Chapter Six
He crouched beside her, his bare shoulder touching hers. He poked at the display. “Can you blow that up? He’s holding a newspaper.”
She flicked the pads of her finger across the display and the picture of Bobby enlarged.
“More.” Beau closed his hand over hers and brought the phone closer to his face. He peered at the screen. “It’s a newspaper from today. Proof of life.”
Pressing the phone against her heart, she breathed out, “Thank God.”
“How does he look to you?”
She held the phone out again and refocused the picture. “He looks sleepy. He must’ve just woken up. How does he look to you?”
Beau squinted at his son’s face. Would he see the resemblance? “He looks tired.”
“I’m so worried he might be sick. How would they know? How would they know what he needed?”
He stood up, one hand on her head, tousling her wet locks. “One thing at a time. Let’s just get him back.”
Deb dressed and dried her hair before the mirror using the hotel hair dryer. Zendaris wanted her in disguise again tonight but not with the blond wig. After all, that woman had just robbed a jewelry store.
She hunched over the vanity practically touching her nose to the mirror. And this one would be an assassin.
Zendaris had given her plenty of money to effect her change of identity, and now that he’d given her proof of Bobby’s safety he’d expect her to carry out his orders. Or else.
She shivered and backed away from the mirror. “I’m ready.”
Beau, wearing the same jeans and blue flannel shirt from yesterday, shrugged off the wall where he’d been leaning and pocketed his phone.
Deb stumbled to a stop. “Who were you calling?”
“Just checking my messages.” He patted the phone in his pocket.
“Anyone I know?” She held her breath, her gaze scanning his impassive face. Did she really expect Loki to give away anything with his expression? In his line of work, losing your poker face could get you killed.
“A new contract coming up.” He raised his brows. “Do you think I’d come this far with you to double-cross you?”
“I don’t know.” She strode to the closet and yanked her coat from the hanger. “Just remember...”
He sliced a hand through the air. “You don’t have to tell me. You won’t go without a fight.”
She shot him a thumbs-up. “You’re catching on.”
“Let’s eat.”
She draped her coat over her arm as he ushered her through the door. She’d misjudged him. She never dreamed he’d ride to her rescue if he didn’t have a stake in the outcome. Maybe he knew subconsciously that Bobby was his but was too afraid to ask. The timing was right, although she’d fudged a little and had told him Bobby was almost two when he was really over two years old.
As they waited for the elevator, she whispered, “Do you have your weapon?”
“Of course.”
She knew he had it but wanted to segue into her next question. “When am I getting mine back?”
“Just as soon as I can be sure you’re not going to use it against me and go rogue.”
“Why would I do that? I’m grateful for your help. I don’t think I could do this without you.”
He snorted. “Deb Sinclair, first female Prospero agent? That’ll be the day she’s helpless.”
“I told you.” She jabbed at the button a few more times. “I’m different from the woman you met that night.”
“Not so different.” His gaze raked her head to toe.
The doors opening and the people inside the car saved her from a response. They had to dissipate this sexual tension between them. It wouldn’t help her cause. It wouldn’t save Bobby.
Maybe they should just sleep together and get it over with. They’d probably come away from the encounter disappointed that it didn’t live up to the fireworks of their one and only night as a couple.
Beau placed his fingers on her hip when the elevator reached the lobby, and Deb squirmed at his touch. She knew in her heart this man could never disappoint her.
They nabbed a table in the lobby restaurant and ordered breakfast. Beau pulled a smartphone from his pocket, not the same phone he’d been checking when she’d walked in on him. Looks as if everyone had special phones.
He tapped the display several times. “I need to rent a tux for tonight and pick up a few things for my transformation.”
“Do you think we should be seen together on the street?” Deb poured a steady stream of cream in her black coffee.
“I don’t think Zendaris is following you. He doesn’t even know what hotel you’re staying in anymore, and doesn’t seem to care. But it’s not a bad idea for us to keep our distance on the street.” He tilted the phone back and forth. “If you pick up a throwaway cell phone, I’ll text you to let you know where I’ll be, and you can do the same. Doesn’t mean we can’t wind up at the same shops, but let’s not arrive and leave together.”
Using a napkin, he jotted down the addresses of places that would be of interest to her and shoved it across the table. “Let me know when Zendaris contacts you to pick up your ticket to the ball. I want to scope out the place.”
“I’m going to feel a little like Cinderella.” She folded the napkin and dropped it into the bag hanging on the back of her chair.
He quirked one eyebrow. “I think I missed that part of the story where Cinderella had to take someone out.”
Deb took the T into Boston and her first stop was an upscale wig store. She felt naked without Beau by her side and felt even more naked without her weapon. He should’ve trusted her with it.
Zendaris hadn’t given her instructions about her appearance—just that she be appropriately dressed for the gala and not look anything like the jewelry store thief.
She fingered the hair of the wigs lined up on mannequin heads with blank faces. She stared into the vacant eyes of one face and felt as if she were looking into a mirror.
She’d felt empty, drained since Bobby’s kidnapping.
“Can I help you?” The clerk glided forward on the thick carpet.
“I’m looking for something—” Deb cranked her head back and forth “—black. Long, straight and black.”
The woman cocked her head. “That would be a very dramatic look with your pale coloring.” Crooking her finger, she crossed to the other side of the store. “I think I have what you want.”
Only Zendaris had what she wanted now.
The saleswoman slipped a wig off the smooth dome of one of the mannequins and held it up. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
The long black locks brushed the woman’s arm as it swayed in her hand.
“Perfect.”
“Have a seat.” The clerk patted a chair stationed before a mirror.
Deb perched in the chair while the woman gathered her hair in a ponytail, pinned it up and pulled a cap over her head. She tucked in the stray auburn strands and pulled the wig over the cap.
When Deb looked up, she saw a stranger. The silky black strands cascaded across her shoulders and down her back. Now she just needed some dark eyes.
Her next stop was a department store cosmetics counter. She couldn’t bring herself to buy a bunch of expensive cosmetics, so she asked for some samples and figured she’d pick up the rest at the drugstore. Then she took a detour through the store to pick up a few items of clothing so she wouldn’t be stuck wearing the same skirt and blouse for however long Zendaris planned to keep her on the hook.
She hoped to God it wasn’t much longer. Bobby looked too sleepy in that picture even for morning. Did they keep him tied up? Was he imprisoned in some room? A wave of nausea hit her gut, and she doubled over the clothes rack. She had to resc
ue her little boy.
She scooped in a couple of breaths, inhaling the floral perfume she’d sprayed on her wrists at the makeup counter. She could do this. She could get through this. She had no choice.
She swung by the lingerie department and snapped up several pairs of panties and grabbed a pair of pajamas on the sale table. If she had to spend another night in a hotel room with Beau, she preferred to do so with a few extra layers of clothing.
The shopping bags hung from her arms and banged against her thighs as she hailed a taxi to take her to her last stop—time to find the perfect dress for a murder.
She slipped into the formal wear shop slightly out of breath. What she saw next sucked the rest of the breath from her lungs.
Beau was planted in front of a mirror, tugging on the cuffs of a black dinner jacket. His eyes met hers briefly in the glass. “You don’t think the sleeves are a little short?”
The saleswoman fluttered around him like a butterfly. “Maybe a little. It’s the shoulders that concern me. Yours are so broad the material is puckering across your back.”
Deb pursed her lips in a smirk. Could the woman be more obvious? She cleared her throat.
The woman responded without taking her eyes from Beau. “Someone will be right with you.”
That someone was another clerk who popped her head out of the dressing room area. “Have a look around. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Deb cut a wide swath around Beau and the fawning store clerk. She cruised the perimeter of the store, fingering fabrics and checking price tags—not that any of the dollar signs concerned her. Zendaris was picking up the tab.
A couple thousand bucks for a dress in exchange for an assassination? Her services came cheap.
The clerk from the back approached her, brushing her hands together. “With your coloring, I’m thinking a jewel-toned green. What’s the occasion?”
Deb didn’t have the heart to tell the girl that by the time the evening rolled around, her coloring would be completely different. “It’s a formal event—gowns, tuxes.”
“Ooh, the best kind. Can I show you some dark emerald-greens over here?”
Deb clung to the black dress in her hands. You couldn’t wear green to a murder, could you? “I was thinking something a little more subtle. I sort of want to blend in with the crowd.”
The clerk screwed up her mouth. “That’s no fun, but black is definitely your color for blending in.”
After several minutes of frantic activity, the girl sent Deb to the dressing room where she’d stashed three black dresses—a halter neckline, strapless and spaghetti straps.
She stepped into the halter dress first and let it drop as soon as she brought the ties around her neck—too severe. She shimmied into the strapless dress and tugged at the fitted bodice. Nice.
The clerk called from outside the dressing room door. “Do you want a second opinion?”
Hiking up the dress, Deb stepped out of the dressing room and twirled around. “What do you think?”
“It’s amazing.”
Deb jerked her head around at the sound of Beau’s voice. Back in his jeans, he sprawled in a chair across from the dressing rooms, a bottle of sparkling water in one hand.
The clerk giggled.
“Excuse me?”
“The dress, take it. It’s you.”
She added a note of outrage to her voice. “I don’t believe I asked your opinion.”
“I just couldn’t help noticing how great it looks on you.”
“Mr. Shelton.” The saleswoman who had been helping Beau stepped between them with a plastic bag draped over her arm. “Your tux is ready.”
Beau eased to his feet. “Thanks, Adele.” He strolled to the door and called over his shoulder, “Maybe we’ll wind up at the same black-tie event.”
He’d better be there.
Deb bought the strapless black dress and a pair of heels to go with it. Then she loaded her purchases in a taxi and returned to the hotel.
On the way to the elevator, she glanced at the big clock over the reception desk—past two o’clock and still no word from Zendaris on where to pick up her ticket for tonight’s party. Would Beau really be able to find a way to attend?
The bigger question was how did he plan to fake an assassination at a crowded event?
By the time she reached the room, her arms were aching from the weight of her bags. She tapped at the door with the toe of her shoe.
Beau opened the door, and she transferred two bags from her hands to his.
Hoisting the bags, he asked, “What is all this stuff?”
“Since I didn’t get to pack before I left home, I wanted to pick up a few things to wear when I’m not attending gala fundraisers.” She collapsed on the bed, her legs hanging over the side. “Did you get everything you needed?”
He dug into one of his bags in the corner of the room and bounced what looked like a caterpillar in his hand. “Zendaris isn’t the only one who can change appearances.”
“What is that thing?”
He held it up between two fingers. “A fake moustache.”
“You’re really going all out.” She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes. She couldn’t wait to slip into that pair of flats she’d bought today.
“You didn’t hear anything from Zendaris?”
“Not yet.” She rolled to her stomach. “You don’t think he changed his mind, do you?”
“Probably not, but that’s a good thing. You want to do whatever is going to get you closer to getting your son back.”
“Including murder?” She pulled a pillow against her chest and hugged it. “I don’t understand how we’re going to get around that.”
“We will. Let’s have some lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.” The dinner last night and the breakfast this morning had been more food than she’d eaten in a week. The meals had made her feel slow and sluggish and too relaxed. She needed to be on top of her game right now.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that food helps you keep up your strength?” Beau cursed, realizing his mistake almost before the words left his mouth. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, I never had that mother, but I know what you mean.”
“I worked up an appetite with all that shopping.” He peeled his key card from the glass-topped credenza. “I’m going to run to that deli down the street and pick up a sandwich. Don’t go anywhere without me, and keep the door locked and chained.”
He backed out of the room, shoving the key card in his back pocket. What an idiot. He knew Deb hadn’t had a mother growing up. Her mother had been some junkie who’d abandoned her to the foster care system at the age of four.
Deb hadn’t even had the advantage of being a baby ready for adoption. The older kids always had a tougher time of it, and she’d bounced around a few foster families before running away from the last one at sixteen.
The rigors and discipline of the U.S. Navy must’ve been a welcome change from the chaos of her childhood. And then she’d learned to fly choppers.
He jogged down the stairs and welcomed the brisk blast of air that hit his face when he bounded outside. Between all the hot and heavy lovemaking he and Deb had indulged in, it was amazing he’d learned so much about her life.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he kept his head down as he strode to the deli. He’d feel a lot better once he donned his wig and facial hair. With that symposium in town, he risked running into people who knew him.
He’d missed the lunch rush and stood in line behind just one other customer. While he waited for his pastrami, his phone buzzed. Deb’s name flashed on his display.
“What’s up?”
“It’s on.”
“Where?”
“I have instructions to pick up the t
icket at a bookstore on White Street, Flights of Fancy.”
“A bookstore?”
“In a book. The ticket’s going to be in a book.”
“Hold on.” Beau put down the phone and paid for the sandwich. “What time?”
“In an hour.”
Pulling up his sleeve, he glanced at his watch. “I’m going to head over there right now, Deb. Zendaris is not going to risk leaving that ticket in a book for long. Maybe someone’s slipping it into the book as we speak.”
“Are you going to do anything if you catch someone?”
“No. We want that ticket, but I might be able to get a line on someone working with Zendaris. Give me the address and the name of the book.”
Deb gave him the information. He could probably walk to the bookstore, but a taxi would get him there faster. He headed back to the hotel to pick one up there.
A five-minute taxi ride brought him to the bookstore, and he instructed the driver to drop him off another hundred feet down the street.
Shoving his hands in his pockets and tucking his chin to his chest, he jogged across the street and dropped his sandwich on one of the metal tables on the patio in front of a coffeehouse. Then he ducked inside to order a coffee and grab a magazine and took a seat at the table.
He shook open the magazine and unwrapped his sandwich. He alternated between taking bites of his pastrami and peering over the top of the magazine to monitor foot traffic into the bookstore.
Each time someone entered or exited the store, he snapped them with his camera. Maybe they’d get lucky. He didn’t believe for a minute Zendaris would risk some stranger finding the ticket to the fundraiser by placing it too early. He’d want to know that Deb could get to the bookstore first.
A couple of likely suspects, both male, shuffled into the store and then out again in record time. Beau wouldn’t dismiss any women as likely candidates, but the truth was there weren’t many Deb Sinclairs in the world.
And for one hot night, she’d belonged to him.
After more surveillance pictures and several unread magazine pages, a taxi pulled up to the curb fronting the bookstore and deposited Deb on the sidewalk, sporting a long black ponytail. A pair of slim jeans and black flats had replaced the straight skirt and high heels of the past few days. Dark sunglasses hid half her face. She looked young and fresh enough to be a student in this town teeming with them.
Harlequin Intrigue November 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2 Page 26
