The Valentine Hostage Read online

  “In other news—”

  Switching off the radio, Ben glanced at Monique. “I’m going back to New Orleans.”

  She looked up again. “You mean, today?”

  “Uh-huh. I won’t find the real killer by sitting around here. And now that they’ve decided I’m long gone, I should be safe.”

  He waited for her to say something about the prospect of being left on her own in the swamp. They hadn’t discussed it, but they both knew that if he took her with him she’d try to get away and run for the cops. So there was no option but to leave her here.

  Surprisingly, instead of saying a word about that, she said, “Ben, why try to do this yourself? Why not hire a private detective?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve done that? The minute the police arrested me, it was case closed as far as they were concerned. They weren’t going to look for evidence to prove I wasn’t guilty, so we went the private eye route. But after we’d tried three of the best in the city, we gave up.”

  “Because none of them found anything?”

  “Not exactly. More because of the reason none of them found anything. They all backed away from the case practically before they took it on.”

  “Why?”

  “Somebody got to them. Just like somebody got to Sandor Rossi.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “You mean am I paranoid? By this stage of the game, I probably am. But yes, I really believe they were scared off. So do my lawyers.”

  “Scared off by whom?”

  “By this guy Rossi calls The Nose. The guy who wanted my father dead and set me up. The guy whose real name Rossi was going to divulge in court—until he changed his mind.”

  “You’re going to talk to Rossi, aren’t you? Try to make him tell you who this Nose is.”

  “I’d love to, but he’s disappeared.”

  “You mean he left town, or…?”

  “I don’t know. All Dezi found out is that Rossi disappeared within hours of my escape. So he might have taken off, figuring I’d be looking for him. Or somebody might have left him floating in Lake Pontchartrain—so he wouldn’t be able to tell me anything if I caught up with him.”

  Monique was silent for a minute. “Who are you going to talk to, then?” she finally asked.

  “I’ve got a few other possibilities.”

  “But…Ben, your picture’s probably been on the front page of the Tunes-Picayune all week long. Do you think you can just wander around New Orleans without anyone spotting you?”

  Eyeing her curiously, he told himself he was only imagining that she sounded worried about him. She might have been doing her best to hide the fact she hated him, but she couldn’t possibly not.

  “I…I was simply being realistic,” she murmured, looking away.

  “Well, you’re not the only one who can disguise yourself. By the time I head out of here, my own parents wouldn’t know…”

  His words trailed off, his throat suddenly tight Not two minutes ago, he’d said something about the murders. But every now and then, it would still momentarily slip his mind that his parents were both gone.

  Clearing his throat, he latched onto the first topic he could think of to change the subject. “You know, in all these newscasts we’ve listened to, there’s been no mention of a missing woman. By now, shouldn’t someone have realized you’ve disappeared?”

  She gave him a little shrug. “I didn’t tell anyone I was going to New Orleans. And I doubt a missing woman from Hartford, Connecticut, would make the news here. But nobody will have missed me yet, anyway.”

  When she didn’t elaborate, he simply stood waiting for something more. She never really talked much about herself, but he’d discovered that she didn’t like long silences.

  “I told my office there was an emergency in my family,” she explained at last “That I wasn’t sure when I’d be back. I guess, eventually, someone will realize I’ve disappeared. By then, though…”

  She looked away, but not before he saw her eyes had filled with tears. And that made him feel like two cents.

  Being grabbed by a man she believed was a killer could only have been a nightmare. And even now that he was about to leave, she was probably still afraid he’d do something awful to her before he went.

  But he’d never have known she was frightened from the way she’d been behaving. This was the first time since the very beginning that she’d gotten weepy.

  Gazing down at her, the questions he hadn’t been able to stop asking himself drifted into his mind once more. What would have happened if they’d met under different circumstances? If she didn’t despise him?

  She was a gutsy lady, and if things had been different she was the kind of woman he might have…

  Mentally shaking his head, he told himself there was no point in even thinking along those lines. You couldn’t change what was, and he had to play the hand he’d been dealt.

  But if he had the choice, he’d at least turn back time and not do what he’d done to her. If he could relive Tuesday, he’d walk right by her outside that damn courthouse.

  He watched her for another minute. She was staring at the floor. And even though she wasn’t making any noise, the way she kept wiping at her eyes told him she was crying. Thinking back, he tried to figure out what had triggered it.

  I guess, she’d said, eventually, someone will realize I’ve disappeared.

  Was that it? The fact that she was so alone in the world she could vanish without anyone even knowing?

  He ran his fingers through his hair, aware that until the last couple of days he’d never given any thought to what being in the witness protection program would be like. But it had to be damn tough.

  She’d not only been convinced a killer would be seeking revenge against her, she’d been completely cut off from her real life. And he knew, only too well, how losing everything you’d always had made a person feel.

  Hesitantly, he eased himself onto the couch beside her, the scent of her perfume reminding him of the longing he felt every night while he lay beside her.

  Being so close to her in the darkness was the ultimate test of his willpower, and only his stubborn nature had kept him from sleeping on the couch or the floor after the first night.

  It was just as well he was leaving. Because even though he’d been managing not to touch her, he seemed to be constantly thinking about how soft and warm she’d feel in his arms.

  “Monique?” he said, trying to force the thoughts away.

  She didn’t even glance at him, just continued to sit with her head bent forward while he wondered if he’d do better to keep his mouth shut.

  His sister was always telling him it helped to talk about things, but he wasn’t at all sure that applied to him and Monique.

  At last, deciding to risk it, he said, “Going into the witness protection program ruined your life, didn’t it”.

  She looked at him then, her brown eyes dark with tears and her cheeks stained with them.

  “And I guess you could never even talk to anyone about it, could you,” he pressed when she said nothing.

  “No,” she murmured. “I… I said goodbye to my family. But since then…”

  “Since then you’ve had to keep it all inside?” he offered quietly.

  When she merely nodded, he sat watching her for another minute. “Do you want to talk about it now?” he finally asked.

  She shook her head, but even as she did words began spilling out.

  “I suddenly had nothing and no one,” she murmured. “I had to give up modeling because I’d have been too easy to trace. And my parents… They’re in Seattle, and I used to call them every Sunday. But after I… Some Sundays I’d have their number half dialed before I remembered. And my sister-in-law was pregnant, so she and my brother have a baby I’ve never seen. I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl. And my husband…”

  “Husband?” Ben repeated. “I didn’t realize you were married.”

  “I’m not, an
ymore.”

  “But…he wasn’t with you? I mean, when you went into the program he didn’t…?”

  “No,” she whispered. “He said he wasn’t leaving New York. He’s a stockbroker and he said…”

  Ben simply stared at her as she wiped away fresh tears. She’d been married to some creep who’d cared more about his job than about her? From everything he’d seen, she deserved far better.

  She sniffed a few times, then gave a miserable little shrug that made him want to wrap his arms around her and pull her close.

  Quickly, he told himself she wouldn’t appreciate being touched by a man she hated.

  “The marriage was a mistake, anyway,” she finally went on. “I was never really certain he was Mr. Right, and it turned out he wasn’t. He had this thing about appearances, and I guess he only wanted me because he thought a wife who was a model would be some sort of trophy. But as soon as I had to go into the program, and wasn’t going to be able to model anymore, I was no trophy.”

  “He sounds like a total jerk.”

  “Well…I should have realized how he was long before I did. But after that day in Augustine’s I was very…aware, I guess is the word, of how uncertain life is. So when I got back to New York it somehow seemed that marrying him was the right thing. It was hardly one of my better decisions” she added with another little shrug.

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” Ben told her for lack of anything better to say. Then he pushed himself up from the couch and walked across the room. Because if he didn’t put some distance between them, he knew he’d do something that would make her hate him even more.

  Chapter Five

  Friday, February 7

  9:02 a.m.

  Monique watched Ben put the final touches on his disguise, thinking that his trip into New Orleans wasn’t going to be quite so risky, after all.

  There’d been a terrific man’s wig in that suitcase Dezi had brought—as well as a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. And Ben had done some tricks with the fake mustache and an eyebrow pencil that made his few days’ growth of beard look more substantial than it actually was.

  She gazed at him for another minute, wondering if she should even bother asking when she was certain his answer would be no. But if she didn’t speak up…

  “Ben?” she said at last “I want to go with you.”

  He turned away from the mirror and looked at her. “You know I can’t take you along. But you’ll be fine here. I’ll contact Dezi and he’ll arrange for more supplies. And as soon as this is over, he’ll get you out”.

  For a horrified moment, she couldn’t utter a word. “Ben?” she finally said, her voice breaking on his name. “Are you saying you’re not coming back?”

  “You thought I was?”

  “Of course I thought you were! I thought you only meant you were going for the day!”

  “Oh, that’s why you didn’t say anything sooner.”

  “But you’ve got to come back! You can’t leave me here alone! What if that Spook shows up again and—”

  “If he was going to come back, he’d have come by now.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye out, Monique, and there’s been no sign of him.”

  Ordering herself to control her panic, she said, “Maybe he hasn’t been around during the day, but a couple of times I woke up in the night with the feeling that somebody was outside the cabin.”

  Ben gave her a skeptical glance. “Why didn’t you mention it when it happened?”

  “I guess I just didn’t want you to figure I was scared of the dark. But I did have the sense someone was out there. Haven’t you ever woken up with a creepy-crawly feeling that somebody’s been watching you?”

  “Uh-huh, practically every night for the past three years. But I really don’t think you need to worry about Spook.”

  “I—"

  “Monique, I’m sorry if you’re going to be nervous, but I’d be out of my mind to take you with me.”

  “Then just go for the day and come back. And I’m not saying that solely for my own benefit. If you try to hide out in New Orleans, sooner or later somebody will—”

  “That’s the only way I can play it. Driving in and out every day would be more risky than staying there. And you just can’t come with me. How could I try to find a killer and watch you at the same time?”

  She took a deep breath, then said, “I know you’re going to have trouble believing this, but you won’t have to watch me. I won’t try to escape and I won’t try to call the police.”

  He was shaking his head, so she switched to a different tack. “Come on, fair is fair. I really don’t want to be here by myself. I didn’t just make up that bit about Spook. I honestly think he’s been spying on us. So if you’ll take me along I swear I won’t turn around and—”

  “Monique, I can’t trust you.”

  “Yes, you can. I—”

  “No, I can’t. You think I’m a murderer, and I just can’t believe you wouldn’t be onto the police if you got the slightest chance.”

  She hesitated, afraid to put her thoughts into words. If she let herself do that, it might make her believe they were the truth even more than she already did. But if they’d help convince him…

  “I don’t think you’re a murderer,” she said at last “I mean…I’m not sure anymore.”

  Ben stood staring at Monique, wanting to believe that so badly it hurt. Literally millions of people were convinced he was a cold-blooded killer, and it would feel so, so good to know someone like her wasn’t certain. But he couldn’t believe that any more than he could believe she wouldn’t call the cops.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you this,” she continued slowly, “and I know it’s something else you might think I’m just making up. But I saw a man outside the courthouse on Tuesday. I was staring at him the very minute you came up to me. And he looked so much like you that I thought he was you.”

  She gazed steadily at Ben as she spoke, and hard as he tried he couldn’t see a lie in those gorgeous brown eyes. She couldn’t really believe he might be innocent, though. She’d just told him that to make him think he could trust her. And as for seeing a lookalike…

  But what if she actually had?

  “This guy looked that much like me?” he finally asked, unable to resist.

  “Yes. And I keep thinking about him and wondering if…”

  “If?”

  “If he,” she murmured, “might have been the real killer. Hanging around the courthouse so he’d hear the verdict as soon as everyone started coming out— like an arsonist staying to watch a fire he’s set”.

  Even though Ben was still telling himself to be careful, that he couldn’t risk believing Monique was being straight with him, his adrenaline was pumping like mad.

  “And now that I’ve told you about him,” she went on, “I might as well mention something else that’s been bothering me.”

  “All right,” he said slowly.

  “During the first trial, your defense team kept saying that the physical evidence was a joke, remember? Talking about how the police never found the gun and that everything else was inconclusive.”

  “Or trumped up,” he muttered. “Or tainted.”

  Monique nodded “And they kept referring to all those studies that show eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable, and saying it was all the prosecution really had.”

  “But it was enough for the jury.”

  “Yes… mostly because of Brently Gleason, though. The media went on and on about what an impressive witness she was.”

  Ben stared at the floor, remembering her on the stand. Probably because she was an artist, she had an uncanny eye for detail. And she’d painted such an incredibly vivid verbal picture of the murders that listening to her had made him ill.

  “So why didn’t she testify at the retrial?” Monique asked.

  He hesitated, tempted to tell her about that article in the Times-Picayune. But if he did she’d probably figure
it was only a figment of his imagination.

  “I’m not sure why she didn’t testify” was all he finally said. “We just thanked our lucky stars she didn’t. Not that it helped enough to change the end result. Sandor Rossi saw to that.”

  “Well, I asked, Ben. I asked Travis Shanahan, the prosecutor, why he wasn’t calling Brently the second time around.”

  “And he said?”

  “He didn’t give me a straight answer. But after seeing that man on the street, I can’t help wondering if Brently started to doubt what she saw that day in Augustine’s. Who she saw, I mean. And maybe that’s why she didn’t testify again.”

  Ben exhaled slowly, trying to quiet the rapid beating of his heart. Monique sounded so damn sincere, but if he trusted her, if he took her to New Orleans with him…

  “There was an article about Brently in the TimesPicayune,” he said tentatively. “Back before the New Year.”

  “Yes?”

  “Someone tried to kill her. It ended with a big shoot-out in the Aquarium, but there’d been a lot of weird stuff happening to her before that.”

  “What sort of stuff?”

  “Well, for starters, her husband—who was an NOPD cop—disappeared just after my first trial, and everyone thought he was dead. But this article hinted that he might not be.”

  “And?”

  “And he was with her in Augustine’s the day of the murders. In fact, the article implied that her being there was a setup. That the husband knew about the shootings beforehand and was ensuring she’d be an eyewitness.”

  “So I was right,” Monique murmured. “Brently didn’t testify again because she knew she’d been manipulated. Which meant she could no longer be sure it was really you she saw.”

  Ben gazed at her, thinking she sounded as if she truly did have doubts about his guilt. And if she did, just maybe he could believe what she’d said about not double-crossing him.

  He considered that, then firmly told himself that taking her with him would be far too dangerous.

  What about Spook, though, with that knife of his? Spook, who Dezi had said was a nut bar. If the guy really had been hanging around…