Tightrope

by Amanda Quick

  Willa tensed. “We’re a team now, right? You and Hazel and me? We fly or go down together. Right now, one of our team members needs a new costume for a very important performance. I say we go in there and buy that dress.”

  “And shoes, too,” Hazel added. “You won’t need a necklace, not with that gown, but you will need some great earrings.”

  “I saw some in Madam Zolanda’s collection that will work,” Willa said.

  “I’m not exactly Cinderella going to the ball,” Amalie said.

  Steely determination gleamed in Willa’s eyes.

  “No, you are not a fairy-tale princess,” she said. “You are the glamorous owner of one of the most exclusive hotels in the glamorous, exclusive town of Burning Cove. Tonight you will be seen in a club patronized by movie stars.”

  “Willa is right,” Hazel said. “You have to grab the spotlight tonight just like you did when you flew for a living.”

  “When did you two become so enthusiastic about the inn-keeping business?” Amalie asked.

  “You’re not the only one who has a stake in making the Hidden Beach successful,” Willa said. “We’re still a family. We stick together. Follow me, we’re going into that shop to buy that costume.”

  “Evening gown,” Amalie corrected.

  “Willa’s right,” Hazel said. “Think of that dress as a costume. You used to know how to dazzle an audience. Let’s hope you haven’t forgotten the tricks of the trade, because the future of the Hidden Beach Inn may well depend on the impression you make this evening.”

  “I sense pressure,” Amalie said.

  “Oh, yeah.” Willa led the way into the shop. “Lots of pressure on you tonight. But, hey, you used to fly on the trapeze, remember? You can handle pressure.”

  “Too bad there’s no net tonight,” Hazel said.

  “The Flying Princess never worked with a net,” Willa said.

  Chapter 35

  “I apologize for dragging you and your inn into this unpleasant situation,” Luther said to Amalie.

  It was a quarter to eleven and the Paradise Club was just heating up for the night. A short time ago Matthias, with Amalie on his arm, had been escorted upstairs to Luther Pell’s private candlelit booth on the mezzanine floor. They were now seated across from Luther and Raina Kirk.

  From Luther’s aerie they could view the main floor of the club. Down below, glamorous people and those who aspired to be glamorous sipped cocktails in the soft shadows created by the candles that burned on every table. On the dance floor, women in beaded satin gowns danced in the arms of men dressed in evening jackets and bow ties while the orchestra played a slow number. Overhead, a glittering mirror ball sparked and flashed.

  Luther’s nightclub was designed to make men and women alike appear glamorous, but as far as Matthias was concerned, Amalie was the real queen of midnight in a black gown that melted over her sleek body and revealed the strong, feminine curves of her shoulders. Long black lace gloves added to the aura of mystery that whispered around her. Earrings sparkled in the shadows. Her hair fell in deep, luxurious waves.

  The neckline of the gown was modest enough in front, Matthias decided, but the same could not be said about the back of the dress. He found himself trying to find reasons to touch the warm, bare skin exposed by the dramatic style.

  He was keenly aware of her sitting so close. Every so often he caught a whiff of her scent and got a little intoxicated. He had to concentrate to stay focused on the business of the evening.

  He had been dealing with a simmering uncertainty ever since he had awakened alone in bed that morning in the hotel room. When he heard the muffled sound of the shower, he had immediately rolled out of bed and tried the bathroom door. It had been locked.

  He still wasn’t sure how to take that turn of events. It was possible that Amalie simply liked privacy when she bathed. It was equally possible that she was sending the message that she did not intend to repeat the intimate events of the prevous night.

  Neither of them had brought up the subject of their passionate interlude at breakfast, nor had they discussed it on the long drive back to Burning Cove. He wanted to ask her straight out if she assumed, as he did, that they had embarked on an affair. He did not want to contemplate the possibility that what had happened in the honeymoon cottage was nothing more than a feverish one-night stand induced by the close brush with death that afternoon.

  He had learned long ago not to take the risk of asking questions when he wasn’t prepared for answers that he did not want to hear.

  “I appreciate the apology, Mr. Pell,” Amalie said. “But in fairness, it’s not your fault that Pickwell ended up at my inn.”

  “I called in some favors to ensure that Pickwell chose Burning Cove as the location for the sale of the Ares machine,” Luther said. “But in the end I was unable to control his choice of hotels. I have no idea why he decided to book a room at the Hidden Beach.”

  “I think we can assume that Smith steered Pickwell toward Amalie’s inn,” Matthias said. “Probably because it was isolated out there on Ocean View Lane. There was no serious security—”

  “He didn’t know that I had a gun,” Amalie put in with a hint of pride.

  Raina Kirk gave her an approving woman-to-woman smile. “Excellent.”

  Matthias looked at Luther. He knew they were both thinking the same thing. An unskilled shooter armed with a small pistol was no match for a professional killer who used grenades.

  Matthias cleared his throat and continued.

  “In addition to the limited security, there were no other guests in residence at the inn,” he said.

  Amalie turned her head to give him a quizzical look. “Why was that important?”

  Once again Matthias looked at Luther.

  “You tell her,” he said. “This is your project.”

  Luther sighed and turned to Amalie. “An inn full of potential witnesses could have presented certain logistical problems for Smith in the event that he decided to resort to violence on the premises. But with only two people in the house, his situation would have been a lot less . . . complicated.”

  Amalie winced. “In other words, Smith thought it would be easy to get rid of a couple of women if the necessity arose.”

  “We’re speculating,” Matthias assured her.

  “But that would fit Smith’s pattern,” Luther said. “He prefers to stay in the shadows whenever possible. The last thing he wants is an incident that will attract the attention of the FBI or the head of a certain government agency. But it is said that on the rare occasions when he feels threatened, he is quite ruthless with witnesses.”

  Amalie smiled a cool little smile. “He’ll certainly have a few complications if he tries anything at the Hidden Beach now, won’t he?”

  “What do you mean?” Raina asked.

  “In addition to the fact that my inn was recently featured in a story about a killer robot, I’ve got a legendary star in residence,” Amalie said. “If anything at all happens at the Hidden Beach, the press will descend on the place in droves.”

  Raina smiled in slow appreciation. “Very true.”

  “The police will be forced to conduct a thorough investigation,” Amalie continued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the FBI got involved. Your Mr. Smith would no doubt have to run for his life.”

  Raina chuckled. “Amalie has a point, gentlemen. She is currently protected by no less than Mad Doctor X himself. Hyde may be a fading start but he’s still a legend.”

  Luther’s brows rose. “I hadn’t considered the situation from that angle, but I admit there is some logic to the theory.”

  “My staff keep reminding me of the value of publicity, any publicity,” Amalie said. “Personally, I’ve always had my doubts about that theory, but these days I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

  “One thing is clear,” Rain
a said. “It’s obvious now that Smith has not abandoned his project. He must be hanging around for some reason.”

  “The keys,” Matthias said. “This afternoon Chester Ward and I started taking the robot apart. It’s slow going. It looks like the wiring and the hardware were just crammed inside the shell. We haven’t found anything so far. We don’t even know what we’re looking for. If there are some actual keys, they will be quite small.”

  “Do you really think that Pickwell concealed some vital component of the cipher machine inside Futuro?” Raina asked.

  “It’s a long shot but at the moment it’s all we’ve got,” Matthias said.

  Amalie studied Luther. “What do you know about Mr. Smith?”

  “Almost nothing,” Luther admitted. “Matthias told you most of what little I do know. Smith worked as a covert agent during the Great War but his identity was a highly classified secret, known only to the man who recruited him. Smith was assigned to the European theater and is said to have provided some extremely valuable information, not only during wartime but for a few years afterward. Then the budget cuts started.”

  Raina looked shocked. “Are you telling us that Smith went into the gunrunning because he was fired?”

  “Spying is an expensive business,” Luther said. “A few years ago the government, in its wisdom, decided to cut back on funding for intelligence agencies. A lot of people lost their jobs. Smith was evidently one of them. Rumor had it that he did not take early retirement well.”

  Amalie frowned. “You said he was evidently one of those who was fired? You don’t know for certain?”

  Luther shrugged. “Officially, Smith didn’t even exist.”

  “But you’re sure that there was a Smith?” Amalie pressed.

  Luther was amused. “Within the intelligence community there are very few secrets. Smith’s real identity was never revealed but it was impossible to ignore the results of his work. He was a legend but no one knew his name. There were no photographs of him. He might as well have been a ghost. The only thing we can be sure of is that he must be about my age, perhaps a little older.”

  “Because he served in the Great War?” Raina said. “Yes, of course, that makes sense.”

  “What makes you so sure that Smith is a man?” Amalie asked.

  Raina gave her another approving look. “That’s a very good question.”

  “I’ve considered the possibility that Smith is a woman,” Luther said. “It’s an interesting idea and I haven’t entirely discounted it. But I think it is reasonable to assume that we’re dealing with a man.”

  “It seems to me that a woman could toss a grenade as well as a man,” Amalie asked.

  “Luther is convinced that Smith is male because within the intelligence community there is a widespread conviction that women are not suited to the work,” Matthias said.

  “I’ve got a name for you,” Raina said. “Mata Hari.”

  “An intriguing lady,” Luther admitted. “But a lousy spy and possibly somewhat mad. She was probably set up by the Germans. The French shot her because they needed a scapegoat. As I said, I’m not saying it’s impossible that Smith was female, but odds are we are dealing with a man, one who is holding a very big grudge.”

  Raina took a sip of her cocktail and lowered the glass. “He no doubt feels that he risked his life for the agency that recruited him, and in the end he was cast aside like so much useless trash.”

  Luther shrugged. “He’s right.”

  “Hold on here,” Amalie said. “How do you know anything at all about Smith’s motives? Matthias said that the only man who knew his identity was his superior, and that man is dead.”

  “Brackens was shot at his desk,” Luther said. “The authorities called it a heart attack.”

  “Of course,” Raina said dryly.

  “That was the official story, but no one in the intelligence world believed it,” Luther said. “My department was called in to investigate. There is no doubt in my mind but that Smith murdered his spymaster.”

  “Your department investigated?” Amalie asked. “Would that be Failure Analysis?”

  “No,” Luther said. “I founded Failure Analysis a few years ago. But during the war and for a few years afterward I worked for and eventually became the director of a small government intelligence agency known as the Accounting Department. We conducted internal investigations for other spy agencies. When you’ve got a problem within a clandestine agency, you can’t just pick up the phone and call the police or even the FBI. A proper investigation would run the risk of revealing too many secrets. The Accounting Department was established to handle those sorts of sensitive investigations.”

  “What made you so sure that Smith murdered his superior?” Amalie asked.

  “Aside from the body, you mean?” Luther gave her a sharklike smile. “The first clue was that a lot of top secret files disappeared on the night Brackens was shot. I’m very sure that Smith took them and used the information to establish himself in his new career.”

  “I see,” Amalie said.

  “Not long after Brackens’s death, the Accounting Department picked up the first hints of a dealer who specialized in the buying and selling of weapons and ammunition,” Luther said. “The operation had Smith’s fingerprints all over it. The department chased him for a few years but he was like smoke. He disappeared just as we got close. Still, I think we would have nailed him if we’d had a little more time.”

  “Why did you run out of time?” Amalie asked.

  “My entire team and I were replaced.”

  Raina gave him a considering look. “They fired you? Just like Smith?”

  “And like a lot of other people,” Luther said. He swallowed some of his martini and lowered the glass. “I did not, however, murder my superior on the way out the door.”

  Matthias smiled. “Instead, you founded Failure Analysis, Incorporated. These days you force the government to pay your outrageous fees whenever they want your services.”

  Amalie looked at Luther. “What about the mob connections?”

  Luther’s eyes gleamed with dark humor. “Those connections provide me and my firm with an excellent cover, Miss Vaughn.”

  Amalie looked a little disconcerted by that news.

  “So, the rumors are true?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Luther said. “That is, of course, why the cover works so well.”

  “I see.” Amalie took a few beats to deal with that information. Then her gaze sharpened with curiosity. “Do you think it was a coincidence that you and the members of your team were let go just as you were getting close to Smith?”

  Luther’s brows rose in surprise. Then he chuckled.

  “You were right, Matthias,” he said. “Miss Vaughn is a very impressive lady. I like the way she thinks.”

  “I did warn you,” Matthias said.

  Luther turned back to Amalie. “Let’s just say that I share Matthias’s theory when it comes to the subject of coincidences.”

  “There aren’t any,” Amalie said.

  Raina looked at Amalie. “Speaking of coincidences, don’t you think it’s a little odd that a few months after someone tried to murder you, someone broke into the Hidden Beach Inn shortly after your name and location showed up in the newspapers?”

  Matthias felt Amalie go very still beside him.

  “It gives me chills, if you want to know the truth,” Amalie said. “I told Matthias that on the night I was attacked and nearly killed, I could have sworn that there was someone else around, someone who wanted to watch me die.”

  Raina was intrigued. “Do you think the killer might have had a partner?”

  Matthias paused his drink halfway to his mouth. There was an unusual intensity about Raina now. She was not merely curious, he decided. There was something else going on here. Whatever it was, it was personal. />
  He glanced at Luther and saw that he was watching Raina very closely, too.

  “The police were convinced that the killer acted alone,” Amalie continued. “But then, they were not sure I was telling the truth.”

  “I am aware that there were rumors of a lovers’ triangle,” Raina said without inflection.

  “I’m lucky that I wasn’t arrested for the murder of Marcus Harding,” Amalie said. “But as for the break-in at the Hidden Beach the other night, it seems more likely that it was connected to the Pickwell incident, not to what happened in Abbotsville.”

  Raina turned to Matthias. “What do you think?”

  “My first assumption was that the break-in had to be connected to the disappearance of the cipher machine,” Matthias said. “But after Amalie told me that she believed Harding might have had a partner, I’m no longer sure.”

  Raina gently swirled the contents of her cocktail glass and took a sip. She lowered the glass and looked at Amalie.

  “Why don’t I look into what happened to you in Abbotsville?” she said.

  Amalie raised her brows. “Sounds like you’ve already talked to the police there.”

  “I did,” Raina said. “But there are other people I can call.”

  “Such as?”

  “The local reporters who covered the story may have some information that did not appear in the police reports.”

  “I can’t afford to pay you,” Amalie warned.

  Raina smiled a cool smile. “Consider it a welcome-to-Burning-Cove gift.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Luther said. He tapped a finger on the table. “It might shed some light on the problem of Smith.”

  “How?” Amalie asked.

  “Information of any kind is good,” Luther said.

  Amalie looked at Raina, clearly fascinated. “Have you investigated many cases of murder?”

  “Not a lot,” Raina admitted. “But you could say I have some expertise when it comes to understanding how killers think.”

  “How did you become an expert on that subject?” Amalie asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Raina said, brushing the subject aside.