Zach’s grin transformed into a conspiratorial expression. “Remember you told me to look out for suspicious characters?”
Cole hesitated, worried the kid might get in over his head in spite of their agreement. “You got something for me?”
“Me and Zach are going to see the fireworks in a while,” Butch interjected. “My mom and dad are taking us. So we only got a few minutes. Go ahead, Zachy.”
His friend nodded, the action bobbing his Mohawk do. “There’s a guy in cabin twelve, you know the one with the little elves in the yard.”
Cole nodded. “What about the guy?”
Zach scooted across the sand on his butt until he was nearly sitting on Cole’s Tevas. He looked from one side to the other, on the outlook for eavesdroppers. Nobody was on the beach but them.
“Well, the dude’s weird, that’s what,” the boy continued.
“We call him Mr. Blow-Dry,” Butch said. “On account of his hair. One of those comb-over jobs to hide a bald dome, but poofed up and fluffy.”
Zach nodded. “He goes around with binoculars and stares at people. Like in their cabins. Or on the beach. He hides behind trees. This morning during class I saw him watching us. Watching Laura.” He nodded his head twice for emphasis.
Butch added, his almond-shaped eyes narrowed for effect, “He’s some kind of spy, for sure. Definitely up to something.”
Cole considered that the man could be the hit man. Or the burglar. Or merely a bird watcher or a sailing aficionado. The problem bore checking into.
He leaned back in the wooden chair and laced his hands in his lap. “This Mr. Blow-Dry’s mighty suspicious. I agree.”
“So what do you think we ought to do?” Zach’s wide eyes glittered with anticipation.
“You did good, bud. Both of you. You guys were real smart spotting this character and keeping an eye on him. Laura will be proud of you, coming to me about this, like we agreed. But your part of the job is over. You go ahead to the fireworks, and I’ll take over from here.”
“But what if you need help? Um, like backup,” Zach said, as intent and focused as any Hardy Boy.
Cole nodded thoughtfully. He clapped the boys on their shoulders. “If I can’t handle this dude alone, I’ll wait ’til tomorrow when you guys can back me up. In the meantime, don’t say a word to anybody.”
Zach appeared to be ready to object, but Butch’s dad called to them. Pantomiming zipping his mouth closed, Zach raced away with his friend.
Adrenaline revving his pulse, Cole flipped open his phone. Maybe this was the break they’d been waiting for. To end the damned mission.
Ignoring the punch to his heart, he punched numbers. “Byrne. Meet me in ten.”
Laura yawned as she peeled vegetables in the inn’s kitchen. Twilight had given way to semimoonless dark, and she was tired. No sleep and an undercurrent of fear and dread did that to a person.
But she was safe for now. Physically.
Between sailing and tennis, the time she spent slicing and dicing afforded her protection among a chatting group of kitchen volunteers.
And gave her respite from Cole’s intensity.
And her own weakness for him.
She pared another potato down to its white pith. The past few days had scraped away her protective hide and left only shaky resolve, mushier than a potato. Like peeling the layers of an onion, the togetherness with Cole was stripping away her secrets one by one, down to the last, the one hoarded for ten years in her soul.
These few hours of separation from each other provided no respite. This morning, hoping he hadn’t noticed her gold crown charm on her bureau, she’d slipped the chain over her head and tucked the charm inside her shirt between her breasts.
If he saw the little crown he’d given her so many years ago, she couldn’t deny her weakness for him. As it was, he occupied her every thought when she ought to be worrying about an assassin.
Cole’s hovering didn’t help. She didn’t see him now, but before sunset when he was supposedly relaxing on the beach, every time she looked out the window above the sink, he was prowling around, a wolf on patrol. She could almost hear him growl and grind his teeth.
Vanessa handed her a cellular phone as small as a credit card. “Call for you. It’s Cole.”
Laura blinked in surprise, then dried her hands on a dish towel. Cole? Why would he have Vanessa’s number? What was going on? “Yes?”
“Laura, something’s come up, and I can’t meet you. I’ll tell you about it later. Vanessa will escort you back to the cabin. You’ll be safe with her. She’s one of us.”
“Va—”
“Don’t say anything. You’ll blow her cover. I gotta go. You can trust Officer Ward.” With that he disconnected.
Concerned she’d already ruined their secrecy, Laura glanced around the busy kitchen. Joyce and Stan were conferring over the menu for the festivities. Bea and Doris Van Tassel and two of the regular kitchen staff were peeling boiled eggs and cutting up chickens. No one had apparently noticed her talking on the phone.
The redheaded vacationer known as Vanessa, aka Officer Ward, nodded and smiled as she plucked her phone from Laura’s nerveless fingers. “It’s okay, Laura. We’ll talk later.”
She’d known there was another agent—officer—but hadn’t a clue it might be her friend. The woman was open and gregarious, not a flinty-eyed warrior like Cole. Perhaps that made her suitable for undercover work.
The notion that Vanessa had been looking out for her comforted Laura, but the reminder that she needed extra protection added another layer to her fear of Janus.
He was undercover, too.
After the potato salad was mixed, Laura and Vanessa walked toward Laura’s employee cabin. Faint booms and crackles announced the distant Alderport fireworks, but the barrier of Deer Mountain kept them from view. The recent rain perfumed the air with scents of green grass and flowers. Sunset brought cool air and mosquitoes, and Laura shivered in her short-sleeved shirt as she flicked away a tiny marauder.
“Sorry to shock you like that,” the woman said gently, “but we’d hoped my being undercover would help protect you as well as put me on the inside. The fewer people who knew, the safer for all of us.”
“It’s all right. I understand,” Laura said, smiling. A memory puzzled her. “Vanessa, that night you found me downstairs at the theater, was that coincidence?”
The officer laughed. “Not a chance. Cole sent me to look for you. He was searching everywhere else. I’ve never seen the man panic before.”
Now Vanessa’s stealth made sense. “Can you tell me what he had to do that was so urgent? Is something breaking?”
“I can’t say. He’ll tell you when he returns.” She smiled and patted Laura’s forearm. “I know this is very hard for you. Cole’s the best. And we’re all doing everything we can.”
“I know. And I’m grateful.” Grateful, yes. But she’d rather have run to some new, anonymous spot where she could’ve stayed out of a killer’s crosshairs. And avoided new heartbreak. Yet she wouldn’t give up this time out of time with Cole. “Maybe Markos will be caught soon, and we can all go back to our lives.”
The other woman flipped her brandy-colored braid off her shoulder and laughed. She looked behind them and peered down the crossing path, her hand in her slacks pocket. “Undercover is my life.”
A gun, thought Laura. Vanessa must have a gun in her pocket. She’d had one that other night, too. Laura remembered her hand in her slacks pocket the same way. An automatic pistol like Cole’s.
A small frisson of fear prickled her spine. “Don’t you get tired of being someone else? Of playing a role?”
“Sure I do,” Vanessa said as they approached Laura’s door. “And I’ll give up fieldwork for a desk job one day, analysis or supervision. But for now, this works for me. For some reason people tell me their worries and secrets. The other officers call me the Confessor. I’m good at what I do.”
Laura laughed, more at herself than
at the other woman’s words. “That you are. I certainly never suspected.”
After the officer checked through the cabin, she said, “Isaacs is on outside surveillance tonight, and Cole should be back soon. He didn’t ask me to, but I can stay if you want.”
“I’ll be fine. Go ahead. You must be as tired as I am.”
Vanessa acknowledged her weariness and left after a reminder to lock up.
Before Laura closed the door, she spied a folded paper jammed in the screen. Neither woman had noticed it before. What was this? With trembling fingers, she plucked out the paper. After unfolding it, she sagged with relief.
Deep breaths slowed her pulse rate as she read the scrawled note: “Meet me on the stage at 10:00 p.m.—C.”
Cole had returned. With that knowledge, she felt safer. But why did he want her to meet him on the stage? The theater was dark on Tuesdays. And why would he ask her to go alone if he’d had Vanessa escort her home?
She peered at the note. The handwriting meant nothing. She hadn’t seen his handwriting for years, and the only writing he did here was on a keyboard.
But a darkened, empty theater? She frowned. Only the too-stupid-to-live movie heroine would go without a thought. Would endanger herself that way. She had to think through this logically, not with fear vising her stomach.
She looked at her watch—9:30. If she could reach him on his cell phone, she’d know. She hurried to the phone in the bedroom and keyed his number.
When she placed the receiver to her ear, she heard only dead silence. The phone was dead. She dropped the instrument like a live scorpion.
If someone planned to trap her in the cottage, the first thing to do was eliminate the telephone, cut the line or something. The other cottages around her were unoccupied, and everyone else had gone to Alderport for the fireworks. Maybe that’s why Cole wanted her to get out of there.
If he’d sent the note at all.
Whatever the case, staying alone in the cabin seemed like a bad idea.
She made a quick circuit, closing blinds as she went. Her pulse pounded, and she forced her lungs to perform deep, calming breathing.
Count of four in…count of four out.
If she went to the inn, she could alert Vanessa, and she’d know what to do or they could go together. Confident with her plan, Laura stripped off her flowered capris, then donned dark jeans. She was stuck with white sneakers. She’d lost her only other shoes in the boat sinking.
One pair of shoes. Only one. The image of her closet back in D.C. came to her—custom shelves filled with shoes. Gucci, Manolo Blahnik, Nike. Pumps, slides, running shoes, tennis sneakers, sandals. Red, blue, black, white, puce. Chuckling at how unimportant that seemed, she tugged on a dark sweatshirt.
If she left through the window, any would-be intruder would think she was still in the cabin. She could sneak through the woods around to the inn. She listened at the open window before lifting the screen and slipping outside.
Keeping low and darting from tree to tree, she circled the cabin and headed toward the inn. The soft mulch of evergreen needles cushioned her steps and sent a reassuring pine fragrance to her senses. Occasional sleepy twittering and the eerie call of a hunting owl broke the silence.
Except for the porch light, the inn was dark and battened down. Guests had to use a key after nine o’clock, and their movement triggered lobby lighting. Not much at the resort was locked, but security at the inn gave city dwellers the protection they expected, whether necessary or not.
But it meant Laura couldn’t go inside.
Oh, well. She didn’t know Vanessa’s room number anyway. What to do next? If she went to the theater, was she the ditzy blonde heading down the dark basement steps where the monster waited? Or was Cole waiting for her?
She couldn’t get in the inn. She couldn’t go back to the cabin. The note had to come from Cole. No one but other ATSA officers knew he’d gone somewhere. So…
Skeins of clouds played hide-and-seek with the half moon, a mocking smile in the night sky. The unreliable light decreased Laura’s confidence, but her feet insisted on taking her toward the theater. She swiped nervous perspiration from her brow when the leviathan bulk of the barn loomed ahead. Quick steps brought her to the entrance.
No vehicle in the parking lot. That meant nothing. She knew the Harley still stood in the theater, waiting for next weekend’s performance. Cole could easily arrive on foot.
The backstage doors were kept locked, but not the lobby. She slipped inside. The only illumination came from the exit lights, enough to prevent her blundering into the Bad Boy, parked in the lobby as advertising until hoisted on stage.
“If only you could talk,” she whispered to the machine.
Her palms were clammy and her pulse clattered. Sooner or later whoever had cut the phone line would catch on and search for her. If she waited for Cole on the stage, as the note directed, there were plenty of props to hide among. Or was she better off with lights?
But why on earth the stage? Had he found some evidence of Janus in the theater? With a shrug, she headed through the inner door and left toward the technician’s booth. She slapped on the wall for the light switches.
The brilliance of the house lights cheered her like candles on a birthday cake. With a sure stride, she descended the aisle and mounted the stage.
Even if she said so herself, the stage crew had performed miracles in creating the Diner set. There were the two booths with gaudy plastic-topped tables, a lunch counter with metal stools upholstered in shiny red, and behind the counter a swinging door through which the phony cook delivered meals and pithy comments. The central part of the floor rotated—a permanent installation—to reveal the other major set, the lobby of the next-door motel, complete with reception desk, couch and the upright piano.
Wondering how long she should wait, Laura perched on a diner stool. The lobby clock had read exactly ten.
In the next instant, darkness descended with the snap of the backstage control switch. A smothering blackness enveloped the theater.
Chapter 13
Stifling a cry, Laura dropped to the floor of the stage and waited. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She blinked, willing her eyes to adjust to the cavelike gloom.
Stupid, stupid. Too late, she had certainty that the note hadn’t come from Cole. Janus could’ve watched him leave.
The hit man waited here, not Cole. By cutting her phone line, Janus had ensured she’d leave the cabin’s safety. She’d naively run into his web. Now she had to make certain she didn’t become his victim.
Thank goodness she knew the theater as well as her own cabin. She could visualize it in the dark and use it to her advantage. Whoever had flipped the switch waited in the wings stage right. All was silent. He couldn’t know the layout well.
Leading with her outspread hands, Laura stood and cautiously placed one foot in front of the other. Desperately, she prayed she hadn’t gotten turned around. She had to head toward stage left, and the backstage stairs to the lower floor.
Closer. Closer.
She felt the edge of the first booth.
Almost there.
She fell, crashing down to her knees, tangled with a folding metal chair at the edge of the curtain.
Heavy footsteps scraped across the floor from stage right. Her pursuer had to move slowly in the dark.
Pushing up, she flung the chair toward the sound of the footsteps. When she heard a muffled cry of pain and rage, she continued to Braille her way to her escape hatch.
Silence reigned again.
Except for her own panting breath and her hammering heart, she heard nothing. Then a metallic squeaking and the rumble of a heavy object rolling across the floor.
A massive, flat bulk hurtled into her side. Pain hammered her hip. The impact thrust her across the room. Tinny notes jangled maniacally through the cavernous barn.
The piano.
Did he mean to crush her with it? She could hear him straining with the cumbersome in
strument.
She shoved back.
Momentum favored her attacker. Farther and farther backward he pushed her.
She tried to sidestep.
He changed direction. The casters on the old upright shrieked in revolt.
In one desperate lunge to the side, Laura felt her foot step into air. The stairwell she’d been headed for.
She plummeted down.
Her knees hit the first steps with a sickening thump that felt as though a bolt of lightning hit every bone in her body. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs in a great whoosh. Limply, out of control, she bounced down, her body pummeled by each of the ten wooden steps. In a welter of battered limbs, she slammed onto the cement floor.
Her head spun and she had no breath to move. Agony radiated into every part of her body, but she was conscious.
As if from a great distance, she heard a cacophonous crashing. A discordant clanging like the destruction of all the harps of heaven.
The piano was following her down through the opening.
Cole slowed as he turned the Avalanche into the woods road that led to Laura’s cabin. With one hand, he rubbed his stiff neck.
Mr. Blow-Dry had been a dead end for him, but an arrest for the local cops. The interminable evening was ended. He needed to see Laura. Anxiety about her had shortened his temper and cut his concentration. He wasn’t used to interference with his cool control during a mission, and he damned well didn’t like it.
When he reached the cabin, he turned in and parked with a squeal of tires and a scattering of gravel. The cabin lights were still on, and all was quiet. Curtains drawn. Door buttoned up. Windows closed. All appeared normal.
Then why did he feel this prickling at his nape?
Cole reached for his 9mm.
Disoriented, Laura huddled in a heap on the cold floor. How long she’d lain there she didn’t know.
Opening her eyes, she mumbled, “You see stars after all.”
After drawing shaky, deep breaths to reassure herself that she could, she sat up slowly. When she felt for injuries, her hand found the warm dampness of blood on her cheek and on her right knee. Nothing broken, she concluded, just scrapes and bruises. Enough for three people.
Guarding Laura Page 16
