Envy the Night

“Because if I am,” he said, “then it’s somewhat discouraging. I understand it, sure, but having the FBI investigate me is not going to help with this mess.”

“He seemed pretty interested in you.”

“Yeah, he did. As much as that pisses me off, it’s no shock. I just wonder if I’m the heart and soul of their interest, or if I’m part of a package.” He turned to face her. “Did Atkins say a word to you about Vaughn?”

She thought about it, then shook her head. “Not until I brought him up. When I asked about him, Atkins just wanted to know whether you seemed familiar with Vaughn. Up until that point the only thing he’d wanted to talk about was . . .”

“Me,” Frank said.

She nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s basically the same response I got, like Atkins was completely uninterested in Vaughn. Since he should be very interested in him, I’m going to guess that my wonderful, well-known name is not the only draw that attracted our VIP from Wausau. They’ve got something on Vaughn already. That Lexus rang some bells somewhere, down in Florida maybe, or on the FBI computers. They got excited about him, and then my name was an extra wild card in the deck. They don’t know what to make of it yet.”

“And they don’t know where he is.”

The look he gave her then was both knowing and intrigued. “You didn’t mention Ezra’s find?”

“No. Did you?”

He shook his head. “Figured it was your play, and if you told them, they’d be back around with more questions. When that didn’t happen, I assumed you’d decided not to say anything.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t,” she said. “I just . . . there was a lot going through my mind.”

“You didn’t say anything because you saw what happened this afternoon.”

Blunt, but true. There had been a lot going through her mind, yes, but it was the memory of that blood dripping into the floor drain that made the decision for her.

“You remember what I said about loose ends?” he asked.

She nodded. “I was thinking about that the whole time. That, and everything you said about the guy who owns the cabin, Devin, and how everyone around him is so . . .”

“Deadly.”

“I guess that’s the word.”

“It’s the only word that counts right now. Whoever followed Vaughn up here made a clear statement today, and we’ve got to listen to it.”

“Doesn’t that mean I should have told the FBI about the car?”

“You were the one who chose not to,” he said. “I didn’t instruct you on that. So what’s your reasoning? Why didn’t you tell them?”

She stopped walking, and he went a couple of paces ahead before turning back to her.

“I didn’t tell them,” she said, “because I’m scared.”

“You should be.”

“And there was a moment in our conversation this morning when you seemed to suggest that it would better to distance myself from the whole thing.”

“I did think that, but as of right now, you have no distance. I don’t think there’s much chance of getting any back, either.”

“So what do we do?”

“I’m not sure yet. Here’s what I can tell you—the police in this town, with or without Mr. Atkins of the Wausau office of the FBI, aren’t ready to deal with these guys. So I don’t think you made a poor decision. I don’t think that at all.”

“So what do we do?” she repeated.

He looked at her, then down, his eyes seeming to settle on the butt of his gun.

“There are only two things I’m certain of right now. First one is that we should talk to Ezra.”

“We should talk to a fishing guide?”

“He’s a bit more than that, Nora.”

“Okay. And the other thing you’re certain of?”

He started to walk again, the gun bouncing a little with each step.

“That you if go home tonight, you probably die.”

20

__________

Grady hadn’t dated much since Adrian left. The occasional setup, or maybe somebody he’d meet at a party and see once or twice again, but nothing serious. He had a date for Saturday night, though, a woman who worked computers at one of the major Chicago banks and had been assigned to help Grady review hundreds of transactions. He was with a team that was trying to trace terrorism dollars now, the new concern, and Helen was the liaison the bank had offered up to the Bureau. They’d spent the better part of two weeks together, going over numbers that led nowhere, and Grady had enjoyed her very much. Good-looking, personable, and able to laugh at herself, which was certainly not a trait Adrian had possessed. He wouldn’t have asked her out; there was a professionalism issue as excuse, but the reality was that he’d never been good at that, getting around to the actual question. Two days after he’d broken off from the project, though, she called him at work and asked if he wanted to go to dinner. It was the first time a woman had ever done that with Grady.

He was in a good mood as Saturday afternoon wore down, went for a long run along the lake and then spent an extra ten minutes stretching, felt the week’s tension leave his muscles and fade into the air. When he got back to the apartment he showered and—this was embarrassing—tried on three different shirt-and-pants combinations, feeling like a high school kid. He’d just decided on a black button-down with a dark green pair of gabardines, was still threading the belt around his waist, when the phone rang. Not the home number, but his cell, which meant it wasn’t a call that he could ignore. He fastened the belt and answered the phone.

“Agent Morgan?”

“Speaking.”

“Ron Atkins calling from Wausau.”

Wausau? Grady knew there was a field office up there, but what in the hell could Wausau have cooking on a Saturday evening that required his attention?

“What can I do for you?” Grady said, standing before the full-length mirror and taking inventory, trying to ignore the gray hair.

“I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday night like this, but I’ve been doing a little research, and it looks like you’re the foremost expert we’ve got on Frank Temple.”

Grady watched his face change in the mirror, saw it drape with concern and alarm.

“Which one?” he said. Please say the dead one, Atkins. Tell me it’s old, tell me it’s something very old.

“The son,” Atkins said. “Frank the Third.”

Grady turned away from the mirror and walked out to the living room, the sick taste of defeat rising in his mouth. Wausau. Shit, he should have remembered. That town was maybe fifty miles from the cabin, that infamous family cabin Frank had spoken of with such warmth, the one he wasn’t sure he could ever return to, the one his father had purchased with Matteson and the other soldier, Ballard.

“What’s happening?” Grady said.

“I’m still trying to figure that out. Right now here’s what I know: The Temple kid blew into town yesterday, with a couple of real bad boys from Miami on his heels, and we’ve already got one body in the morgue and a cop recovering in the hospital.”

Real bad boys from Miami on his heels. The words spun through Grady’s brain like whirring blades, and he sank down onto the couch knowing that the kid had done it. He’d gone down to Miami to settle up, he’d put three bullets into Devin Matteson’s body, and Grady had sent him there.