The Ultimatum--An International Spy Thriller

by Karen Robards

  That was where the situation stood when Bianca got home from work last night. Walking to the elevator, she’d come across Quincy crying in a corner of the parking lot. Reluctant to get involved but equally reluctant to walk on past a weeping kid with a bloody lip and a swollen eye who was huddled in a corner near her car, Bianca had stopped, extracted the story from him and promised to help. He didn’t know her as anything other than a building resident who waved when she saw him and occasionally exchanged chitchat with his mother, and he’d been visibly skeptical of her ability to retrieve the game system when she’d promised to do so. To learn that she had succeeded clearly dazzled him.

  “No shit?” He looked at her with wide-eyed respect as she handed the small plastic console to him. “How’d you get it away from Snake?”

  “Don’t swear,” she said automatically, because he was a kid and she was pretty sure kids shouldn’t. “I asked nicely. Never underestimate the power of please.”

  And that was the truth—or at least a small sliver of the truth. Actually, it hadn’t taken much more than finding Snake—not that difficult, since he was big and loud and spent a lot of time swaggering around the square out front—and asking him to please (see there?) hand over the game system he’d stolen from the little boy in the building on the corner. When Snake had responded to that with a derisive look, a laugh and a contemptuous “Get out of my face, you crazy bitch,” she might have had to go a step further, by, say, downing him with a leg sweep and pinning him to the ground with what she liked to think of as her Vulcan death grip while telling him what would happen to him if he ever came anywhere near Quincy and his brothers in the future, but it had all turned out well in the end. Snake had handed the purloined game system over, made so many blubbering promises that Bianca couldn’t remember them all and then, when she’d let him up, stumbled away as fast as he could go.

  What had made it especially fun was that her conversation with Snake had taken place with the two of them all alone in a dimly lit alley around 1:00 a.m. just after he’d left his entourage behind in the square to head home. Because she really didn’t want anyone in Savannah associating local businesswoman Bianca St. Ives with the kind of takedown she’d suspected she was going to need to unleash on Snake, and because it was almost Halloween, which made getting one easy, she’d been wearing a cartoon character costume complete with mask at the time.

  Have fun telling your homies all about getting jumped in an alley by Hello Kitty, tough guy.

  Quincy looked at the game system like it was the Hope Diamond. “You saved my life! Trevor’s been hunting for it all day!”

  “Yeah, well, go give it to him.”

  He looked up at her again. “You kidding? If Trev ever found out I took it, he’d kill me! I’m going to go stick it down between the couch cushions. When he finds it, he’ll think it dropped out of his pocket or something.”

  Cradling the game system in both hands, he started toward the stairs that led to the ground floor. Bianca was shaking her head as she watched him go when he stopped, turned around and said, “Thank you!” so fervently that she smiled.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Then he hurried away to the stairs and disappeared up them.

  Score one for the good guys, Bianca thought as she took the elevator to her apartment.

  The lights were on, the drapes were drawn and she could hear Evie talking, she assumed on the phone, from somewhere in the depths of the apartment, but the foyer and living area were empty as she walked through them. As always, the soft eggshells and creams and taupes in which the apartment was done soothed her. The floors were highly polished longleaf pine, the lighting was recessed and soft, and the accessories were minimal. This was a quiet place, a place for her to recharge, a refuge to which she retreated. It was the safest place she knew, the place she felt most at home. Still, the few personal items on display had been carefully chosen to showcase Bianca St. Ives’s public persona only, and in the walk-in-closet-size vault behind the wall in the pantry was a grab-and-go bag packed with essentials, including cash and a number of false identities, in case she should ever need to flee on a moment’s notice.

  Because, in her experience, shit happened.

  She was putting away the groceries—along with the eggs and spinach and canned salmon that were staples in her kitchen, there were squirt cheese and Oreo cookies, whole milk and ice cream and peanut butter from Evie’s list—when Evie appeared. She was, indeed, talking on her cell phone, so Bianca heard her coming, then looked up to see her in her pink zip-up bathrobe with a white towel wrapped around her head as she padded toward the kitchen in terry slippers. But what she hadn’t expected was to see tears sliding down Evie’s cheeks.

  12

  “...can have it, all right?” Evie choked out, speaking into the phone as her tear-filled eyes met Bianca’s. “I don’t want the house. I don’t want anything. I just want—”

  She broke off, lips clamping together as she listened. Bianca watched Evie’s chest heave, her tears turn into a waterfall and her face go crimson at whatever was coming at her from the other end of the line. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she tried and failed to produce a reply. It was clear she was so upset that she was no longer able to speak.

  “Fourth, right?” Bianca asked. Evie nodded miserably. Putting down the strawberry ice cream she’d been getting ready to stow away in the freezer, Bianca came around the table, said, “May I?” and took the phone Evie handed to her.

  She put it to her ear just in time to hear Fourth say, “...bring the papers about the house over to you tomorrow. All you have to do is sign. Then I’ll know you’re serious about—”

  The thing about Fourth was, besides being a low-life cheating scumbag, he was a sneaky weasel and as tightfisted as they came. Bianca got instantly that he was trying to browbeat Evie into signing over their house and God knew what else to him.

  “Evie does want the house,” Bianca told him crisply. “And if you don’t leave her alone, besides demanding child support and spousal support, she’s going to go after half of everything you own. Not just your stock portfolio, not just your bank accounts and your trust fund, but your Porsche, Fourth. And the Zephyr. If she doesn’t get it outright, you’ll have to sell it.”

  She said that last with relish, because as much as he loved his Porsche Carrera sports car, he loved the Zephyr, his forty-eight-foot speedboat, more.

  She actually heard him gasp. Then he said, “You stay out of this. This is between Evie and me! She—”

  “Wants all communication from you to go through her lawyer in future,” Bianca interrupted, her eyes on Evie as her friend sank down in one of the spindle-back chairs that surrounded the round kitchen table and rested her head in her hands.

  “This is none of your damned business,” Fourth growled. “I can talk to my own wife.”

  Evie looked up at that and mopped her still-streaming eyes with a corner of the towel that turbaned her head. It was obvious to Bianca that her friend had just gotten out of the shower. Probably to answer this call.

  “Soon-to-be ex-wife,” Bianca pointed out when Evie showed no sign of wanting the phone back.

  Fourth said, “Maybe not. I’m hoping we can work things out.” Clearly able to hear both ends of the conversation, Evie shook her head in violent repudiation. Fourth continued, “This conversation about the house is just to make her think, just to make her realize how much she needs me. How much we need each other. We’re going to have a baby together. She’s being ridiculous about this whole...”

  Evie’s hands, which were now resting on the table, fisted as Fourth expanded on her folly in refusing to overlook what he termed the one little mistake he’d made. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. She held out her hand for the phone, opened her mouth—and sobbed. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she waved the phone that Bianca held out towa
rd her away.

  Fourth was still talking: “...not in her right mind right now. It’s all those hormones and things. I—”

  Looking outraged, Evie swelled up like a toad. A weeping toad.

  “By the way,” Bianca interrupted Fourth’s flow, “what do you think is going to happen if Drew Healey—” one of the richest men in town “—finds out that the woman you’ve been cheating on your wife with is his daughter?”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Evie, who’d been mopping her eyes with a corner of the towel again, gave Bianca a thumbs-up.

  “What?” Fourth yelped. “She told you?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You know small towns,” Bianca said. “No secrets. Look, Evie wants to keep this civil. Believe me when I tell you that it’s in your best interest to let her.”

  Disconnecting while Fourth was still sputtering, Bianca put the phone down on the table and slid it toward Evie, who gave it a baleful look.

  “He’s right about the hormones, damn him.” Sniffling loudly, Evie picked up the phone, ostentatiously turned it off and put it in her pocket. “Look at me. I’m a mess. All I do is cry.”

  “You’re pregnant.” Tearing a wad of paper towels off the roll on the counter next to her, Bianca handed it to Evie, who wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I think crying’s part of it. Why did you answer the phone, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. I was just getting out of the shower and the phone rang. I saw his name pop up and I didn’t even think. It was automatic, like...like...for a moment I forgot.”

  At least the tears had stopped. Looking at her friend thoughtfully, Bianca picked up the carton of ice cream she’d abandoned, meaning to stow it in the freezer.

  “You know, if you want to give him another chance, I’d still support you. So would—”

  “Give me that.” Lunging forward, Evie grabbed the carton from Bianca. Settling back down into her chair, she ripped off the lid. “No! He’s a cheater. This isn’t the first time, and you know it as well as I do. Annabeth Healey just happened to be the one I found out about. I don’t care what he says now, he’ll do it again. And even if he doesn’t, I’ll never be able to trust him again. So—just no.”

  Extracting a spoon from the silverware drawer, Bianca handed it to Evie, who dug into the ice cream with grim determination.

  “Okay,” Bianca said and finished putting the groceries away as Evie spooned her way steadily through the ice cream.

  “It’s just hard, you know?” Evie said after a moment. She was no longer even sniffling, but her eyes were swollen and the tip of her nose was red. Looking up, she met Bianca’s eyes and hers narrowed. “Of course you don’t. You’ve never been in love.”

  “Yes, I have,” Bianca countered. Snagging her own spoon from the drawer, she sat down opposite Evie and dug out a bite of ice cream. “What, have you forgotten about Gabriel Thomas? Or Ben Moss? Or—”

  “That was while we were in school,” Evie replied scornfully while Bianca savored the sweet, creamy strawberry goodness of the treat she rarely allowed herself to eat. “They don’t count. Anyway, they were way more into you than you were into them.”

  “What about—” Bianca was prepared to start enumerating other, later boyfriends when Evie cut her off.

  “You didn’t love them, any of them, and you know it.” Evie’s voice was tart. This was a running discussion between the two of them. Evie thought that the distance Bianca always kept between herself and the guys she dated was unnatural. Bianca thought it was smart.

  “Thank God,” Bianca responded and stood up to finish putting the groceries away.

  “It’ll happen one day.” Evie was more than halfway through the carton of ice cream. Knowing her friend for a stress eater, Bianca reached over and took the carton from her.

  “Hey,” Evie protested.

  “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”

  It was true. Evie was already bemoaning the amount of weight she had put on with her pregnancy. The situation with Fourth was not helping. She had developed what she called a fatal attraction to sweets. Ice cream and Oreos were two particular weaknesses.

  “You’re right.” Evie watched gloomily as Bianca put the lid on the ice cream carton and put it in the freezer. Getting up, Evie carried the spoons toward the dishwasher. “How’d it go at dinner?”

  “Great. We got the contract.”

  Evie opened the dishwasher and stuck the spoons inside. “That guy—Mr. Kaz-what’s-his-name—has a thing for you.”

  Bianca said, “Okay, I’m going to bed now.”

  Evie followed as Bianca left the kitchen, turning off lights as she continued to talk to Bianca’s retreating back.

  “He’s a little old, but he’s cute. He’s really rich. And he seems nice. You ought to at least give him a chance, see if it goes anywhere.”

  “Bad idea to date the clients,” Bianca said over her shoulder. Her bedroom, the master, was the farthest from the kitchen. It stretched across the entire far end of the condo.

  “That’s what you said when I told you that Hay’s got a thing for you.” Evie was following her down the hall.

  “No, I didn’t. I said it was a bad idea to date an employee.”

  “Oh, I see. No clients, no employees. That basically leaves out anybody work related. What was wrong with Tod Schuster?”

  Tod Schuster was a handsome, charming and successful stockbroker they both knew. Who’d recently asked Bianca to dinner.

  “I didn’t feel like going out with him?”

  “You never feel like going out with anybody.”

  Bianca had reached her bedroom by this time. Pivoting to close the door, she locked eyes with Evie, who had stopped outside the door to the bedroom she was using and was regarding her with a frown.

  “What is this, misery loves company or something? You of all people should be seriously off men about now.”

  Evie pulled the towel from her head and fluffed her damp curls. “Believe it or not, I still believe in love. Just because Fourth turned out to be a turd doesn’t mean that all men are. And I want you to be happy. All I’m saying is, you should say ‘yes’ to at least some of the guys who ask you out.”

  “I will, just as soon as the right guy asks. Quit using my love life as a distraction and go to bed.”

  “You mean your lack of a love life?”

  “Whatever you want to call it.” Bianca started to close the door, remembered something and paused to give Evie a hard look. “And no more lame attempts at matchmaking.”

  Right before Evie’s marriage had broken up, she’d invited Bianca over for what Bianca had thought was a dinner party. As it turned out, the only other guest had been one of Fourth’s newly divorced friends. Awkward didn’t begin to cover it, especially since the guy had been calling at roughly one-week intervals ever since.

  “Les Harding was a mistake,” Evie conceded.

  “Yes, he was. If you need a distraction, concentrate on Hay. He could use fixing up.”

  “He’s dating that Susan Clemons.”

  “Not anymore. They broke up. Last Saturday night.”

  Evie perked up. “Oh, yeah? What happened?”

  “Apparently she started to get too serious for him. Now he doesn’t have a date for your costume ball. That’s all I know. If you need more, ask Hay.”

  “He needs a date?” Evie was definitely perking up.

  Ruthlessly throwing Hay under the bus, Bianca said, “He doesn’t have one.”

  “Hmm.” Evie’s expression turned speculative. “You know, you and Hay—”

  Bianca’s frown was dire. “No. No, Evie. There is no me and Hay. Don’t even start to go there. Understand?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” Bianca stepped back and closed her door, then r
emembered something and called through it. “What time is that appointment with Claybourne Realty tomorrow?”

  In the wake of an assault on a local Realtor, Claybourne Realty was coming in to talk about possibly arranging security for their sales agents who were hosting open houses.

  “Leona Tilley?” Evie had a facility with things like names, times and dates that she was putting to good use on the job; Bianca was once again impressed with how well her friend had taken hold. “Nine a.m.”

  “Thanks. Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Bianca heard the click of Evie’s door closing and turned to cross the bedroom to her closet, which was a large walk-in that she loved. Like the rest of the apartment, her bedroom was decorated in neutrals. Taupe walls, white drapes and bedspread. The queen-size bed, twin nightstands and mirrored dresser were smooth walnut in a stark, clean design. The lamps and big armchair also had a stark, clean design and were graphite gray. The rug beside the bed, like the rug on the gray-tiled bathroom floor, wasn’t stark anything. It was cream-colored and fluffy.

  Because it was pretty and felt good to her bare toes.

  Bianca undressed and hung up her clothes. She never left things lying around; Evie, who once upon a time had been her roommate and was messy as all get-out, accused her of being compulsively neat. Which was an exaggeration, Bianca thought, but honesty compelled her to admit, not by much. Her closet was arranged by type of clothing, color, appropriate occasion. Accessories had their own area. Her shoes were positioned on racks, side by side, sorted by style and color and heel height.

  Wearing her bathrobe as she padded back into her bedroom to stand barefoot on the fluffy rug, she began the mindful meditation exercise that was supposed to prepare her for sleep. Staying very still, she pressed her feet into the floor until she was conscious of her own weight and placed her hands flat against the center of her chest. Clearing her mind of thought, she focused inward, on her breathing, the beat of her heart, the rhythms of her body. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her arms over her head and rose up on her toes, stretching upward—