Then slowly, like the rising of the sun in the morning, one moment a sliver of light peeking over the horizon, imperceptibly growing to a brilliant glowing orb, possibilities began to occur to him. Favors he could call in. Long-forgotten contacts he could reach out to. A plan began to form in his mind. Sketchy, yes. A long shot? Certainly.
But it was something.
Tracie stood in front of the mirror looking at the stranger reflected back at her. A shimmering silver dress sheathed her body, coming to a stop just above sparkling diamond-studded shoes with heels so high she could hardly walk in them. Matching chains of diamonds spun like gossamer threads down from the halter neck, across the open back, crisscrossing her bodice like a spider’s web. Diamond earrings dropped from her lobes, which were already starting to throb in protest; bracelets dangled from each wrist, and two enormous diamond rings adorned her right hand.
The only thing she recognized was the fear in her eyes.
Tracie closed her eyes, hardly able to muster a sigh. The heavy fake lashes on her lids were more than she wanted to heft open. She hadn’t slept since Trevor had put the gun to her head. Too much had happened. Martina had called, she and her men had swooped in with a sleek tractor-trailer, its interior part lab, part communications center, part dressing room, and now they were hurtling down the long stretch of highway that led to the Canadian border and the address on the invitation Trevor had given her.
“Wake up!” Martina snapped her fingers in front of her face, and Tracie pulled her eyes open.
“These earrings are so heavy.” She lifted them with her palms to ease the pain.
Martina batted her hands away. “How else do you expect to communicate with us?” Martina had already explained how the communication devices in the earrings worked. “Keep the earrings on, and whatever you do, don’t lose your rings.” Tracie held up her right hand, where GPS tracking devices were embedded in both of the diamond rings she wore. “If we lose you, we’ll lose you, and you don’t want to do this on your own.”
“Right.” Tracie heard her voice waver, and felt her head tremble when she nodded. She couldn’t do this. There was no way she could pull off this look, not even for a second. Going to Trevor’s party meant walking straight into the lion’s den. She could barely walk at all in the high heels they had her wearing.
“Let’s wear this one, too,” Martina held up a small diamond hairclip. Tracie’s blond hair fell in long, loose waves down her back. Martina stuck the clip by her temple.
“What’s that one do?” Tracie asked, doubting it was there just to keep her hair out of her eyes.
“It’s a recording transmitter. You won’t be able to use it to communicate with us, but it will record everything you hear and transmit the recording to a file on our computer.” Martina took a step back and looked her over. Apparently satisfied, she announced, “I’m going to check with the guys on our status. You stay here, and stay beautiful.” The woman blew her a kiss as she left.
Tracie did not feel encouraged. Everything was falling apart around her. Heath had used her. He didn’t love her, didn’t even care about her. He was probably laughing right now about how naively she’d fallen into his trap. But instead of anger, all she felt was a heart-clenching sadness.
“I’m an idiot,” she informed the stranger in the mirror. “After all the lies he told me, I still care for him.” She sniffed and rummaged around in the knapsack she’d brought until her fingers found what she was looking for. Of all the things to bring with her to an FBI bust, she’d grabbed a Bible. But she needed strength and comfort now more than anything, so she spilled open the pages and scoured the red letters for whatever encouragement she could find.
She found Jesus on the Mount of Olives in the Gospel of Matthew. My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Christ’s words touched her heart, sparking recognition. She kept reading.
My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Her soul resonated with the words. She sat still, begging God to free her from the mission she didn’t want to accept, but couldn’t seem to escape. Jesus hadn’t wanted to drink from the cup of death. He’d prayed for God to take it from him. But God hadn’t taken it away. Jesus had gone to his death. Tracie thought about the questions Heath had asked her, about prayer and how it worked, or didn’t work. Why hadn’t God answered his only Son’s prayer? It didn’t make sense.
“Jesus had to die to save the whole world,” she mused out loud. “I don’t need to save anybody. I just want to go home.” But her conscience protested her own words. Trevor had killed his own brother without remorse. He’d tried to brutally murder her and Gunnar and had threatened to go after Heath. No, she wasn’t just in this to save her own skin. Trevor would stop at nothing. He’d keep on killing. He had to be stopped before he trampled on more innocent people in his quest for power and wealth. He had to be brought to justice. But how could she ever stop him?
Popping her eyes open, she continued reading from the open Bible on her lap. My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may Your will be done.
Four words jumped out at her with shocking clarity. Unless I drink it. Her breathing came fast and she dropped her mouth open as she stared at the Bible on her lap. Christ’s cup had passed from him, but only by his drinking of it.
The realization hit her stronger than any jolt of caffeine. God had answered Jesus’ prayer—the hard way. And the only way she was going to get through this was to face it head-on. Energized by the startling revelation, Tracie closed the Bible and stood, grabbing the earrings and hooking them back through her earlobes. Then she stared down the beauty in the mirror. “Let’s drink this.”
Heath looked up from checking coats in the coat closet, discreetly studying the elaborate ice-palace ballroom in the remote mansion near the Canadian border. Tom London’s place was unlisted, but Heath had reached a friend in the FBI who’d gone out on a limb to send him the address just in time. He counted three officers he knew, looking stiff in their tuxedos. Hopefully there were more out there he just didn’t recognize. Tracie was already woefully outnumbered.
Though he’d originally hoped to bring in a couple of his friends to help, it had taken all his finagling just to get in the door. Oddly enough, he felt at peace about that. God had brought him this far, and he felt a growing certainty that no number of extra men on his side would make any difference in the long run. If God intended for him to rescue Tracie, he’d make it happen, no matter how slim his chances seemed. So he checked in coats and waited, alert for any sign of Tracie.
Finally, at ten minutes to eight, he saw her enter with Oleg and Olaf, twin blonds each the size of a refrigerator. Heath had worked with them before. Oleg took the heavy fur from Tracie’s shoulders, stepping toward the coat room. For the first time, Heath got a good look at her.
His throat tightened. She looked radiant—not just on the outside, dripping in diamonds—but her whole being sparkled. Her eyes lit up as she threw her head back and laughed at something Olaf said, and a burst of air blew in the open door, sending her long golden hair swaying around her shoulders.
Oleg handed over the fur, and Heath kept his chin down, his face half turned away. The blond boys weren’t supposed to know he was there. The last thing he wanted to do was alert Tracie to his presence. She had her work cut out for her already without having to think about him.
He hung up the fur and turned back just in time to see her disappear through into the ballroom, practically floating in heels he couldn’t imagine anyone walking in. Two coats later he slipped away, praying he blended in a little better than the stiffs he’d already spotted.
Tracie kept close to Oleg and Olaf as she circulated through the room, hoping to spot Trevor before he found her. He’d gotten the jump on her too many times recently. Waiters in white jackets circulated with exotic food and drinks held high on silver trays. She sampled a fat shrimp perched atop a mound of crushed ice. Like everything else around h
er, it sparkled.
Diamonds seemed to be the theme, and Tracie couldn’t help wondering if all of the gems around her were the same as the fakes Trevor had been helping to smuggle. When she tried to count the gems their dazzling brightness only made her eyes water. There were too many, she decided, as she made her way toward the front of the room where an elaborate display of large diamonds atop black velvet was roped off from the crowd.
Though elegantly-dressed people packed the room, Tracie wasn’t the only one who appeared not to know anyone else. Very little chatter rose over the soft music of the orchestra.
That fit. According to Martina’s brief explanation, most of the people invited were innocent of any direct connection to Trevor. They appeared to have come from all over the world. They were investors, most of them, lured by an invitation to take part in a deal too appealing to pass up. Part of her role in being there was to help the FBI sort out the bad guys from their innocent victims.
Tracie didn’t have long to wait for Trevor. As the band played a buoyant tune, a flat-panel screen dropped behind a podium at the end of the room nearest the diamond display, the lights dimmed, a spotlight shone and Trevor appeared, looking larger than life and deceptively handsome in his tuxedo. He approached the dais and welcomed everyone, first in English, then in French. As he spoke, translations of his words in several languages appeared on the screen behind him.
“Our previous creation, which we like to call the blue diamond, was successfully marketed for nearly twenty years before jumpy gemologists turned the market against it.” Trevor’s smooth speech made it sound as though his team of diamond smugglers had been victims of an unfounded boycott.
As Tracie understood it, there were a lot of fine lines that had been crossed. Though chemically and physically identical to natural diamonds, Trevor’s gems were grown in a lab. There was nothing illegal about them per se. Anyone could own them and, considering how long they’d been smuggled into the U.S., probably many people did. No, the crime was in passing them off as natural diamonds, whose value could be hundreds of times higher than that of the synthetic gems. Essentially, Trevor and his associates were guilty of cheating and lying, as well as the other crimes they’d committed to hide their business, including smuggling and murder.
Trevor continued his speech. “Though our gems appear clear under natural lighting, their blue color becomes immediately apparent in UV light, as my lovely assistant, Tracie, will step forward and demonstrate.”
Tracie’s eyes widened at the sound of her name. She glanced to her right and her left, but Oleg and Olaf were nowhere in sight. The spotlight found her and she stepped forward under Trevor’s cold gaze.
Lord, I’m trusting You to see the way out of this, because I don’t, she prayed silently as she held her head high and moved forward.
Trevor motioned her into place beside him while the lights changed once more, and a glaring black light obliterated the crowd and even the features of Trevor’s face. Gasps and murmurs echoed through the ballroom, and Tracie looked down.
Against the shadows of her darkened dress the diamonds cast a phosphorescent blue glow, their crisscrossing pattern appearing to ensnare her like a net, each brilliant gem uniform not only in size but in color as well. She knew from her research that such consistency was unheard of among naturally-occurring diamonds. Her dress had to be made with fakes, along with her shoes and the rest of her jewelry, including her earrings, whose broad baubles she could see glowing blue on the edges of her peripheral vision.
“Inspect them for yourselves,” Trevor continued, reaching down and, before Tracie even realized what he was about to do, sliding the rings from her right hand and tossing them into the eager crowd. “You will find them to be of the highest quality.” Deftly he removed her earrings. Tracie tried to snag them back, but they were in the hands of the partygoers almost as quickly as they’d left her ears.
She was on her own, with no way to communicate with Martina or anyone else who worked for the good guys. They wouldn’t even be able to find her. Trevor had neatly taken care of that.
But how had he known? The FBI had dressed her, apparently using gems they’d confiscated as part of their investigation. Who had leaked the details of her ensemble to Trevor? Or had his people simply recognized their own product when she’d arrived? Had his removal of her microphones and tracking devices simply been a coincidence? Tracie recalled what Tim had said the day before he’d died. You must not realize how deep this thing goes. Who else was secretly on Trevor’s side? Who was the mole Heath had been searching for?
While Tracie’s mind spun with questions, Trevor boldly proceeded to announce that a new product line would be introduced later in the evening. Then the lights rose and his hand clamped possessively around her shoulder.
Tracie glanced around the room, frantically trying to locate Oleg and Olaf, and simultaneously praying she wouldn’t reveal her fear to everyone. But no one looked familiar, and Trevor quickly encircled her waist with one thick hand.
“My lovely assistant,” he growled, his eyes narrowing like those of a fox moving in for the kill. “I can’t wait to see you in your next costume. But first, we have some catching up to do. Ah, here come your men now.” Trevor tipped his head toward Oleg and Olaf, who swept forward, each cupping an elbow and sweeping her in the direction of a side door.
For one disoriented moment, Tracie thought they’d come to her rescue. But then they pushed through the door with Trevor at their heels and shuffled her into a waiting limousine. Trevor slid in the other side and the locks snapped down with a final click.
She was trapped.
Heath saw Oleg and Olaf sweep Tracie away, though he couldn’t comprehend why they’d cooperate with the enemy. He’d already discovered one of the FBI men out cold in a closet—where the other two were, he didn’t know, but they weren’t anywhere around. He was on his own.
Fortunately he was near the front exit, and quickly slipped out. Vaulting off the veranda, Heath was just quick enough to catch sight of Tracie being shoved into a waiting limo. For a fleeting moment he caught a glimpse of her face, her eyes searching for some means of help or escape, her panic when she found none. He recalled his promise to be there for her, to protect her from Trevor. No doubt right now she thought he’d failed her.
The limousine rolled forward and Heath ducked low behind a snow-covered hedge, taking a moment to pop out the collapsible nylon snowshoes he’d stashed in his back pocket. He slipped the webs over his shoes, their sleek ski-like soles just enough to keep his feet from puncturing through the crust of deep snow. Once the limo was past, he darted across the snow-buried grounds along the well-lit path to the shadows. He’d have to move quickly, or he’d lose them.
His snowmobile was parked on the far side of the wall, or would be as long as no one had discovered it. A long expanse of snow-covered lawn stretched between the house and the six-foot-high enclosure. Heath ran as fast as his snowshoes would carry him. He leapt for the wall at a dead sprint, grabbing hold of the top ledge and pulling himself up, heavily favoring his uninjured arm. Swinging his legs over, he dropped to the ground on the other side, started the engine and took off in the direction of the front gate where he’d seen the limo headed.
With his headlight turned off to prevent detection, Heath sped forward, peeling off his snowshoes as he went. Even with all the wealthy guests in attendance, there wasn’t a great deal of limousine traffic, and Heath spotted the vehicle easily. A quick glance at the plates confirmed it was the same car he’d seen the twins shove Tracie into.
Wishing he’d had more time to scope out the area, Heath kept his snowmobile in the ditch as he followed the limo down a winding road. The neighborhood was an enclave of mansions, a semi-gated community of the ridiculously rich. He supposed most, if not all of them, had earned their money off the diamond-smuggling business, whether directly or indirectly. Making the connections between the guilty individuals would be the tricky part, but that was the least of hi
s concerns.
Heath had to catch up to Tracie. He cringed at the thought of her alone with Trevor in the limousine. Fortunately, they weren’t in the car for long. The limo turned at the next driveway, which had neither a wall nor a gate, but was instead lined with poplars. Though they’d shed their leaves for the winter, their low, spread-fingered branches provided some measure of cover for him in the darkness.
The moment he heard the limousine stop behind the sprawling Swiss-styled chateau, Heath killed the motor on the snowmobile. Snapping his snowshoes back on, he crept forward in the shadows just in time to see the light of an open door framing armed men who handed Trevor an assault rifle before escorting Tracie into the mansion.
Heath watched the door shut after them. His heart sank. He couldn’t just go barging in after Tracie. Something told him these guys were the type who’d shoot first and ask questions later. Looking around desperately for a way to get into the house, Heath noticed how the steeply-sloped roof nearly met the high-piled snow in places. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
With movements as smooth and silent as he could make them, he wriggled his way onto a dark corner of the roof and shuffled upward. Thick snow and ice slowed his progress, but Heath managed to pull himself across the heavy snow up to a skylight, where he peeked in.
Kitchen. Nobody in sight. He swung himself up, braced his feet against the top edge of the skylight, and scooted along the roof to where another glassy bulge betrayed the builder’s preference for natural lighting. Heath peeked down through the clear glass into a lavishly decorated bedroom suite. Tracie.
She held her head high, though he could see her fear in the rapid rise and fall of her diamond-draped décolletage.
The big guys had their guns pointed at her, but other than that, she appeared to be unharmed. Heath wanted to throw himself down through the skylight, but with so many gunmen in the room, he’d be dead before he hit the floor. That wouldn’t help her any. He sat quietly, watched and waited.
Troubled Waters Page 14
