by David Stever
She went out of her way to assist desperate people with nowhere to turn, and when the police come up short and run out of options, someone always knows someone and the path eventually led to Leah. I always thought it was her rebuke of law enforcement to reach across the line and pull someone from the abyss when proper channels failed. Her only rule was to help innocent people who were victims in situations beyond their control.
She and her team were up to speed with Keira Kaine. I took my place at the end of the Club Cuba bar, exchanged a glance with Leah from across the room, but she would not dare talk to me. She had tradecraft wired in since birth.
She looked like a million dollars from the moment she put a foot on the floor in the morning to when she locked the door at night. Tonight she was stunning in a white, sleeveless, knee-length dress that hugged the curves like an Indy car at two hundred miles per hour. Her hair long, black and silky, and her dark eyes were deep pools that reached out and sucked me under every time. Her caramel skin contrasted with the backless white dress and defied any man not to sneak a second peek.
She greeted guests and kept a sharp eye on every facet of the restaurant. She knew what happened at every moment in her establishment, and all with a smile any Hollywood actress would sell their mother to have.
Ten minutes after I sat at the bar, she walked behind me and traced a finger along my back as she passed, which told me her men were in place with eyes around the building, inside and out. Julio was her bartender and I ordered a bourbon with ice.
Julio came back with my drink. “Going to be busy tonight.”
That meant Keira was here and not alone. We all worked on the assumption she had people positioned in the restaurant. Midway along the bar, to my right, an African American couple were having drinks, at the opposite end of the bar sat an older man sipping a martini, and a table in the dining room had two men eating dinner.
I motioned for Julio and he came to me. I pushed a twenty across the bar for no other reason but to stay in character. “White paneled van with two Caucasian males?”
He nodded. “Need change?”
“Keep it.” I sent a quick text: “White van.”
Eleven fifteen came and went and as I began to wonder whether she would show, the older man at the end of the bar created a bit of commotion by lighting a cigarette. Julio threw his bar rag down and went to remind the man he could not smoke in the restaurant. The band was on a break so everyone at the bar heard the dust-up, and then the man got up, flicked the cigarette into his martini and hurried out.
The disturbance over, I turned back to my drink, only to find Keira Kaine standing beside me.
Well executed diversion. I never saw her come in.
“I was beginning to think you stood me up.”
She wore jeans, boots, a white T-shirt, and black blazer. She took the stool next to me and angled to face me. Julio came over and she ordered vodka on the rocks. “I’m here and you have five minutes.” She was striking, with a long face and the high cheekbones of her supermodel persona, but she had dark-blue eyes, almost violet, that penetrated as she talked. Not the warm, sparkling blue of Katie’s eyes; these were cold and almost lifeless, but I could see why Bellamy, or any other man, would be entranced.
All I thought of was the stunner in her flunkie’s gut.
“Fair enough. Thank you for coming,” I said. “My name is Rhodes and I will not waste your time. You impressed my employers with your work at Bellamy Space and they would love to talk to you. Through me.”
“About?”
I smiled. “Working for them.”
“Not interested.”
“Can I elaborate?”
She did not blink. “Doesn’t matter. We are not interested in any type of merger or joint venture. We’ve been approached before and do not need a partner.”
“The deal is for you—only you. You will make ten times the money you and your boyfriend Bellamy will make.”
“You do not know what you’re talking about.”
“The advancements you engineered in the space-based solar program are highly anticipated.”
“Who is your employer?”
“The problem is you made a mess with your involvement with Bellamy. The wife is quite unhappy. A woman scorned and all.”
“Nothing to do with my work.”
“Until she files for divorce and takes half the company.”
Julio served her vodka and she took a sip. “Who is your employer?”
I smiled. “In due time.”
“Our meeting is over.”
“Miss Kaine, do you think the government is going to allow you and Bellamy to sit back and collect fat checks? They might sing your praises, but they will claim the technology as their own. Between Mary Ann Bellamy and the US government, I say you consider my offer.”
“Which is?”
“Eight figure deal for starters, as long as you bring the technology with you.”
“Impossible.”
“Anything is possible.” I slid her a business card. “Call me at this number. I’m sure we’ll meet again.” She picked up the card. “Such a shame about Mary Ann Bellamy and her accident. I’m glad she’s okay. Funny when you think about it. It would have solved a problem for you.”
She stood, studied me for a moment, tucked the card into her jeans pocket, turned and walked out through the front of the restaurant.
Mission accomplished. I stayed at the bar and had Julio pour me another. “Hot,” he said, “but got a weird vibe. Like she’s evil or something.”
“You don’t know how right you are, my friend.”
I waited until I received a text telling me the white van had drove off. I went out through the back to my Buick parked in the alley. Headlights at the end of the alley flashed twice, the all clear sign from Leah’s men.
***
Leah lived in the oceanfront penthouse condominium high atop the Atlantic Shores building, ten miles south of the city. She had a five-year-old Super Tuscan opened and waiting, along with a plate of meats, cheeses, and breads. Light jazz music filled the rooms because she knew what soothed my soul. We took the wine and antipasto to the balcony and stretched out on lounge chairs. We toasted a good night’s work, how well we are together, and I kissed her under a sky full of stars. We brought each other up to date on the latest in our lives, the future, and discussed how content we were with the current version of our relationship.
A cool breeze blew in from the ocean so we moved inside. I poured us each another glass of wine.
Then I slowly unzipped her dress.
27
The morning sun peeked over the Atlantic and bathed the bedroom in gold. I sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating the day ahead while soaking in the sunrise and all its wonder.
Leah stirred. “Hey.”
I turned to her. She was naked under the sheet, so I did what any red-blooded boy would do. I pulled the sheet off, slowly, inch by inch, until I revealed all her sensual splendor. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder and to this beholder, the warm glow of her caramel skin against the white sheets was too much too resist. I laid back and pulled the sheet over us.
An hour later, we brought pastries and coffee to the balcony and sat in the chairs as the day warmed. “This should be our life every morning,” I said.
“It will be.”
I sipped the black coffee and enjoyed the sun, the moment, and Leah. She was curled up in a white terry cloth robe. Her dark eyes sparkled in the morning light, silky black hair fell around her face, and it was a vision I wished I could capture forever.
Instead of enjoying the moment, I ruined it with talk about work. “Any idea how she got into the club?”
She shook her head. “It bothers me, too. We gave the security video to the FBI. Julio sent over the glass she used in case you need fingerprints, and the guys did stick a tracker on the van.”
“You didn’t tell me last night?”
“We were preoccupied.”
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sp; I grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”
“Which part?” she said with her cute, coy smile.
“All parts. The club and here. But, there was that one little thing you did, I can’t quite figure out how you—”
She stood, took the coffee cup from me, grabbed my hand, and led me back inside to the bedroom.
“Leah, you’re stuck with me, you know.”
“And you are stuck with me.”
***
They were in a line in the back of the bar with arms folded across their chests. Mike, Katie, and Quade, ready to hold an inquisition.
I stopped. “What?”
“Now you’re James Bond? Make contact with a spy, and then bed down a beautiful woman,” Mike scolded. “We all waited for you.”
“You’re jealous.”
The door opened and a couple came in.
“Oh brother, testosterone level is rising. Saved by the customers.” Katie left to wait on them.
The three of us slid into the booth. “Sorry, something came up at the last minute.” They sat across from me and stared, waiting for an explanation as if I were a teenager who stayed out all night without permission. “I said I was sorry.”
“I hoped to debrief, last night,” Quade said.
“It went as well as expected. She had people in the club. Did you identify the man with the cigarette?”
“We sent the footage from the club’s security camera. No name, but the Washington field office confirms him as a Russian embassy employee. No doubt a low-level operative.”
“Bad mistake on her part if he links back to the embassy. Say good-bye to the defense contract,” Mike said.
“No kidding.” I handed Quade a bag I had brought in. “The glass she used, plus we got a tag on the van. So, how did she sneak past us?”
“Only thing I can figure—she was in there early, in disguise.” Quade tapped the bag. “This is perfect. God knows what her fingerprints will reveal, if anything.”
“Still can’t believe we missed her.”
Quade opened his computer and cued up the club security footage. “We’ve gone through this three times so far. There was a woman, with short brown hair and glasses, sitting with a man at a table in the front of the club. The woman appeared to have the same body type as Keira, and wore the same white T-shirt. Could be her. Not sure about the man. Middle-aged, white, stocky. Facial recognition returned nothing.” He scrolled through the video and stopped on the image of the couple at the table. “Right here, they get up and leave, and if the time is correct, it’s when your man lights his cigarette.”
The time code had 11:17:42. “The time is dead on. I remember checking my watch at 11:15 and it was a few minutes later when he lit up.” He pressed play and the camera showed them putting money on the table. The man walked out of frame toward the entrance; she slung an oversized purse on her shoulder and moved off in the opposite direction. “Wearing jeans; could be her. She made a quick change in the ladies’ room and then met me at the bar, but she didn’t have a purse with her.”
“You’re right. No purse when she left. Means she had help in the bathroom. Doesn’t matter anyhow. If it was her, it proves her access to assets and resources,” Quade surmised.
Katie set three mugs of draft beer in front of us. Mike and I grabbed ours and gulped them down.
Quade looked like a six-year-old who dropped his ice cream cone. “I’m on duty.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “We’re all family here. No cameras in this place.”
“You sure?”
Mike pushed the beer to him.
Eagle Scout Quade hesitated, then hoisted the mug and chugged it down like a frat boy on a dare. He slammed the mug. “Damn, sometimes there’s nothing better than a cold beer.”
Mike got up and collected the mugs. “Like a potato chip, you can’t have just one.” He refilled them, came back, and we all dove in again.
“Now, moving forward?” Mike asked.
“We wait for her to contact me,” I said. “If I don’t hear anything within one day, I’ll make a second contact.”
“I agree,” Quade said. “And I want eyes and ears in the motel where the two Russians are staying. Job for Eric and Ortiz.”
“Hold up,” Mike said, with steel in his voice, and never one to mince words. “Keira is a high-level executive at a defense contractor, working on a top-secret solar-powered something or other, and she’s having an affair with Bellamy, the owner of the company. Bellamy’s wife was run off the road, and poor old man Ainsley, who is now missing, thinks she is angling for all the glory. On top of all that, the FBI is scared she’s going to fly back to the motherland with the secrets.”
“Plus she has a stun gun and is not afraid to use it,” I said.
Quade leaned back in the booth. “You summed it up.”
“And, Johnny, why were you hired?” Mike asked, his point not lost on us. “What exactly are we doing?”
Quade’s turn to talk. “Guys, you said it yourselves. She’ll sniff out the FBI from miles away. I appreciate what you’ve done, but if you can see this through with me—another day or so? We confirmed Bratva is working with her, and the guy in the club last night was probably FSB, which is Russian counterintelligence.”
“We know what FSB is,” Mike said.
“Right. Anyhow, best-case scenario, we catch her plotting against the government. Worst case, she runs and at least we’ve foiled her plot.”
“Worst case?” Mike’s Irish face turned red. “Ainsley is gone. Forget about him?” He got up and went to the kitchen.
Quade called after him. “Mike, of course not.” He sat back and ran his hand over his head, and then finished off the last swallow of his beer.
“Don’t worry, young stud. I will finish what we started,” I said. “Nevertheless, Mike is right. We didn’t sign on for this, and he’s seen too many best-laid plans go sideways many times. Now we have a man missing.”
“Johnny, I understand—”
“Here’s the deal. I’m in, but the second I sense something, or see, or touch, or smell something I don’t like, I pull out and take my people with me. We are dishing out a lot of goodwill for the government here, but my loyalties are to protect my client.”
“Copy that.”
28
Emmanuel met me as I pulled into the safe house driveway. I got out of the car and he walked with me up the stairs that led to the front deck and entrance. “How’s our guests?”
“Making themselves at home. Mrs. Bellamy keeps to herself, subdued. Pleasant enough. The other one, Brynne, is wearing out a path from the bar to the deck. She stays juiced.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Nope. Walks around in a bikini all day. No complaints from me or Jamal. She’s hot and loves to flaunt it,” he said.
“Just make sure she’s sober in case you need to make a quick exit. I don’t anticipate any trouble, but our adversary has much more extensive resources than we first believed. Stay on your toes.”
“Ten-four on that.”
“Our new arrival?”
“Can’t tell you too much. Stays cooped up in the study reading and drinking Scotch. You sent me some lushes.”
“Sorry. Let’s hope it’s only a few more days and then you’re off to something more exciting than babysitting.”
“No problem, boss. Diversion like this I don’t mind.”
“How about our other business?”
“Happening today.”
“Excellent.”
I went in to the great room of the house and it was empty. Emmanuel was correct; they did make themselves at home. A pair of sandals was on the floor, bath towels hung off the back of the sofa, magazines and breakfast plates and cups littered a coffee table, and the television blared some nonsense. The kitchen, not any better. Trash overflowed the can, dishes filled the sink, two empty vodka bottles on the counter, and a pot on the stove with leftover spaghetti and tomato sauce in it. The two country clu
bbers from affluent, upper-class homes turned into college freshman co-eds within two days. If Leah walked in right now, these two would find themselves in a Motel Six faster than you could say housekeeping.
I slid open the deck door and found Mary Ann and Brynne stretched out on lounge chairs soaking up the sun. Mary Ann wore capri pants and a T-shirt. Brynne, ever the more daring, had on yellow bikini top and skimpy pair of shorts. Music pumped from a radio. They each had a drink beside them on a table, and both had their faces in a magazine.
“If I was the killer, you two would be done,” I said. They jumped. “I see it has been a real hardship for the two of you to stay here.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not leaving.” Brynne was off the chair and threw her arms around me. “We wondered when you would be back.”
“Seem to be doing fine without me.”
Mary Ann turned down the music and stood. “Hi, Johnny.” She extended her hand and I shook it. “Any news? You surprised me yesterday.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Still sore, but improving. Relaxing here is what I needed.”
“Good. Let’s go in and talk.”
Brynne followed us inside until I reminded her Mary Ann was my client and I could only speak with her.
“Well, can I least make you a drink?” Brynne asked.
“Sure, thanks.” Mary Ann and I settled at a small dining table off the kitchen. “First, are you comfortable here in the luxurious beach shack?”
“Of course we are, Johnny. The place is marvelous. We love it, but I want to go home. I hope you have information for me.”
“I do not yet have the proof you want—the reason you hired me—but the investigation into Keira, and your husband, raised a few other questions,” I said.
“Oh?”
“Did you have much interaction with Keira? Ever get to know her at all?”
She shrugged. “No. Tom and I have—had—a Christmas party every year. She came last year, mostly stayed to herself, hung by Uncle George most of the evening.”
