Betrayal - Fern Michaels [82]
Kate pulled the heavy oak door aside. No Gertie. She stepped out onto the porch to see if she’d gone around back. There was no trace of her. She was about to go back inside and get a sweater when she heard something that sounded like a car door closing. She walked around to the driveway. A silver car—she hadn’t been expecting company. The person driving flicked on the headlights. Apparently whoever it was saw her and shut the engine.
Kate waited while the visitor walked up the drive to the porch.
“Kate, is that you?”
“Coleman? Coleman Fitzpatrick, what in the name of Pete are you doing in Asheville? I’ve tried to call you for two days.”
“Kate, can I come inside? I’m not used to this weather. Florida living spoils you.”
“Of course. Come on. I have a fire in the den and a pot of hot chocolate.”
Coleman followed Kate inside. He dreaded telling her the news. A phone call would’ve been sufficient, but he couldn’t do that to Kate.
He entered a brightly lit room. Big sofas and large chairs were scattered haphazardly about the room. The stone fireplace took up one wall. Coleman liked what he saw. Homey, nothing pretentious, just like Kate. If he remembered right, this was Kate’s childhood home.
She continued on to a bright red kitchen. Copper pots and a red stove. So like Kate. She took a cup from the cabinet. “I might have to heat this a bit. I was going through some old Christmas decorations.” Kate stopped. Coleman wasn’t there to chitchat. “Why are you here?”
He pulled out two chairs from the old oak table. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess? It’s about Alex, right? Coleman, if you’re hiding him out in the car, I’ll never forgive you! Did you bring him home?”
She wasn’t making this easy. “Kate, I want you to sit down. No, I don’t have Alex in the car. I promise you. I wish I did, but I don’t. Please”—he motioned toward the chair—“sit down.”
She did as he asked. “What?”
He was about to tear her world apart. There wasn’t a nice way to do this. “Kate, yesterday there was a fight at the prison. Alex was involved. Some guys in the showers. I’m sorry, Kate. Alex was killed.”
Time stopped.
“Say that again?” Kate asked.
“Alex was defending one of his friends. Someone got hold of a shiv. They used it on Alex. He didn’t make it, Kate. God, I am so sorry.”
Her body went limp, and her world turned black.
Chapter 24
Orlando, Florida
Seven years later
The Internal Revenue Service office was like any other government office. Dull and boring. The employees were hardworking and dedicated. Auditing was a serious business, so they took their jobs seriously. At lunchtime, they discussed dividends, tax shelters, and capital gains. They all knew the numbers for each and every tax form ever published. For the numerically challenged, it was the job from hell. For those with a mission, to work at the IRS was the chance of a lifetime.
Kate Rocket had worked her way up to supervisor of the Orlando office. She’d never missed a day of work. Never called in sick in the five years she had worked there. Never took a vacation and always ate her lunch at her desk. She did not socialize with any of the employees. She was punctual to a fault. All who worked with her, especially the new agents, called her “Killer Kate” behind her back because working with her would kill you. She knew what they said about her. She had a job to do. She didn’t care to learn about her workers’ personal lives. She didn’t want to give them an opportunity to ask about hers. There was nothing to tell. She lived in a one-bedroom condo. She had a bed, a couch, and a small table in the kitchen. She had five different suits she wore to work: gray, black, brown, dark green, and burgundy. She wore plain white blouses with all of them. Black or brown shoes with beige nylons. She wore her hair in a topknot. She usually had a pencil or two tucked within the nest of her hair. She had nothing fancy, nothing to distract her from her job. At 8:00 A.M., she went to work and left at exactly 5:00 P.M. She went home to her empty condo. She did not cook. Her