Triumph

by Janet Dailey

  “Deke—”

  “Good training,” he said cheerfully.

  Her momentary exasperation vanished as she looked at the rows of photos. He’d handed her the kind of challenge she enjoyed most. There was nothing easy about it. These weren’t mug shots or freeze-frames taken from surveillance video.

  No sullen stares, no scowls. No unshaven jaws on the men. No messed-up hair or streaked mascara on the women. Every single subject seemed to be well-groomed and confident, and obviously a lot more intelligent than the average lawbreaker. Kelly studied the faces for several minutes, until she realized Deke was gazing just as intently at her.

  She looked up. “Okay. Test me.” She rotated the laptop so they could both see the uncaptioned photos on the screen.

  “Go for it.”

  Kelly pointed to several male faces and one young woman. “I’m not sure on everyone, but I would guess those four are crooks.”

  “Right on the men. Wrong on the woman.”

  “Is she an agent?”

  “Yes. But it’s interesting that you picked her out. She used to be known as the Happy Hacker, liked to break into classified databases just for the hell of it. Eventually, she was arrested and charged, but she got out of doing time by, uh, sharing her expertise.”

  Kelly’s eyebrows raised.

  “Sometimes it’s what we have to do. She turned out to be one of our best, even if she doesn’t like to follow the rules. So how did you pick those four?”

  “Instinct. Something in the eyes, I guess. I really can’t define it.”

  “Good work. If you can pick them out at the ball, even better. Those photos are out of date.”

  “But what about the others? Let me try to get all of them.” There were nine other images on the screen. Kelly studied it again. “Hmm. Those two in the bottom corner are probably agents. And so is the lady at the upper left and this guy in the middle.”

  “Right again.” He looked genuinely impressed. “Tell me how you knew.”

  “Those true-blue shirts and dark suits. The steady gaze and square shoulders. They look just like agents on TV,” she said. “And I can see lanyards for the ID badges on the two in the corner.”

  Deke applauded. “Whatever works. You nailed more than half correctly. That’s better than average.” He tapped several keys and brought back the captions.

  Kelly studied the screen with renewed interest. “Are all of them going to be there?” she asked.

  “We don’t know exactly which ones yet, if you mean the bad guys. They do tend to need a constant influx of cash, like Gunther Bach. Most of them aren’t in his league, though. But they could steal hundreds of millions if they pick the right marks tonight.”

  “Just like that?”

  “No,” he acknowledged. “But once they get someone rich and greedy to trust them, they know how to make money disappear.”

  “Where to?”

  “Overseas accounts. Sham funds. Churning it through banks that look the other way. Sometimes suitcases are the best way to move a lot of cash and not have it traced.”

  Deke tipped his chair back again and folded his arms across his chest. The nonchalant pose made her wonder how often he’d taken on assignments like this.

  “Ball or no ball, this could get dangerous,” she said.

  “I’ll cover you.”

  Kelly was rarin’ to go. Her undercover reporting had been limited to fraud that affected the average viewer. Home-repair scams, seniors conned into giving away their savings online, lonely hearts that were bound to be broken—she’d seen and heard it all.

  “I almost forgot to ask,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you want me to flirt with the bad guys or hang out with the bad girls?”

  Deke looked her over and laughed. “You could do both. Work the ballroom. You can’t predict who’s going to be standing next to you at any given moment.”

  “No, probably not.”

  “However, I can’t hang around the powder room. You get to do that.”

  “What a thrill.”

  Moving to music in Deke’s arms felt wonderful, even if his whispers in her ear were less than romantic. He was filling her in on some of the other guests as they whirled in slow circles on the dance floor.

  The vast ballroom was packed with guests, and more were arriving every minute. The vaulted ceiling above was an exact replica of a fantasy from another age, decorated with gilt and extravagant paintings of celestial beings among clouds.

  A flock of waiters in black tie wove through the crowd with silver trays, offering flutes of chilled champagne to all takers. Deke scored one for Kelly without spilling a drop and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She drank it quickly and another waiter whisked it away when she set the flute down on an empty table.

  “You looked like you needed something cold.”

  “It is warm in here. Who are those two?” She looked discreetly in the direction of a couple stepping into the spotlight.

  “The Hales,” he said. “As in the Hales. The richest family in Dallas. And possibly the most distinguished.”

  A stately woman decked out in silver bugle beads was escorted onto the dance floor by her white-haired husband. He led her into a dignified waltz.

  “Bet you anything she was the belle of the cotillions back in the day.” Kelly’s eyes sparkled. “All white satin and long gloves and sassy as hell.”

  Deke agreed with a nod. “Mrs. Hale is a friend of Natalie Conrad, you know. Might even have introduced her to the late Mr. Conrad back in the day, if I remember right.”

  Deke did his homework. Kelly hadn’t finished reading all the background material for the guests on his laptop. “Really? Here in Dallas?”

  “I’d have to check.”

  “Where is our fabulously wealthy hostess?”

  “I don’t think Mrs. Conrad is actually here yet.”

  “How will we know? There must be close to a thousand guests.”

  “Beats me. Listen for a trumpet fanfare.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be announced.”

  His hand moved lower on Kelly’s back, resting at the waist of the sage-green gown she’d brought along. The sensuous material draped perfectly and never wrinkled. The bodice was cut high, but every other part of the gown was cut low or slit up to here. She’d changed out of the blue silk bra into a backless corselette, invisibly boned for elegant support. The sensation of his fingertips on her bare skin made her shiver a little.

  “You look fantastic,” he murmured into her ear, his lips brushing against her flowing blond tresses. “The competition keeps sizing you up.”

  She glanced toward the gold-papered walls of the ballroom. The younger female guests were standing there three deep, a riot of color in bouffant dresses and sheaths, chatting with each other or their escorts.

  “This isn’t a pageant, Deke.”

  “No? Who invited so many beautiful women? I don’t know when I’m going to get around to dancing with all of them,” he teased.

  Kelly stiffened slightly in his embrace.

  “Settle down,” he said soothingly. “I only have eyes for you.” Which didn’t keep him from returning the smile of a taffeta-clad temptress on the sidelines.

  “Right.”

  The waltz ended and the band segued into a romantic song. Deke knew the lyrics. “My love is real,” he crooned.

  “Too bad the bling is fake.” She stopped for a beat and fiddled with the adjustable ring on her left hand. The “diamond” was heavy and the gold-tone band was beginning to itch.

  “Can’t tell from a distance. I expect the ladies think you’re my wife.”

  “Doesn’t seem to keep them from looking at you.” Kelly clasped his hand again and they danced amidst the others. The elderly couple bowed out to a smattering of applause, and the younger generation got out on the floor.

  “Let’s act loving. Put your head on my shoulder,” he instructed.

  “You’re too tal
l,” she muttered into the pleats of his dress shirt.

  Deke rested his chin on top of her head. “Relax. Cuddle up. Get a look around.”

  Kelly let her eyes close halfway and put on a blissful smile. Actually, she liked this. His arms were as solid as his chest. Black tie suited him. She nestled closer.

  No one would interrupt them or cut in. From under her lashes, she surveyed the crush of people in attendance. Deke had continued to brief her while they dressed in their separate suites.

  She’d already spotted two of the other agents, both male. They didn’t seem to register her glance at all.

  The social director’s ban had been followed, as far as Kelly could tell. It was nice not to be dazzled by flashing cameras, and the glamorous guests could actually see each other without smartphones in front of their faces.

  She and Deke had been asked courteously about both in the B-list line before entering the ball. Deke dropped the prepaid cell in an assigned basket, just so no one would get suspicious, and tucked the claim ticket inside his jacket.

  Kelly suddenly felt Deke go tense. She took a half step back to look up at him. His thick brows had pulled together slightly over his alert dark eyes. He frowned just before he bent his head and pressed an unexpected kiss on her cheek.

  “I need you to kiss me back. Right now. Sorry.”

  Hide in plain sight took on a whole new meaning. Kelly took a second to nuzzle the strong line of his jaw first, enjoying the fragrance of fine masculine cologne before she lifted her lips to his.

  What a kiss. She was into it. So was he. When he lifted his head, she was breathless.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be. That was—great. Unprofessional, but great.”

  “I had to. For a second I thought I saw someone who doesn’t need to know I’m here.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s gone now.”

  “Was he on the laptop?”

  “Let’s not talk about it. Dance with me.” He looked down and smiled a little wickedly at her. “You need to fix your lipstick. Maybe you could take a few photos while you’re at it.”

  “Back to business, huh?”

  He drew her close again, keeping his voice low. “That’s how it has to be.”

  The evening wore on. The guests kept arriving, providing Kelly and Deke with all the cover they needed. Introductions were made and quickly forgotten amid trivial conversations that ebbed and flowed. Kelly felt at home. Even though not everyone in attendance was from Texas, variations of the dry, warm drawl she knew so well could be heard everywhere she turned.

  Deke excused himself. She didn’t mind. Kelly needed to sit and collect her thoughts. She refused more refreshment from a passing server with a tray of flutes. The music and the heat and the sheer number of guests made for a dizzying combination. Kelly knew a second glass of champagne would be the equivalent of a knockout punch.

  From a distance, she glanced at him occasionally. Deke stood in a corner with some of the other undercover agents, all men. Idly, she wondered where the Happy Hacker was and tried to remember the woman’s real name.

  Alison Powell. That was it. Alison wasn’t among the crowd, as far as Kelly could tell.

  Kelly intended to talk to her sooner or later. There had to be quite a story there—Deke hadn’t told her the half of it. She opened her evening clutch and found a small pad with a jeweled pencil and noted down the agent’s name.

  Her fingers touched the tube of berry lip gloss. Taking out the mirror-slash-camera, which was tucked into a pocket of the clutch, Kelly applied a dash of gloss and pressed her lips together, enjoying the slick feel. Deke had kissed her thoroughly and well.

  She looked over the mirror, surveying the legions of guests in constant motion, hoping to snap another photo of someone from Deke’s laptop. Kelly had already taken several, without being able to view the results in public. Whatever. Her memory and eye for detail were just as useful.

  A faint prickle of unease came over her. Someone was watching her from behind—she always knew when that happened.

  Kelly raised the mirror and saw a man making his way to her. Leanly built, immaculately dressed. Silver hair. She swallowed hard, keeping her gaze on him. A minute passed. She could hear his steps over the dull roar of the huge gathering and the music.

  Gunther Bach’s steely eyes filled the mirror and stared into hers. A chill ran down her bare back. Kelly tucked the mirror back in her clutch and turned in her seat to look up at him. “Mr. Bach. This is a surprise.”

  “What are you doing here, Kelly? Do you know Natalie Conrad?”

  “I met her several years ago at a gala in Atlanta.”

  He inclined his head in a stiff little nod. “Ah.”

  “Is she a friend of yours?” Kelly asked innocently.

  “One might put it that way. Natalie and I were very close for years.” He didn’t elaborate. “When I received the invitation, I respectfully declined. I knew I would be on my way to Mexico.”

  “But here you are.” Kelly smiled brilliantly. “Why?” She didn’t mind badgering him. Not after the way he’d put her on the spot in that restaurant.

  “Natalie does not take no for an answer, and my new secretary gave her my itinerary. She called me when my flight landed in Phoenix and—how shall I put it? She persuaded me to attend.”

  His cold glance moved from Kelly to the table, taking in the fact that there was no other chair. “Do excuse me. There are other guests here who are dear friends. I would like to speak to them before I leave.”

  “Are you still flying to Mexico City?”

  Gunther’s reply was edged with venomous disdain. “That is none of your business.” He moved away.

  Kelly watched him go. It was as if the crush of other guests had swallowed him. Tall as Bach was, a lot of Texan men were taller. The silver-haired figure vanished. She wasn’t sorry to see him go.

  A rich rancher type whirled his pretty partner by in a two-step that had some of the crowd moving back and others joining in on the dance floor. Kelly started a round of applause and gave a whoop, standing up to watch and clap in time, inspiring others to do the same.

  The band caught on and launched into a fiddler’s tune with even faster riffs. The dancers kept going as long as they could, walking off the floor a few minutes later. The electric energy they’d generated seemed to go with them. The hubbub died down. More champagne flutes made the rounds on trays lifted high, and so did a mix of costly hors d’oeuvres.

  Kelly took a few tidbits on the proffered tiny plate. She’d never been a fan of caviar, but she needed to eat something. Her dinner with Deke seemed like it had happened a week ago. She was wiping her fingertips on the napkin when a wave of fresh excitement rippled through the vast ballroom. Kelly found a place to set down the tiny plate.

  Natalie Conrad had arrived.

  Broad-shouldered bodyguards in dark suits led the way for the supremely elegant woman who walked behind them, acknowledging the crowd now and then with a nod. Her hair was black with a streak of natural silver in front, parted on the side and falling to her shoulders in a straight, glossy sweep. Enormous diamond drops, brilliantly real, hung from her earlobes, swinging with each step. A fitted evening suit in metallic charcoal revealed long, flawless legs and breathtakingly high heels.

  She walked with grace, never stumbling for so much as a second, a faint smile beginning to appear on her face.

  The refined simplicity of Natalie Conrad’s style was extremely expensive to achieve. Kelly had been in the media business long enough to know that. She had to admire how the older woman pulled it off.

  Her flawless makeup betrayed no hint of her age. Only her lips seemed not quite perfect, blurred somehow—collagen, Kelly realized. The effect was nonetheless sensual.

  Her head turned and her gaze alighted on Kelly. Natalie Conrad had remarkable eyes, the deep green of a northern sea, watchful and slightly weary. Kelly reminded herself that the other woman was older by sev
eral years than when they’d last met and had lost a husband into the bargain. Some changes couldn’t be helped.

  Natalie Conrad’s beautiful eyes narrowed when she recognized Kelly. She walked on immediately, her full lips tightening into a frown of displeasure. Kelly stepped back and let the crowd enfold her.

  CHAPTER 9

  Kelly edged sideways through the crowd. It took her a while.

  No one looked at her. It was a relief.

  Seeing Gunther Bach’s cold eyes in back of her hadn’t been fun. Psychos in the mirror may be closer than they appear. He’d kept on coming until he was breathing down her neck. Then they’d had that odd conversation. Kelly was surprised he’d talked to her at all.

  She was grateful that all eyes were on Natalie Conrad at the moment. Kelly made her way to the open bar, stopping in front of the only bartender without a line at his station. He gave her a friendly smile. “What can I get for you?”

  “Just a coke, please.” The ambient noise and crush of people were getting to her. Champagne was still out of the question.

  “There you go.”

  He served it up over ice as Kelly snapped open her evening clutch. “Thanks.” She put a tip in a crystal vase filled with bills.

  The bartender looked over her shoulder and Kelly turned to see a trim, composed-looking man with a clipboard holding a thick sheaf of papers. “Miss Johns?”

  “Yes?” He didn’t say how he knew her name, but Kelly could guess. In less than five minutes, a murmured order from on high had been quickly issued to find out what she was doing at the Billionaires’ Ball.

  “May I speak to you privately?”

  Other guests stepped up and got the bartender’s attention. She might as well play along—but she wasn’t going to let Mr. Clipboard make her feel like a party crasher.

  “And you are?” she asked him.

  “Neil Atwood. Assistant coordinator of the guest list. My superior asked me to find you.” He fumbled for an ID badge. Kelly glanced at it. Looked real to her.