the terrorist in Lebanon, Weston insisted he needed something more than Jack’s sketchy memory before taking this to the brass and arguing with the Brazilian authorities. Jack didn’t have more, and one way around that problem would be if Collins’s spouse asked for an investigation into her husband’s death. He planned to get Lauren Collins to do that if she wasn’t neck deep in her husband’s shit. If she was then he’d deal with the pile when he came to it.
He left Walter Reed AMA to go AWOL.
Chapter Seven
Atlanta, Georgia
1400 hours
“You still can’t locate my husband’s body?” Lauren asked incredulously, her voice rising as she barely restrained herself from banging her head against the steering wheel. First thing this morning she’d called the American Consulate in Sao Paulo and ascertained that Eduardo Alverez, the man who called her in the middle of the night, did indeed work there and the local police had notified them of the death of Bill Collins. But when she asked how Bill had died, they didn’t have that information and had to contact the police. Their return call fifteen minutes later bordered on the Twilight Zone of bizarre. She now knew Bill had been shot, but the morgue had misplaced Bill’s body.
“No, Señora . We have not. We are checking with all of the funerárias and cemitério s now, seeing if there has been a mistake. I am sorry, but I promise to call as soon as there is news, sí ?”
“Yes, thank you.” Lauren disconnected, accepting that any frustrated ranting on her part wouldn’t produce Bill’s body. God. How did she even know it was Bill who was dead? With each passing moment the nightmare surrounding her grew.
That they were now searching funeral homes and crematories added another whole element to that nightmare. What if Bill had already been cremated by mistake? How could she ever know for sure if he was dead? And though she didn’t want to think something so vile about Bill, what if he’d faked his own death? What if his strange activities over the past two years had finally caught up with him and he’d bailed?
What other ugly surprises would come her way? More like last night’s break-in?
She shivered as she drove down her neighborhood street, alienated from the normalcy surrounding her and her life before last night.
Bill had supposedly died from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and his body had been found in Paradise Resort’s lake just outside of Sao Paulo. His wallet, passport and his jewelry had still been on him, so robbery had been ruled out. That mainly left the option of Bill having been an innocent victim of a random crime. Maybe even a victim of a hate crime. Worldwide anger against Americans was rising and psychos were taking advantage of it.
But the more likely scenario that Bill had been involved in something criminal nagged her.
Already the Brazilian police had asked a number of questions this morning. Namely wanting information on any known drug use or if he had a history of criminal activity.
Lauren had sat in Angie’s kitchen in a state of surreal numbness, whispering her answers into the telephone and referring them to Bill’s Brazilian mistress, Milania Carridas. Angie was heaven sent. She’d kept the Godiva flavored coffee flowing and kept Matt and Mitch busy watching their favorite Thomas the Tank Engine videos. Meanwhile, Sasha and Sam sat at her feet each laying a paw on her shoes, clearly sensing her upset and comforting her. They did make her feel better, which was why she’d brought them along with her now.
“You two are the tops.” She glanced at the White Shepherds in her rearview mirror. They’d saved her and the boys last night, and she thanked God they hadn’t been hurt. Wagging their tails, they gave a short bark in response as she pulled into the driveway. She didn’t bother with the garage. She wouldn’t be long. Just enough time to pick up a few things and meet the handyman to board up the French
He left Walter Reed AMA to go AWOL.
Chapter Seven
Atlanta, Georgia
1400 hours
“You still can’t locate my husband’s body?” Lauren asked incredulously, her voice rising as she barely restrained herself from banging her head against the steering wheel. First thing this morning she’d called the American Consulate in Sao Paulo and ascertained that Eduardo Alverez, the man who called her in the middle of the night, did indeed work there and the local police had notified them of the death of Bill Collins. But when she asked how Bill had died, they didn’t have that information and had to contact the police. Their return call fifteen minutes later bordered on the Twilight Zone of bizarre. She now knew Bill had been shot, but the morgue had misplaced Bill’s body.
“No, Señora . We have not. We are checking with all of the funerárias and cemitério s now, seeing if there has been a mistake. I am sorry, but I promise to call as soon as there is news, sí ?”
“Yes, thank you.” Lauren disconnected, accepting that any frustrated ranting on her part wouldn’t produce Bill’s body. God. How did she even know it was Bill who was dead? With each passing moment the nightmare surrounding her grew.
That they were now searching funeral homes and crematories added another whole element to that nightmare. What if Bill had already been cremated by mistake? How could she ever know for sure if he was dead? And though she didn’t want to think something so vile about Bill, what if he’d faked his own death? What if his strange activities over the past two years had finally caught up with him and he’d bailed?
What other ugly surprises would come her way? More like last night’s break-in?
She shivered as she drove down her neighborhood street, alienated from the normalcy surrounding her and her life before last night.
Bill had supposedly died from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and his body had been found in Paradise Resort’s lake just outside of Sao Paulo. His wallet, passport and his jewelry had still been on him, so robbery had been ruled out. That mainly left the option of Bill having been an innocent victim of a random crime. Maybe even a victim of a hate crime. Worldwide anger against Americans was rising and psychos were taking advantage of it.
But the more likely scenario that Bill had been involved in something criminal nagged her.
Already the Brazilian police had asked a number of questions this morning. Namely wanting information on any known drug use or if he had a history of criminal activity.
Lauren had sat in Angie’s kitchen in a state of surreal numbness, whispering her answers into the telephone and referring them to Bill’s Brazilian mistress, Milania Carridas. Angie was heaven sent. She’d kept the Godiva flavored coffee flowing and kept Matt and Mitch busy watching their favorite Thomas the Tank Engine videos. Meanwhile, Sasha and Sam sat at her feet each laying a paw on her shoes, clearly sensing her upset and comforting her. They did make her feel better, which was why she’d brought them along with her now.
“You two are the tops.” She glanced at the White Shepherds in her rearview mirror. They’d saved her and the boys last night, and she thanked God they hadn’t been hurt. Wagging their tails, they gave a short bark in response as she pulled into the driveway. She didn’t bother with the garage. She wouldn’t be long. Just enough time to pick up a few things and meet the handyman to board up the French
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