Enigma

by Dee Davis

  The emotion blindsided her. Uninvited, unwanted and probably unrequited.

  But, in that moment, she knew that she would honor Payton Reynolds’s request. She would accept him as he was. No matter how much he infuriated her. Because to do anything less would mean losing him.

  And suddenly nothing in world seemed worth risking that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE HYATT REGENCY was one of the ritziest hotels in Albuquerque, but the security was nonexistent. J.T. had planned his attack as if he were breaching Ft. Knox, but at least some of the preparation hadn’t been necessary. He’d taken the precaution of raiding the hotel laundry to procure a workman’s uniform, even managing to lift an ID badge from the laundry supervisor’s desk.

  It had obviously been left on a uniform, and despite the fact that it said it belonged to one Jorge Rivera, as long as nobody paid attention he was home free. He’d taken the time to replace the picture with his own, but so far no one had even spoken to him, let alone asked for ID.

  The senator’s benefit was being held in the ballroom. Capable of seating up to a thousand, the room was already set up with round tables and chairs, the dais at the front backed by two huge flat panel monitors.

  For two thousand dollars a plate, the senator’s guests were going to get one hell of a show. J.T. smiled to himself as he slipped up into the control room. Just a few minor adjustments and everything he’d set into motion earlier in the day would be ready for action.

  He’d waited until the crew had performed all their technical checks, watching as they’d tested the sound and the monitors. Everything was perfect. Which meant that there should be nothing else standing in his way—except the possibility that Samantha would cancel the event. But unless he’d miscalculated, she hadn’t made any conclusions that would lead her to decide that the event itself was dangerous.

  Only that the senator was worth talking to.

  J.T. might not have started out with this scenario in mind, but he was more than capable of adaptation. Who was anyone to question the ways of fate? Certainly not him. Truth was, he prided himself in allowing Ming to be a part of his world. He had only to take advantage of it. To shape fate the way he saw fit.

  Balance and order, that was what mattered.

  Besides, if Samantha cancelled the event it would change nothing. Only the beauty of his planning would be lost, and while he would mourn the fact, he would rise to the challenge—just like he had in San Antonio.

  Of course nothing was going to go wrong. He was letting his imagination carry him away, worrying about nothing. Fate was on his side. He was, after all, structuring order from chaos, and considering how many parameters had already changed, he was lucky to have made it this far. Surely that meant that his plan was blessed. Ordained by the holy ones. The fact that he’d managed to escape detection so far was a testament to the fact that he was still in charge of the game.

  The balance might change, eventually. Indeed, in some intrinsic way he wanted it to. But not yet. First he had to prove his power of manipulation. He’d demonstrated it in small ways already, but nothing of this magnitude. He’d thought the pyrotechnical display at the Prager had been his life’s work, but he’d been wrong. It had been only a primer.

  And this time he’d have an audience—the senator’s adoring public, decked out in diamonds and designer threads, the elite of New Mexico. There was a certain je ne sais quoi in the fact that the very people to witness his masterpiece were representative of the type who had scorned him so often.

  Not that any of that mattered in his grand scheme. Only one pair of eyes was necessary for success. His display was for her alone. And this time she would not be able to escape the fact that everything he’d done had been for her. It would no doubt take her time to figure out who exactly he was. How he was connected to her. But that was part of the game.

  He smiled and pulled out a console, using a pair of borrowed pliers to replace three of the wires with his own. Fifteen minutes later, everything was ready, and nothing was detectable. The senator’s dinner would proceed as planned—with one slight detour.

  But first, J.T. had to make certain that the guest of honor would in fact be present.

  He walked to the door, reaching up to flip off the lights, wondering how she’d liked his last present. It had been fun finding the right car and rigging it so that the little clown would survive his journey.

  It was almost sad that J.T. hadn’t been able to see it fly, but then he wouldn’t have been able to be here, placing the dots for her to connect, leading her on her most difficult case. His creation, her undoing.

  There was symmetry in the thought, and J.T. closed the door, walking away from the ballroom with a light step. Life was going exactly as planned. And nothing could make him happier.

  THE SENATOR HAD one hell of an impressive turnout. Payton figured half of Albuquerque must be in attendance. It was the kind of affair he abhorred. Everyone making nice when no one really gave a damn.

  The best of the best, none of them with anything at all to recommend them, and quite frankly he’d rather be anywhere but here. But they needed to talk to the senator and according to his aides, this was their only chance. The senator’s people had left tickets for them.

  So grudgingly, Payton had donned his tux and feigned interest in the affair, the only benefit to the evening being that he got to see Sam in an evening gown. She was sexy in jeans and a T-shirt, but in the clingy black sheath she was wearing now, she was a knockout. Not exactly great for keeping his mind on business.

  There was extra security everywhere, and Sam had organized a bomb sweep. Best they could tell, the room was clean. Which had comforted the senator, but not Payton. The bomber was smart, and Payton wouldn’t put it past him to have devised something that could slip by security unnoticed. Even under eyes as watchful as Sam’s.

  “Everything seems secure,” Sam said, waving away a waiter with a tray of champagne. “Although I admit I would have felt better if Senator Walker had called the whole thing off.”

  “That was never going to happen. He wouldn’t have gotten as far as he has if he scared easily. Besides, canceling something like this at the last minute for anything less than total disaster would cost him far more than the risk of something going wrong tonight. We’ve just got to make sure that risk stays minimal.”

  “I walked the perimeter again, and everything seems fine. We’ve got security people posted at every entrance, someone triple-checking invitations, and just to be certain, about twenty undercover policemen manning the party itself.”

  As if to underscore the fact, a tuxedoed gentleman sporting an earplug walked past, the coil snaking down his neck a dead giveaway.

  Sam smiled. “Okay, maybe not so undercover. But the point is that they’re here.”

  “Look, we’re making a big leap here anyway, assuming Elliot revealed our plans.”

  “Unfortunately, it just seems logical.” She fiddled with her bracelet, clearly as uncomfortable as he with the fancy clothes. “Unless Walker’s the one behind all of this.”

  “If that’s the case, then this has all been an exercise in futility.” Payton shifted slightly so that he could better see the room. “But I don’t think he’s pulling the strings.”

  “Why not? We know he was causing problems for Ruckland and company.”

  “Because if he’s behind the bombings, then the killer is a hit man. And I don’t believe for a minute that someone like that would take the time to play mind games with you. It just doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “Now who’s sounding like Madison?” She smiled, for a moment looking as if there were nothing more pressing on her agenda than a night on the town.

  Unfortunately it was nothing more than an illusion, one that he wanted to preserve if even only for a moment. “You talk to your mother?”

  “Yeah. She and Ruth were planning to settle in for a round of Katherine Hepburn movies.”

  “You tell her why you were here?”


  “I skimmed over it.” She shrugged, her expression impassive. “My mother doesn’t really approve of what I do. I think one risk-taker in the family was more than enough.”

  “Your dad.”

  Sam nodded. “Anyway, I told her I didn’t think there’d be time for a visit since we’re planning to fly out as soon as this thing is over and we’ve talked to the senator.”

  Payton nodded, taking her cue to drop the subject. Whatever the relationship between Sam and her mother, it wasn’t for him to interfere.

  “Ms. Waters?” A bespectacled young man in a perfectly tailored tux appeared at her elbow, his smile of the obligatory nature. “The senator has a few moments now if you’d care to talk to him.”

  Sam shot Payton a glance, and he nodded, the two of them turning then to follow Walker’s flunky. Sam moved with smooth fluidity, her rear outlined with mouthwatering clarity by the silky material of her dress. Payton forced himself to focus instead on the little man in front of her. No point in meeting the senator with a hard-on.

  Their escort ushered them into a small but elegant anteroom off the ballroom, a security guard flanking each side of the door. Senator Walker had his back turned when they entered, shaking hands with a well-endowed woman in a white dress that was just a bit too snug for acceptable standards.

  She cooed up at him, squeezing his hand, and then moved past Sam and Payton in an overwhelming cloud of perfume. It reminded Payton of a teacher he’d had in school, the memory not an altogether pleasant one.

  Walker turned then to greet them, his smile politically perfect, his gaze hard and assessing. “My people tell me you have some questions?”

  Sam shot a look at flunky boy, and Walker dismissed him with the wave of his hand, then sat down on a tapestry-upholstered chair. “So, we’re alone now. Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

  Sam sat on the sofa across from the senator, and Payton perched on the arm at her side. “I think you’re already well aware that Ruckland, Dawson and Keith were working to make sure that certain agricultural subsidies were targeted to their home states. And that in doing so all three stood to gain considerably, both politically and financially.”

  “And if I tell you I have no idea what you’re talking about?” the senator asked, his expression icy.

  “Then we’ll have to assume that there is evidence linking you to the conspiracy.” Payton met the senator’s stare full-on, remembering again why he disliked politicians.

  “Which would mean a full-scale investigation,” Sam said, following Payton’s lead.

  To the senator’s credit, he didn’t flinch, merely shrugged. “I assure you you’re making more of my role than necessary.”

  “Maybe so. But at the moment, you’re the only solid lead we have. And with your cooperation, maybe we can end this line of questioning once and for all. We have no interest in pursuing who was or wasn’t involved with the pork, Senator. What we need to do is determine whether that bomb was meant for your colleagues.”

  “And you believe I could have had something to do with it, if it were?” he asked, hedging all the way.

  “We know you were the reason the three of them were meeting. That you’d threatened to uncover their scheme if New Mexico wasn’t included.”

  “You’re half-right.” Walker tipped his head, crossing his arms over his crisply starched shirt. “I was the reason they were meeting. But not to discuss some threat. We’d already reached an agreement.”

  “But Sloane said there was no way that Keith would work with you.”

  The senator laughed. “Sloane is a lackey. He knew only what Ruckland wanted him to know. And Keith knew which side of the bread his butter was on.”

  “So you’re saying they’d already agreed to let you in.”

  “Ruckland had. And what Joe Ruckland wanted, he got. It’s as simple as that. Whatever conspiracy existed, I was on the winning side, believe me. Which means I had absolutely no reason whatsoever to do anything to threaten that alliance. So unless I’ve missed something, we have no further business.” He actually started to leave, his arrogance filling Payton with disgust.

  “If what you’re saying is the truth, Walker—” Payton stood up, his height and his scars playing to his advantage. Walker actually retreated a step, and Payton saw Sam conceal a smile. “—and I’m only saying if, then by my calculations, that would make you a target. If the bomber knew about Ruckland, Dawson and Keith’s meeting, I’d bet my right arm that he knew about you.”

  Payton had the satisfaction of actually seeing the senator pale, but it was short-lived. “Bullshit. If he knew about me, I’d have heard about it already. People like that are interested in one of two things. Money or power. And I have the ability to provide both. There’s no need to kill me.”

  “Obviously you’ve never met a madman, Senator.” Sam’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it carried more force than if she’d yelled. The senator blanched again, his reserve obviously shaken.

  “Then I assume the two of you will do whatever it is you do to make sure that I’m kept safe.” He was back to arrogance. The idea that by sheer definition he deserved more protection than most.

  “We’ve got everything covered tonight. After that, your people will be working with the Secret Service. Because you have seniority, and a sympathetic president, they’ll watch over you.”

  “Fine.” Walker stood up, his megawatt vote-for-me smile firmly back in place. “In case you haven’t noticed I have people waiting for me. Which means we’re finished here.”

  “Not quite, Senator.” This time Sam’s voice held a note of command, and Walker, despite himself, sat back down. “I need to know if this has any meaning for you.” She held out a drawing of the Tai Chi. Walker took it from her, and held it out so that he could see it.

  “I’ve seen it before, but I can’t remember what it means.”

  “It’s an Eastern symbol. Yin and yang,” Payton allowed.

  “Opposites or something, right?” Walker shot him a quizzical glance. “What has this got to do with the bombings?”

  “The bomber left this symbol at both bomb sites.” Sam wasn’t revealing more than was necessary, as usual the consummate professional.

  “Well, I haven’t got any connection with it, if that’s what you’re looking for. I wasn’t even sure what it was.”

  Sam studied him for a moment, then shot Payton a glance. He nodded, agreeing with her assessment that the senator was for once talking straight.

  “If you can think of anyone in your organization that might have a connection with Eastern beliefs or philosophy, we need to know.”

  “Believe me, if there’s a tie-in between my people and the man who killed Ruckland, you’ll be the first to know. But I think you’re on the wrong track. Despite the fact that we represent different parties, Ruckland and I were allies on more than just agricultural subsidies. Texas and New Mexico share similar problems. And even though the two states are perceived by some to be diametric opposites, the reality is that we’re kissing cousins. No one in my employ would dare to harm that kind of symbiotic relationship.

  “And now, I have to go.” Without further comment, he stood up and strode from the room, leaving the two of them feeling like something momentous had happened.

  Only of course, it hadn’t. A particularly small little man had dismissed them. Nothing more.

  “So you believe him?” Sam asked, looking up at him.

  “Yeah. As much as I hate to say it, I think I do. If he was going to lie to us, he’d have come up with a hell of a lot better story.”

  “Do you think the bomber could really be after him?”

  “I think it’s possible. Hell, anything is possible. Especially where this guy is concerned. But we’ve done our homework, and the place is as secure as we can possibly make it. I guess the only thing left to do is to wait it out and see what happens.”

  “Pretty damn passive.” Sam slammed her hand against the back o
f the chair.

  “At the moment—” Payton shrugged “—it’s all we’ve got.”

  “What if it’s not enough?” She turned to face him, her expression grim. “Or worse, what if someone else has to die to prove the point?”

  THE GUESTS WERE ALL SEATED, toying with their rubber chicken and pretending an enthusiasm nobody actually felt. Sam and Payton had declined seats at a table in the corner. It made Sam think of Animal House, actually. The loser’s table. She smothered a laugh, filled with nervous energy.

  She hated playing defense, particularly when they were operating more or less in the dark. But as Payton had so succinctly put it, for the moment it was all they had.

  The senator had started his speech, pontificating about country and apple pie, or something along those lines. She hadn’t really been listening. Instead, she’d been watching the perimeter of the room, looking for something that seemed out of place or unusual.

  She kept in contact with others in the room via her headset. Everyone was reporting all clear. The idea should have made her rest easy, but it didn’t. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Payton stood across the room from her, talking with a sergeant in the Albuquerque PD. Despite the conversation, he was aware of her scrutiny, because every few minutes he’d shoot a look in her direction. He obviously took the got-your-back thing very seriously, and surprisingly, the thought gave her a great deal of comfort.

  She started to walk toward him, but turned at the sound of arguing. A rotund man was waving his arms at one of the security detail, his voice rising with each pass of the hand. Sam hurried in their direction, wishing suddenly that she’d brought a weapon.

  An Albuquerque policeman had joined the security guard by the time Sam got there, the two of them physically restraining the man, whose face was red as a beet.

  “Sir, if you can’t calm down you’ll have to leave the building,” the security man said, his face brooking no argument.