She crossed through the lobby, peeking over her shoulder to the bar where she knew Ms Goedenacht sat waiting for Kitt to return. Outside, the wet weather had turned cold. Felix was reluctant to stay outdoors for longer than necessary. She felt the same way, especially when Weed got out of an orange hatchback, leaned against the side of the car, and watched her intently, his arms crossed.
Once she and the dog were back in the suite, she dried his wet paws, tucked him in a makeshift little bed, left him in her room, and went to make Llewelyn’s tea.
The scent of the chai tea was pleasant; cinnamon, cardamom, peppercorn, ginger all mingling together with warm milk. She set the blue and white Delft cup beside the manila folder, small stack of papers, and blue folder Llewelyn had left on the coffee table. He’d been shuffling through the papers when she and the dog had returned.
He came out of his bedroom, slippers shuffling across the floor, his pace listless and careful, a glass of water in his hand. His dark face had an ashen cast to it, bags prominent under light brown eyes, beads of sweat gleaming on his dark brow. “I’m sorry,” he said, sinking to the sofa cushions. “My behaviour toward you has been, shall we say, boorish, but it’s necessary for the little game we are playing, and you are being a good sport about it, very professional.” He put his water glass on the side table beside the cordless phone and crystal clock, reached for the blue file, and set it in his lap.
“May I get you anything else?”
He opened the folder and grimaced for a moment, pressing fingers into his stomach, before he looked at her, and sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t really put your brother away.”
“Pardon?”
He lifted saucer and teacup, taking a sip. “I wouldn’t do that to a man who served and survived what he did, no matter the outcome of this. My threat to do so, well, it’s merely the way things work in this particular world.” He put down the tea things. “I know you think little of me. To be blunt, I am unperturbed by that, yet there’s part of me that doesn’t like that I used your brother as a pawn. He deserves better. As does Major Kitt.”
“I’ll say goodnight, then.” Mae began to turn.
“Mrs Valentine.”
She came about, hands clasped behind her back. “Yes?”
“You know, I think he must be in love with you, probably as much as you are with him, and he doesn’t even know it. For that, you’ll be the death of him. Or he’ll be the death of you.” He glanced down at his hands, at the papers beneath them, a short, low chuckle rumbling. “I do hope it’s not true, for his sake. I am, whether you believe it or not, fond of him.” He smiled handsomely. “I’m fond of you too.”
Unperturbed by his provocation, hands behind her back she said, “You’re not well, Brigadier.”
“You are correct. I feel absolutely foul. Clearly something from the rijsttafel has upset my stomach.” He set the cup back on the table beside the folder and papers and smiled, despite his abdominal discomfort. “May I be honest, Mrs Valentine?”
“I don’t care for what you call honesty, Brigadier.”
He kept smiling. “When all this is over, if it turns out to be nothing of any substance, you and the Major should be paired for field duty. My successor will tell you the same thing.”
“Your successor?”
“Yes, can you keep a secret?”
She looked at him flatly.
“Yes, what a silly question. Of course you can. Well, then, here it is. I’m going to retire. Then someone we both know will step into the role rather than retire.”
“No.” Mae shook her head. “No one in your work ever retires.”
He chuckled for a moment before his amusement abruptly changed to swallowing. “Thank you for the tea,” he said, stacking the papers into the folder, dropping it on the coffee table, and rising. “I don’t think it’s much help.” He hurried to his bathroom, with alacrity.
Kitt set his empty glass on the table, the ice in the tumbler tinkling. They were being playful, flirty, the prospect for more than flirting was there. The flirting and superficiality of the last forty minutes chafed, reminding him of a superficial past, empty of the joy he’d come to know. He’d thought a profession of self-sacrifice for the greater good of mankind held meaning, and, idiotically, he thought he made a difference. Also idiotically was how he still thought work for the Consortium made a difference to humanity, when what made a real difference was, quite sappily, love. Kitt shoved aside the niggling chafe of self-awareness and personal joy and got back to work.
When he’d returned to the table, she’d pulled her necklace from the vee of her neckline. Earlier, the heart-shaped polished jet pendant had fallen half-inside. The sound quality would have been subpar in its previous position. During his short absence, Gorilla boy had probably told her to move the pendant before he returned to pretending to read while sipping red wine.
Kitt looked at Tanja’s breasts, at her cleavage, and then averted his eyes when she noticed, pretending to be ashamed for being so blatantly desirous. The conversation Mae had overheard in the greenhouse, and seeing Tanja in the delivery van before what had transpired in the sex shop storeroom was circumstantial. Yet Tanja’s nearly precise description of how Vlaming had met Ruby Bleuville and her companion Negroni was suspicious. Her participation in whatever this was appeared obvious, but all possibilities needed to be covered. One was, or both of them were, being extorted. One was, or both of them were, being manipulated by a puppet master. One was, or both of them were, innocent—or involved right up their heart-shaped pendant recording device. “All right,” he said. “I’ll come clean. What you said about Vlaming, Tanja, he has good cause to be wary of me.”
“He does?”
“None of this makes good sense. The red-headed woman, the theft from freeports. It was all in the news, across the world. It’s too convenient and easy to make up. I don’t want you to be hurt in this. Are you fond of Vlaming?”
“Jan’s been good to me.”
“I think Jan is hiding something and you might be too.”
Her hand splayed on her chest, just below her throat. “Why would I have anything to hide?”
“You’re fond of him. You feel guilty about inviting Ruby and her boyfriend to the Dankwaerts’ last garden party.” The way the next ten minutes or so unfolded meant he had to dangle enough rope for Tanja to save herself or hang herself. “I have to ask. Are you trying to protect him? Is your boss is being blackmailed?”
“Why would you think that?”
“It’s just how my mind works.”
“And you’re working right now?”
“Haven’t you noticed? I’m working all the time. Vlaming couldn’t make it. I blindsided you a little, but I thought it would be advantageous for one of you to meet Albert and the Professor, and since you said you’re familiar with the…” he winked, “…family jewels, I thought comparing stories might offer some kind of clue that’s been overlooked. My coming to Amsterdam was a bit last minute. I’m working from my colleague’s notes, which aren’t as detailed as mine would be—different note-taking styles. I can’t ask her for clarification as, quite sadly, she died rather suddenly.” Kitt shook his head the way one did when discussing an unexpected death. “Poor woman.”
Tanja echoed his sorrowful gesture and sighed. “I think Jan said she was hit by a car.”
Kitt gave her a tiny, melancholy smile to shroud a flare of anger. No, Jan did not say Jill Charteris had been hit by a car, as Jan had no way of knowing how the woman had died since the names of the dead had not yet been disclosed to the public. The rope was forming a loop. “Yes,” Kitt kept the sad smile in place, “she was struck by a car. Left behind a husband and a small son.”
A hand went to her mouth for a moment and she shook her head again. “Oh. Were you close?”
“I was just getting to know her. As a result, I’m rushing things a little, being impatient when I should take my time and not get carried away with you. I’m afraid I’m being rather careless
and unprofessional.”
“And a little drunk too.” she waved a finger at the five empty rocks glasses on the table, orange slices tinted a little brown by the Dutch Negroni that had once filled the tumbler. She’d had two and he was finishing his third.
“Yes, a little drunk too.”
“Would you like to get out of here?”
And there it was, the suggestion that needed to be made. Kitt was very happy that Tanja had been the one to make it. “And go where?” he said.
She ran fingers beneath the edges of his jacket lapel. “You are staying at this hotel, aren’t you?”
Kitt gave a sniffy little chuckle. “You want me to add inappropriate to the list with careless and unprofessional?”
Tanja laughed. “Yes. And let’s not forget unethical. Oh, those Negroni were strong. They’ve made you silly and me lightheaded. Very lightheaded. This little room is almost spinning. I think I even feel a little queasy.”
He let a smile tilt up the corners of his mouth. “Let me get the bill.”
“I told you I’d take care of it, and I already have.” She got to her feet and pulled him to his.
The black pendant on her neck swung as she reached for her handbag. He gathered their coats. Her arm through his, they crossed the bar in ten seconds, the hairy-armed gorilla in a short-sleeved polo shirt watching them, peeking around the edge of the bead curtain. They rode the lift to the fourth floor in silence, eyes locking now and again. Then he swiped the master passkey Bryce had given him earlier in the day and they were in a room that wasn’t his, the light low.
He tossed the coats onto a chair. She slid her arm from his elbow, wandered ahead and gazed about, laying her handbag on the bedside table and having a seat on the bed. “Nice room,” she said.
“It’ll do for what I have in mind.” Kitt pocketed the passkey, switched on the electric ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, and stood in front of the door.
“What do you have in mind?”
He sighed softly. “Work. How long have you been sleeping with Vlaming?”
Tanja burst out laughing. “You’re one of those people who lose their filter when they’re drunk, aren’t you?”
“Possibly.”
Laughing, she crossed the room, moving toward him, sweeping hair over a shoulder, smiling seductively. “Why would you ask if I’m sleeping with Jan?”
“I’m trying to maintain some professionalism so you don’t feel I’m using you to get what I want.”
“I’d say I’m using you, but we’re both adults. We know what we want.” She crept closer. “You do make me feel lightheaded.”
“You make me feel guilty for being here with you.”
“That’s why I plied you with alcohol.”
“Yes, three Negroni, like the name of the man you and Jan said was with Ruby Bleuville. That was cute.” Kitt leaned his back against the door and heaved a little sigh. It was time to end the cuteness. “Take off your clothes.”
“Not yet.” She played with her hair.
“I’ll get back to work then with the tired clichés about naughty secretaries and their naughty bosses.” Kitt sighed again. “Was it just the once, or did you sleep with Vlaming several times to get what you wanted? What did you want, anyway, his jewellery?”
“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
Kitt shrugged, smirking.
“Jan’s married.”
“Married people have affairs. Bosses have affairs with their assistants all the time. The hanky-panky usually ends with both parties feeling guilty or one of them engaged in blackmail.”
“Jan’s middle-aged.”
“So am I.”
She looked him up and down and bit her bottom lip, coming closer. “Yes, but you’re good middle-aged, ‘silver fox’ middle-aged, like George Clooney. Jan’s just…middle-aged.”
“Did you steal the Dankwaerts jewels or are you working for someone who did? Perhaps you’re working for the gorilla downstairs?”
Tanja closed the space between them to stand a hand’s length away. “You’re all work and no play, Leslie, and I want to play.”
“I can see that.” He touched the heart-shaped pendant with a finger, lifting the thumb-sized ornament that doubled as a simple voice-activated recording device.
Tanja grasped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him near, breasts mashing into his chest, and pressed her cheek to his, arms going around him. “I don’t care if you’re middle-aged.”
“I need to be honest, Tanja,” he said, mouth near her ear.
“There’s no reason to feel guilty. We haven’t done anything. Yet.”
“We’re just getting started,” he said, then whispered three little words that weren’t ‘I love you’ or ‘I am married’, and prepared for the result.
She went stiff for a moment. Her arms fell away and she stepped back, pushing him, her large, blinking blue eyes grew very round, her nose wrinkled and her mouth twisted from disgust to confusion, and then horror as she was suddenly, and rather voluminously, sick, the abrupt mess of it spattering her shoes. Shock returned for a very brief moment. She looked down at the mess, up at him, and clapped a hand over her mouth as she heaved.
“That’s not quite the reaction I expected,” Kitt said. He grabbed her by the elbow the way one does a ten-year-old who’s been caught shoplifting, and hauled her into the bathroom. The lid of the toilet banged against the tank when he lifted it and she sank to her knees in front of white bowl, the black heart pendant knocking into porcelain. She was sick again, retching hard.
“Why don’t you give me that necklace. Get it out of the way.”
With a nod, a swallow, and a little groan, she removed the chain and traded it for the damp face washer he held out.
Kitt dropped the jewellery with its bauble to the tiled floor and brought his foot down hard, crushing the pendant beneath the heel of his shoe. “There. Now that’s done, you can take off the rest of your clothes and we’ll get on with it.”
Tanja gripped the edge of the toilet bowl, glared up at him and swore in Dutch. “Mierenneuker! You’re kidding, right?”
“Goodness, no! I never joke when I’m working. And I am working, Tanja. I want you to take off your clothes. Then we can have a real chat without you recording me the way I’m thinking you probably recorded Jan Vlaming. This is how professional extortion works, Tanja. A word of advice; if you’re going to blackmail someone, you need to invest in a better device than that cheap little trinket you had.” He glanced down at the tiles and bits of black plastic heart meant to look like cut and polished jet.
Wide-eyed, pale-faced, Tanja swallowed convulsively and stared at him.
“The gorilla, the hairy man downstairs, what’s his name?”
Tanja shuddered.
For a moment, Kitt wasn’t sure if it was because she was about to be ill again or if she finally understood. He lowered his head and smiled, looking up through his lashes. “The gorilla downstairs, Tanja.”
“Don’t hit me.” Tanja gripped the edge of the toilet. “Please. Don’t hit me.”
“Hit you? There’s no need for brutality, Tanja. We can be civilised about this. Shall I help you take off your clothes before you soil them?” he said.
A minute and a half later, she was naked, they began having a conversation, and she was sick several more times. The process lacked all sense of decorum and privacy, the sort most people desired. It was cruel to not allow her a simple dignity, but he didn’t care. He gathered information until it became evident that she needed a chance to catch her breath. He handed her a face washer and let her clean herself in the tub.
“Looks like you’re in this for the long-haul, Tanja. You need fluids. I’ll get you some ice chips and an electrolyte drink,” he said. Then he collected her garments, the used and dry bath towels, as well as two dressing gowns hanging on the back of the door, and left her to protest, vomit, and shit again, as he shut the bathroom door.
He tossed the linens on the bed. He found her
mobile and read her emails and texts. The most recent messages to someone named Bianco, were in Italian—and Sicilian. Bianco, the Italian word for white, or as Kitt preferred to think, the thickset gorilla downstairs. Tanja had sent Bianco a photo of him. He’d missed her taking it. How very sloppy of him.
He read through the message trail: This was easier than I thought… The men at dinner had met Ruby… This should have started with Vlaming, not the Hedison’s woman… I’ll bring him to the country greenhouse and meet you there… I’ll see Vlaming later. There was something about Negroni and someone named Picciridda. He missed a bit, some of it in the Sicilian dialect, but Tanja’s comments were far more detailed than Bianco’s OK, or Aggiornare, the request for an update. She had responded to that with Saró unpo di tempo—she’d be a while—and the final text stated that she’d let him know when she was about to come downstairs.
Kitt put the phone in his pocket, found her coat and handbag, and added them to the mix on the bed. Then he looked for a fork and a spoon amid the crockery above the minibar. He bent the tines of the fork, returned to the bathroom door, opened it slightly, and jammed the fork just below the latch in the frame so that the straight tines poked out when he shut the door. He slid the spoon’s handle between the tines. It was a crude, but quite effective lock. There were little chocolate mints beside the bed. He ate one, letting the dark cocoa and peppermint melt over his tongue as he stripped the bed, bunched the towels and clothes into the mix, and stuffed it all into two pillow slips. He didn’t have to worry about taking any curtains or drapes. The balcony door and window had roll-down shades. If Tanja managed to get out of the bathroom and out of the room, she’d do so in the nude.
“I’ll be back soon, Tanja,” he called out. Then he exited the room with the linens and rode the lift up three levels. He walked to the end of the hallway. This level of the hotel was limited to suites. Llewelyn’s was the only suite occupied. Kitt dropped both pillowcases, took the master swipe-card passkey from his pocket and went into the suite next door, dragging the hotel linens and clothes into the room.
True to Your Service Page 19
