Chapter 16
“Be the wolf. The wolf is relentless never quits and doesn’t look back.” ~Unknown
Gwen
Finally. The clock on the wall of the all-night gym reads six. Yawning, I close my computer and wait at the bus stop. After breakfast, I’ll rent a car. In the meantime, I’ll add more risks and tasks to my project’s timeline.
For the hundredth time, I check my messages, then sigh. By now, I was sure Wulf would’ve messaged an apology. He could’ve at least reviewed my well-thought-out plan and together, made it better. Instead, he treated me like a child.
Girrll, if he finds your eavesdropping app on his phone, he’s gonna have a coronary.
Whatever. He’s done the exact same thing to me. The difference is that I know how to disable it, yet more proof I’m as capable as he is.
While I sign the rental car agreement, last night replays in my mind’s eye. I half-expected Axel to prevent me from leaving the hotel. Because he didn’t, I skip the first task and move to the next one on my list.
Driving to DC, I glance in my rearview mirror and imagine all the parties tracking me—Ledbetter, Danbury, Patten Securities, the FBI, and possibly Brittany. No woman has ever had more surveillance coming home from the beach.
Four hours later, I climb onto a blue Victorian front porch and ring the smart bell. A dog barks, children yell, and when the door opens, an opened-armed Callie smiles and pulls me into a hug.
“Mommy!” Abbie crashes into my legs.
Lowering to my knees, I pull her close. What follows can only be described as a riot of kids, food, explanations, and many relatives. As the daughter of a drug addict mom who died when I was about Abbie’s age, I relish these moments with my friends and hope their loving vibe will rub off on me.
Peanut butter sandwich in one hand, my sweetheart tugs on my waistband. “Are we going home?”
The day I married Axel, he adopted my sweetie pie, and we vowed to be a forever family. Ignoring the melee of youngsters and pets, I scoot my chair closer to my daughter and bend over.
“Honey, I need your help.” As my eyes meet hers, I pray I can make her understand.
“O-tay.” Black curly locks fly about her head as she nods.
“Your father is in trouble and needs Mommy’s help.” Unsure if I’m conveying my message appropriately, I glance over at Callie.
While the more experienced Mom nods her encouragement from across the table, Abbie skews her face.
“Isn’t Bear protecting him?” Eyes on me, the six-year-old chomps down on her bread.
“Sometimes people need more than a dog.” I don’t want to scare her, but she needs to understand I wouldn’t leave her unless it was important.
“My new daddy works for the FBI. They can catch anyone. He told me so.” Her confidence warms my heart, and more than anything, I wish it were true.
Reaching long, I tweak herbutton nose. “You’re right. Sometimes, they want scientists, like me, to do research and make lists.”
Abbie touches her forehead to mine and squeezes my cheeks. “You be safe and call if you need me. Wait. I need to show you something.”
My precious daughter runs to the refrigerator, pulls off her first-grader drawing, and hands it to me. “I made this for you.”
In the family portrait, we all smile, including the dog. Axel’s T-shirt has the letters FBI on it while my laptop bag hangs over my shoulder.
“Thank you. It’s colorful, and the tall one looks just like Daddy.” Swallowing the lump in my throat, I hug her. “Behave for Uncle Lucky and Aunt Callie. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Are you still on your honeymoon?” Her innocent question reminds me of the havoc Miss Brittany Babcock caused.
“No. We’re all done.” My chest tightens. What should’ve been a lovely week of sex, sun, and sand turned into a nightmare.
“Darn.” Abbie’s frown brings me back to the here and now, in my boss’ bright yellow kitchen.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I wonder if she overheard something about Axel’s arrest or the murder.
“Polly said you might make me a little sister or brother.” Her eyebrows raise in expectation, as if I could pull a sibling from the car’s back seat.
At the mention of her name, the oldest and most precocious of Callie’s kids grins and waves.
Face heated, I push my imp toward the other. “How about you take your friend outside and play? We’ll talk about this later.”
Once she skips off, I turn to Lucky and his wife, sending the rest of the brood into the living room.
Now alone at the kitchen table, I ask, “So, did you find any flaws in my plan?”
Lochlan scowls. “Don’t do this. Callie, tell her.”
My bestie and staunchest supporter shakes her head. “We’ve gone over every scenario. There is no better way to bring down Ledbetter.”
Her giant bodyguard stands and lowers into the chair vacated by my daughter. “You are not an operative.”
“I know, which is why I’m asking for your help. I’m neither careless nor stupid. If everyone does their part, we’ll capture Ledbetter and prove Axel’s innocence.”
“There are risks you can’t possibly account for.” The easy-going Aussie will be difficult to convince, but I must try.
“If my scheme fails, the Bureau and Patten Securities can develop counteroffensives. We need the video file.” I’m no martyr. I genuinely believe that whatever happens, my husband will find the manpower to make it right.
“What about your daughter? What will she do with both her parents gone?” Lucky’s pulled out all the stops, but I cannot and will not be deterred.
“Should the unthinkable happen, Abigail will be proud knowing I died to save the man I love. I will trust you two to raise her well, and someday, you will tell her about this conversation.” Frightened I am losing this argument, I turn to Callie.
“What if it were Lucky accused of murder? What would you do?” While my heart drums in my ears, she and her husband exchange worried glances.
Finally, my boss stands, takes his hand, and sits in his lap. “It comes down to this, will the FBI believe Wulf’s turkey-baster theory?”
“Bloody hell. Not unless he has solid proof.” His admission is the approval I need to proceed.
So, as thunder grumbles in the distance, we call the kids back into the house. I say my goodbyes with their promise to back me up, no matter what.
Now, sitting outside their DC home in the rental car, I take a deep breath. As heavy rain pounds on the windshield, I pick up the burner phone, press the green icon, and bite my lower lip.
I count six rings before Danbury picks up. “So, you ready to trade?”
“Yes. First, I want to see the whole video.” Cloud-to-cloudlightning flashes across the sky, the wind whips up the fir trees over the street. For a moment, I think he may have hung up.
“Okay, check your email, luv.” His message contains nothing but a link, so I click it.
Seconds go by before the .mov file opens. In yellow, low-watt lighting, the fisheye lens picks up three stalls and a baby changing station.
Like before, the look-alikes argue until Brittany gives in. “If you don’t want to do me a favor, forget it.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t.” After Joanne swaps purses with her roommate, she unzips hers and extracts a lipstick tube.
“Is he here?” Leaning over the sink, a white cotton dress halfway up her ass, the victim reapplies bright red coloring.
“I promise, babe. You are going to love my silver fox.” The murderess steps behind the girl and cups her ample breasts.
“Is he built?” Her unsuspecting victim swivels from her grasp, lifts her butt on the counter, and spreads her legs.
As Babcock massages Cormack’s clit, the now-dead woman leans back on her elbows.
A time-traveling voyeur, I hold my breath and wish like hell I could turn away.
“Oh God, do it.” Joanne pants.
Slowly and methodically, Brittany unties her roommate’s silk scarf and then cinches it over her neck.
“Harder.” These are probably the last words this poor, unfortunate girl will utter.
My husband’s ex-partner finger-fucks the woman with one hand and chokes her with the other.
A scream of ecstasy later, Cormack drops to the floor. Kicking out, she claws at her throat, but it’s too late.
Showing no remorse, the killer pulls out a vial, pokes a needle into the top, and draws up the plunger. Next, she kneels beside the body and inserts the liquids into the vagina.
Once the video ends, I open the car door.
As I hurl into the shrubs by the driveway, Danbury’s smug voice returns. “Real enough for you?”
“How do I know you will send it?” I could work for Ledbetter, but never receive proof of my husband’s innocence. Mentally, I move this possibility to the top of my list of risks.
“You’ll simply have to trust me.” He sounds so sure of himself, I want to reach through the airwaves and slap his stupid face.
Instead, I calm my tone, as if speaking to a team of insolent developers. “Let’s discuss this, shall we?”