Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [155]
“I want the disk,” he said.
“I can’t—” Meg said.
“Just stop with the rules. I don’t care if it’s evidence. He’s dead! I have to protect Claire. If that gets out, it’ll destroy her.”
“I’ll do it,” Hans said.
“I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t. Trust me, Mitch. No one else will see it. Ever.”
Hans turned and walked toward the house.
“Go back to the hospital,” Meg said as they watched Hans enter Langstrom’s house. “You’ll want to be there when Claire wakes up.”
“You need me here,” Mitch said.
“Scram. Claire needs you more,” Meg said.
“Thanks.”
“By the way, a friend of mine called. He’d heard about you, might have a job you’re interested in.”
Mitch stared at her. “Am I fired?” Did he sound hopeful?
“No. I want you to stay. But—” Meg glanced down, then back at Mitch. “You’ve never been happy in the FBI. I saw it, but never addressed it, because I didn’t want to lose you from my team. You’re a great agent. But I want you to do something you really want to do, not what anyone else wants for you.”
“I guess you know me better than I thought.”
“You don’t have to take it. And your job is safe, if you want to stay. Just give this guy a call and listen to what he has to say.”
Mitch took the card Meg held out.
J. T. CARUSO
ROGAN-CARUSO PROTECTIVE SERVICES
“I’ll listen,” he said and walked to his car, leaving the dead, and the past, behind him.
* * *
Claire woke to soft voices. Her eyes opened halfway. She breathed as deeply as she could and smelled hospital.
She’d made it. Somehow, she got out of her grave and made it.
Memories of sound, voices, filtered in. Being buried with dirt. Screaming. Begging for her life. Then nothing but warmth. Being rocked. Someone holding her.
Don’t die on me. Don’t do it.
I need you.
I love you.
Mitch had been there. Claire had heard him, felt him.
“Mitch.” Her throat was thick and raw.
“Honey.”
It was her dad. She turned, saw Tom O’Brien sitting with Nelia Kincaid in her hospital room. He wore a bathrobe, but her dad was sitting up. Alive and well.
“Daddy?”
“You’re okay.” He took Claire’s hand.
Nelia said, “I’ll be right back.” She left.
“Oh, Daddy, I don’t know where to begin.”
He fed her water through a straw.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“He killed Mom.”
“I know.”
“He was in my room. He took my bear. He—”
“Shh. Don’t.”
Claire breathed deeply. “How’d they find out?”
“Mitch and the FBI put the information together, and they gave Don Collier a deal for Langstrom’s name.”
“Langstrom?”
“Phil Palmer’s real name was Bruce Langstrom. He was an assassin, for lack of a better word. The FBI is going through countless records of Judge Drake, Richard Mancini, and Congressman Riordan. They’re putting together a conspiracy going back nearly three decades. Political corruption, illegal land deals. Murder.”
“Murder?”
“Seems they killed an old woman for her land. It’s what started this, at least for us. Frank Lowe ratted out Riordan to Chase Taverton as part of a plea agreement. Judge Drake found out about it and had them killed. It was just chance that Lydia was having an affair with Taverton. If not Lydia, it would have been some other woman who died, another husband or ex-boyfriend framed.”
Her dad held her hand.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“This isn’t your fault, or mine, or even your mother’s. Blame those selfish bastards. Be satisfied that their crimes are being exposed now that they’re dead.”
“The time we lost—”
“Honey, believe me, I could hate for a long time if I think about what I lost. That’s gone. I have you back, and that means more to me than anything in the world. I’ve regained my reputation. My innocence. My freedom. I can walk the streets again. And then there’s Nelia.”
His face softened and Claire squeezed