Rating: NC-17 - This story contains consensual graphic sex between a man and a woman and/or violence. If this offends you, is illegal where you live or you are under 18, go somewhere else.
Disclaimer: The characters of John Lawless, Dave Bruford, Wallace "Willy" Kaa, and Susan Ellis belong to South Pacific Pictures. The use of those characters in this story is not intended as copyright infringement.
Any resemblance to a real murder trial taking place in Las Vegas is purely coincidental.
D-Day
‘Danger Zone - Extreme Fire Danger – you are in a Danger Zone’
John Lawless thought the epitaph on the warning sign fitting. The sun was scorching. The orb of merciless yellow fire burned in a pale blue cloudless sky. Soft sand and pink rock stretched as far as his eyes could see. Dry scrub, rolling tumbleweed and tall cactus dotted the landscape. He knew they were the only vegetation capable of surviving this fierce environment. The desert evinced a harsh and unforgiving kind of beauty. There was a blistering wind sending billowing clouds of dust spiraling toward the sky. The air was like a scalding furnace. A faint acrid scent of something burning cloyed at his senses. He felt like he was inside a fiery vacuum. No matter how carefully he breathed; the intense heat of the desert seared his lungs.
John rammed the shovel into the soft ground and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. His T-shirt was plastered to his back and soaked with sweat. In the brutal heat, his body continued to lose moisture. He could feel the strength slowly ebbing away. He knew he was in terrible trouble.
"Keep digging," the angry voice said.
John looked up at his captor. His brown eyes focused on the loaded gun pointed at his heart. He stood in a hole. How had he ended up here, in the middle of the Nevada desert, digging his own grave?
7 months prior to D-Day
The woman watched the old man breathe. His chest rose and fell in a soft regular rhythm. He appeared to be sleeping. She knew he'd taken his normal dose of sedative, enough to knock out a horse. He'd unwittingly taken additional sedative in his goblet of wine. She hadn't even had to force him. He'd taken the alcohol and drug willingly trying to drown out the pain of the heroin withdrawal in his body. How incongruous it all seemed to her. A rich old man who had everything in the throes of an addiction more common to those who had nothing.
She shook her head in bewilderment as she glanced around the room. If she lived to be a thousand she would never understand it. The room was luxurious like the rest of the huge mansion. It was filled with costly furniture, lush fabrics, rare paintings and every possible comfort known to man or woman. He could have anything, do anything and instead of enjoying it, he focused on unpleasantness. Instead of relishing his money and the freedom it brought him, he searched for pain.
She sighed and shook her head again. She would never understand the very rich. In her two months with him, she’d never seen him smile when he was sober. Yet, as he lay there resting comfortably on the black leather couch, a small contented smile was on his lips. Satisfied with his condition, she left the room and opened the front door of the palatial home.
A blond man with blue eyes stood waiting on the doorstep. He looked out of place there, a small time grifter dressed in tattered blue jeans and a white T-shirt. He reminded her of a weasel.
He smiled at the woman and licked his lips. He could never get enough of her exotic physical perfection. He'd first met her at the same time and place as the old man had. She’d been stripping at the Tiger's Eye, an upscale "gentlemen's" club.
She led the man into the living room. She pointed at the old man and whispered, "I think he's really out this time."
The blond man nodded. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and secured them on the old man's wrists. The old man didn't move. The blond man then took a pillow off the couch and held it over the old man's mouth.
The woman, her unusual eyes glittering, watched as the old man's body began to shudder, convulse, and finally suffocate. Soon it was clear he was dead. Her lover removed the pillow and replaced it on the couch. Then he checked his watch.
"We have sixteen hours," the man said.
The woman nodded. She watched as the blond man removed the handcuffs from her dead lover and put them back in his pocket. The man and woman left the living room and went to the large walk-in safe at the back of the mansion.
The door to the safe was wide-open revealing rack after rack of rare coins and haphazardly stacked piles of bills. The two people eyes aglow with greed began to put the money into sacks. It took them two hours to bag it all up. The woman was very careful never to touch anything but the cash and coins. As soon as they had bagged it all, they carried it out to the man's white Ford truck and drove away.
3 hours later - 7 months prior to D-Day
The sky was like a black velvet painting. It twinkled with thousands of crystalline stars. The air was soft. The desert was beautiful at night. It was also deadly. Rattlesnakes and scorpions prowled the harsh land though no animals save the occasional coyote disturbed the quiet. Tonight the only sound for miles was the soft whoosh of shifting sand. "Have you hit it yet?" the woman demanded.
The blond man raised his eyes and grinned. Beyond the light of the lantern, the woman was totally in shadow. Even in vaguest of silhouettes, however, she was beautiful. It would have been worth a thousand killings to have her body. He laughed to himself at the aptness of the thought. He shoveled a few more mounds of soft sand and heard the clink of metal. "I've got something," he remarked.
"What?" the woman jumped down to join the man in the hole.
The man used the shovel to brush the soft sand off the metal. The woman eagerly knelt down and began to brush more sand away with her hands. Soon a large metal door appeared. It was six feet by six feet. "The vault. You found the vault," she shouted excitedly.
"Well you did say he told you it was here, didn't you?" the man asked sarcastically.
She nodded. "You can't believe everything Fred says though. Especially when he's under the influence."
"Got the key?" he asked.
Again, she nodded. She pulled out a pair of surgical gloves, slipped them on, and then pulled a large metal key out of the pocket of her jeans. She fit the key to the massive lock and turned it. She heard the tumblers click and then pulled the handle. The door swung up toward her revealing inky darkness. "Where's the lantern?" she inquired.
The man grabbed the lantern. He held it over the entrance. A flight of stairs leading down was all they saw.
"You go first," she declared.
He grinned. "Afraid to turn your back on me?"
"Afraid of spiders," she answered tartly. "Besides, you're the one who wanted to check this out."
He laughed. As beautiful as she was, she was also cold and heartless. It didn't matter though. He was sure he could control her. He tilted the lantern looking for a light switch. He found it, flicked it on, and started down the stairs. The woman waited until she saw a light flare down below and then she followed him.
She gasped when she saw the treasure, an incredibly large underground vault filled with silver bars, bags of coins and hard American currency. The cache was even richer than she expected.
The man's eyes were glazed with greed. His head kept swiveling around the vault she could almost see his mind working calculating the value. She crossed the room to stand in front of him. "Hard to know what to take first, eh?"
He nodded. "Probably should move the heaviest first and then come back for the lighter stuff. Those stairs are a bitch. How'd he get it all down here anyway?"
She shrugged. "I think he said he used a forklift. Then closed it up. Anyways, it don't matter. How much you reckon is here?"
"Your accent is slipping," he retorted with amusement. "Always happens when you get excited. Where you from anyway?"
"A small town in the middle of nowhere," she replied acidly. "Let's get moving, shall we? We don't have all night."
The man began to heft a couple of bars of silver. "These are really heavy. I say we leave the bars. There must be millions in the bags and the bills anyway. And they'd be a lot easier to move."
She picked up a couple of bars, felt the weight and nodded her assent. She dropped the bars down with a clang and picked up three full bags of silver coins. Her years of stripping had given her powerful muscles. It took them six hours to load the silver bags into his truck. Another three hours and the hard currency was loaded. Then they went down for one last look at the vault.
"Seems a shame to leave them all," she murmured softly, looking at row upon row of silver bars. "I think I'd like to take at least one as a souvenir."
He laughed. "Too bad we don't have more time. I'd love to fuck you in the middle of all Fred's money."
She picked up a silver bar and slid it behind her back, gripping it tight. "You would, would you?" She moved closer to him. "Fancy a quickie then?"
The man came toward her eagerly. He eyed her curves hungrily. The body was complete perfection from the hard firm tits to the tight ass. And what she could do with it! Contortions he thought only circus performers could accomplish. No wonder Fred had been taken in by her. She stood there gazing at him, her incredible eyes daring him to come to her.
Slowly she brought her free hand up and began to unbutton her blouse. She let it fall open exposing her breasts, knowing he would go straight for them.
As he came to her and bent his head to suck, she brought the silver bar down hard and cracked his skull. He immediately went to his knees, his expression one of dumbfounded amazement. Leaving nothing to chance, she brought the silver bar down again.
He crumpled to the floor, his skull a bleeding mass of brain and tissue. Blood was flowing from the side of his mouth as well. She took a step back as a foul odor permeated the room. 'Ah,' she thought, 'he must be dead. He shat himself.'
She dropped the silver bar; glad she'd remembered to wear gloves. Well, she'd learned from her past mistakes. No fingerprints to trip her up. She searched his pockets and found the keys to the truck. She'd leave the wallet. If they ever found him she wanted him identified. There was nothing to link the two of them. She'd been very careful.
She turned off the light and left the poor sod, whose name was Cliff, in the nearly empty vault. As she reached the top of the stairs, she flipped off the light switch. She re-locked the vault and debated whether she had time to rebury it. She glanced at the sky. It was beginning to lighten. No time. Still you'd have to know where to come to find it. Now there was no one else alive who did.
As dawn rose over the Nevada desert, the woman drove back to Las Vegas. She was confident all her loose ends were now neatly tied up. She was wrong.
6 months prior to D-Day
"Ms. Kaa?" the soft voice asked. The woman sniffled into her handkerchief and nodded.
"I am very sorry to trouble you in your time of grief," the detective with the soft voice said. "But you must realize the family needs answers."
Caroline Kaa, Caro to her friends nodded again. She softly blew her nose and then raised her tear-stained face to stare at the detective.
Detective Kramer studied the presumably grief stricken woman sitting in front of him. They knew very little about her even after a month of looking. She had been in Las Vegas for only three months. She had moved there from New Zealand. She was in the states on a student visa evidently an exchange student at UNLV. She seemed a bit old for an exchange student, but she had explained it away by telling him her family was poor and it had taken longer for her to get to college than normal. He'd learned from the New Zealand consulate in Los Angeles her story was not unusual. Still, something about her set all his nerves on edge.
She was beautiful; there was no doubt about that. Even dressed in severe and unrelenting black, she struck one with her unusual looks. Long thick black hair fell down her back in tight spiral curls. Her skin was naturally golden and seemed to glow. Her body was long, lithe and all curves. Her face was exotic, full lips, pert nose and long almond-shaped eyes with thick black lashes. Her irises were an odd shade almost gold. He'd never seen eyes like that before. They mesmerized. It was no wonder Fred Minot had been captivated when he met her. She was probably the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Her story, as she told it, seemed to make sense. She'd just come to American when she'd met Fred. She'd registered for classes, moved into her dorm room and had started her job working in the law library at UNLV. She didn't know anyone and was still trying to get her bearings. This nice older man showed up one day and swept her off her feet. She'd fallen in love with Fred Minot. He'd scooped her up and taken charge of her life. His friends became her friends. School became unnecessary because he would support her. He moved her into his house and away from the dorm. He wanted her around twenty-four hours a day. Her attendance on his needs was mandatory.
She insisted she was in love with him by the time she discovered his drug problem. She claimed the night before Fred died was the first time she had ever stayed away all night. They'd had a terrible fight about his drug abuse and she'd left him. So far, her story checked out. She was registered for classes, had a room in the dorm and did seem to work at the law library. Still, he felt as if there was more to her and her story than she had said.
Now Fred Minot was dead, maybe murdered and it was his job to find out how and by whom. The newspapers were playing the story up big though the first news reports were confusing. Then came the stories leaked to the press by Fred's sister Judy, deliberately misleading. The truth, Detective Kramer knew, was even stranger. His instincts based on twenty years of being a cop told him that Caroline Kaa was the key to the puzzle and her story smack dab in the center of it.
Halfway around the world and totally oblivious to the drama beginning to play out in Las Vegas, John Lawless was making drastic changes in his life. He was now embroiled in a nasty divorce. Marla, the lawyer he'd been married to, had chosen to put not only his fidelity on trial, but his job. It didn't help that he was in the middle of a damaging police scandal directly related to the Terry Bowers/armored van case. Or his prick of an ex-boss Alan Snow, even from jail, was fighting tooth and nail to ruin his reputation. John had stayed on the force as long as he could. He continued to work undercover, pretending to be a private investigator. An apt cover, since he would have preferred to be one for real. Even that had finally gone bad. Now he'd come to a life-altering decision.
Better to chuck everything and start over. He would not return to South Island, not fight the divorce; not fight the dickheads on the force anymore. He decided to stay in Auckland and try to build himself a new life. He agreed with all Marla's demands, asking only that they sell the house they'd once lived in so happily and share the proceeds. He'd even agreed to sell his boat.
After that, he'd quit the force for real. The scandal had begun by then to die down and wonder of wonders that prick Snow had finally shut up. John decided to live his dream. Taking the money from the sale, he rented a small house that would serve as both office as well as home and bought a computer. He figured he had enough cash to make it for six months if he was careful. By then, he'd know if he'd been a fool or smart.
3 months prior to D-Day
In the three months since he'd changed everything, everything had changed. John settled back on his couch with a cold beer. He put his feet up and relaxed. Being a private investigator was working out beautifully. He'd been right, private investigation was a growth industry. He was his own boss now; no one tried to make him do anything he didn't want to do. He didn't have to defer to someone else's version of right and wrong, he could use his own. Dave Bruford was kicking himself. John had almost more work than he could handle. It was all standard stuff such as missing persons, cheating spouses and the like. Nothing even remotely dangerous. It all paid surprisingly well and best of all; he rarely had to lie about who he was. He no longer had the stomach for the kind of lies that were part and parcel of his former undercover police work. Still, he carried a heavy load of guilt over Sonya's death and that of the armored van guard. He knew it was irrational, but somehow he felt worse about Sonya than the guard. He wasn't sure if he would ever get over those feelings.
He looked around his home with the vaguest of dissatisfaction. The combination living room/dining room/office was large and airy. The small single story house was quite nice and cozy. He had a large bedroom and there was a good-sized kitchen. Not that he used the kitchen much. He wasn't big on cooking and he preferred to take his meals in pubs or restaurants. There he could be surrounded by people even if he was alone. Still, as he looked around, he knew he was living like a guest in a hotel. The large room had a couch, a coffee table and a desk with his computer. There were no decorations or knick-knacks, not even a poster or painting on the walls. The house held no trace of himself or his personality. Even the little apartment he'd lived in while undercover and pretending to be Johnny Wilson had more charm. Still, he couldn't seem to do anything about it.
Marla had decorated the house on South Island. Marla . . . her name was still a small ache in his heart. The divorce was final now and with its finality, his anger had finally subsided. He knew it did no good to rage about what might have been. He was as much to blame as his job maybe more so. He wished her well, he really did, but it still hurt. He was alone now. Somehow, he just couldn't find the nerve to get involved with another woman.
Even a brief interlude with a cop from Interpol hadn't helped. He'd had high hopes of that, seeing as how they'd both lived and worked undercover. Hopes that somehow the shared experiences would make the relationship work. Still, after a week together they both knew it never would. Without the adrenaline rush of danger, the forbidden excitement to their erotic dance, they were just two lonely cops from very different worlds. She'd gone back to America with her freedom and he'd stayed in Auckland to mourn.
With a sigh, John got up from the couch. He went to his desk and turned on his computer. Originally purchased for his work, lately he'd spent most of his free time surfing the net. He'd developed an almost unhealthy fascination with the case of Fred Minot, the casino owner from America with ties to New Zealand who'd died four months before.
The basic facts intrigued him. Fred Minot had been found dead in his multi-million dollar Las Vegas home. At first glance, it had appeared to be a drug overdose. The Las Vegas police, to whom Minot was well known as an abuser of prescription drugs and sometime user of heroin, ruled the death accidental. Though they never came right out and said it, the first reports made it sound as if they had expected that one day Minot would party a little too hard and do himself in.
Minot it seemed was the bad boy of the American gaming industry. His history and that of his family fascinated John. The Minots owned several casinos in Nevada and stakes in several riverboats across the United States. Fred's father, Frank, had started one of the first casinos in Las Vegas and was a much-revered part of local history. His first property, The Four Leaf Clover, still stood in the heart of downtown Las Vegas, the only no limit stakes betting house in town. Frank was a real old-time gambler, willing to bet everything on the turn of a card or toss of the die. He'd been a tough guy with a heart of gold. He'd stayed away from outside influences, otherwise known as the American Mafia and kept his holdings within his blood family. Frank had several children and Fred was his oldest.
After Frank's death, Fred took over. Fred was not his father. He liked the high life, the new Vegas blood, and the old-world charm of the gangsters. He garnered himself quite a reputation living it up. Where Frank had kept a low-key low profile, Fred almost dared the Feds to come after him. So come they did. Only Fred was smart. Although his associations with the various "families" were well known, the Feds could never pin anything on him, no matter how hard they tried. Still, they made a good enough case to get Fred put in Nevada's black book. The black book, Nevada’s version of a black list, contained very few names, but those that were selected were choice. It included gamblers and gangsters who were barred from casinos for life. Once entered in the black book, you might as well stay out of Nevada, because you were prohibited from ever entering any gaming establishment in the entire state. Once entered in the book, you had about as much chance of getting out of it, as you did of being elected President of the United States. The Nevada Gaming Commission took Fred's operator's license away and placed the Nevada Minot properties into receivership. They appointed a committee to run the properties until it could be determined which one of Fred's other brothers or sisters was "clean" enough to run them.
This infuriated Fred. His paranoia, already immense, grew by leaps and bounds. He became determined to be the first man ever to get out of the black book. On the one hand he seemed to be genuinely trying to clean up his act and get his license back. On the other hand the stories of his personal life kept getting wilder and wilder. Still, when he was found dead, he had seemed on the verge of getting it all back. He had a license reinstatement hearing scheduled with the Nevada Gaming Commission for two days after his death.
His sister Judy insisted Fred was clean. Insisted it was murder. Insisted for weeks to the authorities there needed to be a more thorough autopsy. Judy kept giving interviews to the press in which she floated increasingly outrageous scenarios of his "murder." The East Coast "families" wanted him dead so they could take over the Minot properties. Local Vegas casino owners wanted him dead because the properties were cutting into their profits. The Las Vegas Police Department was covering up the murder on behalf of the local drug dealers. Finally, the authorities, most likely to shut her up, relented on the issue of autopsy and discovered Judy was right. There were tiny feathers in Fred's mouth and down his throat. Feathers that proved, despite the drugs in his system, he had been suffocated. That was now the official cause of death. From there the story just got weirder.
Minot's mansion was like an armed fortress with the most sophisticated security system in the world. At ten a.m. on the day of his death, the alarm company was summoned to remove all the video cameras for repair. Fred was alive then, greeting them at the door in a temper. Screaming and yelling and cursing a blue streak. He swore he would sue them if anything happened to him or the millions of dollars in coin and currency he had in the house. The alarm company assured him that even with the cameras gone, the system would still function. Fred relented and let them leave. At the time they left the systems were all on.
At two p.m. four hours later the systems were turned off. They called, they came, and Fred, seeming his normal paranoid self, shooed them away. Told them to mind their own business and let him mind his.
Fred kept a very small staff, people who had worked for the family for years. The day of his death he fired them all. At four p.m. he invited his gardener, housekeeper and maid into the living room, handed them each a check for twenty-five thousand dollars and told them to leave. Although they were all old family retainers, they did as he asked. Fred had been known to get a gun and shoot at people when his orders were flouted. They expected he would call them all the next day and rehire them, as he had done many times before.
From the moment his staff left, until he was found dead the next morning, Fred's time was a blank. The coroner who had done the autopsy could only say Minot had died sometime after 4 p.m. and before he was found at 10 a.m. the next day. He couldn't get any closer to the time of death because the house was warm and there was nothing in the contents of Minot's stomach but wine and drugs.
His live-in girlfriend had found Fred Minot dead on his living room couch. She was the second of the two connections to New Zealand. Fred was a silent partner with Mitchell Winston in his Auckland casino and his girlfriend, Caroline Kaa, was a New Zealand national.
There was a sidebar story in that day's New Zealand Herald. Who is Caroline Kaa? John studied the accompanying photograph before reading the story. The woman was photographed from the side as she left police headquarters after questioning. Even in the grainy unclear photo, he could tell she was built. Her body was long and lithe and even in a severe black suit he could see her curves. He wondered what her face looked like. It was hidden by a fall of long curly hair.
The girlfriend’s story sounded fine as a whole. Taken piece by piece however, it was thin. She stated she and Fred had had a fight about his drug use. She had given him an ultimatum. Clean up or I'm gone. She said he told her to go. She had left, registered at a hotel and spent the night alone. In the morning, she came to the realization she couldn't live without him and returned to find him dead.
She claimed to be an exchange student at UNLV. She did have a student visa, but although she had registered for classes never seemed to attend them. She had a room in the dorm, but never seemed to sleep there. She asserted she worked as a clerk in the law library, but according to the head librarian, she had only worked there for a few days. She said she met Fred there, but she couldn't prove it.
Ms. Kaa declared she'd been a student when she met Fred. That they'd fallen in love and she'd moved in with him. She said he'd wanted her all to himself, insisted she leave school and her job. Promised that he'd square it with immigration if there were any problems. Promised to marry her. Ms. Kaa maintained she had done nothing wrong except perhaps fall in love. She seemed to have no friends among her supposed classmates and no close confidants where you would expect to find them. She was presumably alone after having been isolated by Fred Minot.
The story that was now coming out about Caroline Kaa was that of a double life. According to Fred's lawyer, Dale Clidden her whole story was a lie. According to Clidden, Caroline Kaa was a stripper. She worked at the Tiger's Eye a very upscale "gentlemen's" club as the Las Vegan's called their strip clubs. Fred had gone there one night with one of his gangster cronies, seen her dance and been instantly taken with the exotic creature. He'd "bought" her from the club that very night and moved her into his house. He bought her clothes, cars and jewelry. He gave her charge accounts everywhere. Soon she was racking up huge bills, sometimes as much as ten thousand dollars a month. She lived the high-life on Fred's arm and appeared to love it. Everyone who ever saw them together said she seemed as taken with Fred as he was with her. Her hairdresser, her favorite sales clerk, even the guy who washed her car never had a whisper that she was anything but a devoted and loving girlfriend. Still, Clidden alleged, the day before Fred died, he'd spoken to Clidden about getting rid of her.
As the cops were the first to admit, her lying about what she was doing in Las Vegas didn't actually prove anything. Since she was supposed to be a student, her lying could be interpreted as her wanting to avoid immigration trouble. Further, the fact that she hid that she was a stripper could have simply been embarrassment. None of it meant she'd killed him. They had no proof of anything, except that she had lied about how she'd met Fred. Still John could read between the lines. He'd been a cop too long not to. He guessed they suspected her.
John was fascinated with the story and followed it with great interest. He had no idea that before too long he would find himself an integral part of it.
1 month prior to D-Day
John dumped his duffel bag on the bed and began systematically stripping off his clothes. He still felt sick to his stomach. He'd just returned from a week on South Island working a particularly ugly case with an even uglier resolution. He knew he should never have accepted the case. Knew from the first moment something was off, but the woman had seemed so helpless and worried.
This nicely dressed middle-aged woman walked in his office, clearly in distress. She claimed her husband, who had a history of mental illness, had run off with their three year old daughter. She said she was terrified he would abuse the child the way he had abused her. She told John that they were most likely staying with some of her husband's family on South Island. She'd given him five hundred dollars and two names to start with. She begged him to call her the second he found them.
Well he'd found them all right. Only the woman had somehow found them first and had killed both husband and child in a particularly brutal fashion. When he confronted her, as she stood over the bodies with the carving knife in her hand, she claimed self-defense. Said she'd killed the husband to keep him from killing her and the child to protect it from having to live with the memories. John had been sickened by what he'd unwittingly helped perpetrate and although he had a grim satisfaction in turning her over to the authorities, it didn't help. When it turned out she was the one with the history of mental illness he felt used and stupid, just like he used to when he busted some poor sod whose only crime was being poor and depressed.
Now all he wanted to do was take a shower and forget. Maybe get pissed and shoot some pool. He stayed in the hot shower a long time, scrubbing his body until it was raw, but he couldn't seem to wash the Judas stink away. Finally, disgusted with himself, he got out, threw on a pair of jeans and cracked a beer. Maybe a nice juicy, impersonal murder would help distract him. He'd missed reading the daily installments of the Fred Minot case while he was away. Though murder was serious and he always treated it as such, this case had so many twists and turns; it read like a dime novel from the forties. He was just settling down at his computer for a good read when he heard a knock at the door. He shouted, "Just a minute. Who is it?"
"Open up bro, in the name of the law." John recognized the voice. Willy. He had been surprised that he and Willy had managed to become real friends. Willy had stood by him through everything. He was grateful as hell for their friendship.
He opened the door to see Willy standing there grinning. Next to his friend stood the most gorgeous woman John had ever seen. John's jaw dropped in surprise and he wished he had put on a shirt.
"What's up bro?" John asked as he gestured for Willy and the woman to enter.
Willy laughed as if he knew exactly what John was thinking. He brushed past his friend and said, "Put your eyes back in your head. That's my sister man."
John stepped back as the woman entered. "Excuse me a minute mate," he muttered. He shut the door and went into his bedroom to put on a T-shirt. When he came back out, Willy had a beer popped. He was lighting a smoke and looking for an ashtray on John's desk.
The gorgeous creature - could she really be Willy's sister - was sitting demurely on the edge of John's couch. Her hands were clasped in her lap and seemed to be twisting a strip of handkerchief into shreds. He tore his eyes away from her and went to join Willy.
"What's this then?" Willy asked. He stood in front of the computer.
John took a sip of his beer and said, "Nothing mate." He turned off the machine. "So why'd you bring your sister over here? And does she have a name?"
Willy laughed. "Caroline meet John. He's an ex-cop, but he's okay. Keeps me on the straight these days."
"It's very nice to meet you," she said in a soft voice. Then she added, "Wallace says you can help me."
"Wallace?" John repeated the name with a laugh. Willy never let anyone call him that.
Willy shrugged. He grinned ruefully and confessed, "She's my sister."
Now John studied the woman. Caroline was dressed in a pair of navy slacks and a white blouse. Yet, somehow these simple classic clothes only seemed to accentuate her exotic looks. Long thick black hair fell down her back in tight spiral curls. Her skin was golden. Her face barren of any makeup was stunning. Full sensual lips, a tiny pert nose and thick black eyelashes shadowed long almond-shaped eyes. He stared into her eyes, they were mesmerizing, the iris an odd color, almost gold. He didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful or sensual woman in his life. Yet, there was nothing in her posture or look to even hint at a sensual side to her nature.
He saw an expression of pain flash across her face and it moved him. He went to sit beside her on the couch. "I'll try to help. Tell me what's wrong."
Caroline's expression turned grateful. "I'm in trouble. At least, the consulate says I'm in trouble. But I haven't done anything."
John noticed her speech was careful, clipped, as if she’d worked very hard to hide her origins. He patted her hand. "Why don't you start from the beginning and explain."
She nodded, her eyes clouding over with fear. "I don't know how much Wallace has told you about our family," she paused and waited.
John looked at her, then at Willy and then back at her again, too embarrassed to admit he'd never even asked. Finally, he muttered, "Uh, Willy's never really told me anything. I didn't even know he had a sister."
"Two sisters bro," Willy admitted with a grin. "Identical twins, if you can believe that. Wouldn't believe someone as ugly as me could have two gorgeous sisters, eh? Only, they may look alike, but their personalities are world's apart."
Caroline swallowed hard. She dropped her eyes and added, "Our parents died when we were very young. Wallace was both mother and father to us. Cassandra, Cass is my twin. Like Wallace says, Cass and I couldn't be more different. I worked like crazy to get an education. Cass just skated. I wanted to better myself, Cass just . . . She's always been . . . She’s well . . ." Caroline looked at Willy as if she couldn't go on.
Willy shook his head. "She's a bad one bro. She's my sister and I love her, but she's always been trouble from day one. Always looking for the easy score, the shortest route. Been in and out of all sorts of trouble, but never usually too deep. Until now. And she dragged Caro here in it with her. If we don't do something soon, I'm afraid about what's going to happen."
"What did she do?" John asked.
"She stole my student visa and passport," Caroline admitted. "I was supposed to go to the states to study. Cass stole my ID and tickets and went instead."
John looked at Willy and then at Caroline. He prompted, "You didn't report it, I take it?"
"She's my sister," the two said in unison.
John laughed. "I get the drill. So Cassandra is in the states pretending to be you. It's not legal, but that's not your fault. The government of both countries will be ticked as hell you didn't report it, but I don't think they'll actually jail you for it. Why is the consulate making such a stink?"
Caroline looked as if she was about to cry. "Cass is in big trouble. The US cops want her and now the New Zealand cops want her. They both think I'm her."
"But why? If she's in the states . . ." Then it dawned on him. "Caroline Kaa? That Caroline Kaa? The one involved in Fred Minot's death?"
Willy nodded his head as his sister began to cry. "Yeah. Only it was Cassandra, not Caro. And now Cass has vanished and the cops and everyone think Caro here is the one."
John rose from the couch. He began to pace, running his fingers through his hair. "I've been out of touch for a while. Let me get this straight. Cass went to the US pretending to be you. Then she got involved with Fred Minot. Now she's somehow vanished and they think because you're here, you're her?" Caro nodded. "But can't you prove you're you? That you were here all the time?"
Caroline shook her head. She wiped some tears from her eyes as she said, "We're physically identical. I have no proof that it wasn't me. I am Caroline Kaa. I can't actually prove I wasn't in America, that it was Cass."
John stopped pacing and looked a question at Willy. Willy shook his head. John turned back to face Caroline. "So the only way to prove there's two of you is to find her and show them?" Again, Caro nodded. "Any ideas where to start?"
Willy shrugged and revealed, "Cass has some habits. She likes the easy life. If she hasn't already come back here, she will."
"Willy," John declared, "there's a lot of money missing. She could be anywhere."
"No bro," he suggested softly. "She can't. In addition to her other flaws, Cass has a thing for Mitchell Winston."
John whistled softly. Mitchell Winston was bad news all around. He was a rich playboy and former polo player with a penchant for every vice known to man. He started with old family money, but his years of "living rich" had almost used it up. Then he got a bright idea. Using his family connections he had managed to convince the New Zealand government that a casino run by him and Fred Minot would be a good thing. "Winston? How'd she get involved with him?"
Willy shrugged. "Told you, Cass always looked for the shortest route. She used to work at the casino here. That's where she met Winston. She was a hostess there. But something happened man, right before she took off with Caro's ID. Anyways, I'm betting she'll come back. She has a real bad case for him."
John nodded. "What'ca want me to do mate?"
Willy stubbed out his smoke and lit another. He requested, "Can you help Caro deal with the cops and others?"
John nodded and took a sip of beer. "I could try, but a lawyer'd probably be more help."
Willy nodded. "I know, but we don't have the ready for a lawyer. Besides, I know Cass is bad, but I don't think she's a killer. She just stole the money. If we start with lawyers, it'll look like Caro here is guilty. And we don't want that."
Caroline looked at the tall ex-cop. Willy had told her he was a good man. A man who tried hard, a man who felt things. He hadn't told her how good-looking John was. She studied him; his long dark hair, still damp from the shower was curling softly around his face. His brown eyes, the centerpiece of an impossibly handsome face, were remarkable. His T-shirt hugged the curves of the magnificent chest she'd briefly glimpsed when she arrived. His arms were muscled. His physical presence was very nearly overwhelming. Yet, his beauty was overshadowed by the soul she sensed in him. She could see he carried a sadness and was deeply troubled about something. Yet, his voice was soft and kind and he seemed genuinely interested in helping her. She needed help desperately, more desperately than even Wallace knew. "Please," Caroline begged, "please help me."
John took one more look at her lovely tear-stained face and knew he was lost. He'd probably do anything she asked. He nodded. "I'll try."
2 weeks prior to D-Day
For the next two weeks, John spent all his spare time working on the Minot case. He refused any new work, but continued to service the steady clients that made up the bulk of his business. He spent as much time as he could with Willy, Caroline and his computer. Using his computer, he backtracked through the wealth of information available on line in both the New Zealand and American papers and magazines. He amassed an enormous amount of information, most of it contradictory. Still, after two weeks, he thought he had finally gotten the facts straight.
 | Fred Minot found dead by Caroline Kaa |
| Police assume it's an accidental drug overdose |
| Three days after the death, Fred's sister Judy gets a court order to evict Ms. Kaa from the mansion |
| Ms. Kaa moves back to the dorm |
| Judy moves into the house, has a cleaning service come and wipe all trace of Ms. Kaa away. She also reports that Fred's walk-in safe in the house has been emptied, but has no proof. |
| One month after the death, Judy convinced the police to do a new, more thorough autopsy |
| Two months after the death, the new autopsy results prove Fred was murdered by suffocation |
| Three months after the death, the police start to look for suspects, beginning with Ms. Kaa |
| Four months after the death, Ms. Kaa's story starts to come apart at the seams |
| Five months after the death, two hikers discover a vault in the desert. Police discovered the owner of the vault was Fred Minot and there was a corpse in it, just beginning to decompose |
| Six months after the death, police go to arrest Ms. Kaa on undisclosed evidence and discover she has vanished |
| Now, two weeks later, the US and New Zealand authorities thought they found her. They wanted to extradite his Caroline |
The facts, as he knew them, spelled bad trouble. He didn't understand it at all. Caroline insisted she had been in New Zealand the entire time. She said she still lived in the apartment she'd shared with Cass and that she worked as a clerk in a bookstore. John felt their best way out of this was to match dates when the US "Caroline" was with the police. If his Caroline could prove she was actually elsewhere at the same time, it should get her off the hook. Yet each time he asked her for an accounting of her time, for people she was with or for places she had been, she would burst into tears and John, helpless in the face of her despair, would give up.
John knew she was hiding something, but for the life of him, he couldn't force it from her. For all the strength of character she exhibited, she had a fragility and vulnerability. He saw her as an exotic bird, rare, timid, and unique. Her mannerisms spoke of cautiousness born of fear. He was always sure to be gentle with her. She seemed, for all her strength of will, to be frightened and tense all the time. As if there was some terrible secret she held inside her. At times, he wondered if it was she who had been in America, but he'd push the thought away as quickly as it came. This woman could never kill, could never willingly harm anyone. There was an ingenuousness about her that made the thought of such an act impossible.
The more time he spent with Caroline, the more attracted to her he became. It wasn't only her incredible physical beauty; it was the essence of her. He learned how she'd worked to change her speech, her mannerisms, and her look. They'd grown up so poor. Cass had always looked for the big bucks the easy way. Caroline wanted to earn her way in life. She was determined with a dignity and grace John found poignant to rise above her beginnings. Not because she was ashamed of them, but because she wanted more in life. She refused to be trapped in her poverty; she fought to rise above it with honor. On her own. And she'd almost made it. She'd finished college with impressive grades and had been accepted as an exchange student at UNLV. Then it all came crashing down on her.
The longer he knew her, the more his feelings grew. Her vulnerability and her desperate need for his help spoke to him in a way he couldn't explain. Her need for his reassurance, guidance, seemingly just his presence was something new. Marla had been so self-sufficient; she hadn't needed him or anyone, despite her protestations to the contrary. Caroline needed him. He knew he had lost his objectivity, that it was probably hampering his ability to help her, but it didn't matter. His feelings for her were unparalleled in his experience and whatever they might be, he was hesitant to name them. He was even more hesitant to let her see those feelings. He had no idea how she felt about him and was afraid to find out. He convinced himself all she felt was gratitude.
He thought back for a moment to the night before. He had joined Willy and Caroline for dinner. She had looked stunning in a simple little black dress. She wore even the most inexpensive clothing with an elegant air. Her arms were tanned and her golden legs were bare. As soon as he saw her, he was hit with a wave of desire so strong; it was a physical ache. As usual, he hid it away afraid she would misunderstand. He knew she was aware of the way men desired her. He didn't want her to think him one of them. No matter what his physical response to her beauty, he would never indulge it. To him, the whole situation eerily reminded him of Sonya. He would never take advantage of another woman's need again.
They'd gone to a nice restaurant and were trying to act as if it was a normal evening. As if it was not possibly the last one they would ever spend together. All of them had put on their best facades and soon the pretense had turned real. They'd actually been enjoying themselves. Willy started telling funny stories and Caroline had seemed to relax for the first time since John had known her. Then Willy had left claiming he had urgent business.
John and Caroline had stayed for one after dinner drink and then John had driven her home. They had paused in her doorway and a wave of desire had nearly overwhelmed him. She had looked at him carefully and invited him in. He had refused mumbling something about needing to go over his notes. She'd smiled sweetly at him and repeated the invitation offering him beer and what he sensed was a promise of more. Still he refused. He didn't want to take advantage of what he was sure was her gratitude. He also didn't want to risk Willy's friendship by bedding his sister. He'd simply left, cursing himself as a fool while he drove home.
Now as he went over his notes one final time, he regretted his decision. If last night had been his last chance, he might never know what it was like to kiss her or hold her. His whole body ached with a fierce longing for her, a longing that was not only physical but emotional as well.
With a sigh he dropped his notes and went to get dressed. He put on his one and only suit and went to pick-up Willy and Caroline. When he arrived at Willy's place Caroline was waiting. She told him that Willy thought his police record might hurt her case and he wasn't coming. John studied her; she appeared calm and collected in a severely cut black suit. She looked remarkably like the picture he had seen of Cassandra in the New Zealand Herald months before.
John nodded his agreement and without another word drove to the courthouse for the meeting. Despite his lack of legal standing, the American and New Zealand officials let him stay with Caroline during her questioning. They all made sure she was advised repeatedly of her rights, including that of counsel. Caroline refused. She sat in her chair, hands in her lap, her golden eyes clear, her demeanor exuding calmness insisting she had nothing to hide and no need of legal counsel.
John could tell from the outset the conclusion was foregone. No matter what Caroline said, they would never believe her. She was Caroline Kaa, and it was Caroline Kaa whose passport and student visa were still in possession of the American authorities. She couldn't prove Cassandra actually existed as a separate identity. Apparently it didn't matter if she was really Caroline or Cassandra, since she had been both on and off for the last year. She had taken Cassandra's identity when hers had been stolen. John hadn't known that. If he had, he would have insisted she get a lawyer.
The authorities advised her that she was being extradited to America. She had twenty-four hours to gather whatever proof she had, take care of personal business and say goodbye to her family. Because Lawless was an ex-cop and a licensed PI, they were going to release her into his custody. If she didn't show up at her arraignment the next morning . . . he knew the drill.
John managed to hold his tongue until he got in the car. As soon as they were both inside though, he exploded. "Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me you became Cass?"
Caroline started to cry. "You'd never have agreed to help me. Not if you knew the whole story."
John gripped the steering wheel, trying to control his temper. "The whole story?" he spit. "For Christ's sake Caro, what else haven't you told me?"
"John," she whispered his name softly, like a prayer. "Please don't yell at me. I'll tell you everything. Let's just go somewhere and talk. Please."
Lawless turned the car key with a vicious twist and began to drive. He automatically drove to his home. He parked in the driveway. Caroline was still quietly crying.
He led the woman into his house and gestured her to the couch. He loosened his tie and took off his jacket. "Want a beer or something?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Don't be angry with me. Or Wallace either. He doesn't know about this. John, I'm sorry. I was afraid to tell you. Afraid to tell anyone." She raised her golden eyes. Despair and helplessness warring on her beautiful face.
John saw her pain and all his anger vanished. He went to her, sat down and grasped her hands. "Tell me the truth now. Let me help you."
Caroline nodded. "It was the night before I was supposed to leave for America. Cass and I went to a party. I didn't want to go. I don't, didn't like her friends. But she insisted. Said Winston would be pissed if I didn't come. So I went. I should have known something awful would happen, she insisted we wear the same clothes. She never liked to dress alike, not even when we were little. Cass always had to be her own person. Anyway, everyone seemed pretty stinko when we got there and after a while I noticed Cass and Winston were gone. Then the drugs came out and I wanted to leave. But this man grabbed me. He dragged me into a bedroom and well, he tried to rape me."
John tightened his grip on her hands. He longed to take her in his arms but there seemed more to the story. He knew she needed to finish telling him.
Caroline's body stiffened and with an effort, she began to speak again. "I started to scream and Cass, bless her, came running in. She hit the man over the head with a lamp and dragged me out of there. The next morning she told me the man had died. She said Winston could hush it up, but her prints were on the lamp and he would hold that over her forever. She needed to get out of the country for a while. I insisted she take my ID and told her to go to the states instead of me. I would become her. Our fingerprints are different despite being identical in almost everything else. That way if Winston did try to use this, they couldn't prove I killed anyone, because I hadn't. So it's partly my fault that Cass is in America. Even if I didn't kill that man I helped hide it and he is dead because of me. I'm a murderer!" Caroline began to sob.
John released her hands and took her into his arms. He held her while she cried, thinking furiously. The story reminded him of something. Some story an old cop had told him over too many beers. What was it? He wracked his brains for a few moments and then he got it. "Caro," he said excitedly, "did you actually see what happened after Cass hit the man?"
She raised her tear-stained face from his shoulder. "No. As soon as she hit him she dragged me out of there. We went straight home. She told me the next morning he'd died. She said that Winston called her."
John touched her face gently. "Did you ever see anything in the papers? Any news reports on TV?"
She shook her head. "I looked, but I never did."
"Then you only ever had Cass' word that he was dead?" She nodded. "Caro, I don't think anyone died that night. I think your loving sister set you up so you would do exactly what you did."
Her golden eyes opened very wide as she asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he acknowledged as he released her and rose from the couch, "that Cass wanted to go to America. She used you and your guilt to get there. You were set up. It's a variation of a bunko con. Convince the mark they’ve killed someone and you can bleed them forever. Only in this case, she pulled it on her sister and she didn't want money, just your identity. She's some piece of work, isn't she?"
"Cass would never do that," she insisted.
"Think about it," he replied. "You both wore the same clothes and you were never seen together, were you?" Caroline shook her head. "You go to a party where the guests would assume you're Cass. You try to leave and a man grabs you and attacks you. The very moment when you begin to scream your sister rushes in and saves you. The next day you give up your identity and become her. Very convenient. You were set up. That's the only way it makes any sense. Would you recognize this man if you saw him again?" Caroline nodded. "Okay, come on. I have an idea."
"What kind of idea?"
John began to re-tie his tie. "We're going to have a chat with Mitchell Winston."
Caroline opened her purse and pulled out a tissue. She began to dab at her eyes as she asked, "Why?"
John remarked, "I'm betting they used one of his casino goons. It would have to be someone whose silence they could buy or better yet, already owned."
Cass looked up at him her face now hopeful. "Thank you," she declared softly.
He shook his head. "Don't thank me yet. You're still being extradited tomorrow. But maybe if we can clear this up, it will help in America. You said your prints are different?" She nodded. "Good I have an idea then."
John put his jacket back on. He reached out a hand to help Caroline from the couch and found that he had pulled her into his arms and against his chest. He looked down at her beautiful face.
Her eyes were slanted up at him, her lips parted slightly. Suddenly she smiled and asked, "How come you've never made pass at me?"
An embarrassed and rueful grin crossed John's face. "You're Willy's sister. He'd kill me for sure."
She laughed softly. "Nah. He's been asking me every night whether you'd ever tried to kiss me. Wallace thinks the world of you. He's a little worried though. Thought you might have turned gay or something cause of some bad experiences that he didn't share with me. You're not gay, are you?"
John shook his head. "Why does everyone ask me that? Are you saying you want . . ." he never finished his thought, because Caroline kissed him.
At first, he was almost too surprised to respond. Then, as her mouth pressed itself to his, he began to return her kiss. He resisted the impulse to kiss her hard, to take possession of her with his mouth. Instead, he kept control, kept the kiss gentle and leisurely. Two softly exploring mouths tasting the sweet pleasures of a first kiss. He tightened his arms around her and pulled her closer. He felt the soft warmth of her body rest against him. Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers tangled themselves in his hair.
Desire was beginning to overcome his resolve. He increased the pressure of the kiss and was gratified when her mouth and body melted against him. Her lips opened first, her tongue flicked out to tease his lips. He moaned and felt his body responding. He pulled her tighter still, his tongue moving across her open lips, tracing them, then darting inside to explore.
Now she moaned and pressed herself against him. Her mouth, her body seemed to feel what he did. Her desire, her hunger for him seeming to match his for her. She ran her hands up and down his back, then slipped them under his suit coat to touch his chest. She clung to him now, kissing him with an almost ferocious desperation.
They stood there for a very long time, the kiss building in intensity, their bodies pressing together. Their hands explored, first gently, then not so gently, the other's body. Their fingers moved more urgently as the need grew. John wanted to feel her bare skin against him, to make love to her desperately. He didn't know what was going through her mind, but he was now so lost in sensation that he was almost beyond caring. He only knew that he wanted her and she seemed to want him just as much.
The kiss became more passionate, more frenzied, their mouths and tongues dancing together hungrily. Their bodies were beginning to rub against each other in an erotic dance. They began to work the other's clothing off. Caroline undid John's tie and pulled it off. Then she went after his jacket. He reached down and unbuttoned her suit jacket, then helped her push it off her shoulders.
She began to unbutton his shirt, reaching inside to entwine her fingers in the soft hair on his chest. He moaned as her fingers began rubbing against his nipples. She wore no blouse under her suit jacket, only a black lacy bra that barely restrained her full breasts. Quickly he unsnapped it and with her help removed it. Then he pulled his mouth from hers to explore.
She moaned as he began to kiss his way across her throat. Her back arched and her fingers moved from his chest to pull his head closer. She stroked his hair as his mouth moved along her chest toward her breasts. His hands were already there, gently caressing and kneading the firm rounds of flesh. His thumb was rubbing her already hardened nipples into tight firm peaks, waiting for the arrival of his lips.
Suddenly she pulled his head up and away. She looked him in the eyes, her golden orbs full of fire and said, "I don't want to wait. I want to feel you inside me now."
The look of desire in her eyes lit an incendiary blaze in his soul. He gathered her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down gently on the bed and then quickly stripped off his remaining clothes as she pulled off hers. He reached into the night table and pulled out a condom.
She looked at it, at him standing there naked and said, "Unless you have something, there's no need. I've been tested and I'm clean. I'm also on birth control."
He shook his head, dropped the condom and moved on to the bed next to her. He took a moment to study her naked body. It was glorious, but her need was too great to allow him time to explore. She pulled him into her arms and on top of her. She was already reaching for his hard shaft to guide him inside.
He paused for only a moment, now to study her face. He was almost afraid of what he would see. Sure this passion she exhibited was coming from some emotional place other than mutual desire. What he saw mirrored in her eyes was a reflection of the desire in his own. She seemed as hungry for his touch as he was for hers.
He hovered above her and then allowed her to guide his hard organ inside her. She moaned as she felt him slip inside. He was amazed at how ready she was for him. The feel of her body was like a wet dream come true.
She moaned his name as she wrapped her legs and arms around him. She pulled him down, flat on her, wanting to feel that hard chest crush her. "John," she moaned. "I want you so much."
Her words were nearly too much for him. The intensity of his desire for her was such he couldn't hold back. He tried to move slowly, but her body kept urging him to move faster. Soon, much sooner than he wanted, he found himself grinding into her, thrusting hard and fast. She rose to meet each thrust, moaning his name and pushing back against him. She raised her legs to his waist to pull him deeper inside and he couldn't hold back anymore. With one more powerful thrust, he felt that familiar tightening in his balls and he let go.
He moaned her name as he came. She arched up beneath him, seeming at the edge of orgasm. He reached down between them, finding the little bud above her opening. He stroked it gently, felt it harden and increased the pressure. She began to shudder beneath him and then came with a spasm so strong that it squeezed his now flaccid organ right out of her.
His head dropped to her breasts, his mouth resting against the soft fullness of them. He could feel her stroking his hair, her breath on his forehead.
They lay there quietly for a long time, the desire somewhat sated, but still both in need of more. Finally, John rolled off her, sat up in bed and pulled her into his arms. She snuggled into them, leaning against his warm body and hard chest.
She turned her head to smile at him. "That was wonderful. Willy will be pleased."
John's eyes widened with confusion. Now he felt embarrassed. "Is that why?"
She shook her head and touched his face lightly, gently, almost reverently. "Do you ever look in the mirror?" His expression became even more embarrassed at that. She kissed his nose. "Do you really think I'd make love with a man, just to please my brother?" She shook her head as he still had a look of disbelief on his face. "John, you're a good man. During the time we've spent together I have come to care for you."
He studied her face for a moment, then his expression lightened. He seemed to accept her answer as the truth.
Now she lay back against him, relishing the hardness of his chest, the soft beating of his heart, the warmth of his embrace.
He kissed the top of her head and wondered how he'd gotten so lucky. Then he remembered. He glanced at the clock. "Caro, it's getting late. We still need to see Winston. Find out about . . . "
Caroline turned again and kissed him passionately. Then she said, "It doesn't matter. I'll accept that you're right. John, we've wasted so much time. If I don't see you again, I don't want to waste tonight."
Her words astounded him. "What about Willy?"
She shook her head. "We can see him in the morning before court. Tonight I want to spend with you. Only you."
He was amazed. The woman in his arms no longer seemed so fragile and vulnerable. She seemed to have gathered strength from their lovemaking.
She traced the muscles in his chest and then the planes of his face. He grinned, the corner of his eyes crinkling, the hidden dimples in his cheeks appearing. She studied the grin, a serious expression on her face. "You know," she said softly, "you don’t smile much."
His expression faded, his dark eyes clouded over and flashed with pain. "I used to," he muttered.
"You should," Caroline replied. "You have a beautiful smile. It changes your entire face."
John studied her. Her eyes were wide and the emotion in them was breathtaking. She was looking at him with unqualified trust and utter warmth. He rubbed the back of his hand along her cheekbones. "Maybe I just haven’t had much reason to lately."
She grasped his hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed each knuckle, then the little space between them and then began to suck his fingertips lightly. He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation. Now she turned his hand over, began to trace his lifeline with her tongue. She stopped suddenly and looked at him. "What happened John? Why are you so sad?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her expression was so serious and concerned he found himself trying to explain. "I’m not really sure. One day everything was perfect. I had a good marriage, a job I loved, everything I ever wanted. Then suddenly it all came crashing down on me." He paused for a moment, his eyes seemed to go far away, and then they came back. Suddenly his words came out in a rush as if in a moment of blinding insight he’d finally understood. "Betrayal I guess. My job was, well, to get close to people and then bust ‘em. I was in the business of betrayal, but I never thought it would happen to me. Then suddenly everyone around me began to betray me. First my operator and then my wife. And there I was, alone and hung out to dry. Only surprise was Willy. For reasons I have never really understood, he chose to stand by me. Still, after that, I guess I kind of stuck to being alone. It seemed safer that way."
"No one can betray you if you don’t let them in," she whispered.
He nodded. "And when Sonya died . . ." At her blank look he asked, "Willy never told you?"
She shook her head. "He just worried about you being alone. He did tell me you’d lost someone you cared about but never any details."
John's eyes clouded over again as he declared softly, "Sonya was the best."
"Tell me how she died," Caroline requested.
He swallowed hard and explained. His eyes and face grew even grimmer with remembering.
When he was done with his recitation, Caroline sat up, turned his face to hers, and stared deeply into his dark troubled eyes. "It’s not your fault," she asserted softly.
"It is," he reiterated. "If she hadn’t been involved with me she never would have been busted. If only she hadn’t shown up that day. If only that prick Snow hadn’t . . ."
Caroline pulled him into her arms and his head against her breasts. She stroked his hair as she said, "It’s not your fault John. You’re not responsible for her actions. Sonya made her own choice." She held him tightly. "You need to let the pain out. Let it go. Let her go. You can’t carry the guilt like this. It’s eating you alive."
He let himself fall into the warmth of her embrace, the softness of her breasts, the kindness of her words. As she gently stroked his hair, he felt the pain begin to bubble to the surface, a pinprick of an ache, so sharp and piquant it physically hurt. Suddenly he found his eyes welling up with tears.
"That’s right," she murmured tenderly. "Let it out John. You don’t need to hold on to the pain. You can let it go.""
He began to cry then, all the guilt of Sonya's death and the death of the armored van guard spilled out of him. He cried like a baby in Caroline’s arms. And when he was done, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted. He raised his face to see her smiling tenderly at him. There was a soft sheen in her eyes as if she had felt his pain and cried with him. He wiped his eyes and said, "Thank you."
She kissed the last vestige of his tears away and whispered, "No. Thank you."
He studied Caroline’s beautiful face. Her golden eyes carried such a glow. He felt as if he was being reborn in her essence. A new wave of desire overwhelmed him. A desire full of passion and tenderness, of worship and maybe even love.
"You are so damn beautiful," he whispered. He traced her lips with gentle fingers. She flicked her tongue out to tickle them. His fingers moved from her lips to trace her cheekbones, to caress her soft skin. She smiled sweetly.
He bent and kissed her gently, reverently, his soft lips caressing her in a benediction. Their mouths conjoined, their tongues began to dance. The kiss carried such sweetness in it, a reverence, and awe, like a baptism. The desire and passion was there, beneath the surface. Cushioned between the lust was a warmth and affection that was unplanned.
John’s hands began a gentle exploration of her body. He felt an intense need to touch every beautiful inch of her, first with his fingers and then with his mouth. She seemed to understand and accept his actions, allowing him free rein.
John kissed and caressed his way over her body, his lips and tongue slowly, languidly perusing her soft skin. He rubbed his mouth along the bowls of her breasts, teasing the nipples with his mustache. Then he rubbed them with his lips.
Now he gently kneaded her breasts, pausing now and again to flick his tongue on the hardened pink nipples. She moaned beneath him, accepting his tribute. She stroked his head, her fingers tangling in his dark curls, her body aflame with desire.
Finally, he began to kiss, lick, and suck her nipples in earnest. First he ran his tongue around the aureoles then he took a nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked lightly, playing with her other nipple, rubbing his thumb across it.
Her body arched up, pressing the breast in his mouth closer. Her hands caressed his head. His fingers continued to knead those firm breasts while he began to suck harder. Now he switched to the other breast, gave it the same treatment. Her body was writhing beneath him. Her pelvis pushing upwards, begging for his touch.
He released her breasts and stared at her. Her eyes were closed; her face flushed with passion and arousal, her mouth partly open as she bit her lip.
He kissed his way further down her body. He paused at her belly button and lightly tongued it. She moaned his name.
He moved down the bed and parted her legs, looking forward to tasting her. He began to kiss the inside of her thighs. He rubbed his mouth and tongue along the sensitive skin there. She was moaning and moving, her hands were on the bed, lying tightly clenched at her sides.
He continued to kiss his way along the inside of her thighs, enjoying the feel of her skin, inhaling her spicy sweet scent, and loving her responsiveness.
He could see her nether lips were open and damp with fluid. Finally, after a long leisurely worship of her thighs, he moved his face between her legs. His tongue flicked out to trace her opening. She tasted wonderful, like some exotic spice. He traced those lips with his tongue until she moaned his name and her hands reached for him.
He slipped his tongue inside her womanhood to explore. She nearly jumped off the bed. He made his tongue stiff and began to move it slowly in and out of her womanhood, glancing up every so often to see how she was responding. Her face was totally lost in the erotic sensation. He pumped her with his tongue, then as her moans began increasing in intensity and her body began writhing he found her sweet spot and licked it slowly. Then he began to suck that hardened bud. She exploded into orgasm. Her body moved up and down, her hands were reaching, her moans of his name frenzied.
He raised his face and smiled. He slipped one finger, then two, and then a third inside her as her orgasm seemed to subside and began to move them in and out in a regular rhythm. He watched her face, the arousal, desire, and pleasure she evinced was beautiful to see. He continued to use his fingers to bring her close to the edge again. He increased the speed of his fingers and bent his head to her bud. First he tongued it then he sucked it. She exploded again. This time she screamed his name.
He pulled his fingers out of her reluctantly. Selfishly, he wanted to keep worshiping her, keep her in the throes of pleasure forever. Still, she was moaning his name and reaching for him. It seemed as much as she had enjoyed the foreplay, that she clearly wanted him inside her. He moved up the bed to position himself to enter her.
He slid inside a little at a time, prolonging the sweet agony. As he was finally all the way inside her, touching each part of her, he felt that sense once again of being reborn. He made love to her slowly this time, relishing the friction of each thrust, the sweet sound of her moans, the pure joy of burying himself deep inside her.
Her hands were all over his back, her nailing running up and down his spine. Still, he moved slowly and leisurely, wanting to continue his worship of her forever. Finally she whispered, "Please John. Please."
He began to move faster and thrust harder then. Feeling an almost mystical magical joy spread through his body as she began to orgasm around him. Still he held on, holding back, wanting this incredible experience never to end.
He felt her move her legs, up from his waist up higher, stretching them up his body toward his neck. He looked at her; her eyes were wide open now, her lips parted. "Now John," she said softly. "Come now." She locked her eyes with his.
He lost control then. He pounded into her deeper and deeper. With each thrust, he felt as if his soul was expanding, as if his heart was swelling, as if everything about him was flourishing into a new being. Then with a powerful thrust, he came deep inside her. She gripped him tightly, her body again spasming around him as his movements gave her release too.
He collapsed on her, exhausted. His face rested between her breasts, his heart racing. She pulled his face up and kissed him hard. Then she whispered his name like a prayer.
They spent the rest of the night talking and making love. John could never remember much of what they talked about or if they even slept. He only knew that something wonderful had happened. That night a part of him that had been broken was healed. He would realize later that in his attempt to help Caroline, she had ended up helping him instead.
Early the next morning John took Caroline to her apartment to change and then to see Willy. Their goodbye was painful to watch. John felt helpless as he saw the pain move across Willy's face.
Caroline dressed in the same navy slacks and white blouse, in which he'd first met her, steeled herself for what was to come. There was a grace and resolve about her that impressed John. He reluctantly handed her over to the US and New Zealand authorities. He kissed her goodbye tenderly and with a promise. "I swear, I'll find a way to get you out of this."
She nodded. With tears in her eyes she was lead away.
1 week prior to D-Day
Caroline had been gone for a week. Willy was frantic. John was miserable, he not only missed her terribly but he felt helpless as well. Now he did nothing but try to find a way to get her back. Willy spent every night haunting all the places Cassandra had ever gone. He talked to everyone who had ever known her, but nothing came of it. Willy even went back to visit some of his buddies from the bad old days to see if they knew anything. Nothing helped; he couldn't get a whisper about Cass.
He was driving John crazy. Each day he wanted a progress report, but John had nothing concrete to tell him. After he filled Willy in on Cass' scam to get Caroline's ID, Willy became even more frantic. Though Willy didn't want to believe it, he was becoming convinced that Caroline was in terrible trouble.
John spent every spare moment at Winston's casino. Winston seemed to be conspicuously absent which was suspicious in itself. John refused to let Willy go with him; certain that Willy's connection to Winston's former girlfriend would work against them. Willy didn't like it, but he bowed to John's judgement. Using a mini-camera John was taking shots of every man who even remotely resembled Caroline's description of the "dead" man.
2 days prior to D-Day
John, dressed in his one good suit, was again in the casino. Having been there nearly every night for over a week, he was beginning to know the regulars. And the staff was beginning to know him. His feelings of helplessness had been steadily growing. Although he thought, based on Caroline's description, he'd spotted the "dead" man. However, until Winston showed up, that was simply a useless supposition.
As John stood at the bar drinking a beer he heard a commotion. It seemed Mitchell Winston had arrived at last.
John watched with distaste as the handsome former polo player swaggered like a god through his casino. The tall man wore an Armani suit that fit him perfectly. The material was so shiny it seemed to cast a halo around him. He stopped at the baccarat table, talked briefly with a high-roller and then made his way to the back of the casino. John knew that was where his office was located.
John waited five minutes and then made his own way there. Two goons, one of whom he was convinced was the "dead" man blocked the door. "Let me by mate," John said softly. "I need to see Winston."
"He don't need to see you."
John shrugged nonchalantly. "He does though. I got something for him."
"What?"
"This," John said as he kneed the bodyguard in the groin. As the man went down, John turned and punched the other bodyguard in the gut and grabbed for the door. To his surprise, it was unlocked.
He entered the office and glanced around quickly. His eyes barely registered the expensive decorations. He was looking for people. When he saw it contained only Winston, he slammed the door shut and locked it.
In three long strides, he reached the desk where Winston sat in a big leather chair talking on the telephone.
John spun the chair around so Winston faced him. He grabbed the phone out of Winston's hand and slammed it into the cradle. Then he pulled Winston out of the chair by the lapels of his expensive suit and smacked him hard across the face.
It was clear Winston wasn't used to being treated in such a manner. His face expressed no anger, only bewilderment. "Who are you? What do you want?" he asked.
John fought to control himself. All his helplessness was turning into a murderous rage. He knew that was counter-productive. He needed Winston helpful, not dead. "I'm about to be your worst nightmare if you don't answer some questions for me."
Winston nodded, still too stunned by the sudden attack to fight back. "What do you want?"
John pushed the casino owner back into his chair. "I want to know about Cassandra Kaa. And about that little scam you helped her run on her sister."
"Ah, Cassie?" Winston said. He began to rub his jaw. "Why didn't you just say so? No need to come in here like an avenging angel. I'll be happy to tell you anything you want to know."
Winston's willingness to talk took John aback, but he pressed the advantage. "You did help her run a scam on her sister, didn't you?"
Winston nodded. "Yeah, Cassie wanted to go to America. But she couldn't get a visa. So I helped her. No harm in that is there?"
"No harm in that?" John exploded. "You made an innocent woman feel like a murderer! And now, the US have grabbed her up, blaming her for the death of Fred Minot."
"They have, have they?" Winston shook his head. "That's too bad. But really, what can I do about it?"
John clenched his fists tightly. He really wanted to hit Winston again. He forced himself to calm down and announced, "You can come with me to the cops. Tell them it was Cassandra that went to the states and not Caroline."
"I can't do that," Winston demurred. "I can't be involved in something like murder. They might suspect me. Fred was a partner in this casino."
"And now it's all your isn't it?" John asserted thoughtfully. "I'll bet you had a survivor's agreement."
Winston nodded. "Standard operating procedure mate. Got to have one. Otherwise . . ."
"I need proof that Caroline was not the one in the states. You can prove that. You're going to come with me." John again grabbed Winston by his lapels and pulled him to his feet. This time he heard the expensive suit tear.
Winston's face took on a feral quality as he conceded, "Wait mate. You don't need me. I can do you one better."
"What do you mean?" John asked as he slightly loosened his grip on Winston.
"Well," Winston maintained, his eyes growing calculated. "You need to prove there are two of them, right? That it was Cassie and not Caroline?" John nodded. "How about if I give you Cassie?"
John was so surprised he released the casino owner. "What?"
Winston grinned. "If I give you Cassie, will you leave me out of this?"
"You know where she is?"
Winston nodded. "I do. I'll get her for you."
"She's here?" Winston nodded. Winston turned around and made for a door that was partially hidden in the back wall. Winston pushed a button and a door swung inward.
John stepped forward to see a beautifully appointed bedroom with a woman who looked exactly Caroline lying on a bed apparently sleeping. He had no doubt it was Cassandra. He looked around the room for something to tie her up with. He didn't think she would come quietly or willingly. He wished he'd thought to bring handcuffs.
The woman on the bed appeared to wake up. She raised her head and John found himself staring into golden eyes so like Caroline's for a moment he was disconcerted. Then he noticed a small difference. Where Caroline's eyes were open and innocent, this one seemed to have a hardness about her. As she studied him, her eyes raked his form, turned lustful, and then grew calculating. "One of Winston's high rollers are you?" she asked archly. "Come to have a little fun?"
John was instantly repelled. Still he decided to play along, the better to trap her. He nodded and inched closer to her on the bed. He sat down and removed his tie. Then with a quick motion he tied her wrists together.
"Hey lover boy," she flirted softly. "If you want a little bondage, all you have to do is ask. No need to get rough. As I'm sure Winston told you, I like to please his friends."
John was even more repulsed. As she leaned over to kiss him, he pulled away. He heard Winston laugh from behind him.
"Calm down Cassie," Winston asserted. "He's not here to bed you. He has something else in mind."
Now Cassie's eyes grew a little wild. She looked at John then at Winston and something seemed to flash across her face. "Who are you?" she challenged.
"My name is John Lawless," he averred slowly. "I'm a friend of Willy's and Caroline's."
She sucked in her breath. "Winston, what's going on? How could you let him in here?"
Winston laughed. "Cassie, haven't you learned anything about me by now? I risk my neck for no one. Lawless here is going to take you to the police."
"No," she jumped up off the bed and tried to run past John and out of the room.
John grabbed her about the waist and pulled her to a stop. She began screaming at him, cursing in language worse than any he'd heard on the force. Winston just stood there laughing. She tried to bite John and finally, though he'd never struck a woman before, he slapped her. She stopped struggling then, seemingly shocked by his violence.
"It's over Cassandra," John announced. "I'm taking you to the cops. You're going to go back to America and get Caroline out of jail."
"Winston," she murmured in a small voice. "Are you going to let him do this?'
Winston nodded. "Sorry luv. I can't help you."
"Can't help me," she shrieked, "or won't?"
He shook his head. "Have it your way. Won't help you. Cassie you always knew I was rotten. That was part of the attraction, wasn't it?"
"After all I've done for you?" she complained. "You'd just let him take me away like this? Not even bother to save me?"
"Sorry luv," he admitted without regret. "But I can't think of a single reason to save you. And I wouldn't go telling any stories about me either. You know you have no proof."
At Winston's words, Cassandra's whole body seemed to sag. She made no answer to Winston and she stopped struggling with John. The look on her face as John took her out of the casino and to his car was not pretty. It held equal mixtures of saddened surprise and anger. She seemed beaten and docile. John wondered what was going through her mind. He guessed she had expected better of her lover. Well, maybe he could use that. Winston had given her up way to easily. Even for a prick with his reputation. Maybe there was more to their involvement than just a sexual relationship.
He drove straight to the station where Dave Bruford worked. He made the desk sergeant get Dave on the phone and then he took Cassandra with him to the interrogation room. He explained everything to Dave and begged him to help. Dave shook his head. This was way beyond him.
Dave left John and Cassandra sitting there while he went to get John's old boss, Susan Ellis. After a long unproductive shouting match with her, John gave up. Ellis swore they couldn't do anything. The Americans were in charge of the case and they had Caroline Kaa in custody. They didn't want to hear it about another one. His best bet was to take Cassandra to America himself.
John asked if they could give him any help at all if he took her there. It was clear, that while right now Cassandra might be docile, she was unlikely to remain so. Dave had a hushed conversation with Susan Ellis, the two cops left the room and when Dave returned twenty minutes later, he was alone.
He gave John a piece of paper, which would give him the authority to act as a bounty hunter. Dave also promised that if John gave him his flight information he would smooth the way with the airlines. Keeping a woman in cuffs on a Trans-Pacific then domestic flight was not the norm. John agreed to call Dave as soon as he had the information.
John brought Cassandra to his home, found his cuffs, clipped her to a chair and then called Willy. Willy came immediately. He took one look at Cass and began to berate her. She listened, her head bent, her face unreadable for a long time. She listened until Willy's anger ran down and his bitterness stopped. She listened until her brother ran out of words.
Then she said, "You always did like Caro best. It wouldn't matter what I ever did; she'd always be your favorite. I'm never gonna be good enough for you bro. Never. Just piss off, will you? Clearly you and your mate here want to drop me into it and that's what you're gonna do. No amount of explanations and recriminations are going to change that. If you're going to do it, then just fucking do it."
Willy looked helplessly at John. John called the airlines and got a reservation on the first flight he could to Los Angeles. From there, he reserved a connecting flight to Las Vegas.
D-Day
The trip from New Zealand to Los Angeles was a long one. The closer they got to the United States, the more agitated Cassandra became. She refused to tell John anything. Not about the alleged murder, not about her escape from the US, not about how she got back into New Zealand and most definitely not about Winston. No matter how many times or ways he pointed out the utter hopelessness of her situation, she refused to open her mouth. No matter how often he pointed out how Winston had abandoned her and given her up to him without even a fight she refused to speak. Only once, during the sixteen-hour trip did he get a rise out of her. He asked her how she ever hoped to get away with it, especially when she'd made the grave mistake of returning to New Zealand. She looked at him sadly and said, "Love makes fools of us all."
And that, for the long airborne hours, was all she said. Now they were finally landing at McCarron Airport in Las Vegas. Their plane had been delayed and they'd missed their original connection out of LAX. He looked around the waiting area at McCarron's International terminal for the cops who were supposed to be there to meet them, but saw none.
With a shrug, he realized they had probably left when he didn't get off his proper flight. They had cleared customs in LA so there was nothing to stop them. John only had a carry-on and Cassandra had no luggage. When Cassandra realized she had a reprieve, she seemed to come alive. She began, finally, to talk.
Her voice was high pitched and slightly hysterical. "Look," she was saying. "Don't take me to the cops. I have some things at home that will prove I didn't kill Fred. Things that will get both Caro and I off the hook. Please John. Please."
John studied her. He didn't know what to believe and he was very worried that all of this was for naught. Still, if there was any kind of extra proof. He nodded and when they got in the cab let her give the driver an address.
The driver drove them to a slightly seedy part of town and then John paid him, glad he'd exchanged some money in New Zealand before getting on the plane. He allowed Cassandra to lead him into her apartment. She told him she had to go to the bathroom and asked him to uncuff her. Since he was pretty sure she wouldn't run, where after all could she go, he unlocked the cuffs. She made a beeline for her bedroom and when she came out, she was holding a gun.
"You really are a bloody idiot," she said softly. "Did you think I'd let you bring me back here to send me to jail?"
She forced John to put on the handcuffs, led him out her front door and into the garage. She made him get in Cliff’s Ford truck and then she followed. She drove them out into the desert.
‘Danger Zone - Extreme Fire Danger – you are in a Danger Zone’
John Lawless thought the epitaph on the warning sign fitting. The sun was scorching. The orb of merciless yellow fire burned in a pale blue cloudless sky. Soft sand and pink rock stretched as far as his eyes could see. Dry scrub, rolling tumbleweed and tall cactus dotted the landscape. He knew they were the only vegetation capable of surviving this fierce environment. The desert evinced a harsh and unforgiving kind of beauty. There was a blistering wind sending billowing clouds of dust spiraling toward the sky. The air was like a scalding furnace. A faint acrid scent of something burning cloyed at his senses. He felt like he was inside a fiery vacuum. No matter how carefully he breathed; the intense heat of the desert seared his lungs.
John rammed the shovel into the soft ground and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. His T-shirt was plastered to his back and soaked with sweat. In the brutal heat, his body continued to lose moisture. He could feel the strength slowly ebbing away. He knew he was in terrible trouble.
"Keep digging," Cassandra said.
Lawless looked up at his captor. His brown eyes focused on the loaded gun pointed at his heart. He stood in a hole, in the middle of the Nevada desert, digging his own grave. "Why are you doing this?" John asked.
She waved the gun at him. "I can't let you live. If I do you'll get Caro out of jail and they'll throw me in. I do not want to go to jail."
John wiped his forehead again and said. "Willy says you'd never kill anyone. You probably only stole the money. Maybe if you gave it back."
"That's a laugh," Cass snorted bitterly. "I can't give it back. I don't have it anymore. That bastard Winston."
"What's he got to do with it?" John asked. He was playing for time. The smell of something burning was getting stronger; he thought he saw smoke somewhere near by. Thought he heard sirens in the distance.
"The whole bloody thing was his idea," Cass said. "He told me about Fred, suggested we use Caro to get me into the country. He promised me if I got Fred's money, he'd marry me. What a fool I was. I should have listened to Cliff."
"Who's Cliff?"
She looked at him pityingly. "Poor sod in the vault. After he killed Fred, he wanted us to run away with the money. But no, I was too smart for that. I killed him and then sent the money to Winston for safekeeping. What a fool I was."
The sound of sirens was getting closer. "What is that?" Cass murmured as she turned her head.
John jumped up out of the hole and brought the shovel down on her wrist, trying to dislodge the gun. She yelped in pain and loosened her grip. He got the gun from her and for the second time in his life hit a woman. Only this time his intent was to knock her out. He succeeded.
He got the keys for the cuffs out of her pocket, unlocked them and re-cuffed her. He carried her limp body back to the car and began the long drive back to Las Vegas. When he got there, he hailed the first cop he saw and asked for directions. When he was asked why, he explained and was then escorted to police headquarters.
It seemed Dave had come through for him. He'd called Detective Kramer and alerted him that John was coming and whom he was bringing with him. John and Cassandra were escorted to an interrogation room. Detective Kramer and Caroline were there to meet them.
Detective Kramer was stunned. Seeing the two women side by side, they were identical. In the same clothes, no one would be able to tell them apart. He waited for an explanation.
John said, "Identical twins, but you were already told that, weren't you? Caroline, the one you have in custody, was not in America. It was this one," he gestured at Cassandra. "She's the one you want. She admitted having Cliff kill Fred, and then she stole all his money. She's your killer."
"How can you prove that?" Detective Kramer asked.
"Fingerprints," John said softly. "Their prints are different."
Detective Kramer shook his head. "Won't work. We don't have any prints."
John's eyes opened wide in disbelief. "What do you mean you don't have any prints? How is that possible?"
Detective Kramer looked upset. "We never arrested her, we never printed her."
"What about Minot's house? The dorm?"
Detective Kramer looked even more uncomfortable. "Minot's house was cleaned, his sister hired someone to wipe out every trace of Ms. Kaa. They wiped the entire house clean of prints. Forget the dorm room. She never really lived there. It's been cleaned anyway. No way to tell which of them was ever there."
"What about the apartment she took me to?" John protested. "Can't you get her prints there?"
The Las Vegas detective shook his head again. "Only proves she was there. Which she was with you. Can't prove any connection to Minot or to Cliff."
"Cliff!" John got another idea. "The guy in the vault?" Detective Kramer nodded. "She said she killed him. Did he have a vehicle?"
"He had a white Ford truck. We never found it. She said she killed him?' John nodded. Detective Kramer added, "His head was bashed in with a silver bar. She admitted that did she?" Again, John nodded.
"You know," John said, "She had a white truck. A Ford I think. It's what I drove us here in."
Excitement lit Detective Kramer's face. "Hang on, I've got an idea."
While Detective Kramer left the room, John walked over to Caroline. He pulled her to her feet and enfolded her into a tight hug. She melted against him briefly and then pulled back. Her eyes looked fearful. "What is it?" John asked. She shook her head and disentangled herself from him.
Detective Kramer returned with a file folder and an excited look. "I knew it. There are some prints."
John asked, "Where?"
The detective studied some sheets in the file. "On the outside of the vault. No prints inside, but on the outer door. We almost missed them, but an overly zealous rookie got the bright idea of printing the door. A full set of hand prints."
"No, there can't be! I wore gloves. I know I did." Then suddenly it came back to her. She had pushed the sand away without gloves on. "Damn, I'm really for it now, aren't I?" Cassandra confessed.
Detective Kramer looked at John and nodded. "Cassandra Kaa, alias Caroline Kaa, I arrest you for the murder of Cliff Getz and as accessory in the murder of Fred Minot. Also for grand larceny. You have the right . . ." John lost the rest of the warning as he again pulled Caroline to her feet and into his arms. This time there was no hesitation on her part, she smiled and melted completely against him. He held her tightly and could feel the tension start to ease out of her body. It was almost over.
The next day John was able to pick Caroline up. He had bought her a dress at the hotel, knowing she would not want to wear the same clothes she had come to America in. They stopped by Detective Kramer's office before leaving to say goodbye. He apologized profusely to Caroline who handled it gracefully. He handed John a copy of Cassandra's confession. When Cassandra realized she was caught, the prints on the vault and her prints as well as Cliff's in the truck, were good enough to convict, she'd laid it all out hoping for a light sentence. John read the facts with interest:
"Fred found out about me and Cliff. I have no idea how. He didn't say. So he tried to set a trap for us. Only we were smarter. Fred got rid of all the security and staff. He took his usual dose of Xanex to help with the heroin withdrawal and then I fed him some extra. He fell asleep and Cliff smothered him. Then Cliff and I emptied the safe and took all the money to my apartment. Then we went to the vault. We took all the silver coins and bills and loaded them in his truck. Then I killed Cliff before he could kill me. I drove the truck back to my apartment and then waited. Finally I went back to the house and found Fred. The money? I don't know what happened to the money. It should still be in my apartment."
John knew she was lying about the money. Still protecting that prick Winston. Well, he couldn't prove anything and her confession meant he was saved having to stay and testify against her. He was grateful enough for that, so he decided to let it go. Now all he wanted was to get Caroline back to New Zealand and her brother.
John said goodbye to the Las Vegas detective and he and Caroline took a cab to the airport. Within eighteen hours, they were back home in New Zealand.
Willy couldn't have been happier if John had just given him a million bucks. He was very upset about Cassandra, but was glad Caroline was out of it. He hugged first Caroline, then John, then Caroline again. Then he hugged the both of them together.
John, watching this reunion felt out of place. When Willy and Caroline went to the kitchen, John slipped out the front door. He drove slowly home, wondering if now that Caroline was out of trouble her need for him would vanish. After all, what did he really have going for him? He was just a private investigator. A woman like her could do much better.
He'd managed to down three beers and work himself into a good sulk when there was a knock at his door. "Just a second," he said. He got up from the couch and opened the door to find Caroline standing there, a tall thin gaily-wrapped package in her hand.
"What's this then?" he asked as he gestured for her to come in.
She entered and set the gift carefully on the coffee table. "Open it," she said.
He looked at her curiously and sat down on the couch. Then he began to rip the paper off. His eyes opened wide with surprise when he saw what it was. "How did you know?" he asked.
"Wallace told me," she replied. She sat down next to him on the couch. "You really need to decorate this place some. It looks like no one lives here."
John smiled at her, at the framed poster of Bob Marley she'd just given him, and back at her. "I don't think anyone did. But I guess now maybe someone does."
The End