Triumph

by Janet Dailey

  “Thanks.” The compliment made her feel a little awkward. The online mentions she’d found pegged him as a womanizer with several hundred million dollars to throw around. It wasn’t enough to make her fall at his feet. “I guess you watch my evening broadcast.”

  “Occasionally, yes.”

  Gunther Bach didn’t seem to be the chatty type. That went with the arrogance. Kelly unfolded her napkin in her lap. “I really appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice.”

  “You happened to catch me at an opportune time. I had nothing else scheduled for the afternoon—and I might fly to Europe tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Where in Europe?”

  He smiled faintly. “I haven’t decided. London, perhaps. Geneva. Or Milan. I do business in many countries.”

  “I see.” Kelly left it at that. His closed expression didn’t invite further questions as to his whereabouts.

  A waiter offered her a menu, which Bach allowed her to study for only a minute before recommending his own favorites. From the way the staff fawned over him, she guessed he came here often. Kelly chose broiled trout. He ordered steak, ultra-rare, for himself, and a vodka martini when Kelly declined a drink.

  Kelly picked up her water glass and took a sip, eying him. His gaze was still cool, almost wary. She would have to be on her game, she thought, putting the glass down.

  “You must be incredibly busy. I’m so glad you could spare the time for an informal meeting,” she began.

  “Why did you call me?”

  Bach went straight to the point, she thought. Fine. This bogus get-together would be over with sooner.

  “When I started researching high-level finance, your name kept coming up. It’s a perfect subject for a special report, don’t you think? There’s big money pouring into Atlanta these days.”

  Gunther shrugged. “The bank I run is not that large. But it is exclusive.”

  “That’s fascinating. A secret world of power and privilege,” she said eagerly. “Our viewers would love to know more.”

  He acknowledged the comment with a polite nod.

  “This is off the record,” Kelly assured him, “but would you mind if I jot down a few things as we talk?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Kelly took a pad and pen from her handbag, doing more listening than writing. The conversation continued, along very general lines. Gunther Bach said nothing specific about the operations of his private bank or the hedge fund he controlled, but she didn’t care. All she had to do was get his voice on tape.

  With a somewhat unnecessary flourish, their entrées arrived. No doubt the restaurant manager had told the staff to treat them like VIPs. Most of the other patrons pretended not to pay attention, but she did attract a few covert looks from the people who were closest. Gunther sipped his martini and responded in a muted voice to her questions.

  Several women who’d just been seated together nearby seemed to be pretending not to hear him. He barely glanced their way—but he did glance. Gunther Bach could probably take his pick of every female in the restaurant except her. She was grateful when one of the women complained to a waiter about the table wobbling, and they were moved away.

  Kelly ignored the phone, which never rang. Deke had told her that she didn’t have to worry about it. The screen glowed only once. Somehow, remotely, he was controlling it.

  She wrapped up the interview over dessert and coffee, tucking the notepad and pen back into her handbag while the table was cleared.

  A waiter appeared and used a silver-handled brush to sweep invisible crumbs into a small silver pan. She wished the check would arrive, but Bach seemed to be in no hurry. He rested his hands on the white damask tablecloth, looking at her. His steely eyes glittered with a new, slightly disturbing intensity.

  Kelly swung her legs to the side of her chair, preparing to rise from the table with a minimum of feminine fussing. She didn’t want to drag this out a second longer than she had to. Something had changed between them. She couldn’t figure it out.

  “Gunther, this has been great,” she said. “The lunch and the information, which is very, very useful. Of course, it’s going to take me a while to put together a proposal for a feature. Then I have to get approval from our news director before I can go ahead. You know how it is.”

  Her ditzy act seemed to amuse him. “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Feature reporting takes a lot of research and lots of time. Speaking of that, I have to get back to the station.” Kelly smiled brightly. She shifted her position and took hold of her handbag. “Again, it’s been a pleasure.”

  “For me as well.” He flashed a thin smile. “To be quite honest, it didn’t seem like an interview.”

  Kelly managed a laugh. “Then I guess I was doing it right. I find it’s best not to have a structured approach when I want a fresh angle for a feature.”

  “Is that it?” Bach’s steel-colored eyes narrowed, but he kept on smiling. “Hmm. I suspect you are not being honest with me.”

  That was out of the blue. Kelly scooped up the phone and car keys. Never mind putting them into her bag. She stood. Game over, she thought. But she could still bluff. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You barely took notes.” His thin smile vanished.

  “Ah—I didn’t really get a chance. But I do have a very good memory,” she said quickly.

  “I see.”

  He wouldn’t say good-bye and she couldn’t just storm out. Monroe Capp might know this guy. She didn’t want to be lectured by the news director for being rude to a mover and shaker.

  “Gunther, I really have to get back to WBRX.”

  “So soon?”

  Bach lifted his hands and—her eyes widened. There was a hotel keycard on the table. This hotel. Upstairs from the restaurant. The invitation was clear. Suite seduction. Maybe being seen with her had gone to his head. He’d had one martini. He wasn’t drunk.

  “I know women, Kelly,” he whispered. “This so-called interview was a pretext. You want more from me, much more—I can see it in your eyes.”

  She stepped back abruptly, jarring the table.

  “I’m not interested.”

  Gunther Bach scowled. He seemed surprised by her refusal and began to say something, but she interrupted him. “Don’t worry. I won’t quote you. On anything.”

  Kelly turned and headed for the paneled doors of the restaurant as fast as her high heels would take her.

  She waited in her car for Deke to exit the restaurant, sliding down in the front seat when she saw Gunther Bach come out instead of him. The silver-haired financier looked around. He couldn’t possibly want to apologize, she thought angrily. On the other hand, he’d given her the perfect excuse never to talk to him again. She wouldn’t have to white-lie her way out of this situation.

  Bach went back in and Deke finally appeared, walking casually across the parking lot, sunglasses on, his hands in the pockets of a very good suit. She sat up straight again. She wouldn’t have guessed that he even owned one. Seeing him full-length, all she could think was that he looked great in it. He glanced toward her car, which was parked some distance from his, but avoided her gaze, strolling away.

  Kelly grabbed the handle to open her car door, but something made her hesitate. Within seconds her phone rang. Not the bugged one Deke had given her, but her own. She saw his number and answered.

  “Glad that’s over,” she muttered. “What a creep. You missed the keycard reveal.”

  “Was that what he did? I heard the rest. I was wondering what he saw in your eyes.”

  “Cold fury.”

  “You didn’t miss a beat, Kelly.”

  “True. Except for that one moment.”

  Deke didn’t seem upset. But then, all he’d had to do was sit at a table by himself and have a business lunch with that thing in his ear.

  “I thought the food was pretty good. So, other than being propositioned by one of the richest guys in Atlanta, did you enjoy your lunch?”

&nbs
p; “Not really,” Kelly snapped. She was almost angry at herself for underestimating Bach. “Did you enjoy listening in?”

  “He was coming in loud and clear,” Deke said cheerfully. “Good thing you didn’t stick around. You might have blown your cover.”

  Kelly turned the key in the ignition and leaned her seat back. It didn’t sound like Deke was going to saunter over to her car and have this conversation face-to-face. “Oh, please. I get hit on a lot. I can take care of myself.”

  He chuckled in an annoying way. “I don’t doubt it. But that wasn’t an attempt at seduction.”

  Kelly sighed, well aware that she might have depended too much on her looks and her fame. “Then what would you call it?”

  Deke didn’t reply right away. When he did, his tone was serious. “Kelly, he was testing you. You might have been more convincing on the phone, but once you were across the table—”

  “He figured out that I wasn’t interviewing him. What did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing. The guy’s a professional con man. He’s good at reading other people, very good. That’s how he got started making money.”

  Kelly groaned. “Damn it. He had me.” She flipped down the visor when she caught a glimpse of another older man coming out of the restaurant. “Wait—that could be him again.” She peeked, not sure.

  “I see who you mean,” Deke said a little distantly. “That’s definitely not him. Anyway, Bach went back toward the hotel through the lobby as I was leaving.”

  “Thanks for telling me. You owe me for this one, Bannon. I don’t see how a random lunch with a lecher is going to get me the story I want.”

  “It will.”

  “I’m so ashamed.” She wanted to howl. “Deke, I don’t get conned. That’s never happened to me.”

  “First time for everyone. Get over it.”

  “When Bach said I wasn’t being honest with him, I panicked for a second. That’s what he saw in my eyes. Then he pulled out that keycard, and I was dumb enough to believe he was putting the moves on me.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded if you’d taken him up on it.”

  “Drive over here. Right now,” she commanded.

  “Why?”

  “So I can kill you.”

  “With what?”

  “A high heel to the head.”

  He chuckled again. “Listen, you were great. There’s nothing you can do about what happened.”

  Kelly looked in her handbag for the bugged phone. “Deke, come and get your toy. Unless you want me to drive it over to you.”

  “No to both. Let’s go back to your place.”

  “How do you know we won’t be followed?” Kelly eased her seat back up.

  “Because I have someone following me to take care of that.”

  Kelly stopped with a jolt, upright. “Okay. I need to know what agency you work for and exactly what the hell you’re up to. Or else you don’t get your toy back.”

  “Not a problem. I recorded the whole thing on my phone. You were basically the transmitter,” he pointed out.

  Kelly thought fast. “Then you don’t get the tape from the shootout.”

  The download was still on her laptop. Gordon must have given a digital copy to the police by now, but Deke wasn’t with the Atlanta PD. He didn’t have a warrant or a subpoena, and he couldn’t make her give it to him.

  “Deke?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I know you want that tape,” she said tightly. “And where else will you get it? Everyone knows feds and cops are famous for not sharing.”

  “Deal,” he said, really laughing this time. “See you in fifteen.”

  Deke met the doorman’s scrutiny with a steady look and an affable hello. Kelly breezed past, not stopping to explain. This was her apartment, not her college dorm.

  They rode up in the elevator to her floor. There was no one in the hall when they exited. Deke looked up and down, as if it was automatic. He walked over a few steps to the fire stairs, glancing through the small glass window before he opened the heavy door to the landing. Then he came back.

  “Looking for Gunther Bach? I thought you said we couldn’t possibly be followed.”

  “Not my exact words. Not even close.” He stayed by her side as they went down the hall to her apartment. He watched Kelly unlock her door but waited to let her go in first, pausing in the doorway for one last backward glance in both directions.

  “Do you know any of your neighbors, Kelly?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.”

  She had nothing to say to that and motioned him inside, making sure the door was locked behind him. Deke walked through the open-plan living room to the picture window. “Great view.”

  “I hardly ever get to see it.”

  “Is that your car down there?” he asked. A man in a red vest was walking away from it.

  Kelly came over to look. “Yes. That’s the valet. They must be full up. They usually park it on a lower floor.”

  “Where would mine be?” Deke asked.

  “In the guest area. Don’t forget to tip.”

  “After I see if they scratched it or not,” he replied.

  “They’re really careful,” she said absently.

  Deke moved away from the window and surveyed the apartment again. “You don’t spend much time at home, I take it.”

  “I come here to sleep.” Kelly had gone into the kitchen, where she set her handbag on a smooth white table, bare of any ornament except for a vase of bright flowers. “During the day I’m at the station or running around doing personal appearances—and sometimes I do those at night too. On the weekends, I sleep.”

  “Got it. Do you work from home?”

  “Sometimes. I mean, I don’t have to be at the station as much as I am. But WBRX feels more like home, I guess.”

  “This is a nice place, though.” Deke seemed to be searching for words. “Quiet. Lots of space.”

  “It’s too empty.” Kelly frowned at the bare walls and the few pieces of furniture. “One of these days I’m going to put up pictures, buy some big ol’ pillows, get my personal stuff out of storage—yeah, well, one of these days.”

  Deke settled himself on a beige sofa that looked brand new. “Takes time to settle in.”

  “You’re right,” she said briskly. “But you didn’t come here to discuss the décor. Now where did I put my laptop? I hope I didn’t leave it at the station.”

  There was no harm in making him think so. He looked a little too comfortable at the moment, even though he still had his jacket on. She knew perfectly well where the laptop was: in the chest of drawers in her bedroom.

  “Would you like a soda or anything?” she asked, walking past him on her way there.

  “No thanks.”

  Kelly opened closet doors and drawers, making him wait longer. “Here it is,” she called. She came back into the living room with the laptop in her hands.

  “Excellent. You sure no one’s looked at this since you saw the tape?”

  Kelly nodded and sat down by him. She put the closed laptop on the coffee table, which was as bare as everything else. No magazines, no books, no mail. Only with him here did she realize how very empty her place must look.

  “Do you want to see it before I send it?”

  Deke nodded.

  “We made a deal,” she reminded him.

  He explained as best he could, pulling out his wallet and several ID cards. “I’m a criminal investigator, federal. I work on a case-by-case basis.”

  “You mean you freelance?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. I have a high-level security clearance. Agents who can’t be pulled up on any government database are useful. One crooked agent or a rogue cop is all it takes to hack into an ongoing investigation, which puts everyone undercover at risk.”

  “Sooner or later the bad guys are going to figure out who you are.”

  “Hasn’t happened.” Deke leaned back into the beige c
ushions, looking out the window again. “But it will. Then I’ll quit and do something else.”

  No wonder he looked twice wherever he went. Kelly studied him. In a big apartment with not much furniture, he seemed more at ease, with plenty of room for those long legs. She liked the way he relaxed, given the right space. He turned to look at her. The intensity of his deep brown gaze was startling. Kelly gave a little jump.

  “Oh—sorry. Guess I zoned out. Let’s look at this, and then you have to go because I have to get to work. It’s already three-thirty.”

  She hadn’t zoned out, not for a second. Kelly had been as focused on his physicality and strength as when she’d glimpsed him swimming in the dark water of the infinity pool.

  She flipped open the laptop, bending her head over it and letting her hair fall free to hide her blush. Kelly clicked around.

  “Here’s the file.”

  Deke sat up, looking sideways at the paused footage. “Go ahead. Play it.”

  There was an establishing shot of the abandoned building and a zoom to Kelly, who recited her memorized intro. Fade to black. More footage of Kelly inside the building. Gordon and Laura talking, off camera. In the background, the first car, parked, was joined by a second car, both black luxury models. Deke’s voice, roaring. The first gunshot cracked. She lowered the volume nearly to silence. The images were herky-jerky and hard to see. It was over in seconds.

  “Go back to where the second car pulled in,” he instructed. “Then go frame by frame.”

  Kelly did as Deke asked. The features of the unknown woman weren’t clear, but her face was the only one caught on the tape.

  “Besides the red hair, nothing solid for an ID,” Deke said, more to himself than Kelly.

  “The sunglasses are designer, not drugstore,” Kelly pointed out. “Definitely not your everyday shades.”

  Deke shot her a look of respect. “They could be knockoffs. Either way, which designer?”

  “Ferragamo, I think. Or Miu Miu. I’d have to check. No trace of her yet?” Kelly asked.

  Deke shook his head, studying the blurred images. “No. Nothing at the scene but the dead thugs, who seem to have shot each other.”