“Thank you. I wasn’t going to attend until you told me about your plan. This is too exciting to miss.”
We sit and chat for a while, staring beyond the open hardwood dance floor. Each table is covered with a red or green tablecloth. In the center, there’s a snow globe lit from within depicting Washington over a hundred years ago. Horse drawn carriages carry passengers in the style of Currier and Ives.
An ice sculpture of a wagon, a three-foot horse and a realistic-looking Santa takes center stage on the seafood bar.
“Look at that.” To the left, a fountain of dark chocolate flows out of a crystal spout. Waiters artfully arrange graham crackers, cinnamon sticks, and marshmallows.
Isabella seems nonplussed but I’m taken aback. “So, this is how the other half lives?”
“Not my half, my husband’s.”
Other than this afternoon, I’ve never really spent time with her and she’s much different than I imagined. I always thought a billionaire’s wife would be bit stuck up but she’s so down to earth, I don’t get it. “Did you really work for Grayson before you married him?”
She laughs, a twinkle in her eye because her husband is listening. “I thought he was the new human resource guy when I stormed into his office. I yelled at him about my performance review.”
Grayson chuckles. “She was something else.”
“You fired me.” Her brows raise, she grins, then they both start to laugh.
At that moment, a string quartet plays in the background and Jack holds out his hand, “Would you waltz with me?”
“You dance?”
“Of course.” My husband never ceases to amaze me as he takes me into his arms and swirls me around the floor.
I think back on how his hippie mom moved him from town to town as a kid and wondered how he learned to be so light on his feet.
He must’ve read my mind. “My sergeant insisted we all learn.”
Then, his hand slides lower on my back, pressing me into him as I float in his arms. For the briefest moment, there’s just me and him. Gone are blackmail, kidnappers and Senator McAlister.
Too soon, the music stops and Jack kisses the tip of my nose. “I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time.”
I press my mouth to his, forgetting about my bright lipstick. “I had no idea…”
“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me.” He laughs when I rub the red off his face with a napkin.
I’m about to suggest to Jack how we should ditch this place and find a hotel when Senator McAlister’s wife steps into view by the ice sculpture. Dressed in silver, she holds a pink drink in one hand, a fork in the other, and converses with an equally bejeweled woman.
“There she is.” I grab Isabella out of Grayson’s arms. “I need an introduction.”
“What are you up to?” Her brows crease as I rush her to the seafood bar.
“Trying to save Jack along with your husband’s company.”
“I’m all in. Let’s go.” She grabs my hand and holds a palm up to Grayson when he tries to follow. “Give us a minute, okay?”
With two sets of male eyes upon us, I take a plate and help myself to shrimp cocktail while Isabella gives Eleanor a warm smile.
“Lovely party. Thank you for inviting us. Have you met Jack’s wife, Dr. Smythe-Taylor?”
“We haven’t officially met but we’ve spoken on the phone. Doctor of what?”
“Psychology.”
“That’s impressive and you’re so beautiful, too. How in the world did you meet Jack?”
I smile. “It’s a long story. Similar to how he saved your husband, he saved me. I wonder if you and I could have a quiet chat.” I make eyes at Isabella who nods and hijacks our men about to ruin everything.
Eleanor takes me down the hall and into the ladies’ room. “Okay. My interest is piqued.”
I lower my voice so the washroom maid can’t hear. “Do you know your husband is being blackmailed?”
The senator’s wife sputters and starts to leave but I hold her arm, my shrimp dropping onto the floor. “I don’t say this lightly. I was kidnapped and I think he’s involved.”
Her eyes go wide. “Don’t be ridiculous. Joe would never get involved in anything so horrendous.”
“If not, he’s in even more danger.”
I’ve heard that Eleanor holds much power in DC and now I see why. She could’ve just blown me off. Instead, she leans against the yellow tiles, sipping her drink, thinking. “Tell me everything.”
“I don’t know much. Thanksgiving night, Jack brought your husband to the Chinese Embassy and overheard a conversation.”
“With the ambassador?”
“No, some other diplomat.”
“What did he hear?”
“Jack wasn’t sure but he thought the blackmailer might have had compromising pictures of your daughter. Whatever it was, it was bad enough for your husband to fold.”
Eleanor paces, shaking her head back and forth. “That explains a lot. He was so passionate and then, poof, let it go. My God, who else knows?”
“Just a few at Patten Securities. You have to talk to your husband before this gets out of hand.”
“I will. Thank you, dear.” She hugs me and shakes my warm hand with hers, cold and clammy. “Don’t worry. I will take care of this. Winslows always do the right thing.”
She straightens her spine, exits the bathroom, and strides across the dance floor without glancing left or right. When she whispers in Joe’s ear, he pales. Then, she leads him to the coat checker. Together, they exit and I wonder if they’ll be back this evening.
I look down at my shaking hand, put my plate on a passing waiter’s tray, and wipe my damp hands on a napkin.
Jack’s had his eyes on me the whole time and now, they’re filled with concern. “What did you say?”
“I told her she should talk to Joe.”
“Jesus. What did she say?”
“She said she’s going to -”
Holy shit. When a familiar face walks past my peripheral vision, I turn, and my fingers clutch Jack’s forearm. “Oh my God. He’s one of them.”
“Who?” His head spins in the direction of my gaze and his eyes narrow. “Him?”
“I nod.”
“Shit. He’s the blackmailer, Mr. Lee. You sure?”
“Couldn’t be surer. That’s the only one I didn’t shoot.”
Jack motions Lucky over. “Take Blake home, now.”
“Wait a minute.” I struggle to get free but Lucky is not a guy to question orders. A clock in the dining room sounds, I hand the girl my coat ticket, and count eleven more gongs before I’m out the door.
At least I didn’t drop a glass shoe.
Chapter 13
Jack
The bald diplomat is faster than expected. As I jog across the open floor, he ducks into the men’s room, and the mother-fucker pales, slinking between two urinals.
I slap some twenties into the open palm of the bathroom attendant. “Give us a few.”
Nodding, the elderly gent pockets my hard-earned cash.
After he leaves, I lock the door, walk along the marble sinks, and glare nose-to-nose at my prey. “I’m going to ask you a couple questions and you’re going to answer.”
“I-I have diplomatic immunity.” The Asian bends his knees, actually shrinking as he speaks.
“You think I give two shits?” Remembering how he left Blakely alone with a bunch of killers, I punch him in the solar plexus. “That’s for my wife. Who kidnapped her?”
Wheezing, he drops onto his hands and knees and his eyes go wide. “I c-can’t. They’ll kill me.”
“And you think I won’t? You went after my wife, dude. My fucking pregnant wife.” My fist goes back as he shakes his head and squirms in my grasp.
“Ask her. She’ll tell you I argued with them. I tried to get them to let her go.”
“Well, you didn’t try hard enough.” I pick him up by his tie, press him against the wall, and my fist connects with h
is jaw.
He hisses and his snake-like eyes narrow as he flashes his incisors. “She killed one and wounded the other. You think they’re not coming for revenge?”
Outside, someone bangs on the door. “Mr. Yan. Are you al-light?” The thick Asian accent reminds me I haven’t much time.
“Say you’re fine.” I let go of a little pressure on his neck so he can talk.
“I’m fine. I-I’ll be right out.”
When I lean over, he’s within an inch of my face. “Who wanted me to back off, huh? As you can see, I’m not real good at it.”
I give him a full thirty seconds before knocking the back of his bald skull to the wall. “I’m not fucking around.”
“You’re an idiot, Mr. Tay-ror. He’s far worse than the Mexican cartel. You and your wife will die.”
“Who? Who’s worse?”
“Zheng. He has eyes and ears everywhere.”
Finally, I have a name. “Give me a number, an address, a way to find him.”
“First, you must promise to let me go.”
“Sure thing.” I’ll let you go, right into the hands of the FBI or CIA. Whoever’s got the ball.
He reaches into his coat pocket and I grab his wrist expecting to find a weapon. Instead he has a pen.
“May I reach for my wallet?”
My eyes narrow and I nod.
He writes an address on the back of his business card. “You will find your answers here. Now, excuse me, I must go.”
“Wait. One more thing. What happened to the other victim, Philip?”
His face shows genuine surprise. “How would I know? He left right after she did.”
“Impossible. His leg was broken. In a splint.”
“Ask your wife.” The creepy smile returns, the one that started me down this rabbit hole, and my fist clenches. You want to play games, dude?
“Jack, let me in.” Grayson pounds on the door, keeping me from doing something I might regret later.
When I open the door, the billionaire eyes Yan. “Is he the kidnapper Blakely didn’t shoot?”
“Yeah. He’s also Joe’s blackmailer.” I hand Grayson the card I’m holding. “He gave up an address.”
“Let’s go.” Grayson types the address into his phone.
“Should we inform the FBI?” Last I saw the deputy director, he had a heavy woman on his arm near the smores. I can’t believe he’s not here already.
My boss shakes his head, no. “By the time they get a warrant, Zheng will have had time to do damage control. Let’s just check things out here, first.”
We walk Yan down the hall, into a kitchen filled with stainless steel, and squeeze between the chefs to a back entrance. From there, we rush down a set of stairs into a dark alley.
Grayson keeps a gun on Yan as we slip between the two buildings and arrive at an idling SUV. Suds takes the wheel and gives me a grim nod as I climb in next to him.
It takes him about twenty minutes to get us out of Georgetown. Now, cheaper row houses replace the well-kept Victorian brownstones. We enter the world of dumpsters, hookers and drug dealers. Beyond is no man’s land where street lights are always broken and bodies are dumped unceremoniously.
“This is the address.” My SEAL buddy glances across the front seat with a dubious look. “You should really wait for backup.”
When I recognize the drone buzzing overhead, I point. “There’s Patten’s I-52A. It’s got night vision and a camera that can spot a fly from a mile away.”
While we stare, Grayson finishes his conversation and puts his cell phone back in his pocket.
“Slate says we’re good to go.” My boss opens the trunk and hands me a headset along with a pair of bolt cutters.
“Test. Test.” I speak into the mic and Slate responds, “Loud and clear.”
Then, we all head to the chain link fence topped with barbed wire. Squatting, I cut a hole and hold it open wide so we all can climb through.
Inside the perimeter, Suds follows some wires leading to an electrical box and snips. When the outside lights go dark, he says, “We probably got about fifteen minutes before someone shows.”
Rushing to the garage-like door, I cut the padlock and roll up the metal gate. Grayson follows, his flashlight beam flying around the inside of the room. Finally, his beam rests on a stack of cardboard boxes with the words fragile printed on every side.
I grab a blade out of my pocket, slit one open, and hold a glass bottle in front of Yan. “What is this?”
“Fentanyl? Flu vaccine? Who knows?” Yan has one eye glued to the door with that fucking grin glued to his face.
My God, what did we walk into? I exchange a worried glance with my boss while Yan chuckles. “You Americans have created the perfect pipeline. Zheng ships his product and exchanges it for placebo when packaging it into little vials.”
Grayson grabs the bottle from me. “Which is this? Fentanyl or placebo?”
“How would I know?” His eyes dart about as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He knows they’re coming.
Grayson speaks into his comm unit. “Did you get what he said on video?”
Slate’s answer comes back in our headsets. “Copy that. The Feds have kicked out the CIA and we got a couple more of our guys on the way.”
We’re past the fifteen-minute mark when two of Patten’s men exit their vehicles. Highly armed, and vested, they move forward as one, back-to-back with guns raised.
“Over here.” Grayson gets them up to speed while I keep an eye on the over-confident Yan.
Suddenly, engines race, tires squeal and automatics fire with a rat-ta-tat.
“Fun’s about to start.” Suds pulls me to cover behind the doorframe.
In the street, eight armed men shoot from behind two Hummers. I pick off three in the course of two full breaths which causes a short cease fire. Suds takes down another.
“Shit.” Behind us, footsteps run toward the back of the warehouse. I tap Suds’ shoulder and point to where the diplomat was standing a second ago. “Yan. He’s gone.”
When the echo of his slamming door fades, Suds shakes his head. “A guy like him? He won’t get far.”
The four in the street decide they’ve had enough and jump back in their vehicles.
“Let’s get ’em.” We’re halfway to the fence when blue circles dance around the faces of the warehouse buildings.
“Dammit. Feds are here.” I quickly place all my weapons on the ground by my feet as does Suds.
Then, with our fingers laced behind our heads, we wait.
Chapter 14
Blake
The Georgetown safehouse is nothing more than an apartment with an extra layer of walls. Lucky says the fortifications can withstand sniper bullets. Also, as if I should be honored, he mentions the princes and presidents who’ve slept here.
Now, he and Isabella are in one of the four bedrooms. Headsets on, they sit at a small dressing table staring at a computer screen. I understand Slate is watching along from New York.
“Any news?” I stop pacing the long hallway, peek inside the doorframe, and Isabella looks up.
“Nothing yet.” Her eyes intense, she leans into the screen and her fingers fly across the keyboard. “Hold on. Something is happening.”
Lucky turns the laptop slightly in my direction while she points to ghostly green shapes on a dark screen. “This is a video from a Patten drone overhead. That’s Gray and Jack inside the warehouse. There’s your diplomat and that’s Suds.”
“Shouldn’t we be calling the FBI?” I keep thinking of the conversation I had with my Mom a few days ago. How smart is this?
Isabella frowns and turns her gaze away from the computer. “It takes proof to get a warrant and we don’t have any. Not yet, at least… Wait.”
She presses her headphones against her ears. “Slate says the warehouse is full of flu vaccine.”
Is it possible they found the contaminated vials?
I hold my breath while Lucky raises h
is brows. “Well, I’ll be stuffed. The Chinaman says the bottles contain Fentanyl.”
Drugs, blackmail, vaccine, and kidnaping? I try to put all the pieces together and come up empty.
While we watch, more cars arrive and six more shapes jump out into the street carrying long weapons.
“Fuck me dead. Watch out, mates.” Lucky clenches onto the back of Isabella’s chair, his body tense, as if he were there, about to open fire.
Clearly, these new arrivals aren’t Patten’s men. Isabella pales and pulls off headphones so I can hear but I’d rather not because screams and moans mix with gunfire.
I clutch at her arm. “Is everyone okay?”
“Shush.”
Suddenly, the drone video changes from night vision to normal mode. The warehouse lights up as if midday and guys with FBI on their jackets jump out of armored cars with guns pointed. When Jack comes out with hands in the air, I let out my breath and collapse on the bed, room spinning.
“You okay?” Lucky waits by the bed for me to open my eyes.
“I’m good. Sorry. Been a long day.” Taking deep breaths, I wait for my heartbeat to slow and my hand to stop throbbing where my nails dug into my flesh.
A little later, I join them in the kitchen. Izzy grabs a beer from the stainless-steel fridge, then hands me cold seltzer.
Deep in our own thoughts, we all munch on chips until I break the silence. “Do you think McAlister knew about the fentanyl? Is that why he was being blackmailed?”
“What if he knew and was trying to stop it?” Isabella sets down her beer, stands, and searches cupboards until she finds a bag of pretzels and adds it to the bowl on the table. “I know Joe and underneath all his bluster, he’s a stand-up guy.”
Savoring the fat and salt, I eat for a while. Suddenly, I remember a conversation I had in the underground office. “If the Chinese are swapping Fentanyl and no one noticed, maybe Philip is right. The flu shot is a hoax.”
Lucky shakes his head. “Even if he lied, who’d be the wise-ah? They could replace the Fentanyl with almost any ’ol fluid. It could take years for anyone to suspect, even more to conduct trials and tests.”
Isabella jumps up, her voice excited. “Someone must’ve gotten sloppy, used contaminated fluids, and it killed those kids in California.”
Jack II Page 9
