Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The woman in the gray coat stepped into the study and said, "Nathan Cole was never supposed to fall in love with your daughter."
Emily stared at her.
Marcus lowered his gun slightly.
I didn't.
"Close the door," I said.
The woman obeyed.
Water dripped from her coat onto my hardwood floor.
Emily pressed one hand against her belly.
Another contraction tightened across her face.
I noticed.
So did the stranger.
"We need to get her to a hospital."
"Nobody is taking my daughter anywhere until I know who you are."
The woman looked at me.
"You already know."
I did.
Her photograph had appeared on page 186 of the sealed wiretap application.
Rebecca Hale.
Former forensic accountant.
Former confidential source.
Former employee of Cole Development.
Declared dead eleven years ago after her vehicle went through a guardrail and burned in a ravine.
No body had been conclusively identified.
Dental records had been used.
At the time, that detail hadn't seemed important.
Now it seemed like the only detail that mattered.
"Rebecca Hale," I said.
Emily looked between us.
"Who?"
The woman's expression barely changed.
"That's the name I used."
Marcus gave a humorless laugh.
"Used?"
Rebecca looked at him.
"You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you. You're dead."
"That was the idea."
Emily bent forward suddenly.
"Mom."
I caught her.
"Another one?"
She nodded.
"How long?"
"I don't know."
I checked the clock.
Too soon.
Far too soon.
Rebecca stepped forward.
"She needs medical attention."
Marcus raised his weapon again.
"Stay back."
Rebecca didn't even look at the gun.
"If I wanted Emily dead, I would've left her outside Nathan's house."
Emily stared at her.
"You knew who I was when you picked me up."
"Yes."
"You put the card in my hand."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because your mother needed to hear that recording."
I stepped between them.
"You could have contacted federal investigators."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because someone inside the investigation is working for Shepherd."
Marcus went silent.
That was more convincing than any denial.
I noticed.
"So Shepherd is real."
Rebecca looked at him.
"You told her?"
"Enough."
"No. You told her the name. That's not the same thing."
"Then explain it."
Rebecca turned to me.
"Shepherd isn't a person."
Marcus closed his eyes.
"Rebecca."
She ignored him.
"It's a position."
The words hung in the room.
I said, "Meaning?"
"The syndicate was designed so nobody could identify its leader. Shepherd changes."
"Changes how?"
"When one Shepherd becomes compromised, another takes control."
"Who chooses the replacement?"
Rebecca's mouth tightened.
"That's why Nathan married Emily."
Emily stared.
"No."
Rebecca looked at her gently.
"I'm sorry."
"No. Don't look at me like that."
"Emily—"
"My husband didn't marry me because of some criminal organization."
Marcus said nothing.
That silence was devastating.
Emily turned toward him.
"You knew?"
"Not at first."
"When?"
"After the wedding."
Her eyes filled.
"And you stayed?"
"I was trying to keep you alive."
"You worked for him."
"I worked close enough to know what would happen if I walked away."
Emily's voice hardened.
"You watched him hurt me."
Marcus looked down.
There was no defense for that.
Rebecca stepped closer.
"Nathan was supposed to gain access to your mother."
Emily laughed bitterly.
"Through me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Rebecca looked at me.
"Because of a case from fourteen years ago."
My stomach tightened.
"What case?"
"United States v. Calder."
I remembered it immediately.
Victor Calder.
Financier.
Philanthropist.
Money launderer.
The federal government had spent six years trying to convict him.
I had presided over the final prosecution.
Calder received thirty-eight years.
He died in federal custody three years later.
At least, according to official records.
"Calder is dead."
"So am I."
That answer stopped me.
Marcus whispered, "Don't."
Rebecca turned on him.
"You've protected this long enough."
"I protected people."
"You protected the machine."
"I kept Emily alive."
"Until Nathan ordered you to kill her."
Marcus flinched.
Rebecca looked back at me.
"Calder built the original network."
"You're saying Shepherd began with him?"
"Not exactly. He created the system that allowed Shepherd to exist."
I remembered evidence from the trial.
Shell companies.
Political donations.
Offshore accounts.
Police corruption.
Judges had been investigated too.
Three resigned.
One went to prison.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"You sentenced him."
"I sentenced hundreds of defendants."
"But Calder blamed you for destroying his family."
"I applied federal law."
"Men like Calder don't distinguish between justice and humiliation."
Emily groaned.
The conversation stopped.
She gripped my desk.
"Mom."
I reached her.
"Talk to me."
"That one hurt."
Rebecca checked her watch.
"How long since the last?"
"Maybe four minutes."
"We're done talking."
I agreed.
Whatever waited in Room 417 could wait.
My grandson couldn't.
I reached for the secure phone.
No signal.
"Jammed," Marcus said.
"Can you get us out?"
"Maybe through the basement."
Rebecca shook her head.
"No."
Marcus glared.
"You have a better idea?"
"The basement exit is covered."
"How do you know?"
"Because I came through the guesthouse."
I stared.
"You entered my property through the maintenance passage?"
"Yes."
"How did you know it existed?"
Rebecca didn't answer.
That bothered me.
Very much.
"Who told you?"
"Judge—"
"Who?"
Another contraction hit Emily.
She cried out.
Enough.
I could interrogate Rebecca later.
"Kitchen."
They stared at me.
"What?" Marcus asked.
"My neighbor is a physician."
"Your neighbor's house is exposed."
"Not that neighbor."
I crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a key.
Behind my property was a private lane serving three homes.
Dr. Samuel Reed lived two houses away.
Retired obstetrician.
More importantly, his home could be reached through a locked landscaping corridor behind the eastern wall.
Nobody outside the neighborhood knew it existed.
Or so I hoped.
Marcus checked the hallway.
"Move."
We left the study.
The fake marshal still lay near the wall.
I didn't look closely enough to determine whether he was breathing.
That could wait.
Emily couldn't.
We reached the kitchen.
Rebecca supported Emily from one side.
I took the other.
Marcus went ahead.
He stopped at the side door.
"Clear."
I unlocked it.
Cold air rushed inside.
The rain had weakened.
We crossed the covered patio.
Emily could barely walk.
"Mom, I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"I can't."
"Then I'll carry you."
She almost laughed.
"You're sixty-one."
"Don't make tonight the night you start questioning my fitness."
That earned a weak smile.
Good.
I needed my daughter angry, frightened, sarcastic—anything except defeated.
We reached the garden wall.
Marcus opened the maintenance gate.
Rebecca suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
"Wait."
He froze.
"What?"
She pointed.
A tiny red light blinked beneath the hedge.
Camera.
Marcus crouched.
"Not ours."
"Whose?" I asked.
Rebecca stared toward the darkness.
"Shepherd's."
Marcus ripped the camera free.
The red light died.
"Now they know we're leaving."
"They already knew."
We moved faster.
By the time we reached Samuel's back door, Emily was crying.
I knocked.
Nothing.
Again.
"Sam!"
A light came on.
The door opened.
Samuel Reed stood there wearing pajama pants and an old Georgetown sweatshirt.
He looked at me.
Then Emily.
Then Marcus's gun.
"Margaret, what the hell?"
"My daughter is in labor."
That erased every other question.
"Inside."
Samuel became a doctor instantly.
He led Emily to the downstairs guest room.
His wife had died two years earlier, and the house had been painfully quiet ever since.
Tonight it became an emergency clinic.
Samuel examined Emily while I stood beside her.
Rebecca and Marcus waited outside.
"Thirty-four weeks?" Samuel asked.
"Thirty-five tomorrow," Emily said.
"Contractions started when?"
"Maybe twenty minutes ago."
He looked at me.
"Stress can accelerate labor."
"Can you stop it?"
"Maybe."
That word had never sounded so useless.
"Do you have medication?"
"Some. But she belongs in a hospital."
"We can't call local emergency services."
Samuel stopped.
"Why?"
"Because someone may intercept them."
His eyes narrowed.
"Margaret, what have you gotten into?"
"Nothing."
He looked at Emily's bruised face.
Then at me.
"That's clearly not true."
"It's Nathan," Emily whispered.
Samuel's expression changed.
He knew Nathan.
Everyone did.
"What did he do?"
"Later," I said.
Samuel checked Emily again.
Then he exhaled.
"The baby's heartbeat is strong."
My knees almost weakened.
Almost.
"Good."
"But she's progressing."
"How fast?"
"Fast enough that I don't like waiting."
I took out the secure phone.
Still jammed.
Rebecca appeared in the doorway.
"I can get a federal medical team."
"How?"
"I have a working satellite link."
Marcus appeared behind her.
"Don't use it."
Rebecca turned.
"She needs a hospital."
"And Shepherd is waiting for exactly that."
Samuel stared at them.
"Would somebody like to tell me why armed strangers are arguing in my hallway?"
"No," I said.
He looked offended.
"Fair enough."
Emily grabbed my hand.
"Mom."
"I'm here."
"What if Nathan comes?"
"He won't touch you."
"You can't promise that."
I leaned close.
"Yes, I can."
Her eyes searched mine.
For years I'd tried not to interfere in her marriage.
I'd called it respect.
Part of me now wondered whether I'd simply found a respectable word for distance.
Never again.
Rebecca motioned me into the hallway.
"I need to show you something."
"I'm not leaving her."
"Ten seconds."
I looked at Samuel.
He nodded.
I stepped outside.
Rebecca handed me a small photograph.
Old.
Creased.
It showed Victor Calder standing outside a courthouse.
Beside him was a much younger Nathan.
Nathan couldn't have been more than fifteen.
On Calder's other side stood a woman.
I recognized her.
My breath caught.
"No."
Rebecca whispered, "Yes."
It was Nathan's mother.
Elaine Cole.
I had met her at the wedding.
Elegant.
Reserved.
She'd died from cancer eighteen months later.
Or supposedly had.
"Elaine was Calder's daughter," Rebecca said.
"That's impossible."
"They changed her identity before the trial."
"Then Nathan is Calder's grandson."
"Yes."
The marriage suddenly looked different.
Nathan hadn't met Emily accidentally at a charity gala.
He'd found her.
Courted her.
Married the daughter of the judge who sentenced his grandfather.
"Revenge?"
Rebecca shook her head.
"At first."
"At first?"
"Nathan was given one assignment. Get close to you. Learn your routines. Learn who you trusted. Wait until Shepherd needed leverage over a federal judge."
I looked toward Emily.
"And then?"
"He actually fell in love with her."
I almost laughed.
"That's what you call love?"
"No. That's what Nathan called it. He began refusing orders."
"Until tonight."
"Until Emily found the phone."
"Who is Shepherd now?"
Rebecca stared at me.
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I know who it was eleven years ago."
"Who?"
She hesitated.
"Someone inside the federal government."
Marcus stepped forward.
"Enough."
I turned.
"Why are you protecting Shepherd?"
"I'm not."
"Then give me the name."
"I don't know the current Shepherd."
"Who was the previous one?"
Marcus and Rebecca exchanged a look.
That was answer enough.
They both knew.
"Name."
Rebecca finally whispered, "Deputy Director Warren Shaw."
I knew Shaw.
FBI.
Twenty-seven years of service.
He'd personally signed part of the affidavit supporting my wiretap order.
My stomach dropped.
"Shaw is involved in the investigation."
"Exactly."
The entire operation wasn't merely compromised.
It may have been designed to identify everyone who threatened the syndicate.
Including me.
"Then the wiretap—"
"May be a trap."
A sound came from the guest room.
Emily screamed.
I ran inside.
Samuel was beside her.
"What's happening?"
"Baby's coming."
"Now?"
"Yes."
Emily squeezed my hand so hard my fingers went numb.
"Mom!"
"I'm here."
Then every light in Samuel's house went out.
Marcus shouted from the hallway.
"Down!"
Glass shattered somewhere downstairs.
Rebecca pulled the curtains.
Samuel turned on a battery lamp.
Emily screamed again.
I heard a vehicle outside.
Then another.
Doors slammed.
Marcus looked through the edge of the curtain.
"Three SUVs."
"Police?"
"No plates."
My secure phone suddenly regained signal.
A message appeared.
DO NOT LET REBECCA HALE NEAR THE BABY.
I looked at Rebecca.
She saw my expression.
"What?"
Before I could answer, another message arrived.
SHE DID NOT RESCUE EMILY.
I stepped away from Rebecca.
"Margaret?"
A third message.
SHE WAS SENT TO DELIVER YOUR DAUGHTER TO ROOM 417.
Rebecca's face went white.
"Who is texting you?"
Then Samuel's front door opened downstairs.
No crash.
No forced entry.
Someone had unlocked it.
Footsteps entered the house.
Slow.
Unhurried.
A man's voice called from below.
"Margaret?"
I stopped breathing.
Nobody had called me that way in twenty years.
Not since my husband died.
The voice came again.
"Margaret, come downstairs."
May you like
I knew that voice.
And the dead man speaking had once slept beside me.
