Pandora's Box

by K. C. Blake

  Her gaze drifted in his direction, looking at him with newfound respect. She’d developed a bit of a crush on Tyler over the last several months. The first lady talked about her son non-stop, telling stories about his wild adventures as if he was a super hero. The president told stories too, but his were saved for the media. He rarely mentioned his son without a camera in his face.

  She hadn’t seen a picture of Tyler. She hadn’t needed one to develop her crush. After hearing all those stories about him being an adventurous hero afraid of nothing, she’d decided they were soul mates. Thank the heavens she hadn’t told anyone about her little infatuation. It could have proved embarrassing.

  Her eyes drifted down the man’s muscular body, reassessing him with new purpose. Tyler Law. Wow!

  DeMarco interrupted her thoughts with, “At least go get under a blanket before your teeth break from chattering.”

  She blinked at him twice before the words sank in. She wrapped her arms around her shaking wet body and headed for a fellow agent who happened to be holding his cell phone. She needed to make a call. Then she wanted a dry change of clothes, a warm shower, and a hot beverage. Not necessarily in that order.

  Madison purposely walked in the opposite direction of the president’s son.

  ******

  Tyler Law leaned back against Agent DeMarco’s car and crossed his legs in casual defiance. He patted his wet pockets, dipped his fingers into each one before he realized he was absently searching for a cigarette. He wouldn’t find one, of course. He’d given up smoking three days ago after a long lecture from his physician. During that short time the craving had turned from a pesky mosquito in to a seven-foot monster with fangs.

  Damn. He’d chosen a lousy time to quit.

  Tyler’s eyes located and followed Agent Madison Grey as she blazed an angry path from DeMarco to another agent—Tyler couldn’t remember his name—and borrowed the man’s cell phone. She punched in a number and turned her back to Tyler as if she could feel him watching her and didn’t like it. Too bad.

  Madison Grey was an intriguing combination of guts, beauty, and brains. Unfortunately she was on a growing list of suspects. Today would have been the third attempt on his father’s life if Tyler hadn’t taken his place. Instinct told him Madison had nothing to do with the situation, but he had to keep an open mind until she proved herself innocent.

  “Mind telling me why you’re staring at Maddie like that?” Agent DeMarco asked as he settled beside Tyler next to his car, clipboard dangling from one hand. He had to tilt his head back to look up at Tyler’s face.

  “Like what?”

  “Like a shark preparing for his evening meal.”

  Tyler barely glanced in DeMarco’s direction. He had better things to look at. His eyes returned to Madison as she punched another number into the cell. With the view he had of her profile he could just make out the tightening muscles in her face. She seemed worried or upset about something.

  DeMarco demanded, “Stop staring at her.” He slapped the clipboard against Tyler’s stomach and Tyler automatically grabbed it. DeMarco added, “You’re in charge of the crime scene now. Run it by the book.”

  “What?” Tyler blinked in surprise. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking Agent Grey home. She’s earned a little rest.” He whistled at Madison and motioned for her to get in the car. Then he turned back to Tyler, his face a cold mask. “I realize you’d be a big shot even if you weren’t the president’s son, but I don’t care how many medals you have or how many times you’ve cheated death. If you do anything to hurt anyone on my team, I’ll hurt you.”

  DeMarco climbed into his car and slammed the door.

  Tyler kept his lips clamped shut. He wanted to tell the idiot he’d read his file, complete with the most minute details of the man’s life. Tyler knew what DeMarco liked in his coffee, his favorite magazine, where he’d attended pre-school. However, the greatest piece of information he’d gleaned had to do with Madison Grey. Roughly two years ago, she and DeMarco had split after a long and secret affair.

  Not so secret, considering someone had made note of it in the file. Tyler could imagine the look on DeMarco’s face if he’d recited the file to him, especially that last juicy part.

  Tyler decided to keep his mouth shut, play his cards close to the vest. He’d known men like DeMarco before. All talk. No real action.

  Now, Madison Grey on the other hand, she had substance. And he loved how she was just the right height to look him square in the eyes, unlike her former lover.

  Madison turned at that moment and caught him appraising her. She glared at him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d flipped him off or yelled something rude. Instead she bowed like a performer at the end of the play before the curtains slide together. She walked past him and got into the passenger side of DeMarco’s car.

  He grinned.

  She stalked over to the car and climbed in beside DeMarco. She avoided looking at Tyler again. His smile widened. Yeah, she wanted him. Maybe after he figured out who was trying to assassinate his father along with finishing the secret project he was working on the side, he and Madison Grey could get to know each other better.

  Of course that was assuming she didn’t turn out to be on the wrong side of his investigations.

  Three agents began to summon him simultaneously. Tyler didn’t know who to respond to first. He watched DeMarco’s car disappear in the distance with a sinking feeling. Agent DeMarco had just driven off with the person Tyler wanted to talk to the most.

  ******

  Madison dug her fingernails into her palms, fighting the urge to glance back and visually taking in Tyler Law one more time. She closed her eyes with a purpose, leaned her head back against the seat and went over her mission instead. She’d lived with the homeless in Boston for three months because intelligence told them someone was somehow recruiting the homeless to try to assassinate the president.

  She hadn’t found any evidence of it.

  At least not until Nancy-girl had tried to blow the president up.

  DeMarco turned the heater on and focused the vents in her direction.

  She spoke out loud, musing to herself. “If it’s true, it’s pretty ingenious.”

  “What is?” DeMarco kept his eyes on the road.

  “Using homeless people to kill the president.” She turned her head and looked at DeMarco with a sobered expression. “There’s no way to track them. They don’t have homes or jobs or places they need to be. Some of them don’t even have real names anymore. They’ve been living on the street for so long they’ve forgotten who they were to begin with.”

  “You didn’t find anything useful?” His voice was low, only a hint of interest.

  “Not a thing. In fact, I was sure the CIA was wrong on this one until the incident happened.” She stretched her long legs as far as she could, feeling cramped already. “Did Nancy-girl say anything when you arrested her?”

  “No. She’s as silent as the others were.”

  “They’ll need to put her under suicide watch.”

  The other two homeless people who had tried to assassinate President Law had taken their own lives shortly after being arrested.

  DeMarco grunted in agreement.

  They lapsed into silence, which was fine with Madison. She could relax around DeMarco. There wasn’t anything awkward about the quiet. She wanted to enjoy the ride home, the warmth of the car and the peace of knowing she was safe with him. It seemed like it had been years since she’d enjoyed the luxury of a motor vehicle.

  A smile stretched her lips as she fell into a deep sleep, content to be a passenger.

  ******

  Roxie walked across Madison Grey’s attractively furnished living room, tall, thin, and blonde. The razor-cut ends of her hair barely brushed her shoulders. She had one hand wrapped around a crystal flute. She’d raided Madison’s stock of wine, choosing a robust red vintage. That wasn’t the only thing she’d borrowed from the missin
g Grey woman. The short, flirty black dress, diamond bracelet, and strappy three-inch heels also belonged to Madison.

  Or at least they had.

  Roxie smiled smugly as she took a slow walk to the window. One of her father’s employees had told her Madison would be returning home soon. Roxie imagined what would happen if the agent caught her in her home. The door could swing open any second. They would fight. Perhaps she’d have to kill Madison today.

  The thought excited her.

  Roxie crossed one leg in front of the other and squeezed her thighs together tight, her loins tingling. She felt like she might pee at any second. A pleasurable, almost sexual sensation made her squeeze harder. She knew she should leave now. Although she was planning to kill Madison someday, she wasn’t supposed to do it now. Not yet. Madison was going to play an integral part in their plans.

  Her smile widened and she tipped her glass, pouring the rest of the red wine onto Madison’s expensive carpet. She smiled down at the mess. Laughter floated through her parted lips.

  Roxie retraced her steps. She grabbed the golden-haired doll she’d brought with her and ripped the head off with a hard jerk. Now where to put it? Her crystal blue eyes traveled the room. Ah…perfect.

  She set the doll in a chair that faced the door. It would probably be the first thing Madison saw when she entered her apartment. Roxie only wished she could be there to see the moron’s expression. It would be priceless.

  Roxie placed the head next to the doll.

  Perfect.

  Someday Roxie promised herself she would snap Madison’s head off just as cleanly as she had the doll’s. Now that would be a great and wonderful day. Roxie couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Two

  Madison stepped into her apartment for the first time in three months, stood just inside the doorway and took a deep, cleansing breath. It felt so good to be home. DeMarco had driven her straight back from Boston, only stopping a few times along the way. She wanted to brew some coffee, take a hot shower, sleep in her warm bed, and eat a good meal. Madison didn’t know which to do first. She crossed the living room, headed for the kitchen, but the blinking light on her answering machine caught her eye. With a tired sigh, she stopped to retrieve her messages.

  There were thirty-two!

  Impossible.

  Thirty-two people didn’t have her number.

  As she listened to each one, she mourned the loss of her plants. She’d asked her neighbor to water them, but Mrs. McCafferey forgot her own name on a good day. Madison’s fingers caressed the bone-dry leaves. They were shriveled beyond hope. Good thing she didn’t have a cat.

  Her father’s voice emerged from the answering machine and Madison experienced a rush of relief. She had tried to call him from the docks, but he hadn’t answered his cell, which was odd. Her father was a slave to his cell phone.

  “Maddie, I need to talk to you!”

  That was it. End of message. But the next twenty-six messages were all from him, ordering her to call at once, each one more frantic than the last. Didn’t he know she’d been on assignment for the service?

  “Maddie, are you picking up your messages? This is urgent. Call me!”

  The desperation and panic in his voice tightened her stomach muscles painfully. She’d never heard her father sound like that before. Something was horribly wrong. But what? Why didn’t he give her a hint?

  Did he think her phone was bugged?

  Message thirty-one. An unfamiliar voice said, “Charity ball tonight at seven. The president has personally requested your presence.” Requested? More like demanded. “And he asked me to tell you that you won’t be working. He wants you to be his guest.” Madison barely paid attention to the address. She was too busy searching the mess on the coffee table for her cell. It occurred to her that her father might not have answered when she’d tried to call him from Boston because he didn’t recognize the number she’d been calling from.

  She had to get in touch with him anyway to talk about dinner. She always had dinner with her dad after a mission. This was the one tradition he held to. He’d started it on the eve of her first mission for the CIA. She couldn’t remember having such an honest conversation with him before that. Since most of her jobs were top secret, he was the only person outside of her superiors she could confide in. After all, he had a higher security clearance than she did.

  Message thirty-two. Her father again. According to the date and time, he’d left the message minutes before she’d walked in the front door. “I can’t have dinner with you tonight.”

  Alarm bells went off in her head. She moved closer to the answering machine, listening carefully to not only his words but to the tone of his voice.

  He said, “I apologize for the late cancellation. You deserved a better father than me, Maddie. Please, stay home tonight. Don’t go to the president’s ball. If you do, you’ll just get in the way.”

  Get in the way of what? Madison hovered over the answering machine. Her father never missed a dinner with her. Over the years they’d had a few at midnight because of earlier engagements. But he’d never cancelled completely. When she’d been shot on the job, he had arrived at her hospital room with a light meal as soon as she was awake and recovering.

  She grabbed her cell phone and tried again. It rang a few times before going to voice mail. Still not answering. He hadn’t sounded frantic or worried on the last message. In fact, his voice had been extremely calm and in control.

  Wild horses couldn’t keep her away from the charity ball tonight.

  She reflected on her father’s last message while taking a long, hot shower. The thing that bothered her the most was the cancelled dinner plans. She couldn’t imagine why he wanted her to skip the ball.

  ******

  Madison glanced at her bedside clock. She’d taken too long in the shower. She’d have to rush if she wanted to make it on time. Lucky for her, she had a versatile closet. Being an agent meant dressing for a variety of parts; her clothes reflected that. Oddly enough she couldn’t find her favorite dress, a flirty little black number. She couldn’t remember taking it to the cleaners. Odd.

  Shrugging, she chose a black gown that clung to her curves with a back that plunged all the way down to the swell of her bottom.

  Before she could change into it, her eyes fell on her unmade bed. Someone had been inside her home while she was gone. The covers had been purposely rolled, the pillows tossed to the floor. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. She swallowed, queasy. Grabbing the top cover, she stripped it from the bed. She smoothed the blue sheets back in to place, tucked them in on both sides, and fixed the cover over it.

  She layered her pillows with small square ones in front and the big rectangles in back. Since she’d been a kid she’d been obsessed with having a neat bed. After placing a large round one in the center she surveyed her bed with a critical eye. Not a wrinkle. The knot in her stomach unclenched. She took an easy breath.

  Madison wanted to search her apartment for stolen items, but she didn’t have time. If she didn’t get dressed and leave within the next fifteen minutes, she’d be late to the ball. She didn’t want to disappoint President Law. He’d always been good to her. And of course she wanted to find out why her father didn’t want her there.

  So she tossed the dress over her head and struggled into it.

  A knock on the apartment door startled her. She pushed a dangling diamond earring through her ear and hurried across the apartment, hoping she would find her father on the other side of the door. And that was when she saw it.

  A decapitated doll sat in the corner chair, facing the door. She must have walked right by it earlier without noticing it. Madison went to it, grabbed both pieces and stared down at the pretty porcelain face. Blond curly hair fell in messy waves and the blue eyes sparkled. This doll had been brand new. Now who in the world would buy a doll just to tear it apart and leave it in her apartment?

  Only one name came to mind. Her lips flattened in to a tight line a
s she thought about her most notorious and determined enemy.

  The door opened and DeMarco stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut when he saw what she was holding. His brows drew together. He searched her face, obviously confused and concerned.

  “What the hell is that?” he finally asked. His deep voice caressed her nerves.

  “Someone left me this little gift while I was away.”

  “Someone?”

  “The Blonde Assassin, I think.” She tried to push the head back onto the doll’s neck. “Who else would do something so bizarre?”

  DeMarco, handsome in a white tuxedo jacket, nodded at her. “You’re probably right.”

  She gave up trying to reunite the head and body and tossed both parts back to the chair. “Have you heard anything about her or from her in the past three months?”

  The nameless killer had a fatal fascination for Madison’s cases. She called the office sometimes, but no one could get a trace on her. She popped in and out of Madison’s life, doing whatever damage she could manage before vanishing into thin air. And Madison had no idea why the woman had singled her out. That’s what bothered her the most.

  “Not a word,” DeMarco replied. “And I don’t like it. I think she’s keeping very close tabs on you. She knew you were out of town.”

  Madison digested the information slowly. DeMarco was probably right. Madison’s eyes drifted to the doll again. The bitch had been in her apartment, going through her things. She felt violated. “I wonder if she took anything.”

  She scanned the room, looking for anything else that was out of place. A huge red spot on her carpet caught her eye. She hunched over it, moved the carpet fibers around with her fingers. Still damp. She smelled it. Red wine? Her anger rose another notch. Petty vandalism set her teeth on edge.

  DeMarco broke into her dark thoughts with, “You look fabulous.”

  “I feel naked,” she complained. “I feel naked without my gun.”