The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  While Grace flashed him a knowing look and David adjusted himself in his chair, the phone on the table vibrated with a hard buzz against the glass tabletop. They all looked at it for a moment, taken by surprise.

  “Oh no, David, what do we do? Dan’s not here yet!” Grace’s voice had that charming telltale squeak. David put up his hands in calming gesture for both of them. The phone buzzed again and she leaned forward to look at the number on the face.

  “Tell me the number Grace. I’ll remember it,” he said. She did. Then David nodded his head at Rick and moved to stand next to him, where he placed the phone, with a steady hand, to the man’s ear. They couldn’t take a chance with putting it on speaker.

  “Rick Racer.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” the loud, scratchy male voice from the other end said. “I’m sure you’ll recognize your wife—no, almost-wife’s voice.” After some brief crackling, Theresa’s distinct voice sounded as promised.

  “Rick! Rick! I—” She was cut off.

  “Meet me at midnight at the Blueline T-stop entrance in Government Center, and I don’t have to tell you—no cops—and that includes that bum masquerading as a fancy-pants Brit from Scotland Yard. You show up alone or all bets are off—and bring the vase—with all its contents. You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not doing the exchange. The Brit is doing it. I’m being watched like a hawk. The police are escorting me everywhere,” Rick said. “I’m the goddamned lieutenant governor, you freaking moron,” he added with gritted teeth. David was impressed and nodded his approval.

  “What the fuck! Who’s calling the shots here? You want to see this chick again?”

  “You’ll get your artifacts. David Young does the exchange.” With David’s prompt, Rick added, “No one’s worried about following him. He’s here unofficially.” Rick’s voice sounded firmer, steadier now. David figured the fib was necessary and knew they’d have no way of checking on it. There was a pause at the other end and voices in the background.

  “Okay. We’ll do it your way. But we’ll be watching you and the Brit and if anything doesn’t look right, we’re offing the chick and leaving town. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I want to talk—” Rick started to say.

  “And one more thing. Have the Brit bring Grace Rogers with him.” The line went dead.

  Chapter 18

  RICK threw the phone down and covered his eyes with one hand. With the other he downed the rest of the brandy.

  David glanced at Grace. Her face had paled, her eyes were wide and her lips slightly parted as if she would say something if she knew what to say. She was taking the kidnapper’s demand quite well, considering. He gave her a reassuring nod.

  “Well done, Rick. You handled the conversation brilliantly. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to carry it off under the circumstances,” David said. He put a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “But I have a plan and I intend to have Theresa back before it comes time for the exchange.”

  Rick looked up at him with hope in his reddened eyes.

  “Can I help?” Grace said. They both looked at her. She was perched on the edge of her seat. Her miniature purse was squashed between her fingers beyond recognition, and she had that pleading and hopeful look on her face with a dash of anxiety thrown in. She looked adorable even now, David thought fleetingly.

  “Ordinarily the answer would be an unqualified no. But I’m not leaving you behind. I’m keeping you by my side for the duration.” Especially after that request for her presence at the exchange, he thought. “I don’t want you to be alarmed…”

  “I won’t be alarmed as long as I’m at your side, David.”

  “Good. However, we have to assume that they’ll be watching us as promised, so we’ll have to disguise ourselves before we leave the hotel. On the bright side, unless they have someone outside our room door, being at the hotel with people coming and going gives us a distinct advantage.”

  “Disguises! Where are we going?” Before David could answer, she frowned. “Wait a minute—where are we going to get disguises?”

  “I was hoping you’d call that friend with the boutique,” David said.

  Her face lit up.

  “What’s your plan?” Rick asked with a tinge of impatience. David watched the man pour himself another healthy dose of brandy. He decided they could let Rick get himself good and intoxicated if he wanted. His job was pretty much done.

  “I’m—Grace and I, rather—are going back to the Newbury Street gallery to see if we can find some information in their files to narrow down the list of warehouse locations that Oscar gave me. I’m betting they’re holding Theresa in one of them. If we compare Oscar’s list to information from the gallery files—any indication of a hot location—we may be able to pin down the most likely place they’re holding her.”

  “I’ll call my boutique friend now. But, David? Are you dressing as a woman?” Grace said.

  Rick spit out the mouth of brandy he’d just taken.

  David spun toward her, open-mouthed and momentarily at a loss for words. He took a full two seconds to regain himself and think what to say.

  “I see your point, Grace. But I was actually hoping your friend could find something for me from a friendly neighboring men’s shop. And I would also like her to provide eyeglasses, a gray wig and an assortment of makeup. The type of clothing I have in mind would be something an old man might wear and very loose-fitting so we can pad them for the look of a heavyset, older gentleman. I suggest you be outfitted for a similarly heavyset, older-woman look.”

  “This should be fun,” she said with cheek. “I am thrilled that I can help really.” Grace beamed at Rick. She gave the impression of bouncing with enthusiasm although she remained in place. Rick smiled back, raised his refilled glass to her, and then took a large swallow without a word.

  “Do you think your friend can help us or will we have to find someone else?” David asked Grace. “I can’t call Dan on this—he might object to the plan.”

  “I feel like your partner for real, David. You have no idea how special that is to me. I’ll call Pixie to help. The boutique isn’t the place to go for old-people clothes, if you know what I mean. Pixie will put everything together for us.” Grace’s voice was confident as she rummaged through her purse for her phone.

  “Before you call Pixie, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. She was with you when you discovered the body. Her name is in the police reports,” he said. He didn’t know how to break it to her gently, so he told her straight. “The bad guys might know who she is. In fact, she should probably be under police surveillance herself, now that there’s been a kidnapping and the promise to watch us.” David watched Grace turn white. He concentrated for a way to alleviate her concern.

  “Wait—I have an idea,” he said. “We’ll have Pixie disguise herself first—change her hair color, dress sedately—nothing too elaborate. Then she can shop for us, and once she delivers the clothing here, she can stay at the hotel. There’ll be plenty of police to keep watch.” He saw the transformation from panic to relief color Grace’s face and was satisfied.

  He looked at his watch. They had to hurry. The event would end soon, and Dan and company would be descending on them. They had to be out of the suite before then or Dan might stop him.

  “Call Sophia now and tell her she has one hour. I’m going to call the front desk and get us another room under Mr. and Mrs. Jones. She should deliver the clothes there before coming up to the suite.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t want Dan to stop us from leaving. He might rather have his people check out the gallery. If the bad guys are watching, they’ll know and we might lose our element of surprise when we go in to rescue Theresa.” He darted his eyes to Rick to see how he reacted.

  “I won’t tell Dan a thing. Go for it,” Rick said.

  Grace put her hand to her chest because she could feel her heart beating hard and fast. She was excited, all right, but not just because she
found herself in the middle of a kidnap rescue. It was because she was doing more than watching, she was going along for the ride and even helping. She was, for once, not the damsel in distress. She thought of poor Theresa.

  David checked the hall. The coast was clear, so they took the stairs to the second room they’d arranged, where the bellman met them with their key. David slipped him a ridiculously large tip.

  “That generous tip must be covering something extra, right?” she said as they closed the door behind them to wait for Pixie to arrive with their disguises. David examined the pillows, squishing them and rolling them up.

  “I’ve asked him to keep quiet about this extra room, especially when the police arrive. Even though we’re registered as Mr. and Mrs. Jones and I paid cash, he knows who we are and I don’t want him letting the chief of police know. Since he could get in trouble for his trouble, I figured he deserved something extra.”

  “What’s with the pillows?” she asked as he finally put them down. He turned to her and smiled.

  “Part of our disguise.” He picked up a small one and tossed it to her. “Try that on for size.”

  She looked down at herself and realized she didn’t have even a wrinkle of room to put a cotton ball’s worth of stuffing, let alone a pillow, and looked back up at him while he chuckled in amusement. The deep vibration sent a zing flying through her insides, which left her hot and tingly. She stepped closer.

  “I think you like the fact that my dress is already stuffed to the brim,” she said. That made him stop chuckling, but the smile stayed and his look took on a sensual, serious gravity that pulled her in further so that they almost touched.

  “Too much, as you well know. I’m afraid you’ve become like kryptonite to me, Grace.” His voice vibrated with a steely, almost threateningly primal edge. Goose bumps rose on her skin in instant response.

  Her phone buzzed, and she almost didn’t recognize the sound for what it was.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it? It could be important.” He still had that dreamy voice and half-lidded, not-so-idle threatening look. She shivered, licked her lips and tore herself from his circle, taking a step back.

  Looking around for where she’d dropped her purse, she spotted it and ran over to catch the phone before whoever it was gave up on her. It was, of course, Pixie.

  “Where are you? I think I’ve got everything,” Pixie said. “You never saw me sprint through the department store bargain basement so fast, picking up ridiculous random items of clothing and paraphernalia that I didn’t dream I’d ever see you wear. But mission accomplished. Where’s the drop?” Pixie sounded breathless and only slightly sarcastic about the drop.

  “We’re in room 805—on the eighth floor,” Grace said.

  “Aha.”

  “Just knock—we’ll let you in,” she added.

  “What? No secret password or special identifying code?”

  “I’ll give you a code name if you want one, but you won’t like what I’m thinking,” she said to her smart-aleck friend.

  “Spoil sport. I’ll be there in ten,” Pixie said and clicked off.

  “If Pixie isn’t a good enough code name for her, I have a few ideas of my own.” He was back to his droll and slightly distant tone. Grace instantly missed the dangerous sensual animal he’d been a moment before and wondered how she could capture him in that persona and keep him there. She scoffed at herself. She knew she’d have to wait for her opportunity until after they saved Theresa from the kidnappers and was consoled by the thought of how much more exciting it would be then.

  A shiver ran through her again at the visual of poor Theresa tied to a chair and gagged—scoffing again at herself for the clichéd image. Her previous excitement turned to a cold dread about what might happen to her friend.

  David moved toward her as if he’d read her mind. “Don’t worry, Grace. Saving damsels in distress is my specialty. I’m damned good at it. I have a near perfect record,” he said in a reassuring and self-mocking frown at the same time. She thought of his wife as the one imperfection on his record and knew that fact never left him.

  “You mean except for your wife?” She uttered the most tactless thing she’d ever said to anyone. But she couldn’t help herself—it had been the million-pound elephant in the room with him wherever he went and wasn’t going to leave him alone unless he started acknowledging it—more realistically.

  “Yes. How astute of you. But this isn’t the time for that discussion,” he said with no hint of emotion, reading her mind again.

  “No one’s perfect, David. Not even Batman.” She’d have to leave it at that for now, but not for long. If he was to ever let her in, his perceived failing to save his wife from death was one more thing she would have to get past. She went over to the window and opened the drapes wider to let in all the bright crisp autumn sunshine that she adored—the reason she’d never leave New England. Except, she realized, if David asked her to.

  “The décor in this room is not nearly as updated, elegant or balanced. Did you notice the difference, or is it just me being a picky designer?” She went into her default mode of professional decorator.

  “Of course I noticed, and I was wondering when you’d comment.” Even though he sounded perfectly serious and reasonable, she looked at him with squinted eyes, knowing he was teasing.

  Then he laughed.

  Banging on the door prevented her from responding, and she heard Pixie on the other side announcing her presence.

  “What would she have done if we hadn’t asked her to be discreet?” David went to the door and swung it open, peeking behind Pixie as she darted into the room with several shopping bags.

  “Here are the get-ups.” She tossed the bags on the lone bed in the room and looked around. “Shouldn’t those drapes be closed? Aren’t we running a clandestine operation here?” She folded her arms and alternated between tossing meaningful looks at Grace and David. Grace folded her arms in return.

  “This is serious business,” she said to Pixie as if she were a child. David, in the meantime, unceremoniously dumped the contents of the bags on the bed and began sorting.

  “This is your pile, Grace. I suggest you take these clothes into the bathroom—along with this pillow.” He picked up the small pillow he’d teased her with before. “And take your Pixie with you to assist in dressing. Make it as fast as you can—we’re on the clock now,” he said in a quiet, no-nonsense voice that even had Pixie moving. They both picked up the clothing, wig, makeup and pillow and carried them to the bathroom.

  “Won’t you need help with your disguise?” Grace asked. He merely shook his head. She closed the door, entombing her and Pixie in the bathroom. Now that the time had come to dress, she started shaking all over.

  “I hope I’m up to this, Pixie,” she said as she stripped off her dress.

  “Of course you are. David will do all the heavy lifting. You just do whatever he tells you—no matter what—you promise?” Pixie stared up at her, studying her face. Grace stood in her bra and pantyhose and held an oversized blouse in front of her.

  “I promise. What else would I do? This is exciting and scary, but mostly I want to make sure we get the man responsible—not just the goons doing the dirty work. And I want Theresa to be all right.” She heard her voice crack and slipped the blouse over her head.

  “Wait—let’s stick this pillow in your pantyhose. We’ll have to position it sideways so you look fat instead of pregnant,” Pixie said as she did the stuffing.

  “Since when did you get to be the expert at disguises?” Grace said to break her own tension. “You’re pretty surprising, my little friend,” she said in a warmer voice. Pixie didn’t look up from her work, and they finished the outfit with that all-business attitude since they had no more time for worrying.

  Grace checked her watch as she opened the door to present herself, pleased with their speed. She expected David to crack a smile, but what she saw was totally unexpected. He was unrecognizable.
r />   “Is that you?”

  “I might say the same thing,” he said, “except that I’d still know you anywhere.” Then he arched his gray-enhanced brow. She knew that gesture, and the warmth of familiarity infused her.

  “Your face is far too young and beautiful.” He sounded wistful. “And your neck. You’ll have to keep your hat low and the scarf high and whatever you do—don’t look at anyone or speak.” He was back to his clipped tones.

  “Yes, sir. I suppose I should be flattered,” she said and pushed Pixie forward.

  “Well, I’m not flattered,” Pixie said. “I went to a lot of trouble and—”

  “You did fabulously, honey, and that’s not what David meant. I’m sure he meant that you had an impossible task to accomplish to make me look like an old woman who might be seen with this old man.” Grace gestured in his direction as he walked briskly ahead of them toward the door. He turned and still looked terribly serious. It made her stomach flutter, and for a second, she wondered what the heck she was doing.

  “Don’t push your luck, Grace. You’ve already been seen with this old man often enough as it is.” He gestured for them to move ahead of him.

  “That’s not what I meant—I meant—” She couldn’t think what she meant now, except that she hadn’t planned to add fuel to his argument that he was too old for her.

  Pixie came to her rescue. “Give it up, Grace. He knows very well even if you were ninety years old, you’d look too good to be traveling around on his arm.” Grace stopped with her hands on her hips in front of David and short of where he wanted them—out the door—and wearing a stubborn set to her jaw.