by Ritter Ames
He nodded, unconcerned.
“Any plans?”
“Best way to keep surveillance on a person watching you is to pretend you don’t know you’re being watched.”
Probably some logic there somewhere, but I found myself chewing my bottom lip.
Excitement erupted at a table nearby, and things suddenly went quiet at ours. I used the moment to step back and adjust the wrap, raising my right arm to pull the material higher on my shoulder. My cascade of bangle bracelets cut through the silence.
Colle whipped around, displaying a look of near horror.
“I’m sorry,” I said, cornered. “I didn’t realize they’d make this much noise.”
The crowd around him stared at me, then looked back at Colle. His expression changed. Not any more relaxed, but different. Yet, both responses reminded me of…No.
It had to be a trick of the light. A shared expression. Ten years…
I started to move away. I’d been made, after all. Jack put a hand at my waist and signaled for me to stay close. I sat beside him and looked elsewhere, but I kept an eye on Colle. A shiver ran down my spine when I noticed he was doing the same. I watched his hand and detected the tiniest shake. Nerves?
Moran’s words haunted me. He’s afraid of you.
The croupier spun the wheel again, and Colle lost this time. The odds remained against Jack.
The loss seemed to signal a timeout for Colle. He spoke quietly to his entourage, and the sea of bodies parted to let him pass through. I told Jack, “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” and hurried away. I could feel the air movement as he tried to catch me, but I was faster.
“Hello, I’m Laurel Beacham,” I said. Colle waved away the two people beside him and shook the hand I offered. The handshake gave me the proof I needed. Age and plastic surgery changed his face, but the way he gripped my hand remained the same. Like the surprised expressions he’d exhibited at the table when he heard my mother’s bracelets. Though it was confirmation, shock rushed through my veins.
“Daddy. It’s really you.” I felt tears on my cheeks. How? Why?
He sighed. “Hello, kitten.”
A second later, he pulled me close, wrapping his arm tightly around my shoulders.
“Don’t look back at your young man,” he whispered into my ear. “Or he’ll be dead. Walk with me, and we’ll do a little talking.”
He led me back into the direction of the meeting rooms, and I really wished I’d found out Ralf’s escape method.
A ruckus coming from behind us told me Jack tried to play white knight. I wondered how many of the people at the table were truly gamblers and how many were paid stooges of…well, my father. My mind couldn’t believe it.
“We thought you were dead all these years. Do you have any idea what I went through?”
“Hush. We’ll talk in private or not at all.”
If death was waiting for me, at least Jack or Nico could find my body with the charm bracelet. I moved the zipper on my clutch as quietly as I could.
The room wasn’t the same one where we met with Ralf, but it was identical. One big difference, however, was the gun and silencer my father pointed in my direction.
“Sit down, we’ll go to the car momentarily,” Colle said.
“I’m not ready to leave.”
“You weren’t asked. There are things you need to understand.”
“You’ll answer my questions?”
The gun seemed to grow bigger by the second.
“I’ll tell you what you need to know,” he said. “Not here.”
I’d already put my hand in my clutch, hidden under Triesa’s wrap. My fingers tightened around the baton.
“I think I’m good, just the same.”
“Sit—”
I whipped out the baton and flicked it. Ready for action. We were barely a foot apart. I slammed down on the wrist holding the gun. He gave a cry of pain, and the weapon slid across the table. Away from me. He reached to grab the gun with his other hand. I whapped him across the top of his head, near one of his temples.
His hand flew to the side and knocked the gun out of sight, to the floor. His head slammed onto the tabletop.
I didn’t check his pulse. I didn’t hunt for the gun. I ran like hell.
In the hallway I was immediately caught from behind. Two very muscled arms grabbed me in a hug when I tried to break free.
“Stop, and I’ll get you out,” his deep voice whispered in a French accent.
“Who are you?” I struggled against his grip.
“Rollie says salut.”
I stopped moving, and he let me go. I didn’t know if I was making a better choice, but my options were quickly narrowing.
“Can you get help for my friend at the roulette table?” I asked.
“Already being done.”
His face was one Ralf sent on the phone. “I hope you’re not lying to me,” I said. “I’ve had a really long day, and it hasn’t improved any after dark—”
“Come on.”
He led me into an office, pushed one of the walls and created an exit. “Here.” He handed me a silver ring with a fob and a key. “There is a black BMW parked nearby. Drive to your hotel. Park as close as you can on the street and leave the key with the front desk clerk.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little lost at the idea of being on my own.
“After I see if Colle has been discovered, I’m going to check on your friend.”
I felt immediately better. “Thank you.”
He disappeared out one door while I ran through the other.
I found the car. As I pulled away I saw a limo at the entrance. From the back, the woman exiting the vehicle looked like Melanie. She turned her head and I was certain. I forced myself to keep my foot on the accelerator instead of stamping on the brake.
What was she doing here? Seeing her made me positive she was the person who accosted me in the bathroom. She must have planned to snatch my bag in the train station toilette and let her backup goon stop me when I gave chase. She’d been chummy with Tony B. Was she with Colle?
I drove on autopilot to the hotel, deep in thought over this new twist. At the front desk, I gave the clerk the key and Triesa’s wrap, asking they hold the one and return the other to the casino. I started to ask for my coat to be retrieved when the wrap was delivered, but decided to wait and see how things unfolded in the near future. Triesa catering to Colle—no way I could think of him as my father—didn’t surprise me if he was only a wealthy businessman to her. But it was past time to be careful. The last risky chance I took got me a gun pointed in my face.
Opening my clutch for the room key, I gave the baton a loving pat. While I’d chased Moran for years, my mind had a new take on the man, and I was grateful for the gift of the weapon and his continuing protection. Though I didn’t want to get used to it either. This couldn’t lead to anything long-term. I didn’t get answers from Colle, but I planned to take a shot at getting a few from Moran.
He had answers I really wanted, both professionally and personally. I’d never take anything for granted when it came from Moran’s direction. I couldn’t afford to. I would, however, try to get more information about my mother if Jack wasn’t successful.
As he left the hotel, if Moran hadn’t spoken about letting her down, I probably would have been more suspicious his cryptic answers meant he had something to do with her death. Yet in the meantime my own father rose from the dead and pulled a gun on me, after having assumed a persona I’d hunted for months. Hired people to stalk me. My suspicions shifted dramatically.
I entered the room, slipping off my heels. I pulled the baton from my clutch and tossed both items onto the bed. My clothes from earlier laid across the seatback of the chair. I was hungry
and back to Jack’s bomber jacket. I needed to wear something more in tune to the jacket’s style than an LBD and heels. I quickly changed.
As far as I knew, my cell was in his jacket pocket. All of my numbers were in my phone. Nico might have some ideas, but it would likely only bring him and Cassie into my worry circle. Still, it was worth a try.
I sat down on the bed and lifted the receiver from the room phone on the nightstand.
“Hang up.”
The bathroom door had been closed when I entered the room. When I looked up it framed Simon’s body. A knife gleamed in his hand.
“Do you know you’re the second person who’s pulled a weapon on me in the last hour?” I said, feeling suddenly pissed off at the rapid change of events. Restoring the receiver to the phone, I shifted to hide the baton with my thigh. I covered the weapon with my left hand.
“You have a tendency to make people want to kill you,” he said, taking a step closer.
“I could say the same for you.” I smiled as my fingers wrapped around the steel baton. I pointed to the knife with my right hand. “Did you and Moran disagree on my care and safety? Or have you had a falling out?”
“Let’s say I switched allegiances.”
“Was it something I said? Or something my father gave you?”
“Ah, you know, do you?” His smile was pure evil. How in the world had I ever slept with this man? But my mother did marry my father. Possible genetic flaw for the women in my family.
“How long did you plan to wait here tonight?” I asked.
“Until you returned from your night of losing and I could finish the job.”
“I only made one bet.”
“And?”
“I lost.” I gave him a slow smile. “Then I hit the daily double. I found out my father is alive, but I may have killed him for good. A girl can hope anyway.”
He lunged, but I was ready. The baton whacked his hand seconds before the knife could reach my throat. The weapon flew over his other shoulder and clattered to the floor behind him.
The next instant, he was on top of me, using his forearm to crush my windpipe. I used my right thumb to gouge his eye, while my left hand continued beating him with the baton. When the pain grew too insistent, he moved off me to retrieve his knife. I swung my legs to roll backward and land with the bed standing between us. The window was behind me. He moved to cut me off, but I opened the window and stepped out onto the narrow ledge.
Climbing is one of my favorite pastimes, but I usually do it with a chalk pack, safety ropes, and preferably a partner who isn’t trying to murder me. Though at no time do I climb anything remotely similar to narrow icy ledges with leather-soled street boots. Extraordinary conditions called for extraordinary measures, however, and I shut out any thoughts about the three-story fall, telling myself even if I did tumble I’d likely only break a leg. Not that it made me feel better.
I felt worse when Simon joined me on the ledge with the knife. He stopped for a moment, apparently getting his balance. His back was flat to the bricked building. Looking at his feet, I groaned. He wore athletic shoes.
Jumping started to have more appeal.
I sandwiched the baton with my left arm and body. The weapon was at full length for readiness, but this method left both hands free to grab any possible hold along the way. As I quickened my pace one foot slid from the ledge. I recovered a second later, but I was shaking.
“Give it up, Laurel. If I don’t kill you here, I’ll kill you on the ground when you fall.”
I passed the window beyond Jack’s and tried to raise the sash. Locked.
“Someone is going to see us and call the police,” I said, hoping I was right. Below us stretched a back alley. Cartons and opened packing crates leaned against the opposite wall. Two dumpsters sat halfway down the block. It really bites when a girl can’t even count on an open dumpster to break her fall.
Shuffling again, getting farther away, I told myself Simon’s feet were larger than mine. Even with the advantage of athletic shoes he could fall as easily. I mentally repeated the thought several times to myself.
Nothing seemed to worry Simon. “No one will see me if I’m quick.”
“I’ll scream all the way down. Someone will hear me and see you. They’ll arrest you for pushing me.”
Chuckling, he said, “As usual, you underestimate my connections.”
I seized the far end of the window frame. Having the extra couple of inches of space while I passed the glass felt almost a luxury. My frightened inner child said, break the glass and escape. The rational part of me cautioned, and bounce off the glass to plunge to your death or slit your wrist when the glass shards penetrate your fist.
Original plan it is, I thought. Slowly. Carefully. Moving with my feet turned as much as possible to be parallel with the building.
Simon picked up speed.
I slid to the other side of the window and was again face to face with the bricks. I contemplated trying to turn around while I could use the recessed space. If all my weight was against the building and my heels on the ledge, could I travel any quicker?
I would lose the ability to grab with my fingertips. Those same strong and grasping fingers had saved my tethered ass in many a rock climb. I prayed they would be equally helpful while I wasn’t wearing a safety harness. That decided things for me. I raised my right hand to my mouth and pulled the glove off with my teeth, letting it fall into the alley. The air was cold, but I needed to “see” with my fingers. One glove should be enough.
I moved another foot. Simon moved two. I reminded myself to breathe. It was easy to forget and let the anxiety build up in my stressed lungs.
“I’ve figured out the timeframe for when you threw in with Moran.” If I kept him talking maybe someone would come by and see us clinging like barnacles to the side of the building and call the police. Despite the fear Simon did have key city law enforcement officials in his back pocket, I had a few phone numbers I could call as well. I’d take my chances. “When did you switch teams again and swear allegiance to Ermo Colle?”
“When the money came up to my standards.”
“I didn’t know bastards had standards.”
He waggled the knife back and forth, as if scolding me. “Cannot tame that mouth, can you?”
“Was it all about the money, Simon?”
We were both moving, but he made slightly more progress on me each time.
“Not necessarily money, but financial superiority.”
Power was what he wanted.
“Crook, murderer, traitor. Worth the risk?” I passed another window. Locked and lights out. Everyone was likely at the casino.
“What risk? I dispatch you, and I’ll be rewarded again,” he said. The knife blade flashed in the streetlamp’s glare.
“I told you, I likely killed my…your boss.”
His face lit up with the worst kind of grin. “Good. I’ll get a promotion. I guess I should thank you. And kill you.”
“How many others have you murdered, Simon?”
“Not a one. I’ve only executed offenders.”
“We aren’t talking retribution for forged art—”
He laughed. “Hardly.”
“Then why?”
“The reason…” He sighed. “They worked for the wrong person or couldn’t hold their tongues. Or they taxed my patience. Exactly like you’re doing.”
The corner of the wall was closer. Once I made it to the other side of the building there was a chance we’d be seen by cars driving by, people walking. I had to believe reaching the far section of the building offered an advantage since I wouldn’t be rounding the corner backward like Simon. I slid another foot. From the look on his face Simon assumed the same thing I had. At the next window he used precious time to make a one-eighty
body reversal. He moved the knife to his left hand to have an easier time grabbing me with his right.
I moved as fast as the ledge allowed. He took several quick semi-long side steps, hugging the wall as he lessened the gap between us.
Another similar move and he’d eliminate any advantage I had.
I scrambled, almost losing my balance in my haste to get closer to the corner. The icy ledge was getting more slippery. The wall was colder here as well. Ice filled the crevices. I looked up. Water runoff drizzled from above. Probably some kind of refrigeration unit. They wouldn’t need air conditioners in a Black Forest winter. My right foot—my lead foot—started to slide. I pulled back.
Turning the corner to get into a street view wasn’t an option any longer. Time to stand my ground.
I bluffed, “This is it, Simon. No more. I’m taking you with me if I fall. It’s going to be much tougher to slice my throat than it has been to take out a forger.”
“Why? Because we slept together? You think that meant anything?”
“No, because I presently hate you much more than you hate me. I’ll be damned if I let you win this.” The baton slid down, and I caught the handle with my gloved hand. Between the wet section of the wall and sheer brick face, there was little to hold on to at this point. There was a thin piece of trim. It wasn’t much, but if I kept my weight tight against the building, there might be a chance. If he came closer, I could hit him. Maybe make him fall. Or at least drop the knife. The whiplash would likely send me tumbling with him. My bare fingertips searched for a crack or indention to get a better hold on the trim work. Nothing.
It would have to do. My one chance.
Raising the baton, I got his attention. At the same time, I leaned against the wall and slipped my other hand into the right jacket pocket.
His face hardened. He did a careful lunge and snagged the end of the baton in his fist to pull me closer. I was ready.
My hand came out of the jacket pocket with the travel hairspray. I fired it into his eyes. I let go of the spray and locked my fingers onto the skinny wooden trim.
