Baltimore [3.5] Broken Silence Page 3

  ‘It’s from Sophie Johannsen,’ he said, after reading the text. Sophie was the archaeologist who had volunteered her expertise in underground mapping. ‘She’s trying to get in touch with you, Daphne. She needs you to call her ASAP.’

  Daphne’s sigh was weary. ‘I know. I got her voice mail this morning, but I haven’t had the courage to call her back. She found my father’s guitar buried close to where they found his body. She says it’s in excellent shape because it was in a waterproof case. Sophie wants to give it to me, but I can’t handle going back to the cabin right now.’

  ‘Completely understandable. I can call her if you want.’

  ‘No, I’ll do it. I’ll ask her to put it aside and one of your people can bring it to me later.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. Are you okay now?’

  ‘I was okay before. I just liked having you hold me.’

  ‘I’ll hold you more later. When I get home from work.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting.’

  Chapter Two

  Baltimore; Monday, December 23, 7:00 P.M.

  Amber Knowles ran from the kitchen, leaving the pot of baby-bottle nipples boiling on the stove. ‘Don’t slam . . .’ The door slammed, and the baby began to cry. ‘I just got her to sleep.’

  Brock pushed past her, grocery sacks in hand. ‘Sorry,’ he said insincerely.

  ‘Whatever.’ She went back to the bedroom and lifted the baby from her crib. ‘You’re a lot of trouble,’ she crooned. ‘I can’t wait to get rid of you. I’m really starting to hate you. But you’re so pretty. Your new mama and papa are gonna pay big bucks for you. I’ll never have to worry about money again.’

  Because Amber did. Constantly. Between the legit bills, Brock’s increasingly more expensive ‘supplements,’ coupled with the huge pay cut she’d taken moving from the hospital to private nursing . . . She was always dodging bill collectors and was damn tired of it.

  The brat finally went to sleep again and Amber dragged herself to the kitchen. ‘Next time,’ she snapped, ‘do not slam the damn door.’

  ‘Hey, babe, it’s not like I’m having a vacation either.’ Brock pulled a bag of diapers from one of the grocery sacks. ‘These fuckers are expensive.’

  ‘I keep telling you that kids cost too much. Maybe now you’ll remember the next time your mother nags us about grandchildren. Tell her we can’t afford them so she’ll get off my back.’

  ‘We’ll be able to afford anything we want soon,’ Brock said. ‘We could have babies then.’

  ‘Dammit. We’ve been over this, Brock. I worked as hard for this body as you did for yours. If you think that I’m going to let some whiny little brat ruin it . . .’ She broke off abruptly when he started to grin, making her smile, too. ‘You’re just yanking my chain, aren’t you?’

  ‘Only because it’s so much fun to do.’ He reached over, slapped her ass. ‘I like this body, too. And after this little fiasco, I’ll be happy if I never see a baby again.’

  ‘Good.’ She looked at the table, rolled her eyes. ‘For God’s sake, did you get anything on my list?’ The table was stacked with beer and the protein shakes he ‘couldn’t live without.’

  ‘I got diapers and three pounds of steak. And by the way, your nipples are boiling.’

  She ran to turn down the flame. ‘Did it not occur to you to turn down the stove yourself?’

  ‘But then I wouldn’t get to say that your nipples are boiling. And that never gets old.’

  She shook her head, her anger dissipating yet again. ‘You are such a middle-schooler.’

  ‘It’s why you love me.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Actually, it was because he was total eye candy and amazing in the sack to boot, all those hours in the gym very well spent. The two of them looked good together, turning heads whenever they walked through a crowd. Imagine how much better they’d look in flashy clothes, driving fancy cars to a different five-star restaurant every night.

  ‘Did you see her?’ Brock asked casually, but Amber wasn’t fooled. Lighthearted Brock had left the building. It was time to talk business and he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

  ‘Yeah. The doctor says she’s ready to go. Told that social worker to get her foster care.’

  ‘Finally. We’ll grab her from the fosters and get out of here. We can be home by Wednesday if we drive straight through. We dump the kids and get paid.’ He frowned when she didn’t immediately agree. ‘Don’t tell me they backed out? That’s a perfectly good kid in there.’

  ‘No. In fact, their lawyer’s texted me three times today, asking when we’ll drop her off. The deal’s still good. One white, blond-haired, blue-eyed, perfect little baby girl, coming up.’

  ‘Excellent. The arrangement I made for the other one is still on, too. Confirmed today.’

  ‘Good.’ But that deal didn’t sit as well with Amber. Selling a baby to a childless couple was fine, but selling a six-year-old . . . But other than killing the kid she didn’t see much choice.

  ‘Of course we could have gotten more for the baby if she’d been a little younger,’ Brock complained. Again. Amber was sick of hearing him whine about the price.

  ‘Unfortunately, the baby’s mother didn’t cooperate with that plan,’ Amber said stiffly.

  ‘Should’ve just held a pillow over her face your first day on the job.’

  ‘I would have if I’d known how long she’d linger.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t have,’ he said in that condescending way she was coming to hate.

  ‘Probably not.’ Amber was many things, but the cold-blooded murderer of a dying woman? Not her style. She’d left that to Brock. ‘Besides, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Babies are like cars. You drive one off the lot and the value automatically goes down. We couldn’t have gotten her as a newborn.’ Amber hadn’t met the Smirnovs until the baby was two months old. ‘The difference between a two-month-old and a six-month-old is negligible.’

  ‘“Negligible” is in the eye of the beholder,’ Brock said broodingly as he opened a bottle of beer. ‘I’ll be a lot less worried about “negligible” when we get our hands on that necklace.’

  ‘And the earrings,’ Amber murmured. ‘And the rings and the bracelets . . .’

  Diamonds and emeralds and sapphires. Oh my. She’d been captivated from the first moment she’d laid eyes on Tatiana’s gems, amazed that the woman wore them every day. But Tatiana had casually informed her that she owned even nicer jewelry that she used to wear with her evening gowns before she’d been diagnosed with cancer. It was all in the safe.

  Discovering how much each piece was worth and the magnitude of the Smirnovs’ wealth blew Amber’s mind. Tatiana’s jewelry alone would sell for nine hundred G’s. And that was only what they’d get from a fence. Retail? They’d originally cost three times that.

  That the Smirnovs spent that kind of money so cavalierly while Amber struggled to pay her bills made her so damn angry. But she’d get the last laugh. When they combined the sale of the jewelry with the sales of the both the baby and the brat, she and Brock would be millionaires.

  ‘I still can’t believe Tatiana hid her jewelry from me. After I took care of her all those months and she still didn’t trust me? Bitch.’ They owed me. The Smirnovs damn well owed me.

  Brock swigged down half the beer. His eyes had taken on that angry glow she didn’t like. ‘You are sure she brought them with her? She didn’t leave them in the hotel safe in Minnesota?’

  ‘You’ve asked me twenty times, Brock. Yes, she brought them with her. On the day we left I asked her if she wanted me to get them out of the safe and put them on her. She looked awful in them by that point, but I figured it would make it easier in the end. She said that no, she’d already packed them. I worried that a thief could steal them from the luggage and she said they weren’t in the luggage and for me not to worry myself about them. That they were safe.

  ‘And yes, before you ask me again, I even saw her wear them once when we were at the bea
ch. She was sitting on a beach chair bundled up in blankets, wearing the necklace and the earrings. When we brought her back to the hotel room, her husband took them off her and left the room. Told me to stay and “make his wife comfortable.” When he came back, he didn’t have the jewelry, so it must have been hidden somewhere in the luggage, despite what they said.’

  ‘We’ve checked the luggage,’ Brock said in disgust. ‘We’ve checked her purse and that stupid baby’s stupid diaper bag. We ripped apart every damn doll the brat brought with her. We checked the clothes they were wearing. They weren’t there.’

  ‘Then they’re in the Mercedes.’ They’d burned the Smirnovs in an old junk heap and had driven away in the Mercedes SUV that Smirnov had bought with cash before leaving Rochester.

  The day after the Mayo Clinic had told Tatiana to put her personal affairs in order.

  ‘Dammit!’ Brock threw the beer bottle at the wall in a fit of anger. ‘I’ve taken that Mercedes apart down to the rivets and there is no jewelry!’

  Amber flinched. She was seeing this side of Brock more often, these fits of rage that came from the ‘supplements’ he took every damn day. He’d promised he’d only take the steroids until he bulked up.

  That had been four years ago and he was using more and more. It used to be only the expense that worried her. Now she worried about Brock’s self-control.

  ‘Let’s take a break, baby. Calm down,’ she said softly.

  ‘I am calm.’ He slumped at the table, his head in his hands. ‘Damn.’

  Amber got a rag and went to clean the mess the beer had made on the wall. No reason to alert the homeowners – whoever they were – that they’d had guests while they were gone for their Christmas vacation. ‘We know they didn’t leave the jewelry in that last hotel room at the beach because we took it apart, too.’

  ‘There’s only one other place we haven’t searched.’ Brock lifted his head and stared at her through hardened, accusing eyes. ‘The brat. Lana. She must have hidden it somewhere when she ran away. But we can’t ask her where, now can we? Because we don’t have her any more.’

  Amber threw the rag in the sink, angry now. ‘You’re blaming me again?’

  ‘It was your responsibility to keep the kids in the damn Mercedes! You weren’t watching her, so she ran away. Yes, I’m blaming you!’

  ‘I gave her some fruit juice with a sedative. She should have been fast asleep.’

  ‘Well she wasn’t asleep,’ Brock said bitterly. ‘And you let her get away.’

  ‘I had to choose. I couldn’t drop the baby and run after her.’ Lana had been hysterical when she’d seen her father shot and had taken off running, too fast for Amber to keep up. Why hadn’t Lana just gone to sleep? ‘A six-month-old is worth a lot more than a six-year-old.’

  ‘Yeah, but the six-year-old can talk. She can tell the cops our names.’

  ‘She won’t,’ Amber insisted. ‘She’s too scared to. I made sure of that.’

  ‘Yeah, by walking up and down the halls of the hospital with her baby sister. Real scary, Amber.’

  ‘I told her if she talked we’d kill the baby, just like her parents. I took a big risk sneaking into her hospital room that first day. So don’t yell at me about letting her get away.’ She dropped her voice, because she’d been shouting, too. ‘You’ll wake up the baby.’

  ‘I’ll yell if I damn well want to,’ he muttered. ‘It was a stupid idea to go into that hospital.’

  ‘So you’ve said, every day for the last four days. Would you rather I just let her tell?’

  ‘No,’ he snarled. ‘I would rather you not have lost the bitch in the first place. Now your face is on the hospital cameras, too. We’d agreed that we’d ditch the kids, then you’d stagger into the ER saying you’d gotten carjacked and they’d knocked you out and taken the kids. You could have been home free, but now you’ll be on the Ten Most Wanted list in the post office.’ He grew calm abruptly. ‘You’ll have to disappear, too.’

  A chill skittered down her spine. He’d had this argument with her repeatedly, but the ‘you’ll have to disappear, too’ was brand new. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked.

  He blinked and the old Brock was back. ‘I mean we have to get you a new identity. Plastic surgery to change your face. What did you think I meant by – whoa. You thought I meant to kill you? For God’s sake, Amber. Get a grip.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s just been a stressful few days.’

  ‘I know. Come here.’ She sat next to him and he put his arm around her shoulders. ‘I was just upset that we have to change your face.’ He kissed her mouth hard. ‘I like your face.’

  ‘I like it, too. But it was always plan B if the carjacking story didn’t fly.’ She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘It’s almost Christmas and I haven’t had time to shop.’

  ‘It will be over soon. We’ll grab the brat from foster care tomorrow, find out where she hid the jewelry, take the kids to their new families. Then we’ll start fresh. You can shop till you drop.’

  Amber blew out a breath, bracing herself for more rage. ‘She’s not going to foster. Not yet.’

  ‘What? I thought you said the doctor said she was ready to be discharged.’

  ‘He did. But the stupid social worker wanted her to stay. And . . .’ She winced.

  ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, the menace back in his voice.

  ‘They took her to see the cops today. I heard the nurses saying that they want to do some new kind of therapy with her tomorrow. To make her talk. Equine therapy.’ He said nothing, just began breathing hard through his nose. Amber raced on to fill the silence. ‘It’s one of those therapies of the week. Looks good in newspapers articles but it doesn’t work.’

  ‘And you got your counseling degree exactly when?’ Brock bit out. ‘God, this is a mess.’

  ‘It might not be so bad,’ she ventured cautiously. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Fuck. We’re definitely screwed now.’

  ‘Stop that,’ she snapped. ‘I’m in this deeper than you. I’m the one who can be linked to this family. Now listen up. They’ll take the kid out of the building and transport her, probably outside the city. Because horses eat grass and outside the city is where you find grass.’

  She choked back a cry when Brock grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. ‘Don’t patronize me, Amber. You don’t want to make me any angrier than I already am.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He let her hair go and she rubbed the back of her scalp, her heart beating hard. ‘I was just trying to point out that once they’re further away from the city, we can do what we did with the Smirnovs’ SUV. Force them off the road, kill the driver, and take the girl. Easy.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Brock said petulantly. ‘Unless they have cops guarding her.’

  Amber leaned up, kissed his jaw. ‘That’s why they put so many bullets in a magazine, baby.’ Planning to distract him from his anger, she unbuttoned his shirt. He’d be a kitten after a good hard fucking. He always was.

  But he pushed her away. ‘Not now. I have to put the Mercedes back together so we have a getaway car.’ He went into the garage, leaving her staring up at him, stunned.

  And worried. He’d never done that before. Never pushed her away. He’s just stressed out and tired, she assured herself. But not tired of me.

  Just another few days and it really would all be over. They’d have their payoff and they could start over anywhere – L.A., Chicago, New York. Maybe even Miami. She’d wear a minuscule bikini and strut her stuff along a white sandy beach and have her pick of men.

  If Brock was growing tired of her. Which he isn’t.

  But if he was . . . She got up from the sofa and pulled the gun from her purse to make sure it was loaded. Just in case Brock really did mean for me to disappear.

  Monday, December 23, 10:45 P.M.

  Joseph gently tugged at one of Daphne’s curls and lazily watched it spring back. She lay beside him, her legs intertwined with his, practically purring as she stro
ked his chest, sated.

  As was he. A lonely marriage to her selfish prick of an ex-husband had given her limited sexual experience, but she was a very fast learner. And I am a very lucky man. As promised, she’d been waiting for him, dinner on the table, wearing a Christmas apron with dancing gingerbread men – and nothing else. He’d never eaten a meal so fast in his life.

  Now he had her in his arms, there was a fire crackling in the fireplace, and Nat King Cole crooning on the stereo about chestnuts. ‘I like this,’ he murmured.

  ‘Me, too,’ she said with a smile in her voice. ‘But don’t expect this kind of treatment every day.’

  ‘What? Home cooking? Nat King Cole?’

  She laughed. ‘The apron. I knew Ford wasn’t going to be here tonight, so you got lucky.’

  ‘I certainly did,’ he said smugly. ‘All three times.’

  ‘I was a tiger,’ she said with a proud little nod, making him chuckle.

  ‘We’ll have to clean up the kitchen floor. Assuming I can move later.’

  The first time he’d taken her on the kitchen table, dirty dishes be damned. The second, she’d attacked him in the upstairs hall. He’d felt like a teenager again and it felt damn good.

  She lifted her head, a frown on her face. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘I’ll probably have rug burns on my ass for days. Not that I’m complaining.’ Because finally they’d made it to bed and that had been the best time of all. He’d taken his time, made her moan, made her sigh. His name. Always his name. Because she’s mine. Of that he had no doubt.

  So marry her. The thought didn’t startle him. He’d wanted this since the first time he’d laid eyes on her, almost a year before. He wanted to ask her this very second, but she deserved a romantic courtship so he pointed his thoughts in another direction before he blurted out a proposal too soon. ‘Where is Ford, by the way?’

  ‘He’s up at the farm, helping Maggie get ready for Angel’s visit tomorrow.’ Maggie ran Daphne’s horse farm, thirty minutes north of the city. The farm was one of the first things Daphne had bought after her divorce. Her SOB ex-husband had left her on the wealthy side of comfortable and she liked spending money on other people. Maggie was also Daphne’s adopted aunt and the woman who, through equine therapy, had helped Daphne begin to heal. ‘I told Angel she’d see ponies, but we only have horses. They might be too intimidating. She’s such a little thing.’