by Cara Summers
He set the cell phone back in his locker. “I guess you’re telling the truth. But you’d better get out of here. If Richard gets wind of this, Larry at the desk will be fired.”
“Thanks.” She gave the man a three-fingered wave as she backed her way down the aisle. Once she reached the end, she raced for the stairs. Halfway up, just when she was ready to breathe a sigh of relief, she spotted Mr. Muscle on his way down.
“What do you think you’re doing? Women aren’t allowed down there.”
She shrugged, fluttered her hands and said, “La toilette?” Then she prayed that his French was as bad as hers. When he reached her, he took her arm and drew her up the stairs with him. Her tension eased when Ryder hurried across the lobby to her, speaking French all the way. He took her hands, squeezed them and then as he turned back to Richard, he kept his arm around her.
“My apologies,” he said. “She didn’t understand that she shouldn’t wander about. I hope no harm was done.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Richard assured them with a wave of his hand. His voice and his manner had warmed considerably since he’d ushered Ryder into his office. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you when you get settled. And in the meantime, I’ll watch for your check.”
The two men shook hands, and then Ryder was practically shoving her through the front doors.
“We need a taxi,” he said to the doorman, and then he steered her a few feet away.
“Well?” he said in a low voice.
“I got it. A notebook.”
“I knew you could do it,” he said.
“I still don’t believe I lied like that. A man caught me closing the locker. I told him that I was Mark Anderson’s secretary and that he’d sent me to get his notebook. He believed me.” She pressed a hand against her heart.
“The first lie is always the hardest. After that they just seem to flow.”
“And that’s not all. Guess who Mark played racket ball with? Jack Gracie,” she added before he could answer.
“Good work. You’re a natural, Doc.” Then he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her.
Just that press of his mouth against hers brought back everything: need, delight, along with the memory of everything they’d shared, everything they might share. She poured herself into the kiss and what had begun as friendly and congratulatory changed.
This kiss was different from the other ones they’d shared. His hands were so gentle when he moved them to frame her face. And his mouth was softer as if he were kissing her for the first time. Very slowly, he moved her until her back was against the building. It wasn’t heat she experienced this time, but a warmth that moved through her slowly. She felt that she was coming home.
Her hands gripped his shoulders. On some level she was aware that they were standing on a busy street. She heard some chuckles and a whistle from passersby. But her world was narrowing slowly like a spotlight on a stage until all she knew was this man and this moment. He held her trapped against the wall and she didn’t want to go anywhere.
IT HAD BEEN on impulse that he’d kissed her. Just like the first time. Only, what Ryder was experiencing wasn’t anything like the first time. That time she’d exploded in his arms. As the sweetness and the power moved through him, Ryder’s intentions changed. He didn’t want to let her go. That truth, simple and terrifying, stunned him. Still, he held on. One more moment, he promised himself.
He knew that he was standing on a sidewalk, but he could have sworn that the solid concrete beneath his feet was shifting. You, he thought. You’re the one. He recognized the same sensations that he’d felt when he’d first really looked at her in the Blue Pepper. Slapping one hand against the building for balance, he drew back.
Ryder studied her then and saw a question in her eyes. He was almost sure it echoed the one that was forming in his mind. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what would come out of his mouth. One thing he was sure of was that he wasn’t steady. He certainly wasn’t in control. And he wanted to kiss her again. He needed to—
A car backfiring on the street had him stiffening and turning, his hand slipping automatically beneath his jacket to settle on his gun. Fear and anger moved through him as he scanned the street. The traffic was sluggish, and a few pedestrians shot him a curious glance. The doorman in front of the health club had his back to them, his hand out, signaling for a taxi.
Ryder eased his hand away from his gun. They’d been lucky. And he knew better than most that luck could run out. He was being careless. Clamping down on what he was feeling he turned back to Sierra and said, “I’m sorry for that.”
“Oh,” she said and dropped her eyes.
He gripped her chin and waited until she was looking at her. Then he spoke in a voice that only she could hear. “Not about the kiss. In fact, I want a rain check on that. But it’s the wrong time and the wrong place, Doc. I’m not doing my job. Dammit, I wasn’t doing it at the mall either.”
She studied him through those sober blue eyes. “I think you did an exceptional job at the mall. Two men shot at us and you got us out of there.”
“But you were the one who spotted them. Not me.”
“Sir, I have your taxi,” the doorman said. “Where to?”
“Le Printemps,” Ryder said.
He waited until the taxi drew away from the curb before he continued, “I’m going to call Jed Calhoun as soon as we reach Le Printemps. He’ll take you back to the houseboat until I can figure out who’s behind this.”
For a moment there was silence in the taxi except for the muffled noise of the traffic and the bursts of static from the driver’s radio. Then Sierra opened her purse.
Was she looking for a tissue? Panic streamed through him. Lord, he hoped she wasn’t going to cry. “Look, it’s for the best. You did a great job in there, but you’re distracting me. I’m not the man to protect you.”
When she continued to search through her purse, he said, “Do you need your inhaler?”
“I don’t need the inhaler. I’m never going to need it again. I need something to write on. I think more clearly when I write things down.”
It wasn’t until she turned to face him that he caught his first glimpse of the fury in her eyes, and it nearly singed his skin.
“Well, then I’ll just have to improvise.” She poked a finger into his chest. “First, do you make a habit of reneging on your favors?”
“No, I—”
She poked him again. “Don’t interrupt while I’m improvising. Number one, we agreed that you would do me two favors, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Let me finish. Number two, I’m satisfied with everything that you’ve done so far. Have you been satisfied with what I’ve done?”
“Doc, I—” He wasn’t satisfied with how their conversation was going.
“You said I did a good job in there. Did you mean it?”
Ryder had a distinct feeling that he was being led down a garden path. “I meant it.”
“And in the mall? How did I do there?”
“Great. If this were a movie, I’d give it two thumbs up. But it isn’t. And I promised your sister and Matt Ramsey that I’d protect you.”
She clicked her purse shut. “I’m not going back to the boat with your friend. You agreed to grant me two favors, and I’m collecting on them. We’ll just go back to my original suggestion and compartmentalize. No more utility closets. For as long as we need to, we’ll just focus on finding out who is trying to get rid of Mark Anderson.”
“And you,” Ryder pointed out.
“You, too,” she said. “They found us at the mall by tracing your cell. And they shot at you too. So why don’t we concentrate on figuring out what Mark was working on that would motivate someone to kill him and us? If I go back to the boat, I won’t be thinking about the case at all. I’ll be worried about you. Since time is a factor, I think my talents would be better utilized if we continued to work together on this.”
Shit, he thought to himself. She had a point. If he sent her with Jed, would he be able to stop worrying about her? No one should be able to trace the location of his houseboat—but what if someone had?
Even as he made his decision, he wondered if he was being influenced by his desire simply to have her with him.
“Okay,” he finally said. “We’ll go with your compartmentalization plan.”
She lifted her jacket and pulled out the notebook. “We’d better start with this.”
HIS HAND was shaking when he hung up the phone. But the fury that he’d been struggling to control all day finally began to ease. He had to put the inefficiency he’d been forced to tolerate out of his mind. The important thing was that the quarry had been spotted and would be intercepted soon.
And that would finally be the end of it.
A glance at his watch told him that he had a half hour until his meeting with Senator Hayworth. His temper had to be completely under control by then. The majority leader had an uncanny knack for sensing any kind of weakness or trouble. And if he did, the rumors would start. Hayworth’s early support was essential. Once he was on board, others would follow. By the time the senator walked in the door, he had to be calm. Confident. The upcoming negotiations were crucial.
Rising, he crossed to a cabinet and poured a snifter of the brandy he kept for his most influential guests. He allowed himself one swallow, savoring the taste and the warmth that spread through him. Then he returned to his desk and glanced down at the photos of the two people who’d been eluding him for the past twenty-four hours. Fury bubbled up again, and he took another sip of brandy.
He’d come too far and worked too long to have the truth revealed at this point. And what really mattered—a record that had been built in public service over the past thirty-five years or one incident that had occurred so long ago? Even the reporter had seen his point, and he’d agreed to hold off on the story.
But that could hardly have been left to chance. One person knowing the truth was one too many. If it leaked out, everything would be over. That was why the other two had to be eliminated also.
He glanced once more at the two photos in front of him. The psychologist should have been snatched with the reporter. She was a pretty little thing in a mousy sort of way. Even before he’d compiled the file on her, he’d known that she would have to be taken out of the picture. And his instincts had been right. She was brilliant. If Anderson had managed to give her even a hint of what he’d uncovered, she would put it together.
His gaze shifted to the other photo. The information he’d gathered on Ryder Kane was much more disturbing. The man was not only smart, he was dangerous.
He wasn’t even aware that the glass in his hand had broken until he felt the stinging sensation. Glancing down, he saw the pieces of glass in his palm, and the blood mixing with the brandy. Swearing, he dropped the shards in a waste basket, then drew out his handkerchief and carefully wiped and wrapped the small slice the glass had made.
Rage surged up again, and he fought to shove it down. He wasn’t quite in control. But he would be. He poured himself another brandy, and this time he took a long swallow.
Turning, he gazed out the window of the office at the view. In the distance, he could just make out the gleaming black granite of the Vietnam Memorial. The jungle of Vietnam, that was where it had all started, and the secret had been kept for thirty-five years.
He swallowed the last of his brandy, and then glanced once more at his watch. In half an hour, an hour at the most, Ryder Kane and Sierra Gibbs would no longer be threatening his future. He took deep calming breaths as he walked to his desk and sat down. He let his gaze sweep the office, taking in the rich gleam of dark woods and the upholstered chairs that he’d insisted on when he’d come here. There was power here. But it wasn’t absolute power. That could still be his. It would be his.
13
THE TAXI was still inching its way through traffic when Ryder handed the notebook back to Sierra. “See what you can make of it.”
While she read it, he took a quick look around, noting the cars both behind and in the lane next to them. It took him a moment to spot a dark-blue sedan that had been with them since they’d left the Esquire. Coincidence? Could be, but he was leaving nothing to chance anymore.
When he glanced back at Sierra, she was digging into her purse.
“I need something to write with,” she said.
Ryder reached deep into the duffel. Once he handed her the pen, she began to make a list on a sheet she’d torn out of Mark Anderson’s notebook. His notations were cryptic and at times hard to decipher. They were mostly about a man Ryder had never heard of—one Brian James McElroy. The man had been born in 1945 in Kansas City, Missouri, graduated from a local high school, attended college where he’d played baseball before he’d gone to fight in Vietnam.
That was when the information had gotten sparse. According to Mark’s notes, McElroy hadn’t come home from the war. In parentheses, there was the word left, followed by a question mark. There were numbers too. Ryder had thought they might refer to the division that McElroy had served in. At face value, he couldn’t see much there that would get Mark Anderson kidnapped and nearly killed, and he was interested in discovering what Sierra would see.
She had three items on her list, he noted before he glanced once more at the cars surrounding them. The blue sedan he’d noticed earlier was now three cars back.
“There’s not much here,” Sierra said. “When I found out that Mark had played racket ball with the vice president’s son, I thought we’d find something in these notes that would give us some idea of what’s going on.”
“What do you have on your list?”
“Just random notes. I’m trying to make some connections, but I haven’t really thought it through yet.”
“Two heads are better than one,” he said and was pleased when her lips curved. She didn’t smile nearly enough.
“Number one is a question. Did McElroy die in Vietnam or was he an MIA?”
“Good point,” Ryder said. “I can put someone on that.”
“He’s from Missouri.” She glanced up at him then. “You’re going to think this is a stretch. But so was Harry Truman, and he was a vice president.”
“You’re thinking of the book Mark’s writing on the vice presidency. I thought about it too.” He saw the hint of excitement in her eyes.
“Vice president Gracie is from Missouri too,” she said. “It’s probably a coincidence.”
“Could be.” But he’d felt that little rush he’d seen in her eyes when that same thought had occurred to him. “Maybe you’re connecting more dots than you think. We keep coming back to Vice President Gracie. I wonder if he and McElroy served in the same unit in Vietnam.”
He glanced out the back window of the taxi, then leaning forward, he said to the driver, “Change of plan. I want you to drop us off at Union Station.” When he met Sierra’s questioning glance, he said, “A blue sedan has been following us ever since we left the Esquire.”
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“We’re going to lead them on a merry chase,” he said with a grin.
“TELL ME you’re all right.”
Sierra heard the concern in her sister Natalie’s voice and said, “I’m better than all right. I’m having…fun.”
The merry chase had involved losing themselves in the crowd at Union Station, changing into new outfits and taking a new taxi to a hotel a few blocks from Le Printemps so that they could use the pay phones. Ryder figured that someone might be watching Le Printemps so they might not have time to make any calls there.
“I’ve had the updates from Matt,” Natalie said. “Getting shot at is not fun.”
“Well, not that part maybe. But we just lost the two men who followed us into Union Station. And you’d be surprised, Nat. I’m really getting good at this disguise thing. Nowhere near as good as you are, of course.”
Sierra was now wearing
the red sundress, the high-heeled sandals, and she’d tied the white scarf around her hair in a sort of turban. The result was that she looked a lot like one of the femme fatales that appeared in every film noir ever made. Each time she caught her image in one of the glass-fronted shops that lined the lobby, she felt wonderfully wicked. And she couldn’t help wondering if that woman was a part of her too.
One thing was certain. She’d come a long way from the Sierra Gibbs who could barely scrape up the courage to open her father’s letter two days ago.
“I’d feel better if you’d let Ryder Kane tuck you away in a safe place until this is over,” Natalie said.
“I won’t do that.” She’d come out of the safe world she’d been hiding in, and she didn’t think she’d ever want to go back. “I found Mark’s notebook. We think his notes are connected to the story he was working on.”
Natalie sighed. “That’s what Ryder told Matt. If that man doesn’t take good care of you—”
“He is. He does.”
“I intend to see for myself later today. Your bodyguard has set up a powwow at his place tonight at seven. I’m bringing Chance, and Rory and Hunter will want to tag along, too.”
Ryder tapped her on the shoulder, signaling her that it was time to hang up.
“I’ve got to go, Nat. We have to keep the calls under two minutes so that they can’t be traced. But I want you to know that I’m following Dad’s advice, and I think I inherited more from him than any of us thought.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Natalie was saying as Sierra hung up the phone.
“I’VE GOT one more call to make,” Ryder said, studying her.
“Me, too,” Sierra said. “I want to check in with my research assistant. She’ll be worried that I didn’t show up for our meeting this morning.”
“Watch the time.” Ryder kept his gaze on her as she turned back to the pay phone. He’d barely been able to take his eyes off her since she’d stepped out of the ladies’ room at Union Station wearing that white scarf in her hair. He doubted she’d done it intentionally, but every time he looked at it, he was finding it more and more difficult to compartmentalize.
