“It means you can’t shoot anyone.”
Theo turned to Michelle. “Promise me you won’t leave The Swan until I get back. No ifs or buts about it. I don’t want to be worrying about you . . .”
“Okay,” she said. She patted his chest and stepped closer. “You be careful too.”
“If there’s any trouble, you do what Noah tells you to do. John Paul, you watch your father’s back. Got that?”
Her brother stopped arguing and gave an abrupt nod. Noah was standing by the front door talking to Daddy. The FBI agent hadn’t bothered to shave and looked scruffy in torn jeans and a faded blue shirt. She went to greet him. She could certainly understand Mary Ann’s interest. There was an element of danger about the man that made women want to run from him and try to rehabilitate him at the same time.
Those blue eyes penetrated as he said, “I heard you had a busy night dodging bullets.”
She couldn’t resist. “I heard you had a busy night too.”
“Yes, I did. Your friend told me to tell you ‘hey.’ I think that means ‘hi,’” he said, grinning. “I sure didn’t have much fun this morning, though. You’d figure a man on vacation should be able to sleep in. “Where’s Theo?” he asked.
“He is on the porch with John Paul. Through the kitchen,” she said.
Noah headed that way, but she stopped him when she said, “Will you please do me a favor?”
“Sure,” he said. “What is it?”
“Put up with my brother.”
Noah laughed. “I can get along with anyone.”
“Want to bet?”
It was too bad she hadn’t wagered money because she would have won. Less than three minutes had passed when the shouting started. Her brother was doing most of the yelling, but Noah was keeping up.
Theo came into the kitchen with Noah’s car keys. Michelle winced when she heard her brother call Noah a grossly obscene name.
Theo heard it too. Grinning, he said, “I knew they’d get along.”
Her eyes widened. “You call that getting along?” “
You don’t hear any gunshots, do you? Noah likes your brother.”
Then she heard her brother threaten Noah. His vocabulary was not only colorful, but creative. After that, Noah threatened John Paul in his own rather colorful and creative way. His threat would ensure John Paul would never father children.
“Oh, I can tell he likes him a lot.”
“The two of them have a great deal in common. What’d I do with my glasses?”
“They’re on the table. Exactly what could they have in common?”
“They’re both mean as snakes,” he said as he picked up the glasses and folded them.
“Noah’s not mean. He smiles all the time.”
“Yes, he does,” he agreed. “And that’s what makes him more dangerous. You don’t see it coming until it’s too late. Some of the stories I’ve heard about him from my brother are chilling, which is why Noah’s going to be watching out for you.”
He draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her along to the front door.
“You haven’t told me why you need to go to New Orleans.”
“I’m going to check out some things,” he said, which really wasn’t an answer to her question.
He leaned down and kissed her. It was a quick brush of his mouth against hers, and it was thoroughly unsatisfying in her opinion. He must have thought so, because after he let go of her and opened the door, he roughly pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. This one was vastly different.
Smiling, he pulled the door closed behind him. Michelle stood by the window watching until Theo had driven away. He had John Paul on his guard looking out for Daddy, and Noah was supposed to babysit her. Who was going to watch out for Theo? She shook her head. No worry, she told herself. Detective Harris would make the arrests any minute now.
What more could happen?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Sowing Club had gathered in John’s motel room in St. Claire.
John was going through the papers, making certain the entire printout was there, while Dallas, Cameron, and Preston silently waited. He finally finished, looked up, and laughed.
“The bitch even included a copy of the letter she wrote to me,” he said.
“I’m still making a protest,” Preston said. “The way we got those papers back was too risky.”
“Does that matter now? We’re in the clear.”
Dallas disagreed. “Not until we’ve gotten rid of Buchanan and the doctor. And we’ve got to do it tonight, thanks to yet another one of Cameron’s screwups.”
“Look, I panicked. Okay? I saw Buchanan looking out the window, and I thought I could get him, so I shot at him.”
“We had decided to go in easy,” Preston reminded him.
“I was desperate to get him . . . for the good of the club,” Cameron stammered. “Besides, Buchanan doesn’t know I shot at him, and it stands to reason that he would assume someone’s after him. Dallas, you did the background check. You’re the one who told us the guy has gotten death threats.”
Preston nodded. “No time to waste. We have to kill them tonight.”
“I wonder if the doctor has remembered where she’s seen Cameron,” Dallas said.
None of them looked at Cameron as they thought about that.
“I told you I was sick of waiting,” Cameron said.
“You had no right . . .” Preston began.
John put his hand up. “Let it go,” he said. “It’s done and Cameron regrets his mistakes. Isn’t that right?” he asked.
It wasn’t what he said but how he said it, with such feigned kindness, that made Cameron see what was happening.
“John’s right,” Dallas said. “Cameron has been our friend for too many years to let a couple of mistakes ruin anything. Forgive and forget. Right, Preston?”
Preston smiled. “Yeah, okay. Want a drink, Cam?”
He shook his head. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. “I should pack up and head back to New Orleans . . . unless you’ve changed your mind, John, and want me to stay and help.”
“Help with what?”
“Buchanan and the doctor. You’re going to go after them tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” John said. “But both of them have seen your face, so you can’t stay around. We’ve gone over this, Cameron. Go home and wait. I’ll call you after it’s finished, and we’ll go out and celebrate.”
“The doctor saw you at the funeral too. How come you’re staying here?”
“To coordinate,” he said.
Cameron stood. “Where’s Monk?” he asked, squelching the mounting fear inside him.
“Out buying some equipment. Why do you want to know?”
Cameron shrugged. “Is he going to help you get Buchanan?”
“Yes,” Dallas answered.
“What about the FBI agent, the man named Clayborne.”
“Let us worry about him,” John said smoothly. “You better get going now.”
“Don’t worry,” Dallas said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Cameron went outside and pulled the door closed. Because he thought one of them might be watching him through the crack in the drapes, he strolled to the corner as though he wasn’t in any particular hurry. He turned toward his room and then started running. When he reached the door, he pulled out his gun, cocked it, and rushed inside.
He half expected to find Monk waiting for him, but the room was empty. He gagged, so great was his relief. He threw his clothes into his overnight bag, grabbed his car keys, and ran to his car. Desperate to get away, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The car fishtailed out of the parking lot.
John had told him to go home and wait. That’s where it was going to happen, he decided. Would his dear friends come after him, or would they send Monk to kill him? Either way, Cameron knew he was a dead man. He pulled onto the highway, checking the rearview mirror every other second to make sure he wasn’t being followed by Monk now. There were no cars behind him. Cameron finally allowed himself to exhale, letting out a long, loud breath. His hands were clammy and shaking. He struggled to hold them steady on the steering wheel, and then he began to cry.
He had to go to his apartment because he had money stashed under one of the floorboards, and he would need it when he left town. He had time, he told himself. They would need Monk to help them with Buchanan. Yes, he had time.
Cameron was quivering so badly now he knew the only thing that would calm him down and help him think was a drink. He pulled off the highway at the next exit and started looking for a bar.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Phillip Benchley was not a happy camper. The attorney had just stepped onto the first tee of the back nine at the prestigious New Orleans Country Club when he was summoned to the clubhouse to meet with an attorney from the U.S. Department of Justice.
Impatient but polite, he announced, “My friends are waiting,” as he walked into the locker room and sat down on a bench to retie his black-and-white saddle golf shoes. “I would appreciate it if you would make this quick.”
Theo introduced himself. The second Benchley heard that the case he wanted to discuss involved John Russell, his manner improved and he actually smiled.
“You’re investigating John Russell? Oh, I’d love it if you could get that prick. The sheer arrogance of the man is unbelievable. When Catherine Russell called me and asked me to change her will, it took all I had not to cheer. She never should have married that man. Never,” he repeated. “Now, tell me, what can I do to help you nail him?”
“You told FBI agent Noah Clayborne that you sent Dr. Michelle Renard a package from Catherine. Isn’t that right?”
Benchley nodded. “Yes, I did, but, as I explained to him, if you’re wanting to know what was inside, you’ll have to ask the doctor. Catherine gave me a sealed envelope and instructed me not to open it.”
“The envelope was taken away before Michelle could look at it,” he said. “Catherine didn’t give you any hint of what was inside? Anything about a financial statement or an audit? Anything at all?” Theo asked.
“No, but I’ll tell you this. Whatever it was must have been explosive, because Catherine assured me that once John knew about it, he wouldn’t dare contest the will. She was very sure about that.”
“He signed a prenup?”
“Yes, he did, but John’s an attorney and he’s smart. He wouldn’t have let that much money slip through his fingers. He would have taken it to court.”
“How come you waited six weeks from the time of her death to read the will?”
“You’ve been doing your research. Again, I was following Catherine’s instructions.” He smiled as he added, “She was a bit vindictive, and she told me to wait so that John’s bills would pile up. He lived the high life, was indiscreet, and used her trust money to buy his mistresses presents. When Catherine found out about his adultery, she called me and told me she was changing the will.”
“Did you attend the funeral?”
“I went to the mass,” he said. “But I didn’t go to the cemetery.”
“Michelle said there was only a handful of mourners. Did you know any of them?”
“I knew the housekeeper, Rosa Vincetti. I met her when I came to the house to discuss the changes in the will.”
“What about John’s coworkers or friends?”
“A couple of men and women from the trust department where he works were there. I talked to one man, and he introduced me to the others, but I don’t remember their names.”
“What about John’s friends?”
“Let me think,” he said. “I remember there was a woman standing in the back of the church. She told me she was Catherine’s interior designer but that she had also redecorated John’s office. As I was leaving the church, she chased me and handed me one of her cards. I thought that was most inappropriate, and as soon as I got back to the office, I threw the card away. The only other person I remember seeing was Cameron Lynch. He’s a close friend of John’s.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He’s a stockbroker,” Benchley said. “A very successful broker,” he stressed. “I had heard of him, but I’d never met him until the day of the funeral. I remember thinking that he was an alcoholic. It wasn’t a charitable thought, granted, but he smelled like booze, and his eyes were bloodshot. I’m certain he was hungover. He also had that look about him — you know what I mean, the gray skin, red nose, puffy eyes, indicating he had been a heavy drinker for some time. Cameron stayed close to John and sat in the pew with him like he was family.”
“Did John speak to you?”
“Are you kidding? He looked right through me, and I must say, I did get a chuckle out of that. The man despises me, and that couldn’t make me happier.”
heo was almost finished. He asked a couple more questions, then thanked Benchley for his help and left. The attorney had thoughtfully called his secretary and gotten the addresses Theo needed.
He had at least two more stops before he could head back to Bowen.
Theo needed to make sure Cameron Lynch was the man Michelle and he had seen the night before. He drove to the brokerage firm and went into the lobby. He had already come up with a good lie to tell the receptionist so she would find a photo for him, but that wasn’t necessary. As soon as he walked through the doors, he saw a eight-by-ten color photo of Cameron Lynch on the wall. Theo came to a dead stop. There was a grouping displaying all the brokers in the firm. Cameron was in the middle. Theo glanced at the receptionist. She was talking into her headset but smiling at him. Theo smiled back. Then he lifted the photo off the wall, turned around, and walked out.
He needed help with the next stop. He called Captain Welles, the man who had introduced him at the awards ceremony, and asked him for assistance. Then he drove to Cameron Lynch’s apartment, located in a sleazy neighborhood adjacent to the newly refurbished warehouse district. He parked his car down the street and waited for two detectives from the captain’s precinct to arrive.
The two men pulled up behind him fifteen minutes later. Detective Underwood, the senior of the two, shook Theo’s hand.
“The captain told us you’re the man who got The Count. It’s an honor to meet you.”
