Murder and Matrimony Page 9

  When she knocked on Bentley’s apartment door, she hoped that Ben would be there. She knew it would have been better for her to call, but she had a bad feeling about all of this, especially the possibility of her phone being tapped. Then again, if Karlsson could tap her phone, he could easily find her with GPS. She pushed those thoughts away as the door opened.

  “Margot,” Bentley said, stepping back to let her inside. “What are you doing here?”

  She peered around him. “Is Ben here?”

  “Present and accounted for,” Ben said, coming from the kitchen with a towel over his shoulder.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  He cocked his head. “What is it, Margot?”

  Margot looked at Bentley then back to Ben. “Bentley, could I have a moment alone with your son?”

  “Sure,” he said good-naturedly.

  Ben frowned but Bentley slipped into his bedroom and Margot took a seat on one of the available chairs. Ben sat across from her.

  “I hate to do this. I really do,” she bit her lip. “But I’ve got to ask you more about what you told me regarding The Swede.”

  “All right,” he said, sounding hesitant.

  “I have reason to believe that he is the person behind framing Adam, and I also have reason to believe that he is actually a police detective in Washington, D.C. named Ron Karlsson.” Margot pulled up Karlsson’s photo on her phone from the D.C. website, holding it out to Ben.

  “Oh, Margot,” Ben said, the look on his face making her realize that her worst fears were likely going to be realized.

  “You knew, didn’t you?”

  Ben flinched as if her words had been a slap. “I’m so sorry.”

  12

  When the news finally broke about who Detective Karlsson really was, in charge of a large crime syndicate known only to those who purchased from him as ‘The Swede,’ Margot hoped that things would speed along with Adam’s indictment. At first, she’d thought she’d been wrong to hope for that outcome, but all it had taken was an extra day for everything to fall into place.

  Ben had admitted to knowing who Karlsson was after seeing his photo and, despite the fact it wasn’t public knowledge, he’d told Margot that the FBI were getting ready to move on the man soon.

  She’d been confused at first, but he’d explained that the FBI was trying to make a case against him. They had allowed him to frame Adam—something that had made her extremely mad in the moment—and would soon be using evidence to exonerate him.

  While she hadn’t left her meeting with Ben feeling particularly confident, she also hadn’t left feeling empty. Then, later that evening, she’d gotten the conference call with Peter, Danielle, and Dexter just like Peter had expected.

  Dexter had found some deeply hidden accounts linked to Karlsson and payments made as well as payment received from shady shell corporations. It was all Margot could do to keep from telling them about what Ben had said, but he’d made her promise not to say anything. He also had promised that she would get Adam back. She knew he couldn’t truly promise her that, but it had bolstered her confidence.

  Instead, she’d told Dexter that he needed to get the information to his FBI contacts. That alone was enough to make Peter suspicious, but she knew that Peter had taken personal time to work the case and he was not likely apprised of the true situation by his superiors.

  Now, though, waiting outside of the automotive body shop to get her car back, Margot was keenly aware of how close she was to seeing Adam again. He was going to be released even as a warrant was out for Karlsson’s arrest. It bothered Margot that he’d gotten away, and she wondered how he’d been tipped off to the changing of the tide where he was concerned. Was there a leak? But, beside all of that, she was excited to see Adam more than anything else and that was what mattered.

  “Say, uh,” a worker in a blue jumpsuit with a cap pulled low came up toward her. “Got a moment? We’ve got to show you something with your car we found while replacing the window.”

  Margot suppressed a groan. If it wasn’t bad enough she had to replace her windshield and headrest, now something else might be wrong? “Sure. Lead the way.”

  “Right over here.” He walked to the alleyway that led toward the back of the shop, though why he didn’t go through the front door, she had no idea.

  Her thoughts drifted to Adam and the fact that, once she had her car finished, she’d be ready to go up to D.C. to get him at any time. And it should be any day now—perhaps any minute!

  She was just about to step around the last corner when the worker stopped abruptly. He turned to face her and, before she knew what was happening, he knocked her in the temple with a tool he must have had on him.

  Searing pain flashed before her eyes before the world turned black.

  Margot awoke with a pounding in her head and the feeling of nausea in her stomach. Where was she? Why did her head feel like it had been clamped in a vice?

  Then the memories came back to her. The worker at the body shop. He’d hit her!

  Her eyes flew open and she took in the nearly empty warehouse she was in. Her hands were zip-tied behind her and her feet were individually zip-tied to the legs of the metal chair. Gasping in shock, she took in every detail.

  To one side, a wall of barrels stood tall, reaching almost up to the large windows, many of which were propped opened to take advantage of the cross breeze. Behind her there seemed to be a type of work table. Next to it was a table and a few chairs, with one missing, which she had to assume was the one she was tied up in.

  Then her eyes roamed to the ceiling. No cameras, at least none she could see. Hopefully that meant that no one was watching her remotely. If they were, then she’d have no hope of escape. But, if they weren’t, she would do everything in her power to get herself out of this mess.

  Now that she thought back to the supposed body shop worker, she chided herself for not noticing the height of the man. The way his blue jumpsuit had been ill fitting. How he’d avoided truly looking at her. And that he’d led her down the alleyway. When had she gotten so unobservant and foolish?

  Coming back to her senses, she moved around to see if her phone was still in her pocket. Of course it wasn’t, but she’d had to try. She thought back to earlier in the day. Had she told anyone where she was going? Even still, would someone miss her if she didn’t arrive somewhere? But she had just marked off the day as a wedding planning day for herself to nail down last-minute details for the ceremony. She was to go over them with Danielle but not until tomorrow, and tomorrow could be too late.

  She was just thinking about her next step in making an escape when a door on the far end of the warehouse opened and a tall, lanky figure emerged. He wore the same hat and trench coat she’d seen him in at the fire and in the parking garage, but now she could see he’d omitted the mask.

  It was Karlsson.

  “Ah, so you’re back to the land of the living. For now.” His smile was something out of a scary movie, and she suppressed a shudder. At least this way she knew he didn’t have cameras on her or he’d have known she was awake.

  “Why are you doing this, Karlsson? What do you hope to gain by holding me here? You’re already a wanted man.”

  “You say that, but you don’t know the first thing about me—wanted or not.”

  “Then enlighten me, Mister Karlsson. Or should I say, The Swede?”

  He smiled again flashing white teeth. “You seem to know a lot and yet nothing at all. I will ask, though—how did you identify me in the marina footage? I’ve been over it many times and haven’t seen anything to give me away. A guess then?”

  “Not at all.” She considered giving away her realization or holding it in. In the end, any time spent talking was time that he was not executing his next moves, so she decided to humor him.

  “You gave yourself away, Mister Karlsson.”

  “Please, enlighten me.” He pulled a chair over, spun it around, and sat on it facing her.

 
; “It was the day I came to see Adam. First of all, you were overly adamant about bringing him to justice for his ‘crimes,’ plural. But really, more than that, while you were talking to me, you rubbed your arm in a very particular way. It struck me as odd. I assumed you’d either had an injury or perhaps it was a nervous tick. I didn’t think much of it until I re-watched the footage from a different angle.

  “The angle most popular to everyone didn’t show it, but when I looked through the other camera angle, even though your face was even more obscured, I saw the gesture. It was easy to put it all together after that. I’d seen your handwriting, which slightly matched the note Sid left, and you had the manpower to pull something like this off. Following me. Ransacking my house. Locking me in a burning building. Even kidnapping me now.”

  “No, that I did all on my own.” His smile seems reminiscent. “But, bravo. Nice bit of detective work there, Margot.”

  The way he said her name made shivers race up her spine, but she pressed down the desire to cringe. He wouldn’t get in her head. She wouldn’t let him.

  “But still…” He leaned forward on the chair, his eyes piercing hers. “You don’t know it all. You can’t.”

  Margot’s first response would have been to ask him to enlighten her, but she knew that if he did tell her things that would incriminate himself, there would be no way he’d let her out of this. Then again, had that ever been his plan?

  “Why do you want me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He stood up abruptly, his chair flipping forward with a clatter. “Adam Eastwood. Cop. Friend. Betrayer.”

  Margot swallowed.

  “You see, I’ve known Adam a long time, though he’s never really known me. He’s always known The Swede and he’s heard of me as Ron Karlsson, up and coming detective in D.C., but he’s never known my true self. It’s my time as The Swede that cemented our friendship, or so I thought. He had proved his loyalty. He’d done things.” He smiled, and Margot assumed he didn’t realize that anything that looked like Adam was a dirty cop had been faked. “But even still, he wasn’t above the law.”

  Margot watched as the man paced, gesturing as he went.

  “I put some of my most trusted men in his alliance and paid for that mistake dearly. He betrayed all of us and come to find out, he’d been doing it the whole time. Well, no one stands up to The Swede like that.”

  “I don’t get it,” Margot said, before she could stop herself.

  “What, dear Margot, don’t you get?” He came to stand over her.

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t have a hit placed on him instead.” Even as she said the words, she felt their coldness rush through her, but she had to keep him talking. Had to keep him preoccupied.

  “He was too good for that. It had to be personal. Do unto others, you know the saying?”

  “Yes, it’s in the Bible.”

  “Exactly. I wanted to do what he’d done to me and my men. To put him behind bars. To make him feel helpless. To get at you.” He stopped here, his eyes on her. “And here you are.”

  He looked like he was going to say more, but when he didn’t, Margot released the breath she’d been holding.

  Then, abruptly, he spun around and walked toward the door. She was confused. Why was he leaving?

  “I’ll be back. Don’t worry, my dear Margot. I’ll be back soon.”

  The minute the door closed, Margot began to strategize her escape. He’d come back, but she promised herself she wouldn’t be here when he walked through those doors.

  13

  It took patience, cunning, and a whole lot of pain, but Margot was almost through the zip tie bonds that held her wrists together. She’d managed to scoot her chair all the way over to the table. When she saw that nothing was on it, she made her way to the work bench. At first, it had looked like a dead end, but then, after moving a few papers with her forehead and cheeks, she uncovered a pocket knife.

  After that, she’d worked tirelessly to get it from the table to the floor. Once on the floor, she’d tipped her chair over—the jolt had almost forced one arm from its socket—and then managed to find the knife with her hands. After several tries, she’d opened the knife and began the difficult task of sawing through the plastic without cutting herself.

  “One. More. Slice!” she said, holding her breath on the last one. “I’m free!” Her hands slipped apart, shooting pains coursing through her arms and up to her shoulders. She pushed aside the pain and went to work on the bonds at her ankles. Once they were free, she raced to the only door she’d seen.

  It was locked. Of course. Even though she was tied up, he’d still locked her in. It could have been in case any one came by looking to get into the warehouse. Either way, she needed another way out.

  She turned around, spinning in a slow circle. Her only other option was the windows nearly two stories up the side walls. She assessed the barrels. They seemed sturdy enough, especially if they were filled with something, but what would she do once she got up to the window? It would be far too high to jump.

  Frantic and knowing that she was wasting every moment that she didn’t do something, she raced back to the table. She tossed more papers aside and then fell to her knees where there were cardboard boxes. She ripped off the lid on one and found tools. They were unhelpful, nothing she could even use to break the lock, so she went for the second box.

  To her delight, she uncovered a large coil of rope. Her stomach nearly dropped at the reality of what she’d have to do, but in situations where your life was on the line, you considered things like dropping on a rope from a two-story window as an actual option if you wanted to live.

  Armed with a heavy wrench, the coil of rope, and whatever courage she could pull together, Margot began the ascent of the barrels. To her relief, they did seem to be filled with something which kept them relatively steady. Only once, nearing the top of the pile, did she find what seemed to be an almost empty barrel. It nearly toppled her to the ground, but she managed to grab hold of another barrel before falling.

  Finally at the top, Margot dared a peek outside of the window. From the view, she guessed they were somewhere in Anacostia. Another feeling of dread screamed through her. If it were possible that she’d make it down on the other side of the two-story warehouse, would she make it to somewhere that could help her? It wasn’t a good part of the neighborhood.

  Then again, anywhere was better than being trapped in a warehouse with a crazed smuggling ring leader out to get her. She’d take her chances on the street.

  She secured the rope around a bar that was part of the window casing. Still on the barrel side, she pulled with all her might. It didn’t budge. Would it continue not to move if she slipped out the window? It was time to test that theory.

  Praying that the rope and her courage would hold, she sat on the window, rope in hand. It was a long way down and she hadn’t really thought what she would do once she got to the bottom, but she was thankful to see from this new vantage point that there was another stack of barrels up the side of the building. It cut her descent by a quarter. Not much, but she’d take it. Then, after tossing the rope down, she gripped it between sweating hands and slid down.

  As soon as her full weight was on the rope, her descent began more quickly than she would have thought. Her palms burned, but she couldn’t stop and only gained speed. Then, with a louder-than-anticipated crash, she hit the top of the uppermost barrel. Her shins reverberated with the impact, but she’d made it more or less intact. Only her palms showed the most wear and tear with bright red blisters forming where the skin had been rubbed almost raw.

  Taking in a deep, thankful breath of air, Margot rushed to where she assumed the front of the compound would be and, with any luck, a fence she could scale without too much trouble, only to skid to a stop at the sight before her.

  Police cars were coursing down the street toward the warehouse, their lights shining red and blue but no sirens blaring. She assumed they were going to sneak up on
the warehouse. Joy resounded in her chest, hot and bright, but she didn’t rush forward. Not yet. She would wait until they got there just in case Karlsson was somewhere nearby and would try and use her as a hostage.

  She watched in shocked surprise as two team members in what she assumed was SWAT gear rushed up to the gates and cut the chains that held them closed, then the cars swarmed in. They covered every area, and one came close to her hiding spot.

  Remaining still, she waited to see what would happen. The team approached the door out of her sight and soon she heard a boom that signaled they had knocked in the door. As they infiltrated the warehouse, Margot hoped they would find Karlsson but wasn’t sure if they would. Wouldn’t he have come out by now?

  Then she heard boots rushing toward where she stood and, with her hands held high, she stepped slowly out into the open.

  “Don’t shoot. I’m Margot Durand. A hostage.”

  Margot had almost forgotten how good it felt to have Adam’s arms around her. He seemed thinner to her, but he insisted that he was the same as he’d been when he left. She disagreed, her keen sense of details not missing the fact that his belt loop was cinched higher and his t-shirt hung more loosely about him, but she didn’t want to argue with him. Not now.

  “I am so glad you’re home.”

  They sat on the porch of Margot’s house enjoying the cooler evening breeze coming in off of the Potomac. Margot held Adam’s hand resting on the arm of his chair, and they both took leisurely sips of their iced tea.

  “Me too.”

  She looked over at him. “Are you all right knowing that Karlsson hasn’t been captured yet?”

  “No.” Adam frowned but softened his expression when he looked at her. “Yes and no, maybe? I’m not happy that he skipped town and I don’t like the thought that he did it because someone on the force tipped him off to our raid. It means there are still others out there that could do harm in the future. But, most importantly, I’m glad that you’re safe. I’d take you over finding Karlsson any day.”