by Cara Summers
For the second time in as many minutes, everyone turned to stare at her.
“You can’t be serious,” Natalie said. “He could very well be the man who’s trying to kill you.”
Sierra lifted her chin. “You wanted leverage. If he’s behind this, he’ll agree to see me when he hears I have the notebook.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Natalie said. Then she looked at Ryder. “Tell her it’s too dangerous.”
“Hear me out. We’ll meet in a public place,” Sierra pointed out. “And I’ll be meeting with the Vice President of the United States. If we’re right and all of this is about protecting John Gracie, then I think I’ll be pretty safe with him. Whoever is trying to kill me won’t do it anywhere near him. And meeting with him can’t be any more dangerous than what’s happening now. Ryder and I won’t be safe until we get to the bottom of this, and we’d better do that before they get to us.”
There was a beat of silence in the room.
“Her idea just might work,” Ryder said. “And she won’t be alone. We’ll negotiate the time and the place so we’ll be able to cover her, and she’ll wear a wire. This could be our one chance to end this.”
Natalie was frowning. “I don’t like it, but I’ll make some phone calls.”
Ryder turned to Zoë and Jed. “I’ve got some state-of-the-art equipment downstairs in the office. Jensen will take you down, and I want the two of you to see if you can find what it is that Anderson discovered to make him suspicious. There’s some detail that we’ve overlooked.”
As they left, he turned back to the group still seated on the couches. “Now let’s brainstorm how we’re going to pull this off.”
HE REPLACED the phone, and leaned back in his chair. So they wanted a meeting, did they? Well, they would have it. But he’d named the time and the place.
And he’d take care of Dr. Sierra Gibbs once and for all.
Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out brandy and poured himself a glass. He wouldn’t leave this to his hired help. They’d bungled it so far. This job he’d handle himself.
Tomorrow night his problems would be over.
17
“YOU’RE SURE you know what to do?” Ryder asked as he pulled up in front of the tall federal-style house. Gracie had insisted that the meeting take place at a party he was attending at the home of Millie Langford, one of Washington’s premier party-givers. Lots of meetings took place at Millie’s parties. Deals were made, coalitions formed, compromises negotiated. The good news was that Kane Management had handled Millie Langford’s security for three years now, and Ryder knew the place inside and out. The bad news was, he knew there were too many exits.
“As soon as the VP arrives, you’ll be escorted by one of the Secret Service men to a study,” Ryder said. “They’ll probably choose the room after he gets here, so you’ll have to let me know.”
Sierra nodded.
Ryder waved the parking valet away. Then he got out of the car and circled to open her door. “As soon as I know where you are, I’ll be close by.”
They’d been over the plan dozens of times, but he was reluctant to let her go. More than anything he wanted to put Sierra back in his car and drive her away. If he could have thought of a better plan, he would have done just that. But so far, his intuition had failed to provide one.
What he said was, “You’re wired. Jed and I will be within calling distance as soon as we know which room you’re in. You let me know anytime you want to get out.”
She nodded again, then squared her shoulders and walked up the front steps of Millie Langford’s Georgetown home. Ryder pushed down an impulse to go after her. They needed to put an end to this as quickly as possible. Mark Anderson had come out of his coma, but he hadn’t recovered his memory. The doctors said he needed time and rest. And Sierra’s plan was as safe as they could make it. He and Jed and Jensen had looked at it from every angle. Natalie Gibbs and Matt Ramsey had given it their approval.
The problem with plans was that something could always go wrong.
SIERRA IGNORED her tumbling stomach and concentrated on just placing one foot in front of the other as she stepped through the front door of Millie Langford’s house. She could do this. Ryder had faith in her.
A man who looked like every Secret Service agent she’d ever seen in the movies asked her to follow him the moment she’d given her name to another man checking invitations at the door.
Information swirled through her mind as they walked down a hallway. Zoë and Jed had thoroughly briefed her on Brian McElroy and John Gracie. Ryder had chosen her clothes and briefed her on the layout of the house. And Natalie had filled her in on the legendary parties that Millie Langford threw where all the beautiful and powerful people in Washington wanted to be seen.
Sierra caught glimpses of the lights and the glitter through the open doorways that led into the solarium. It was a world that she’d only ever seen in movies. Mozart blended with the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses. There were tables laden with food. White-coated waiters circulated through the crowd carrying trays of champagne.
“In here, miss,” the man said as he opened a door at the end of the hall.
The room she stepped into was small and dim. The walls were lined with books, and a green-shaded reading lamp sitting on an antique desk offered the only light.
“The room’s at the end of the hallway to the left as you enter the house,” she murmured into the microphone. It was state of the art, and it wasn’t taped to her chest like the ones in movies. Instead, Ryder had merely tucked it into her bra. “The room faces the street, so it doesn’t have a balcony.”
“GOOD WORK,” Ryder murmured into her ear. Bummer was what he said to himself.
“It’s not one of the rooms you were counting on.”
“No matter,” Ryder assured her. “I know exactly where you are.” Giving up on finding a parking spot anywhere near the Langford house, he pulled his car in next to a hydrant and jumped out.
Already things weren’t going in an ideal way. The vice president hadn’t even arrived and Sierra had already been escorted to a room, one that was tricky to get to without being spotted. The Secret Service men accompanying the VP wouldn’t take kindly to anyone loitering about.
Jed was stationed on the long terrace that ran along the back of the house. Ryder spoke to him. “Jed, have you got her location?”
There was no answer.
“Jed? Can you hear me?”
Silence.
“Shit,” Ryder muttered as he cut through an alley that would take him to the back of the Langford house. He’d been right. Even the best-laid plans could go haywire.
SIERRA JUMPED when a man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall and neatly turned out in a tuxedo. But she couldn’t see his face clearly.
“Good evening.”
The voice sounded like the vice president’s, but even with the limited lighting, she could see that this man was younger.
“You’re not John Gracie.”
He moved toward her then, and she caught the glint of light on the small gun he held in his hand. She froze. Before she could even think of moving, he had her arm in a vice-like grip and the gun pressed into her side. Then he leaned close and spoke directly into her ear, his voice barely audible. “Not another word. Take the mike off and put it on the desk.”
She hesitated.
“I’ll shoot you here before your Mr. Kane can rescue you. Then I’ll shoot him.”
The matter-of-fact way he spoke had fear streaming through her, and her hand shook as she did what he asked. Then she walked with him toward the door he’d entered from.
“THE VICE PRESIDENT has just arrived.”
It was Zoë’s voice in his ear. And it was neither the news nor the voice Ryder wanted to hear. Sierra hadn’t said anything in the time that it had taken him to get to the back of the house. Her last words hadn’t been good.
“You’re not John Gracie.”
Who i
n the hell had met her in that room?
Party guests had spilled out of the solarium and into the gardens. As long as he was in their sight, he didn’t run. Panicking the guests was not going to help them. He found Jed just getting to his feet behind a potted tree. Then he spoke to Zoë and Natalie who were in a van a block away.
“Bad news. They knocked Jed out for a bit, and someone has Sierra.”
“Copy,” Zoë said.
Then he heard Natalie’s voice. “What can we do?”
“You watch the front entrance and send a couple of my men to the back just in case I’m wrong. But I have a hunch where he’s taken her.”
“Intuition?” Jed asked as he followed Ryder through the terrace doors.
“It’s more of an educated guess. If I wanted to get her out of here, without anyone being the wiser, it’s the route I’d take.”
“Intuition,” Jed said, resignation in his tone.
“Pray I’m right.”
TALK, Sierra told herself as the man prodded her through a gate and down a narrow lane. He’d urged her down a flight of stairs to a cement-floored room that had probably once held carriages. Then they’d exited the house through a small door that opened into a narrow alley. Ryder would know about the exit, she reminded herself.
In the meantime, she had to do something to thaw the paralyzing cold that had settled over her. She had to think. Ryder would come as soon as he could. As they passed beneath a streetlight, she suddenly realized who he must be.
“You’re John Gracie’s son. Jack, right?”
“Right.”
She searched her memory for what she knew about Jack Gracie. For years, he’d served as his father’s chief of staff and campaign manager. But he had always kept out of the spotlight.
They were walking too fast, so she pulled up short. “Your father agreed to speak with me. I spoke with him this morning.”
“Wrong. You spoke with me. Our voices are almost identical over the phone. A lot of people mix us up. I was very happy when you called. This little rendezvous will end the trouble you’ve been giving me.”
His voice was calm and reasonable, a chilling contrast to the leashed violence she sensed as he jerked her forward. He was walking even faster now.
This time to slow him down, she stumbled and fell to her knees.
“Get up.” He pulled her arm, and Sierra cried out.
“My knee.” She might have faked the fall but the scrape was real.
“The car is only a short distance away.”
“Give me a minute,” she said. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t I just talk to your father?”
“Because you’ll upset him. My job is to make sure he doesn’t get upset by people who are out to ruin his reputation.”
He pulled her to her feet, but as he dragged her forward, she limped to slow him down. “How could I possibly ruin his reputation? It’s stellar. What does Brian McElroy know about him? What did Mark Anderson know?”
He stopped and turned toward her. “You know about Brian McElroy then?”
“Yes. I read the notes that Mark Anderson made on him. I know all about Brian McElroy.”
His grip on her arm had her wincing, but it was the anger flashing into his eyes that told her she wasn’t dealing with a rational person. Fear sliced through her.
“Don’t look away,” he said.
She couldn’t have taken her eyes off of him if she’d tried. That would be like turning your back on an approaching predator.
His smile sent an icy shiver through her. “You know nothing. But from what I’ve read about you, you’re smart. I can’t take the risk that you’ll figure it out the way that reporter did.”
As he pulled her forward, Sierra stumbled again. This time she hadn’t faked it. She wished badly she could make a run for it. But even if she could pull free of him, he’d shoot her down. She didn’t doubt that for a minute.
“If you stumble again, I’ll shoot you right here. You’ve caused me no end of trouble. You and Mr. Kane.”
For the length of time it took them to walk out of the narrow lane, Sierra said nothing. But she knew that she had to. She had to keep Jack Gracie talking. She had to give Ryder time. That’s what a Hitchcock heroine would do.
And this was her chance to find out why Jack Gracie wanted to kill her.
“If you’re going to shoot me, at least tell me why. There’s no one at the Pentagon or the CIA who has anything bad to say about John Gracie’s war record.”
“Of course not. There isn’t anything to find. John Gracie’s war record is beyond reproach.”
“Then why…?” Sierra let her question trail off as the answer came to her in a flash. Was this what Ryder felt when his intuition kicked in? It was all so simple really. The details swirled through her mind—a platoon in Vietnam where the only survivor had lost a leg and had to have plastic surgery. She’d almost had it when she’d suggested that Brian McElroy hadn’t died in Vietnam, but merely assumed a new identity. But that wasn’t the whole of it. What if Brian McElroy had survived and stolen the identity of John Gracie? McElroy was facing a court martial, and this was his way out. What if, with the help of plastic surgery, he’d actually turned himself into John Gracie? He was brilliant; he’d gone to school with Gracie and knew him well.
There was only one way to test her theory. Stopping short, she dug in her heels. “The real John Gracie died in Vietnam, didn’t he? Your father is Brian James McElroy.”
He twisted her arm behind her back and urged her forward.
“I knew you’d figure it out. But the knowledge will die with you.”
The pain seared through her arm and helped her to shake off the cold fear. “How long have you known about this?”
His laugh was mirthless and chilling. “I learned when that reporter called me last Sunday. I didn’t know what he was talking about at first. He’d done an interview with my father for that book he was writing. And he was excited because he’d found something interesting, something he couldn’t explain. He thought he was talking to my father and he wanted to meet. It seems that in all the research he’d done, he’d discovered that John Gracie—the real John Gracie—had been right handed. But he’d noticed that my father was a lefty. A lefty. Can you imagine that? He was flying out to Kansas City to do a little more research, and he’d be back on Tuesday. He wanted to meet with my father when he got back.”
They’d reached another gate. He released her and said, “Open it.”
While she purposefully fumbled with the latch, she said, “What did you do?”
“I confronted my father and he told me the truth. For thirty-five years, he’s been living a lie. And he’d never told me.”
Though she couldn’t see his face, she could hear the fury in his voice and feel it when he wrenched her arm and shoved her through the gate.
“Everything—everything we’ve worked for was at stake.”
Ryder. He had to be close. If she could just keep him talking a few more minutes…
“You played racket ball with Mark on Wednesday morning, but it was your father who met with Mark Anderson on Wednesday afternoon.”
“Yes. Somehow he arranged that meeting without letting me know. And Anderson spooked him. My father told him that he really was Brian McElroy. We could have denied it. After all these years and all this work, my father was actually thinking of not running for the presidency. I couldn’t allow that. So I took care of it.”
“You tried to kill MarkAnderson because your father was threatening to take his name out of the presidential race?”
“We were going to be the next dynasty—like the Adamses, Kennedys and the Bushes. I had people and corporations lining up to back us. And he told me it couldn’t happen. That the truth would have to come out now. I couldn’t allow that. I convinced him that I could handle it, and I can.” He gave her a push. “C’mon. The car’s just around the corner.”
Where was Ryder?
“YOU SEE THEM?” Ryder as
ked.
“Yeah,” Jed said.
Two thugs were in a dark-colored sedan parked near the end of the street, and if his hunch was right, Sierra and her captor would appear around the corner at any moment.
“I’ll take the one on the passenger side,” Ryder said.
They had to work quickly. The man who’d taken Sierra had hurried her out of the house through the old carriage room, just as he’d thought. Jed had gone through the small door just in time to see them exit through the gate at the far end of the narrow alley. In an effort to head them off, he and Jed had taken an alternative route and cut through a nearby yard.
Crouching low, he and Jed moved forward, past a new Beetle, a Porsche and a Mini Cooper. They opened the sedan’s doors at the same instant. Jed’s man grunted and Ryder’s moaned as they hit the cement. They dragged the men back two cars and Jed got behind the wheel. Ryder barely had time to conceal himself behind some shrubs when he saw the man and Sierra turn the corner. As the man pushed her past a streetlight, he caught sight of the gun at the same time he recognized Jack Gracie.
It wasn’t a perfect plan. If Gracie noticed there was only one man in the car before he got close enough for Jed to make his move…
Ryder saw the moment that Gracie figured it out. In one smooth movement, the man wrapped his arm around Sierra’s neck and held her in front of him like a shield.
Ryder stepped out of the bushes. “Let her go, Gracie.”
“Yes,” Sierra said in a calm voice. “Let me go. Mr. Kane and I aren’t the only ones who know. My sister works for the DC police, and she knows. And so far you haven’t killed anyone. Mark Anderson’s come out of the coma. The doctors say he’ll be fine.”
The careful, soothing way she was talking to Gracie signaled to Ryder the unstable state of mind the man was in. He held his gun steady and waited for his chance.
“I don’t think Mark Anderson wanted to print that story. I think he admired the work your father has done. It’s not too late.”
