Whirlpool: Bonds of Friendship, #3

By Cali Moore

Cass McLeary wrote about dead people. They couldn't retaliate, being nicely dead, and the criminal mind fascinated her. But Mark Barrington's tale was becoming an obsession, and he wasn't dead. Nor, she was sure, was he a criminal. There was much more here and she wanted the story. Her son was not happy about it.

            Mark Barrington wasn't happy about it either. The woman had written to him several times while he'd served his sentence and was after him again now that he was out. There was a very good reason he'd pled guilty and that still stood. At least until his sister decided it didn't. Something had to be done to help her daughter and Mark was the one who needed to do it.

            Mark's request didn't sound like much, but Cass knew it was. Ashley was at the center if it all and she could so easily screw up. She agreed, not for selfish reasons, but because if she could help the girl she wanted to. She wouldn't mind helping Mark either. By all reports whatever had happened all those years ago had changed him. His family missed him. His friends missed him and she knew bad men weren't granted the title of friend by the sort of people that considered him one.

            So she stepped into the Whirlpool.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cali Moore
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215391952

Book preview

Prologue

Mark knew only rage as he saw the man covering his niece. Dear God, she was only thirteen. He didn’t think, he only reacted. His finger squeezed the trigger. The man watching with laughter fell. It had been a mistake. The man doing the deed rolled off Ashley as the second bullet flew. It was the third that felled him.

It was the second that worried Mark.

He wasted no time on the bastards and hurried to his niece.

He’d shot her in the head.

It was supposed to have been the man’s back.

Dear God.

He untied her and cradled her head in his lap, trying to staunch the flow of blood with his hands as he listened to the sirens draw near. It wasn’t only her head bleeding, but it was the wound that could kill her. He was only vaguely aware of the rising decibels from the emergency vehicles.

What the hell are you doing? Marshall demanded. Why aren’t you defending yourself?

Mark shrugged at the best friend he’d ever had. His eyes watched the limp as Marshall paced the barren visitor’s room. It was too much. The scars were too much. On both of them. Inside, as well as out.

What’s to defend? I shot them. I killed the ones I wanted to and would do it again. The one I didn’t, I might as well have.

She’s not dead, Marshall said fiercely. Damn it, Mark. Ashley’s not going to die. He could not understand the man.

Mark wanted to laugh. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He wondered briefly if he would ever laugh again. He doubted it. She might be better off.

Mark...

Drop it, Marshall. Just drop it. Mark raked his hand through his wavy brown hair. It’s done. All of it. Go home to your wife and kids. Make love to Cait. Live a life you can be proud of. Quit.

Damn it, Mark! Am I supposed to let you rot in jail? Marshall was torn between fury and frustration. He loved this man more than he would a brother, if he had one.

Do you remember us telling Cait that we often crossed the line? Mark asked. Do you remember telling her we were often criminals? Well, I’ve crossed the big one. There’s no walking away from that one and you know it. Mark turned and called to the guard. Before he was escorted through the steel door, he turned. Go home, Marshall. Tell Cait I love her. He brushed an arm across his eyes, hoping to keep the tears at bay until he was alone. Give Caitie and the kids a kiss for me. And then he was gone.

Marshall felt a pain deeper than he had ever known, and he was no stranger to that sensation. Emotionally or physically. Mark wouldn’t fight. Hell, he wouldn’t even go to trial.

Why? For God’s sake, why?

The press had already crucified him. He’d offered no defense. In the eyes of the world, he’d simply snapped, killed two men and shot his niece in the head.

The Mark Barringtons of this world did not snap. They didn’t kill for any reason other than self-defense or defending those they loved. Ashley was the key. Marshall knew that. But Ashley couldn’t tell him why. And Mark was determined not to.

That one hurt.

Marshall had almost given up on someone important in his life once before. It was Mark who had kept him from doing it. He would not give up now. In a gesture so common, he didn’t even know he did it anymore, he rubbed his right thigh before leaving the visiting room.

Chapter One

Kial frowned at his mother as she came into the kitchen, rifling through the mail for the letter that would never come. Mom, he said tiredly. Give it up. He’s not going to answer.

He’s only had a week in the world again, Cass responded. He might change his mind now that he’s out.

If he’s got any brains, the last thing he’ll want is to talk about it.

Cass sighed and sat down on a Hitchcock chair. I know. I can’t help hoping, though.

I’ve never seen you so obsessed with a subject, Kial said quietly. Why are you?

I wasn’t, she admitted. Until I started digging. She set the mail down with a plop. Something is very odd here. The profile is wrong for the deed.

People do funny things, Mom. All the time. It’s why newspapers sell, TV reporters make big bucks, and you’ve been able to support us. We don’t fit into nicely organized slots. Human nature makes us all unpredictable.

Cass smiled at her eighteen year old son. How old are you?

Old enough to know you have a problem. He put his mouth around a sub with some difficulty and took a messy bite. Before he’d finished swallowing, he added, And old enough to know you’d better get over your obsession. What’s going to happen when I leave next week and you have no one to keep your head on straight?

She decided she might as well tell him. Widowed six years ago and left alone with a twelve year old son, they’d done a lot of growing up together. They’d moved back across the country, she’d found a new career, and together they had forged a bond that could withstand anything. At least, she hoped they had. I’m going to track him down.

Mom!

Listen to me, Kial. This is important. To me, maybe to him. I’m a biographer. I’ve written about dead people. Finally, I’ve found a live person worth writing about. Something is very wrong with this picture. I want to find out what it is.

You’re not a reporter. He’s killed two people. Hell, he admitted killing two people. No defense, Mom. No trial. Just, yes, I did it, haul me away. And you’re going to go looking for him? You’re nuts!

He shot his niece, too, she said dryly.

I’m aware of that. That only makes it worse.

No, it makes it curious. It also, I think, holds the key. His best friend thinks so.

Kial groaned. His best friend? Please tell me you didn’t speak to his sister.

I didn’t. She hung up on me.

Mom!

Just one contact, she swore. I won’t take non-communication for an answer. If he tells me to go to hell to my face, then that’s it. I have to try, Kial. I need to.

Why? He challenged. Why is this so important to you?

I can’t answer that. She held up her hand when he looked ready to argue. Can’t, kiddo, not won’t. I don’t know why other than I’m not happy with any of this. I followed the story five years ago. Mark Barrington allowed himself to be crucified. He didn’t fight. It was his friend’s quote that really grabbed me. I’ve never been able to forget it.

What did he say?

That Mark had to have reasons. Reasons he’d rather go to jail for than disclose. Otherwise, he would defend himself, his father at his side. The Mark Barringtons of this world do not snap.

Does the friend know the reasons?

He didn’t then. I think he does now. He only gave me, ‘No comment’.

Which tells you nothing, Kial argued.

It was his tone that told me everything. Everyone I spoke with loves Mark. He was easy, carefree. He lived a dangerous life and was damned good at it, but he didn’t resort to violence to accomplish his goals. He had women everywhere and they all knew it and were willing to take whatever he would give.

Sounds like a Ted Bundy type to me, Kial grumbled.

Cass grinned, not out of amusement over Mark Barrington’s situation, but because of her son’s protectiveness. He was a fine young man and she was proud of him. And in a week, he would be a freshman at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. It was a marvelous school and they were both looking forward to his taking this next, huge step.

It was one she had missed. Oh, she had her degree, but it had been hard won and long in coming. She’d married her high school sweetheart, already pregnant, and they’d dealt with his schooling first. Those had been lean years. Years when they were lucky to have hamburger, usually having no meat at all, surviving on beans and starches. Cass could still look into a seemingly empty refrigerator and find a meal in it.

They had not only survived, but succeeded in their goals. There had been no more children. They thought they’d wait before they had another. They had all the time in the world.

Cass had learned no one had time. Or at least, not time they could count on. All that mattered was now. In her opinion, Mark Barrington didn’t even have that. For whatever reason, that bothered her. She knew she was being presumptuous, but she hadn’t lied to Kial. She needed this and maybe Mark needed someone to push him to tell the truth. She also needed a purpose.

Writing about dead people had been enough with the living Kial to worry about, but he was leaving to begin his life with no apron strings attached. He deserved that. Just as she deserved something that mattered to her.

She wanted this book. Something deep inside her yearned to understand what happened that day. Why would a contented man, with seemingly everything going for him, suddenly snap? A burned out cop, a traumatized vet, those she could understand, but a man like Barrington? A man with a loving family, strong friendships, success in his chosen field? It made no sense. Of course, she was aware of all the criminals whose neighbor’s said, He was such a nice man, but this just didn’t fit. It didn’t fit anything she’d ever known or researched.

The fact was, Kial was right, she was obsessed.

One chance. That’s all she needed. If he rejected her offer, she’d walk away, knowing she had tried. It would have to be enough.

Cass offered the boys more coffee, more bacon, more eggs, more anything, to keep them just a minute longer. It didn’t work.

Mom, Kial complained. We have to go. It’s a twelve hour drive.

She smiled. You can hardly blame me for trying, can you?

He grinned. I’d blame you if you didn’t.

Cass kissed both boys on the cheek. Drive carefully. I love you.

Sure thing, Mrs. Mac, Bill said, grabbing a couple of pieces of bacon for the road.

Mom? Kial looked at her carefully, like he was imprinting this particular image in his mind forever. When are you heading north?

Did he really think she was going to be murdered? Not for a few days. I’ll wait until I know you’re settled. I’ll let you know.

He nodded. Be careful. You’re the only Mom I’ve got.

And the only Dad, she thought. The only grandparent, the only anything. And you’re all I’ve got, she whispered, forcing herself to keep the tears at bay. Be happy. She stayed in the front doorway until the car disappeared down the street.

It wasn’t really sadness. In a way, it was happiness. In truth, it was poignancy. Kial was as old as his father had been when they’d married. He should be a man, but to her, he wasn’t. Not yet. Possibly never, yet she knew she would never clip his wings, never try to keep him close if his path led him in another direction. Whether she thought of him as a man or not wouldn’t keep him from becoming one. She wanted only happiness for her son, and whatever gave him that would be enough for her.

Easy thoughts, easy words. Easy feelings? Only time would tell.

She only knew she loved him enough to stand there and watch him go.

And that when she next saw him, he would no longer be the boy he was today.

Cass walked nervously to the door. She was much better on the phone and she knew it. There, her strong voice could easily disguise her not-so-impressive physique. She wasn’t a small woman in terms of height, standing at the perfect average of five foot six, but she was small-boned and slender. She wore her hair short out of laziness and never bothered with make-up.

In many ways, she had let herself go since her husband had died. If it hadn’t been for her son, she could easily have succumbed to the life of a hermit. The choices she had made had been mostly based on her financial situation. Her mother had died some six months before her husband, her father years before. She’d returned to the family home in New Jersey because it had been easy to do so. It was her inheritance. It was paid for and there was a little money left over after taxes. It was more than her husband had left them and she’d never been really comfortable in California. With Jess gone, there had been no reason to stay there.

It was a nice town. Upscale even. In her youth, it hadn’t been as developed as it was now, but it still had a homey flavor for her. She doubted many would agree with that. It had been fun to see Kial go places she had gone. Not just the school, but the places teenagers tend to discover. In this area it was the Great Swamp, where many of them still learned to drive. Usually well before they had a permit. She smiled at her own memories. Then those her son would recall. She thought of the lyrics from The Wedding Song in The Lords of Flatbush. That song always made her think of her son with its notion of different people doing the same things you had.

She took a deep breath, shook her head and rang the doorbell. The smile on her lips didn’t fade, though the one in her heart took a nose dive at the sight of the woman who answered. She was drop-dead gorgeous. Her natural blonde hair hung down to her slender waist, which was longer than one would expect since she stood about five foot ten inches. Her blue eyes were not any less impressive than the rest of her. How had Hollywood missed her? Cass couldn’t think of a single actress, past or present, who could hold a candle to this woman. She literally took one’s breath away. Caitlin Adams? She finally managed.

That’s me, she said. The smile that had started to appear died at the sound of squalling in the background. She turned and addressed the unseen children. Samuel, if I have to tell you one more time to stop picking on your sister, you won’t like what I do after that, she said ominously.

Cass grinned at her. Open-ended threats. Good policy.

Cait smiled back. I hate saying something and not following through. This is safer.

Much, Cass agreed. Though I’m not an expert. Some would say I’m not even a parent. I only have one kid.

It takes at least two to suffer sufficiently.

Cass grinned again. Lack of experience prohibits a response to that one. I’m Cass McLeary. Any chance of you talking to me?

Cait frowned and looked at her from head to toe. It was all Cass could do to keep from squirming. It wasn’t the boldness of the perusal that bothered her, it was the intelligence it conveyed. What would the woman see inside her? Would she see more than Cass wanted her to? She hated thinking people could do that and Caitlin Adams looked like someone capable of it. You’ve spoken with Marshall.

Several times, Cass agreed.

Cait sighed. Damn. Come in. She moved away from the door, allowing Cass entrance. Marshall’s upstairs in the office. Follow me. She started to lead the way.

What about the kids?

Cait shrugged. No blood, no foul. If they need us, we’ll know it. She led Cass through the foyer and up the stairs. The route gave Cass a view into the family room and kitchen. The two children were watching television and playing with Brio wooden blocks. The boy, Cass assumed was Samuel, looked about eight, the girl, maybe five. She wondered what her name was. She’d always liked the process of choosing names. It told you a lot about people.

Marshall, Cait said as they swept into the office. We have a visitor.

The man that looked up from his computer was as impressive as the woman he’d married. Also blonde, also blue-eyed, he was the boy next door. With an edge. Cass had done enough checking to know it was an edge of steel. Marshall Adams was nobody’s fool and an enemy no one would want. A wealthy, well-respected man from the highest ranking businessman in the country to the lowliest criminals he’d seen behind bars. Like his friend and partner, it had been done virtually without violence. What violence he had encountered had been mostly against him. She’d learned he was well scarred and limped from wounds to his right leg.

Hello, he greeted her, then looked at his wife. It softened his entire face. Client?

Cass McLeary, Cait told him.

Marshall didn’t say a word. He gave his own version of a perusal. It was much worse than the one his wife had subjected her to. When he finally spoke, his words surprised her. Mark would find her intriguing, Caitie-love, don’t you think?

Cait smiled at him. Five years ago, yes. She shrugged. Now? Who the hell knows?

He only nodded at her. Have a seat, Mrs. McLeary. He grinned. Do you have a cow?

Marshall! Cait scolded.

He raised his brows at her. I doubt it’s the first time she’s been asked that.

Hardly, Cass agreed. But she was O’Leary. I would have expected better from you.

What can I say? Words aren’t exactly my specialty. I use what I can.

Your arsenal is more than sufficient, from what I’ve heard.

Thank you. I think. He grinned again. Times have changed. Things aren’t what they once were.

Mark?

Before that. Marriage, children, the leg. My living requires a free spirit, anonymity and no Achilles’ heel. I’ve lost and gained the wrong ones. Living in the shadows as thoroughly as I once did is no longer possible.

You still do it, Cass pointed out.

Not often. But yes, there are times I still do. He put his leg up on the desk and absently rubbed his thigh. I assume you’re here about Mark?

He hasn’t answered me.

Then he’s not interested.

I still am.

Why? There was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. From now on, when she read, ‘piercing gaze’, she would think of this moment.

It’s wrong. All of it. None of it fits and it’s driving me crazy. I won’t ask you. It’s his story. If he tells me to go to hell, I will. She smiled. I’ll leave him alone anyway. I prefer to think I’ll get to heaven. But he has to tell me. Not in a letter, not over the phone. To my face. I want to see his eyes when he tells me.

Why? He repeated.

Why what?

All of it. Why do you care? Why is it driving you crazy? Why must you see his eyes? They’re brown, golden brown. That used to dance with amusement, he thought sadly. Everything. You’re asking me to betray the best friend I’ll ever know. A man who’s stood by me when I’ve been no better than an ass. A man who was willing to alter his life to suit mine. Why should I do that?

Because I only want to help. I’ll never hurt him. I just want to understand.

For him to explain will hurt, Marshall said. Thinking about it hurts. He killed those men, Mrs. McLeary. If he hadn’t then, he’d have found a way in the future.

He had a reason. You said that.

I said he had to have a reason. Like you, I didn’t believe it fit. Like you, I thought it was wrong. I’m going to tell you something very few people know. I too have killed. It’s not pleasant. It’s not something I’m proud of or like to think about. But it was me or him. I chose him. Fortunately for me, I was stronger.

Why do you do it? She asked, referring to his job as a corporate bounty hunter.

To let the reckless part of me out. I love the challenge of a worthy opponent. All of it. The cat and mouse in the computer. Finding the thread that unravels the whole thing. Usually, that’s enough. When it isn’t, I’m happiest. Knowing how, but not who, is the best part of the game, Cass McLeary. It’s also when the danger comes in. It really doesn’t happen very often. White collar criminals are much better at figuring a way to get rich than covering their tracks while doing so.

And Mark?

He just can’t stand the thought of a guy working his butt off for sixteen hours a day to make something for himself and his family and some hacker taking his cream. For him, it’s more noble than it is for me. Mark’s soul is a little better than mine.

Cait snorted.

You disagree? Marshall inquired.

Mark’s soul is more than a little bit better than yours, Cait retorted.

Freer, anyway, Marshall said. Then he grinned. And I am the one you married.

She ignored that. You can live closer to the line than he’s ever been able to. Why do you think he went to prison? Willingly?

It had little to do with souls.

It had everything to do with souls, Cait argued. She turned to Cass. Mark is a good man. A good friend. Do not take my use of that adjective lightly. He did what he felt he had to, when he pulled the trigger and when he didn’t defend his actions. He did what his soul required him to do. Maybe, with a little luck, he’ll be able to live with himself now.

You’re not going to tell me where he is, are you?

No, they both answered.

Cass sighed. Then will you tell him I came? Will you tell him what I said? And tell him my son went off to college today. It’s just me. I can go to him. He can come to me. We’ll play it any way he wants. Tell him also, I have an alternative idea that he might like better, but I’ll only tell him what it is. He has my address and my number. He can give me an answer himself. I’ll be praying for one.

She stood and started toward the door, then turned and looked at Marshall. From what you’ve both said, I think he’s a compassionate man. Tell him to think about me. Not the sales or money, but the need. The need to do something good. Something worthwhile. It is possible working with me could help him. I’m not a self-appointed judge or jury, I only seek to understand. Tell him that, Mr. Adams. Please. She left before either of them could respond.

Three days later, Cass was reading printed out text from her computer. For some reason, she always preferred reading the ink and paper version, especially when it came to a final edit. She seemed to catch more mistakes that way and damn it, she didn’t want an editor finding a single one in something she submitted. It was a matter of pride. This particular print-out had nothing to do with editing and everything to do with restlessness.

She thought of Kial in college. The kids were luckier than they’d been in her day. Computers had simplified things. They would never know the agony of retyping an entire page because of one stupid typo. Usually, only to make a mistake somewhere else on the page. For them, it was a strike on a key and voila! Perfection. Click on file, click on print.

She set her notes down and got up to pour another cup of coffee. It was time to face facts and move on. Mark Barrington was not going to call. She would never know the full story. It was time to find an interesting dead person whose story was worth telling.

It would make Kial happy.

It was depressing her.

She finished her coffee and headed to the library. For now, she would read some fiction with lots of blood. It would get her in the mood.

Cass McLeary specialized in criminals. Safe, dead ones. Usually not long dead, but long enough so people willingly talked to her about everything they knew. Her object was never to criticize, only to understand the motivations that drove them. She found people odd and interesting. She looked for their quirks, their ambitions. Often, a side character intrigued her more than the main one.

Not being particularly brave, it was an easy way to use her degree in criminology. She’d chosen it because it interested her, not with any intention of using it in today’s messed-up world. She hated confrontation. She hated thinking she’d hurt anyone. She only wanted to live her quiet life in as much contentment as possible. The excitement of someone else’s life was infinitely preferable to excitement in her own. Roller coasters, she could do without. Give her a long, flat, country road any day.

Peace was all she asked for. Because of that, she would give up on Mark Barrington. She wouldn’t continue to bother a man who didn’t want to be bothered. It was rude and unfair. No one would ever convince her his actions weren’t somehow justified. She knew that as surely as she knew she needed to take her next breath if she was to continue to survive.

Cass looked at the flashing light on the answering machine when she got home. With Kial gone, it had to be for her. She smiled. It was rarely for her. She could probably get rid of the obnoxious thing. With a sigh, she rewound the tape. One message. A strange voice that didn’t bother to identify itself. I’ll give you as long as it takes me to eat lunch tomorrow. Taffy’s Cafe, just outside of Bath in Maine. Noon. I’m a punctual man, don’t be late. You’re paying.

I need that breath now, she ordered her brain. Come on, inhale, just once. She waited for her lungs to obey. Her heart beat in a tempo long forgotten. She didn’t even need the Boston accent to tell her who’d left it. She’d gotten her wish. Tomorrow, she would get her answer. Face to face.

Cass left that afternoon. She was not going to meet Mark Barrington fatigued from a seven or eight hour drive begun in the early morning. She wanted a good night’s sleep. What a joke. She’d be lucky to get a minute of it.

Surprisingly, she did. She checked into a low-line motel just off the highway, and all but passed out. The drive, the excitement, the roller coaster of the day had all taken their toll. Exhaustion was not always a bad thing. She got her usual nine hours.

The cafe wasn’t much better than the motel, she thought wryly when she entered. As usual, she’d paid little attention to her appearance when she’d dressed that morning. Mark Barrington had been described by many as an old-fashioned rake. He loved women. She had no intention of taking that path with the man, she only wanted a story. His story. If need be, she would do something she’d never been brave enough to do. She would move into the world of fiction. She needed the answers for herself. If he wanted them to remain his secret, she would give him that in her writings. He could even have final approval over the manuscript before anyone else saw it. In return, she wanted only the truth. Maybe, just maybe, he would agree to that.

She didn’t see anyone that looked like his pictures in the papers or on television. She hoped Marshall Adams had given him a good description of her. She regarded the man in a booth, who raised a finger at her. She’d almost missed the gesture it had been so slight. She approached him slowly, warily.

Sit, he said, and indicated the seat across from him. She slid in noiselessly and returned his stare.

Mark realized there had been a time when the woman would have aroused enough curiosity in him to think about bedding her. Her slight build was mostly unidentifiable under her over-sized Looney Tunes sweatshirt. They were all there. Bugs, Daffy, Elmer, Wile E. Coyote. All of them. Except Marvin the Martian. Where was Marvin? He returned his gaze to her eyes. Green. Nice. Clear. Intelligent. He wondered about that. Why would an intelligent woman want to have anything to do with him anymore? If she had any brains, she’d stay far away from him.

From the first letter that had arrived in prison years ago, he’d wondered why she was so interested. He’d ignored it. Six months later, a second came. There had been two more after that. The last one, asking him to think about it when he got out. Maybe then, he’d feel differently. He didn’t, but after Marshall called the other night, his curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. He wanted a face to attach to the persistent name. She hadn’t permitted one on her book jackets and he had read her work.

Cass McLeary, he finally murmured. Cassandra?

I hate that, she said. Just Cass, please. And if you say Cassie, I’ll sock you.

All right. He handed her a menu. Decide. I refuse to talk on an empty stomach. After five years of slop, even a dive like this seems like gourmet cuisine.

Completely? she asked, her mind having stopped at his stated refusal to talk.

About myself. During lunch, I get to ask the questions. You get to answer.

And if I refuse?

You’ve had a long drive and paid for a lousy meal for nothing. His expression was as hard as his voice.

You play hardball.

You want something from me. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about you. Other than getting rid of you, that is. I don’t like people bothering my friends. I really don’t like people bothering my family. His tone now wasn’t particularly menacing, just flat. And tired. She didn’t question his sincerity.

Cass studied his eyes after the waitress had trotted away with their order. He’d barely glanced at the woman, his distance bordering on rude. Marshall had been wrong. His eyes were brown, but they weren’t golden. They were hard. Dead might be a better word. After what he’d been through, she wasn’t surprised by that. It was disconcerting though. Brown eyes tended to be soft and expressive. His were neither.

Tell me about yourself, Cass McLeary.

What do you want to know?

"Start with