Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [134]
His dreams shattered in front of him.
He would kill the bastard assassin Bruce and then Jeffrey would disappear. As much as he didn’t want to give up everything he’d earned, everything he’d worked so hard for, self-preservation was the most important thing. He would have to change his name and alter his appearance and create a power base in some pathetic third-world country.
After all, he still had plenty of money. And with Richie and Hamilton dead, he now controlled it all.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Though Claire had told Bill and Dave that she didn’t mind them bringing the rest of the gang, she felt overwhelmed within ten minutes, even though Manny was with Jill, who was at the hospital in labor.
Bill sensed her distress. He eased her out of the kitchen where the three cops were dishing up take-out Italian, and sat her in the living room. “One hour, kiddo. You look tired.”
She smiled. “It’s okay. I tried to sleep, but couldn’t. Dad was supposed to go into surgery at eight last night, but the surgeon was concerned about some test results, so they ran more tests and took more X-rays and didn’t even start until three this morning. And he’s still there. It shouldn’t take this long, should it? What if—”
Bill squeezed her hand. “Don’t do that. He’s still in surgery and that’s positive. Trust the doctors.”
Claire just wanted her dad back, her life settled. “I hate not being there. I talked to Nelia this morning, and she’s worried, but I think my pacing made her nervous.”
“Are you sure you don’t want us to get out of here? We’ll leave the food and let you—”
“I want you to stay.” She kissed him on the cheek.
Dave came in. “Do you want me to serve you up?” he asked Claire.
“I’ll eat in the kitchen,” she said, standing.
“There’s plenty,” Dave told Agent Warren. “Help yourself.”
“Save me some,” he said. “Though a cold soda would be good.”
“I’ll get it.”
Phil said, “I got it, Dave. Grab the bread out of the warmer.”
Claire walked into the kitchen and saw the spread—and the accompanying mess. “I’ll clean up,” Dave assured her.
“You’d better,” she said and smiled. Even though she’d have preferred to be alone, all she’d been doing this morning was sulking and worrying about her father’s surgery. That was hardly working to prove her father’s innocence. Though Agent Elliott told her that they were taking her father’s claims seriously, as well as following up on everything Claire had uncovered, Claire wasn’t there to know herself. She was tired, but she couldn’t sleep if she tried.
“Thanks for coming by,” she told Dave quietly.
He rubbed her shoulder. “I love you, kid.”
Claire didn’t feel much like eating, but to appease Dave and Bill, she ate a small plate of spaghetti. Agent Warren took his soda and stood guard, leaving her alone with her friends. She wondered what Mitch was doing. Following up on information? Leads? Was he interviewing Collier yet? She wished she could go down to FBI headquarters and find out exactly what was going on. The waiting game was going to kill her.
She excused herself and made a call. SSA Megan Elliott had given her a private number, and Claire didn’t feel guilty about using it.
“Elliott.”
“Agent Elliott, this is Claire O’Brien.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. But I wanted to know what was going on. No one has called, I don’t know if you have Collier, or what happened to Lora Lane, or if—”
“Okay,” the Fed interrupted. “I get it. I hate being out of the loop as well, but right now I can’t give you the information you want.”
“But—”
“We’re swamped. I have a dead judge, Collier in custody but not talking, and the media has set up shop outside the building.”
“Judge?” Claire remembered the news report, and it clicked. “Judge Drake—he’s the one who arraigned Frank Lowe. Detective Abrahamson told me yesterday he was most likely to know the details of any plea agreement between Lowe and the