“Damn!” Donovan stared at her in amazement. “Okay, Roberta, I got a million questions. Do the other winners know about this? How was it done? And by whom?” He thought back to LuAnn Tyler. She knew, that was for damned sure.
“No. None of the winners knew how it was done. Only the people who did it knew.” She pointed to his tape recorder. “Your recorder’s stopped.” She added bitterly, “I’m sure you don’t want to miss one word of this.”
Donovan picked up the recorder and studied it as he reflected on her words. “But that’s not exactly right, because you knew how the lottery was fixed, Roberta, you just told me. Come on, give me the whole truth.”
The crunching blow to his upper torso sent Donovan over the top of the settee. He landed hard on the oak floor, his breath painfully gone. He could feel shattered ribs floating inside him.
Reynolds hovered over him. “No, the truth is only the person who came up with the whole scheme knew how it was done.” The feminine hair and face came off and Jackson stared down at the injured man.
Donovan tried desperately to get up. “Christ.”
Jackson’s foot slammed into his chest, knocking him back against the wall. Jackson stood erect. “Kick-boxing is a particularly deadly art form. You can literally kill someone without using your hands.”
Donovan’s hand slipped down to his pocket, fumbling for his gun. His limbs would barely respond, his broken ribs were prodding internal organs they weren’t meant to touch. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.
“Really, you’re obviously not feeling well. Let me help you.” Jackson knelt down and, using the handkerchief, pulled the gun out of Donovan’s pocket. “This actually is perfect. Thank you.”
He kicked Donovan viciously in the head and the reporter’s eyes finally closed. Jackson pulled plastic locking binds from his pocket and within a minute had Donovan secured.
He pulled off the rest of the disguise, packed it carefully in his bag pulled from under the couch, and went up the stairs two at a time. He raced down the hallway and opened the bedroom door at the far end.
Bobbie Jo Reynolds lay spread-eagled on the bed, her arms and legs tied to the bedposts, tape over her mouth. She looked wildly up at Jackson, her body twitching in uncontrollable fear.
Jackson sat down next to her. “I want to thank you for following my directions so precisely. You gave the staff the day off and made the appointment with Mr. Donovan just as I requested.” He patted her hand. “I knew that I could count on you, the most faithful of my little flock.” He looked at her with soft, comforting eyes until her trembling subsided. He unloosened her straps and gently removed the tape.
He stood up. “I have to attend to Mr. Donovan downstairs. We’ll be gone very soon and won’t trouble you anymore. You will stay here until we’re gone, do you understand?”
She nodded in a jerky motion, rubbing her wrists.
Jackson stood up, pointed Donovan’s gun at her, and squeezed the trigger until the firing pin had no bullets left to ignite.
He watched for a moment as blood spread over the sheets. Jackson shook his head sadly. He did not enjoy killing lambs. But that was how the world worked. Lambs were made for sacrifice. They never put up a fight.
He went back downstairs, pulled out his makeup kit and mirror, and spent the next thirty minutes hovering over Donovan.
When the reporter finally came to his head was splitting; he could feel the internal bleeding but at least he was still alive.
His heart almost stopped when he found himself staring up at . . . Thomas Donovan. The person even had his coat and hat on. Donovan refocused his eyes. His initial impression had been one of staring at his twin. Now he could see subtle differences, things that weren’t exactly right. However, the impersonation was still remarkable.
Jackson knelt down. “You look surprised, but I assure you I’m very adept at this. Powders, creams, latex, hairpieces, spirit gum, putty. It really is amazing what one can do, even if it is all an illusion of sorts. Besides, in your case it wasn’t all that difficult. I don’t mean this in a negative way, but you have quite an ordinary face. I didn’t have to do anything special and I’ve been studying your features for several days now. You did surprise me by shaving off your beard, though. However, instead of beard we have beard stubble courtesy of crepe hair and adhesive.”