Call After Midnight

by Tess Gerritsen

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Crying, I mean. Women are always doing that to me. I guess it comes with the job.”

  She looked up and found him smiling. What a startling transformation, from stranger to friend. Somehow she’d forgotten how attractive he was. Not just physically. There was a new gentleness, an intimacy in his voice, as though he really cared. Did he? Or was she reading too much into all of this? Certainly she could recognize her own response, could feel the blood rising in her face.

  He seemed hesitant, almost clumsy, as he leaned toward her. She shivered. Immediately he pulled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. It smelled like him; it felt so warm and safe, like a blanket. She pulled it close and a calmness came over her, a feeling that nothing could harm her while Nick O’Hara’s jacket was around her shoulders.

  “As soon as our man from the consulate shows up, we’ll get you out of here,” he said.

  “But aren’t you handling this?”

  “Afraid not. This isn’t my territory.”

  “But then, why are you here?”

  Before he could answer, the door flew open.

  “Nick O’Hara,” said a short fireplug of a man. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Nick turned to face the man in the doorway. “Hello, Potter,” he said after a distinctly uncomfortable pause. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Not long enough.” Potter stalked into the room, his critical gaze examining Sarah from head to toe. He tossed his damp hat deliberately on Nick’s briefcase. “So you’re Sarah Fontaine.”

  She shot a puzzled glance at Nick.

  “Sarah, this is Mr. Roy Potter,” Nick said tightly. “The embassy’s—er, what is it they call you these days? Political officer?”

  “Third secretary,” snapped Potter.

  “Charming euphemism. So where’s Dan Lieberman? I thought he was coming.”

  “I’m afraid our consul couldn’t make it. I’m here instead.” Potter gave Sarah a perfunctory handshake. “I hope you’ve been treated well, Mrs. Fontaine. Sorry you had to go through all this. But I think we’ll have it cleared up in no time.”

  “Cleared up?” Nick asked suspiciously. “How?”

  Potter turned grudgingly back to Nick. “Maybe you should leave, O’Hara. Get on with your—uh, vacation, is it?”

  “No. I think I’ll stick around.”

  “This is official business. And if I’ve heard right, you’re no longer with us, are you?”

  “I don’t understand,” said Sarah, frowning. “What do you mean he’s no longer with you?”

  “What he means,” Nick said calmly, “is that I’ve been placed on indefinite leave of absence. News gets around fast, I see.”

  “It does when it’s a matter of national security.”

  Nick snorted. “I didn’t know I was so dangerous.”

  “Let’s just say your name’s on a most unflattering list, O’Hara. If I were you, I’d make sure I kept my nose clean. That is, if you expect to keep your job.”

  “Look, let’s get down to business. Sarah’s case, remember?”

  Potter looked at Sarah. “I’ve discussed it with Inspector Appleby. He tells me the evidence against you isn’t as solid as he’d like. He’s willing to release you—provided I take responsibility for your conduct.”

  Sarah was astonished. “You mean I’m free?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And there’s nothing—I’m not—”

  “The charges have been dropped.” He extended his hand. “Congratulations, Mrs. Fontaine. You’re a free woman.”

  She leaped up and grabbed his pudgy hand. “Mr. Potter, thank you! Thank you so much!”

  “No problem. Just stay out of trouble, okay?”

  “Oh, I will. I will!” She looked joyously at Nick, expecting to see a smile on his face. But he wasn’t smiling. Instead he looked completely baffled. And suspicious. Something was bothering him, and she felt instantly uneasy. She turned to Potter. “Is there anything else? Anything I should know?”

  “No, Mrs. Fontaine. You can leave right now. In fact, I’ll drive you back to the Savoy myself.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Nick. “I’ll take her back.”

  Sarah drew closer to Nick. “Thank you, Mr. Potter,” she said, “but I’ll go with Mr. O’Hara. We’re—we’re sort of old friends.”

  Potter frowned. “Friends?”

  “He’s been so helpful since Geoffrey died.”

  Scowling, Potter turned and swept his hat off the table. “Okay. Good luck, Mrs. Fontaine.” He glanced at Nick. “Say, O’Hara, I’ll be sending a report to Mr. Van Dam in Washington. I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear you’re in London. Will you be returning Stateside soon?”

  “I might,” said Nick. “Then again, I might not.”

  Potter headed for the door, then turned one last time and gave Nick a long, hard look. “You know, you’ve had a decent career with the foreign service. Don’t screw it up now. If I were you, I’d watch my step.”

  Nick dipped his head. “I always do.”

  * * *

  “WHAT DOES THAT mean—indefinite leave of absence?” Sarah asked as Nick drove her back to the hotel.

  He smiled humorlessly. “Let’s just say it’s not a promotion.”

  “Have you been fired?”

  “In a word—yes.”

  “But why?”

  He didn’t answer. Pausing at the next stoplight, he leaned back and sighed. It was a sound of utter weariness and defeat.

  “Nick?” she asked quietly. “Was it because of me?”

  He nodded. “You were part of it. Because of you, it seems my patriotism’s been called into question. Eight years of good, solid work don’t mean a thing to them. But don’t let it bother you. I guess, on a subconscious level, I’ve been working my way out of the job for some time. You were just the last straw.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Getting canned might be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  The light changed, and they merged with the morning traffic. It was ten o’clock and the cars were bumper-to-bumper. An oncoming bus roared by on their right, and Sarah felt a momentary flash of panic. The left-sided driving unsettled her. Even Nick seemed uneasy as he frowned at the rearview mirror.

  She forced herself to sit back and ignore the road. “I can’t believe everything that’s happened,” she said. “It’s all so crazy. And the more I try to figure it out, the more confused I get….” Glancing sideways at Nick, she saw that his frown was deepening. “Nick?”

  “The plot has just thickened,” he said softly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Keep your eyes straight ahead. Don’t look back. We’re being followed.”

  The urge to turn her head was overwhelming, but Sarah managed to focus her attention on the wet road in front of them. Why is this happening? she asked herself, as fear made her heart beat faster. “What are you going to do, Nick?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  He ignored the dismay in her voice. “That’s right. We’re going to act like nothing at all is wrong. We’re going to stop at your hotel, where you’ll change, pack your bags and check out. Then we’re going to have some breakfast. I’m starved.”

  “Breakfast? But you just said we’re being followed!”

  “Look, if those guys were out for blood, they could’ve grabbed you last night.”

  “Like they grabbed Eve?” she asked in a whisper.

  “No. That’s not going to happen.” He looked in his mirror. “Hang on, Sarah. We’re gonna see just how good these guys are….”

  He swerved into a narrow street, zipped past a row of small shops and cafés, then hit the brakes. The car behind them skidded to a stop, missing their rear bumper by inches. Unexpectedly Nick laughed. Glancing at Sarah, he saw that she was gripping the dashboard. “You all right?”

  She nodded, too frightened to say a word
.

  “We’re okay, Sarah. I think I know these guys. I’ve seen ’em before.” He stuck his hand out and flashed an unmistakably obscene gesture at the car behind them. An instant later he grunted with satisfaction at their response, which was equally obscene. “I was right. Those are Company boys. The driver just flipped me the sign of the eagle.”

  “You mean they’re CIA?” she asked with sudden relief.

  “Don’t go celebrating yet. I don’t trust them. Neither should you.”

  But her panic was already fading. Why should she be afraid of the CIA? Weren’t they on the same side? But then why were they following her? She wondered how long she’d been tailed. If it had been since her arrival in London, they might have seen who killed Eve….

  She turned to Nick. “What did happen to Eve?” she asked.

  “You mean besides murder?”

  “You said something about—the way she died. They did more than just kill her, didn’t they?”

  The look he gave her made Sarah shudder. “Yes,” he said. “They did more than just kill her.”

  The stoplight was red. Nick pulled up behind a long line of cars and let the engine idle. Rain began to fall, big, fat droplets that slid down the windshield. The ubiquitous black umbrellas filled the intersection. Nick sat motionless as he gazed at the street.

  “They found her in an alley,” he said at last. “Her hands were tied to an iron fence post. Her mouth was gagged. She must have screamed like hell, but no one heard her. Whoever did the job took his time. An hour, maybe longer. He knew how to use a knife. It was not a…good death.”

  His flint eyes turned and locked on hers. She was aware of his closeness, of the warmth and the smell of his wool coat around her shoulders. A woman had been tortured to death. A car was following them. And yet, at this moment, with this man sitting beside her, she felt infinitely safe. She knew Nick O’Hara was hardly a savior. He was just an ordinary man, someone who’d probably spent his life behind a desk. She didn’t even know why he was here, but he was, and for that she was grateful.

  The car behind them honked its horn. The light had changed to green. Nick turned his attention reluctantly to the traffic.

  “Why did they kill her that way?” murmured Sarah. “Why—why torture her?”

  “The police say it looked like the work of a maniac. Someone who gets his thrills from causing pain.”

  “Or someone out for vengeance,” Sarah added. Eve had been playing a deadly game. Perhaps it had caught up with her. “Magus,” she said, suddenly remembering the name. At Nick’s quizzical glance, she explained, “It’s a code name. For a man they called the Magician. Eve told me about him.”

  “We’ll get to all that,” he said, glancing at the mirror again. “The Savoy’s right up this block. And we’re still being followed.”

  * * *

  AN HOUR AND a half later, they sat in a booth at the back of a Strand café and finished off a breakfast of eggs and bacon and grilled tomatoes. At last Sarah was starting to feel human again. Her stomach was full, and a cup of hot tea warmed her hands. Most important, she was dressed in a skirt and a shetland gray sweater. She realized now what good police strategy it had been to keep her in her nightclothes. She’d felt so naked and helpless, the right frame of mind to be forced into a confession.

  And the ordeal still wasn’t over; her troubles were really just beginning.

  Nick had eaten quickly, all the while watching the door as he listened to Sarah’s story. By the time she’d finished talking, the dishes were cleared and they were working on their second pot of tea.

  “So Eve agreed with you that Geoffrey’s alive?” he asked.

  “Yes. The stolen photograph convinced her.”

  “Okay,” he said, reviewing what she’d just told him. “So according to Eve, someone’s out to kill Geoffrey. Someone who doesn’t know his face but does know his new name’s Fontaine. Geoffrey discovers he’s being followed. He goes to Berlin, calls Eve and tells her to vanish. Then he stages his own death.”

  “That doesn’t explain why she was tortured.”

  “It doesn’t explain a lot of things. There are too many holes. Whose body was buried, for one. But at least we’ve got an explanation for that stolen photograph. If Simon Dance had plastic surgery to change his appearance, then whoever’s after him may not recognize his face.”

  “And why are we being followed? Do they think I’ll lead them to Geoffrey?”

  He nodded. “And that brings up the detail that really bothers me: your release. I don’t buy that story about the police not having enough evidence against you. When I talked to Inspector Appleby, he seemed ready to shut you away for life. Then Potter showed up and—poof! Everything’s hunky-dory. Just like that, you’re out. I think someone put a little pressure on the good inspector. The order must have come from above—way above. Someone wants you free to move around, and he’s waiting for your next move.”

  Fatigue had drawn new shadows on Nick’s face. She wondered how much sleep he’d had. Probably not much, not on a trans-Atlantic flight. She had an impulse to reach out and tenderly stroke his haggard face, to run her fingers across the harsh stubble on his jaw. Instead, hesitantly she reached out and brushed her fingers across his hand. He seemed startled by her touch, by the mingling of their hands on the table. I’ve embarrassed him, she thought as the blood rose to her cheeks. I’ve embarrassed us both. But as she started to pull away, his fingers closed tightly around hers. The warmth of his skin seemed to creep up her arm and invade every part of her body.

  “You believe Geoffrey’s alive, don’t you?” she murmured.

  He nodded. “I think he’s alive.”

  She stared down at their hands woven together on the table. “I never believed he was dead,” she whispered.

  “Now that you’ve heard the facts, how do you feel about him?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore….” With sudden intensity, she looked at Nick. “All this time I trusted him. I believed in him. Oh, you probably think I was naive, don’t you? Maybe I was. But we all have dreams, Nick. Dreams we want to come true. And when you’re like me, thirty-two and lonely and not very pretty, when a man says he loves you, you want so much to believe him.”

  “You’re wrong, Sarah,” he said gently. “You’re very pretty.”

  She knew he was only being kind. She looked down at the table and wondered what he really thought of her. That only a plain woman could be so gullible? She pulled her hand away and reached for the teacup. Of course she knew what he was thinking—that Geoffrey had picked his target well; that Sarah, foolish woman, had fallen hard and fast. She saw it just as clearly. As clearly as if she were holding up a mirror and could coldly, critically, see herself as a man might see her: not beautiful, but shy and awkward. Not the kind of woman to attract a man like Geoffrey.

  “It was a marriage of lies,” she said. “Strange, how I feel as though I dreamed the whole thing. As though I was never married at all…”

  He nodded. “I’ve felt that way myself, sometimes.”

  “You were married, then?”

  “Not long. Three years. I’ve been divorced for four.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His eyes focused on hers. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  She nodded. Up till this moment, she hadn’t seen the sadness in his eyes. She recognized it now, the same pain she was feeling. His marriage had failed; Sarah’s had never existed. They both had their wounds.

  But hers wouldn’t heal. Not until her questions were answered. Not until she knew why Geoffrey had called her.

  “Whatever your feelings about Geoffrey,” said Nick, “you know, don’t you, that it’s a big risk, staying here in London. If someone’s after him, you’re the one they’ll watch. Obviously you’ve been followed, at least since yesterday. You’ve already led them to Eve.”

  She looked up sharply. “Eve?”

  “I’m afraid so. Eve was a professional. An ex-Mossad age
nt, on the run for years. She knew how to drop out of sight, and she did it well. But curiosity—maybe jealousy— made her careless. Against her better judgment, she agreed to meet you. It’s no coincidence that the night you two met was the same night she was killed.”

  “Then I caused her death?” Sarah asked in what was barely a whisper.

  “Yes, in a way. They must have tailed you to the Lamb and Rose. Right to Eve.”

  “Oh, God!” She shook her head miserably. “I almost hated her, Nick. When I thought about her and Geoffrey, I couldn’t help it. But to be responsible for her death… I didn’t want that!”

  “She was the professional, Sarah, not you. You can’t blame yourself.”

  She began to tremble and pulled her sweater tight. “Vengeance,” she said softly, remembering the way Eve had died. “That’s why they killed her.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “What else could it be?”

  “Consider all the possible motives for torture. Granted, vengeance is one. People like to get even. But let’s suppose there were more practical reasons….”

  She suddenly understood his point. “You mean interrogation? They thought Eve knew something?”

  “Maybe they saw through Geoffrey’s faked death. Maybe they think he’s still alive, too. So they put the knife to Eve, hoping for information. The question is, did she give them any?”

  Sarah thought of Eve, remembering the green eyes, windows to a tough soul that did what was necessary to survive. Eve would have killed without a second thought. The business she was in required that ruthlessness. Tough as she was, though, Eve had also been in love. Last night in the Lamb and Rose, Sarah had sensed, even through her heartache, that Eve loved Geoffrey just as deeply, perhaps even more deeply, than Sarah ever had. Eve must have known where to find him. But whatever the torture, she would have held fast. She never would have betrayed Geoffrey. She had died with her secret.