by Jianne Carlo
According to the two guards stationed in the floor's mini-lobby area, Jacques Dardin was the only person who'd used the elevator, and he'd gone down to the lobby. Neither man had heard or seen anything unusual. No room service had been delivered. No one aside from Jacques had walked down the hallway.
Despair hollowed Eli's belly. He rang Steph's number a couple of dozen times, but her phone went to voice mail before a ringtone sounded.
Think. Think.
Spinning about, he squeezed his eyes shut, and then stalked back to their room, opened the door, and went to the living room. No trays, save their leftovers from last night. She hadn't had any coffee—the carafe he'd brewed hadn't been touched, and the pair of white mugs stood empty and clean.
Each step grew heavier as he walked to the bedroom. Steph's carry-on lay open on the floor beside the bed, one end resting on a rhinestone-decorated running shoe. Hadn't she unpacked everything last night?
Pulse skyrocketing, he stooped to examine the contents of the suitcase, and sifted through the clothes: one navy sweater, two Tough Trevor T-shirts, and a couple of pairs of socks.
He upended the carry-on onto the bedspread and shook the suitcase. Zilch. Eli delved into a side pocket and came up with a green bead.
“Eli. Eli—where are you?”
Iggie.
“Bedroom,” Eli yelled.
The second Iggie's face came into focus Eli's stomach somersaulted. “What's wrong? Is it Steph? Is she in the boardroom with you?”
“Stephanie?” Iggie shook his head. “What're you talking about? Why would Stephanie be hurt?”
“Steph's missing, Iggie. She was supposed to wait here for me.”
“Don't get your underwear in a wad. She probably went to the gift store or something. No, the reason I came to see you is because of Amy Cartwright.”
“Amy Cartwright?”
“She's hired a lawyer.” Iggie grimaced. “And she refuses to fly out here. Apparently she has a niece she's taking on a Make-A-Wish Foundation trip.”
“Crap. That puts a different spin on this.” Eli shook his head. “Screw Amy. Stephanie's missing, Iggie, and I've been racking my brains.” Yanking his fingers through his hair, he added, “Everything points to Steph—the voodoo thing, the acid, her room being tossed. Why?”
“Fuck.” Iggie's bronzed complexion paled. “This is my fault. I am so sorry, Eli.”
Eli's lungs caved; he felt like he'd been sucker punched by a WWE world champion. “Your fault? I don't get it.”
“The last three companies I've targeted for takeover have had enough inside information to be able to block us. For months now, I've known I had a leak at the highest levels. That's the main reason Sam came on board—to plug the holes. We had all the imprint DVDs encrypted. Only Sam and I were supposed to know how to decrypt the imprints. But when we had to make that graphic correction two days ago, Stephanie was in and out of the movie so often, I gave the decryption to her.” Iggie shook his head. “Then I had to make that emergency trip to New York, and I didn't have time to reset the decryption.”
Eli's knees buckled, and he landed heavily on the mattress. “They can't copy the DVDs without the decryption. And only you, Sam, and Stephanie know the combination. Aw hell, Iggie. They took her to get the code.” Squeezing his eyes shut against a threatening moistness, Eli gritted his teeth, and then lifted leaden lids to meet Iggie's intense stare. “She won't give it to them. Not until they break her. She's stubborn as a mule.”
“Why do you assume she's been kidnapped?”
“She was supposed to wait here for me. I made her promise. And her carry-on was on the floor, not in the closet. And the emergency exit was jammed.” Eli's gaze trailed the carpet's intricate pattern, and he spied another green bead, then another and another. Hope burst lightning bright, worming an aching hole in his chest. Eli bounded to his feet, adrenaline surfing a tidal wave in his veins. “Where did these beads come from?”
“Stephanie's necklace?”
“She wears a silver heart on a chain around her neck. A present from a niece. Iggie—she left us a trail—see the beads.” He pointed. “There and there and past the bedroom doorway.”
“I think you might have something, young 'un. Lead the way.”
Sprinting through the suite, Eli followed the trail of green beads to the corridor. “There's a whole bunch of 'em down the stairs.”
Eli took the steps two at a time. The trail led to a side-street entrance to the hotel, which led into a deserted street.
“There's a couple of beads over there.” Iggie angled his chin at a crack in the cement near an oversize green Dumpster. “And there are two cameras above the doorway. Scout the street and check out the diner. Maybe someone saw something. I'll head back to the boardroom and get Sam to pull the camera footage.”
After Iggie left, Eli paced the length of the narrow road, which seemed more an alleyway than a street. Two Dumpsters rode the curb on the left, and a wizened man wearing the uniform of the homeless—tattered coat, multiple red-, green-, and blue-colored ends of several scarves and other clothing tied around his neck—pushed a rickety shopping cart filled with street debris near one of the garbage containers.
Watery sunlight sifted shadows, and wisps of early-morning fog hugged the hotel's sandy brick walls. The temperature had dipped, and his exhales frosted the air. Eli advanced toward the man slowly; he didn't want to spook the wizened guy—not that his caution proved necessary, as the geezer didn't notice him approaching. Muttering to himself, the man had his gaze focused entirely on the cement sidewalk.
“Colder than a witch's tit, huh?”
The man blinked, ducked his head, and peeked at him sideways.
“You been out here long?”
“'S my corner,” he mumbled. “'S my sleeps.”
Eli prayed the man had some hold on reality.
“Heck, could I go for a big breakfast right now—eggs, pancakes, bacon, hash browns—the works.” Eli had the man's rapt attention now. His jaw sagged, and he licked his lips. “How about you and I hit the diner down the street?”
The hope that had flared in the man's bloodshot light brown eyes faded; his dilated pupils shrank. “Can't. Won't let me in.”
Shit. I'll take care of you later, old fella.
“Tell you what. I'll get takeout and bring it back for you. I just need one favor. Did you see anyone else on this street this morning?” The man's rank odor curdled Eli's stomach.
“Don' want no trouble.”
“I promise you won't get in trouble.”
“Man, couple wemmin, another one passed out. Coffee too? Juice?”
“Was there a car?”
“Big one.” The man drew his hands apart.
“Color?”
“Black as the ace of spades.” He grinned, showing three nicotine-stained teeth. “Meybe some sausages?”
“Sure. Was it a Jeep?”
“Nah, one of dem cars famous people ride. Biiiig.” The man smiled again and threw his arms wide.
“A limousine?”
“Thet's it. Meybe I can get two of them breakfastses? One for later?”
“I'll buy your meals for the rest of your life,” Eli vowed, and if the man hadn't stunk worse than fish rotting in the hot Florida sun, he would've hugged him.
Eli called Sam. “I found someone who saw one man and three women in the alley this morning. They left in a black limo. One of the women was passed out.”
The homeless man wrapped hands encrusted with dirt and grime around Eli's forearm. “Yuh ain't leavin' till I gets me breakfastses. Them was black, the man and the two wemmin.”
Three African Americans, the beads, the voodoo mambos.
A limousine.
“Eli, what the fuck is going on? Where are you?” Sam barked.
“In the alleyway.” Eli stared unseeingly at a chipped brick in the wall.
No way. Helluva a coincidence.
“Mister, Mister,” the vagrant pleaded. “My breakfastses.”
>
“Sam, I need someone to relieve me down here right away. Our witness needs a warm meal and to be kept company.”
“Gotcha. He's homeless. Sending someone pronto.”
“The chauffeur and limo we use locally—Kendrick—don't know his last name. Is he an employee?”
“Hang on. Iggie just walked in.”
Eli heard Sam ask Iggie about Kendrick.
“We have two companies on retainer, but there's no particular driver,” Sam replied a few seconds later. “I'll get started on researching this Kendrick right away.”
Fifteen minutes later Eli returned to the boardroom to find Bill, Sam, and Iggie huddled over a laptop. They all straightened and looked at him expectantly.
“I figured out the green beads. The women at the château doing that voodoo shit—they wore a ton of green bead necklaces.”
“Way ahead of you. I asked the château's estate manager to e-mail us any shots taken that night,” Sam said. “I'll let them know it's urgent.” He bent over his keyboard.
“Why is our hotel suite cordoned off?” Eli asked
“Hotel called in the local PD,” Iggie replied. “Room's off-limits until further notice. CSI arrived on the scene ten minutes ago.”
“It'll take them hours to process everything,” Bill said. “I could copter my guys in and out, and we'd have the results within an hour.”
“It's out of our hands.” Sam's gaze remained glued to the laptop's screen. “Any update from the limo companies?”
“No one named Kendrick employed by either of the limo firms. Neither firm had a limo scheduled for the château.” Bill started pacing a tight circle, hands clasped behind his back. “Both had limos scheduled for Napa Valley, no particular destination listed.”
“Great,” Eli muttered. “So we haven't narrowed the field. I figure Kendrick must have been the one who tossed Steph's room. He had the opportunity, and he knew we'd be using Bill's driver for the Dreamcoast trip.”
“I hope we're not jumping to the wrong conclusion by concentrating on Kendrick,” Iggie commented.
“Too much of a coincidence,” Sam muttered.
“What were you guys looking at when I came in?” Eli asked.
“The limo firms sent us head shots of all their employees. I was uploading the files,” Sam answered. “It should be done by now. You're the only one who can identify Kendrick, Eli. Go for it. I don't need to tell you that time is of the essence.”
Eli stalked over to the laptop and straddled a chair. Sam brought up the file, and Eli paged through it. “This looks like Kendrick. I didn't really pay much attention to him, and I mostly saw his profile, not a full frontal. Same nose, chin, jaw line. There's an address and cell phone on file.” The rage that had been simmering since discovering Stephanie had been kidnapped erupted. He slammed his fist on the boardroom table hard enough to send a bolt of pain up his left arm. “If he's involved, I'll get answers from him.”
Iggie clamped his hands on Eli's shoulders, which prevented him from moving. “Think, young 'un. They're not the ones behind this. They kidnapped her for someone else. We have to get to him or her to rescue Stephanie.”
“I just deployed my best investigators to Kendrick's. We've got him battened down.” Sam waved at the laptop. “We have his e-mail, his home address. I've five men hopping on his data. We'll get him. I've also sent in two undercover PIs. We're covered on all fronts.”
“I can't just sit here and do nothing,” Eli snarled. Propping his elbows on the desk, he jerked both hands through his hair. “If he hurts her, I'll kill him.”
The acid in her purse.
That's the missing piece.
Chapter Eleven
“The acid attack happened at Dreamcoast's headquarters,” Eli said. “Get Genevieve in here. If she didn't put the acid in Steph's purse, then it's one of your employees.”
Bill stopped pacing. Slapping a palm to his temple, he said, “The tour. Shane would have let her play with the toys. If she's anything like me, when she's playing with animation tools—”
Eli snapped, “She doesn't even know the rest of the universe exists. Can we get Shane on a video conference?” Tugging at his constricting tie, he loosened the knot and slipped the first two buttons on his oxford shirt free.
“Piece of apple pie,” Bill quipped as his fingers flew over his Droid's keypad.
The man had a warped sense of humor, but he seemed as worried about Stephanie as Eli was.
“You ready to connect to Dreamcoast and Shane, Sam?” Bill asked.
“I've been ready since late last night, had to be for the meeting this morning.” Sam transferred his laptop to the end of the table. “What's the URL for the connection to Shane?”
“Hang on,” Bill murmured.
“What's up?” Iggie asked.
“Shane phoned in sick. Said he'd be in this afternoon.”
Shane conducted the tour, the special tour organized for Stephanie.
“How long have you and Shane worked together?” Eli's nerves went into triple-time jangles.
“Don't even go there,” Bill retorted. “We've worked together since we dropped out of college. He's got shares in the company.”
“But he's not an equal partner, right?”
“No. My venture-capital backer wouldn't let me give him more than seven percent.” Bill's face colored, and he shoved his spectacles up his nose. “I would've given him half of Dreamcoast in a heartbeat.”
“I do a lot of angel financing for new firms,” Iggie said. “The only reason I'd insist on a condition like that is if a background check turned up something. Bill, you need to be honest with us. Stephanie's missing.”
After tugging off his glasses, Bill plucked a cloth from his shirt pocket and polished the lenses. “Shane got into cocaine a few years back. He went into rehab and hasn't looked back.” He set the owlish specs back in place. “He volunteered to be drug tested weekly. Not once has there been a problem.”
Eli and Iggie and Sam shot each other surreptitious side-glances.
“Bill, I'm going to insist that we track down Shane immediately, and I'm authorizing Sam to do a complete examination of all Shane's activities from the time you and Steph started working on Valentine. That's five months back. You with us on this?”
Bill's chest rose and fell, his breathing audible in the pin-drop quiet coating the room. “Yeah. I'm with you.”
“Start with his cell, Sam. We have a home address for him?” Eli asked. “I'm heading that way, Iggie, and you can't stop me. My gut's pinging into next week.”
“You've only lost deals when I didn't listen to your gut, young 'un. Sam, you man communications. Any word on the limo driver yet?”
“Not yet. My men are at his home address,” Sam answered.
Iggie cut Bill a questioning look.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming too.” Bill checked his digital watch. “I'll order a chopper. We can be there in thirty minutes; otherwise it'll take at least three hours.”
“Hotel has a helicopter pad. You three go get ready. I'll organize everything.” Sam bent his head to his PC and waved a hand at the door.
Bill's time estimate proved spot-on, and they touched down on the helipad adjacent to Dreamcoast's headquarters precisely forty minutes after takeoff. Too engrossed in erasing images of Stephanie bruised and battered as soon as they popped into his brain, Eli never saw the dramatic scenery, the Golden Gate's glistening scarlet hue, or the bumper-to-bumper traffic snarl on the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge.
Eli recognized the wiry young woman leaning on the chrome bumper of a shiny black Toyota Sequoia as one of Bill's assistants. The roar of the chopper's engines stuttered long enough for Bill to be heard yelling, “He's driving.” He pointed a finger at Eli.
After punching Shane's home address into the GPS, Eli hit the ignition switch and then drove the car out of the private company road and onto the highway. Iggie suffered from motion sickness, and the helicopter ride had turned him inside out, s
o he sat in the rear of the SUV. Bill took the passenger seat, and his cell rang when Eli began climbing a steep incline.
Bill's mouth tightened as he read the caller ID on his Droid, and then he brought the phone to his ear. “Yes.”
The winding road required all Eli's attention, so he eavesdropped on Bill's conversation sporadically. When he crested the top of the mountain and saw a stretch of flat ahead, he risked an over-the-shoulder glance and discovered Iggie was wfast asleep. The sound of Bill's cell clicking shut drew his attention.
“That was Sam. He figured the motion-sickness medicine had kicked in for Iggie and didn't want to disturb him. Kendrick's half cousin was your chauffeur. There's enough of a family resemblance for him to pose as Kendrick. Kendrick's legal. His cousin isn't. It's the old illegal-immigrant round-robin. Kendrick clocks in, someone else does the work, and Kendrick takes his commission and clocks out.”
“What about the voodoo stuff at the château? Did Kendrick know anything about that?”
“Give me a chance.” Bill's forefinger pushed at the wire rim of his glasses. “Kendrick identified the houngan as one of his cousin's buddies. He didn't recognize the voodoo women. Sam says Kendrick's terrified of this houngan, as is the rest of the immigrant community.”
“If this houngan's gone to ground, ten to one we'll never find him.” Eli leaned an elbow on the armrest.
“Kendrick's in the country on an agricultural work visa, and the limo company hired him under the table, so he's facing both criminal charges and deportation.”
“And all the limo company gets is a fine.” Eli snorted. “The means the whole immigrant community he's part of is going to go into lockdown. No one will admit to knowing anything.” Eli's insides clenched. “We'll never find Kendrick's cousin.”
Where are you, honey?
Don't be a smart-ass.
Give them the code.
“CSI found traces of a drug similar to chloroform on the bed sheets of your hotel suite, Eli. Sam's researching it now.”
“They drugged her. I hope she stays unconscious for a long, long time.” Eli checked the dashboard clock and shot Bill a glance. “It's almost eleven. She's been gone for at least three hours. No drug lasts that long. And they'll want her alert.”
