Lori pulled up the driveway, parking the Range Rover as close to the garage door as she could get it. Sylvia was not home; her sister took a villa in Tuscany every fall, and Sylvia was staying with her for a few weeks. She’d asked Lori to water her plants while she was gone, so Lori had a key to the house and knew the security code.
Almost on auto-pilot, Lori walked around the back of Sylvia’s house, where the key Sylvia had left was hidden under a flowerpot. Not terribly original, but with the security system in place, someone who didn’t have the code wouldn’t get very far even with the key. Lori opened the door and carefully keyed in the security code, taking an extra second to do so. Mistakes would be easy to make and the last thing she needed was for the security company to call.
Quickly she went to the attached garage and hit the opener, then jumped back into the Range Rover and pulled it inside, next to Sylvia’s Escalade. Only after she’d pulled her distinctive car inside and shut the door again did she allow herself to breathe a tiny sigh of relief.
She walked into Sylvia’s kitchen, Sasha bounding behind her. The house was quiet, still, terribly peaceful. Sylvia loved scented candles and the fragrance of whatever she had burned last - cinnamon spice? - lingered.
A sense of unreality crashed over her and she caught her breath, deep and ragged. Had all of that really just happened? She reached up to push hair out of her face, and her hand caught on something sharp. She realized that it was a chunk of safety glass from the back window. Safety glass in her hair. Gingerly, she threaded it out of her long hair and stared at it numbly.
Lori had absolutely no idea what she should do. It seemed crazy - insane even - to not call the police yet with every passing second, she knew in her heart that - at least for right now - it was the right decision. At least five police cars had roared down Harbor Drive. She would be crazy to ignore that it was at least possible that had something to do with her. Sure, it might have been someone simply calling in her reckless driving, but five cars? That seemed a bit excessive. Her instincts said she was in danger, and those same instincts were telling her to be careful whom she trusted.
Sylvia’s electric kettle sat on the counter; Lori suddenly felt as if she desperately needed a cup of tea. While the water was heating she sank down onto the cushioned bench in Sylvia’s breakfast nook, and tried to make sense of all of it.
Again, she questioned her own interpretation of the reality, and again she came up with the same conclusion. Whomever or whatever she had accidentally stumbled onto, these were people who could fake a Senator’s death and get it on the national news media in less than eight hours. Lori had done enough parties in the last five years that she recognized most of the local “notables.” The assistant chief of police for Miami had been present at Saldata’s the previous evening. She wasn’t sure who the others men were, but they’d all appeared to be affluent American men.
This was Miami; corruption was everywhere, a fact of life. It was possible to live here and mostly avoid it, live a very safe, quiet, and family-friendly existence. But there were also evil people of great power, money and influence who moved through the city at will, and Lori knew unequivocally that she did not know who she could trust. She’d heard the joke about Miami police a dozen times: there were only two kinds of cops in Miami, those who were on the take and those who were dead. Suddenly, the jest didn’t seem so funny.
Thoughts tumbled through Lori’s head randomly. Could she have done more to save Senator Michaels? Her stomach clenched as she remembered the blood, the screams, the hole on the side of his head where an ear had been.
Lori absently opened a tea bag, placed it in a mug, reached for the electric kettle and then her eyes snapped open widely.
She dropped the glass kettle onto the granite countertop. It shattered into a million pieces, hot water splashing everywhere. Instinctively, Lori jumped back. Very hot water splashed onto her leg, soaking through her jeans but she barely felt the pain.
What in God’s name had she been thinking of? Or more accurately, not thinking of?
Brandon and Grace.
How could she not have thought of them until now? Were the children even safe? If someone wanted her, really wanted her, how long would it take someone with police and FBI connections to figure out where her children went to school? Gasping for air, she ran back out to the car and grabbed the cell phone.
Every minute - hell, every second - counted now. She dialed Brandon and Grace’s elementary school, frantically, as the call connected, trying to think of a plausible reason to pick them up.
“Sea View Elementary School, Mrs. Marshall speaking.” Lori felt a moment of relief. This was a lucky break. Gena Marshall was friendly and sweet, the “nice” secretary, while two of the other women who worked in the office were “by the book” rule followers, and would never have considered an unusual request.
“Gena, it’s Lori Dovner, Brandon and Grace’s mom?”
“Yes, Lori, how are you?”
Lori took a deep breath, hoping that no quaver would betray her frantic state of mind. “I’m fine,” she answered casually, “but I’m in a bit of a bind.”
“What’s going on?”
“I messed up,” she said, hoping she sounded sufficiently chagrined without sounding desperate. She took a quick glance at the kitchen clock hanging on the wall and tried to do math that would make her story plausible. “I totally forgot my kids have dentist appointments today at eleven.” That was in thirty minutes. “They’re so strict there, and if we’re more than ten minutes late, they cancel the appointments and charge us for the missed appointment. I’m coming in to pick up both of the children. If they are waiting for me in the office when I get there, I think I can make it. But if they don’t get called up until I come in, we’ll never get to the dentist office on time.”
“Well, you know we’re not supposed to do that,” Gena Marshall sounded uncertain.
It was school policy, Lori knew, not to call children out of their classrooms until after the parent had arrived. “I know. But I’m twenty minutes away, and the office is about ten minutes from the school. If the kids are waiting for me, I have a chance. And listen, I wouldn’t ask except one of Brandon’s teeth has been hurting. We really need this appointment.” Lori held her breath. There was a long pause.
“All right, just this once. They’ll be in the office when you get here.”
The call clicked off and Lori looked at the phone in her hand, wondering what to do next. Not only were the kids at risk, but, Lori supposed, so was Simone. It was Monday morning, and Simone had classes at the community college. She’d been on her way there when she took the kids to McDonald’s for breakfast. She was safe for now, Lori realized, as there was no way anyone could know her name or where she was, but she’d be coming home in less than two hours. If someone was watching Lori’s house, Simone could be in terrible danger.
What to do? Quickly Lori keyed the text function of her phone; she knew Simone wouldn’t answer the phone in class, but Lori was fairly sure that, like most students, she’d read a text. “It’s an emergency, Simone,” Lori typed. “Leave class now, and call me.”
She looked around Sylvia’s quiet, peaceful house, wishing she could just stay. Well, why not? This was a safe empty house, at the end of a quiet cul de sac, and she knew where Sylvia’s spare keys were, which meant she could drive Sylvia’s car, a vehicle that could not be connected to her. She hadn’t gotten so far as even to begin to consider what she was going to do after she got the children and Simone, but there was no reason she could not come back here. Sylvia was the widow of Lori’s dead husband’s great uncle, and her last name was different than hers. Because of that, it would take quite a bit of digging to connect her to Sylvia.
Whether she stayed here or not it was a private safe place to at least take inventory and plan.
The