by Dinah McCall
He nodded. “It reminds me a bit of my home.”
“You grew up on a farm?”
He hesitated, then nodded. That much of a truth could not finger him.
“What did you grow?”
“Barely enough to eat,” he answered, and then held out his hand.
A little startle by his abruptness. Isabella laid the money in his palm, then patted his arm.
“Think about that job, will you?”
“I will think on it some more.”
He was almost out the door, when once again, she called him back.
“Oh, Victor?”
Anxious to be gone, he gritted his teeth as he turned around once more.
“I don’t suppose that farm was in Louisiana?” she asked.
“No, miss. Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “Just that the other day one of our guests thought he recognized you, and since he grew up in Louisiana, I thought that might be the connection.”
Rostov felt the blood drain from his face, but he stood his ground, pretending that her comment hadn’t rocked his world.
“I’ve never been in that place, “he said gruffly. “Will that be all, Miss Abbott?”
Isabella knew instantly that she’d made him nervous and regretted the impulse that had made her ask. Lots of homeless people were protective of the personal histories. It made sense that he might resent questions.
“Yes, Victor. That’s all. Have a good day.”
He nodded once, and then he was gone.
“Odd man,” she muttered, and closed the door, then saw her keys on the table and dropped them in her purse.
Victor made it to the gardener’s shed without running, although with every step he’d taken he’d expected someone to shout out his name. He had no way of knowing which guest she had been referring to, or if it had been one of the old men. Either way, his time at Abbott House was over. He had to get out now, before he cam face-to-face with a nemesis from his past.
He fingered the money Isabella had just given him and then shoved it deep in his pocket. The was nothing to what he was going to get after he abducted her. She was certain to have inherited her father’s interest in the fertility clinic, as well as now owning the hotel and the land on which it sat. The old men would be willing to pay up to get her back, and not just because she was a surrogate daughter. After all, according to Frank Walton’s diary, she was the key to their success.
But first things first. He started throwing his belongings into his suitcase, careful to leave nothing behind that would identify him as anyone other than the itinerant he was pretending to be. He was going to have to find a place to hide with Isabella until the ransom had been paid. Once he had the money in hand, he would disappear as easily as he’d come. In the old days, he’d been the best. There was no reason for him to assume he’d lost his touch. It was unfortunate that Isabella Abbott’s life would have to be sacrificed, but in his business, the first rule of perfection was to leave nothing and no one behind.
Rostov slipped out of the shed and around the hotel with his pack in hand, then headed for the trees at the western edge of the hotel. He looked back only once but was satisfied that he had not been seen. Just as the sun was sliding behind the uppermost peak of White Mountain, he disappeared into the forest.
It was twilight by the time Jack go off the mountain. With about a mile of clear valley between him and the hotel yet to go, he wanted to slow down. Every muscle in his body was burning, including his lungs. He’d been running on adrenaline for more than an hour, the fear of knowing who the Soviets had sent keeping him moving.
When he got to the grounds of the hotel proper, his body still wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. It was either slow down or fall down, and Jack knew that if he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to get up again.
When he reached the terrace, his anxiety increased. What if he was too late? What if the Hawk had already made his move? He scrambled up the steps, stumbling on the second from the top, and caught himself with both hands to keep from falling flat.
A couple of guests were admiring the sunset and gave him a wary look as he passed by. He could only imagine how he must appear—a wild man invading their space. But if his suspicions were correct, it wasn’t the wild man they should be concerned with—it was the killer who’d been mowing the lawn.
He burst into the dining room, frantically searching the diners for sight of Isabella. She wasn’t there, and neither were the uncles. He told himself that there were any number of reasons why they might not be there and kept weaving his way through the tables on his way to the lobby.
No one was at the front desk, and only a couple of women were sitting in the lobby, talking quietly among themselves.
“Miss Abbott! Have you seen her?” he asked.
Startled by the abruptness of his appearance, they didn’t answer.
“Jack?”
He turned. Isabella was coming out of the office. Or at least he thought it was Isabella. She looked different—sexier.
“Isabella?”
But he wasn’t the only one started by a change of appearance. Isabella took one look at the condition of Jack’s clothes and then his face, and knew something had happened.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and ran toward him, thinking he’d been injured. “Are you hurt? Sit down in this chair and I’ll get Uncle David.”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Nothing’s wrong with me. Where’s Victor Ross?”
“I don’t know. Probably in his room.”
Jack took off his backpack, then pulled a handgun from one of the inner pockets.
“Jack! Have you gone mad? Put that gun down or I’m going to call the police.”
“Don’t do that! You’ve got to trust me,” he said, and dropped the backpack on the lobby floor. “Just lock the terrace doors after me and stay away from the windows until I get back.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not going to let an armed guest run wild through my hotel. Put that gun down now or I swear I’ll call the police.”
“I am the police, Isabella. I’m a federal agent. Now do as I say, so that no one gets hurt.”
Stunned by what he’d just said, Isabella froze. By the time she came to herself, he was already in the dining room and heading for the terrace. She glanced at the women in the lobby, who had obviously overheard everything.
“Stay put,” she said. “And stay quiet.”
They nodded quickly, then clasped each other’s hands as Isabella ran into the dining room. It was more than half-full of diners in the midst of eating their evening meal, and while she hated to frighten them, she would have regretted even more not following Jack’s orders should one of them get hurt.
“People, if I could have your attention for just a few moments,” she called.
The steady murmur of voices ceased at the unusual request.
Someone chuckled, and then a man called out from the back of the room. “What’s the matter, Isabella? Did the cook set the kitchen on fire?”
She held up her hands and made herself smile as she quickly moved to the terrace. Thankfully, it was empty. She locked the doors and then turned.
“I need you all to move into the lobby for just a few minutes. There’s a situation outside that might get out of control, and we don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
One man stood up. “I’ve got my gun in my car,” he offered.
“No, no, please. Just do as I asked.”
Suddenly the sounds of dozens of chairs scooting along the polished hardwood floor filled the room, followed by a nervous murmur of voices as the diners hurried out.
Isabella sighed, hoping she’d done the right thing. With a quick, backward glance toward the terrace, she headed for the front of the hotel.
The people had gathered at the fireplace at the back of the room. Most were standing, though a few of the more elderly were seated.
“What’s happening, honey?” one of the elderly women asked.
&nb
sp; “I wish I knew,” Isabella said.
The gardener’s shed was dark, the front door standing ajar. Jack knew before he entered that the man who called himself Victor Ross was gone. Still, he slipped inside, standing in the dark and listening, just to make sure, before he proceeded. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own breathing.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered, as he switched on a light, then proceeded to the back of the shed where the man had been staying.
The room was empty but smelled of smoke. The bed was made, the bathroom devoid of any personal articles, and the small metal can that had served as a waste basket had nothing but a pile of ashes in the bottom. Another clue to prove that Jack’s suspicions had been correct. Burning personal refuse was a trick right out of the Cold War. It was a sure-fire guarantee against being traced. Still, he felt obligated to search the place, though he came up with exactly what he’d expected, which was nothing.
Wanting to call the director, he reached for his cell phone and then realized he’d left it in his pack.
Cursing fate and everything in between, he headed back to the hotel at a lope. Knowing that Isabella would have locked him out, he entered through the service entrance and quickly moved into the lobby, where he came face-to-face not only with her but with two dozen curious people, as well.
The moment Isabella saw him, she jumped to her feet.
“Jack?”
“He’s gone.”
“But I just saw him this afternoon. He helped carry some things to my roo, and I paid him for the week.”
“What did he say?” Jack asked.
People were crowding around them now, anxious to hear what was being said, but Jack wasn’t in the mood to broadcast.
“Send them back to the dining room,” he said.
“But they have as much right to—“
“Isabella…please.”
She frowned at him, but did as he asked.
“Okay, everybody, you can go back to your meals. If they’ve gotten cold, the staff will gladly heat them up for you, and everyone will have dessert on the house.”
They muttered en masse as they trooped back into the dining room, and Isabella knew that the story would be all over town before morning. Either it would bring out more diners in droves or scare them off completely, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to change the outcome. Only time would tell.
Once they were alone, Isabella turned again, her voice sharp with anger and frustration.
“What was that all about? And don’t give me the runaround anymore, Jack Dolan…or whatever your name is. This is my hotel, and I have a right to know what’s going on.”
He pulled out his badge. “My name is Jack Dolan, only I’m not a writer. I’m a federal agent.”
When she saw the shield her heart sank. “I don’t understand. Why the mystery?”
“Right now I’m not at liberty to tell you everything, but I can tell you that the man you called Victor Ross was no gardener. I’m fairly sure that he’s the man who killed Frank Walton.”
Isabella felt suddenly sick to her stomach. It was the last thing she had expected to hear. She swayed where she stood, thinking of how close she’d been to that man—of how she’d fed him and laughed with him and even given him money.
“Oh, God…I paid the man who killed Uncle Frank? I sheltered him and fed him and—“
Jack shook her gently before hysteria set in.
“Listen to me,” he said. “He’s gone, and I need to know what you two talked about. Did he say anything that would lead you to believe he’d been planning to leave?”
She started to cry. Quietly. Without sobs or screams. Just huge, silent tears pouring out of her eyes. The sight was enough to make a man come undone.
“Ah, God, Tinkerbell, don’t do that,” he begged, and led her to a nearby chair. “Here, honey, sit down. But for the fact that I’m filthy, I’d give you a hug. You came through for me back there with flying colors.”
“I don’t care about dirt,” she said softly, and fell into his arms.
“Hell,” Jack mumbled, and then held her close, letting her cry out the shock of what he’d told her. “Where are your uncles? I would have thought they’d be all over the place by now.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “They didn’t come down to dinner.”
“Maybe they’re gone.”
“No, no. They would never leave without telling me.”
Then she gasped. “you don’t think that Victor Ross did something to them, too?”
Jack had been wondering the same thing, but he wasn’t going to let her know.
“No way, honey. There’s no way he could make five men disappear without causing a big fuss. You know how they are. They’re probably together in one of their rooms, watching TV or playing cards.”
“Maybe,” Isabella said. “But I’m going to check.”
“Good idea,” Jack said. “I’ll go with you.”
“I’ll just call their rooms and tell them to come to mine.’ Then she touched Jack’s face. “you’re bleeding, you know.”
He shrugged, only then feeling the faint sting of the cuts he’d gotten as he’d run through the trees.
“Just scratches,” he said.
“They need to be cleaned.”
He grinned, hoping to ease her mind. “Hell, honey, my whole self needs to be cleaned.”
“Then go shower,” she said. “After which you will come to my room. By then Uncle David will be there, and he can disinfect those cuts. A couple of them are pretty deep.”
He hated to leave her, but he needed to call Washington now. It was time to spread a wider net.
“If you throw in a sandwich and a beer, it’s a deal.”
Isabella nodded, but when Jack started to leave, she grabbed his arm. He stopped and turned.
“What?”
“Is this why you…why we didn’t—“
Jack sighed. “Yes.”
She stood there for a moment, absorbing the truth, and felt lighter than she had in days.
“All right, then,” she said softly.
Jack touched her face, then her hair, running his fingers lightly over the shaggy cut.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Hell, yes,” he growled. “It’s too damned sexy for a Tinkerbell. I’m going to have to come up with another name for you now.”
Afraid he’d said more than he should have, he turned sharply and took the stairs up, two at a time.
Isabella watched until he was out of sight; then she headed for her room. It wasn’t until she got to the door that she realized she’d left her keys inside in her purse. Backtracking to the office, she got a spare key and let herself in, then headed for the phone.
David had just emptied one of Maria Silvia’s eggs of its nucleus, leaving only the outer membrane and the cytoplasm, when a red light over the outer door began to flash. He jerked, accidentally destroying the fragile egg, and then cursed beneath his breath.
Jasper, too, had seen the light and was already removing his lab coat.
“David, someone’s trying to reach us.”
“I see, I see,” he said. “Damn it. One of us should have stayed above to prevent this from happening. We’re so short on time, and I just didn’t think.”
The other men were also scurrying about now, shutting down their lab equipment and shedding their coats.
“We’ve got to hurry,” Thomas said.
Within seconds they were out the door and in the carts. It took eight minutes to get from the lab to the elevator. Not long at all, but an eternity when secrecy was at stake.
Isabella’s hands were shaking as she hung up the phone. None of the uncles had answered. She couldn’t begin to consider what that might mean. The thought of them being gone from her life seemed impossible to consider, but the past few weeks had taught her a hard lesson. Bad things came to you in life, whether you were ready for them or not.
She tried the phones once more,
telling herself that maybe they’d been in the shower, or in another room. But common sense told her that they wouldn’t all have been out of pocket at once.
She called Jack’s room, but when he didn’t answer, she figured he was still in the shower. Unwilling to wait for him to accompany her, she ran for the front office, grabbed a pass key and then headed for the elevator.
“Hey, Isabella.”
Not now. But she stopped and turned, finding herself face-to-face with a couple of old ranchers who’d been dining earlier.
“What was that all about?” one asked.
“It was just a precaution,” she said. “Thankfully, it proved unnecessary, but you know what they say. ‘Better safe than sorry.’”
The other rancher chimed in. “Safe from what?”
Isabella didn’t hesitate to lie, not if it meant keeping her loved ones safe.
“I think the authorities were looking for some escaped criminal or something. Anyway, it was a false alarm, so you two should be fine going home.” Then she winked. “However, I wouldn’t pick up any hitchhikers if I were You.”
They both blustered and frowned. “We ain’t afraid,” the first rancher said. “like I told you before, I got my gun in the pickup.”
“Just don’t shoot Charlie,” she teased.
The other rancher snorted. “He’s not gonna shoot me, because I’m unloading that rifle before we get in the truck.”
They were still arguing as they exited the hotel.
Isabella breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the elevator again. This time she made it inside without being detained.
As always, it rose slowly, creaking and groaning as it moved to the top floor, and for Isabella, the ride was endless. The moment it stopped, she was out on the run and banging on the first door she came to as she put the key in the lock.
David was the first out of the tiny elevator as he dashed through his closet into his room. He started to pick up the phone and call Isabella, then froze. Someone was in the hallway, calling their names. It was too late to call. She was already up here looking for them.
“Hurry,” he said. “We don’t have much time. He ran to the door and took of the chain, unplugged his phone and then scurried back to help the others set up the long-practiced ruse.
