by Cara Summers
“I located the high school in Kansas City where your Brian James McElroy went, and guess who graduated with him?”
Ryder thought for a minute. “I’m going to take a wild guess.”
“Go for it.”
“Vice President John Gracie.”
Sierra’s eyes flew to meet his at the same instant that Jed swore in his ear. “Shit. I had to dig deep for that. If you already knew, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know. I told you it was a wild guess.”
“Yeah. You and your intuition. Something tells me that you’re going to guess the answer to my second question too. Guess where Anderson was during the two days before he disappeared?”
“Kansas City?”
“Bingo,” Jed said. “He contacted some of the people I talked to.”
“You got anything yet on McElroy’s service in Vietnam?”
“Working on it.”
“See if there’s any connection between him and Gracie there.”
“Don’t tell me your intuition is failing you on that one.”
Ryder laughed. “Keep digging. I wouldn’t have made the guess if you hadn’t asked the question.”
“Tell me,” Sierra said when he hung up the phone.
“Vice President John Gracie went to high school with Brian James McElroy. Jed’s pissed that I guessed, but you’re the one who pointed out they’re both from the same state. And Mark Anderson was in Kansas City on Monday and Tuesday. Let’s see what else you can come up with.” He reached onto the bedside table for a hotel notepad and pen and handed them to her. “Go ahead. Make a list.”
He watched while she did, numbering the items neatly. His anger from a few minutes before had drained away. As well it should have. The problem wasn’t hers. It was his. He hadn’t sorted out his own feelings, and until he did he’d better keep both of their minds on the case.
She was frowning now and tapping the pen on the pad as she thought. Her hair was falling over her cheek, and he had to resist the urge to tuck it behind her ear.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said as she tucked it back herself. “Number one, Mark Anderson has a story. One that has him worried, so he calls you to get your perspective.”
“But he misses that appointment because his flight back from Kansas is delayed,” Ryder added.
“Number two, Mark’s working on a book about the vice-presidency. Number three, John Gracie is the current vice president and there’s a lot of buzz about his upcoming campaign for the presidency in 2008.”
“Word is, he’s going to announce right after the first of the year,” Ryder commented.
“Number four, the book Mark Anderson gave me to pass on to you was about Vietnam: The Unsung Heroes, and he marked it on a page that mentions John Gracie.”
“Jed is checking to see if McElroy and Gracie served together in Vietnam.”
She glanced up then and said, “I’d like to look at that book Mark gave me.”
“Ramsey is bringing it to our meeting. What else have you got?”
She glanced at her notes. “Number five is Mark’s appointments on the day he disappeared. First to the Esquire Club where he left his notes on Brian James McElroy. And where he played racket ball with John Gracie’s son, Jack.”
“According to Ramsey, Jack has been his dad’s chief of staff and campaign manager for five years—ever since Mrs. Gracie died.” Running a hand through his hair, Ryder rose from the bed and began to pace. “Something must have happened to alert Mark that he was in danger. So he stashed his notebook in a locker, knowing he could get it later.”
“Or so he could send you to get it.”
“If someone was following him that day, they would know his schedule even without having his Palm Pilot. So they could have had someone waiting at the club to see if we showed up. That would explain how the tail picked us up.”
“Mark’s second stop was Le Printemps.” She glanced up from her notes. “My sister Rory met the current man in her life there. She took Nat and me on a tour to show us exactly what happened.”
Ryder paused in his pacing to stare at her. “You know the layout.”
“Sure. Hunter Marks is thinking of buying the hotel as an engagement present for her.”
“You’re amazing, Doc.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed. “C’mon. We’re going to Le Printemps, and you’re going to find out the name of the person Mark met with at four o’clock on Wednesday.”
She blinked. “You think I can do that?”
“I’m beginning to think you can do anything you set your mind to.”
Sierra narrowed her eyes as Ryder dug into his duffel.
“What do you think?” He pulled out the hip-hugging jeans. “Britney Spears or the suit for the Princess Diana look?”
“Britney wouldn’t stay at Le Printemps. They cater to celebrities who want to remain anonymous. She doesn’t.”
“The blue suit then.”
“And what are you going to do while I find out who Mark Anderson met with?”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “We have to go with the assumption that somebody is keeping a close watch on the places that Mark visited the day he was snatched. So I’m going to be watching your back.”
15
RYDER TRUSTED her to get the information. That was the thought that drove Sierra as she walked into the dimly lit bar of Le Printemps. The doorman had recognized her from the tour Rory had given her, and her explanation that she wanted her fiancé to see the place too had gotten them into the lobby.
Fiancé. She was surprised at the ease with which the word had slid off her tongue. But she hadn’t missed the way Ryder’s hand had tightened for an instant on her arm.
The wave of confidence she was feeling as she entered the bar faded the moment she saw the bartender. He was not the same man that Rory and Hunter had introduced her to. The one who’d mixed martinis for them that day had been young and eager, just out of college with a hotel management degree. She recalled that Hunter had been impressed with him.
The man who walked toward her as she slid onto a stool was older, and he had a sour expression on his face. His name tag read Gilbert, and he was built like a bouncer.
What in the world was she going to do now?
RYDER CHOSE a seat in the lobby that offered a view of both the front and side entrances and the bar. He’d taken a risk coming here, and then he’d doubled it by bringing Sierra with him. On one level, his justification was simple. He was beginning to think that finding out who Mark Anderson had met in the bar was essential, and they needed the information fast.
Assigning one of his operatives to the job would have taken too much time. And if he’d handled it himself, his attention would have been divided. The most crucial job for him to handle right now was to watch both their backs until they found out the answer to the crucial question: Why did someone want Mark Anderson and Sierra Gibbs dead?
Once they knew that, they would be close to figuring out who was after them. Already, Ryder was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to like the answer to either question.
As he watched Sierra pause halfway to the bar, his lips curved in a smile. That hesitation was a sure sign that whatever plan she’d gone in there with was shot to hell. That was why, by and large, he hated plans. A moment later, she straightened her shoulders in that characteristic way she had and picked up her pace. Ryder’s smile widened. She thought of herself as a coward, but he’d yet to see her back down once she started something. She also thought she needed to map everything out, but her mind was as agile and inventive as any he’d come across. He wished he could be a fly on the wall so that he could experience firsthand what kind of a story she’d spin for that bartender.
He swept his gaze across the lobby again, noting the elderly gentleman reading a paper and a very well-dressed couple being escorted in by the doorman. The man at the reception desk was speaking in rapid Italian to an elderly gentleman
in a pin-striped suit. There was no sign of the muscle-bound trio from the mall, but he was sure that whoever came after them next would be harder to spot.
At least that was the way he would have played it. He shifted his gaze back to Sierra. He could have told Jed to come and get Sierra. If she’d been an ordinary client, he would have. But she’d wanted so much to break out of the shell that she’d encapsulated herself in. And he’d wanted her out of it, too. Because he wanted her free to be with him. Was it as simple and uncomplicated as that?
He glanced around the lobby again. Five minutes. If she wasn’t out of the bar in five minutes, he’d go in and give her a hand.
“WHAT CAN I get you?” Gilbert asked as he placed a cocktail napkin in front of Sierra.
She smiled. “A martini straight up with an olive.” At least she knew what kind of drink to order.
While he mixed it, she racked her brain for a plan. She’d have settled for just the first step.
Gilbert set the drink in front of her. “Your room number?”
She took a quick sip of the martini. “Actually, I don’t have a room here.” She extracted a bill from her purse and set it on the bar. “I’m…meeting someone.”
He frowned. “The name and room number of the person you’re meeting then?”
Sierra knew a minute of pure panic. What was she going to say? Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Ryder sitting in the lobby where he could see her. All she would have to do was signal him, and he’d walk right in, ad-libbing glibly, and rescue her.
But he trusted her to handle it by herself. Straightening her shoulders, she turned back to the bartender and tried another smile. Beyond him, she could see herself in the mirrored wall. The sunglasses gave her an air of mystery and suggested that she was some sort of celebrity. And the blue suit still had that Hitchcock heroine thing going—cool, blond, sexy and gutsy. A spy. Eve Marie Saint playing a double agent in North by Northwest.
The least she could do was to give it a shot.
“I’m meeting Mark Anderson.”
“Mark Anderson. One moment.” Moving a discreet distance away, Gilbert picked up a phone and punched in numbers. When he turned back to her, his frown was even deeper. “We don’t have anyone by that name staying here, and we restrict the use of the bar to registered guests. We especially discourage unaccompanied women from hanging out here, if you get my meaning.”
Sierra blinked at him and stared as the implication began to sink in. He couldn’t possibly think she was some kind of call girl. She shifted her gaze to her image in the mirror. Could he?
The idea struck her as so ridiculous that she laughed and the nerves that had been tightening inside her suddenly eased.
“It’s not what you think. I mean, I’m not what you think.” Did he actually think she was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, waiting for Richard Gere to sneak her into his room? Stalling, she looked into her purse while she tried to think up an identity. Not a movie star. He might be too familiar with them. But it had to be someone close to celebrity status.
“Just who are you then, Miss?”
It was the lipstick and compact that Ryder’s personal shopper had tucked into her purse that inspired her. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m Bailey Tannenbaum, vice president of Tannenbaum Cosmetics.” Then she held her breath. Bailey and her sister were not only the heirs to the Tannenbaum Cosmetic fortune, but Bailey, a tall leggy blonde, had recently made the covers of the tabloids when some nude pictures of her had been released on the Internet.
Recognition dawned slowly on Gilbert’s face.
Stifling a sigh of relief, she continued, “Since you’re a man, you might not be familiar with our cosmetics. But we’re big on the West Coast, and Mark Anderson wanted to interview me about my role in the business.” Her heart was beating so loudly that she was sure Gilbert would hear it.
“I’m staying at the Four Seasons,” she continued, “but too many people recognize me there and there’s no hope of privacy. Mark recommended this place, and I’m impressed. In fact, I’m going to mention it to my sister and my mother. We’ll be making several promotional trips here over the next year.”
“Mark Anderson, you say?”
Sierra nodded. “He’s a reporter with The Washington Post—tall, sandy-blond hair. He said he met someone for an interview here on Wednesday at four. You may have seen him?”
Gilbert’s brow cleared for the first time since she’d confessed that she wasn’t a guest. “Oh yes, I believe I did. There was a blond young man who had a drink with Vice President Gracie. The VP comes in here occasionally to meet with people. The Secret Service approves of our rules. And I’m sure that the management would want to provide you with the same privacy and security. What time did you say Mr. Anderson was going to meet you here?”
Trying to remain calm, Sierra glanced at her watch. “Five o’clock.” Then she frowned. “He’s half an hour late. I expected him to be waiting for me.” Glancing up, she said, “I think I’ll give him a little jingle from one of the pay phones in the lobby.”
RYDER WAS just about to go after her when she slipped off the bar stool and started toward him. Not a minute too soon, he thought. There were two men at the main entrance who’d been talking to the doorman for several minutes, and he didn’t like the looks of them. Most of the pedestrians battling the DC heat wave were tourists wearing shorts, or the occasional businessman carrying his suit coat instead of wearing it.
These men had their jackets on, and while they weren’t having the luck that Sierra’d had with the doorman, he didn’t trust that they wouldn’t eventually succeed.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw that the bell captain had stepped from behind his counter to talk to a similarly attired man who’d just entered through the side doors. How many more were there? he wondered.
“I did it,” Sierra said when she reached him.
“Hold that thought, Doc. We have to get out of here fast.” He grabbed her hand and steered her behind a row of potted palms. “Don’t look back, and keep your pace steady. They’ve got both entrances to the lobby covered. I have to believe that they spotted us going in, so we’ve got to change what we look like again.”
“The ladies’ lounge is straight ahead.”
“One of them is already in the lobby, so we’ll take the stairs.”
When they reached the third floor, he looked into the hall and spotted what he was looking for—a chambermaid’s cart in front of a room door. After knocking on the half-open door, he slid his arm around Sierra’s waist and stepped into the room.
The maid was in the bathroom, and Ryder beamed her his best smile. “Could you finish with that later? My wife isn’t used to the DC heat. She has to lie down for a while.”
Taking her cue, Sierra moved to the bed and stretched out. Two minutes later, they were alone in the room, and she sat up to find that Ryder was already pulling clothes out of the duffel.
“Very smooth. You’ve done that before, haven’t you?” she asked.
“A few times.” He tossed her jeans, a T-shirt and the jean jacket. “You’re getting to be pretty smooth at this yourself.”
His praise sent a ripple of pleasure through her. “I told the bartender I was Bailey Tannenbaum.”
“The rich Bailey Tannenbaum whose nude video is available on the Internet?”
She nodded happily as she stripped out of her suit. “And he believed me.”
“Can’t say I blame him,” Ryder said as he watched her wiggle into the jeans.
“From what I saw in the tabloid headlines, that video is X-rated. I can’t imagine myself in one of those,” she said.
Ryder sure as hell could. But it wasn’t a sex video he was thinking of as he watched her pull the T-shirt over her head.
In his experience, major flashes of intuition were never predictable, and it was a hell of a time for this one to hit him. He couldn’t afford to be incapacitated, yet his knees had gone weak, and he was certain his
heart had skipped a beat.
Sun was pouring through the opened drapes and dust motes were swirling. Ironically, the clock radio was playing a Beatles’ song. On some level, his mind was recording all the details, and they would come back to him later. Right now, he was sure of only one thing.
He’d fallen in love with Sierra Gibbs.
He wanted to shout it to the world. He wanted to grab her and tell her.
It wasn’t something he’d been looking for. It hadn’t been something he’d even wanted. He’d been cruising along in his own lane, happy with the life he’d created.
And he quite simply didn’t want to be in that lane alone anymore. The thought terrified him, and he was pretty damn sure if he blurted it out right now, it would terrify her too.
He needed to mull this over. And for the first time in his life, he realized that he needed a plan. Very deliberately, he turned back to the duffel and dug out the outfit he was going to wear. Plan A involved getting Sierra to safety ASAP. Step one of that plan would be to get out of the hotel. Plan B—telling her that his whole world had changed—would have to wait.
“I certainly never thought I could tell one lie after another,” Sierra was saying. “My heart was beating so fast I thought it would pop right out of my chest. I’m sure I could never pass a lie detector test.”
Glancing into the mirror, Ryder adjusted his cap, and put the finishing touches to his disguise. When he turned back, Sierra was staring at him.
“You’re a cop.”
“Temporarily.” Reaching back into the duffel, he tossed her a wig and a baseball cap. “They’re looking for a blond and a tall dark-haired man. And if the man behind this has the kind of resources I believe he does, the men outside have up-to-date photos of both of us. So you’re going to be a redhead.” Turning her around, he snapped cuffs on her wrists. “And I’m taking you into the station.”
“What did I do?” Sierra asked as he urged her toward the door.
“I’ll figure that out if someone asks. I hope no one will. People don’t often question cops.”
