Fear Familiar - Familiar Remedy Part 8

"He never touched that d.a.m.n money." Jenkins pounded a fist into the open palm of his hand. "How many men could go a year without spending a dime? He never bought his daughter a new bicycle. Never bought his wife a ring. Never bought a car. He h.o.a.rded that money, hoping I would give up. But I didn't."

"Why didn't you?" Daniel saw a pa.s.sion in the old man that was surprising. Talking about the Covington case had rejuvenated him. He acted twenty years younger. "Your source might have been lying."

"He was telling the truth. Covington was the worst of the worst. He was a lawman, and he sold his people out for a suitcaseful of cash. I couldn't prove it, but I was determined not to let him enjoy a penny of it. And he didn't. He might have had the money, but neither he nor his widow have ever been able to spend a dime."

"Or his daughter?"

"Or her. She's a cook. She went to school, but it was on scholars.h.i.+p. Don't think I didn't keep an eye on that. I was called back here, but I never forgot them. I always remembered to look. But I'm old now. They know once I'm gone, no one else will care. That's when the money will come out. You'll see." He sank back into his chair, suddenly tired. "They'll win in the long run."

An awkward silence touched the room. Daniel felt a pity he'd never expected for Joshua Jenkins. He'd devoted his life to a single case, and he'd lost. Time had beat him, at least in his opinion.

"Why are you so certain Cal Covington took that money? Maybe your source was lying."

Jenkins's head snapped up and his brown eyes blazed. "I know he wasn't lying. I know it for a fact."

"Why?" Daniel tried to put a soft touch on the word, to make the question gentler, less aggressive. He could see that Jenkins was on edge about his unnamed friend.

"He was a young man and he wors.h.i.+ped Cal Coving-ton-until he saw him dirty. That's what made me determined to bring Covington to justice. He was a great lawman and he sold out. What Covington did, selling out like that, is the worst any lawman can do. My own father was a sheriff. In Tennessee. Last time I saw him he was in the state penitentiary with the very men he'd arrested. Dad decided that moons.h.i.+ning was more profitable than sheriffing. He deserved what he got."

"I'm sorry." Daniel could see what it had cost Jenkins.

"It was a long time ago. Why are you so interested in ancient Covington history?" Jenkins sat straight in his chair.

"I know Covington's daughter. It was a matter of personal interest."

Jenkins's face hardened. "Don't trust her. I was an agent for a long time, and I found that corruption is often in the blood. It runs in families. That's why I've fought it so hard. My blood was tainted. But I never gave in to it."

Daniel was taken aback by the harshness of Jenkins's tone. The old man believed what he was saying. "I've discovered that often circ.u.mstance is the corrupting force."

"Ha! That's what all these mumbo-jumbo psychologists would have you believe. They want to blame society for all the ills of mankind. They want us to think that somehow we're all to blame for the street gangs and the dope smugglers. Ha! It's weakness in those people. They want easy money and they don't care who they hurt to get it. And weakness is bred in the bone, young man. Don't ever forget it, or it could cost you your life."

Daniel sat forward and eased to his feet. "Thank you for talking with me."

"And you'd just as soon that I didn't mention this little visit with Paul Gottard, right?"

Jenkins kept staring straight in front of him.

"It wouldn't hurt if we kept this between ourselves."

"Consider it done, then."

"Thank you." Daniel wanted to go, but he hated to leave the old man staring into s.p.a.ce. "I have an appointment."

"Close the door after you. It locks itself."

After a moment, Daniel moved to the door and let himself out. The cabbie was smoking a cigarette and staring into traffic. Daniel checked his watch. He was really late now, and he had to have a shower at Cody's.

"Let's go," he said to the cabbie. "Twenty-two West Elm."

"Your wish is my command," the cabbie said sarcastically, throwing the stub of his cigarette onto the manicured lawn. He got behind the wheel and revved the engine. Slowly he turned around. "You said, 22 West Elm?"

"Right." Daniel looked up into the bore of an automatic. His gut clenched.

"I don't think you really want to go there." The cabbie grinned.

"What do you want?"

"You're interfering in some unfinished business. I want you to stop."

Daniel knew he was in big trouble. The cabbie had made no effort to conceal his ident.i.ty. He was on a public street in a security guarded neighborhood with a weapon that looked as big as a cannon.

"I don't pick my a.s.signments."

"There's a lot at stake here. Leave the woman alone. I don't know how to make this any clearer to you." His grin widened. "But then, maybe I do."

Before Daniel could react, the gun swung through the air and clipped him under the jaw with so much force that his head snapped to the side and into the window frame. Daniel fought against the blackness that swept over him. He knew he was losing consciousness, and he tried to fight. Sarah. Her face was in front of him in all the vulnerability of sleep. But before he was lost to the darkness, he saw her open her eyes, and there was a cold, calculating look on her face.

THE HANDS OF THE CLOCK seemed to hang at ten forty-five. Sarah tested the bucking bronco birthday cake and found it cool enough to ice. The sugary sweet icing had been dyed fantastic colors of red and blue for the cowboy's clothes, and a golden dun for the bucking pony. It was going to be a great cake, but Sarah could take no satisfaction in it. She kept looking from the clock to the telephone. She didn't know Daniel Dubonet very well, but she believed he was a punctual man. Why hadn't he called?

The telephone rang and she nearly dropped the decorating tube she was using to fill in the cowboy's bandanna. She left daubs of icing on the phone as she grabbed it. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Miss Covington?"

"Yes."

"This is a friend of Daniel Dubonet's. Could you tell us where he is?" The voice was cold and sinister.

"I might. Who is this?" Sarah could feel her heart thumping.

"I work with Mr. Dubonet. He's failed to show up now for almost twenty-four hours. If he's nearby, please put him on the phone." The voice was all cold reason.

"Who is this?" Sarah demanded.

"I'm calling in his best interest."

"Then tell me your name. My father told me never to talk to anyone who wouldn't give a name."

"Look, he's in serious trouble. The agency doesn't like a renegade. Put Dubonet on the phone." The voice was angry now.

"Dream on." Sarah slammed the phone down, and when it rang again, she refused to answer it. Her hands were trembling to the point that she couldn't continue to work on the cake. It would simply be a mess. She cleaned her hands and picked up the phone book. Cody Pruett was listed, and he lived on West Elm. It wasn't that far away. She could drive over there and give Daniel his message.

When she opened the door to leave, Familiar darted between her feet. He gave her a halfhearted meow as he trotted toward the alley and disappeared. "Well, come back when you can stay longer," she called after him. He was one strange cat, but she had other worries now.

She climbed into her car and headed for the West Elm address of the lab tech. If Daniel wasn't there, he might have gone on to his own apartment. With all the damage, the telephone had probably been ripped out. There was a logical reason for his behavior. Just because he hadn't called didn't mean anything bad had happened.

But even as Sarah tried to calm herself, she knew better. Something bad had happened. She could feel it, and she'd had plenty of experience in that department. The night her father was killed, she had been a young girl, but she knew before anyone told her. She knew before there was the first reason to suspect anything had gone wrong. It had just been a feeling, like something trapped inside her. Something big and anxious and determined to get out. And that was exactly what she was feeling now.

She sped, hoping that this one time she might attract the attention of a traffic cop. She'd gladly pay a ticket for some backup.

When she turned onto West Elm, she was struck by the old beauty of the neighborhood. The small houses were neatly maintained, several yards filled with the sounds of children playing. She was in a safe place, a place where bad things didn't happen. She tried to believe it, but her foot pressed too hard on the accelerator and she continued to speed down the tree-lined street.

At Cody's address, she parked on the street and got out. There was a red car in the driveway. Cody was home.

Walking up to the front door, she pressed the bell twice. When no one answered the door, she pressed it again, and then again.

"Cody!" She called his name through the curtained gla.s.s. "Cody, it's me, Sarah Covington."

There wasn't a sound inside the house.

Sarah twisted the k.n.o.b and the door opened easily. She stepped inside, taking in the neatness of the modern furniture. There wasn't a magazine out of place. Everything was dusted; it looked as if the maid had just left.

"Cody?"

A faint moan drifted down the hallway.

"Oh, no." Sarah whispered the words as she slid along the wall toward the hallway. "Cody, is that you?" She kept her voice down. What if someone was with him, waiting for her to open a door?

She thought of the telephone, but the moan came again, this time as if the person was in great pain. She hesitated, then moved down the hall to one of the back bedrooms. What if she was making a terrible mistake? What if Cody was with a girlfriend?

"Cody?" She called a bit louder this time.

"Hemmmp!"

The answer came back m.u.f.fled, but obviously distressed.

"Oh, h.e.l.l." She threw open the door to an empty bedroom, her heart pounding. The sound came again, accompanied by a pounding noise. She rushed to the next door and threw it open. For a second the sight of Daniel tied hand and foot on the floor didn't register. There was a gag in his mouth, and he was just getting ready to pound the floor with his tied feet again.

"Daniel." She rushed to him and pulled the gag away.

After a few gulps of air, Daniel s.h.i.+fted so that she could loosen the knots on his hands.

"What happened?" Sarah asked. "Where's Cody?"

"Two good questions." As soon as the knots were loosened, Daniel wiggled free. He was up on his feet with a large flashlight in his hand for a weapon. "Wait here," he ordered Sarah.

Sarah decided instantly that staying with Daniel would be the best route. She moved behind him, ignoring the angry glance he sent her.

Together they made their way to the last bedroom. Daniel pushed open the door and then turned to block Sarah's view.

"Don't look," he ordered.

But it was too late. Sarah would never forget the sight of Cody Pruett lying in his bed, blood soaked through the white sheets and puddled on the floor.

Chapter Eight.

Sarah sat in the pa.s.senger seat of her car and allowed the numbness to take over her body and her mind as Daniel drove her away from Cody's house. She wanted to look at Daniel, but she couldn't. She knew that she was afraid of what she would see. Pain, certainly. But also guilt. Daniel held himself responsible for his friend's death. And there was a good chance Cody Pruett would be alive if he'd never run those tests for Daniel. And for her.

"We should report this," she said for the third time. "We can't pretend this didn't happen and that we weren't there. They'll find evidence. You of all people should know that."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Daniel's eyes were red and nearly squinted shut with tension and fatigue.

"Why won't you report it?"

"Because I don't know who to trust anymore." He looked at her a long moment while they were stopped at a red light. "I don't trust you. I don't trust myself."

Sarah didn't say anything, but she understood exactly what he was saying. She didn't trust him completely, yet the odd chain of events had undoubtedly bound them together.

They were both accessories to a crime-an unreported crime. For all she knew, they could be held accountable after the fact. But Daniel was rocklike in his decision not to call the FBI, or any law agency.

"Cody was one of my best friends," he finally said. Beneath the anger, grief was beginning to seep through. "He's dead because he helped me."

"That's ridiculous, Daniel. He was doing his job."

"That's right. And as soon as I get some clothes, I'm going to check his files and make sure that the tests he ran for me are in there. You heard him say he had to make a formal report and the sheet he gave me was a copy."

"That's right." Sarah hadn't thought about such a possibility. "You think they're gone, that someone tampered with the files?"

"I'd be willing to bet my life on it." Daniel's jaw hardened. "And that means someone inside the Bureau is responsible. That's why I can't call. They'll be looking for a way to pin this on me. If that's what's going on, I'm the target." He looked over at her, his eyes narrowed. "And you."

"Me?" Sarah's fingers clutched her seat belt as he swung wide on a curve. "Why me? I don't know anything about the FBI."

"That's what I keep asking myself. All of this started with you, Sarah. Why do you suppose that is?" Color rose to her cheeks. "I resent the implications of what you're saying. What can I tell you? The first time I saw you, you were pounding on my door. I didn't call you up and start this."

"But you did call. And then I asked Cody to check those peppers for you."

"Right. Like I knew this would happen." She tried to front her pain with bravado, but her voice trembled.

Daniel blinked, then pulled the car into a side street. He found a place to stop and pulled over. "I'm sorry, Sarah." He reached over and picked up her hand. The fingers were cold and lifeless, and he wrapped his own around them. "I don't know..."

Sarah saw the s.h.i.+mmer in his eyes. She squeezed his fingers. "It's okay. Cody was a friend. I'm sorry, too."

Daniel leaned his head back, his breathing slow and deep. "I can't believe this has happened. I don't know what to do."

"I do." Sarah pressed his hand, feeling the callused palm and the long fingers, the potential for strength. "I have a good friend. He knows what to do in the most unusual circ.u.mstances."

"We can't tell anyone about this." Daniel's head was up and his eyes alert.

"Uncle Vince would help us. He has contacts all over the city. All over the world."

Daniel shook his head. "Sarah, this is my career. I left my friend dead and didn't report the crime. I have to think this through. Both of our lives could be at stake." Sarah recalled the telephone call she'd received earlier. As Daniel drove back to the shop, she told him what had happened.

"You didn't recognize the voice?"