“Got to go. Stay put.” He whispered the words without meaning to. She remained silent, but nodded, not taking her eyes off him.
He jumped from the car and strode back to the building, pointing the uniforms in the direction of his charge and instructing them to take care before he went back in the door without stopping. He turned his attention to the task and his mind returned to the writing on the mirror. Unlike Polly, Pixie had not signed up for this—clearly she’d never seriously considered the consequences of dealing with crime or terrorism. The bloody red words were meant to horrify his girl. They had. He’d seen the effect on her, even if she recovered more damn rapidly than he’d ever seen, God bless her. The words played in his head: “Red headed Pixie beware the bloody mess you will make.”
He wondered if there was a message in those words, other than the obvious. He knocked on the super’s door, hoping the man was still alive.
The man that answered was a woman. She barely opened the door a crack and peered up at his face with a bespectacled glint. “What do you want? Come back another time. Go now or I’ll call the police…”
Someone had scared the woman. “I am the police, ma’am. May I come in to ask some questions? It’s very important.” Flashing his badge in front of her peering eyes, he wondered about her excessive caution.
She slammed the door shut, jiggled some chains and then flung the door open. “I’m glad to see you. Come in, come in.” She reached out and pulled on his arm to help him through the door into her tiny apartment. The room would have been a dining room, but she used it as an office. He spun his glance around quickly before returning his attention to her. The woman’s glasses were thick. He took a deep breath.
“Did any men visit your apartment earlier today asking questions or for any other reason?”
“There was one. Said he needed to do repairs. I didn’t call him. He was pushy and didn’t look like no plumber. He came in and started wandering around asking for a cup of coffee while I looked in my files. What could I do? Then I gave it to him and he spilled it on me. He practically pushed me to the john to wash it off. I swear he was up to something.”
“What makes you think that? Did you hear anything?”
“No, but when I tried to come back out the door was jammed somehow and I started yelling and he mysteriously got it opened for me—when he was good and ready. Then he took off and said he’d be back another time and all of a sudden didn’t care about doing his repairs.”
“I see.” He did. Mr. Lovely Azzam made a copy of the key. Thus no sign of forced entry. “I don’t suppose you could give me a description of the man?”
“Sure. He was heavyset and tall. Wore a baseball cap, had a beard and moustache and glasses. Kind of foreign looking with darkish skin.”
“Any identifying marks—any tattoos or scars?” Besides the one he hid under his so-called beard.
“Not that I could see. He was all trussed up like he was hiding from the sun. All I know is I didn’t feel right about it and when I called our plumbing service after he left they said they never sent no one.”
“I see.”
“You see what? What the devil’s going on here? What’s the hullabaloo upstairs with that cute young woman’s apartment—what’s her name?”
“Pixie—er, I mean Sophia.”
“Cute girl. She okay?”
“She’s wonderful. I’ll tell her you asked. Thanks for your help. If you see or hear or remember anything else, call the number on this card.” He handed her a card with David’s number on it. Who knew where he’d be after today?
With any luck, he’d still be alive. He’d better be alive because he had a feeling that Pixie’s life depended on him. Damn the bastard Azzam. How did he get her address and name? Where was the leak? They needed to stop the leak or feed some misinformation to discover where it was coming from.
Since everyone thought they were going to Canada, maybe he ought to try a different route and see what happened. But who could he send as a decoy if he couldn’t trust anyone? David? No—he was too blasted important and too blasted married.
Joe? Dare he trust the man? One way to find out. He called an old friend from Interpol on his private number to do some checking. Sam had some extracurricular skills to keep him chest-deep in expensive women.
“I need an extra special background check,” Chauncey said without preamble.
“Who is this? You bloody stranger—you expect me to jump? I thought you were hot property or had disappeared for good.”
“Never mind about that. The usual rate?”
“For you it’s doubled—no tripled since I know you’re really in trouble.” The man laughed.
“Good thing I have such good friends.”
“Not a good enough friend to touch base to let a guy know he’s not dead. Lucky I didn’t faint when I saw your number show up.”
“You tracking me now?”
“Don’t worry—it’s for your own good. Give me the name.”
“Joe Dellario. Send the info via text to this phone. Then don’t bother calling it again. I’ll need to destroy it. How long will it take you? I need it before the morning.”
“You’ll have it inside two hours. Keep me…”
“Forget we spoke. You’re better off that way.” He clicked off and put the phone in his chest pocket. He would make sure no one ever saw the phone, let alone had a chance to download his phone calls. If anyone but Sam called or texted in the next two hours, it would be gone.
Day 4 at the Governor’s Mansion
“Maybe you should have your father come here,” Pixie suggested to Chauncey as she watched him pace around her room. He was dressed for the funeral of police officer Polly Malone. He half thought Azzam might still be around and could target the funeral, so security was tight and he was ready. And no way in hell was Pixie going.
“In the meantime let me come to the funeral. I’ll go in disguise. I’ll stick right by your side,” she begged him.
“If he’s there, he’ll have a sniper’s rifle and take you out with one shot.”
“Aren’t you guys going to be checking the perimeter for snipers ahead of time?”
He looked at her in surprise. It was getting harder and harder to snooker her into accepting whatever he said. She’d been in on every meeting and discussion they’d had—and there were many. She was apparently a good student.
“Maybe I will suggest to my father that he travel here. But I’d rather take the danger away from the States—and you. I also need to go back to London to find the traitor.” He stopped pacing and stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking weary.
“All this running for your life is wearing you down,” she said. She watched him as she sat on the big four-poster bed. There was ample space for him to pace around the room, but she noticed he wore a path back and forth in front of her, like he appreciated having her as an audience.
He stopped and studied her and smiled with more life, even a snap in his eyes.
“Don’t count me down and out. I thrive on ‘running for my life’ as you term it. It’s what I do for a living. But it’s time we turn the tables and force Azzam to run for his life.”
“You don’t think he’s left the country at all, do you?”
“You’re getting smart instead of just smart-mouthed, my little Pixie,” he said, and raised one brow. “I know he hasn’t left the country. There are a few telltale signs. We have some people watching Heathrow and other airports over there—and they’re monitoring his old pals. But most of all, we’re following the money trail. That storage building where we found…Polly’s body was connected to a group here with some known watchlist members. We’ve been keeping track of them and their money too. There’s been some evidence of money movement in the area, and in particular, in Nova Scotia.” He ended his speech. She wondered why he’d told her all this.
“Shouldn’t this all be top secret stuff you’re telling me?”
“What’s your point?”
/>
“Did you know that I know Nova Scotia like it was my second home? Because it was. My family summered there every year until very recently. I speak French, Canadian French, in fact. Maybe I can help the cause rather than be a sack of dead weight for you to carry around and hide and worry about?”
“I don’t care if you were the official Nova Scotia cartographer and speak France French or Canadian French, you will be a worry.” He eyed her up and down. “And you’re not exactly a sack of potatoes, but you will slow me down.”
“You’re thinking of going alone.” She wasn’t guessing, she was certain. He didn’t deny it.
“Alone. I will be backed up with information feeds from HQ in Boston. I’m not counting on anything from London, but my father may be able to help. So never fear.” He smiled at her and gave her a look. His special look that would have made her knees weak had she been standing. As it was she felt pooling warmth in a telltale place within her. She wondered if he knew. If she gave off an aura.
“Penny?”
“Pardon?”
“Penny for your thoughts?”
He knew. Without a doubt he knew how he was making her feel right now. And she knew he was starting to feel hot under the collar himself. Nothing like an impending departure on a life-threatening mission to ratchet up the tension.
On the way back from the funeral—with Joe driving because the governor settled that argument—he sat in the back with Pixie. If Joe wanted to play chauffeur he’d let him. But there was no way Chauncey could say all the things he wanted to say to Pixie with Joe listening. The man’s closeness grated on him after only four days.
“What now?” Pixie looked at him.
It was a legitimate question. “I should go back to London now and draw the trouble away from everyone in Boston.”
“But?” The lone word sounded stiff to him. Not the regretful tone he’d been hoping for. Fool that he was.
“But David refuses to allow it because Azzam has more resources in London. It’s clear now that he’ll go wherever I go and stay wherever I stay. The prevailing wisdom at BPD is that Azzam needs to be kept off his home turf and off-balance and they will catch him.” He didn’t point out the problem with that scenario—the leak. The leak was in London. They—he—needed to find the leak as much as he needed to stop Azzam. He kept this concern to himself. No sense in alerting Joe.
“But you have other ideas.” She scrutinized him in her old skeptical way. That squinty-eyed look blazing from her green eyes tripped something in his gut.
“Don’t get melodramatic.” He darted his eyes to Joe without moving his head.
Smart girl got the picture.
“Don’t get melodramatic?” She raised her voice to that charming dog-pitched squeak she had. “Since I met you my life has been nothing but a five-star mega-melodrama. If I were a TV show I’d win the Emmy.”
“With some luck and timing, you will have a TV show. They can call it the Undercover Decorator Spy Design Living—or some such thing.”
The bubble of laughter she let out gave him a high like a heroin addict who just got a badly needed fix. Not that she was a bad habit. Or maybe she was. Even Joe let a smile crack.
It looked like it would be a bright day, judging by the sunrise. He sipped his coffee standing in the mansion’s commercial kitchen. To a man, none of them, not David, or Dan—not even the intrepid governor—wanted him to leave today. And definitely not alone. But he gave them no choice. And he told no one else. Especially not Pixie. He’d drive to Canada and take a flight back to London from there with a false identity.
He headed to the back door and Joe handed him the keys on his way out.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Keep your eye on Pixie for me. Let me take care of myself.” He stood on the threshold.
The swinging door to the kitchen flew open and they both turned. In the shadowy light of the early morning he recognized the silhouette. His gut tightened.
“You weren’t trying to leave town without me, were you?” she said.
Chapter 8
“Since the plan is to catch up with Azzam in Canada while we have a line on him, I think there’s too much potential for violence to bring you along. You’ll be safer here—away from the action,” he said. He had the nerve to say this to her. She stomped forward and bellied up to him. No matter that she had to crane her neck.
“What happened to ‘I’ll protect you from here on in, Pixie’ or whatever rot you fed me? Was it all a line? Some sick macho joke?” She felt herself turn pink and knew she sounded like the proverbial fishwife, but the words came from someplace in her where she had no control.
Joe backed up. He didn’t say a word. But then she never knew a man of fewer words than Joe. He’d reached the swinging doors where she came in and they’d both turned to watch him.
“I’ve been saved by a buzz on the internal line. Gotta go—but I will be back.” Joe pushed out through the door and disappeared.
Chauncey didn’t speak but stared down at her with a strained version of his unreadable look. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to pick her up and throw her or pick her up and carry her off to bed. Currently he seemed to be staring at her lips. She folded her arms and started toe-tapping. If she wasn’t careful about it, she might turn herself into a caricature and make him laugh.
“I am protecting you.” He swiped a hand through his damp hair, looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
Joe slipped back in the door then and said, “Interpol called with some news. Change of plans. You—both of you—come with me—to the governor’s office.”
They followed Joe into the inner sanctum where the usual suspects sat around a big heavy table and the governor sat at the head smoking a cigar. David stood when Sophia came in and spoke to them all.
“Good news is my Interpol contact got word that the Nova Scotia money cell was shut down by the CMP last night.”
“CMP?”
“Canadian Mounted Police.”
“Oh.” She had a visual of Dudley Do-Right. She had to stop watching Cartoon Channel.
The governor spoke before Chauncey could react. “So that cancels the Canada trip, but much as I’d personally love to have you stay, you can’t remain at the mansion any longer. My schedule is taking me away starting tomorrow and security has stretched to its max limit already.”
“Not to mention the fact that the media now knows we’re here. They followed us back after the funeral. I saw a clip on the late news.” Chauncey remained standing and began pacing.
“I’ll leave you to come up with a change of plans,” the governor said, stubbed out his cigar, got up and left the room.
David spoke up. “Let’s take this strategy meeting to headquarters. We’ll need the resources of the BPD in any event.”
He needed to figure out a place they could go that made sense strategically—a place where Pixie would be out of harm’s way while they confirmed Azzam’s whereabouts. He suspected the man went back to London. But it was too soon to contemplate that turn of events.
He saw her as he stepped off the front portico of the mansion. She waited for him in the back of a police car. He pasted on a smile. Not that he was in the mood to smile, but he wasn’t in the mood to see her look terrified either. He opened the door and slid in next to her. She scooted over, but he reached around her shoulders and kept her close.
“Ready for an adventure?” He looked into her eyes just before they squinted with that familiar suspicious look after which generally followed some caustic remark or other. He looked into the rear view mirror at the blue uniform in the driver’s seat. “Let’s get to the Police Chief, James. And step on it.” The man nodded and did what he was told.
He and Pixie flattened to the back seat with the screech of tires. He grinned for real then.
“Some adventure.” She rolled her eyes.
He laughed at her then and felt a tug at her bravery.
“What would an adventure be for yo
u? Where would you go?”
“Tuscany, Italy.” She spoke without taking a beat.
He frowned. “Say within a hundred mile radius of here.”
“Martha’s Vineyard.” Another quick response.
“You’ve thought of this all before? You don’t need to consider your options?”
“Why? Am I being graded? Last I heard I was stuck here with you for the duration.”
“We’ll see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She gave him her squint again.
Luckily they screeched to a stop in front of the station and he popped the door open, pulling her from the car with him. “We’ll talk more later.”
“Sure. Whatever.” She frowned and walked with him inside the station. “Maybe I just ought to give up and join the team,” she said.
“Join what team?”
“The police, you dolt.”
“Don’t worry. Your television decorator career will take off into high gear as soon as this misadventure is over. I guarantee it.”
“How do you figure?”
“You’ll have a new dimension to bring to the screen now—you’ll be that exciting decorator with a double life.” He smiled and felt chipper when she actually smiled back. He pushed through the lobby door and passed the desk with a nod and steered them to the elevator.
“Say—were you in the ad business in another life?”
“Jack of all trades, as they say. I was undercover in a news office once.”
“You don’t say?” She looked up at him as if reconsidering his worthiness, and ignoring his mock.
“Have I won you over?” The elevator doors opened and he followed her inside. They were alone. He had thoughts about that. He looked down at her to see a cute pink blush rise on her cheeks. Maybe she was having the same thoughts. One way to find out. He pulled her in close and leaned his head down close to hers. She didn’t jump back, so he pressed his mouth to hers.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 78
