Private Lies

by Wendy Etherington

  “Don’t know why there’s so much rush all of a sudden.” This comment was from Theodore.

  “Boss does seem anxious,” the other guy commented.

  Yeah. Now that he’s got my—strike that, the government’s—hundred-thousand-dollar wire transfer.

  So, the big question remained, just what was being rushed? Stephano had his hand in any number of legal and illegal operations. But this had to be connected to the counterfeiting, especially in light of the actions he’d witnessed at the casino and the evidence recovered at the electronics store. But he needed more than a handful of funny money. He needed a connection to Stephano. This property was it.

  He worried, though. Even if he found something incriminating, would it be enough? Stephano had circumvented the law many times. He’d escaped federal prosecution one way or another—a witness suddenly missing or dead, a payoff, evidence missing—so many times, the Feds had screamed for results. Which, of course, had brought about his undercover investigation in the first place.

  He’d be a hero if he brought Stephano in. But suddenly all he wanted was to get him and Roxanne out alive.

  A door slammed, then the two men walked across the shop. The front door opened, then closed. The lock clicked into place.

  But Gage refused to relax. He waited, listening to the silence, the occasional muffled laughter or conversation from someone passing by the shop outside. Roxanne stroked the inside of his wrist with her thumb. He wasn’t sure she was really aware of the comforting motion, but he absorbed her touch nevertheless.

  When the silence extended for over three minutes, which he timed by his watch, he turned to Roxanne and pushed a button on his watch that flicked on a small stream of light.

  Her chin, the line of her jaw, illuminated. He couldn’t see her eyes and doubted she could see his. “I still need to look around, and I don’t have much time. Wanna stay here?”

  “I don’t think so.” She crumpled the front of his shirt in her fist. “Try to lose me again and lose a vital part of your anatomy.”

  He smiled. “You know, this weekend has brought out a deep-seated aggression in you that I don’t think either of us was aware of before.”

  She adjusted her grip, clenching the fabric tighter against his throat. “Having your life and future threatened will do that to a woman.”

  “But examining your reaction, you must admit a certain…liberation on your part.”

  She angled her head. “Maybe. I’ll admit this weekend seems to have brought out my wilder side.”

  He thought back to the moments in the lingerie-shop dressing room, their lovemaking in the hotel. Again, he smiled. “A bit.” He leaned toward her, brushing his lips against her cheek. “You’re incredible.”

  “I could get used to you saying that.”

  “Please do.” He kissed her lips lightly, then reluctantly pulled away. “I need to get to work.”

  “I’ll help.” She rose, then extended her hand to him. “Why were those guys here? I thought we had an hour.”

  “The agent who called was following Stephano. I thought we had all his cronies covered, but obviously not.”

  “Well, let’s just hope they stay gone.”

  He stood, and holding her hand, pulled the cord to the light. “Let’s see what those guys were so anxious to move.”

  He approached the shelves, noting that the third one from the bottom, which had been full of boxes, now seemed to have a couple missing. Gage lifted one of the remaining three, finding it solid and fairly heavy—twenty-five to thirty pounds—and set it on the floor. His heart raced as he lifted the lid.

  “Paper?” Roxanne said in confusion when the contents were exposed.

  Gage’s heart rate kicked up even higher. Careful to handle only the edges so he wouldn’t smear any fingerprints, he picked up the top sheet of paper. He rubbed his thumb across one corner, noting the distinctive feel and the red and blue fibers scattered across the surface. He’d bet his badge the paper in his hand weighed exactly one gram—the same weight as each and every United States bill.

  “A very special kind of paper,” he said. “One I’ll bet the BEP wouldn’t be pleased to see outside of Washington.”

  “The BEP?”

  “The Bureau of Engraving and Printing.”

  Roxanne gasped. “This is a box of unprinted money.”

  “Looks like.”

  Excited now, she patted his arm. “It’s illegal to have this paper here.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “This is the evidence you need. You can arrest Stephano.”

  He hated to douse her enthusiasm. “I could have arrested him dozens of times over the last six months. This is a great break. We can link this property to him, and this property possesses illegal products, but we need more. I want the printer, the distinctive green ink—which, incidentally, is supposed to be almost impossible to duplicate without the original formula—and the computer that designed it all.”

  “You think all that stuff is here somewhere?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He returned the paper to the box, then set the box back on the shelf.

  “You’re not taking the paper?”

  “I’ll get it with a search warrant. We need to get moving.” After turning off the light and listening for a moment at the door, he turned the knob. In the main part of the shop, he again disarmed the alarm by the door with a special scrambler, then headed for the door behind the counter, tucking his gun behind his belt and pulling a set of picks from his pocket.

  “You can pick a lock?”

  He glanced back at Roxanne. “It comes in handy sometimes.”

  In seconds, he had the door opened. As he walked around the room, he used the light on his watch to scope out the inside, which appeared to be a small, cluttered office. A desktop computer, an ordinary inkjet printer, filing cabinets, invoices stacked on the desk, a rolling office chair, a small refrigerator in the corner. No boxes like the ones in the storeroom.

  “Flip on the light, would you?” he asked Roxanne. Damn. He was sure those guys had brought the boxes in here. The only other place they could have gone was out the back door, but why would they have taken them out there when they’d arrived and left by the front door?

  “It’s an office,” Roxanne said matter-of-factly. She narrowed her eyes as she glanced around. “And where are the boxes?”

  Frustrated, Gage shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

  She clapped her hands. “Hey, maybe there’s a secret room.” She immediately crossed to the wall and ran her hands over the wood paneling.

  “Rox, this isn’t a Nancy Drew novel.”

  She ignored him and kept tapping her hands across the wall, working her way around the room.

  Gage picked the locks on each file cabinet, then thumbed through the files. And found zilch. He tunneled his hand through his hair. This couldn’t be everything. He was close to the heart of this operation. He could almost taste it.

  Roxanne stopped tapping suddenly. “Good grief, I almost forgot. What did you do with that money from the casino?”

  “It’s still in my pocket. Why?”

  “Well? Is it counterfeit?”

  “It’s fake.”

  “More evidence. Surely with that, plus the paper…”

  Gage shook his head. “The money just gave me cause for a search warrant of the casino.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Which I thought I could order for tomorrow, maybe even later tonight. But we’ve got to connect this place to the casino first.”

  Roxanne crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall. “This detective business is frustrating.”

  Those were the last words she said before the wall gave way and Roxanne disappeared through it.

  11

  ROXANNE BLINKED, noting she was lying on her back in a narrow, dimly lit hallway.

  Gage appeared next to her. His eyes were dark with concern. “Rox, talk to me. Are you all right? Can you move?”
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  “I think so.” She lifted her arms and bent her legs, then rolled her head from side the side. “What happened?”

  Gage helped her to a sitting position. “Apparently we are in the middle of a Nancy Drew novel.”

  She glanced over to the section of wall she’d fallen through, which was actually a hinged door, then around the hall. At the far end sat, amazingly, a spiral staircase that wound toward a twenty-foot-high ceiling and ended at a metal platform and door. “A secret staircase?”

  “I think that’s The Crooked Banister.”

  “What do you know about Nancy Drew mysteries?”

  Gage helped her to her feet. “I always went for the smart women, even in elementary school.”

  Roxanne smiled. “Is that a compliment?”

  He stroked her cheek. “Absolutely.”

  Turning away from the tender look on his face, which she wasn’t sure how to deal with at the moment, she dusted off her pants, noting a snag in the delicate lace. The outfit wasn’t exactly practical for warehouse skulking. “So, you think we’ve hit the jackpot?” she asked as he closed the concealed door.

  He slid his hand against her back, urging her toward the staircase. “I don’t think there’s a big collection of mums up there.”

  With one foot on the bottom stair, she glanced up, and her stomach jolted. “Who do you think is up there?”

  “Probably nobody,” he said, though he pulled his gun from his belt. Then he looked at her, his eyes dead serious. “You can go back to the hotel if you want.”

  She hitched her purse on her shoulder, feeling comfort for the first time in her life that a deadly weapon lay inside her bag, and swallowed the fear fighting to emerge. “I’m sticking.”

  Gage led the way up the metal winding stairs. Roxanne followed on tiptoe so her heels wouldn’t get caught in the grates, and held tight to the railing for balance. At the door, her heart raced not only from the climb, but the anticipation and panic of what lay just beyond the door.

  Gage briefly rested his ear against the door frame, examined the frame, then knelt and went to work on the lock with his picks. She held her breath.

  Seconds later, he stood. “If an alarm goes off, you run like hell.”

  She simply nodded.

  He turned the knob slowly, pushing the door open a crack. No alarm. No sounds from the other side of the door. Gun in one hand, he grabbed hers with the other and slipped inside.

  They found themselves standing on a high metal landing, which let to a catwalk that encircled the room. Stairs to the right let to the floor. Lights overhead illuminated the concrete wall and floor-lined warehouse where a maze of boxes and crates, many of them shaped like paintings, covered the ground. Some paintings and sculptures had been removed from their containers and lay against the walls.

  Obviously they were in the back of the gallery next door to the florist.

  Though thankfully no bad guys rushed into view, she also didn’t see any sign of the equipment they were after, or the boxes of paper the two goons had carried from the florist’s storeroom. The only sound she heard was the quiet, consistent hum of the lights. “Where—”

  Gage held his finger to his lips and gestured down the stairs with the barrel of his gun.

  She followed his directions, using the same care she had on the other staircase. When they reached the floor, he again held her hand as they moved cautiously along the rows of containers. They stayed low and Gage constantly glanced up toward the door they’d entered. At least if someone barged in, they had plenty of hiding spots.

  Then they rounded the corner of a row of crates on the right side of the warehouse and hit the real jackpot.

  Half a dozen folding tables were lined in a row, computer equipment covering the surfaces. Cords and wires snaked and looped across monitors with several types and sizes of screens. Large computer towers and printers were all hooked together. The two boxes like the ones in the storeroom sat underneath the first table. Stacks of uncut, printed twenty-dollar bills covered the last.

  Gage had been right. No giant printing press. No plates. This whole operation was being run by no more computer equipment than she’d seen at most insurance companies.

  Even as he started toward the tables, Gage was punching numbers on his cell phone. “I need that search warrant now, sir,” he said briefly. He listened for a moment, then described what he’d found.

  Watching him work, Roxanne hung back. His energy permeated the room. He moved with controlled efficiency and grace. He was dark and sexy and interesting.

  How could she let him go?

  This weekend had enlightened her with so much about him. Living with cops her whole life, she understood his drive, dedication and focus. She couldn’t ask him to change. But she didn’t think she could change herself either. Now that she understood the dangers so intimately, she’d fear for him even more. They could never have a normal life together. His cases could start and end at any time.

  Daddy will be back in four months, honey. He has to go infiltrate an Internet scam in Wyoming.

  Or what if the Treasury Department decided to transfer him to the presidential detail? He could spend his days walking around in a blue suit and sunglasses with an Uzi under his jacket.

  She shuddered.

  Though her heart was breaking into pieces, she knew she had to stay strong. She had to find again the peace she’d held on to for so long.

  He loves you, and you’re going to let him down. Like his father, you’ll ignore his feelings. Like his mother, you’ll desert him.

  At the end of one row of containers, she sank to the floor, leaning her back against a crate. Dammit, what other choice did she have?

  Those knee-weakening thoughts probably saved her life.

  “Well, well, Mr. Angelini,” said a smooth, familiar voice. “Or should I say Detective Angelini?”

  Peeking around the corner of the crate, Roxanne gasped when Stephano strolled into view, a nasty-looking black pistol clutched in his hand.

  As Gage flipped his cell phone closed, she jerked her head back, staring straight ahead at the wall, her heart racing, her mind spinning horrible scenarios, even as she fought to keep still and silent. She had no idea if Gage was aware of her concealed position, but she couldn’t take the chance that he might instinctively glance her way. Heaven help them, she might be their only chance of survival.

  Holding her breath, she slowly inched backward, working her way around the back corner of the crate.

  She stopped moving and peered through a crack between two crates when she heard Stephano’s voice again. “I knew there was something about you I shouldn’t trust.” He laughed. “And here I thought you’d come to steal my idea. A search warrant,” he added, shaking his head. “Should I now assume those cops I just ditched belong to you?”

  “I have backup coming,” Gage said, his hand—and his gun—dangling by his side. “You might want to get lost while you can.”

  “Soon enough, I will,” Stephano said easily. “The cops won’t have an easy time getting a judge in this town to go against me and sign your warrant, giving me time to get my equipment. Oh, and kill you, of course.” He smiled.

  Roxanne bit her tongue to keep from screaming.

  Two burly men she’d never seen before walked around a row of boxes. They took positions on opposite sides of Gage, one yanking the revolver from his hand, the other wrapping a big meaty fist around Gage’s upper arm.

  “We were just coming into the gallery,” Stephano said. “Imagine our surprise when the alarm to the warehouse door went off.”

  Damn. They should have known Stephano would have the door rigged in some way, but they’d been in a rush and hadn’t expected him so quickly. They’d run out of time. Gage could have done the search more quickly without her.

  But you found the secret door. You helped. You just have to keep your cool now.

  “I don’t think the detective will be giving us any trouble, men,” Stephano said. “Get Met
tles and get this equipment broken down.”

  The goon on the right laid Gage’s gun on the table, then they walked out.

  “It’s too bad, really,” Stephano said, calmly taking aim at Gage. “I kinda liked you.”

  Roxanne’s heart jumped into her throat. She had to do something now. She fumbled in her purse for the gun Gage had given her. Hands trembling, she aimed at Stephano from between the crates.

  At that moment, Clark Mettles walked around the row of boxes behind Gage. “Sir, I—Oh, God.” He dropped to the floor, laying his hands over his head.

  Roxanne let her breath out in a whoosh, but didn’t lower her weapon.

  Stephano sighed. “Get up, you idiot.”

  Mettles raised his head. “Yes, sir. Of course.” He leaped to his feet. “I just didn’t expect—”

  “And shut up.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now get going on that—”

  Gage moved lightning fast, grabbing Mettles around the neck and shielding his body with the engineer’s. “Let’s rethink this whole situation, gentlemen.”

  Behind the containers, Roxanne smiled. Gage was back in control. They would be fine. He would get them out of this.

  Her positive thinking was brutally interrupted by Stephano’s laughter. “Everybody’s expendable, Angelini.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  Mettles body jerked. Blood exploded from his upper chest. As he crumpled to the floor, Gage twitched, then fell to his knees.

  No, no, no.

  She shook her head. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  Blood seemed to be everywhere—on Gage’s face and neck, on his chest, down one arm. Had he been shot? Whose blood was whose?

  Obviously, Stephano wasn’t taking any chances. He walked forward slowly, his gun aimed to fire again.

  Roxanne wasn’t sure which part of her brain clicked on. A protective instinct? The inner strength her father claimed every Lewis had? Or just a plain ol’ sense of furious retribution?

  But she barely flinched when she fired the gun clutched in her hand.

  GAGE BRACED HIMSELF for another hit as the second shot echoed through the warehouse.