Lethal(101)

Is your son…

Clearly they knew about Lanny, but didn’t know how to phrase a question regarding him. “Lanny, Lanny,” she chanted mournfully. “Oh, God.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Tom had loved their son. As hopeless as it was that his love would ever be returned, Tom’s love for Lanny had never wavered.

Special Agent Turner sat down beside her and placed a comforting arm across her shoulders. Fitzgerald had moved away and was now standing across the room with his back to them, speaking softly into a cell phone.

Turner said, “You’ll have the full support of the bureau, Mrs. VanAllen. Tom was well liked and respected.”

Janice threw off her arm and wanted badly to slap her. Tom wasn’t respected at all, and, to hear Tom tell it, few of his fellow agents had liked him.

“How did it happen?”

“We’re still trying to determine—”

“How did it happen?” Janice repeated harshly.

“He was alone in his car.”

“His car?”

“He was parked near some abandoned railroad tracks.”

Janice raised trembling fingers to her lips. “Oh, God. Suicide? We… we had a quarrel this afternoon. He left the house upset. I’ve been trying to call him, to… to explain. Apologize. But he wouldn’t answer his phone. Oh, God!” she wailed and shot to her feet.

Turner grabbed her hand and pulled her back down onto the sofa. She stroked her arm. “Tom didn’t take his own life, Mrs. VanAllen. He was killed in the performance of his duty. The initial report is that a bomb was planted on his car.”

Janice gaped at her. “A bomb?”

“An explosive device, yes. A full investigation is already under way.”

“But who… who—”

“It pains me to tell you that the person suspected of involvement is another agent.”

“Coburn?” Janice whispered.

“You know of him?”

“Of course. First because of the warehouse massacre. Then Tom told me he was an agent working undercover.”

“Did they have contact?”

“Not to my knowledge. Although Tom told me earlier today that he might be called upon to bring Coburn in.” She read the pained expression on the agent’s face. “That’s the duty Tom was performing?”

“Mrs. Gillette was supposed to be at the train tracks. Tom went there to get her.”

“Coburn set him up?”

“We’re trying to ascertain—”

“Please tell me that Coburn is in custody.”

“Unfortunately no.”

“Jesus Christ, why not? What have you people been doing? Coburn is obviously crazy. If he’d been apprehended before tonight, as he should have been, Tom would still be alive.” Composure deserted her. She sobbed, “The whole freaking bureau is incompetent, and because of it, Tom is dead.”

“Mrs. VanAllen?”

Janice jumped. She wasn’t aware that Fitzgerald had rejoined them until he laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke her name.

He held his cell phone out to her. “For you.”

She stared at him, then at the phone, and eventually took it from him and put it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Mrs. VanAllen? This is Clint Hamilton. I just heard about Tom. I wanted to call and tell you personally how profoundly—”

“Fuck you.” She disconnected and handed the phone back to the agent.

Then she forcibly composed herself. She wiped her face and took several deep breaths, and when she felt more in control, she stood up and walked toward the door. She left the room, saying, “Let yourselves out. I need to check on my son.”





Chapter 39





Did you?”

“Did I what?

“Like the way I…” Honor let the unfinished question hang.

Coburn turned his head and looked at her. “No. I was faking it. Couldn’t you tell?”

She smiled shyly and burrowed her face into his chest.

He gathered her close. “I liked it.”

“Better than a sneeze or a cough?”

“Can I think about that and get back to you?”

She laughed softly.

They had moved from the floor to the bed and were lying with their legs entwined. Lightly she blew on the chest hair tickling her nose. “What was its name?”

“What?”

“The horse you had to shoot. You’d named it. What was its name?”

He glanced down at her, then away. “I forgot.”

“No you didn’t,” she said softly.

He lay perfectly still and said nothing for the longest time, then, “Dusty.”

She propped her fist on his breastbone and rested her chin on her fist, and looked into his face. He held out for several moments, then lowered his gaze to her. “Every day when I got home from school, he’d amble over to the fence like he was glad to see me. He liked me, I think. But only because I fed him.”

She reached up and ran her thumb along the line of his chin. “I doubt that was the only reason he liked you.”

He made an indifferent motion with his shoulder. “He was a horse. What did he know?” Then he turned to face her and said, “Dumb thing to be talking about.” He tugged on a strand of her hair, then studied it thoughtfully as he rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s pretty.”