Kelsey placed her bag under the gaudy chandelier and waited for him. Back stiff as the general’s in the portrait-laden cave, she looked every inch a MacLennan. "I need to let Martha know we're here."
"Didn't the guard notify her?"
"He should have." Footfalls sounded in the distance. "Come on, we'll meet her in the main foyer."
The rogue's gallery of a hallway ended in at a large two-story foyer, with dual circular stairs joining together overhead. A round cherry table large enough to seat eight sat at the foyer’s center and supported a scentless silk floral display, big as a Roman fountain, yet perfectly proportioned to the area.
Doran didn't need to feign awe as he looked over the area. The foyer was three times larger than his home office and if the technology report was correct, the elaborately carved moldings contained twice as much hidden technology. He bent forward, pretending to sniff a huge burgundy gladiola and noted the microphone nestled into the silken throat. Perhaps he’d discovered the reason for artificial flowers, when Kelsey owned so many greenhouses.
Kelsey rushed around the table, her shoes clicking on the black marble floor toward a tall, thin woman, wearing an expensive gray suit. The woman’s stern expression melted into a smile. “Martha.” Kelsey threw her arms around the woman.
“It’s good to have you home.” She hugged Kelsey, with obvious affection.
Kelsey pushed back from the embrace. “This is Devlin Doran, the man I told you about.”
“Ah, the mystery man from the paper.” She looked him up and down. “The photograph didn’t do you justice, and it’s certainly created quite a fervor of interest in Kelsey’s private life.” Doran raised a brow, wondering what she was referring to. Martha hitched up her chin and turned her attention back to Kelsey. “I’ve prepared your room and one for your friend." The woman gave him a look that guaranteed bed hopping would be considered an offense punishable by dismemberment or worse. Doran gave her a shy smile and nodded his thanks. It seemed to somewhat mollify her. He followed them, as they went back to where Kelsey had left her luggage. Martha touched a bit of molding. A moment later, there was a soft ding and a wall-panel slid aside to reveal an elevator. Kelsey’s steps dragged as she entered the six by four-foot mahogany lined elevator. Her expression looked like she was getting into her coffin instead of a conveyance.
Once inside, Doran glanced at the control panel: B2 B 1 2 3. He swung the duffel off his shoulder and hit B2.
“Enter security code,” a baritone voice said.
Doran pretended to look for the man.
Martha studied him with expressionless eyes, and then pressed 2. “While here as a guest, you will only be authorized on the first and second floors.”
He gave her his warmest smile. “Your wine cellar must be impressive if it needs this much protection.”
Martha raised a regal brow. "I beg your pardon?"
“You’re primary objective seems to be protecting the basement,” Doran said. “In an old house like this, the lower levels customarily contain wine. They’re too humid for anything else.”
“We have a wine cellar,” Kelsey said, “but mainly my grandfather stores old files down there." She wrinkled her nose. "You’re probably right about the mildew, but then grandfather hasn’t been all that logical since my grandmother died.” Martha glared at Kelsey, whose expression became rebellious. She added, “It’s a lot easier to humor grandfather than argue. Besides, he can do as he pleases, after all, this is his house.”
“Loose lips,” Martha murmured.
Doran pretended to study the grain of the dark paneling, which made the elevator feel like a mausoleum.
Kelsey sighed. “Martha, Devlin saved my life.”
“That’s a favored way for a man to get into your bed.”
“Martha!”
“They pretend to save your life, earn your gratitude, than use you for whatever they want.” Martha glared at him, as if she'd like to thrash him for every indecency man had ever done to woman.
Worse, the spinsterish looking woman was too close to the truth for comfort. Doran cleared his throat. “It seems to me that you need to meet men who have more integrity. Not all of us think bedding a woman is our top priority.”
Martha snorted.
Fortunately, the elevator doors opened to reveal another hallway. If it hadn’t been for the gilt pedestal across from the doors having cherubs instead of a flower motif, Doran would have thought he was on the same floor.
The wheels of Kelsey’s suitcase clattered off the elevator then she went directly to the third door on the right. She stopped and took a deep breath then twisted the knob. Doran glimpsed pale blue walls and white eyelet. Dropping his duffel at the door, he pushed past Kelsey and entered the room. Martha made an outraged sound. Doran wondered if his offense was entering the room or his apparent lack of trust for the security. The icy tones of the room and the fact that the room looked ready to be photographed for some posh decorating magazine didn’t surprise him. So this was where the ice queen had lived as a teenager. He could definitely understand how growing up in such an environment could give anyone a skewed outlook on life.
Kelsey wheeled her suitcase to the closet, then sat on the window seat and picked up an old ratty rag doll that had been camouflaged by the thick white curtain.
He checked the widow bolts, then inspected the large walk-in closet. The last door revealed a spacious bathroom with peach-toned marble floor. Beyond the white claw-footed tub, there was the dark oblong of another door.
Martha followed him into the bathroom. “That will be your room.” She pointed to the closed door. “But don’t get any ideas about hanky-panky. If I’d had my druthers, you would be sleeping in the carriage house.”
He didn’t doubt her for a moment. “I’m not here to seduce you, Kelsey or anyone else. I’ve been hired to keep her alive. Period. She requested this arrangement so I could be close enough to save her if she was attacked.”
Martha snorted. “Surely you can’t believe anyone would attack her here.”
“Since being hired, I’ve done some checking. Her brother’s accident happened moments after he left this house.” Her eyes widened. “Furthermore, the brakes on her own car failed within twelve hours of her leaving here.” Martha’s expression suddenly registered dread. “Don’t tell me you never put two and two together.”
“That’s not possible,” Martha whispered.
“Isn’t it?” Doran demanded.
“No,” Martha said.
“Isn't it possible that someone employed here could be trying to settle a grudge?”
“No.” Something in her eyes told him that she was far less certain than she sounded.
“If you knew that then why did you agree for us to come here?” Kelsey stood in the doorway.
"You don't have a decent security system in your house and-" She frantically motioned for him to hush. He sidestepped mentioning the fire. "Besides you were occupied supervising that painting." She smiled her thanks. Doran added, "And you didn't want to stay at my place a second night."
"What?" Martha looked ready to do bodily harm.
"Not to worry, I slept on the sofa," he assured her.
Martha whirled to confront Kelsey. "What if the media get wind of this?"
Since when did maternal figures concern themselves more with publicity than pregnancy and VD?
Kelsey hugged Martha. "Don't worry. If anyone had noticed, it would have hit the front page by now. And like Devlin says, we didn't do anything." She looked over Martha's shoulder at him. "Of course, I wish he'd pointed out the coincidence in the brake failures before we decided that this would be the safest place."
He gave her a reassuring smile “My Suburban has anti-sabotage security.”
“Is that why you insisted on driving me?”
He raised an eyebrow and let her draw her own conclusion.
Martha straightened. "I must check on Mr. Calhoun."
“And I have to run some errands
," Doran said. "Do I need a pass for the guard or anything to get back in?”
Kelsey shook her head. “Will you be gone long?”
“Probably. Don’t leave the house unless it's on fire, and if it is on fire, do not stop to put the fire out.” He glared at her.
“You’re worse than my father.”
“Is that good or bad?”
"Good," Martha said.
Kelsey looked heavenward and shrugged.
ooo
“What is it with you?” Quinn demanded. “Talk about jumping straight into traps!” Headlights from a tractor-trailer flashed through the van’s windshield and highlighted tiny white stress lines radiating from Quinn’s compressed lips. “Wasn’t it bad enough that you nearly got killed for sitting in her fucking living room?”
Did Quinn see a pattern that he didn't? Doran looked away from his best friend. Beyond the white and blue handicapped card, hanging from the rearview mirror, a semi-trailer eased into a parking slot. The silent tension radiating from his pal increased to funereal magnitude, while the stench of fuel coming from idling diesel engines churned Doran’s stomach.
Was Quinn right? He'd been correct about Pia except that he hadn't foreseen that Pia Chen had inherited Ling’s taste for murder and preferred to get blood on her own hands instead of permit minions the fun.
Was he the hunter who had Kelsey MacLennan in the crosshairs? Or was he the prey?
Quinn fingered the van's manual accelerator. Was the gesture an intentional reminder about the last time he'd ignored his advice, or a subconscious movement at the memory of losing the use of his legs?
Doran tried to breath despite the oppressive guilt, which hounded him day and night. The big rig's driver slammed the door of his ride and stretched before heading to the all-night-diner.
“Damn, Dev." Quinn sighed. "You don’t phone in for over twenty-four hours, then call and tell me to meet you here. No explanation. No 'how are ya', just instructions. It’d serve your sorry ass right if I shot you."
"You should have said-"
"I have to do the PBCO stakeout because of you. Damn your rotten hide.”
“Your points are valid and my actions were wrong.”
“Shit.”
Doran smiled. “I’m staying at Beja Flora."
“Beja Flora as in the MacLennan’s personal Fort Knox?" Quinn asked. Doran nodded. "Damn!" Quinn guffawed and slugged him in the shoulder. “Way to go, buddy.”
"I take it that you believe it’s relatively safe.”
“Better’n her living room.”
Doran knew he should have paid better attention to the instinct, which had told him that he was being watched. “They’ve got security cameras everywhere and it's way too sophisticated for me. We need to figure out a way to get you in.“
"Well, shit!" Quinn squinted at him. "What'd you have to do?"
"Get hired as her body guard."
Quinn laughed. "Don't you mean burn down her house?"
"That wasn't me."
"So it was Trent, on your-"
"Wasn't him, either."
"Who?"
"My best guess is whoever did Ramsey's car." Quinn frowned. Doran sighed. "I got a tour of her damned lab.”
“And?”
“She really has plants in it."
Quinn hooted with glee. "Told you so. While you're busy getting yourself invited into all the MacLennan secret spots, I don't suppose you got a gold plated invite to PBCO." Doran shook his head. Quinn sighed dramatically. "Put it on your agenda, okay? It could save me days of stacking out that stinking dump." Quinn's brow furrowed. "Why the hell are you staying at Beja-whatever, when they already have half a platoon guarding the place?”
“I told you, Kelsey hired me to be her bodyguard.” Quinn laughed. “I’m serious,” Doran said. “I’m being paid a hundred bucks an hour to stay there.”
Quinn laughed so hard that his eyes welled with tears. It took a while for him to realize it wasn't a joke. He cocked his head to one side and studied him. “What is it with you Irish? You’ve got more luck than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“Are you ready to hear the details and help me work out a way to get you inside? You need to get into the basement and snoop through the files and whatever else they have down there." He sighed. "I’d give my last nickel to get in there to study their files and procedures myself, but -” Doran shrugged
Quinn patted his useless legs. “Right-o, I’ll just tap dance down those steps.”
“They have an elevator.” Quinn studied his face, and grinned. “Do this for me and I’ll do all the night surveillance for the next year.” Lights flashed through the windshield. They both raised their forearms to shield their faces.
“I’m getting too old for this clandestine stuff,” Quinn said. “I should apply for a transfer to a desk."
“I thought you loved field work.”
“I wanted a chance at Ling. Then Wes changed his tune and we got shuffled to this backwater berg instead.” Quinn shook his head and raised a fisted hand. “But we’ll get Ling, yet.”
Doran nodded. “If Wes finds out that Ling has an actual part of his operation here, he'll transfer us … again.”
“Don’t look at me, I haven’t whispered a word about my suspicions in the weekly reports.” Quinn punched the dashboard. “My chariot is fine, but I want revenge.”
More lights flashed as a semi pulled into the truck stop. Neither the brightness nor a woman’s high-pitched laugh did anything to lighten the heavy silence within the surveillance van.
ooo
Bright lights flashed behind the drab earth tone drapes that shut out the hot pink neon glow from the bar across the street. A car door slammed, then another. A woman laughed.
Several heartbeats later, the door to the next room thumped shut.
Zoë rolled onto her side and squinted at the red numbers of the alarm clock. Ten more minutes. She sighed, rolled back onto her back and stared at the boring rerun on the motel's chintzy little television. She punched the remote, again and again, but nothing caught her interest.
Next door, the woman laughed louder. Her sexual tone sent ripples of expectation through Zoë. Another car drove up. With a lithe move, she hopped off the bed, grabbed the pillow, plumped it, then propped it against the imitation walnut headboard. She adjusted her new silk negligee in a provocative way, which still hid the crotch-high slit.
A distant door slammed.
Nine more minutes. He’d better be on time. Zoë sighed and readjusted her crimson silk so that the navel-deep neck merely gave a glimpse of cleavage. Then she adjusted her legs to conceal the cigarette burn on the puce bedspread. After fluffing her black Cleopatra wig and arranging her arm over the pathetic pillow, she flipped through several more channels. Something bumped the wall behind her. The woman gasped. Zoë ground her teeth.
Whoever was next door wasn’t concerned about the décor, comfort of their accommodations or lack of interesting shows on the television. They were here for the same reason everyone came to the Zzzzz’s Motel.
Six more minutes.
Zoë paused at scene showing a bride and groom cutting their cake. Next the still happy gray-haired lovers were strolling along a beach hand in hand and gazing tenderly into each other’s eyes. Envy hot and acid clawed at her gut.
Two more minutes.
She changed the channel. Marv’s face smiled at her. Her breath caught. “Vote for Frederickson for Senate,” the commentator said. “A man who stands for family values.” The video switched to Marv with his arm wrapped familiarly around his horsy wife’s waist. Tears stung the back of her eyelids. Zoë threw the remote at the television, but it hit the wall and exploded in a shower of batteries.
Outside, thunder boomed.
A door slammed and the sound of a man’s tread made her brush away the hurt. In one minute he’d be here, with her, not posing for some stupid commercial with the sexless bag he was stuck with.
The steps got nearer. Maybe one day
the two of them would be able to walk openly on white sand instead of live for clandestine moments.
ooo
Doran tossed and turned beneath the covers of the high four-poster-bed. When he'd returned from his meeting with Quinn, Kelsey had been taking a bath and hadn't thought to lock the door to his room. Until today, he'd never viewed a suds-shrouded woman, with only her face visible as sensual. But, now, hours later, the occasional whiff of her floral soap brought a wave of arousal.
Finally, he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling trying to spot hidden cameras and microphones in the ornate crown molding without appearing to do anything more than count wood. He'd feel one-hundred-percent better about this place if he knew the monitoring schedule and which cameras were active. Perhaps Quinn could find that out if and when he figured out a way to get the technical wizard into the house.
His cell phone cheeped. He grabbed it halfway through the chirp. "Need help?"
“Nope but maybe your luck is rubbing off." Quinn sounded better than he had since the bullet smashed his vertebrae. "I just taped MacLennan going into the building.” Smugness permeated his tone. “Got some great footage when lightning illuminated his face.”
“So you don't need backup.” Anything would be better than lying here, inhaling Kelsey’s fragrance and trying to remember because Marnie lay in her coffin because of Kelsey and her family.
“According to our informant, tonight was a distribution meeting."
“Maybe so, but something doesn’t feel right about him.” Doran scowled at the ceiling.
“The way he hates MacLennans, I’d think you’d love him.”
“He’s almost too good to be true and that worries me.” Doran’s Irish intuition wasn’t as reliable as Quinn’s gut feelings, but it had been right on more occasions than it had been wrong. “He and Winston used to be pals,” Doran reminded Quinn. “Makes me wonder.”
"Whatever. I taped the gimp and his car sneaking into the factory lot in the middle of the night. Owner or not, there's no reason for him to be here, now.”
Deadly Rumors Page 14
