by Kay Hooper
“I was twenty-five. But I’d traveled a great deal during my college years, I could fly a plane, and I spoke Spanish like a native. At the time, it made perfect sense to me that I was the one to go.”
“I see.” Another pilot. Like Dad. And like Thomas.
Adam shrugged. “Getting the others out was a major headache, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The company had sent two planes, one for the people, and a cargo plane for all the equipment I could get out.”
She frowned. “This was—ten years ago?”
“Not quite. It was in November of eighty-eight.”
Six months after Tom’s plane had vanished somewhere in South America. Rachel sighed. “So you got everybody out?”
“Yeah. But my superior had been insistent that I be the last man out, and that I do a final check of the plant to make sure nothing valuable had been left behind. Hell, I could practically smell the army coming, and I still went back there.” He paused. “I was barely able to get off a call to the cargo plane and tell the pilot to get out before they grabbed me.”
“So the new leader wasn’t too happy with you.”
“Not much, no. He could have used a lot of the equipment I’d managed to get out of the country. So, he gave me a five-minute trial and sentenced me to life at one of his country clubs.”
Rachel winced. “It must have been horrible.”
“It wasn’t fun.” He smiled faintly, but his eyes were still shuttered and he didn’t offer details.
Rachel decided not to ask. Instead, she asked another question. “But didn’t anyone here try to get you out? An American citizen being held like that on trumped-up charges—”
Adam shook his head. “I had no family. When the president of the company tried to find out what had happened to me, the new dictator in San Cristo claimed I’d been killed. He even had a body to ship home—conveniently burned beyond recognition. Seems the plant caught fire, and I didn’t get out in time. Terrible accident.” He paused, then added, “There’s a grave in California, a nice headstone all paid for by the company. And my name on it.”
Rachel shivered. “You mean still?”
“Oh, I went through the official process of having myself declared legally alive again. But nobody got around to digging up that poor bastard and finding out who he was. Another enemy of the state, I guess.”
“My God.”
Adam lifted a hand as though to touch her, then let it fall. “When I got home, I found out that my former superior had made a fortune on the gadget I’d invented, him and the company. There was no proof, of course, just my word against his—and five years later, nobody believed me. Nobody wanted to believe me.
“They offered me a job, but I couldn’t take it. To prevent me from suing for five years’ back pay, they offered a cash settlement—which I did take. It wasn’t enough to start my own company, but it was enough to live on while I drew up the plans for a new design I’d dreamed up in prison. That was about the time I called looking for Nick, and talked to Duncan Grant instead. You know the rest.”
“How did you know Nick?” Rachel asked. “I’ve wondered.”
“We met while I was in college. I was bumming around in Europe the summer after my sophomore year. Nick was”—Adam eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, clearly hesitant, then sighed—“I gather you didn’t know he had done some intelligence work for the government?”
Rachel blinked. “I certainly didn’t.”
“He’ll skin me if he finds out I told you. I don’t know if he likes to keep his past murky or if he feels he should because of the government work. Whichever it is, I’ve learned to respect his wishes. So, for Christ’s sake, don’t tell him I told you about the cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
“How did he get involved in something like that?”
“You’d have to ask him. All I know is that during that particular summer, he was involved in a … situation in Rome. Don’t ask me for the details. I’m still hazy on them, and I was there. The only thing I can tell you for certain is that totally by accident I found myself caught up in an international incident involving a Turk, two Frenchmen, an Italian, and Nick. And everybody had a gun but me.”
Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or gasp. “What happened?”
“I got shot.” He smiled. “It wasn’t too serious, but it so happened if I hadn’t stopped the bullet, Nick would have been in deep, deep trouble. Somehow, he managed to finish his assignment successfully, and get a wounded American back home without arousing too many questions.”
“And after that he owed you a favor.”
“A big one.” Adam shrugged. “We kept in touch for the next few years, while I finished college and started working with the company. Saw each other a few times. But it wasn’t until after the San Cristo trouble that I called him to collect on the favor.”
“And got Dad instead.”
“And got Duncan instead.”
Rachel shook her head. “That’s … quite a story.”
“I’m sure Graham Becket would say it’s all lies. I know he’s suspicious of me. But he couldn’t find anything much in my background because there isn’t anything to find, Rachel.”
“I know.”
“How can you?”
“Because Dad trusted you. And because I do.”
Once again Adam lifted a hand and touched her face gently. His own face was very still, revealing nothing of what he was feeling. “Don’t trust so quickly, Rachel.”
“How can I not?”
His hand fell, and his smile was a bit strained. “It might be better for us both if you didn’t.” “Why?”
Adam shook his head. “Never mind. Would you like to return to Duncan’s scraps of paper? We still have some time today, and we need to find those answers.”
Rachel wasn’t at all sure she liked the way this conversation was ending, but Adam was already getting up, and she had little choice but to follow suit. It bothered her, though.
It bothered her that Adam wasn’t quite comfortable with her trust.
“Okay, I admit it was wrong.” Mercy felt like a scolded little girl and Nicholas hadn’t even said anything yet. He just sat there behind his desk, staring at her. She wanted to throw something at him. Other than his unpleasant smile and sardonic comment when he’d surprised her in the car, all he’d said was a brief order to meet him back at the bank.
So, there she was. And there he was.
And things were not looking good.
“I’m sorry, Nick. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I want to hear a reason, Mercy. Just what the bloody hell do you think you were doing?”
“My curiosity got the better of me. You were being so damned cryptic and—and I just wanted to find out what you were up to.”
“It didn’t occur to you to ask?”
She sat up straighter. “You would have told me?”
“No.” He smiled for the first time. “But you might have made the attempt before resorting to TV-private-eye tactics.”
“Dammit, Nick!” She scowled at him.
“Mercy, I asked you to trust me. You said you did.”
“Yeah, well-I do. Almost.”
“Almost is not good enough.” His pale eyes were very serious now. “Either you trust me, or you don’t. If you trust me, then believe that I know what I’m doing.”
“Nick, I believe you know what you’re doing. I just want to know what that is.”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
“Why not?” she almost wailed.
Nicholas smiled again, but his eyes remained grave. “Because you have a lousy poker face, love. And I can’t afford to risk the chance that the wrong person is a better card player than you are.”
“Well, if that isn’t cryptic, I don’t know what is.” She glared at him. “Just tell me this—are you up to something illegal?”
“Would it surprise you if I said yes?” He sounded honestly curious.
Mercy thought about it. “I don’
t know. For a good enough reason, I think you’d go to just about any lengths. Maybe even breaking the law. Is that what you’re doing?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I’m playing strictly by the rules.” Now he sounded mocking.
Mercy wasn’t reassured. “How about the law?”
“The law is on my side.”
She had a feeling he had somehow evaded her question, but she wasn’t sure exactly how. She sighed. “And I’m supposed to just accept that.”
“I wish you would, yes.”
She hesitated, then blurted out, “Just tell me you aren’t doing anything that might hurt Rachel.”
Nicholas leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his flat middle. “I am not doing anything that might hurt Rachel.” His voice was level, every word precisely pronounced. He wasn’t smiling any longer.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? You said you didn’t quite trust me. Now I know what you think I’m capable of.”
This was going from bad to worse. He was angry. He was very angry.
“I didn’t say you were. I asked if you were.”
“Somehow, I don’t get the distinction.”
On the defensive and floundering, Mercy said, “Well, there is one. To me. I’m not saying you’d deliberately hurt Rachel. But some of these deals of yours are incredibly complex, and the results might not be good for her interests.”
“Oh, I see. It’s her interests you’re worried about. I thought I was being accused of blowing up a building with her in it.”
“Nick, for God’s sake! I never even thought—”
“Didn’t you?”
She stared at him and, very quietly, said, “No. Not that. Never that.”
“You just thought I was the sort of ruthless bastard who’d take advantage of her.”
After a moment, Mercy got to her feet. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. You’re mad and I’m getting mad. I’m going to go to my office and finish up for the day. Then I’m going home.”
“Good idea,” he said flatly.
She turned around and left the office, closing the door with exquisite quiet behind her.
Nick stared after her. Then, softly, he said, “Shit.”
Adam sat back and raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, so we think most of this is not going to help us a bit.”
Rachel nodded, then reached out to tap three small scraps of paper lying alone before them. “These are the only ones that look even remotely helpful. And we’re not sure they mean anything. Just the same initials.”
Written on small, irregularly sized pieces of paper in Duncan Grant’s neat hand, the notes were as cryptic as any clue ever left to a puzzle.
Only the initials printed there offered a possible connection to what Rachel had found in the notebooks.
RS called.
Wants my opinion
on the new design.
LM called from TX.
Return call soonest.
JW called.
Have to put him off.
Must consider what to do.
“They look like just ordinary notes to himself,” Adam mused. “What to do about phone calls, or what they were about. He doesn’t say whether he means to offer an opinion on the new design mentioned in the first note. In the second, he means to return the call, no subject noted, but we can assume LM lives or works in Texas. And in the third he seems … hesitant, or reluctant.”
Rachel looked at the notebook open at her elbow. “If it’s the same JW, he’s the one who got the big loan. Five million.”
“The initials don’t mean anything to you?”
She shook her head. “No. We don’t even know if this JW is local. LM is apparently in Texas, you were in California. Dad traveled a lot, so these people could be from anywhere in the world.”
“This is not narrowing the field,” Adam muttered.
“No kidding.”
He sighed. “Well, we haven’t delved into the other desk drawers yet. Or that secretary upstairs. Maybe we’ll find more scraps of paper that make these mean something.”
“Maybe.” Rachel started to say something else, but then Fiona opened the door and stuck her head in.
“Supper in ten minutes, Miss Rachel.” She sent a hostile look toward Adam. “I suppose he’s invited?”
“Yes, he is,” Rachel replied serenely. “Set another place, please, Fiona.”
“I don’t want to wear out my welcome,” Adam said when the housekeeper had withdrawn, muttering.
“You won’t.” She smiled at him. “You’ve been helping me all day. The least I can do is feed you.”
“I’d love to stay, but I’ll leave right after we eat. You need to get some rest this evening, Rachel. Put all this out of your mind. Curl up with a good book or something.”
“That could be a plan.”
“In the meantime,” he said, “is there a copier around?”
“In that cabinet over there. It pulls out. Why?”
“If it’s all right with you, I’m going to make copies of these notes, and the relevant pages of the notebooks. I’d like to go over them again tonight, think about them. You should put the originals in a safe place.”
“I have a safe in my room.”
“Sounds good. May I?”
“Of course.” While he was making the copies, Rachel gathered up the scraps of paper they had decided were irrelevant and put them in a file box. “I’ll keep these a bit longer. Until we’re sure.”
“That’s probably wise.” He handed her the original notes, notebooks, and one copy of each. “I made you copies too, just in case.” He folded his set of copies and went to put that in the pocket of his jacket, which he’d left lying over a chair.
“I’ll take this stuff up to my room. And show you where you can wash up before supper.”
“Will Fiona examine my fingernails?”
“She just might.”
Adam followed her from the room, chuckling.
She showed him to the upstairs guest bathroom across the hall from her bedroom, and then went into her room to put the notes and notebooks away and make use of her own bathroom.
It had been so long since she’d used her safe—hidden in a conventional way behind a painting on one wall—she had almost forgotten the combination, but a minute of thought brought it to mind. There was nothing in the safe at the moment. She had never cared much for jewelry, and so had only a few basic gold pieces she kept in a jewelry box on her dresser. Her mother’s jewelry was in a vault at the bank.
She put the notes and notebooks away, then went into her bathroom to wash up. As she stood before the vanity running a brush through her hair, she found herself thinking about Adam and his behavior today.
In the garden he had been so intense. Asking her to talk about Thomas. Asking if she had buried her heart with him.
He wouldn’t be a stand-in for a dead man; she understood that. He knew that she had not yet said good-bye to Tom.
Rachel put down the brush and went to the doorway of the bathroom, gazing into her bedroom without really looking at anything there. She thought that nearly five years in a hellish South American prison would have changed any man. But how had it changed Adam? He had gone in an idealistic young man, unaware that he was about to be betrayed, his design and years of his life stolen from him. How had he come out?
What else had he lost there?
“Ready to go down?” He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, smiling at her.
“I’m ready,” she said, and went to join him.
TEN
t was still well before midnight, but The Tavern was fairly crowded on this Monday night, and at least half the patrons were well on their way to getting falling-down drunk. Even so, the drunkest of them made way when Nicholas walked through.
He found Adam sitting in one of the booths, two beers sweating on the rickety table before him.
Joining him, Nicholas said, “Becket called me late this afternoon, br
eathing fire. He can’t believe the ex-con story didn’t wash with Rachel. So she bought your version?” Adam nodded.
“Well, just so you know, Becket is hell-bent on finding something damaging in your past. Can he?” “Not if you did your job.” “I always do my job.” “Then I’m clean.”
Nicholas picked up his glass and sipped the beer for a moment. “Okay. We’ll assume he comes up with zip. It won’t stop him, Adam. In fact, it won’t hold him for long. He sees Rachel slipping away from him. And he does not want to let her go.”
“Maybe I can use that to distract him.”
“Maybe. Dangerous, though. Jealousy can be a violent thing.”
“You mean if he can’t have her, no man can?” Adam frowned. “Would he go that far?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“I’ll have to stick close to her.”
Nicholas smiled wryly. “Like you haven’t been up till now?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Adam met those pale eyes unflinchingly. “I know what I’m doing, Nick.”
“You planned carefully, didn’t you?” Nicholas looked at him thoughtfully, unsmiling. “From the very beginning. Including putting me where I’d do you the most good.”
“I just made a suggestion,” Adam said lightly. “We both know nobody’s going to put you anywhere you don’t want to be.”
“Richmond wasn’t even on my long list.”
“Maybe not, but it all worked out. Didn’t it?”
“For me? Sure. For you?”
“It will. Eventually.”
“But what will it cost you?”
Adam shrugged, and his voice roughened. “Like I said. I know what I’m doing.”
Nick accepted that with a nod. “Well, it’s your hand to play out. In the meantime, on my side of the table, things are getting tight. Without Rachel’s shares, I can’t control enough of the bank’s assets to make Jordan Walsh eager to do business with me.”
“If she knew what you were doing—”
Nicholas shook his head. “No. No way. We play this out without involving her. Without involving … anyone else. If we go down, we go down alone.”
