Page 72 of Shane
Gah, she was tearing Shane’s heart out. The more Tuesday revealed, the more he understood why she hung out in far-off, barren places like the Arctic Circle. She wasn’t just photo journaling. She was him. Forever the outsider, cast by circumstance into a life of solitude. A wanderer and a person without anyone in the world to care what happened to them. Without anyone to rely on. Except in her case, maybe Jeff and Henry Lamb, possibly Robert Freiburg. God, he hoped so. She deserved someone good and decent in her corner. Poor damned kid.
Mother jolted him out of his mental wandering with, “Don’t you worry. I have plenty of evidence, enough to convict her. I’ve caught Astor coming and going on dozens of traffic cams along Billionaire Row in New York City, most often near One57, the Tower condominium.”
“That’s where Freddie and I lived before…” Tuesday’s voice trailed away.
“Yup, I know, honey,” Mother replied evenly. “But your money and identity isn’t all Astor stole. She wanted to look like you, too. And it makes sense. How else could she convince the world you were a killer?”
“Which is why she looked directly into the security camera when she chained the door of her apartment that day,” Everlee whispered. “She needed you to look as cold-blooded as she is. The bitch!”
“Right, Ev. She was brunette when she started working at One57 roughly seven years ago, right before your parents died, Tuesday. But now she’s the same shade of blonde as you, and, call me crazy, but I think she’s bleached her skin. For sure she’s had plastic surgery. A nose job. Probably liposuction on her rear end, too, because that caboose used to be a wide-load coming through. But lately, it’s been trimmed to a firm size ten like yours. I’m sure you’ve noticed, Shane.”
Shane damned near choked on his tongue. Of course, he’d noticed Tuesday’s backside. Good looking women naturally hit his radar. He was a guy, for hell’s sake, not a robot. But it wasn’t Tuesday who’d captured his attention these last couple days. It was Everlee. Not that he’d ever, ever tell Sasha. She was a little too nosy.
“Nice segue,Mother,” he bit out sarcastically, hoping Everlee and Tuesday wouldn’t encourage her sass.
“Wait, guys. Hold up a second,” Everlee ordered. “I’m confused, can’t keep all this info straight. Do you have a, umm, a timeline, Mother? Something to the point and, uh, brief?”
Shane cocked his head at his bossy companion agent, wondering what was really going on. She hadn’t had any trouble keeping up before. In fact, had been damned sharp during that quick exfil out of Dallas.
But by then, Tuesday had untangled herself from Ev, and Shane had another woman to worry about. She’d drawn her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and her chin was on her kneecaps. She wasn’t making eye contact. She’d effectively built a wall Shane wanted desperately to knock down.
“You bet,” Mother replied with enthusiasm. “Let’s go by Tuesday’s ages when everything happened. At sixteen, her parents were killed in an automobile accident. At seventeen, she married Frederick Lamb, then he died of a heart attack when she was twenty. At twenty-one, Astor enters the scene, assumes Tuesday’s identity, and, while the real Tuesday is still in mourning, the fake Tuesday marries—”
“Never mind. Enough!” Shane ordered, ending Mother’s accurate, but insensitive reply. “Text it to Everlee, Mother. We’ll go over it when we have time.” He couldn’t bear what those details were doing to Tuesday. Her face was now stuck between her kneecaps, and, even in the muted lighting, he was smart enough to know she was crying.
“Oh, sure, you bet,” Mother answered. “I’m, umm, sorry Tuesday. I got ahead of myself and… I tend to forget…”
“It’s okay,” Tuesday squeaked as she lifted her face and swiped a quick palm over her cheek. “This is what you guys do, and you’re helping me, and I’m grateful for everything. Really I am.”
“It’s just hard, isn’t it?” Shane asked quietly.
Oddly, Everlee’s eyes were glimmering as bright as Tuesday’s now. The women had bonded, and he was glad for that connection. There were moments when it seemed Everlee needed a BFF as much as Tuesday did. But what the hell were those tears about? Was something else going on?
“But I should know better,” Mother said meekly. “Sometimes I talk too much. I’m really sorry, honey. I hope you know that.”
“I do,” Tuesday replied hoarsely. She wiped her other cheek, but still didn’t meet Shane’s eyes. Damn it. He’d let Mother rattle on too long.
Shane thumbed the burner phone off speaker and asked Mother, “Do you know for certain that Astor stalked Lamb?”
“Yes. There are hidden cameras all over One57,” she answered. “I’ve got tons of video showing Astor following him. But the kicker happened the day he died.”
“Keep talking.” Like Shane could’ve silenced Alex’s loquacious techie.
“She delivered a giftbag to the doorman on ground level that day. Got her on One57’s security film, clear as day. She was all dolled up in a shorter-than-shit black mini skirt. A flouncy red blouse with ruffles, one of those sheer things that showed a black bra beneath it. Bright red Jimmy Choos, or maybe they were Louboutins, I don’t know. Whatever. But she was wearing black silk stockings with those fuck-me-darling shoes, and like Tuesday Smart, she has damned long legs to go with that getup. She was every man’s wet dream that morning, I’ll tell you, and she started to cry when the doorman denied her access. Made quite a scene. Keep in mind I only have video, so I have no way to hear exactly what either of them said. Wanna bet he was telling her there was no way in hell he was letting her in Lamb’s condo?”
“Smart man.” Shane cleared his throat to keep Mother’s monologue moving along.
“Want to bet that gift is what killed Lamb? What caused his heart attack?”
“Possibly. Please tell me NYPD has the bag and its contents in their possession, and that they wore gloves when they examined it.”
“I have no idea if they even looked for it. Why would they? But Tuesday was with him. She called the EMTs. Why don’t you ask her where the bag is?”
“Please hold,” Shane answered. Resting the burner phone face up on his thigh, he asked, “Tuesday? Sorry, but do you recall a gift being delivered the morning Frederick passed? Someone from the hotel would’ve delivered it.”
A blank stare gazed back at him, and Shane felt bad for her all over again. There was so much little girl inside Tuesday, and that little girl had lost so much.
“Y-yes. Freddie was excited to get it. He thought it was an antique book he’d ordered. Only it was one of those fake books with a tiny silver key instead, the kind that’s really a safe. You can get them on Amazon. But when he unlocked the book, it was empty.”