Dynasties:The Elliots, Books 7-12

by Various Authors

  Lucy knew she should be excited to hear that news. She would be out of danger; she could resume her normal life—whatever that was. She could call her parents, who by now might have started to wonder where she was, if they’d tried to call her.

  But Bryan’s news brought her no joy. “So is this supposed to keep me entertained while you’re away?” she asked, ruffling the stack of tabloids. If he thought stories of mutant three-headed dogs and monkey colonies on Mars would be her choice of entertainment, he didn’t know her very well.

  “In a way, yes. You’re good at puzzles, and I’ve got one for you.”

  Lucy’s interest ratcheted up a notch. “Yeah?”

  “The publisher of this rag is a suspected spy. We believe he’s supplying information to—oh, let’s just say governments unfriendly to the United States—through secret drop sites. And the locations for those drop sites are encoded and published somewhere in his magazine. Our code breakers are working on it and I thought you might like to take a crack.”

  Lucy was unabashedly thrilled at the idea. “How could I possibly do better than professional code breakers?”

  “They’re good at encryption, but their training puts limits on them, too. Because you aren’t trained, you can think outside the box. Just have a go.”

  “Okay. But I’ll still miss you.”

  “I’ll try and get back soon.” He gave her a kiss that ensured she would think of him often during the day, and then he was gone.

  Lucy spread the tabloids out on the living room floor—there were eight weeks’ worth. She had to figure out what was common to all the issues. For instance, could the encoded information always be hidden in an alien story? Or a story by a certain reporter?

  None of her initial ideas worked out, but she kept trying, reading every story, hoping something would jump out at her.

  Bryan couldn’t have chosen a better way to distract her. She really did love puzzles. She’d invented her own secret code in sixth grade, which she and some of her friends used as the basis for an exclusive club.

  She filled legal pads with scribbles, combining and recombining words and phrases. She’d briefly thought maybe the Lucky Lotto numbers were the key, making references to page numbers, column numbers, column inches, but nothing panned out.

  Finally she got the idea to look at the ads. There was one ad for a weight-loss product that caught her attention. It ran in all eight issues, and though the graphics looked similar each time, the text in each one was radically different. The advertising copy seemed odd to her—and not totally persuasive. No pseudoscientific jargon, no claims of pounds melting away while you sleep.

  She did a web search for the product. She found a badly designed Web site and some discussions on a dieting listserve in which people were puzzled because the product was always out of stock. Yet the ads kept running….

  Positive she was onto something, Lucy kept at it. When Bryan returned later that afternoon, she had covered every surface of his living room with yellow paper and sticky notes.

  “Bryan!” She jumped to her feet, then almost fell over as her legs cramped from too many hours of sitting on the floor. She realized she was starving too, and was shocked to see the time. She’d forgotten to eat.

  “Did you make any arrests?” she asked, not too sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  “Not yet. Vargov knows we’ve got him, though. He went on the run.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “We know where he is, but he thinks he’s slipped the noose. We’re just waiting to see where he goes for help, who he contacts. It shouldn’t be much longer.” He took his first good look at his living room. “What in the world have you been doing?”

  “Breaking a code.”

  “Any progress?”

  “I know this sounds crazy, but I think I’ve figured it out.”

  “Ha! I knew you could do it.”

  Unable to contain her excitement, she showed Bryan how the coded copy referred to a URL connected to the product Web site. On a page of customer testimonials, a matrix of numbers and letters specified streets and block numbers in and around New York.

  “You take my breath away,” Bryan said. “This is brilliant.”

  But suddenly all Lucy could think about was taking Bryan’s breath away by another method, one that involved a lot less clothing.

  Bryan obviously had the same idea, and they didn’t even make it to the bedroom. They didn’t make it past the living room floor. They rolled naked on the soft, lamb’s wool rug, and when their fevered lovemaking was concluded, they both had multicolored Post-it notes stuck to their bodies and in their hair.

  A few days later Bryan came home in a foul mood from another of his mysterious errands. It was the first time Lucy had seen him anything but perfectly controlled—well, except for when they were making love—and her heart just about stopped when he rebuffed her normally affectionate greeting.

  He was getting tired of her already, she realized. They’d spent too much time together.

  He did not volunteer any information about his day, and she didn’t ask. She wasn’t entitled to the details of his investigation, after all, and she was frankly surprised he’d told her as much as he had over the past few days.

  “Scarlet has tickets to a play,” she ventured, thinking he might need a diversion. “She invited us to come along with her and John.”

  “You go ahead if you want. I’m waiting for phone calls.”

  Lucy knew perfectly well he could receive phone calls anywhere. He didn’t need to stay home for that. But she let it pass.

  “Then I won’t go, either,” she declared. “It wouldn’t be any fun without—Bryan, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

  “Stungun’s dead. They found him in the Potomac River.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “He’s been dead for at least a week.”

  “Which means he didn’t disappear because he was on the run. He was murdered.”

  “Someone killed him, yes. His body wasn’t meant to be found. They wanted me to believe he was the betrayer. Now I have no idea who it is. But the list of suspects is shrinking.”

  He didn’t seem to want comforting, so Lucy didn’t try to touch him. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “Were you close to him?”

  “We don’t make friends at the agency. But he was a good man. I didn’t want to believe he was dirty. Part of me is relieved that he probably wasn’t. But that doesn’t do him much good in his condition.”

  “His family will know he died a hero. Does he have a family?”

  “I have no idea. We never exchange personal information.”

  Lucy wondered whether poor Stungun had a mother, a wife, kids who would mourn him or maybe think he’d run out on them. Would they ever know what happened? Or would he just never come home?

  “What if something happened to you?” Lucy asked in a quiet voice. “Would your family know?”

  “I have a safety deposit box that will be opened in the event I disappear or die, explaining everything to my family. Well, as much as I can explain.”

  “I’m not sure I want to talk about this anymore. It’s too depressing.” A few days ago she’d been so excited about solving the code in the tabloid. She’d been giddy at the idea that her information might help catch a spy and prevent sensitive information from getting into the wrong hands. Now the whole spy thing left her sick to her stomach. It wasn’t glamorous. It was dangerous and ultimately tragic.

  “There’s more bad news,” Bryan said. “Vargov got away. He went into a crowd and lost his tail.”

  Lucy hadn’t believed she could feel any lower, but now she did. Even the realization that she wouldn’t be leaving Bryan’s protective custody anytime soon didn’t cheer her. This was no way to live, scared to go out in public, feeling powerless, no job, no home of her own.

  They had to catch Vargov and his accomplice. “Do you have a plan?”

  “I’m working on it.” He t
ook a deep breath, then looked at Lucy and managed a smile. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve really messed things up for you.”

  “I don’t know what you could have done. Who was tailing Vargov?”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t it possible someone let him go on purpose?”

  He shook his head. “We recruited some FBI agents on that detail. They couldn’t possibly be involved.”

  Lucy didn’t know what else to say on the subject. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  He seemed to have to think about that. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve eaten all day. Let’s go downstairs. The restaurant is quiet this time of day.”

  Lucy wasn’t hungry, but she wanted to keep him company.

  Stash put them in the booth reserved for the Elliotts, the most private spot in the whole restaurant. Bryan requested a bowl of Irish stew, though it was hot as blazes outside.

  “Surely that’s not on the menu,” she said, since Irish stew was neither French nor Asian.

  “Comfort food. Chef Chin can make anything. Gram used to make that for me.”

  Poor Bryan. She’d never seen him in such a state. She wanted to make it better, but she couldn’t. So she remained silent, sipping on a cup of coffee. She’d be there for him if he wanted to talk.

  He ate his meal in silence, too. She doubted he even tasted it—his thoughts seemed to be far, far away.

  Stash wandered by and, seeing that Bryan’s bowl was empty, asked, “You want some dessert? Chef Chin was experimenting with some lemon-butter fortune cookies this afternoon. I thought they were magnifique.”

  “Sure,” Bryan said absently. Stash headed for the kitchen, but his cell phone rang and he stopped midstride to answer. Bryan watched him, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Ah, I know that look. Stash has a new girlfriend. Those cookies are long forgotten.”

  “I’ll get them,” Lucy said, scooting out of the booth.

  “Lucy, you don’t have to wait on me.”

  “I don’t mind. Sit tight.”

  Lucy wandered into the kitchen, which was strangely deserted. Now, she thought, where would Chef Chin have stored those cookies? There was a hallway lined with custom shelving where staples were stored in clear plastic storage bins of various sizes. She found something that looked like fortune cookies, opened the container and took a whiff. Lemon. These had to be the ones.

  She picked up the container, turned and ran into the chest of a young man wearing the apron of a busboy.

  “Oh, excuse—” A hand over her mouth cut off her apology, and the plastic container fell to the floor, cookies spilling and breaking everywhere.

  “Shut up,” came the urgent voice of the man behind her. “Cooperate, and you won’t be hurt.”

  Oh, right! He wrenched her arms behind her, attempting to handcuff her. Lucy screamed and kicked out viciously at the busboy in front of her. She got in one good blow to the guy’s stomach before he captured her legs and quickly wrapped duct tape around her ankles. He performed this task with amazing efficiency, giving the impression that Lucy wasn’t his first kidnapping. In seconds flat she was immobilized, gagged and being carried toward the back door.

  Ten

  Bryan couldn’t say exactly what it was that made him follow Lucy to the kitchen. But he felt suddenly uneasy at the idea of Lucy alone and unprotected in a public place. A busboy who had been vacuuming nearby during the lull in business had abruptly abandoned his chore when Lucy passed and had headed too casually in her direction. Bryan followed. He tried to talk himself out of his paranoia. There was no way Vargov or anyone else could know where Lucy was staying. Even his fellow agents had no way of knowing.

  Still, he went after her.

  When he reached the kitchen, it was oddly deserted. Then he heard a scuffle coming from the pantry hallway, and he didn’t think, he just went into action. The gun he kept in an ankle holster somehow made it to his hand as he peered around the corner into the hallway just in time to see two men dressed as busboys heading for the delivery door with Lucy trussed up between them.

  “Freeze!” Bryan yelled. They dropped Lucy with a bone-crunching thud. One of them reached into his apron. Bryan wasn’t going to give him a chance to show him what was in the pocket. He aimed and shot. The busboy swiveled in time to avoid a fatal shot; he took a bullet in the shoulder and was gone, the other man ahead of him.

  Bryan gave chase as far as the alley, but they’d disappeared by the time he cleared the door. He longed to chase them, run them down, demand to know who’d sent them—and how they’d known where to find Lucy. But his concern right now had to be for Lucy. He didn’t know whether she was injured or how seriously. She’d been clearly conscious, and he’d seen no visible blood, but other injuries were possible. He returned to her at once. “Don’t try to move, Lindsay,” he said, amazed he could keep her cover even in the midst of this mess. “You might be injured.” He gently pulled off the tape that had been slapped over her mouth.

  She struggled to breathe, and Bryan feared the worst. Spinal injury? Broken ribs, punctured lung? But then she managed to gasp in a bit of air.

  “I’m…okay.”

  “You don’t look okay.” He gave her a smile and brushed the hair back from her face. “Don’t try to move, okay?”

  Stash appeared in the hallway looking frantic. “What the hell just happened? I found Kim and two of the sous chefs locked in the freezer!”

  “Attempted robbery gone bad, I think,” Bryan said innocently.

  “I…wouldn’t cooperate,” Lucy said. “They wanted to kidnap me. My father has money.” She pushed up on her elbows despite Bryan’s attempt to get her to lie still. “I’m okay, just got the wind knocked out of me.”

  Bryan was amazed she’d come up with a cover story so quickly.

  “Did I hear a shot?” Stash asked. Chef Chin, the other chefs and a couple of waiters had gathered to stare, mouths open in amazement.

  “That was just the door slamming,” Bryan fibbed. He had reholstered his gun before anyone saw it.

  “We should call the police,” one of the chefs said.

  Bryan supposed there was no way around it. It would look odd if he didn’t want to bring in the cops. They’d all gotten a good look at the “busboys,” who apparently were new hires just the day before. That in itself wasn’t unusual; restaurant staff came and went quickly.

  Bryan could have easily picked the handcuff lock and freed Lucy’s hands, but that might have invited speculation, too. So he waited for the cops to arrive, and one of them had a handcuff key. An evidence technician collected the duct tape, hoping to find prints.

  Blessedly, none of the restaurant patrons ever knew anything was wrong. Only a few tables were occupied, it being way too early for the dinner crowd. The cops conducted their interviews in Bryan’s office even as the kitchen was being restored to normal.

  The man Bryan had shot managed to leave no blood behind him, and Bryan wondered if he’d been wearing a bulletproof vest.

  It was all over in a couple of hours. Lucy was banged up, but that was all.

  “What do we do now?” Lucy asked forlornly the moment she and Bryan were alone. “That wasn’t a random act of violence, was it?”

  “No way. Pack a bag. We’re getting out of here.”

  “And going where?”

  “I don’t know. We can’t use any of the agency safe houses. I’ll figure something out, though.”

  Lucy did as she was asked without question, disappearing into her bedroom to pack up her few belongings. When she reappeared, pale but looking determined, Bryan thought his heart would break for her. He’d almost lost her. If Vargov had gotten his hands on her, Bryan was a hundred percent sure he’d have killed her. He probably knew she’d stolen data. He had no way of knowing she’d already analyzed the data and implicated him, though he must suspect it.

  “We’re taking Stash’s car,” he said. “I told Stash you were upset and I was taking you away for a couple of days, and th
at my car was in the shop.” Stash, always the loyal friend, hadn’t even questioned Bryan’s story. He’d give Bryan the shirt off his back if Bryan asked.

  Minutes later they were on the road in Stash’s Peugeot. Rush hour was in full flower, and the stop-and-go traffic was making Bryan crazy. It was impossible to tell whether anyone was following under these circumstances.

  “How did they find me?” Lucy asked.

  “You haven’t called anyone, have you? E-mailed?”

  “No, I promise, I haven’t contacted anyone. I would tell you if I had. What about that picture from the restaurant?” she asked.

  “I monitored all the tabloids, any paper that might publish bad celebrity photos. Nothing.”

  “What about Web sites? There are a number of fan sites where amateur photos are welcome. I’m ashamed to admit I used to cruise them all the time.”

  “Hell, I never even thought of that. But what are the chances that some terrorist would be cruising celebrity fan sites?”

  “You’d be surprised. Millions of people search for Britney on the Web every day. Just picture it. Some underling has the tedious job of surveilling my town house in Arlington, waiting for me to come home. He’s bored, he’s cruising the Web on his cell phone looking for dirty pictures, and there I am.”

  Bryan agreed that was how it could have happened. “If I ever see that little punk with the camera, I’m going to rip out his esophagus.”

  “That seems to be a favorite fantasy of yours.”

  “Oh, that’s nowhere near my favorite.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know I’ve said it before, Lucy, but you absolutely amaze me. You held it together really well, protecting my cover even when you’d barely escaped with your life.”

  “You’ve kept your superhero identity a secret from your family for a long time. Who am I to ruin it?”

  “It’s gotten a lot harder, keeping it a secret,” he said. “But every time I think about telling them, I imagine my mother’s reaction. Or Gram’s. They would completely freak out, and I’d have to quit. I’m not ready to quit.”