Chapter 43
IT TOOK WYATT THREE TRIES to reach Tessa Leoni. By then, it was 4:00 A.M., but it hardly mattered. Buzzed on adrenaline and the knowledge of who, what, when, where, why and how, he was already in his cruiser, over state lines, heading for Boston.
“Chris Lopez didn’t do it,” he stated without preamble, when Tessa finally answered her cell.
“No shit. I put a gun to the man’s head—hang on, you never heard that from me—and he still pled innocent.”
“I never heard anything, and he didn’t do it.”
“He was sleeping with Ashlyn,” Tessa supplied. “Though he wants the record to show she was using him—”
“Is this the part where you don’t tell me that you shot him?”
“Please, bullets are much too expensive to waste on the likes of him.”
“Good point.”
“However, we had an interesting conversation on who would have enough access to Justin Denbe, to plot against him and his family.”
“Funny, Kevin and I just had the same conversation.”
“For the record, while you and Kevin and me and Lopez were all conversing, someone else was doing. One of the kidnappers returned, broke into the Denbes’ home and attacked Libby and Ashlyn, apparently intent on finishing some unfinished business.”
Wyatt was just taking the exit onto 93 southbound. He pulled his steering wheel sharply right. “What?”
“Exactly. Libby identified him as Mick; the Boston PD are running his prints now to get his real identity. Apparently, he’d taken a special interest in her during incarceration, but had been held off by the ringleader, Z. Well, assignment over, Z gone, Mick decided to make good on some earlier promises. He used a special override code to access the home—having timed the Boston patrol cars, FYI—then surprised Libby in the master bath. She took evasive maneuvers, Ashlyn entered the fray and the two women managed to lead him on a pretty good chase through the home until Libby finally grabbed a loaded twenty-two she’d left next to the sofa—”
“She had a loaded gun in her family room?” Wyatt wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or impressed. He remembered the accounts of the Denbes’ shooting prowess. Still, to leave a loaded gun lying around a family home was a fairly aggressive act.
“Considering what they had been through,” Tessa supplied, “not to mention Special Agent Adams’ multiple lectures on how the three men were still out there…”
“Fair enough.”
“Libby shot Mick dead. Three times, left temple, up close and personal. Professional-grade work.”
The way Tessa said it struck Wyatt as odd.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning her fingerprints are all over the gun, but interestingly enough, no GSR is on her fingers.”
“She fired a gun three times without getting any gunshot residue on her hands?”
“She claims she washed her hands before calling the police.”
“You can’t remove all traces that easily.”
“You’re singing to the choir. But she’s not budging from her story.”
“Did they check Ashlyn’s hands? Maybe she’s covering for her daughter.”
“Her daughter was slammed into a granite countertop and is still recovering from a concussion. But, yes, Boston PD swabbed Ashlyn’s hands. Nada.”
“There were just the two women in the house?” Wyatt asked.
“Exactly.”
The tone of Tessa’s voice said it all. Odds were, Libby had not shot commando Mick. But she felt a need to cover for whoever did. Which, if it wasn’t her daughter…
Wyatt took a deep breath and declared, “I think Justin Denbe might have been embezzling from his own company. An In Case of Divorce fund. Except sixteen years later, he also started talking about it. I think he told his lover, Kathryn Chapman, who saw Ruth Chan’s travel itinerary. She took the steps to wire out the funds before Chan ever landed in the Bahamas. Then ordered Justin and his family kidnapped, in order to keep the eleven million for herself.”
“I think you’re part right,” Tessa Leoni said. “I think Justin Denbe definitely embezzled from his own firm. I think he’s also very much alive.”
“WHO ELSE HAD ENOUGH ACCESS?” Tessa quizzed shortly. “We’re looking for someone who worked for Denbe Construction for at least sixteen years, who knew intimate details of the Denbes’ home life, including security code, interior layout, family schedule. A person who might know former special forces, current guns for hire—which we’ve established are part and parcel of the construction trades. Not to mention someone brilliant enough to devise such a scheme, and ballsy enough to pull it off. I say, Justin Denbe, Justin Denbe, Justin Denbe.”
Wyatt wasn’t arguing with her. Hearing the words out loud only fit the lightbulb already going off in his head. “The kidnappers weren’t supposed to harm Libby and Ashlyn,” he muttered by phone. “Hence Mick was Tased for attacking Libby. Most likely, instructions from Justin himself. He had nothing against traumatizing his wife and daughter. He just didn’t want them hurt.”
“But he needed them,” Tessa countered. “If he just faked his own kidnapping, his own death, it would be suspicious. Hence, for his Embark on a New Life plan, he needed them all abducted from their home and held against their will. Libby and Ashlyn became his witnesses, two people who could swear under oath they saw him die before their very eyes.”
“Knife to the chest. Not so hard to fake with a blood packet. And we still haven’t found the body.”
“Exactly.”
“I think he cheated on her,” Wyatt said abruptly. “Pure conjecture, but the money skimming started sixteen years ago. I think it was triggered by the first time Justin was unfaithful to Libby. She would’ve been pregnant with Ashlyn right about then. A stressful time in any marriage. He fell off the wagon, followed in his father’s footsteps, whatever. But at that moment, Justin realized he was his father’s son—fidelity challenged. And he started to worry, because Libby wasn’t necessarily his mother, the kind of woman who would turn a blind eye. If she left him, divorced him…”
“Fifty percent of all personal assets,” Tessa supplied.
“So he stopped taking money out of the business, bought the town house in the company’s name. Except that meant he didn’t really have cash. So he created an offshore slush fund. Why not? From his perspective, it was his money, after all. But as any corporation is subject to audit, of course he couldn’t just have the accountant write him a check. He had to create a fake vendor, bill his own firm, then pocket the cash. Amounts small enough not to be noticed, large enough to give him peace of mind. Ingenious, really.”
“Except Libby didn’t find out,” Tessa picked up. “He got away with that affair, she gave birth. Maybe they were going to live happily ever after, except then he met another girl—”
“Leading to another fake billing cycle…”
“And continued with a crazy dual life as a loving husband/cheating husband, great boss/embezzling boss.”
“It happens,” Wyatt said.
Which was true. When it came to crime, innocent people hemmed and hawed all the time, how could he, how could she, why I never suspected a thing. That was because innocent people had consciences. And guilty people, such as Justin Denbe, didn’t.
“Sixteen years,” Tessa murmured. “Then, finally, the shit hit the fan. Libby found out about the latest woman, and Justin started devising an exit plan. Ironic, really, given that Libby still wasn’t planning on leaving him.”
“I don’t think that mattered,” Wyatt said curtly. “Where are you?”
“Denbe Construction offices, looking for Justin.”
“He’s not there.”
“Given that I’m here, walking the offices, I already know that. So here’s a question: How do you, by phone, also know that?”
“Because Libby wasn’t leaving Justin. You heard her—they were working on their marriage. Meaning…” He paused a beat. Tessa finally got the rest of the story.
“He was leaving her.”
“And why does any husband leave his family of eighteen years?” Wyatt asked.
“Fuck. He thinks he’s in love with Kathryn Chapman.”
“Meaning…”
“He’s hiding at Kathryn Chapman’s house. Most likely getting everything in order before they hop a flight to some exotic locale first thing in the morning.”
Wyatt said, “Last one there buys dinner.”
“Please. I’m already in the city.”
“Yep, but at this point, so am I.”
KATHRYN CHAPMAN LIVED IN MATTAPAN. Her mother’s house, a white-painted triple-decker. Tessa had the address, because she’d gotten it off Chris Lopez. Wyatt, on the other hand, had police dispatch, an in-vehicle computer system, not to mention GPS, which explained how he managed to pull up just seconds before her. She literally veered around him as he parallel parked four blocks over, where his sheriff’s cruiser wouldn’t spook Kathryn Chapman or Justin Denbe.
He gave her a cheery wave. Tessa rolled her eyes and drove around yet another city block in search of parking. Always fun in Boston.
She found parking two blocks over and trotted back to Wyatt’s vehicle, where he was leaning against his cruiser, waiting for her. She thought he looked particularly good in his brown sheriff’s uniform, which was just as well.
“Dinner,” he declared. “Your treat.”
“Do I get to pick the restaurant?”
“Fair is fair.”
“I want to wear heels. Maybe a skirt.”
“Hell, I’ll pay for that.”
“No, my dinner. But I expect a jacket from you. Maybe even a tie.”
“And you’re in heels?” he pressed.
“Yes.”
“Done.”
They turned their attention to Kathryn’s darkened duplex, a couple of blocks down. Five A.M. Sun would be rising soon. Already, lights were appearing in homes with early morning commuters. Not the best time of day for stealth.
“How do you want to play it?” she asked.
“We don’t have a warrant.”
Tessa shrugged. “More your problem than mine. And you don’t even have jurisdiction in Massachusetts.”
“You’re right, we should call for backup.”
She gave him a look.
“Or,” he countered, “I could close my eyes, and if the front door happened to open, giving me cause to worry about the safety of the individuals inside the residence…”
“Then as a conscientious representative of law enforcement, naturally you’d have to check it out.”
“Naturally.”
“Three minutes,” Tessa said, and walked away.
She could feel his eyes on her back as she departed. And it wasn’t a bad thing. More like a warm, giddy feeling that promised good times to come.
Tessa reconned the house. Front door had a bolt lock and a chain. Too time-consuming. She turned her attention to a back garden door. Older, only the key-in, key-out lock, which five minutes later finally gave way to her steadily improving lock-picking skills.
She took her first step into the rear-facing kitchen, already breathing hard. Sky was lightening. Shadows disappearing. Full daylight dangerously close.
She got halfway across the peeling vinyl floor.
Then heard a floorboard creak above her head.
If that was Kate Chapman’s bedroom, she definitely wasn’t asleep anymore. Most likely, neither was Justin. A man experienced with firearms, and with at least eleven million dollars on the line…
Moving carefully now, feeling out each old, creaky floorboard…
She made it to the front door, located at the base of the main staircase. Above her, a toilet flushing. Footsteps, padding along the hall.
Don’t come down, don’t come down, don’t come down…
Easing out the chain lock. Carefully twisting the bolt lock. Then, the final twist of the knob…
The front door groaned open. Noticeably, audibly. Then, above her, silence. Total silence. And not the good kind of silence. The aware kind of silence. Justin, Kathryn, or all of the above, knew someone had arrived.
Wyatt appeared in the open doorway. He was moving cautiously, his body turned sideways, approaching from an angle to be less of a target. Tessa held up a single finger to her lips, then pointed to the ceiling. He seemed to take the hint, easing silently through the door, to join her at the base of the staircase.
“I think they know,” she murmured low. “Other egresses?”
“Fire escape,” Wyatt whispered back. “First and second floor. I might have greased the rungs. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Tessa was impressed. Good trick for future reference.
“We gotta move fast,” she murmured.
“Isn’t Chris Lopez alive because of your previous restraint?”
She nodded.
“Then I say, he owes you one. Kathryn is his niece, after all.”
Tessa got the message. Lopez did owe her one. She made the call, then, sixty seconds later, was holding out her cell at the base of the stairs, while Lopez boomed through speakerphone:
“Kate. I know you’re awake. Now stop fucking around and get your ass down here. I just heard what happened to Justin. Cops are gonna be here any second and we gotta get our stories in order. Come on, I’ve already been waiting…”
Total silence.
“Kate! I’m not joking around. You either talk to me, or that’s it. I’m washing my hands of this. Police come around, I’m gonna tell them all about it. Yep, my niece was sleeping with my boss. Yep, she wanted his family to go away. In fact, I actually heard her say on several occasions, if only they’d drop dead…”
A woman’s voice suddenly, from the top of the staircase. “Uncle Chris?”
“Duh!”
“You sound funny.”
“I’m screaming up a goddamn staircase. Throw on some clothes and get down here.”
Tessa could hear floorboards now, as well as low, indistinct murmuring. She was holding her breath. Slowly, she forced herself to release it, keep a light grip on her firearm.
Then, the first floorboard creaking.
“Uncle Chris?”
Tessa moved her phone slightly, cued Lopez.
“In the kitchen,” he called over speakerphone.
Another stair groaning. Tessa and Wyatt easing back into the shadows of the landing.
Kathryn Chapman appeared moments later. She wasn’t in pajamas, but already clad in jeans and a tailored navy blue top. The kind of clothes, Tessa thought, you might wear to board a plane.
The girl turned toward the kitchen, and just like that, Wyatt stepped forward, slapped his palm around her mouth and dragged her back.
Kathryn’s face paled, her blue eyes widening into saucers. She spotted Tessa and, far from being reassured, struggled even more. Which told Tessa a couple of things, such as Kathryn clearly viewed her as the opposition, and as such, during their first conversation, had most likely lied through her teeth.
“He’s up there, isn’t he?” Tessa murmured now.
Kathryn attempted to shake her head, though Wyatt’s thick arm held her in place.
“He’s told you he’s taking you away. Got some money set aside.”
Kathryn didn’t try to respond, just flushed.
“Forget for an instant that the man has betrayed his own wife. He’s also betrayed his only child. This is the guy you want to run away with?”
Kathryn’s gaze turned mutinous, which Tessa took to mean yes.
Clearly, no help from this woman. So Tessa went with plan B. She opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs.
“No, Mick. Don’t hurt me. I don’t know where he is. Mick! No, no, no! Mick!”
Footsteps, hard and fast. Justin Denbe responding to the evil mercenary’s name and springing into action. Hammering down the stairs. Careening into the foyer, pistol at his side, already in a crouched position in the open doorway.
Tessa watched his gaze ping-pong from the open door, to Kathryn’s restrained form, to herself, who already had her firearm leveled at his head.
“Justin Denbe,” she declared. “Drop your weapon. You are under arrest.”
JUSTIN DIDN’T IMMEDIATELY DROP HIS GUN. Figured, a man like him. He remained crouched, appraising the situation, gaze darting to the open door.
“We know what you did,” Tessa said, aim perfectly level. This close, she had all the time in the world. She continued conversationally. “And I wasn’t making that up. Mick did return last night. He attacked your wife and daughter.”
Justin straightened, finally giving her his full attention.
“What? Is Ashlyn okay? Is Libby okay? I told them, the terms of the agreement…”
“No hurting your wife and child,” Tessa filled in. Beside her, Wyatt was on the move, cuffing Kathryn’s arms behind her back. “That was the deal, right? You hired the men with the explicit instructions not to hurt your wife and child. But they could hurt you. Had to for the nine million dollars in ransom. That’s how you paid them, right? They received at least part of the ransom funds, as promised. That way, you still didn’t have to share your eleven million.”
Justin Denbe, clad in dress jeans, button-up shirt, leather shoes, more clothes suitable for a plane: “Are Ashlyn and Libby all right?”
“Other than terrified? Traumatized? I mean, seriously, who the hell are you to be so concerned about them now? After all you put them through?”
“They were not to be harmed,” he reiterated stubbornly.
Wyatt shoved Kathryn’s cuffed form to the side. “Sixteen years,” he stated. “You embezzled from your own company for sixteen years.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But he wasn’t looking at them anymore, his gaze once more darting to the open doorway. “Can’t steal from yourself.”
“Oh, you can,” Tessa corrected, grip tightening on her gun. “Because anything you put in your personal accounts you risked owing to your wife, who was bound to figure out about your affairs and demand a divorce. Or you could siphon money into slush funds no one ever knew about. Until sixteen years had passed, and you found yourself with eleven million dollars, a dying business and a jilted wife. Must not have been too hard to make your decision after that. Time to get out, while the getting was good.”
Justin still didn’t say anything. He wasn’t even making eye contact with Kathryn Chapman. Instead, skittishly, he continued to lean toward the open door.
“What time’s your flight?” Tessa asked.
He flinched.
“We got your girlfriend. Gonna travel without her?”
Belatedly, he glanced at Kathryn. Wyatt no longer had his hand over her mouth. She gave an involuntary moan.
“Yep, this is your boyfriend,” Tessa told her. “A man who hired his own kidnappers, faked his own death and abandoned his own family. But, hey, he’s all yours.”
Beside her, Wyatt said, “Mick’s dead. Your wife shot him.”
Justin’s eyes widened. He appeared startled.
“But your daughter has a serious concussion,” Tessa pressed. “She needs you. In fact, your miraculous return from beyond the grave might be exactly the kind of thing that would enable her speedy recovery.”
It was interesting, really, to watch the agonized look that overcame Justin Denbe’s face. The clear internal struggle. Be there for the daughter he adored, but also return to the life of responsibility. Or go. Just go. No commitments, no obligations, a free man with eleven million dollars in his pocket.
He looked at Tessa.
He looked at Kathryn, not even speaking, just making pleading sounds in the base of her throat.
And then…
He ran for the doorway. Leapt through it. Got as far as the deck. Tessa yelled his name, gun coming up, but holding fire as she couldn’t very well shoot a man in the back. Wyatt thrust Kathryn aside, preparing to give chase.
As somewhere in the distance, a rifle cracked. Tessa registered the sound, then dropped instinctively to the floor, Wyatt joining her, as together they watched Justin Denbe’s head explode on the front porch.
Now you see him, now you don’t.
Justin’s body collapsed.
Kathryn started to scream.
There wasn’t a second shot. Or a third. The first round had gotten it done.
After an eternity had passed, Tessa climbed shakily to her feet. Wyatt rose to stand beside her. They took in Justin’s lifeless form.
Wyatt said: “Told you the hired muscle involved a brain or two.”
THEY PHONED SPECIAL AGENT ADAMS. Let the federal agent flex her muscle as neither one of them had legal standing. Plus, it meant she’d inherit the paperwork. Kathryn was led away, still screaming. Most likely would be taken to a local emergency room and treated for shock.
In the meantime, uniformed officers patrolled the neighborhood. Rooftop deck, two houses down and across the street, they recovered a rifle and a single brass cartridge. Serial number filed off the rifle. Fingerprints wiped off the cartridge.
“Professional-grade work,” Nicole said, stating the obvious.
“Dead men tell no tales,” Wyatt intoned.
“One of the kidnappers?”
“You take Justin into custody, he’s bound to talk,” Tessa supplied with a shrug. “Most professional arrangements involve signed confidentiality agreements. Let’s just say, Justin appeared at risk for violating his.”
“You see anything?” she asked.
“No,” they replied honestly.
Nicole sighed, returned to her vehicle to update the APB. Not needed for anything else, Wyatt and Tessa finally departed, Wyatt walking her to her car.
“Think Libby and Ashlyn are now safe?”
“Well, think about it. If Justin was here when Mick attacked his family…”
Wyatt nodded. “Kind of thinking the same thing. One of the hired guns, maybe the leader, took out his own guy.”
“Interesting profession. Very strict rules of employment. But said guy also left Libby and Ashlyn alone afterward. So, yeah, hopefully dust will now settle and they can start rebuilding their lives.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” he asked.
She answered him as honestly as she could: “Some days better than others.”
They’d arrived at her Lexus.
“So,” he said.
“So,” she answered.
“This is the awkward part. ’Cause technically you’re buying dinner, and yet I’m dying to ask you out.”
“Can’t meet my daughter,” she warned seriously. “Not for a bit.”
“Wouldn’t expect it.”
“I got space issues.”
“Noticed that. I got a thing for wood. Sometimes, I have to build things. Just do.”
She nodded. “I look really good in heels,” she said at last.
“Really? Because I’m told I’m damn hot in a jacket and tie.”
“No tie. Just the jacket.”
His gaze warmed. “Still the heels?”
“Still the heels.”
“Friday night?”
“Next Friday. I need to spend some time with Sophie.”
“Fair enough.”
Wyatt leaned forward. Caught her off guard with a low whisper to her ear. “And wear your hair down.”
Then he turned, already sauntering down the street. Tessa remained standing there a moment longer, a slow smile spreading across her face. She thought of families, old and new, and survivors, then and now.
Then, she got into her Lexus and drove home to her daughter.