Roy felt his fist clench. In his fourteen years as a divorce attorney, he’d seen too many cases like this. His eyes burned into Landry.

  “She’s leaving me, Roy. She’s leaving me for a stranger she only met two months ago.”

  “And you hit her for that?”

  Tim glanced at the door. “She’s okay, right? Just a little slap to air things out.”

  “Like this one?” Roy caught him square on the jaw sending him sprawling into the bushes.

  Tim shook his head and scrambled to his feet. “You son of a bitch!” He wound up to throw a punch, but he’d picked the wrong adversary. Roy gripped him by the collar and slammed him against the stucco wall. “Go ahead big shot! Take that big swing and show me how tough you are!”

  He watched Tim slump against the wall, but Roy wasn’t done. He tightened his grip and pressed his face toward his one-time friend until they were nose-to-nose. “Listen good, tough guy. She should’ve left you a long time ago.”

  Tim swiped at Colby’s wrist in a futile effort to break free, but the Northwest’s top divorce attorney wasn’t about to let go. He jerked Tim against the wall and snapped a menacing finger at his face. “Better get yourself a good divorce attorney, Counselor, because it will be you against me in the courtroom.”

  Tim stared at him in disbelief. “You would defend her against me?”

  “Better believe it, Counselor.” He released his grip and stepped back. “Now show me how tough you are.”

  Tim wiped the blood off his lip. He pushed away from the wall and hesitated, his eyes locked on Colby. “So this is where it finally comes out.” He made a menacing move forward, but stopped when Colby clenched his fists.

  Tim glared at him. “My so-called friend.” He waved his hand in disgust. “Well ... go ahead and defend her. I’ll handle it my way.” He turned and staggered down the drive.

  CHAPTER 32

  Missing

  Carmichael swerved his car into the empty parking lot. He eased the car forward, his eyes squinting at the flickering neon sign —

  Crest Motel

  He eased the car closer, his headlights illuminating the motel’s weathered exterior. Nothing — no sign of life.

  He stepped out of the car and eyed the cinders. He could see tire depressions, but the loose cinders made an imprint impossible. He frowned and walked toward the motel’s office, his shoes crunching the cinders.

  The door was unlocked. He pushed it open and stared at the dust-covered front-desk while recalling the night he and his partner staked out Haden’s passionate rendezvous with Mrs. Landry. The motel seemed active then, its flickering red neon sign lighting the parking lot.

  He hesitated. No other cars, remember? The only cars in the lot belonged to the two lovebirds.

  He pushed through the maroon curtain behind the desk. Nothing — no furniture or signs of habitation — just more dust.

  He stepped out of the office and scanned the trees surrounding the lot. Hard to believe a motel in this pleasant setting would have gone out of business, but anything was possible in this screwed-up economy.

  He walked past the vacant rooms, occasionally pushing one of the doors open to confirm there was nothing inside. When he reached Room One, he tried to turn the knob, but the door was locked. He pulled out his lock-pick-kit and selected the right tool. A quick jiggle in the keyhole and he was inside.

  It was like stepping into another motel, a beautifully furnished room complete with a king-size bed, desk, table, dresser, and bay window overlooking a tree-covered slope and Puget Sound.

  The bathroom floored him. He looked down at the flushing toilet. Shower worked too, and the sink faucet. Even hot water.

  Carmichael retreated into the room and sat on the bed. It made no sense. How could a bankrupt motel have a beautifully furnished room overlooking Puget Sound when the rest of the place was falling apart? He shook his head and pushed off the bed.

  He was leaving the room when he flicked the light switch and watched the overhead go on. He leaned against the wall, his eyes on the room. “Where the hell are you, Merv? What the hell happened?”

  He spent the next hour searching the motel for anything that might explain the whereabouts of his partner. The only thing he found was a small water heater in the motel’s utility room. From the looks of the glowing pilot light, someone was paying the utility departments to keep the gas, water, and electricity flowing to Room One in an otherwise deserted motel.

  He jotted a reminder on his notebook. He would check with the utility companies when he got back to the office.

  Before leaving, he shuffled down the cinder path to the water. He walked along the narrow shore, his eyes searching for anything out of the ordinary, anything indicating a struggle. Nothing — not a damn thing. He shook his head and retreated up the path.

  Carmichael slipped into his car and rested his gnarled fingers on the wheel. He sighed and stared at the motel.

  Merv had to follow Charles Haden here. This was Haden’s lair, his modus operandi, the place that turned him on. Just get that latest married woman in the sack and work your magic, and she was yours — right Mr. Haden?

  Carmichael sat in the cold darkness, his mind tossing the pros and cons of calling in the police. He finally turned on the ignition and sped out of the lot. Had he checked the slope above the motel, he might have spotted the deserted Nissan concealed in the trees. The cops found it the next day.

  CHAPTER 33

  The Final Warning

  “Mom?”

  Janine opened her swollen eyes and tried to focus on the blurred image looking down at her.

  Marla grasped her mother’s hand. “Did he do this?”

  Janine felt her daughter’s hand tremble. She mustered her courage and forced out the words. “Don’t hate him, honey. This is between him and me.”

  Marla pulled her hand away. “How can you say that? You gave everything to him and this is your reward? What kind of husband does this to his wife?”

  Janine turned her head away. “A bitter man, honey ... a man in need of help.”

  “You expect me to feel sorry for him?” Marla clenched her fist. “If I was a man I’d kill him!”

  Janine felt a ringing in her ears. Everything was fading. The last thing she heard was her daughter’s shrieking voice.

  “I hate him! I’ll hate him to my dying day!”

  She felt a warm hand on hers.

  “Janine?”

  She blinked at the sunlit face. “Am I dreaming?”

  Haden smiled. “Afraid not.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Special forces, remember?” He leaned toward her. “Looks like you’ve had your own war.”

  She squeezed his hand and winced from the sun beaming through the hospital room window.

  “I take it, you told him.”

  She nodded faintly.

  “And he didn’t handle it very well.”

  “Not very well.”

  “Was that your daughter leaving.”

  Janine turned her head toward him. “This isn’t working, Charles. My husband tried to kill me, his best friend tried to kill him, and my daughter hates the ground her father walks on.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her bandaged jaw. “Is it broken?”

  “No ... just a concussion. They want to keep me here tonight for observation.”

  Haden reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Maybe this will ease the pain.” He slipped the paper in her hand and watched her hold it in front of her eyes.

  She dropped her hand, her eyes beaming through the bruises. “The paintings?”

  He smiled. “Why so surprised? I told you they sold.”

  “But I thought—”

  His smile faded. “I made it up?” He stroked her arm. “You still don’t get it. I love you, Janine ... more than you know.”

  She gripped his hand. “Then ... it’s really over with her?”

  “It’s been over since the last time I saw her. Forget her, Janine. Lynn is dead. They’re all dead.”

  She tried to sit up, but the dizziness stopped her. She felt his arms around her, his cheek against hers, his lips caressing her ear.

  “We love you, Janine.”

  “We?”

  “Me and the tiger.”

  “The...?” She felt the sedative overwhelm her. She was barely awake when he stroked her forehead.

  “He shouldn’t have done this to you.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Get Out!

  Beatrice released the intercom button and gestured toward the door. “Mr. Simpson will see you now, Tim.”

  Tim nodded and stepped around her desk. He paused, his hands clasped. “Sounds serious.”

  She gave him that phony smile and went about her business, her fingers racing across the keys of her pc.

  Simpson was seated at his desk, his eyes focused on a document. Sunlight streamed into the room from the window behind him.

  “Sir, you wanted to see me?”

  Simpson breathed a heavy sigh and leaned back in his leather chair. “Come in, Tim.” He gestured to the chair facing his desk.

  Tim sat down while recalling their last meeting a few weeks ago. Happy ending then, maybe this time too. After all, bonus time was approaching and he’d been made a full partner.

  Simpson eyed the document in his hands. He frowned and leaned forward, his hand extending the document. “Have you seen this?”

  Tim took the document from Simpson’s hand and stared at it. He recognized Roy Colby’s signature at the bottom of Janine Landry’s testimony.

  Simpson stroked his thin white hair. “I’m really sorry, Tim. I had no idea your problem had gone this far.”

  Tim lowered the document. “Sir, I haven’t touched a drop of liquor since we met in this office.”

  Simpson nodded at the document. “Then why did you lose control?”

  Tim tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. The Northwest’s most prestigious corporate lawyer was tongue-tied in front of the old man seated across from him.

  Simpson opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a second one-page document. He eyed it before sliding it across the desk. “I’m very sorry about this, Tim. You were my most promising attorney.” He looked down. “I’m truly sorry.”

  Tim lifted the document and stared at it. He lowered it, his stunned eyes on his boss. “This is a severance agreement, sir.”

  Simpson nodded.

  “You want me to sign it?”

  Simpson rested his hands on the desk. “If there were an alternative, I would have jumped at it.” He stared at the counselor, his eyes glistening. “You’re like a son to me, Tim, but you give me no choice. We must think of the firm.”

  Tim looked down at the severance agreement while listening to Simpson’s subdued voice.

  “It’s a year’s severance at full pay. No bonuses of course, but you will retain all health benefits for the next year.” The old man’s voice broke. “I would recommend using those benefits.”

  Tim felt a rush of anger. “You mean the psychological ones?”

  Simpson leaned forward. “You need help, young man. It’s more than the drinking. Something is eating at you and it’s out of control.” Simpson pushed back from the desk. “I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to offer advice. It’s your choice.”

  Tim fell back in his chair, his eyes on the document.

  “Are you alright, Tim?”

  “Funny.”

  Simpson eyed him. “Funny?”

  “You spend eighteen years of your life giving everything you have, only to have it crushed by a one page testimony and one page severance agreement.”

  Simpson looked down. “I warned you, Tim. I really tried.”

  Tim locked his green eyes on his boss. “How long do I have?”

  Simpson’s compassionate expression disappeared. “I expect us to resolve this now.”

  Tim glanced at the paper. “I believe I have seven days.”

  “I prefer you sign it now.”

  Tim glared at him. “Try that and I’ll sue you for everything your worth.”

  Simpson stared at him. “Okay, Counselor, seven days, but one second more and the offer will be withdrawn.”

  Tim leaned toward him. “Then what, big shot?”

  Simpson stood up, his finger pointed at the door. “Get out!”

  Tim flung the document on the desk. “Then what, you arrogant pervert? Another blowjob from your abused daughter?” He stood up, his eyes on fire. “You try to ruin me and so help me god, I’ll take you with me.”

  Simpson was enraged. He pressed the intercom and shouted, “Beatrice, call the police, we have an issue in here.”

  Tim stood up and kicked the chair aside. He stepped around the desk and gripped Simpson’s open vest. “Listen close, pervert. If you take me to court, I’ll fry you! You’ll curse the day you were born!”

  Simpson collapsed in his chair. He could hear the approaching siren outside the window. He looked at Landry with shocked eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “You know what I’m saying, big shot. You and Betty had a really good time after your wife died from cancer. If it weren’t for your PI friends cleaning up the mess, you’d be taking it up the rear in state prison.”

  Beatrice rushed into the room and grasped his arm. “Get hold of yourself, Counselor. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Tim glared at the shaken man in the chair. “Don’t I? Then ask your boss about his family life.”

  Simpson clutched his racing heart. He looked at his secretary and gasped for breath. “Get out, Beatrice.”

  She looked at him in shock.

  “Get out and tell the police it was a false alarm.”

  “Sir?” She backed away while trying to make sense of his words.

  “I said out!” Simpson stood up, his finger pointed at the door, but it was too late. Two cops charged into the office, their hands on their unsnapped holsters.

  Tim lifted his hands, his eyes on Simpson who was pleading with the cops.

  “No ... it’s a mistake. There’s no need for this.”

  It was too late for excuses. The cops cuffed them both and ushered them out of the office. Not the greatest sight for the two attorneys returning from lunch. They stepped aside, their stunned eyes watching the cops escort Counselor Landry and Mr. Simpson through the front lobby.

  Harland Curling stared at the scene in disbelief. “They’re wearing cuffs.”

  Roy nodded. “Yeah ... how about that.” He folded his arms and watched them disappear through the glass doors.

  Curling scratched his head. “What the hell happened?”

  Roy unfolded his arms and nodded at the elevator. “Not our business, let’s get back to work.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Out of Control

  Hank skidded into the garage, his face red-hot. He stormed out of the T-Bird and pushed through the side door into the pantry. There were no smells of food. The kitchen was deserted. It was seven o’clock at the Landrys and their son was enraged.

  He burst into the dimly lit foyer. The living room was dark, but light was visible beneath the closed library doors.

  Hank clenched his fists and charged across the living room. He stopped at the doors and pressed his head against the wood. “Dad, you in there?”

  There was no response. Hank gripped the twin handles and opened the doors.

  The light came from the table lamp beside the couch on his right. The left side of the room was bathed in shadows, its semicircular bookshelves framing the mahogany desk.

  Hank stepped toward the man slumped in the leather chair behind the desk. He stopped and looked down at his father.

  Tim smiled through bloodshot eyes. “Hello, son.”

  Hank’s voice trembled. “I just came from the hospital. I’ve been with Mom.”

  Tim looked down. “Is she okay?”

  Hank placed his hands on the desk. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

  Tim shook his head. “I never lie to my son.”

  Hank’s fingers dug into the wood. He looked down and cringed. “Her jaw’s swollen. She has a concussion.”

  Tim looked at his son with pleading eyes. “I’m so sorry, Hank. I never meant to—”

  “She’s my mother!” Hank slammed his fist on the desk. The cracking sound wasn’t splintering wood.

  Tim watched his son reel in pain, his left hand clutching his right. He heard the muffled groan and stood up, his hands extended. “God, are you all right?”

  Hank backed away from him. “Don’t you touch me. If you lay a hand on me, I’ll kill you!” He shook his broken hand at his father and ran out of the study.

  Tim staggered to the opened door and stared at the empty living room. He listened to the side door slam shut. Then the sound of tires skidding down the drive.

  “God … not my Hank … not my son. “

  He retreated to the desk and collapsed in the chair. His fingers groped for the drawer handle. He pulled the drawer open and rested his fingers on the Luger’s cold steel.

  Timothy Landry had lost his family and career to a scum lower than the lowest. Everything he’d built, every drop of sweat, every sleepless night, every courtroom victory, all of it wasted. He’d been betrayed by the woman he loved, the woman who’d turned his children against him, the woman who’d cheated on him while he toiled for his family.

  He gripped the Luger. “I’ll send you both to hell.”

  The hours passed slowly. The mantle clock was chiming one a.m. when he finally made the call.

  Carmichael’s head snapped up. He pushed away from the desk, his blurry eyes squinting at the buzzing cell phone.

  His face brightened. “It’s about time.” He snatched the phone off the desk and popped it open. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “What?”

  “Merv?”

  The caller hesitated. “It’s Tim Landry.”

  Carmichael stiffened. “Oh ... sorry. I’ve been waiting for an important call and I thought—”

  “Never mind that. Did you talk to Roy?”

  Carmichael rubbed his tired eyes. “You mean, Mr. Colby?”

  “You know who I mean. He told me he would contact you.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18