High Stakes

by Fern Michaels

  Pilar looked around the stark kitchen again and tried to imagine what it would look like with stuff in it. Colored place mats. Colored cushions on the futuristic-looking chrome chairs, flowers on the table, bowls of fruit and some green plants on the counters. She didn’t know if she could live with that, because stuff meant home. This penthouse was not home. Just the word home conjured up too many ugly memories she was not prepared to deal with. Not now, not ever. That was all behind her. This penthouse was the place where she slept, showered, dressed, and applied her makeup. A stopping-off place. An investment. Nothing more. Why she was even thinking about such things was beyond her. Why? Because of her suspicions about Toby Mason. This new information from Martha the housekeeper, the failed investigative report? December? The second month of the year when she broke the law to fatten her and Gabe’s bank account. Yes, it was dangerous, but she was careful and smart. She had a handle on it all.

  Or did she? Gabe was really antsy. She had to pay attention to that. While her husband was mostly docile, he did have a stubborn streak, and he’d aired it just a little while ago. If he wanted out, then he would do just what he said. She needed to be mindful of that stubborn streak and start to play nice. Really nice.

  Pilar looked at the watch on her wrist, the tiny diamonds surrounding the bezel winking in the bright overhead light. She opened up her laptop again and proceeded to do what she did every morning, check everything that went on the night before and prepare for the coming night. It always took a full two hours. By the time she was finished, the report from the investigative agency should be in her in-box, and Gabe would be back with toasted bagels slathered with butter and cream cheese. After eating, she would get dressed and head out to check on the Supper Clubs. The rule was that she would take six and Gabe the rest. They never missed a day, which qualified them both as hands-on owners. Then they would do a nice leisurely lunch and head back to the penthouse so Gabe could take a nap and she could do whatever she wanted, which was pretty much nothing other than watching reruns on television or counting the money in their various accounts.

  Pilar shifted into what she called her neutral zone and went to work. When she was finally finished, the clock on the Wolf range said it was three minutes to ten. She leaned back and waited. She hated that she was feeling jittery, because it just proved that something in her immediate world was not right. And Gabe knew it before she did, so she really had to pay attention. She squinted as she watched the digital numbers on the range go past the twelve, then the one, then the two. Finally, her computer dinged at the number three, alerting her to an incoming e-mail with an attachment. She clicked it on and read slowly. She sighed heavily when she got to the end of the report. She couldn’t see any immediate cause for worry, unless Toby decided his dancing career was over. She didn’t think that would happen anytime soon. He would need money to squire the wealthy young woman around town. She would have a certain lifestyle, and he would have to step up to the plate. No fast food and walks in the park for an heiress with a robust trust fund, a Ferrari, and a Black American Express card. Even Pilar didn’t have the Centurion Card.

  Pilar clicked on the icon that would allow her to view the pictures of Mia Grande. She was beautiful. Gorgeous, actually, with a body to die for. Designer clothes, just the right amount of jewelry. The girl had bedroom eyes, all soft brown and dewy. She also had a magnificent head of shimmering, glossy hair, which she could just see Toby burying his face in. Men loved long hair for some reason, and this girl didn’t have extensions. One close facial shot showed eyelashes Pilar would cheerfully kill for. A real beauty.

  Now, what did this all mean? Why would someone like Mia Grande pick someone like Toby Mason to hang with? Was she slumming, was she playing with him, or did she really see something in him that she could love? According to the report, Mia Grande was a party girl. Toby was not a party boy. Where was the common cord? What attracted them to each other? That was what she needed to know.

  How was she going to find that out? Go straight to the source and ask, of course. She had a good relationship with Toby, had always had, from the very beginning, when she found him bagging groceries at that supermarket. While she knew she didn’t exactly project a motherly image, she could still talk a good game and offer advice on love. Toby would listen. She was almost sure of it.

  Pilar was so deep into her thoughts she almost jumped out of her own skin when Gabe set a white bag down in front of her. Her daily bagel. With her emotions as bundled up as they were, she doubted the bagel would stay in her stomach. She pushed the bag away. “I’m not really hungry this morning, Gabe.”

  “I wasn’t either, but I forced myself to eat,” Gabe said, sitting down at the table, across from his wife. “We really should talk. I mean really talk, the way we used to.”

  Pilar nodded. “Say what you have to say. I promise to keep an open mind. I will fight you only if I think you’re wrong.”

  “Look, honey. Right now we are in a fairly good place. We’re running on nothing but suspicion. We can change that all right now simply by canceling Mr. December. We can say we are getting ready to restructure the Supper Clubs, and that it is going to take up all our time. We can pay off Toby, because he will lose out on the calendar. You can notify your . . . your sources and tell them we’re off the grid until next July due to circumstances beyond our control. Say whatever you want, since you know those people better than I do. It might not be a bad idea to throw some worry their way so they don’t make waves. We need to get out from under, and the sooner we do that, the better off we are. The longer we’re in the picture, the more things can go wrong.

  “I know your gut and all your feminine instincts are telling you that Toby and his new love are not what is on the surface, and I think you are right, which just makes my point more valid. Forget about the money and think in terms of the rest of our lives. If we go out now, we go out clean. If we hang around another year, the odds we’ll make it to next Christmas are iffy at best. Please, Pilar, listen to me.”

  Gabe was shocked senseless when his wife reached for his hand across the table. “You’re right, Gabe. You’ve always been the voice of reason. I’m sorry I’m the greedy one. I just don’t ever want to go back . . .”

  “Don’t go there, Pilar. This is now. We need to make a plan. Like now.”

  “Okay. You get started on how you want to proceed while I get dressed. Let’s take a walk around the Tidal Basin, the way we used to. Bring a notebook, so we can write everything down. Like we used to. We can sit on a bench and talk and formulate a plan. Like we used to. Remember how, back in the day, once we had a plan and put it on paper, it was a go and we never looked back? Back then we trusted ourselves and each other. We need to do that now, so it is official.”

  “Works for me,” Gabe said happily. When Pilar was out of sight, Gabe’s shoulders slumped. That was way too easy, was his first thought. His second thought was that Pilar had a plan, and he wasn’t going to like it. His third thought was that his wife loved money too much to cave in the way she just had. He corrected his thought. Pilar didn’t just love money; she worshipped money.

  Chapter Six

  It was three minutes shy of seven o’clock when Jack Emery opened the door of the BOLO Building. He stepped aside to let Cyrus enter first. He waited for the massive door’s hydraulics to fall into place before he headed to the kitchen to turn up the heat and make coffee. He’d been up since the crack of dawn because he had to drive his wife to the airport. Nikki was headed to Boston, where she and Alexis were scheduled to talk to a group of surgeons concerning a monster malpractice case. She’d said her best guess was that they would be there for a week at the beginning, and then they would have to commute to and from Boston for another month to six weeks, getting home for weekends. He missed her already, but the possibility of this new mission would take the edge off being alone because he knew he’d be spending most of the next week here at the BOLO Building.

  Cyrus barked, a reminder that he�
�d had no breakfast. There had been no time, so now he had to make do.

  “Tell you what. I’m going to call Ding and have our breakfast sent over.”

  Cyrus barked again to show he approved of his master’s decision. Five minutes later, their breakfast of scrambled eggs, hash browns, extra-crisp, snap-in-two bacon, and raisin toast was in the works. If Ding ran true to form, in fifteen minutes there would be a knock on the front door, and he and Cyrus would be chowing down.

  “Conference room, big guy. Bring your gear. I need to tidy up before the others get here.” Gear meant his security blanket; his one-eared, no-tail rabbit with only one eye; and a stuffed duck whose beak, when pressed, played “Rocka-Bye Baby.”

  Jack eyed the messy conference table. He winced, wishing he’d had the energy to clean up before he left last night, but he’d been too tired. He and Cyrus had been the last ones to leave, at ten minutes to two. Then the forty-five-minute ride out to the farm before he fell into bed, only to get up two hours later for the drive back into town and the airport.

  Jack gathered up the yellow legal pads and pens. They were all old school, preferring to write, as opposed to keeping notes on their tablets and laptops. He was the biggest Neanderthal of them all, followed closely by Maggie and Ted. All the trash went into the shredder. He looked at his watch. Three minutes until Ding’s son, his main deliveryman, banged on the front door. Always in tune with his master, Cyrus beelined for the front door, where he settled down on his haunches to wait.

  “Someday, I want you to tell me how you know exactly when something is going to happen,” Jack grumbled as he fished around in his pockets for the money to pay the tab.

  From his position at the window, Jack had a clear view of the Bagel Emporium across the street. The moment the door to the establishment opened and young Ding stepped out, Cyrus was on his feet, tail quivering a mile a minute. Seconds later, Jack had the door open before the young man could bang the brass knocker. Money changed hands.

  “Dad said to tell you the rest of the order will be delivered at ten sharp, piping hot.” Jack pretended not to see the treat young Ding handed to Cyrus.

  Jack closed and locked the door. Cyrus was patiently waiting for his food, which Jack fixed before he sat down to eat his own. Cyrus always came first. Always.

  Jack’s thoughts were all over the map as he worked his way through his breakfast. His adrenaline was pumping through him at an all-time high. Dennis was onto something; he could feel it in his bones. The kid’s intuition was something he’d learned to pay attention to over time.

  On his way to the massive coffee urn to refill his coffee cup, he heard the hiss of the back door. He made a silent bet with himself that it was Dennis, the intrepid reporter.

  “Morning, Jack, Cyrus! Didn’t expect to see you here this early. I thought I was the only early worm,” Dennis said so cheerfully that Jack had to fight the urge to smack him.

  “I had to drop Nikki off at the airport for an early morning flight to Boston. No sense going back home just to have to turn around and come back at ten. Did you hear from your friend last night?”

  “I did, and he said he pulled it off to perfection. He also said he’s a nervous wreck for more than one reason. Seems Mia Grande kissed him like she was in love with him. All part of the act, of course, but he said he felt strange things.” Dennis giggled to show what he thought of that.

  In spite of himself, Jack laughed out loud.

  “I sent him a text before I got here, but he hasn’t responded yet. He was to go running with Mia early this morning. If we’re sticking with her legend, she will have to go to Georgetown for a class or two to keep it all straight. The other female operatives will swoop in. He should have responded by now,” Dennis said, fretting. “I just keep worrying he’s going to blow it somehow. What we do is not even close to the way Toby thinks or does things.”

  “Well, he’s going to have to learn real quick. I think he’ll be okay, Dennis.”

  “Has anyone else checked in this morning?” Dennis asked as he stared down at an incoming text from Toby.

  “Not yet. I just told everyone to be back here at ten this morning. We were all whipped when we left last night. Ding is going to be delivering bagels shortly. Is that text from your friend?”

  Dennis let his head bob up and down. “I’m thinking we might have a wee problem here. At least Toby thinks we might. He says he got a phone call—not a text, mind you, which he says is Pilar Sanders’s usual method of getting in touch—to tell him to meet her at the Dog and Duck for lunch. He is telling me this is a first, so, of course, he is jittery now. He wants to know what he should do and say. And he wants to know if Mia should go with him. Seems Pilar did not specify if he should come alone or bring his friend. He is certain that the house mother has notified Pilar of his performance by now. What should I tell him, Jack?”

  “Nothing right now. We need to talk to the others first.”

  “Someone is here,” Dennis said just as Cyrus got up and ran from the room. “How does Cyrus know, Jack? I didn’t hear a thing. Do you think my hearing is going?”

  “All dogs have extraordinary hearing and a keen sense of smell. I think Cyrus got an extra dose because of his size. We’ll never know, so don’t stew and fret about it, kid.”

  Abner was in the lead, followed by Avery Snowden, Charles, and Fergus. All looked tired and cranky but somehow still alert. Just then, the front door knocker sounded so loud, Jack clamped his hands over his ears as he tried to outrun Cyrus to the front door. He lost the race.

  It was Ding at the door delivering the rest of the bagels from Jack’s earlier order. By the time Jack and Cyrus made it back to the conference room, the rest of the team was in place, seated and talking over everyone else to be heard.

  Cyrus barked, and Jack whistled sharply for silence. “While I set these bagels out and make fresh coffee, Dennis has a bit of an emergency he needs to discuss with all of us. One at a time, people, so we can actually hear what everyone is saying, okay? Dennis, the floor is yours.”

  Dennis rushed right into it, reading Toby’s texts in a firm, hard voice. “Toby needs to know what we want him to do. Remember now, he’s not an operative, he’s new to this game, and he is not as fearless as we all are. Always remember that about him, okay? He is not a person we want to traumatize. So, let’s hear it!”

  Jack smiled to himself as he measured coffee into the giant urn. The kid had some chutzpah, and he valued loyalty, which was understandable where his friend was concerned.

  “I’ve already taken care of that, people. Our story is that Mia had a class she didn’t want to miss. Her friends, my operatives, will be waiting at the Dog and Duck before Toby and his boss arrive. They’ll play it by ear. Rest assured, your boy will be fine. We have his back,” Snowden volunteered.

  Dennis nodded as his fingers tapped out a response to Toby’s last frantic e-mail.

  Jack took his place at the head of the conference table. Maggie settled the plate of bagels, which were fully loaded, along with napkins, in the center of the table. Ted filled coffee cups, which everyone gratefully accepted.

  “We can’t stay, Jack. Ted, Espinosa, Dennis, and I have to be in Alexandria at noon. Myra and Annie’s orders. They want a full-court press on the temporary VA clinic that opened to the veterans this morning. Media will be all over the place. We stand a chance of getting a Pulitzer for our reporting on the VA. Make sure you guys turn on the TV so you can see it all going down. Annie sent me an early morning text saying that the White House is really miffed at her for taking matters into her own hands. Not that she cares. When Annie and Myra set their mind to something, there is no changing it, as you all know,” Maggie said.

  “Man, they got that up and running quickly,” Jack said. “How did they do that?”

  “Do you know anyone who can say no to those two women?” Abner asked. “Plus, they used a very large portion of the Sisterhood’s black funds. They ordered top of the line, the best of the b
est in medical equipment. They paid double time, triple time to people to set up the lab and the MRI and CAT scan machines. Then they shamed people—doctors and nurses, physician’s assistants and nurse’s assistants—into volunteering. Annie has got four full-time doctors, four full-time PAs, and seven nurses to help the vets. No one is going to get turned away. Everything is going to be done in-house, and they’re going to be open round the clock until every last vet sees a doctor. The doctors, the PAs, and the nurses are being paid, and Myra said others are standing in line to help.

  “Forty thousand square feet of help is how Annie explained it when she bought that old warehouse in Alexandria. The owners cut her a deal when they found out what she was going to use it for. Oh, one other thing. You remember that Medal of Honor–winning dog? His name was Gizmo. He’s appearing at noon to welcome the vets. Like I said, a full-court press.”

  “None of us can top that. Rest assured we will have the TV on at noon. Now to business,” Charles said as he withdrew a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. “On the drive here, Bert got back to me via text. He is on board and even thanked us for our sterling idea. He immediately accessed the Supper Clubs’ Web site and sent them an e-mail, then sent his offer via overnight mail. What he meant by ‘overnight mail’ is this. A guy he knows who works at the Wynn was flying back to the States via private jet, and he gave him the envelope to deliver. His friend promised to deliver it in person when he landed in D.C. The Sanderses should get his personal invitation by the time the clubs go live tonight.”

  “Wow!” Maggie said.

  “You know what I always say, Maggie. It’s not what you know. It’s who you know,” Ted said, cackling. “Hey, where’s Sparrow? Isn’t he supposed to be here?”

  “He called Charles and me early this morning to say he got a last-minute call to be at the White House this morning. He said there is no way he could blow that off without causing a ruckus. He thinks it might have something to do with the VA thing. We’ll have to make do without him and clue him in later,” Fergus said.