by Dinah McCall
“Macie?”
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“No…but I will be.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No.”
“Is there anything I can get for you…some clean clothes…a dressing gown?”
“No…but thank you.”
It wasn’t much, but he heard what he needed to know. At a loss as to what to do next, he picked up the remote control and then sat on a bench at the foot of the bed. The first program that came on was a news channel. Curious as to what was going on in the world, he leaned back, resting his elbows on her mattress, and tried to concentrate on what the news anchor was saying, but it was difficult. He kept picturing the long-limbed perfection of Macie’s nude body. It wasn’t until the news anchor started talking about the local news that Jonah’s attention shifted.
“On to local news…Sources at Cedars-Sinai Hospital tell us that the status of billionaire power broker Declyn Blaine has been updated from critical to serious. Meanwhile, the authorities are still searching for Evan Blaine, the billionaire’s fifteen-year-old grandson, who was kidnapped during the attack that left Blaine fighting for his life. Declyn Blaine had only two children, Felicity Blaine, who was killed at the time of the attack, and Mercedes Blaine, who owns a very successful import-export business in Chicago, and who is now in the city, cooperating fully with the authorities in an effort to find her nephew.
While we have not been able to interview Miss Blaine, she was seen today coming out of a local mortuary, presumably with her sister’s ashes.
Jonah cursed. He hadn’t seen any news crews. Where the hell had they been? Then he frowned, knowing that with today’s technology, a telescopic lens on a state-of-the-art video camera could record almost anything. As the man continued to speak, Jonah returned his attention to the broadcast.
“This news footage was taken only a short time ago, a few hours after her exit from the mortuary. We at this station sympathize with her grief. From all accounts, the earlier speculation about her being under heavy guard seems be true, as evidenced from this tape.”
Jonah stared at the screen in disbelief. There was Carter at the wheel, then the camera zooming in on Macie’s face, highlighting her grief for the world to see. He cursed. The little bastard back at the front gate had probably sold that piece of footage for a dandy profit, which seemed, to Jonah, as honorable as selling bones from the dead for souvenirs.
“According to a police spokesperson, there have been no demands made for Evan Blaine’s ransom. Friends from the private school that he attended have made up their own posters and are placing them in public buildings all over the city, with plans for statewide distribution this weekend. If anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts of this young man, you are asked to call the Los Angeles police department or the state branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The numbers are at the bottom of the screen.”
The picture that Evan’s classmates had put on the posters had obviously been taken at the end of a winning soccer game. His hair was in classic disarray and sticking damply to his forehead. He had been hoisted onto the shoulders of his teammates, his fist thrust upward in a gesture of victory. Jonah stared at the picture on the screen until he thought he would throw up, then grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. He closed his eyes as he stifled a groan. He’d seen an entire album of photographs, from the time Evan was a baby to spring break of last year on a trip to Cancún.
Now this.
The smiling picture they kept flashing on the television seemed oddly obscene, as if Evan was laughing at his own fate. But Jonah knew different. If the boy was still alive, he would be incapable of laughing.
Suddenly he felt the mattress dip behind him, and then smelled the fresh, sweet scent of soap and shampoo. It was Macie. He turned around. She was looking at him, her eyes red-rimmed and shadowed. He tore open the packet of sleeping pills that the doctor had given her and then went into the bathroom to get a glass of water. When he came back, she was sitting up in bed.
“I don’t need those,” she muttered, but she put them in her mouth anyway and downed them with a half glass of water.
“I’ll leave you to—”
Macie grabbed his hand.
“Please, stay with me, at least until I fall asleep.”
He set the glass down on the nightstand and then slid onto the bed beside her.
“Do you want to talk?”
She leaned back, using a pair of pillows and the headboard as a resting place, then eyed him curiously.
“About what?”
“Anything. Today? Last week? Your business? Your friends? I don’t know, Macie…you’re the one who will be talking.”
She pinned him with a hard, cool stare.
“I’d rather talk about you,” she said.
Instinctively his guard went up. His lifestyle wasn’t a topic for conversation. He looked at her, trying to temper what he was going to say with a smile.
“If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”
She snorted. It was a most unladylike sound, which made Jonah’s grin widen.
“Oh, bull,” Macie said. “Surely you have friends you can talk about. Don’t you have a hobby? What’s your favorite thing to eat? Since you live near Washington, D.C., are you a Redskins fan? Talk to me, Jonah. Tell me something ordinary before I go out of my mind.”
“Damn, woman, you asked me everything but what’s my sign?”
“I already knew that,” she said. “You’re a Gemini.”
“Witch.”
“I’ve been called worse. So talk. Surely you can come up with something. These pills will kick in before long, and then you’ll be off the hook.”
“Fine. Yes, I have a best friend. His name is Carl French. As for hobbies, I can’t say that I have any, although I enjoy the water and I like to fish.”
Macie settled down beneath the covers and folded her arms across her breasts. Now they were getting somewhere. She needed an ordinary conversation, like one would have with a dinner companion. It made the horror of this day a little bit easier to handle.
“Deep sea or freshwater fishing?” she asked.
“Either, although if I had to pick just one, I guess it would be the sea. I like the endlessness of the horizon. Keeps me from feeling hemmed in.”
She frowned slightly, contemplating the implications of what he’d just said. Hemmed in. She wondered how many times he’d come close to dying in that damnable job of his. No wonder he liked the freedom of the sea.
“Do you have a boat?” she asked.
“No, but I always thought I’d like to get one.”
Macie thought about Jonah, picturing him on the open sea, standing on the deck with feet apart, bracing himself against the pitch and roll of the water.
“Then I think you should.”
He shrugged. “Maybe one day…if I live long enough to retire.”
“Don’t say that,” she mumbled, then yawned and closed her eyes. “Don’t ever say anything like that again.”
Her eyelids were getting heavy. There was something else she wanted to say to him, but her thoughts wouldn’t focus.
“Stupid pills…”
Then she took a deep breath, rolled onto her side and sighed.
It was the last thing Jonah heard her say. He waited until he was sure she was sound asleep before he leaned forward. Her breath was soft on his cheek, her lips parted slightly. Her hair was a tangle of red on the white pillow slip, and despite the heavy fan of her eyelashes, he could see the lingering shadows of grief beneath her eyes.
“Sleep well, sweetheart,” he said softly, and then kissed her.
It took every ounce of willpower he had to get up and walk away, but there were things he needed to know.
Downstairs, Ruger was fielding the information gained from the arrest of Samuel Vega. He looked up as Jonah walked into the room.
“Tell me something good,” Jonah said.
&n
bsp; “Snickers candy bars,” Ruger said, and then shrugged. “Sorry. I get this way when I start losing sleep.”
“Samuel Vega. Tell me about him. Has he talked? What did he say when they confronted him about having Macie’s picture in his car?”
“Not a damned thing,” Ruger said. “He’s not talking, and neither is the thug who was with him. Also, they produced permits for the guns they were carrying. You’re not going to like this, but unless we come up with another reason they’re going to release them tomorrow.”
Jonah’s belly knotted. It was what he’d feared. “Let me guess. They have no reason to hold him.”
Ruger nodded.
Sarcasm was thick in Jonah’s voice. “Well, hell. What were we thinking? We should have let him blow her head off first, then his ass would be ours.” He kicked at the leg of a chair and then shoved his hands through his hair. “Christ almighty! Sometimes this crapshoot of a legal system we have makes me want to throw up.”
“I know, I know,” Ruger said. “But you and I both know it’s the truth. Technically, he hadn’t broken any laws, and it’s not illegal to carry someone’s picture. He had just as much right to be on that highway as anyone else. At least that’s what his lawyer is claiming.”
“This so-called lawyer…his name wouldn’t by any chance be Abraham Hollister?”
Ruger’s eyebrows arched; then he nodded. “You know him?”
“I know of him,” Jonah said. “Calderone always bragged that money could buy anything, especially the best lawyers.” Then he took a deep breath, making himself calm. “So where do we go from here?”
Ruger shuffled a handful of papers into a file, then laid it aside.
“Back off, Jonah. You’re not going anywhere, and we’re doing all we can.”
Frustrated, Jonah lowered his voice and moved closer to Ruger.
“Damn it, man. Look at this from my point of view. I have a son in mortal danger, and it’s all because of me. I need to do something. I can’t just stand on the sidelines and be satisfied with the same little bits and pieces of bullshit information you tell regular parents. I’m not regular. I’m a Company man, for God’s sake. Use me.”
Ruger glanced over his shoulder, then back at Jonah.
“You know I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry as hell, but that’s just the way it is.”
“What about that gardener? The one I saw on tape. What do we know about him? Has he made contact with anyone who—”
“He goes home. He comes to work. He goes home. He comes to work,” Ruger said. “He’s so clean, he squeaks when he walks.”
“There isn’t a man in Calderone’s organization who’s clean,” Jonah argued. “He knows something. Give me an hour alone with him. I’ll make him talk.”
Ruger’s nostrils flared in anger as he poked a finger against Jonah’s chest.
“That’s just what I mean,” he said sharply. “It doesn’t work that way here.”
Jonah jerked as if he’d just been hit on the chin. His eyes narrowed angrily, and his voice grew even softer.
“What the hell are you insinuating?”
Ruger sighed. “Damn it, man. Don’t make me say it. You know what I mean. I’m bound by rules. I can’t beat information out of a perp, no matter how much I might want to, and I can’t make someone disappear, no matter how much the bastard needs killing.”
“And I can?” Jonah asked.
Ruger met Jonah’s gaze without flinching. “You tell me,” he countered.
Silence stretched between the two men until it was razor thin. One wrong breath—one blink too many—and the thread of civility that kept them from punching each other in the nose would break.
It was a call from one of Ruger’s men that got his attention. He turned to answer the question, and when he turned back, Jonah was gone.
“Guess that answers my question,” Ruger muttered, and went back to work.
He didn’t know that Jonah had gone straight to his room, or that he was making a call to his boss. The secretary put his call through immediately, which told him that the deputy director had been waiting for contact.
“Sir…I need a favor,” Jonah said.
“Ask.”
“I need a list of everything that Calderone ever put money into—from the time he cut the strings on his mama’s apron to the day we locked him behind bars. If he owns a piece of land in California, I want to know where it is. The same goes for businesses. I know Calderone has holdings here. I just don’t know all the locations. Also, I need one of our people on the inside. I need to know what’s going on. Agent Ruger is a good man, but he’s got his orders, and they don’t include me. I was thinking maybe Carl French.”
“Yes.”
Jonah relaxed. Finally something positive. “Thank you, sir. I owe you, big time.”
“When it comes to our families, there are no favors to be returned. Understood?”
“Understood,” Jonah said.
“Expect French before morning.”
“Yes, sir, and thank you.”
Jonah was very relieved when he disconnected. So Ruger wouldn’t let him in on their investigation. Fine. He would work one of his own, with one of his own.
Satisfied that for now he’d done all he could do, he wandered out of the command center, following the scent of cooking into the back part of the house.
He found the kitchen, then Rosa and a small Chinese man who was stirring something in a pot on the stove. This, he assumed, was the cook.
Rosa saw him and gasped.
“Señor…you did not have to come in search of me. I would come to you. How can I help you?”
“I don’t need to be waited on,” Jonah said, and then softened his words by adding, “something smells very good. How long until dinner?”
“You go sit in the dining room. I will bring your food.”
“I can eat in here,” Jonah said.
Shock spread across her face as she grabbed him by the arm and shooed him out of the kitchen.
“No, no. I bring to you.”
“Fine,” he said. “But keep something hot for Macie. She’s still sleeping.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, nodding vigorously as she hustled him out of the kitchen.
Reluctant to eat alone in the splendor of the formal dining room, he waited until the food was served, then took his plate and moved out to the terrace beyond a set of oversize French doors. He sat down in one chair, using another as a foot rest, and took his first bite.
The food was hot and spicy and reminded him of Bangkok. He ate with relish while watching a lone gardener on a riding lawn mower at the back of the estate. He watched while the man finished his task, then started toward a toolshed. Suddenly the urge to look the man in the face overcame his good sense. If it was Calderone’s plant, he wanted to see him face-to-face. He set his plate aside, and when the man rode the lawn mower into a nearby shed, he got up and walked off the terrace.
The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut grass and the fragrance of the flowers he was passing. It reminded him of summers on his grandfather’s farm in Illinois, and for a few moments he wished to God he was still that little boy, hurrying to the barn to help his Poppy with the milking. But reality was too ugly to ignore, and the fantasy of Poppy’s farm quickly faded.
Just as he walked up to the shed, the gardener walked out. Jonah recognized him immediately, and he could tell by the expression on the man’s face that he had scared him.
Felipe Sosa was just getting used to his stolen name and new career as a gardener. There had been several times in the past few days when he had wished it was not all a lie. He liked working with his hands and helping things grow. It was a far cry from the makeshift cocaine factories scattered about Colombia.
He had just finished mowing the last of the grounds and was thinking about talking the maid, Rosa, out of an ice-cold lemonade when he found himself face-to-face with a man he’d never seen. His first instinct was to reach for his machete, but then
he remembered it was back in his village, so he made himself smile instead, adopting a subservient attitude as befitting a man of his means in a place such as this.
“Señor, there is something you need?” he said.
Jonah stared at him for a long, silent moment and saw not only the fear but the guilt. It was then that he knew. The man who called himself Felipe Sosa might not know where Evan was, but he was a link to the people who did.
“No, just taking a walk,” Jonah said, then shoved his hands in his pockets and continued on past the shed as if the tennis court in the distance had been his destination after all.
Felipe nodded, then hurried toward the house. Halfway there, something made him stop and look back. The man was standing under the shade of a large mimosa tree. From the way he was standing, Felipe knew he’d been watching him all along. Suddenly his thirst for the lemonade was gone in his desire to get away. He hurried to the garages, retrieved his old pickup and drove away. Not until he’d cleared the main gates and lost himself in the busy traffic did he breathe a quiet sigh of relief.
Later, while Sosa was heating up beans and tortillas, Jonah was in a small salon off the main library. He had one picture album in his lap and another on the table beside him that he had yet to view. He turned the pages slowly, his gaze lingering on the snapshots of his son. The longer he looked, the more his hate for Declyn Blaine grew.
9
While Jonah was wallowing in regret, Miguel Calderone was being led to the visitors’ room for a consultation with his lawyer. His step was jaunty, almost defiant, in spite of the leg irons and chains. He expected good news.
Abraham Hollister was fidgeting as he waited for his client to show up. Representing criminals was his chosen profession, but there were days, like today, when he wondered if going into the greengrocer business with his father might not have been wiser.
A few moments later, Hollister heard footsteps outside the door and quickly stood up. But it wasn’t from politeness as much as in deference to the man who was the largest contributor to his retirement fund. Seconds later, the door opened and Miguel Calderone entered, followed by one of the guards. Hollister nodded cordially as he stood on one side of the long table. Calderone took a seat opposite him.
