Playing Dead

they deserved the truth. “I should have told you before, but the surrender was supposed to be secret and without fanfare, and so far the media hasn’t found out. Dad’s here for surgery. He was shot four months ago and the bullet is causing problems now.”

Dave stared at her. “You never cared about your father before. You’ve never believed he was innocent. All the evidence points to-”

“The evidence was all circumstantial, Dave. And between what I’ve found and what the FBI has found, they believe my dad. They’re going to prove it. I know it.”

“What did they find?” Dave said. “What could they have found that no one else did? Claire, you’re deluding yourself-”

“Dave, that’s enough,” Bill said.

“Dad-”

Bill motioned his son to be quiet. “I’ve thought for some time that Tom was framed. Ever since Oliver Maddox came to me and told me about Chase Taverton’s plea agreement with Frank Lowe, and how both of them died within twenty-four hours. And before-well, Claire knows my thoughts on what happened then.”

She squeezed Bill’s hand. “I am so lucky to have both of you in my life. I’ve taken you for granted for too long.”

“You didn’t,” Bill said. “Don’t hold on to the past, Claire, no matter what’s back there. It’ll eat you up and you’ll never be happy. There is now, and there is tomorrow.”

“I love you.” Her voice cracked, and she hugged Bill.

A moment later, Dave said, “After what happened last night, it’s obvious you uncovered something important. Maybe you don’t even know the importance. Otherwise, why would someone try to kill you? I’m relieved the FBI has a guard on you.”

“Claire, honey, let the police handle it,” Bill said. “The FBI is on top of things.”

“I can’t just step aside. The police were supposed to be on top of everything fifteen years ago, and what happened? I’m in this to the end.”

“Claire-” Dave tried to argue, but she cut him off.

“I’m not going to be stupid-I have the FBI’s bodyguard, and J.T. Caruso is helping with the missing coroner’s reports.”

“Missing coroner’s reports? What does that mean? Whose?”

She explained about the blank coroner’s reports on Taverton and her mother in the morgue archives.

“And when I get home, I’m going to follow up on some loose ends. I talked to a supervisor from the FBI last night, but they want to fully debrief me later today or tomorrow morning. You might be right, Dave, that I know something important but don’t fully realize its relevance.”

“Thank God you’re all right,” Dave said.

“God and Mitch.”

“What?” Dave asked.

“Mitch Bianchi was in Isleton with his partner. After they arrested Frank Lowe they were driving behind me. When I went into the river, Mitch fished me out.”

Claire hadn’t thanked him. She’d been so hurt, so mad, so confused that she hadn’t even thanked him for saving her life. She’d rectify that, then say good-bye.

Bill said, “We’ll wait until the doctor clears you, then you can come home with us.”

“Thank you, but I need to be home. My animals need to be fed and walked. I can’t go anywhere.”

“It would make us feel better to keep an eye on you,” Dave said. “FBI bodyguard notwithstanding.”

She softened, giving Dave a spontaneous hug. “I appreciate it, really, but I need to be in my own house. I’m sorry for getting so mad at you the other night. I’m okay about it. I know that you were just looking out for me, and I love you, Dave. Never do it again, promise?”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

She’d research her own boyfriends in the future. . if she ever felt like dating again. She doubted it. There was a lot to be said for being alone. You didn’t get your heart shredded.

“Can we stop by later?” Bill asked. “Maybe around lunchtime?”

“Sure,” Claire said. “That would be nice.”

“We’ll bring the food,” Dave said. “Phil, Eric, and Manny have been worried sick about you.”

“But if that’s too much company,” Bill said, hitting Dave, “then we’ll do it later.”

“That’s okay. It’ll keep my mind off my dad’s surgery.”

Claire’s doctor entered with a nurse. “Gentlemen, I need a few moments alone with my patient.”

“Of course,” Bill said. “We’ll see you around noon.” They left.

“Well?” Claire asked the doctor as she checked her vitals and wrote information into her chart.

“It was definitely Rohypnol. Your last urine test came back negative, so I’ll release you. But take it easy for at least the next twenty-four hours.”

“I will.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

Judge Hamilton Drake felt the weight of the world on his shoulders Saturday morning while he watched the sun rise over downtown from his twenty-fourth-floor penthouse balcony. From here, he saw everything. The state capitol, the growing skyscape, of which he was a part. He could see the river and Tower Bridge from the opposite end. He had a 180-degree view of the city he partly owned.

It was over.

Jeffrey was walking around whistling Dixie, stating that everything was hunky-dory and everyone should stay calm, but Hamilton saw his entire world crashing around him. Jeffrey was delusional. Money and power bought a lot of things, but it couldn’t buy some people, and it was those untouchables who had the information that would destroy them. Killing Frank Lowe yesterday had only bought them a little more time.

Which Hamilton was using to pull together his resources and disappear. He already had a false identity, a false passport, and a house in South America. He’d suggested that Richie and Jeffrey pull the plug and put their own escape plans in action. Richie was working on it, but Jeffrey balked. And that’s when Hamilton realized he’d never had an escape plan. Fool.

Judge Drake had gotten a message at the courthouse from Claire O’Brien yesterday, and it wasn’t until late last night that he’d heard about her swim in the river. Why couldn’t she have drowned like the other nosy kid? But that wasn’t the worst of it. Frank Lowe had been alive all these years. What if he’d kept a journal? Told someone? What if he’d spilled his guts to the Feds in the car?

No, if that had happened, Hamilton would be in custody already. Hamilton was the only one who knew the terms of the plea agreement because he’d been the one to arraign Frank Lowe. To protect Jeffrey, Hamilton had orchestrated the murders of Taverton and Lowe. It had been perfect. . until now.

Frank Lowe hadn’t seen anyone except Jeffrey the night they had killed Rose Van Alden, as he’d told Taverton, and he hadn’t recognized Jeffrey until the handsome pol was running for Congress. When Lowe got arrested for home invasion robbery, he didn’t want the jail time and squealed.

They would have paid Lowe enough money to disappear, but he’d already talked to Taverton. There was no making him disappear because Taverton knew what had happened, and could go back to the official records. Find out that Hamilton had drafted Van Alden’s will and forged her signature. Find out that Hamilton had profited from Waterstone Development. Find out that they’d been so greedy, they’d set up the Delta Conservancy in order to keep her money-clean-for their political “housekeeping” activities-bribery, primarily.

Oliver Maddox had gotten close to the truth and had to die. But now too many people knew. They couldn’t kill everyone.

Hamilton sensed before he heard someone behind him.

He turned. Fear clawed up his spine.

Not him. He was a psychopath. A cold-blooded killer. Judge Hamilton only had people killed when there was no other choice. This crazy bastard had fun when he killed.

“I told you: No one touches Claire.”

“I’m leaving this afternoon,” Hamilton said. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to that girl.”