Undercover with the Enemy

by Christine Michels

  Court managed to conceal his disappointment at her bold-faced lie, but it took effort. Obviously she’d read a few too many of those mystery novels she favored. “I fail to see why that explanation should prevent me from calling the police. Both blackmail and theft are illegal, Heather.”

  There was a light of excitement in her eyes along with the fear now. Adrenaline rush, he concluded. She was warming up to the roll she was playing. “But I still have the disks.” She reached into her pocket and held up the objects in question. “If I give them back to you now, no crime has been committed, has it?”

  “The intent was there, Heather. And what about breaking and entering?”

  “I currently live here, Mr. Gabriele. Can you be charged with breaking into a room in a house you live in?”

  She had him there; it was a grey area. Okay, so she wasn’t going to be frightened into telling the truth. Which meant she was more afraid of DiMona than she was of him or the cops. He’d expected that actually, although he’d hoped differently.

  Court nodded sharply. “Very well, Heather. I won’t call the police at this time. But you’ve left me with no recourse but to dismiss you.” God, he hoped he was doing the right thing. But his hands were tied. What else could he do? “I want you out of here first thing in the morning. Is that clear?”

  Heather nodded. “I…yes, of course.” She rose and headed for the door as Court and Ernest exchanged looks. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned. “Court—”

  “Yes?”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  It dawned a wet, drizzly day. The kind of overcast day that would stick around for a while. After a sleepless night, Heather rose and left without so much as a cup of coffee or a word to anyone. She couldn’t face them. If only she hadn’t grown to like them all, perhaps it wouldn’t be so difficult. But to see the disappointment, the hurt in their eyes was more than she could deal with right now.

  The expression in Court’s eyes had been like claws tearing at her heart when he had confronted her last night. The infinite sadness, as though she’d dashed not only his faith in her, but his hope for humanity. His hurt. His anger.

  No, she couldn’t face him again. In fact, it would probably be best if she never saw him again. She ignored the painful stitch in her chest that that thought induced, writing it off to a sleepless night and stress.

  Oh, Lord! What was going to happen now? She still didn’t know who Court really was, and that was the one thing DiMona wanted to know most. Would he threaten Des? Her?

  If she had slept with Court as DiMona had suggested she do, perhaps this situation would have been resolved already. But she just couldn’t. Using her body, using sex in that way, would have left her feeling dirty and immoral. It would have altered the core of her being. And, despite everything, she refused to allow DiMona to have that much influence in her life.

  For now, she would go home, have a shower and a cup of coffee, and then she would figure a way out of this. She had to. For herself and for Des.

  Heather was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the sedan that pulled out of Court’s driveway a short distance behind her. Nor did she notice it following her.

  The ground-floor apartment smelled stale after being closed for so long. She opened the windows for some flow-through air before going back out to her car to retrieve her cases. As she was piling the last of them inside the door, she noticed the light on her phone blinking rapidly, signaling that there were voice mail messages waiting.

  Damn! She’d forgotten to retrieve messages last night. Her throat closed at the thought that she might have missed something time sensitive from DiMona. With shaking fingers, she lifted the receiver and dialed her voice-mail box.

  “Ms. Buchanan, this is Diane calling from the Rosewood Clinic. When Des checked out I forgot to make a follow-up appointment with him. I’d appreciate it if you’d have him call the office. Thank you.”

  Heather stared at the wall in numb shock. Des had checked out! When? Why? Where had he gone? She looked at the floor by the door. No, there were no size-twelve high-tops in sight. He wasn’t home.

  She was startled from her daze by the familiar icy tone of DiMona’s voice coming through the small speaker, but she missed his words. Swallowing, she replayed the message. “Ellis Park, 4:00 p.m. Nara-more Fountain.”

  Heather glanced at her watch. The appointment was hours away. Maybe by then, she’d have come up with a course of action. Relieved by that much at least, she moved toward the kitchen to start brewing the coffee that she so badly needed at this point.

  But where on earth could Des have gone?

  She was just stepping out of the shower a few minutes later, looking forward to that first hot cup of coffee, when she remembered her last conversation with Des. But he’d promised he wouldn’t inter fere. He wouldn’t have broken his promise, would he?

  In her heart, though, she knew that, if he’d thought it necessary to save her, to help her, he would have. She suddenly got a very sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  By three that afternoon, Heather still hadn’t found Des. She’d called all his friends, but none of them had heard from him. She was frantic. And she dreaded the coming meeting with DiMona more than ever, for she feared what he might tell her.

  The words Oh, God. Please, God, had become a litany in her mind by the time she arrived at Ellis Park. Parking her car, she jumped out and began to wind her way toward the meeting point, completely oblivious to the beauty surrounding her. Oblivious as well to the tall, dark-haired man who got out of his vehicle a short distance away to follow her.

  She walked all around the fountain when she arrived, but she didn’t see DiMona. Perhaps she was a bit early. Finding a park bench, she sat down to wait.

  To the man observing her, it was obvious that she waited anxiously, for she sat forward on her seat, her spine straight and her shoulders tense. Court frowned. Was something wrong? He wanted to see her expression more clearly, but he dared not move any closer for fear of detection. He shouldn’t even be tailing her himself. That’s what they’d brought Dave in for. But, he needed to. For him, this wasn’t finished yet. It wouldn’t be until he knew she’d be all right.

  A moment later, a man wearing a brown trench coat walked by. He didn’t so much as pause when he walked by her, and yet something about Heather’s reaction to his passing told Court that contact had been made.

  Continuing to lean against a wide light standard that provided partial concealment, he glanced over the newspaper he was ostensibly reading and saw her rise to follow.

  DiMona then. Had to be.

  Cautiously Court trailed after them.

  DiMona stood beneath the drooping branches of a cedar, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Heather moved toward him hating that he never took his eyes off of her as he watched her approach. His gaze made her feel exposed…naked.

  “What have you got for me?” he asked when she stood before him.

  She reached into her pocket, extracting a small sheaf of paper. “I made copies of some calendar notations. Wrote some information about some telephone conversations that I overheard.” She shrugged. “That’s about it. I was going to bring you some copies of files from his notebook computer but…” She trailed off when she saw DiMona’s expression.

  “Everything you’ve given me is next to useless,” he growled in a low tone. “I want to know who Gabriele is, and I want to know within forty-eight hours. You got me?”

  Heather swallowed. “I’m not sure…”

  DiMona pulled something from his pocket and held it before her face. It was a photograph. “Get sure,” he ordered.

  Oh, God. Her worst fears had been realized. DiMona had Des!

  The photo showed Des tied to a chair. He’d been gagged with duct tape, and yet he stared defiantly into the camera, trying so hard to be brave, trying to tell her not to worry. But she, who knew him better than anyone in the world, saw his fear.

  Oh
, God! Heather’s heart began to pound, the blood to rush through her veins. “No—” But even as she voiced the protest, her vision seemed to narrow. Blackness crept in from the edges as the world around her swayed.

  She was vaguely aware that DiMona caught her against his body. She felt him thread his fingers into her hair to cup the nape of her neck. Gasping for breath, desperately seeking stability, she found herself breathing in the scent of his cologne. So normal. Not the way she’d expected him to smell at all.

  “There. There. That was a bit of a shock, wasn’t it?” He chuckled slightly and she heard the rumble in his chest. In that moment she truly felt hatred. Hatred so potent that it rose like bile in her throat to choke her. Hatred strong enough to make her wish that, just this once, she had a gun in her hand. Hatred strong enough that she wanted nothing more in that moment than to see DiMona dead.

  Unable to bear his touch a moment longer, she pushed herself away from him, staying on her feet by sheer force of will. Looking up into his face, for the first time she met his soulless gaze without any fear for herself. “If you hurt him,” she murmured. “I’ll kill you.”

  “Threats don’t scare me, little girl. Forty-eight hours or the kid buys it.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you, too, if you come lookin’ for it.”

  “Bastard!”

  He smiled and winked. Backing away a couple of steps, he aimed his finger at her like a gun, clucked his tongue and pulled an imaginary trigger.

  Chapter 13

  What was she going to do?

  DiMona hadn’t given her the chance to tell him that Court had dismissed her, and it was probably a good thing. If he’d known that, he might have killed Des immediately.

  Des! Oh, God. Please, God.

  She needed help. There was no longer any question of that. But to whom could she turn? None of her own friends would have the slightest idea what to do. Undoubtedly their advice would be to go to the police. But that would take time, more time than she had. And she couldn’t gamble Des’s life on making the police understand her situation enough to help her.

  Des’s friends?

  A few of them were probably better capable of understanding the gravity of the situation, but their willingness to help was by no means assured.

  She sighed, closed her eyes and lowered her head. There was no one. Except…

  Court?

  Was Court Gabriele a cop, as DiMona suspected? If so, if she confided in him, could he help her? She’d gladly spend time in jail if that was what it took to help Des. But…

  What if he wasn’t a cop? Her instincts told her he was a good man, yet could she place enough trust in her intuition to gamble Des’s life on it? To gamble her own life on it?

  What choice did she have?

  Self-pity is not becomin’ to a young lady, Heather girl. Now pull up your socks and face the music. It was her mother’s voice again. Even after so many years, Moira Buchanan was still there for her. In her heart and in her mind, guiding her. And didn’t I promise you it would be so? Now go, girl. Do what needs to be done.

  Lifting her head, Heather looked out at the day through tear-blurred eyes and noticed her wet cheeks for the first time. Scrubbing at her face to dry it, she started the car. “Okay, Mama,” she murmured.

  Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Court berated himself for the hundredth time as he drove home, negotiating the slick streets a little more recklessly than was wise.

  Here he’d been worried about her. Hell, he should have been congratulating her on her performance. He wondered how long she and DiMona had had a thing going.

  Well, at least he’d been able to get over his shock quickly enough to do his job. The evidence, two very telling pictures of DiMona and Heather together, could prove quite useful. He shook his head at how close he’d come to missing the shots all together and berated himself anew.

  The memory of how DiMona had folded Heather against his body, holding her in a lover’s embrace as he threaded his fingers through her hair, replayed again in Court’s mind and he cursed foully beneath his breath. Thank God he’d followed her and learned the truth. Otherwise he might have made the same mistake that Brett had.

  DiMona had used a pretty woman to get to Brett, too. And it had gotten his partner, his friend, killed when she’d betrayed his identity and lured him into a trap. At least Court was still alive.

  So far.

  Damn! He still had difficulty believing it. And he’d seen it with his own eyes. But there was no question about it; his first instinct concerning her had been right.

  Within moments of his arrival home, Court received a phone call from Rachel Fields, his female contact, reminding him of their 7:30 dinner date. The minute he heard her voice, all his senses went on high alert. Something was up! They’d arranged no date. But, they’d given the appearance of having dated casually a few times just to cover this kind of situation.

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said. “I have a few errands to run, so I won’t be home.”

  Pushing all thought of Heather and his own gullibility from his mind, Court had showered, changed, and prepared himself for the date which had been arranged at an exclusive sea-side restaurant. But once behind the wheel of his car, despite everything that he needed to concentrate on, Court found his thoughts returning to Heather. Infuriated by the capricious nature of his own mind, he squealed out of the driveway, focusing on the road ahead with desperate determination. Thus it was that he missed seeing the approach of a familiar Volkswagen Rabbit, and didn’t notice that it fell in behind him.

  “Damn,” Heather murmured as she gripped the wheel with white-knuckled fingers, pushing the little Volkswagen to keep up with Court. “Where are you going?” He was speeding, but somehow she had to keep from losing him. This time she couldn’t afford to. She managed to keep him in sight, following him through twists and turns and lane changes, even going so far as to run a yellow light—something she never would have done if she hadn’t been so desperate—until she followed him to the parking lot of a waterfront restaurant.

  He turned another corner ahead, and she pressed the gas pedal a little harder as she tried to close some of the distance between them, then slowed in order to take the corner in pursuit. “No!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. In just seconds, he’d disappeared. She was so stunned that she braked in the middle of the street only to be honked at by an irate driver who nearly rear-ended her. “Sorry. Sorry,” she muttered absently, still scanning the area for any sign of the BMW. Nothing!

  She sped up, taking the corner ahead just to see if somehow he’d been travelling faster than she’d estimated and had turned again. No such luck. Driving around the block, she began a more thorough search of the driveways and parking lots in the area, finally, finding the BMW in the parking lot of a water-front restaurant on her third try.

  Studying the restaurant, Heather sat biting her lip in indecision. Though the exterior of the place appeared quite rustic, it was obvious that it was a pretty fashionable place. The waiters wore black trousers, snow-white shirts and black bow ties, and the patrons’ clothing seemed to be primarily dressy. Heather looked down at her pleated cream-colored trousers and bronze blouse. She thought she’d pass as dressed for dinner, but it might be best if she simply waited a while. She could speak to Court when he came out.

  She parked her car in a manner that allowed her to watch the entrance, then settled down to wait. Thirty minutes later, Heather reconsidered and decided the idea of waiting in the parking lot was not one of her most inspired. She was drawing too many curious glances. Or so it seemed to her. Besides, this was taking too long. She really needed to speak with Court.

  Getting out of her car, she headed for the double-doored main entrance, entering the lobby behind a crowd of six or eight people arriving for dinner. Since the hostess was busy with them, Heather took the opportunity to look over the dining room in search of Court. It only took her a moment to spot him seated near the window at the back of the restaurant where he and his compa
nion would have a view of the water. Her eyes flicked to his companion, and widened.

  Oh, my! Why hadn’t she considered the possibility that Court would have a date? For some reason, she just hadn’t. Probably because he’d been alone in his car. She’d made the assumption that he would be meeting a business associate, and she’d presumed it would be a man. It could still be a business meeting, she supposed, but…

  As Court reached across the table to squeeze his companion’s hand, Heather was surprised by the spark of jealousy that seared her. No, she decided, it really didn’t look like a business meeting. It was too romantic a setting for that, she thought as she noted the flicker of the candle on their table. A breeze must have whispered in through the open window at their table. For an instant her gaze returned to that open window. An idea began to form in her mind. But, before it could take shape, she was interrupted.

  “Good evening, miss,” the hostess’s cheerful voice drew her attention. “What name is your reservation under?”

  Reservation! She hadn’t even considered that. Aloud, she said, “Buchanan. Heather Buchanan.”

  “And how many are in your party?”

  Heather smiled slightly. “Party of one.”

  “Oh.” The hostess’s brow arched in not-quite-concealed surprise. Then she bent her head to scan the book on the counter before her. When she didn’t find the name, she frowned. “And what time was that for?”

  Heather hesitated, uncomfortable with being dishonest, but desperate enough to try to brazen it out. “Seven-thirty, I believe.”

  “There seems to have been some mistake. I have no reservation under that name.”

  “That’s strange,” Heather murmured as she looked across the dining room again. Court and his blond companion leaned toward each other across the table. Whether he had a date or not, she still needed to speak with Court as soon as possible. The restaurant had a roofed porch that was almost empty, probably due to the cooler weather they’d had that day. “Is there any possibility of fitting me in?” she asked. “Perhaps on the lanai?” If she could sit close enough to the open window near Court’s table, but with her back to him, perhaps she could overhear enough of his conversation to determine just who and what he was, once and for all, without risking discovery.