by Jan Coffey
The sound of drawers opening and closing came from the bedroom. The black dress sailed through the air and landed on the foot of the bed. Nate turned around and faced the bookcase again as his body responded to the sight with a healthy natural reaction that he didn’t want to deal with right now.
“Do you know him?”
“No. Never heard of him. But the place has changed and grown a lot since I left.”
He found himself staring at the picture of Ellie with Ted again.
He didn’t hear her behind him. “That’s Ted’s sister Léa and her husband, Mick, in the picture with us. And that gorgeous blonde is Heather, Mick’s daughter from his first marriage. She’s turning out to be a real knockout.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
She grabbed a picture of a tiny infant being held by Ted from the shelf above it. “This is Troy. He’s Léa and Mick’s son. Born this past March. The cutest little thing.”
“I read the files on Ted,” Nate admitted quietly. He’d liked Ted from the moment they’d been introduced, though he seemed familiar. Curiosity—and caution—had made him run a quick check through his guys in New York. They’d faxed Nate the files on Ted’s arrest, conviction and ultimate exoneration for the murder of his wife and daughters. “He’s had a tough road.”
Ellie ran her finger gently over the glass. “I met Léa a few years back, when she was living in Philly and taking care of her aunt during the day and going to school at nights. We took a couple of classes together. I met Ted and his wife and daughters through her. It was a shocker when they arrested him.”
“Ted’s refusal to say anything in his own defense didn’t help things.”
“That was his way of dealing with his grief. It was a good thing that Léa was such a fighter.”
“It seems like he’s come a long way.”
“He has. His life is slowly improving now.” She put the frame back on the shelf. “Mick and Léa and their family live right in Bucks County, an hour north of here. Ted is back to work and has gotten himself involved in dozens of projects for children. I think as long as he doesn’t have any free time to think back and brood over things, he’ll be okay.”
Nate scanned the shelves and found the picture he was looking for. He pointed to the photo of Lou and the young woman on the beach. “Your mother?”
Ellie nodded. “I don’t remember her at all. She left when I was still a toddler.”
“You’ve never heard anything from her?”
She shook her head and started toward the kitchen. “I think the coffee is ready.”
Nate watched her go. Ellie had never known her mother, and almost never talked to her father now. She had no siblings. No aunts or uncles or cousins, as far as he knew. He glanced over the shelves of pictures again. But she cherished other people’s family moments.
He followed her into the kitchen. She stood, pouring two mugs, with her back to him. She had changed into an old, thin T-shirt that ended at her midriff and a pair of old sweats. The band of ivory skin at the waist was sexy as hell.
“You know, I just realized that I don’t know what you take in your coffee.”
“Nothing. Just the way you made it.”
“That’s good.” She turned and handed him the mug. “Because I don’t trust the stuff I’ve got in my fridge.”
He took the mug, and his gaze wandered over her. He could tell she was wearing no bra beneath the T-shirt, and he admired her long, delicate neck. She had a beautiful chin, and he stared at her mouth for a couple of seconds before looking into her dark eyes. He took a sip.
“Good coffee.”
“You should be outlawed.”
“Me?”
Ellie put her cup on the counter and planted a hand at her hip. “Yes, you and your bad-boy attitude. You and your eyes, you and your ‘I want to tear your clothes off’ expression, you and your ‘let’s think hot, sweaty, maybe noisy—”’
Nate kissed her hard, and this time there were no sparks. This time it was full-fledged fireworks. His coffee somehow made it to the counter, spilling over, but neither of them noticed. Her fingers threaded into his hair. She rose up on tiptoes while Nate tasted and explored her mouth. She was soft, delicious, hot, and he couldn’t get enough of her. His hand moved beneath the shirt on her back. She was as soft as silk. They turned and he lifted her up, sitting her on the counter. He stepped between her legs, and she wrapped herself around him, deepening the kiss.
Nate’s hands were all over her. He touched her back, her neck, her throat, her breasts. They were absolutely perfect. She moaned softly, and her body leaned into the touch. He tore his mouth away and kissed her throat. He pulled up the T-shirt, and his lips closed on Ellie’s nipple.
She whispered his name, cradling his head for a few seconds before dragging Nate’s mouth up to hers.
“This is what I meant.” She pressed her forehead against his. Both of them were breathing heavily. “You’re too hot—too much for my system to handle.”
He gathered her closer in his arms. “You are so beautiful. You just know how to drive me crazy. I want to make love to you, Ellie.”
“We can’t. You and I…no.”
“Why?”
“Because…” She closed her eyes and let out a frustrated breath. “Because I just know making love to you would be…shattering for me.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t think I could walk away from something like that so easily.”
“Maybe neither of us can. But that’s part of life, isn’t it? Experiencing what it offers. Taking risks.”
She shook her head. “I’ve lost too many pieces of my heart along the way. I don’t think I can handle this risk. At least, not right now.” She placed feather-light kisses on his face. “Please understand.”
“Coward,” he growled into her ear, holding her so close that their hearts seemed to beat as one. Nate wanted her. His body ached whenever he was in the same room with her. But he understood what she was telling him. Still, he knew that if they had met under other circumstances, things would be much different. “Maybe we could spend some time together after we’re done with this assignment?”
Ellie’s doubts still lingered in her eyes when she looked into his face. “You’d want to do that?”
“I want the chance to change your mind.”
“Stubborn, aren’t you?” She smiled, her fingers playing with his hair.
“Dogged.”
Nate kissed her again, but this time did his best to keep it light. He helped her down from the counter and immediately saw the spilled coffee. He went to the sink for a sponge and paper towel to clean the mess.
“By the way, what’s the dress code for tomorrow night?”
She moved the mugs out of his way. “Ray likes to dress up. Most of his parties are flashy, but black-tie. Do you think you can handle it?”
“You haven’t seen nothing of what I can handle, sweetheart.”
From his private study, Graham Hunt knew the moment when the car cleared the estate’s front gate. His security system was the best money could buy.
The single visitor, arriving in an unremarkable car that was chauffeured by Graham Hunt’s personal driver, was driven around the hillside mansion to the rear entrance. There, Hunt’s personal assistant escorted him to an elevator that took him two levels down to the private study. No one else in the household had seen the man come. No one would see him go. This was the way Hunt conducted business. Here, deep within the earth, the air was cool, the walls were thick, and the affairs remained private.
“I had to make personal guarantees of the success of this program today. I’m talking about six different discussions with six different investors. There will be at least that many phone calls tomorrow, too, and over the weekend. They’re rightly concerned about the money we’re spending. I’m talking about bucks we need to dole out to keep the press coverage positive, never mind the advertising slots we’ve already paid for. Our new campaign is
ready to air, despite the White House’s clay feet. We have got to proceed on schedule.” Hunt stopped pacing across the antique Persian carpet and stood over his visitor. “Are all your plans on schedule?”
The visitor nodded. “They are, sir.”
“Any complications?”
“None that we can’t handle.”
“That’s what you say.” Hunt walked to his desk. “I’m not happy that the kid just walked away like that.”
“He didn’t see anything.”
“But I was told that he did,” Hunt barked.
“I believe you’ve been misinformed, sir. But if he did see something, he isn’t talking. Though he’s only eight years old, the boy is street-smart. A kid like that—”
“Are you listening to yourself? This kid is eight years old. Eight years old.” Hunt’s voice dropped low. “Tell me something. Do you think I’m willing to put everything in the shitter for an eight-year-old?”
“We’re watching the kid. At the same time, he’s being watched practically around the clock by those nuns and Murtaugh.”
“You listen to me. If we need to, we’re going to assassinate the President of the United States to make this deal go through. I’m not going to risk billions on a scrawny punk.” Hunt sat down and glared across his desk. “Take care of him. And make it look like an accident.”
Eighteen
Friday, June 25
The dry eighty-degree temperature was a rarity for Philadelphia in June, and it was only nine in the morning. Ellie, still in her pajamas, sat cross-legged on the cushion of a cast-iron lounge chair on her rooftop balcony. A notepad was balanced on her lap, and she almost dropped the handset when she leaned down to put her empty glass of iced coffee next to the chair.
“What’s that? Yes, I’ll have the package overnighted to you with a Saturday delivery. Yes, Mr. Teas-dale, I already wrote the address down,” Ellie said reassuringly. “Back door. They already know to leave it by the back door, but I’ll make a special note, as well.” She paused. “Monday morning at eleven. Got it. We’ll be there.”
She looked down at her notes with the phone dangling from one ear as Hank Teasdale started summarizing for the third time everything they’d agreed upon. The price, the artwork, the importance of having the specs in his hands tomorrow. He reiterated the time of their meeting on Monday again, too. He was planning to have some relevant samples to show them.
Delivery of the actual duplicate was to be by next Friday—only two days before the ceremony. They were cutting it close, but she’d already dickered about the time frame, getting him to cut it down from ten days to a week. He couldn’t or wouldn’t do any better than that.
Hank Teasdale obviously liked to dot every i and cross every t. This suited Ellie fine. John Dubin had also praised the older man’s almost obsessive perfectionism.
“So we’re clear on everything, Ms. Littlefield?”
“Yes, we are. So if you’d like to give me an account number, we could arrange a wire transfer for half the amount today.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hank replied. “I’m from the old school. Before I take anything from your client, I want him to see what I’m capable of.”
Ellie wasn’t going to complain. This was the same way Lou used to do business. Sometimes he got paid, sometimes he didn’t, but he wouldn’t do it any other way.
If for nothing else but for the conversation, she suspected, Hank began summarizing everything once more. Ellie stood up and stretched her back. She lifted her face to the sun, knowing this was perhaps the only time today she would get outside. Vic had been doing the lion’s share of the work around the shop this week, but doing paperwork was not his forte.
And it wasn’t only this week’s sales and orders and shipping records that she needed to catch up on. There was also the pile of donations for the Children’s Hospital auction next week that she had to appraise and number. She didn’t even want to think of the thank-you letters and charitable-deduction vouchers she had to send.
Finally, Teasdale appeared satisfied, said goodbye and hung up. Ellie immediately dialed Nate’s cell phone number. After a few seconds’ delay, she heard the faint sound of ringing from inside.
“What the heck?” She’d been using her home phone. Her cell was off and charging in the bedroom. She opened the screen door and marched in. Nate was standing in the middle of her living room.
“Do you want me to answer that?” he asked, an overnight hanging bag in one hand, his phone in the other.
Polo shirt and khakis. Ellie had to admit he looked great in the morning. And at night. And in jeans. And shorts. Even in his G-man suits. She was definitely losing it, she thought.
“Who let you in?”
“I have a carefully placed mole in your operation.”
Vic was always in early, drat him. “What are you doing here? And what’s all that?”
“My tux and a change of clothes. Where should I put them?” Without waiting, he headed for her bedroom.
“Why did you bring them here?”
“I had to loan somebody’s shop assistant the Harley tonight. I thought I’d change here after I bring Vic the bike. You can drive us to the dinner.”
“So you don’t think a tux and a Harley go together?” She tied the belt of her robe tightly in front and leaned against the doorjamb, watching him hang his bag on the molding above her bathroom door. “You had me sitting on the back of that bike with barely a dress on last night. Remember?”
“Sure do. And I had a rough night sleeping because of it.” He glanced at her bed. The sheets and blankets were a tangle, and half of them were on the floor. The pillows were scattered everywhere. It looked like a tornado had touched down in it. “And how did you sleep?”
“Like a rock.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“I’m just an energetic sleeper. I move around a lot.” Ellie backed out of the room quickly.
He followed her. “Well, if you ever need someone to hold you down…”
“Thanks, but no.” Ellie found the pad of paper she’d stuffed in her robe pocket with all the information Teasdale had given her. She tore off the top sheet and handed him the paper, escaping behind the kitchen counter. While making fresh coffee, she told him about their entire conversation. “Can you get the information he needs to him by tomorrow?”
Nate nodded, serious now. “Of course. Wilcox sent me everything right before we were to meet with Atwood.”
“How about Hawes? Do you have to get approval for using this guy?”
“No. Can I keep this?”
“That’s yours. Just remember the address for Monday morning.”
“Why couldn’t he see us sooner?”
She took two clean mugs out of the cabinet. “He doesn’t take cold calls. And in this case, even though he was told most of the specifics by John and me, he says he needs a couple of days to play with it.”
“What’s your confidence level that he can do the job?”
Ellie was gratified that he thought enough of her opinion to ask. “Based on a few calls I made this morning, Hank Teasdale is a master at what he does—but at the same time, he’s known to be pretty finicky. He turns away many of the referrals he gets.” She filled up the cups. “But he sounded excited about getting the package and meeting us. How do you like that for an evasive answer?”
“Better than most of the politicians I know.” Nate picked up the cup she slid in front of him.
“I think he can do the job.”
“Good enough for me. Who knows that we’re going to see Teasdale?”
“With the exception of John Dubin, who found him for us, I guess no one.”
“How about the other people you called this morning?” He sat on a stool. She saw him rub his left knee.
“That thing is really bothering you, isn’t it?”
He followed the direction of her gaze and immediately withdrew his hand. “It’s nothing.”
“What happened to yo
ur knee?”
“You were telling me about the other people you called.”
Ellie was curious and concerned for him, but she also understood his desire for privacy.
“I talked to Ray. But I just asked some general questions about Hank’s reputation. I never mentioned anything about the flag or that we were going up to see him. I talked to Sister Helen, too, but that was before I’d spoken to Hank, so I had no idea when and where or if we were going to see him.” She cupped the mug with both hands. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just want to play it safe. Let’s keep this one to ourselves.”
Ellie saw the lines of concentration on his brow. He made a couple of notes on the paper with Teasdale’s address on it. “Does this have something to do with the explosion that killed Theo Atwood?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“We’re taking a pretty unorthodox approach, having a duplicate made. I just want to keep it quiet.”
She sipped her coffee and came around the counter. “Mum’s the word.”
“I have a few things to check on this morning. What time were you planning to leave for Claiborne’s party?”
“Six o’clock. You should plan to get here about five fifty-five. That should give you plenty of time to get ready.”
No guides. No sticky strips. She had very steady hands.
“I like the square look better than the rounded one, don’t you?” Cheri asked loudly. She finished the last nail by painting a straight line across the tip.
She could hear drawers being yanked out and dumped upstairs. She held out her hands, waiting for her nails to dry. A closet door squeaked open and slammed shut a moment later.
“I hope you appreciate how much money I’m saving you by doing my own French manicure.” She chose a bottle of translucent shell-pink polish from her collection and shook it. At the top of the stairs, the bathroom door practically came off its hinges from the force of being pulled open. “Becky said she tried this Chinese nail place last week. You know, one of those places in the strip malls where you don’t need appointments. You just walk in. It cost her only forty bucks, and they actually did a great job. But the joint was in Alexandria, and there’s no way I’m driving all the way down there twice a week to touch up my nails.”
