after one of Robert’s humiliating public displays—this time with two prostitutes he’d hired for the night—I decided I couldn’t take another moment of it and was packing to leave when he came home. We had a tremendous quarrel and I told him the therapy wasn’t working and I was going to file for divorce.”

  She closed her eyes, reliving that horrendous scene. “He turned violent and began to hit me and call me every foul name he could think of. Then he hit me so hard that he knocked me off my feet and I struck my head against his damn metal safe. I was so dazed, I couldn’t move, and that’s when he…when he raped me.”

  A nerve jumped in Dave’s cheek. “Did you have him arrested?”

  She snorted. “Where have you been, Dave? Conjugal rights, you know—a wife has to have a lot of evidence to prove her husband raped her. And it’s pretty hard to say no when you’re too dazed to speak or move.”

  “You said he hit you. Didn’t you have bruises to prove it?”

  “And he could say I fell. Then it becomes a he-said she-said situation. Besides, Robert threatened that if I called the police or tried to divorce him, he’d see that my father spent the next twenty years in prison.”

  Dave’s eyes glowered with rage. “And what did Henry do when you told him?”

  “Dad had been out of the country when it happened, and by the time he returned my bruises were pretty well faded. I didn’t tell him about the rape. And as I mentioned before, he asked me—for his sake—not to rush into any divorce, because if Robert carried out his threat it would only stir up old ashes that would harm the reputation of the firm.