by Jo Leigh
She put her body between the bed and the flashlight and turned it on. The beam, which was in truth pretty dim, seemed like a klieg light in the darkened room, and it took what felt like forever for her eyes to adjust.
Once they had, she went through the papers in the center of the briefcase. Some were simple correspondence about the hotel, but others had to do with surveillance or the weapons shows. Anything from or to a foreigner went into the copy stack, which she ordered meticulously so that when she put everything back, it would be in the same order as when she’d opened the case.
She kept checking on Todd. He didn’t stir, but every second that passed made her more sure that the plan was pure idiocy and that he was too smart to leave anything incriminating in his unlocked briefcase.
She kept on looking, however, because it was all she could do. Finally she reached the bottom of the stack of papers. There was nothing in the upper compartment, but there was a notebook, which she took with her when she slipped out of the bedroom. His office was right next door, and there were no cameras here, either.
The copy machine was on, and loaded with paper. She’d made sure of that this morning when she’d done the bit with the flashlight.
With no concern about neatness, she copied page after page, constantly checking the door, trying to listen above the sound of the machine.
She was shivering now, even though she knew the temperature wasn’t the cause. Fear made it hard to breathe, which wasn’t helped by her fevered imagination about what Todd would do if he should wake and find her.
When she’d pulled the last piece of paper from the copy machine, she dashed into the bathroom and pulled out her makeup bag. The thick stack barely fit in the tight space, especially with her nervous fingers fumbling so.
After putting the bag under the sink, she retraced her steps, gathered the original documents and opened the bedroom door slowly, peeking in to see if this was going to be her last few minutes of life.
Todd slept on. He’d barely moved an inch and she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She just had to put the stuff back, that was all. A few more minutes and she’d be done.
Her eyes had adjusted well enough that she didn’t need to use the flashlight any longer. She turned it off and retaped it to the bottom of the desk. Then she started putting all the papers back, careful to be neat, precise.
She could go to her room as soon as she finished. She opened the flap to slip the notebook back, her heart in her throat. This was crazy, completely nuts. The risk so huge. If he found her out, she’d be dead before sunup. And then what? Patrick would have no one. Just a nanny, but a nanny wasn’t a mommy. Mrs. Norris couldn’t stand up to Todd. No one could. Patrick would grow up in the shadow of a tyrant. Her sweet baby…what would happen to him? It didn’t bear thinking about.
This had to work. They could hide. They’d go somewhere cold. Somewhere with lots of trees and water, far away from anyone who would hurt them. Patrick would be safe. And she would never let anyone humiliate her again.
She closed the briefcase. It looked just as it had before she’d opened it. Now, to get the hell—
“What are you doing?”
Jenny spun around, her hands flying to her chest as her heart nearly burst. Standing in the dim room right in front of the bed, Todd gripped the four-poster as he stared at her through narrowed eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You had my briefcase.”
“I bumped it. I’m sorry. I was just putting it back.”
“What were you doing over there?”
“I was coming back from the bathroom.”
“Why over there?”
She shook her head, certain he could see her lie, feel her guilt. Every part of her trembled so hard she could hardly keep her balance. “I don’t know. I was half-asleep.”
He stared at her as she counted the seconds at the end of her life. Patrick. Her most precious gift. Nick. Her greatest regret. She wasn’t ready. There were still so many things to be done—
Todd swayed slowly, as if he were on a boat in a roll ing sea, and she exhaled with wonder. He was still drunk. Drunk enough that she might live through this. If she played it right.
NICK WOKE in the hell of a headache. His mouth tasted like used cotton, daylight cutting into his eyes with the pain of a laser. Unfortunately he remembered exactly how he’d gotten this way.
He’d been a jerk with Sweet, which was stupid on too many levels to contemplate. And he hadn’t killed Todd.
Great. And he was the man standing between the world’s safety and C. Randall Todd? Maybe they should all rethink that. He could always find employment in the fast-food industry or perhaps in the janitorial field.
His moan, while expressive, made his head hurt worse, so he shut the hell up as he staggered to the bathroom. After the immediate concerns were taken care of, he faced himself in the mirror and saw the livid bruise on his chin where Sweet’s fist had connected.
Touching it, even gingerly with one finger, was not wise, he discovered, so he picked up a toothbrush and toothpaste. Ten minutes and three separate rinses later, he still tasted cotton and aged booze. Abandoning the mint and fluoride, he went instead for coffee, the universal panacea.
There was enough stale coffee in his little pot that he could nuke it. It would taste like hell, but it would take him downstairs to the real coffee in the employee dining room.
He had to get past this headache so he could check on Jenny. Who knows what that bastard had done to her.
“I TELL YOU, Todd, I don’t trust him.”
Todd leaned back in his chair and stared out across the Las Vegas Valley. The smog was bad, obscuring the view of the foothills. He could see the whole Strip from this seat, watch his fortunes rise as each plane carrying tourist dollars sailed past to land at McCarran. Who said this wasn’t a great country? A man from such humble roots as his own could grow up to be richer than his father could have dreamed. His father. A weak man who’d done very few things right in his life. One was to have himself heavily insured. The other was to have been killed in a car crash while on a business trip. Double indemnity. That cash had started Todd on his own road and, whenever he thought of it, he liked to tip his hat to his old man for having the sense to die well.
He thought about Potereiko and his cargo, somewhere in the Atlantic ocean, heading toward California. This deal, this simple transaction, would change everything. He thought about telling Sweet, but no, even Sweet who had proved his loyalty time and again couldn’t be trusted with this tidbit. No one knew. Not Potereiko, not the Iraqi buyer, not the Pakistani buyer. No one understood the real beauty of Todd’s plan.
The ultimate outcome would be a marvel to behold. The bomb would be sold. Twice. He would end up with well over a billion dollars, safely ensconced in several offshore banks. No one would die, except of course for those most intimately involved.
Then he would turn the bomb over to the authorities, which would make him a hero. Him. He’d save the country. They’d owe him.
“Why, Henry?” Todd spun in a lazy arc to face Sweet.
“Why don’t you trust him?”
“Because he doesn’t respect you.”
Todd smiled. He felt more honest affection for the hulking man standing by his Renoir than anyone else in his life, with the possible exception of his son. Surely in time, when Patrick had proven his loyalty, he’d out-shine Sweet considerably. Regardless, Sweet was a good man. A man who knew his place.
But so did Nick. They were opposites, Nick and Sweet, and that was the way he wanted it. Where Sweet was like a bloodhound, Nick was like a fox. They served in contrasting but equally important ways. “It’s good that you watch Nick, Henry. But he’s still useful to me. Remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were right to call me about Jenny. I’ve taken care of that situation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need you to pick up a man
from the airport today, Henry. His name is Tariq Mahmood Ahmad. Don’t worry. He speaks excellent English. You’ll bring him here. Take him to the Ambassador Suite, and make sure he’s comfortable. He’ll want to see me, but you’ll tell him I won’t be available until tomorrow. And make sure, before you go to the airport, that you personally double-check the phone taps in his room.”
Sweet nodded. Todd knew he would ask no more questions, except for the time of the Pakistani’s arrival. This was a job particularly suited to Sweet. Nick would have asked a great many questions. No, Nick was where he needed to be. His players were all in position.
His only quarrel this morning was with himself. He’d gotten drunk last night, and that was something he couldn’t afford to do again. Not until he opened a chilled bottle of French champagne the night his plan came to fruition. A billion tax-free dollars and the thanks of a grateful nation. Quite a legacy to leave his son.
JENNY STUDIED her dresses, unsure what she could wear that would appease Todd. Getting him drunk had worked as far as gaining access to his papers, but he’d been petulant, angry at her instead of himself.
That she’d lived through this morning still shocked her. If Todd had been even a bit more coherent, he’d have seen through her lies. And then? Patrick would have been trapped forever. Alone.
She pulled a dress off the hanger and held it against her body. It was long, powder-blue and covered her back completely. It had a faux turtleneck collar, but the arms were cut out and the way it hugged her body left nothing to the imagination. In fact, her nipples stuck out even if she wasn’t cold. God, how could anyone think it was attractive?
She put it back and continued to look, hoping to find something that wouldn’t make her cringe.
The thing was, if she was going to continue to put together a case against Todd, she had to think about the consequences if she should fail. Her problems would be over, but what about Patrick?
Maybe she should tell Nick the truth. If he knew Patrick was his, he wouldn’t let him stay with Todd. Would he?
No. He might have changed, but surely he could still see that Todd was insane. Besides, the fact that it was Todd would be a secondary issue. Nick wouldn’t abandon his own flesh and blood.
Or maybe that was her own wishful thinking. He confused her so much, it was painful to think about him. One minute she believed he was somehow her ally, the next, her enemy. If she told him about Patrick and he was committed to Todd, what then? He might not do anything to rock the boat. Maybe he’d think his son was lucky to have the money and power of Todd behind him. There were simply too many unknowns for her to leave anything to chance. She’d have to stick to her plan, not counting on anyone. However, she’d have to think the fail-safe plan through very carefully. Not do anything rash.
She crossed the closet, wondering if the maids had left the blouse she’d worn on the plane. Jenny thought of her life in Milford, working at the diner. There hadn’t been any challenge, except to keep her story from the well-meaning busybodies of the small town, but she’d found a certain grace in doing the simple work to the best of her ability. She had taken comfort in the slow pace of life there, in the town rituals such as the Sunday church supper, the once-a-month bake sale, the football games that the high-school team inevitably lost. She’d created a cocoon for herself and Patrick, and she’d mistakenly thought she could stay there for the rest of her life, or until Todd died, whichever had come first.
But what had really kept her alive, kept her spirit from diminishing beyond hope, were her dreams of Nick. Her fantasies fueled her nights and her days, as she’d spun out one happy ending after another. Her favorite had been a plane crash where only Todd had died. Nick, free from the bonds that had held him to the despot, had searched and searched until one day she’d see him walking into the Hong Kong diner. He’d be tired but when he caught sight of her for the first time, his whole face would light up.
They’d run into each other’s arms and, for a long time, they’d say nothing. Just hold each other tight, breathe in the closeness, revel in the love that had swelled and deepened with each passing day.
She’d take him to pick up Patrick and he’d know, that first instant, that it was his son he was seeing. He’d feel a bond as strong as destiny and he’d tell her he’d never leave them again. They’d be a family, the three of them, forever.
She had to laugh at her naiveté, or else she’d weep and never stop. Todd certainly wasn’t dead, and even if that had been true, Nick wouldn’t have come searching for her. Clearly he’d hardly thought of her at all during the nearly three years they’d been apart. As for the bond with Patrick?
He liked the boy. But who wouldn’t? Patrick was an amazing kid who could charm the birds from the trees. But the hoped-for connection between them was nothing more than wishing on a star.
Ah, the blouse. Washed, ironed. Someone, unknowing, had preserved this tiny bit of her old self. Ironic how she longed for a life she’d so bitterly resented. Now it seemed a paradise.
Money. It was the cause of it all. She’d never considered herself money hungry. She hadn’t dreamed of it, except in the usual sense. But she’d been seduced as if she’d grown up without a penny. It wasn’t the baubles or even the cachet that had got her. It was the beauty.
In the beginning, Todd’d bought her nice things, gorgeous things. Not the gaudy crap he’d forced her to wear. There’d been this one necklace, just a simple tear-drop diamond with a platinum chain, and it had been exquisite.
And then there was that time he’d found her reading about Michelangelo and the following week he’d taken her to Florence, Italy. They’d lunched at Pandemonia and she’d spent a whole afternoon in the stunning presence of David.
She’d been bought, that’s all. Just like the call girls in the casino. Only she’d charged more. Now there’s something to be proud of.
The blouse felt like an old friend. She knew she wouldn’t be able to wear it for a long time, but the next few hours would feel like a luxury. Clothed, covered, her shame hidden. It was the best she could hope for.
Instead of jeans she pulled out a pair of shorts, white, also, that weren’t too tiny or too tight. And none of those awful shoes with suicide heels, either. Bare feet. Yeah.
She wiggled her toes in the carpet, looked at her reflection in the mirror, and for once didn’t feel like wincing.
A long time ago she’d been a normal girl. Maybe she could be a normal woman, someday. It didn’t matter if she had a different name. An address she couldn’t imagine. Freedom existed and she was going to find it again for herself and her son.
It was early still, and she had an hour or so to go before she could see Patrick. Coffee would be nice. She could read. Definitely take some aspirin for the tension in her back and shoulders. Try not to worry. As if that was a possibility.
She turned out the light and reached for the door, but it swung open, sending her heart into her throat. Jumping back, she held back a gasp when Nick, not Todd, stepped just inside.
His finger went to his lips, but it was the look in his eyes that quieted her much more effectively.
She didn’t even dare ask what was wrong. She just tried to remember how to breathe as she waited for him to tell her what was going on.
“Go back in. Change into something else. Take your time.”
He’d whispered so quietly she’d had to strain to hear, but she didn’t hesitate after she’d understood. She just went back to the center of the closet, next to the low velvet chair, and unbuttoned her blouse, one slow button at a time.
She couldn’t tell exactly what Nick was doing, because she only saw him in her peripheral vision. He’d slunk against the wall, taken something from his jacket pocket. Then he’d turned his back, working feverishly at something behind the hanging rod.
Once her blouse was off, she reluctantly hung it back up, then got another shirt, this one with no sleeves and a size smaller, and slipped it on, again, taking her time with the buttons. By t
he time she had finished, so had Nick. He stood, breathing hard, staring at her from the side of the closet.
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice still low, but not that bare whisper.
“What did you do?”
“I fixed the camera,” he said. “We’re safe in here now.”
“What about the microphones?”
“Already taken care of. But don’t do any shouting.”
“The whole closet is safe?”
He nodded. “The whole closet.”
“Unless Sweet decides to pay a visit.”
“Ah, but I’ve thought of that, too. If anyone comes into the suite, my pocket will vibrate. I’ve set up a motion detector and it will set off the alarm on my pager.”
“Wow. Handy gadget.”
“Yeah. I lent it to one of the women upstairs. She kept calling for room service.”
Jenny laughed. But her laughter stilled as Nick moved in closer.
What she saw in his gaze wasn’t the least bit humorous.
Chapter Ten
Her laughter faded as Nick moved closer. Then there wasn’t anything to hear but breathing. She’d been on his mind all morning, even when he’d met with Owen.
His boss had told him that they had identified a Pakistani radical coming in to the Henderson airport, on Todd’s private plane. They wanted to pick him up, which would be a huge mistake. Nick did agree that more surveillance on all of Todd’s properties was a wise move, but to mess with what he had going could blow everything sky-high, in the most literal sense. But Owen had also had the equipment Nick had asked for, so their meeting wasn’t all frustration.
He’d finished with Owen, come back to the hotel and, after a quick shower, had come right down, his thoughts a constant stream of conflicting emergencies. Todd. Sweet. The Pakistani. Bombs. Jenny, Jenny, Jenny.
