Chapter Fifteen #3
“You might be able to answer that question better than I ever could,” Rafferty said smoothly.
Deliberately, Rafferty picked up his coffee mug and took a sip, indicating he was done with the conversation now that he’d delivered what he was certain was the winning salvo.
He had his familiar smug sneer on his face.
“I would think it’s the corruption that draws them,” Zale said.
“Easier to get away with murder if suspicion is being thrown on innocent people. That can bring serial killers, thinking they have carte blanche to do what they want, or bring hunters of justice.” He gave a casual shrug.
“Guess the draw is for both kinds of killers.”
Rafferty nearly spewed his coffee across the table.
Definitely, suspicion had fallen on Shabina, and Rafferty had perpetuated it, muddying the waters of the investigation.
He had denied it, but the two FBI agents assigned to the case had lodged complaints against him.
Shabina had refused to turn evidence of his nephew’s harassment over to the sheriff’s office, instead filing a restraining order and using military connections to preserve the evidence she knew would disappear.
In the past, evidence had disappeared anytime the crime involved Bale.
“Approaching now,” Wilder heard. “Five minutes.” The crew was equipped with earpieces to stay in communication and the audio was crystal clear.
Rainier had two men outside on the roof to protect his crew.
He had stationed those he knew and trusted with the women in the back room.
One guarded the back entrance to the café.
Inside the café, at one of the tables in the middle of the room, two of Rainier’s newest recruits were eating lunch and blending in with the locals.
Wilder didn’t like the newer recruits at his back while he was concentrating on protecting his woman from the senator and his chosen reporters.
He didn’t know them and didn’t trust them.
Blom wouldn’t just put a hit out on Wilder that could be traced back to him.
He had to couch his treachery in orders to men who didn’t know Wilder or his reputation—meaning newer recruits.
Trainees. Men like the two who had gone to Rainier and asked for jobs.
He knew Rainier would have vetted them, but he mainly hired men who left Blom’s employ.
Since Wilder didn’t know them, they couldn’t have been in Blom’s employ long, if at all.
He would have to talk with Rainier and find out more about the two men, but in the meantime, he would have to watch his back at all times.
That wasn’t anything new. He’d been on his own a long time and had always preferred it that way.
Now he had something to live for. Now staying alive mattered.
He could see the sleek SUV with the illegally tinted windows pull into the parking lot with three others in tight formation. The senator’s assistant stepped out of the second SUV, the two female reporters out of another, while the senator’s security team emerged from the vehicle parked beside his.
They were too slow—far too slow to surround the senator, who hadn’t waited for them before he stepped out of the SUV.
Either of the two snipers on the roof could have assassinated the senator before his team even reached him.
None of them looked up toward the roof. They did have the sense to eye the two men blocking the door.
The team exchanged uneasy looks, but they didn’t interfere with the senator’s plans.
He hadn’t waited for someone to get the door; instead, he threw it open himself and boldly stood in the parking lot beside his car.
It was significant to Wilder that he didn’t bother to help his wife out.
He was far too busy posing, waiting for the two reporters to leap out, rush over and snap photos of him.
He looked sober, almost regal, his poses smooth from his years of practice.
Keith Frye should have gotten an Oscar for his performance.
Wilder could see how his constituents would believe him; he was that good.
He looked the epitome of a family man, one who went to church and practiced the rhetoric he preached daily.
The one thing Wilder found lacking in his performance was his care of his wife.
Holly Frye had exited the vehicle on the opposite side, careful not to interfere with her husband’s grand performance.
She stood at the bumper of the SUV looking like the perfect wife.
Her skirt and blouse were demure but very stylish.
She wore serviceable heels and clutched a purse in front of her with both hands.
Wilder could see the red in her hair, although it was mostly washed to a silvery red.
She wore it short, but on her, the style was elegant.
She was tall, and her face was ageless. Holly Frye was a beautiful, deceptive woman playing her part in the show her husband was putting on for his audience.
The arrogance of the senator and his security team was astonishing to Wilder.
Holly didn’t have a single security guard on her.
It hadn’t been that difficult to hack into the senator’s private files and discover the same escalating death threats made to him and his wife that Harlow had received.
Those threats, while similar to Harlow’s and clearly made by the same person, were far worse in terms of language and explicit content.
The fact that the senator and his security didn’t take those threats seriously showed they believed Keith Frye to be untouchable.
Just looking at Rainier and Wilder standing in front of the open door should have made them more than uneasy.
Wilder remained still, simply waiting. The senator’s performance was winding down, and he finally lifted his head and looked toward the front of the café.
He had an audience. There was patio seating outside the front and one side of the café.
All the tables were full. The three reporters who had come at Rainier’s request were seated at the outer tables, where they could record every word said.
Neither Senator Frye nor his security team noticed the cameras.
The senator was now focused on the two men standing in the doorway.
He started toward them and then reached out his hand to his wife without looking at her.
Holly came forward instantly. Wilder could tell that move was also practiced from the easy way he took her hand, and how she walked beside him completely in sync.
Her elegance elevated the senator’s good looks, creating the perfect picture for the world.
Wilder knew masks and read them easily. He’d survived by learning how to read people from the time he was a very young boy.
Harlow had grown up with her parents hiding their true characters behind the faces of good.
Of piousness. His father had worn the face of evil proudly.
He hadn’t tried to hide what he was. Wilder just had to learn to read the expressions and his eyes to know what he was thinking or about to do.
Harlow, as a young child, couldn’t have known those masks her parents wore with such proficiency weren’t real.
She’d had to learn over time, and those lessons had to have been painful.
Wilder resolved that he would never, under any circumstances, hide what he was or what he was thinking from her.
They would have a relationship, hopefully one of mutual respect.
He admired her and vowed to himself to create a home, an atmosphere of love and safety, for her.
He wanted to give her everything he felt she deserved.
All the things she should have had. He intended to do the same for their children.
He had no idea how Harlow had remained a loving, giving person when her parents were monsters hidden beneath those all-too-innocent-looking masks.
But they were finished harassing her and making her life miserable.
One way or another, he would see to that. His solutions tended to be permanent.
The senator’s men should have surrounded the Fryes and made certain they were safe as they came up the walkway, but as usual, the goal was the photo opportunities. They wanted Harlow to complete the family picture they presented to the world.
“Senator, Mrs. Frye,” Rainier said. “This is my establishment, and, in this state, I have the right to refuse service to anyone. I am exercising that right.”
The senator looked shocked, one hand going to his chest, over his heart. “For what reasons would you refuse to allow my wife and me into your café?”
Wilder had to admit his tone was perfection. A soft inquiry. No belligerence, just what appeared to be genuine puzzlement.
“I have a list of reasons, starting with the fact that the young woman you tried to rape when she was staying with your daughter is here in this café, and she does not want to be in the same room with you. Then there’s the fact that you showed up here with a serial killer who had tortured and raped my wife, expecting, even demanding, she allow him in. ”
Rainier didn’t raise his voice. In fact, he spoke low, but his tone carried. Around them, conversation faltered, and suddenly all attention was on the scene.
The senator became aware of the reporters, not handpicked by him, videoing the altercation between him and Rainier. Holly froze, two bright spots of color staining her cheeks.
“You had better be able to prove these inflammatory lies,” the senator said.
“I have proof,” Rainier said quietly.