Then reason asserted itself, and he knew he couldn’t do it. But he could love her one last time.
He undressed her and took her to bed, and Meg sensed the urgency in him, the almost desperate need to imprint her on his mind and body. When they had finished and she turned away, confused, he pulled her back to him, holding her within the curve of his body and drawing her head onto his shoulder.
“Peter, what is it?” she said, looking up at him. “Something’s wrong.”
“I just missed you, that’s all.”
Meg subsided uneasily. Something was wrong, different, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
He drew the sheet down from her shoulders and stroked her naked back. “How is Ashley now?” he asked.
“Ashley?” Meg said.
“Yeah, she’s your friend. I wondered how she was doing.”
“About how you’d expect, I guess.”
“Is she still at the estate in Harrisburg?”
“Last I checked, but I imagine the federal people will be moving her soon.”
“Why?”
“She saw the assassin; it was on the news. I think they’ll want to protect her.”
“Where do you think they’ll take her?”
“I don’t know. Bear Trail Lake, maybe. The Senator’s family has a hunting cabin there, but it was never used much. Very few people know about it. And it’s in the woods, difficult to get to. You can hide out there easily enough.”
Ransom listened, his mind racing. He remembered the cabin from the information in Meg’s computer. He had destroyed all the disks he’d copied before he left his apartment, but he’d studied them so often while planning the hit that he almost had their contents memorized. He visualized the plans for the cabin, its location, the surrounding terrain. It was perfect.
Meg was right. He knew cops and how they thought, and the feds were just souped-up cops who made more money than the average flatfoot.
They would take Ashley to Bear Trail Lake.
He slid his legs over the side of the bed and stood up to put on his pants.
“Where are you going?” Meg asked.
“Downstairs to order dinner.”
“You can do that over the phone.”
“I want to get something really special to surprise you.”
“Come back to bed and surprise me here. I’m sure there are a few things left we haven’t tried.”
In spite of his situation, he had to smile. Meg. This was the last he would ever see of her.
“Indulge me, please,” he said to her. “I want to talk to the chef. This restaurant is famous in the county. I’d also like to select the wine personally. It won’t take long.”
“Oh, all right,” she said sleepily, rolling over in the bed to face the wall and yawning. “I’ll take a nap until you get back.”
“Do that,” he said, slipping into his shirt. He opened the door into the hall and tossed his jacket on the carpet, then came back to sit next to Meg on the bed.
“You still here?” Meg said teasingly, turning to look at him.
“Kiss me,” he said, gathering her into his arms.
“I just did. Many times.”
“Kiss me again.”
Meg complied, and then he held her tightly, his eyes shut, his anguished expression concealed from her as he buried his face in her soft hair.
“Peter, are you sure everything is all right?” she asked again.
“Everything’s fine. Take your nap. I’ll be right back.” He forced himself to go into the hall without looking back, and then picked up his jacket and marched to the elevator, his heart pounding.
It must be done, he told himself. I must leave her now.
When he stepped off the elevator into the lobby, he went straight to the desk clerk who had registered them.
“I’ve been called away on business,” he said to the man. “I’ll be leaving now, but my wife will stay on in the room.”
“Oh, what a shame,” the man said sympathetically. “I’m sure Mrs. Ransom will be very disappointed.”
“I want to leave the car for my wife, so I’ll need to rent a car this afternoon.”
“We have a standing contract with the Avis in Hunterdon, a few miles away. We can make the arrangements over the phone, and then our driver can take you to pick up the car.”
“That will be fine.”
“Would you like me to call them now?”
“Please. I’m in a hurry.”
Ransom watched the man pick up the receiver and begin to punch the buttons on the phone.
* * * *
Meg woke about an hour later and realized that Ransom had not returned. Thinking that he had decided to take a walk and let her sleep, she showered and dressed, then read a fashion magazine. Then she did her nails.
When two hours had passed, she called down to the desk.
“This is Mrs. Ransom in two-fourteen,” she said to the clerk. “My husband and I just came in a couple of hours ago.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ransom.”
“I can’t seem to find my husband. Have you seen him?”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line, and then the man said, “There must be some misunderstanding, Mrs. Ransom. Your husband checked out about three o’clock. He said you would be staying on for a while.”
Meg’s fingers curled so tightly around the receiver that her knuckles whitened. “Did he say anything else?” she said in a taut, barely controlled voice.
“Just that he wanted to rent a car. Our driver took him into town to the Avis there.” The clerk hesitated and then said, “Is there a problem, Mrs. Ransom?”
“No, no, we just got our wires crossed, that’s all. Thank you.”
Meg hung up the phone, feeling faint.
She had made a terrible, dreadful mistake.
Calm down, she instructed herself. Think. Think hard.
Fragments of ideas chased themselves through her head. What could she check? Who did she know who knew him? Calling the business was no good; she’d just get the recorded announcement again. She suddenly seized on the idea of Ransom’s doorman, Julio, a young Filipino who knew her from her visits to Ransom’s apartment.
It was just before five; he would probably still be on duty.
She followed the procedure for making long-distance calls on the hotel phone and called Philadelphia information, getting the number of Ransom’s building. Then she dialed that, her heart banging like a hammer on an anvil in her chest.
“Stratford House,” a male voice answered with a faint Spanish accent.
“I’m calling for Julio, the doorman,” Meg said.
“This is Julio.”
Thank God. “Julio, this is Margaret Drummond, Mr. Ransom’s friend. I’ve been there several times with Mr. Ransom. The last time I visited him, all three of us talked about the racetrack in Manila, remember?”
“Sure, I remember you,” Julio said, but his tone was cautious. He had been a doorman too long.
“Julio, I’m concerned about Mr. Ransom. I haven’t seen him for a while and I’m afraid something may have happened to him. Can you remember the last time you saw him?”
There was a silence while Julio thought about it. “I haven’t seen him for a couple of days, maybe. I can’t remember exactly.”
“Think, Julio. Last Thursday, the day Senator Fair was killed, did you see him then?”
“I think he left here right after noon that day.”
When he was supposedly away already, according to what he had told Meg.
“Did he have anything with him?”
“Overnight bag.”
Meg considered that, then said, “Julio, how long has Mr. Ransom lived at the Stratford House?”
“He moved in about six weeks ago.”
Just around the time I met him, Meg thought.
“Miss Drummond, what’s going on here?” Julio said. “You’re asking a lot of questions, and I don’t want to get into trouble. The residents don’t l
ike me poking into their private business.”
“I understand that, Julio, but this is vitally important. Just a few questions more. Did you notice what kind of hours Mr. Ransom kept? Did he go to the office the same time every day, that sort of thing?”
“Nah, he kept odd hours. He came and went all different times, day and night. I filled in on the night shift a couple of times. I saw him go out two or three in the morning, come back at dawn.”
“Did you ever see him bringing things in or out?”
“What kind of things?” Julio asked suspiciously.
“Anything. Boxes, cartons.”
“Well, he had a couple of big boxes of clothes packed up for the Goodwill last week. I helped him carry them outside for the pickup by the truck.”
Getting rid of his wardrobe? Meg wondered. Why?
“Did he ever have anything delivered?”
“Some computer stuff once.”
“Computer stuff?” Meg said faintly.
“Yeah, I knew what it was from the Apple on the box. That’s what they call them, right? Apples?”
“Right,” Meg echoed, swallowing. Oh, God.
“Miss Drummond, you there?” Julio said.
“I’m here. Julio, I don’t suppose you could unlock Mr. Ransom’s door, check the apartment for me.”
“No, ma’am,” Julio said firmly. “I’ve got the master key, but the super needs a court order to go into one of the apartments without the tenant’s permission.”
“I see. Well, thank you, Julio. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Miss Drummond, you won’t say anything about this to anybody, will you? I already told you too much.”
“I won’t say anything, Julio. Thanks again. Goodbye.”
Meg severed the connection, then dialed the number of the Fair estate outside of Harrisburg.
A man’s voice answered.
Meg hesitated. Elsie or one of the other female house staff usually answered the phone.
“Who is this?” the man demanded.
“This is Margaret Drummond, the late Senator’s personal assistant. Who are you?”
“This is Special Agent Forsyth of the FBI,” the man replied.
Meg thought that over for a second. The Bureau must have descended on the homestead with a vengeance once they realized that Ashley was virtually alone there, and could identify the killer.
“May I speak to Miss Fair, please?” Meg said.
“I’m sorry, I’m not authorized to give any phone clearances,” Forsyth replied.
Meg had a choice to make. She could confess what she was thinking to this unknown agent over the phone, or she could go to the estate and talk to Ashley herself.
She opted for the latter course of action, primarily because she didn’t want to cast suspicion on Ransom needlessly. He had definitely been up to something, but she wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the Senator’s death. Maybe he was just a nosy reporter looking for a campaign scoop, and his report back to his newspaper or magazine had coincided with the assassination. Such a cover could explain a lot of what had happened, including her hunch that he had raided her computer.
“May I speak to the senior house maid, Elsie Jenkins?” Meg asked Forsyth. “She knows my voice and can identify me.”
“Hold on, please.”
These people are always so polite, Meg thought impatiently.
There was a long pause, and then Elsie came on the line.
“Hello, Miss Drummond, is that you?”
She sounded upset.
“Yes, Elsie, it’s me. What’s going on there?”
“I can’t tell you about that, Miss Drummond.”
“Well, is Miss Fair there?”
“I can’t tell you that, either.”
Meg could picture Forsyth standing next to the diminutive maid, towering over her and scaring her to death.
“All right.” Meg sighed. “I will be there in about two hours. Will you tell the agents that so they can alert the men at the entrance to let me on the grounds? I don’t feel like having another conversation like this one at the gate.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Elsie said meekly.
Meg hung up. She had to get to Ashley as soon as possible.
* * * *
Martin got off the shuttle and headed immediately for the car rental desk at the airport. He was now technically unemployed, but he shamelessly displayed his police ID to the clerk when signing the rental contract, thinking that all his credit cards would probably be revoked once Big Brother discovered his recently acquired welfare status.
He was on the road in minutes, headed back to the house in Harrisburg.
* * * *
“I don’t see why I have to leave this house,” Ashley said to Agent Forsyth. “Can’t you protect me here?”
“This house is too well known. The killer may come here,” Forsyth replied.
They were standing by the fireplace in the library, and Forsyth was explaining why she had to be removed to the hunting cabin until the assassin was caught.
“Mr. Forsyth, you have turned this place into a fortress. If he can get in here, he’s supernatural.”
“Nonetheless, we feel that you would be safer at a more remote location.”
There was no point in arguing with this man, Ashley thought. He listened to what she had to say, courteously, and then repeated his position as if he hadn’t heard her.
It was like talking to a computer.
“The funeral is tomorrow,” Ashley pointed out to him.
“You won’t be attending the funeral.”
“But it’s my father…”
“It’s your life,” the FBI agent interrupted her. “Everyone will understand.”
Ashley gave in, defeated. “All right, I’ll go. But I’ll have to leave a message about where I am for someone who might be coming back here to see me.”
“No messages,” Forsyth said. “Just pack a bag. We’ll be ready to leave in fifteen minutes.”
“But I want Lieutenant Martin to be able to reach me,” Ashley said quickly, before she realized with horror that Forsyth knew Tim. All too well.
“Martin? Is that the cop who was assigned to this case before we came in? He was at the hospital when you were brought there.”
Ashley was silent. The damage had been done.
“You’re not going to be leaving word for that guy about anything,” Forsyth said grimly, and strode away.
Ashley went upstairs to get her things.
She tried to see Elsie alone, but an agent was with them the whole time she was packing.
Forsyth met them in the hall.
“Sir, what shall I do with Miss Drummond when she arrives?” Elsie asked, following Ashley and the FBI men down the stairs.
“You can let her in, but say nothing about Miss Fair’s situation. No speculation on her destination, especially.”
“I don’t know anything about it, so how could I speculate?” Elsie replied, meeting Ashley’s eyes.
“Fine,” Forsyth replied. He signaled to two more of his men, and they escorted Ashley out to the waiting car.
Elsie watched them go from the front bay window, her expression bleak.
* * * *
When Meg arrived an hour later, the man at the gate let her go up to the house, and Elsie greeted her at the door.
“Miss Fair is gone,” Elsie said. “They took her away.”
“Where did they take her?” Meg asked, about ready to burst into tears of frustration.
“I don’t know. They told me not to talk about it.”
“Was it Bear Trail Lake?”
“They never said so,” Elsie replied carefully.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, Miss Fair took her Aran sweater. She mentioned it particularly and asked me to fold it for her. She never takes that anywhere except to Bear Trail.”
“She was sending you a message.”
“I think so.”
Meg fell into a chair
in the entry hall.
“Well, Elsie, what do we do now?”
Chapter 11
AS SOON as Martin approached the gate of the Fair estate, he knew that Ashley was not there. The same FBI sentry was still in the guardhouse at the foot of the hill, and there were agents about on the grounds for appearance’s sake, but the whole place had the air of an abandoned camp.
The maid, Elsie, admitted him, and he wasn’t surprised when Meg Drummond greeted him inside.
“Where is she?” Martin demanded without preliminary.
“The federal people took her away. They felt it wasn’t safe for her to be here since it was on the news that she saw the killer.”
“I heard it,” he said tersely, looking around. He could see through the door at the end of the hall to the kitchen, where two agents lounged against the banquette, watching him from a distance. They clearly knew who he was, but did not seem disposed to interfere. They must have been assigned to guard the house, and, like robots programmed for a certain task, that’s all they were going to do.
“How many did they leave behind?” he asked Meg, nodding to the federal men.
She shrugged. “There’s more outside.”
“How many went with Ashley?”
“Four, I think. Forsyth and three others. I know that they took two cars.”
“Okay, where did they take her?” he asked.
Elsie and Meg exchanged glances.
“We could only make a guess,” Meg said.
“Forsyth told us not to say anything,” Elsie chimed in weakly.
“Tell me,” Martin said.
Meg bit her lip. “I don’t know. The rest of the family is at the town house with Sylvia. They can’t make any decisions...”
Martin seized her by the shoulders. “You have to tell me. You know she would want me to know.”
“She asked if she could leave word for you, and they forbade it. Tim, don’t put me in this position. She’s really scared, and so am I. You’re not being fair.”
“He’s going to kill her if you don’t tell me where she is.”
Meg felt a chill. All of her doubts about Ransom, which she had managed to suppress since arriving at the house, returned. And Capo had asked her about him too, she remembered, at the hospital.
Fair Game Page 26
