ELEVEN
The next day, there was news. It wasn’t good.
Paul cursed under his breath as Jon Blackhawk laid it out for the task force working on the money-laundering operation.
“The Leeds boy went to bury his mother. She’s from Brooklyn.” Jon ground his teeth together. “He won’t have to look far for a cleaner in all of New York City. Especially if his acquaintance from the bar in town here told him where to go.”
“The CI said he talked to the go-between,” Paul told him. “He said he didn’t know any cleaners locally, but he knew somebody in Brooklyn who might be able to steer him toward a contract man. Works for a guy who runs a bar over near Fifth Street. Bar owner had a father, I think he said, who fought bulls in Spain.”
Jon scowled, deep in thought. “Cash Grier had a contact in Brooklyn, a guy who used to work for Micah Steele, in the days when he was still doing merc jobs. He might have some ideas. You need to go talk to Grier, Paul.”
“Grier has a lot of contacts,” Paul said with a grin. “Most of them don’t carry badges. And some of them are, shall we say, fugitives from justice.”
“You can think of my brother as a CI,” Garon Grier said, sticking his head in the door. “He has friends in some really low places,” he added with a grin. “I have to get back to my office. Grace and I have to take Tory for his checkup. I like to go, too.” Garon was the SAC at the Jacobsville satellite office, but he’d worked for the San Antonio branch of the Bureau as ASAC before that.
“Our little girl, Gwen, has a checkup upcoming, as well.” Jon chuckled. “Markie’s crazy about his baby sister.”
Garon sighed. “I’m glad Joceline didn’t decide to give up working here completely,” he told Jon. “I mean, who’d threaten to feed my legislative proposals to the paper shredder and water the ficus plant with undrinkable coffee the agents have to make because she’s liberated and she won’t make coffee!” he yelled out toward the hallway.
Joceline Blackhawk, Jon’s wife, sailed by the open door with a handful of papers. “Oh, SAC Grier, so sorry to tell you that those letters you dictated for those visiting dignitaries are about to meet with an unspeakable act of gratuitous violence,” she called back. “Tough luck that your secretary in Jacobsville got sick and I had to do them for you!”
“Speak English!” Garon called after her.
“Shouldn’t insult administrative assistants,” she trolled.
“Quick, go tell her I’m sorry,” Garon told Jon.
“Why do I have to go?” Jon wanted to know.
“Because if I go, she’ll know I’m lying,” he said.
Jon shook his head. “Let me get these guys out of here and I’ll do my best for you. I only hope it will be enough,” he added with a chuckle.
Garon threw up his hand and went out the back door.
Jon turned back to his task force. “Paul, go see Cash. Phillips, talk to the bank’s loan officer and lean on him just a little. Banks.” He stared at Texas Ranger Colter Banks, who was lounging back in his chair with the two front legs off the floor, his big booted feet on the desk.
“Hmm?” A deep voice emerged from under the broad brim of a white Stetson propped over his eyes.
“You said you knew one of the Leeds woman’s friends,” Jon continued.
“I do.” Banks leaned forward, getting to his feet in a graceful motion. He adjusted the tilt of his Stetson. “I’ll see what I can find out about her schedule for the past few weeks.”
“Good. And, Mack,” he said, glancing at the financial officer.
“I know,” Mack said good-naturedly, “see how many recent transactions I can trace that have the Leeds woman’s cyber footprints. I’ll enlist some help from other agencies and get back to you.”
“I hate money laundering.”
They all looked at the Treasury guy, Al Butrell. He was glaring at the table.
“We all do, Butrell,” Jon began.
“I hate it more. Every time I have to track down one of these unscrupulous guys, my wife starts feeding me hot dogs. Every night. Hot dogs, with mustard.”
“Why?” Jon asked.
“Because I talk in my sleep. She says I’m good for two hours a night about how to follow the money trail. She hates it when I talk in my sleep. And I hate hot dogs. So…”
“There’s a simple solution,” Paul advised. “Eat out!”
Jon chuckled. “And that’s my advice, too. Okay. Let’s meet back here in a couple of days, same time. Hopefully, we’ll have more information by then and a plan of action.”
* * *
Cash Grier was sitting on Carlie Farwalker’s desk dictating letters. She was typing them at the computer. They both looked up when Paul entered the room.
“No,” Cash said without preamble.
Paul’s dark eyebrows went up. “I haven’t asked you for a thing yet,” he protested.
“Well, the answer’s no, when you do ask for something.”
Paul glanced at Carlie, who was trying to choke back laughter.
Cash glared at her. “That’s right, give me away! Honestly, why do I even keep you around here?”
“Because I laugh at your jokes and I’m the only person in town who can read your handwriting,” she said smugly.
Cash just shook his head and grinned. He turned his attention to Paul. “All right. You want me to tell you where to find somebody in a case you’re dealing with.”
“Are you psychic?” Paul asked, fascinated.
“My wife is, but that’s another story,” Cash said. The grin got bigger. “Jon called me. Come on in. Carlie, coffee please?”
“Coming right up, Chief.”
“You make him coffee?” Paul asked, stunned. “We have to make our own in San Antonio.”
“You could always replace Joceline with a coffeemaker,” Cash suggested. “Of course, you’d have to find one who could type and deal with unpleasant visitors.”
“We’ve pretty much given up having drinkable coffee, unless we can find somebody to do away with Special Agent Murdock, who makes it,” Paul confessed. He shrugged. “On a happier note, the ficus tree seems to thrive on caffeine, except that it shakes all the time now.” He scowled. “I wonder if a ficus tree can have a nervous breakdown?”
Cash chuckled. “Come in and have a seat,” he said, motioning him into the office. He closed the door.
“Who do you want to find?” Cash asked when they were seated.
“A guy who works in a bar in Brooklyn,” Paul said. “The bar’s owner had a father who fought bulls in Spain…”
“Viejo,” Cash said at once. His dark eyes narrowed with angry memories. “That’s what we called him. His son helped kidnap my wife and almost got her killed. The boy’s doing twenty years for kidnapping and assault and battery.”
Paul let out a breath. “I didn’t think you’d know which bar I was talking about. Heavy stuff.”
“Very.” He stared at Paul. “Why do you want to talk to Viejo?”
“I know you’re aware of the Grayling case.”
“Isabel could get you for kidnapping, while we’re on the subject,” Cash chided. “And you an officer of the law, too,” he added with twinkling dark eyes.
“Don’t start,” Paul muttered. “She wouldn’t talk to me and she had information I needed. I just carried her out to my car to talk to her about her father…” He stopped, averted his eyes and fought down rage. “I didn’t know he was hurting those girls. I swear to God, I never saw him lift a hand to them!”
“Nobody knew, except a local physician,” Cash replied coldly. “He talked to Hayes Carson, but they couldn’t prove anything. Grayling had some damned good lawyers. The upshot was a threatened lawsuit that the county wouldn’t risk if they pushed it. Isabel swore it was an accident.”
“I guess she’d learned to be afraid of him. She and Merrie both,” Paul replied. He shook his head. “Mandy wanted to tell me, but she said she’d land her brother in prison if she opened her mouth. Grayling can buy just about anybody.”
“Not in here, he can’t,” Cash replied. He leaned back with his boots propped on his desk. “Not in Hayes Carson’s office now, either, since he’s the sheriff and not just a deputy.” He pursed his lips. “Besides that, my cousin Simon Hart just got reelected.”
“State attorney general, wasn’t it?” the other man asked.
Cash nodded. “And if that isn’t enough, my family owns half of El Paso.”
Paul sighed. “It’s always about money, isn’t it?” he asked with more rancor than he realized.
Cash saw a lot. He knew about Paul’s sudden exodus from Jacobsville three years before, and he had a pretty good idea why Isabel hadn’t wanted to talk to the FBI agent.
“Money shouldn’t stop people from going after things they want.”
Paul laughed coldly. “Sure.” He met Cash’s eyes. “Suppose your gorgeous wife was worth two hundred million and you had to live on a police chief’s salary, before you married her.”
Cash didn’t speak. He winced.
“See?” Paul replied.
“It’s a shame.”
Paul averted his eyes. “Life is a series of tragedies, followed by death. I just do my job and go home to complete control of the TV remote. There are people worse off.”
There was a knock and the door opened. Carlie came in with two mugs of coffee. “I hope you don’t want cream,” she told Paul. “One of the patrol officers used the last of it and I haven’t had time to go shopping for more.”
“I’m no sissy,” Paul scoffed. “I like my coffee straight up.”
Cash chuckled. She grinned at him, left the coffee and closed the door behind her.
“Why are you looking for Viejo?” Cash repeated.
“Not him, just a guy who works for him,” Paul replied, sipping coffee. “His bar is where the Leeds woman’s son was sent to look for local talent. He’s after a cleaner.”
“Oh, my God,” Cash ground out. “For Grayling?”
“Nobody knows. He was pretty drunk when he approached a local hood in San Antonio about the name of a cleaner for a job. But he mentioned something about taking out Grayling’s daughters first. He thinks the man loves his daughters because he’s so protective of them. Loves them, the devil,” he said harshly. “He wanted to marry Isabel off to a Middle Eastern prince so he could keep the money in the family, and get even more.” His face tautened. “He even told me once to watch her around one of the local cops here who was flirting with her. He didn’t want his daughter to get mixed up with, as he put it, ‘a grubby little lawman.’”
Cash grimaced. He could see the pain in the other man’s face. He wondered if Isabel Grayling even knew the man was crazy for her. Probably not, if Paul had to carry her out of the courthouse just to get her to talk to him.
“I never cared about how much the job paid,” Paul said quietly. “I loved my job. I loved it too much, once.”
Cash leaned forward. “Any job that requires guns brings scars with it.”
Paul looked up. “I guess my past is an open secret around here,” he said when he noted the compassion in the dark eyes that met his.
“Just in law enforcement circles.”
“I was going to clean up Trenton,” Paul said with a sad smile.
“You got one major killer off the streets,” Cash replied quietly.
“I did. But the cost was almost unbearable.”
“For what it’s worth, life gets a little easier down the road.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child!”
“The hell I don’t!” Cash shot back.
The men exchanged long glances. Paul grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It was a long time ago. I have a gorgeous wife and a little girl and a brand-new son,” Cash said. “I moved on, because I had to. I still have nightmares about some of the things I’ve done in my life. But not as many.”
Paul cocked his head. “I’ve heard some stuff about you. Not sure I believed it.”
Cash just smiled. “Whatever it was, these days I’m just a small-town police chief.”
“Yeah. Like Putin was just a cop.”
Cash got the reference and burst out laughing. “I know where that smart remark came from. Where the hell did you see Marc Brannon? He used to work with me when I was a Texas Ranger,” Cash replied. “I worked with him again when I was with the DA’s office in San Antonio a few years ago, doing cybercrime.”
“He told Colter Banks what he said, and Colter told us.” Paul chuckled. “He’s part of the task force we put together to track down Grayling’s associates.”
“Colter. He’s my cousin.”
“So he said.”
“I haven’t seen Marc for a while. He and Josette sold their ranch and moved to Wyoming with the kids. Marc said Jacobs County was getting too crowded to suit him. He’s running purebred Black Angus now, and he says he doesn’t miss law enforcement,” Cash recalled.
“I don’t like cattle. I like horses,” Paul replied. “I didn’t know much about them, but I had to learn. When the girls went riding, I had to go along. One of the Thoroughbred trainers felt sorry for me and taught me how.”
“Shame about Grayling,” Cash said. “If he gets convicted, he’ll lose everything.”
“The girls will still have the house and what’s in it,” Paul said. His eyes narrowed. “After what he did to Isabel and Merrie, I’ll be at every damned parole hearing he gets for the rest of my life.”
“So will they, I imagine,” Cash said. “The difference is that he won’t have money to buy high-powered attorneys.”
“Poetic justice.”
“Exactly.”
“Jon Blackhawk said he thought you also knew a guy who does merc work in Brooklyn, and that he might talk to us if you asked him. I don’t want to spook a potential hit man by walking into a bar and asking questions.”
“Peter Stone,” Cash said. “He’s still with Micah Steele’s old group. He knows the territory and he’s got contacts of his own. I’ll give you his phone number. And I’ll call him myself and ask him to talk to you.”
“Thanks,” Paul said.
“We’re both on the same side,” Cash reminded him. “The bottom line is to get criminals off the street before they commit crimes. I’d hate like hell to have either of the Grayling women hurt any more than they’ve already been hurt.”
“That makes two of us.”
* * *
Sari and Glory were leaning over a table, studying a map that was involved in a criminal case Blake Kemp’s office was trying in the next session of superior court, when Paul walked in the door.
Glory saw him first and smiled. “Mr. Kemp’s out…” she began.
“That’s okay, I can come back,” he said.
“He won’t be back till tomorrow,” she told him.
He shrugged. “I’ll catch him later in the week, then. I should have called first, but I had to talk to the police chief. Miss Grayling,” he added formally, when Sari glanced at him, “could I have a word with you?”
“Only if you promise not to carry me out the door again,” she said haughtily.
He pursed his lips. “Spoilsport,” he said.
She flushed. Glory coughed.
Sari walked over to where he was standing, and folded her arms over her breasts defensively. “Yes?”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. He was somber. “We’re tracking the Leeds woman’s son,” he said under his breath. “He’s gone to Brooklyn to bury his mother. We think he’s going to look for a cleaner.”
“A cleaner.” She wasn’t getting it.
“A contract killer,” he said.
Her breath caught. “For Daddy?” she asked.
“We’re not sure.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure what he was saying.
“You’ve got bodyguards. Make sure they know what I’ve told you. They’ll understand what they need to do. That guy, Morris, he still work for your dad?”
“Yes.” She said it with pure ice in her voice.
“Is he with your dad, or at the house?”
She swallowed. “He’s still driving for me.”
His teeth clenched.
“I can’t fire him,” she said. “I’d like to. He’s strictly my father’s man. But I don’t pay his salary.”
“I’ll talk to Eb Scott,” he said.
She looked up into his drawn face. She felt a cold chill go up her spine. “It isn’t just Daddy you think he’s after, is it?”
He didn’t answer the question, except indirectly. “Nobody’s hurting you or Merrie, or Mandy,” he said tightly. “No matter what it takes, we’ll protect you.”
The emotion he couldn’t hide was adding new lines to his face. His dark eyes were glittery with it.
“All right,” Sari said. She searched his eyes. “Thanks.”
He averted his gaze. “Tell your bodyguards I said to keep an eye on Morris, just in case.” He didn’t add that he was going to talk to Eb Scott and repeat what he’d told Cash.
“I will.”
He turned to go.
“Why, Paul?”
He hesitated. Then turned back to her. “Why, what?” he asked curtly.
“Why do you care what happens to us now?” she asked tautly. “You just walked off and left us years ago, and never looked back.”
His heart ached, just looking at her. “I like my life, just as it is,” he said. “No entanglements. No emotional ties. I do the job and go home.”
“Is the job really enough?”
He smiled sadly. “It’s all I have.”
He walked away while she was struggling to find a reply.
* * *
Paul called Eb Scott the moment he got back to San Antonio.
“Morris is one of those guys who’ll do damned near anything he’s told if he’s paid enough,” he said. “He’s driving Isabel and, I assume, Merrie. But he needs to be watched. There’s another complication.”
“What?” Eb asked.
“The woman who was helping Grayling launder mob money had a son. He’s gone to Brooklyn to arrange her funeral, but we think he may be arranging a contract killer for Grayling and his daughters, as well. He’s mentally unstable and apparently drunk most of the time trying to deal with the loss.”
“Damn,” Eb muttered.
“I can’t get on the house or grounds without an invitation, and the girls can’t give me that. Grayling would love having me hauled up in court for trespassing on his property. But if professionals are brought in, the surveillance I assume Grayling still has won’t be adequate. There’s nothing to stop a killer from calling one of the women and saying another one has been hurt, or needs help, to lure her out of a safe zone.”
“That was done not too long ago. Jake Blair’s daughter Carlie was kidnapped by just such a ploy,” Eb said.
“Blair. The minister?”
“Yes.”
“Damn!”
“She was rescued in time. The boss was actually after Jake, not her. But if they aren’t warned, it could work. How certain are you that the woman’s son has the daughters and not the father in his sights?”
“We’re not certain of anything right now. I just want them safe.” He hesitated. “Look, I don’t have family. Well, I’ve got a cousin in the mob in Jersey, but he doesn’t really count. Isabel and Merrie and Mandy, they’re my family. Things were done to the girls because I left. I didn’t know about it. But even if all three of them hate me, I have to do everything I can to keep them safe.”
“They won’t be harmed. You have my word. The men I’ve got watching them are the best I have.”
“Grayling always had other people watching them, even when I was head of security for him,” Paul cautioned. “I don’t know if that’s still the case, but I imagine it is. And the men he’d hire won’t be like yours. They’ll come from the backstreets.”
Eb chuckled.
“Okay, what’s that about?” Paul wanted to know.
“Rogers and Barton spotted them the first day,” Eb replied. “We got intel. The first move they make toward the women, they’ll be sitting over at the detention center with Hayes Carson. They’re both on parole. One false step…”
“God, I like the way you roll.” Paul chuckled.
“Come work for me,” Eb said. “I’ll make you a legend in your own time.”
“Thanks, but I like where I’m at,” Paul said lazily. “If I ever get old enough to retire, the benefits will be nice.”
“Well, to each his own, I guess. Don’t worry about Isabel and Merrie and Mandy. I’ve got it covered.”
“Thanks. I feel better.”
“If you need help, you know where I am.”
“I appreciate it. Grier gave me the name of a merc he knows in Brooklyn. That’s going to be my starting point.”
“Good luck.”
“I’m going to need a little of that,” Paul replied.
* * *
He got on a plane to Newark the next day. Betty Leeds’s son had shown up in the bar Cash told Paul about. Peter Stone had staked it out and had a photo of the man on his cell phone to compare. He pegged him talking to a known mob figure.
With that information, Paul went to the US Marshals office and sat down with old friend Bryan Moss.
“What can I help you with?” Moss asked warmly.
“This guy.” He pushed his cell phone across to the man, who grimaced when he saw the photo that Peter Stone had texted him from the bar.
“Anthony Cross,” Moss replied. He shook his head. “If Justice could just get one conviction on this guy… I guess we live on hope.” He pushed the cell phone back across to Paul. “He’s only been arrested once in connection with a hit. He doesn’t do them himself. Too dirty for his little hands. He subcontracts. There’s one main guy he uses. Tony Barca. He’s got half a dozen arrests, but there’s always a witness who disappears or a technicality he gets off on. He belongs to the East Riders. They’ve got great lawyers.”
“East Riders?” Paul asked.
“Local gang. They harbored a fugitive we had to take down a few months ago. Get this, the turkeys actually targeted one of my squad leaders!”
Paul smiled. “I’ll bet that didn’t go the way they planned.”
“Are you kidding?” Moss scoffed. “Justice got two of them on attempted murder, and they didn’t walk. We got one hell of a US attorney here. He nailed them to the wall, and the witnesses were our own guys—incorruptible.”
“At least somebody’s sweeping up the trash.”
Moss gave him a warm smile. “You did a great job yourself. You were, and are, one hell of a lawman. Incorruptible, like us.”
“Lot of good it did me, personally,” he said. “I still feel the guilt, all these years down the road. I was so hotheaded in those days.”
“You didn’t know, Paul,” he replied quietly. “Nobody could have guessed what would happen. LaCarta was a minor mob boss. He didn’t even have much of a rep in Trenton.”
“Yes, but he was the kid brother of the guy I sent up,” Paul reminded him. “And he got even.”
“Not without cost,” Moss said. “He paid the price.”
“Ten years, with good behavior,” Paul said coldly. “Ten years! He’ll be eligible for parole in… Why are you looking at me like that?”
Moss’s eyebrows arched. “You didn’t hear?”
“Hear what?”
“I know somebody from the local DA’s office was supposed to contact you about that. Listen, LaCarta got a shiv in the heart last month.”
Paul’s eyes widened. “He live?”
“No, he didn’t live.” Moss lowered his voice. “Rumor is that your cousin had a pal do him. I don’t know if it’s true. Mikey never got over what happened, either.”
“Me and Mikey are all that’s left of my whole family,” Paul said. “Yeah, he was tight with… Well, I won’t pretend to mourn LaCarta. God’s mill grinds slowly but relentlessly, they say.”
“They’re right. What’s Mikey doing these days?”
“Still working for Leo, I guess,” Paul told him. “I talk to him occasionally. We got together in Newark a couple of months ago. I was on my way back to Texas.” He hesitated then he looked up. “We talked about the past.”
“I guess he talked about the past to someone else,” Moss mused. “Just as well. LaCarta is one less piece of trash to sweep off the street.”
“So he is.”
“You were crazy about that guy’s daughter in Texas,” the older man said. “Why didn’t you stay?”
Paul’s face closed up. “Money.”
“Money?”
“She had two hundred million and I work for the government,” Paul replied. Pride almost choked him.
“You take things too seriously, pal,” Moss sighed. “If she wanted you, she could have given it up, you know? Put it in a trust, donated it to charity. She could have found a way.”
“She’s had money her whole life, Moss,” Paul replied. “How could I ask her to sacrifice her way of life, to live in a tiny apartment and do her own cooking?”
“If she loved you, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice.”
Paul lowered his eyes. “Yeah, well, I made a stupid decision and now I’m stuck with the consequences. It’s a lot more than money now.” He thought of the scars she must be carrying, both she and Merrie, from what he’d said to her father. It wounded him. “I can’t ever have her. She hates my guts. But I’ll protect her, any way I can.”
“Tell Mikey to have a talk with the Leeds woman’s son,” Moss chided.
“Oh, sure, that’ll work. Hell, the guy loved his mother. Maybe he’s just nuts from grief and he’s talking through his hat.”
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t be sitting in my office.”
Paul grimaced. “Well, no, I guess I wouldn’t. So, where can I find this go-between guy?” he added, and pulled up the notes app on his cell phone.
* * *
Isabel felt sick at what Paul had told her. She pulled her bodyguards to the side before they got into the limousine that Morris was driving.
“Paul said that Morris would do anything for money, and he works for my father,” she began.
The tall one held up a hand. “Eb’s already talked to us,” he reassured her. “We also know about the other bodyguards your father assigned to follow you.”
“Yes, we do,” the broader one said with a cold smile. “They have priors and they’re on parole. One little slip and the sheriff’s going to have some new boarders in his detention center.”
Isabel smiled. “Thanks, guys. I feel much better.”
“We’re not letting anything happen to you,” the tall one told her.
“We wouldn’t dare,” his companion agreed. “Eb would skin us alive!”
“He seems like a very nice man,” Isabel said, having seen him and his wife at community get-togethers.
“That’s exactly how he seems until you see him at the other end of an automatic weapon,” the tall one replied.
“I’m just grateful for the help,” she told them. “My father is scary.”
“Not to us,” the broad one said gently. “So just relax.”
Which seemed like good advice. Except that when they got to the mansion, Darwin Grayling was standing in the hall, waiting for them.
“Isabel,” Darwin said coldly. He looked from one of her bodyguards to the other. “I’d like to speak to you in private for a moment, please,” he said, his voice soft and nonthreatening. “It’s about the house and the furnishings. I’ve made a decision about them.”
“The house?” Sari asked.
“Yes. Your mother left some papers in the safety-deposit box for you. I’d like to discuss them with you. I have a meeting with my attorneys, so it won’t take long.”
Isabel glanced at the bodyguards, who were unusually tense. But her father seemed all right. Surely he wouldn’t hit her in front of witnesses. And she could always scream if she had to.
“All right,” she said. She smiled at her companions. “I’ll just be a minute.”
The taller one stared pointedly at Darwin Grayling, who simply ignored him. He opened the study door. Isabel walked through it. He reached behind him, unseen, and locked it quietly.
“Did you know that Timothy Leeds wants me dead?” her father asked conversationally. “He’s got it in his head that I killed his mother.”
She turned toward him. “Did you?” she asked boldly.
He smiled coldly. “I’d hardly admit it to an assistant district attorney, even if I had.”
“Hardly. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“I want you to get on a plane to Saudi Arabia tonight,” he said, still smiling. “I have the private jet waiting at the San Antonio airport. Morris is going to drive you.”
“Wh…what?” she exclaimed.
“The government is about to confiscate all my bank accounts,” he said. “I have to have money to pay my attorney. The prince I spoke to you about is willing to marry you right away. He’ll advance me several million…”
“I am not marrying some man I’ve never met!” Sari exclaimed.
“You’ll do it,” he said. “You won’t refuse.”
“The devil I won’t…!”
While she was protesting, he jerked his belt out of his trousers and folded it, snapping it loudly.
The sound paralyzed her for several seconds, bringing back memories of intolerable pain, physical anguish, fear.
She backed away from him, white in the face, too startled to open her mouth.
“You’ll go, or you’ll die, damn you!”
He raised his hand and brought the belt down on her shoulders. She screamed at the top of her lungs and ran behind the desk, holding her arm, which was bleeding from contact with the belt buckle.
Two things happened at once. The door behind Darwin Grayling burst open, and Grayling grabbed his head, screamed once and fell down dead.