The Ugly Duckling

by Iris Johansen

  More color—golds and rusts and scarlet, a study in autumn shades. A sleigh bed draped in deep hunter green. Ivy plants in brass containers, chrysanthemums standing tall and proud in a crystal vase. Richly bound leather books in a low bookcase. “Very good.”

  “I thought so,” Tania said with satisfaction. “Blue is supposed to be soothing, but I knew you would respond to this. I had Phil pick the chrysanthemums this morning.”

  Nell was touched. “You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble. I won’t be here long, you know.”

  “Long enough to enjoy my house,” Tania said. “I will leave you alone to rest a little before lunch and try on the clothes in the closet.”

  “What clothes?”

  “The clothes I had sent from Dayton’s the day you decided to so rudely abandon me.”

  Nell stared at her in bewilderment. “You never mentioned buying any clothes.”

  “What was I to do?” She started for the door. “I don’t believe in wasting time, and I had nothing to do until you returned.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why should I? You were very bad, and I wished to heap guilt upon you. Not let you think I managed very well on my own.”

  Nell found herself smiling as the door closed behind her. Tania was like a warm, unexpected breeze blowing aside any obstacle in its path.

  She glanced at the closet. Later.

  She moved toward the window. The waterfall was only fifty yards away, and the splash of water was as soothing as Tania claimed. Phil was kneeling by the stream, digging in a bed of hybrid yellow roses.

  Richard had always given her yellow roses. He knew the little touches that pleased a woman and made her feel special. Sally Brenden had doted on him. But then, everyone had adored Richard.

  Now he was gone. Why wasn’t she mourning his passing?

  Her grief at Jill’s loss had devastated her to the extent that she could feel only a pale shadow of it when she thought of Richard’s death. Had she not loved him? Had she convinced herself that gratitude and need were love? Oh, she didn’t know. Perhaps she hadn’t been angry that Richard’s mother had not mentioned her on his tombstone because she hadn’t felt she deserved it. She had tried to give Richard the love he deserved, but only Edna had truly loved him.

  Phil turned his head and glanced at the house before bending over the rosebushes again. He was checking to make sure she hadn’t left the house. On guard to keep her from venturing into territory Nicholas regarded as his own. He needn’t have worried. As Nicholas had pointed out, she wasn’t ready to go up against Gardeaux and Maritz. She must be very sure of the outcome when exacting payment.

  But her plans didn’t include having to stay here under benevolent guard either. She had some thinking to do. She had a kernel of an idea brewing, but she would have to have a firm plan to follow before she was ready to remedy the situation.

  He was being followed. Panic soared through Nigel.

  He glanced behind him. No one in sight. His step quickened on the pavement. No sound behind him. Maybe he was mistaken.

  No, dammit, he’d felt someone there since he’d left the church that evening.

  Christine’s flat was just ahead. He ran up the steps and buzzed.

  Was that a shadow in the doorway across the street?

  “Yes?” Christine said into the intercom.

  “Let me in. Now!”

  The door clicked. Nigel hurried in, then slammed the door shut behind him.

  “What’s wrong, luv?” Christine was leaning over the banister. Her lips parted in that lovely, malicious smile. “Are you that eager?”

  “Yes.” He’d been eager before he’d suspected he’d been followed. Christine was not unique, but he’d found few women as talented in her field. He’d wanted one more evening with her before he left London. Now he wondered if he should have found a hole and crawled into it until it was time to go back to St. Anthony’s the next morning.

  “Then come up and see me. I have something special planned for you tonight. A new toy to punish my bad boy.”

  His cock hardened painfully. A new toy. The dildo she’d used on him last time had nearly split him in half and made him come like a geyser. He glanced at the front door behind him. He had not actually seen anyone and, if there was anyone there, it might be more dangerous to leave than to stay. Christine’s place was as safe as anywhere else. There were only two flats in the building, and Christine had mentioned the other tenant was out of the country.

  “Come!” Christine ordered. “Stop dawdling, or I’ll punish you for it.”

  Excitement gripped him. It was beginning. Soon he would be on his knees before her, lost in the dark heat. He eagerly started up the steps.

  She was standing at the top of the stairs, naked except for four-inch stiletto heels, tall, voluptuous, commanding. She stepped back and strode toward the door of her apartment. “How many times must I tell you that you must obey at once?”

  “I’m sorry. I deserve to be punished.” He followed her into the apartment. “May I see it?”

  “Kneel.”

  He instantly dropped to his knees before her.

  “Very good.” She spread her legs wider and stood, looking down at him. “Now what do you want to see?”

  “The toy. The new toy.”

  Her hands tangled in his hair and jerked his head back. Pain shot through him. “Ask me nicely.”

  “Please, mistress, may I see the toy?” he whispered.

  “Is that all you want? Just to see it? You don’t want me to use it on you?”

  “Will it hurt me?”

  “Very much.”

  He was trembling, ready. He was always like this the first time, but he mustn’t come until she granted him permission. “If it pleases you, I want you to use it on me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He nodded.

  “Then that’s the way it will be.” She smiled cruelly. “But I don’t wish to dirty my hands with you. I’ll let my friend show you the toy.”

  “Your friend? No one else—”

  Pain tore through his back! Christ, what was it? A brand? The agony was too much, he couldn’t bear it.

  He clutched wildly at Christine’s hips.

  She stepped back and he toppled to the carpet.

  “Too much …” he whimpered. “Take—it away.”

  Christine was looking at someone beyond him. “You promised me it would be quick and clean, Maritz. He’s bleeding all over my carpet.”

  “Gardeaux will replace it.”

  “I want him out of here now. Finish it.”

  “No,” Nigel whimpered. No one had been following him. Maritz had been there waiting for him.

  “In a moment.”

  “Finish it or I’ll tell Gardeaux you risked the hit because you wanted to enjoy yourself.”

  “Bitch.”

  He finished it.

  The key was in the poor box.

  Nicholas stared at it for a moment before thrusting it into his pocket. It looked like any key. Simpson could have given him his door key for all Nicholas knew.

  He placed the packet of cash and documents in the poor box and left the church.

  He waved at Jamie in the Rolls-Royce cab parked across the street and got into his rental car.

  He turned the car and headed for Bath.

  “I have the books,” Nicholas said into his cellular phone. “Maybe. They look authentic enough. I haven’t had a chance to go through them yet. I’ll check them out on the plane back to the States.”

  “I’m surprised,” Jamie said. “I thought Simpson had tried a double cross and then turned squeamish.”

  “Why?”

  “The darlin’ man hasn’t shown up to claim his prize.”

  “What?”

  “He never came to St. Anthony’s. What shall I do about the money? The poor box is emptied at eight every evening.”

  Nicholas thought about it. It was nearly five and the chances of Simpson be
ing this late for the pickup were slender. Unless Gardeaux had stepped in.

  But if Simpson had been killed, why did Nicholas now have the books? He couldn’t believe Gardeaux wouldn’t have squeezed the location of the books out of Simpson before he died.

  Unless Gardeaux didn’t know about Simpson’s deal for the books. It was possible he had just discovered Simpson’s sellout to Kabler.

  “Did you hear me?” Jamie asked. “I said, what shall I do about—”

  “I heard you. Stay there for another hour. If he hasn’t come, retrieve the money and papers and go check out his flat.”

  “And then?”

  “Give him twenty-four hours. Watch his apartment, and make contact if you see him.”

  “It’s a bloody waste of time. We both know what happened to the poor bastard.”

  “Twenty-four hours. I made a deal.”

  “Coffee, Mr. Tanek?”

  He smiled at the stewardess and shook his head. “Later, perhaps.”

  He opened the first of the account books after she had moved down the aisle. He scanned it briefly. He didn’t recognize any of the company names listed; they were probably coded. Arrows pointed to blank lines throughout each account.

  Pardeau’s portion to be inserted?

  Even if he had Pardeau’s books, it would probably take an accountant guru to decipher the numbers. He saw no reason at present to run the risk of tapping Pardeau. First, he wasn’t sure the contents would be of value to him. Second, Gardeaux might not realize yet that Nicholas had the books, but he would soon discover they were missing. Pardeau would be watched and it would be best to wait until vigilance slacked.

  Nicholas scanned the second book, found it much the same, and replaced it in his briefcase. He pulled the final nine-by-twelve manila envelope with the name Medas scrawled on the front.

  He drew out the sheaf of papers. The first was the list of names Jamie had given him that day in Athens. He tossed it aside and turned to the second sheet.

  He sat up straight in his seat. “Christ.”

  “I have to see Nell, Tania.” Tanek strode into the foyer. “Where is she?”

  “Hello to you too,” Tania said as she closed the door.

  “Sorry. Where is she?”

  “She’s already out of here. Gone.”

  He whirled to face her. “Gone? Where?”

  She shook her head. “She spent three nights here and yesterday morning she was gone. She left a note.” She went over to a table and opened the drawer. “A very nice note thanking us for our hospitality and saying she’d be in touch.” She handed him the note. “As far as I can tell, she took no clothes except a few pairs of jeans and tennis shoes. So she must be coming back fairly soon.”

  “Don’t count on it.” He didn’t know what the hell Nell would do. He scanned the note—warm, meticulously polite, and totally uninformative. “Did she get a packet in the mail?”

  “Two days ago.”

  The IDs that would permit her to move freely. “Where’s Phil?”

  “In the garden.” She frowned. “And you mustn’t blame him. He already feels bad enough.”

  “I do blame him.” He moved toward the door. “But I won’t shoot him, if it’s any comfort to you. I’ll be right back.”

  Phil seemed as despondent as Tania had said he was and stiffened warily as Nicholas approached. “I know. I screwed up. But I did keep an eye on her,” he said before Nicholas could speak. “I even slept in my car in the driveway.”

  “Slept seems to be the operative word.”

  Phil nodded glumly. “I didn’t expect it. She seemed so content with Ms. Vlados.”

  Nicholas hadn’t expected it either. Not this soon. He’d thought she’d need time to recover from that traumatic visit to the cemetery. “Okay. It’s done. Have you tried to find her?”

  Phil nodded. “Ms. Vlados said you’d deposited money for her at First Union under Eve Billings. I tracked her to the bank, where she made a withdrawal, and then to the train station. It was pretty easy. People remember that face.”

  “What was her destination?”

  “Preston, Minnesota. She got off there and hired a rental car. She dropped the rental car off at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. I haven’t been able to track her destination yet through the airlines. Those reservation centers like to keep confidential records, and it would take time to smooze around every airline gate at O’Hare to see if she’d been seen.” He paused. “Of course, if I had access to a computer, I’d find a way to tap into the airlines’ computer banks and—”

  “She’s trying to leave a false trail. She wouldn’t use her name and she’d pay in cash. She had no valid credit cards.”

  Phil grimaced. “Bad luck.”

  “But she has a passport now.” He thought about it. “There may still be a way. If she had a definite destination in mind, she might have phoned from the house and made arrangements. Did she go anywhere she might have used an outside phone?”

  “She and Ms. Vlados went to the supermarket, but I drove them and carried the bags back to the house. She didn’t make any calls.”

  “Come on.” Nicholas strode to the house.

  Tania met them in the driveway. “Well?”

  “Phil needs a computer. Joel has one in the library, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes.” She gazed at Phil skeptically. “But he babies that computer as if it were a pet puppy. He won’t like it if anything happens to any of his programs.”

  “I’ll take good care of it,” Phil promised earnestly. “And I’ll need it for less than thirty minutes.”

  “Joel’s computer will be in excellent hands,” Nicholas said. “Phil worships at the shrine of Microsoft.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Trust me. Joel’s programs are safe.”

  She shrugged and led them back to the house. She nodded toward a door down the hall. “That’s Joel’s study.”

  “Do you have more than one telephone line in the house?” Phil asked.

  Tania nodded. “Joel’s phone in the study and the house phone.”

  “What are the numbers?”

  She rattled off both numbers. “Shall I write them down?”

  “No, I’ll remember. I’m good at numbers.” He hurried down the hall toward the study.

  “What’s he going to do?” Tania asked.

  “Tap into telephone company records and find out what numbers Nell called before she left here and to whom they belong.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if he’s caught?”

  “He won’t be. This is a piece of cake for him. Phil could tap CIA classified records and not be caught.” He changed the subject. “Where did Nell sleep? I want to see her room.”

  “You won’t find anything. I’ve already cleaned it.”

  “I want to see it.”

  She led him upstairs and threw open the door. She watched him as he moved around the room. Checking the pad beside the bedside telephone.

  “There wasn’t any note on the pad.”

  He raised the pad to the light. No imprint. He went to the closet and opened the door. “You said she didn’t take any luggage?”

  “A small duffel. What are you looking for?”

  He rifled through the clothes. “Anything.” He closed the closet door and glanced around the room. A pile of magazines was stacked neatly on the shelf of the nightstand. “Were all those here when she came?”

  “The magazines? Most of them. Nell picked up a few at the supermarket.”

  He sat down on the bed and lifted the stack. “Which ones?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t look at them.” Tania moved toward the bed and watched him leaf through the magazines. “The Cosmo is new. I don’t recognize the Newsweek either. I don’t see any other—What’s wrong?”

  “I take it this is new too?” He pulled out a thin magazine from the bottom of the pile. “It’s not exactly what most hostesses supply their guests.
”

  “Soldier of Fortune?” Tania frowned. “I’ve never seen that magazine before. What is it?”

  “A charming how-to magazine on the ways and means of becoming a mercenary. It’s practically the bible of survivalists and would-be mercenaries.”

  “But why would Nell buy it?” Her eyes widened. “You think she wants to hire someone?”

  “I don’t know what the hell she wants to do.” He started through the magazine page by page, checking each one for turned-down corners or written notes. He ran across nothing until he got to the list of want ads in the back. There was a slight crease in the middle of the page, as if it had been folded back.

  “Have you found something?” Tania asked.

  “A page that must have a hundred ads on it,” he said in exasperation. It was a mixed bag of personal ads. Ex-soldiers trying to contact old buddies, weapon sales. Why couldn’t the blasted woman have circled one of them?

  “I think I’ve found it.” Phil stood in the doorway with a slip of paper in his hand. “Everything that popped up on the office phone looked pretty standard, but these three numbers on the house phone seemed weird.” He handed Nicholas the paper. “They’re all survivalist camps. One is outside Denver, Colorado, one is near Seattle, Washington, and the last one is just outside Panama City, Florida.”

  “What’s a survivalist camp?” Tania asked.

  “It’s a training camp for a group of people who think that eventually America will be attacked or become a police state and that they can survive only by being skilled with weapons and in guerrilla warfare.” Nicholas was running his finger down the column in the magazine. “It’s usually run by ex-mercenaries, Seals, or military types who want to pick up a few bucks training weekend warriors.” All three names were on the page, but there was no indication which one she might have chosen. “Which one of these camps did she call last, Phil?”

  “Seattle.”

  “You actually think Nell may have gone to one of these places?” Tania asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s a stubborn, stupid woman who’s trying her best to get herself killed.” And because he had opened his damn mouth and made her feel inadequate to the task she had set herself.

  “I don’t think she wants to die,” Tania said quietly. “Not anymore. She’s beginning to come alive again. And she’s not stupid. She must have a good reason for this. Is there great danger for her?”