by Kay Hooper
He framed her face in his hands and looked down at her gravely. “Are you okay?”
“Bad night.” She smiled. “But I’m all right now.”
“Did you get enough rest?”
“I got enough sleep,” she answered, the distinction wry. “Here—have some coffee.”
Adam joined her at the table and accepted the cup she fixed for him. “Thanks. Was it … dreams?”
“Nightmares.” Rachel shrugged. “Wandering a house with endless corridors and getting … unpleasant surprises. I seem to return there every night. Natural, I suppose. There have been so many changes in my life in the last few months, it’s no wonder my subconscious is going nuts trying to sort everything out.”
He looked at her a moment, and decided not to dwell on the subject. He didn’t want to burden her with his own nightmares, or force her to relive hers just because he had the crazy idea they were both dreaming the same dreams.
A really crazy idea.
Instead, he said, “Any new ideas about where your father might have left a key for you to find?”
“Not really.” She frowned suddenly, and added almost under her breath, “Secret places.”
Adam felt a little chill. “Secret places?”
She shook her head. “Something from my nightmare. Secret things in secret places.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“No—except that I found out a few secrets last night.” She told him about the conversation with Cameron, finishing by saying, “He’s looking for something, and since he lied about it, I guess it’s secret.”
“You said there was virtually no chance Cameron could have been the one to ask your father to lend Walsh the money. Do you still believe that?”
Rachel nodded. “I don’t think his search has anything to do with the loan to Walsh—or any other. No, Cam is looking for something else. I just don’t know what.”
“Secret things in secret places.”
“That must be why that showed up in my dreams. It was on my mind.”
“So you don’t believe it has anything to do with what we’re looking for?”
“I don’t know, Adam. That’s probably one more thing my subconscious is trying to work out. So—maybe. I was also … told in my dream that I know the answer and I just have to remember.” She smiled faintly. “So far I haven’t remembered anything useful.” She didn’t want to go into more detail about the dreams, and most especially did not want to mention Tom’s name. Not to Adam.
“Then try not to think about it.” He smiled at her. “That’s the kind of thing that never comes when you’re trying.”
“I know. It sneaks up on you later and blindsides you.”
“Let’s hope not.” He paused, then said, “I talked to Nick a while ago. We may have gotten a break on Walsh.”
“What kind of break?”
“One of Nick’s contacts swears he knows someone who works for Walsh and wants out. Supposedly, this man is one of those Walsh has used to construct various explosives—like the ones that brought down Duncan’s plane.”
“That sounds very convenient,” Rachel said.
Adam grimaced. “Yeah. Walsh may be on to us. But we have to follow the trail, Rachel. We don’t have a choice.”
“You think this man—if he really exists—might be the one who—”
“Built the explosive that brought down Duncan’s plane? Maybe. Though something tells me that would be too easy.” He shook his head. “The best we’re hoping for is that he knows something that might help us.”
“Is it as much of a long shot as it sounds?”
“Pretty much. But if there’s anything to it, we’ll find out soon enough. Nick and I are scheduled to meet with him in a couple of hours.”
“I guess I’m supposed to stay inside the castle, huh?”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “It won’t be much longer, I promise. One way or another, we’re going to finish this.”
“Don’t take any reckless chances, Adam. As prisons go, this is a lot better than most.”
“I’ll be careful.” He hesitated, then said, “Just so you know, we’ve had a couple of men watching this house— and you if you leave.”
She blinked. “You mean, when I went to your hotel in the middle of the night—”
“You had an escort.” He smiled. “But very discreet. The one who follows you tends to hang back if I’m with you, which is why he wasn’t close enough to do anything to help when that store exploded and the car tried to run us down. But he and his partner are watching the house from the front and the river. They’ll see if anyone tries to sneak in.”
“Almost as good as a moat.” She returned his smile, hers a bit rueful. “It makes me feel a little creepy, though. Being watched.”
“I thought you’d probably feel that way. It’s why I didn’t tell you before now. But it’s necessary, Rachel. So far, none of the attempts against you have come here, but we’re not sure where your car was when it was sabotaged, assuming it was. And even though this is a walled estate, the front gate stands wide open and there’s easy access from the river. So we have to keep an eye on the place.”
“I’m not arguing. I just want it to be over, Adam.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand, then released it reluctantly. “I have to go. Nick and I have some things to go over, and we have to check out the meeting site in advance.”
“Will you come back and tell me what happened?”
“Of course I will. But it may take all day, depending on whether Nick’s informant is right and this guy really does want to talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Rachel said.
• • •
The whole day stretched before her, and Rachel was more than a little restless. She didn’t want to work on the plans for the boutique, and she couldn’t think of where her father might have left a key for her to find. She didn’t like the idea of Adam and Nick doing dangerous things outside the walls of her prison while she sat inside like some medieval maiden awaiting rescue.
With her ghosts.
She told Fiona not to bother about lunch for her since this was the housekeeper’s habitual day to go to the market, and went upstairs in search of some way to occupy her time and her thoughts until Adam was safely back with her again.
Without planning to, she found herself in her mother’s room, which was across the hall from her father’s. This room, too, aroused memories, and Rachel was surprised by how strong they were.
The lavender scent her mother had always used.
The needlepoint pillows she had spent endless hours doing.
The costume jewelry she had loved.
The delicate gilded furniture that had suited her petite beauty and seeming fragility.
For the first time, whether because her emotions were so near the surface now or because she simply had a better understanding now of how complex people and relationships could be, Rachel was able to mourn the loss of her mother. She was able to grieve for all their differences and misunderstandings, for the distance that had grown between them from the time Rachel was a teenager. For all her regrets.
Needing to feel close to the woman she now felt she had hardly known in life, Rachel sat at her mother’s dressing table and looked at all the pretty things, touched them.
She even tried on the long string of pearls her mother had often worn, and smiled wryly at herself in the mirror because pearls didn’t suit her.
Finally, she began to tentatively go through her mother’s things, deciding what to keep and what to pack up or give away. The clothing, which she didn’t bother sorting at the moment, was easy. Most would go to a thrift shop, where others could get some use out of it, and the more formal things could be put aside for charity auctions or some such thing.
After making that decision, she then went to her mother’s elegant little desk and began going through the drawers.
Somebody else had done the same thing.
/> She wasn’t sure how she knew, but there was no doubt in her mind that since her mother’s death, these drawers had been opened, their contents rifled through.
Rachel murmured, “Dad’s desks were locked, and I had the keys. But Mom never bothered to lock hers.”
There had been a great many strangers in the house at various times since her parents’ deaths, but Rachel couldn’t think of any reason why her mother’s personal things would have been inspected. There was, she thought, little of interest in these drawers, and certainly nothing of any intrinsic value. Stationery not yet used. A few letters, none of which looked important. An appointment diary that held only social engagements noted with detachment. The usual drawer lint composed of paper clips and rubber bands and stamps and pens that no longer worked.
Nothing else.
Frowning, Rachel got up and went to check a few more places, finding the same rifled disorder in her mother’s nightstands and tall chest of drawers. There was no question they had been searched.
For a moment, she stood in the center of her mother’s bedroom, looking around. All right. Someone, for whatever reason, had searched through her mother’s things. Cameron was her first thought, but it didn’t make sense that he might have expected to find anything of value among her mother’s personal things.
She went into her mother’s dressing room/closet, to the island of drawers in the center of the room. She looked through each, carefully going through sweaters and casual shirts and frilly, scented sleepwear and underwear. None of this appeared to have been searched.
But there was also nothing to find.
Nor was there anything unusual in the built-in drawers for jewelry, or the storage areas for shoes and hats.
But in the specially designed case that held all her mother’s collection of antique lace handkerchiefs, Rachel did find something unexpected.
A false bottom.
And underneath it, a bundle of letters tied up with faded blue ribbon.
Rachel carried the letters back into her mother’s bedroom and sat down with them at the desk. Even before she untied the ribbon and looked at the first letter, she felt a bit queasy.
She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but the scrawled signature was all too clear.
Secret things in secret places.
The first letter, dated only a few months after her own birth, began with devastating simplicity.
My darling Irene …
• • •
“I don’t like the setup,” Adam said.
“Do you think I do?” Nicholas shrugged. “But he was only willing to meet us on his terms. And that means here.”
Adam looked around at the warehouse, which had been unused and deserted for a good many years. Even with the warm spring day outside, inside this place was chilly and dark and dismal.
Not to mention dangerous.
“We’re sitting ducks. Look at those catwalks up there. Anybody could take potshots at us.”
“There’s nobody up there. I checked.”
“Are you kidding? You could hide a dinosaur in this place.”
“You’re jumpy today.”
“Damned right I am. My life is beginning to look really good, and I’ll be extremely unhappy if something bad happens to mess that up.”
Nicholas, who was leaning idly back against a huge but empty wooden crate in the shadows, said calmly, “Then stay out of the light.”
“You have no nerves at all, do you?”
“None to speak of.”
Both men kept their voices low, and despite the contentious tone of the conversation, it was obvious they were entirely comfortable with the tension of the situation. It was no place both of them hadn’t been before.
But Adam was restless, and it showed. “I’m still bothered by the fact that we don’t know who else has been following Rachel and me.”
“Assuming Max was telling the truth.”
“I think he was. I think he saw Simon for sure. We were out only during Simon’s shift, so he had to be one. But the other one … Big, blond, casually dressed, yet somehow polished, smooth. Not a cop but maybe a spook?”
“In Max’s opinion.”
Impatiently, Adam said, “The point is that there’s a player out there we don’t have identified.” Then he frowned. “Or is he somebody you just haven’t told me about?”
Nicholas folded his arms across his chest. “You are jumpy. I’m not keeping anything back, Adam. You know what I know.”
Adam looked at him a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Sorry.”
“It could be one of Walsh’s men, you know. Keeping an eye on Rachel, maybe looking for an opportunity to get at her.”
“Maybe. But Walsh would almost certainly use a man he knew was loyal to him, a wiseguy. And if there’s anything Max would recognize, it’d be a wiseguy.”
“In that case,” Nicholas said, “we’d better hope we get this settled before whoever it is has a chance to surprise us.”
“Yeah.”
They both heard it at the same time, the faint sound of an engine outside the warehouse.
Adam said, “You’re sure your guy won’t object to me being along?”
“I’m sure. Sammy owes me so much, he couldn’t object if I brought the district attorney to a meet with him.”
They stood there in silence, waiting, and a couple of minutes later one of the front doors creaked open and a thin, worried-looking man about Nick’s age slipped into the warehouse. He came immediately to where they were waiting, his eyes darting around with profound nervousness.
“Hello, Sammy,” Nicholas said.
“Nick.” He looked warily at Adam. “Who’s this?”
“A friend. You can trust him. Where’s the one you were supposed to bring?”
“I think he might’ve got whacked, Nick.” Sammy’s voice was matter-of-fact, but underneath the calm was crawling sheer terror.
Nicholas didn’t change position or alter the calm tone of his voice. “What makes you think so, Sammy?”
“‘Cause I went to pick him up like we’d planned, only he wasn’t there. He lives about halfway between here and Arlington, in a real quiet neighborhood, respectable as hell. But when I cruised by his place, it was—well, there were cops all over. And the coroner’s wagon.” Sammy swallowed hard.
“Had he told anyone else he meant to inform against Walsh?” Adam asked sharply.
“I don’t know what he told anybody else, just what he told me. Said he was scared to get out, scareder staying in, and that he knew way too much about Walsh’s operations, especially here in Richmond. He figured he didn’t have a chance of staying alive on his own, and maybe Nick could protect him like I said. I been talking to him, Nick, like I told you I was. Tryin’ to convince him you had the juice to protect him no matter who was after his ass. He was jumping out of his skin, said he’d done something really stupid and Walsh would hunt him down on account of the evidence—”
“Evidence?” Nick’s voice was also sharp.
Sammy nodded. “Said he’d stumbled across a computer disk when he was doing a job for Walsh a few weeks ago, and the idiot took it.”
“With what on it?”
“Records. A shitload of records, he said. For bribes and payoffs, bank account numbers. All the big jobs. Hits ordered and carried out. Lists of bought judges and cops— even some government people. His whole Richmond operation, and it dates back further than anybody knew. Walsh has been pulling strings in this town for years, Nick.”
“He never showed his face in Richmond until a few months ago,” Nick said.
“Yeah. But, man, was he here in spirit.”
“Jesus Christ on a pony,” Adam muttered.
Sammy nodded as if wholeheartedly agreeing. “Yeah. That stuff gets made public, and a lot of big shots besides Walsh are going down.”
Nicholas said, “Do you believe he actually had evidence of this?”
“He showed me a disk, Nick, that’s all I know. He said—” Sa
mmy broke off, looking uncertain.
“What?”
“Well, when we talked last night, he said if anything was to happen to him before he could talk to you, I was to take you to a certain place, and maybe that disk would be there.”
Nicholas scowled at him. “Sammy—”
“I swear, Nick. I don’t have a way in to the place, which is why I couldn’t get the disk myself even if I wanted to do that. But he said you could get it. He said you could get it easy. He picked the place special when I first told him about you a couple of weeks ago.”
“Sammy, if you’re lying to me—”
“Nick, I swear to God it’s the truth. Don’t I owe you my life? Didn’t I swear I’d repay you someday? I said I’d be there when you called in the favor, and I’m here, Nick. You can trust me.”
“I hope so, Sammy. I really hope so.”
“I don’t like this,” Adam said. “It smells like a trap.”
Sammy was offended. “No way.”
“You might not know about it, Sammy,” Nicholas pointed out. “He could be using you.”
Sammy looked uncertain a moment, then shook his head. “No. I believe him, Nick. He was on the up-and-up.”
“Okay,” Nicholas said. “Where is this place, Sammy?”
Before the other two could stop him, Sammy had darted back toward the front door. “Come on. He said I was to take you there, not just tell you where it is.”
“Sammy—”
But the worried little man didn’t hesitate. He yanked open the door. For just a moment, he was silhouetted, the light from outside pouring through the open door.
Then a shot.
Adam and Nick reached the door as a squeal of tires outside declared the successful departure of the shooter. Sammy lay in a rapidly spreading pool of blood, and grim experience told both the other men he wouldn’t last long.
“Goddammit,” Adam said bitterly as they knelt beside Sammy.
“Nick …” Sammy reached up and grasped the lapel of Nick’s jacket with bloodied fingers. “Listen—”
Nicholas bent low, his ear no more than an inch from Sammy’s labored whisper.
