Was the universe trying to tell them something?
To make it worse, Will had sounded so guilty and nervous and apologetic.
Was that how Taylor made him feel? Was he the bad guy here? Because he really, honestly hadn’t thought there was a bad guy, just bad luck.
It kind of took the heart out of him, thinking that maybe Will was starting to feel beaten down and misjudged. Especially since Taylor had been thinking he was doing such a good job of letting go of the past. God. The last thing he wanted was for them to start that kind of bitchy, barbed interaction so many couples seemed to devolve into.
Was that where they were headed?
Maybe once he’d sorted out Ashe’s problems, and the gauntlet of Webster Fidelity was behind them, he and Will could sit down and just…talk. Like they used to. Before they’d left the DS. Before everything got so complicated.
Before it was too late.
* * * * *
Will called as Taylor was leaving the office.
“I’m ten minutes out. Don’t leave without me.”
“Meet me there. I can’t afford to be late.”
Will said urgently, “No. Taylor, no. Listen to me. I heard from Stuart Schwierskott a little while ago. Ashe Dekker is not who you think he is. He’s not the guy you used to know.”
“I’m not the guy he used to know either.” Taylor lowered his phone to greet Euphonia, who was trotting across the rain-slick bridge. “You’re supposed to be parking in the lot, Nee.”
Euphonia, returning to the office to make sure all signs of the godawful gold duck on the lobby wall were eradicated before another sunrise, called cheerfully, “Good night, Agent MacAllister.”
He raised the phone to his ear to hear Will saying, “…not to mention he’s got expensive habits.”
“Schwierskott? What are you talking about? Why are we suddenly working with Schwierskott?”
“You’re not listening to me,” Will cried.
Taylor, remembering his reflections earlier that afternoon, stopped walking. He said quietly, “I’m listening.”
Rain pattered on the leaves overhead. There was a short in the Christmas lights strung around the miniature golf course, and the windmill and pagoda appeared and disappeared in red-green lightning flashes.
“Taylor, he’s setting you up. This is a trap.” Will sounded as out of breath as if he was running on foot from San Diego.
Taylor looked skyward. “Who? Zamarion?”
“No!”
“Ashe. Right. Of course.” He controlled his restiveness.
“Yes, Ashe. He’s in hock up to his eyeballs with gambling debts.”
Taylor was silent. He’d known—suspected—that Ashe was so desperate for money, he was willing to lie, cheat, and steal from Zamarion in order to sell that house. But it wasn’t likely Zamarion would be complicit in that, so how did it fit with Taylor meeting him on the beach in less than thirty minutes?
Besides, Ashe had told him not to meet with Zamarion.
“Don’t worry, Brandt. I won’t turn my back—”
“No,” Will said. “You still don’t understand. I think Ashe hired Zamarion to kill us.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“No. Hear me out. The Russian mafia is huge in Croatia. You know that. You’re the one always talking about the Russians and organized crime. And you know who has a finger in that cabbage roll? Mikhail Bashnakov.”
“I know, Will…”
Will was still talking, stumbling over his words in his hurry to get it all out, and that desperate haste was unexpectedly convincing. Maybe more convincing than his words. “He’s coming up for trial. Bashnakov. We’re being deposed in January. What do you want to bet he’s trying to eliminate loose ends? Witnesses? I think he called in a marker with Dekker. I think Dekker hired Zamarion to take us out. Remember when we ran into Gretchen Hart before we went to Oregon? I think that’s the connection.”
“The actual witness is Hedwig. Bashnakov wouldn’t bother—”
“We’re witnesses to the attempt to take Hedwig out.”
“They weren’t trying to take her out. They were trying to take her baby.”
“And then take her out.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“The hell we don’t.”
Was Will having a nervous breakdown? Because this was the most far-fetched, Machiavellian… Well, actually, it sounded like the kind of scenario Taylor would come up with. Russian crime was something he knew a little about. Except this scenario didn’t hold together.
He said firmly, “I’m not saying you’re wrong about Bashnakov wanting us out of the way, but Ashe working with Zamarion? It makes zero sense. What does Zamarion have to gain?”
“Money. Of course.”
“But if that’s the case, why’s he asking me for twenty thousand dollars?”
“You think these assholes wouldn’t double-cross each other? Or even triple-cross each other?”
No, he didn’t think that.
Taylor said, “Either way, we need to hear what Zamarion has to say. Correct?”
A pause—because they both knew that was correct.
“Wait for me,” Will said. “Do you hear me, MacAllister? Whether you’re right or I’m right, Zamarion isn’t going anywhere. Wait.”
True. Whether Zamarion was waiting for a payoff or an ambush, he would not leave because they showed up five minutes late.
“And counting,” Taylor said tersely.
* * * * * *
There was no sign of Zamarion on the rainswept beach.
No sign of anyone.
The seaside sentinel of lifeguard tower eleven stretched up, a tall and boxy silhouette against a sagging sky.
The wet sand was cool and slippery beneath their feet as they approached, pistols at low ready, from opposite ends of the long, vacant beach. In front of them, white-capped waves crashed against the shore with a sharp crack and withdrew, shushing. The rain tasted briny. Taylor blinked the blur from his vision.
He reached the bottom of the tower first. Will joined him, saying, “Maybe I guessed wrong.”
“About?”
“Zamarion being willing to wait.” Will sounded rueful.
“No.” Taylor believed Zamarion had wanted to talk. And he’d wanted the money more than he’d wanted to talk.
Or maybe it was Taylor who had it wrong, and Zamarion was lying in the hills with an infrared scope, waiting to pick them off.
No. He could already have tried that a dozen times over, starting with their disembarking from their vehicle in the parking lot.
Taylor glanced around the
