After hanging up with the mystery voice he dialed Stacey.
“Hey Stacey, want to go to a concert tonight?”
“Oh, you’re not working?” Her words had a bite to them.
“I have two tickets to a sold-out concert.”
“To Maroon 5?” Stacey was almost giddy.
“No, Angelique’s final concert at the Met.”
“Great,” she growled. “Brian, you are going mental on me.”
“Come on, Stace. It’s really important.”
“So what?”
“I’m on to something big and I do mean big. I need your help and in return I can assure you and your station a major exclusive.”
• • •
He could feel Stacey’s hazel eyes staring through him as they sat in the orchestra seats listening to the Philharmonic’s overture. Maybe it was a mistake bringing her to Angelique’s concert. You’d think since it was hailed as “the concert of the century” she would be pleased. He knew, of course, that she had grown tired with his obsession over Angelique, but it was only his career. His future as a reporter was on the line with this story. He turned his head to cast her one of his wide, disarming smiles and winked. As he expected, Stacey returned his smile and placed her hand on his knee. Truce.
Puffs of white smoke shrouded the stage as the music played to a thundering crescendo. As the clouds of smoke drifted away, the spotlight shone on a lone figure rising up from the stage floor. The music abruptly stopped and a hush fell over the audience. Brian wanted to laugh at the theatrics, but was drawn to them and to the delicate girl, like a porcelain figurine, standing alone on the stage.
With perfect pitch, clarity, and sound she sang, moving with ease from operatic arias to ballads. Brian listened, the memory of her American debut many years ago returning to haunt his mind. She was as mesmerizing now as she had been back then. In an era of rock stars, videos, and outlandish costumes, hype, and sex, there was only one Angelique.
He stared at her lithe figure with cascading hair aglow on the stage. He wished he could stand up and confront her; ask if she called, if she needed help. He wanted to believe this beautiful mystical creature was being held captive and he was her only hope. He decided that, yes, her safety and her story would be worth it.
He shook his head. The scenario seemed so preposterous that no one, even Stacey and Sam, would believe him if it were true. The telephone conversation with its explicit instructions intrigued him. There was risk involved and this time he could find himself on the wrong side of the law., but the chance to uncover the mystery behind Angelique was worth the risk. At this point he had run out of leads and Our World was anticipating a blockbuster story. He was desperate. Desperate men did desperate things.
• • •
As he escorted Stacey to her home in a taxi, Brian sat in silent contemplation. His intention was to tell her about his evening plans. He wanted someone to know about his aiding Angelique’s escape. In observing her and chatting with her, he realized it was impossible. He may not have been alone at the concert, but he was alone with his secret. For him this evening was only the beginning or the ending. He would either score the biggest story to hit the news or be the brunt of a very bad joke. He smoothed back his wavy hair with splayed fingers and let out a worried sigh.
“What’s wrong, Brian?” Stacey asked, wrinkling her brow as her gaze searched for an explanation. “You haven’t said a word since we left Lincoln Center.”
He remained quiet.
“Getting hooked on opera or on angels?” Stacey placed her hand on his knee.
“You know how I get when I’m on assignment.”
“Insatiable,” she purred, slithering her hand up his thigh toward his crotch.
The taxi pulled up to the Greenwich Village brownstone.
“Wanna come up and see my etchings?” Stacey teased him with her fingers’s gentle caresses.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” Brian said, removing her hand from the unresponsive bulge between his legs.
“Is that all?”
“I’ll kiss you goodnight.”
“Come on, Brian, stop joking. I’m propositioning you.”
“I’m flattered, but tonight you’d be better off to bed alone,” he said. “I would, though, like you to do me a favor.”
She smiled. “A favor?”
“Not what you think. This is business. I need you to provide an alibi for me. Though I’m not spending tonight with you, I need you to say I did if anyone should ask.”
“Why? Who would ask?”
“Anyone. I’m on an important assignment and may gone for awhile.”
“Where?” She was staring, her interest peeked.
“Secret. For now.”
“Hey, come up to my place and we can discuss this in further detail.” She reached out to him.
He shrugged her off. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’ll let you in on it, later.”
If this had been an ordinary night he would have taken Stacey up on her offer. Having Stacey’s voluptuous body captive beneath his used to be the highlight of their dates. Yet tonight, he felt no passion. Instead, his mind was focused on other plans that included neither a bed nor lovemaking.
Chapter 8
Angelique knew the Davidsons’s routine. Although they’d return with her to the hotel suite after the concert, Morris and Edwina would soon leave for an evening of dancing and drinking. Two guards would remain posted as sentries outside the door. This night was no different.
Some things were different. Instead of sitting around in her bathrobe sipping tea, Angelique was carrying out plans. She donned a pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, tucking the shred of pink blanket in her pocket as a good luck charm. She tied her hair in a ponytail and tucked the tail down the back of her shirt and covered her head with a knit cap. She held Edwina’s little black box open on her lap. Her deliberate fingers lifted out the plastic syringe and vial of sedative. With the skill of a nurse she filled the syringe with the medicine, double the amount Edwina used to administer to her. Holding the syringe, she closed the box and set it on the nearby bureau. On the bureau she picked up Morris’s matches and crumpled a piece of hotel stationary.
From the sounds outside the door, the guards were changing shifts. After midnight only one guard remained on post. The Davidsons had led to her to believe a virtual army was stationed at her door, but she had learned better. There was so much they were unaware of.
An eerie quiet descended over the floor. One guard. She drew a deep breath and made the sign of the cross for spiritual guidance and courage. She glanced at the clock. This was her only chance. Now or never.
She struck a match, igniting the wad of paper. Dropping the smoking wad, she kicked at the door with her foot, banging so hard the frame shook.
“Fire! Fire! Help me!” she screamed in a loud, panicked voice.
As a key card was inserted from the outside, the latch unlocked with a click. The knob turned and her heart raced, as she stood poised holding the syringe. As the uniformed guard stepped inside, Angelique stabbed him in the neck with the needle. The same sedative he had administered to her in the past was now coursing in his veins. He moaned and collapsed in a heap on the carpeted floor. His bulk extinguished the smoldering fire. She smiled at her sweet revenge.
Stepping over him, Angelique scurried out into the hallway, locking the door behind. In haste she made her way down the hall and out into the emergency stairwell. She descended the metal steps, her tennis shoes muffling the sound of her footsteps. Eight floors to the ground level and freedom. Where was Brian Andrews?
At the third floor landing a lone figure appeared from out of the shadows.
“It’s me,” a dusky voice assured in a whisper.
Even in the dim light of the stairwell she recognized his towering height, long legs, and athletic build. His black hair was tousled and his glistening, dark eyes confident and reassuring. Like his writing style, Brian Andrews came across as the type
of man you would turn to if your life were in danger. She trusted her instinct and smiled, assured that with him she would be safe.
“I knew you would come,” she said and sighed with relief. There was now hope that her plan would work.
“We have to hurry.” Brian grasped her arm.
Angelique followed him in silent trust as he led her down the quiet and empty stairwell to the next series of floors. Seeing the number one stenciled on the fire door made him stop. Brian pushed at the door to open it. The door wouldn’t budge. Some fire escape. Angelique’s heart raced. She knew a quick escape was necessary when time was of the essence.
“Shit,” Brian muttered. “We’ll have to go up a floor.”
She followed him up to the next floor. The fire door opened and Brian peered out with caution. He motioned for her to follow him out into the hallway. It was mercifully empty.
They dashed down the hall toward a bank of elevators. They stood for a moment. She met his gaze. Brian grasped her hand and she felt the trembling they both shared. He pushed the elevator, button.
She held on to his hand as if it were a lifeline, hoping his strength would somehow flow into her. The elevator doors opened and Brian let out an audible sigh upon finding it being empty. They stepped in and pushed the, button for the first floor.
The doors opened into the lobby and its flurry of people and voices. Her throat went dry and constricted as Brian led her through the posh surroundings. She focused straight ahead, ignoring the people. She hoped they would be ignored as any average couple would be, the fear of being discovered causing her stomach to knot. She was too close to freedom to have something go wrong.
She continued to hold his hand as she trailed him out the front doors, down the street and turning into the narrow alley and around the corner. He pulled her toward a white Toyota parked on the curb nearby. With his remote, he deactivated the alarm and unlocked the doors. He opened the passenger door, pulled the seat forward and she jumped into the back seat. After, he ran to the driver’s side, slid inside, turned the key until the ignition purred and sped off.
• • •
“We have to leave the city. You have to trust me. Stay in the back seat. There’s a blanket on the floor. Cover yourself completely with it and crouch as low as you can. You can’t risk being seen by anyone,” he said, breathless. He maneuvered his way out of the downtown business district, grateful for the light traffic, an anomaly in Manhattan.
Brian sighed as they left the city, crossed Long Island Sound, and headed on Interstate 95 toward New England. His parents had a cottage in Cape James, Massachusetts. The Cape was nothing more than a blink on the map, a small fishing village, a far cry from mid-town Manhattan. He had planned to hide her there.
The highway stretched out before him, a ribbon of black with white and yellow stripes. Very few automobiles were traveling at two a.m. Glancing down at the speedometer, he pressed the brake pedal. This would not be a good time for a ticket.
He looked in the rearview mirror. “You can get up now. It’s safe.”
No answer.
He turned and glanced back over his shoulder. Angelique was fast asleep in the cramped back seat.
“Just as well,” he mumbled.
And in the silence, reality hit him. What the hell was he doing? This evening was like some James Bond movie. When he had stood on the third floor landing at The Plaza he thought it would turn out to be a hoax. A half hour had already passed beyond the time noted in the directions the mysterious voice had dictated to him over the phone. When Angelique came bounding down the stairs he didn’t know whether to be joyous or afraid. Though he had prepared for the possibility of the escape being real as far as planning his own route out of the hotel, everything happened so quickly he hadn’t time to really think. Now, all he had was time to think.
Reality was rearing its ugly head. When word of Angelique’s disappearance leaked out, all hell would break loose. He imagined roadblocks, security checkpoints, patrols swarming the highways. What if they were caught? He could be arrested for kidnapping. This was her idea, but what if she changed her mind? What if the Davidsons had more power over her than he thought? Where would it leave him? He pawed as the boar’s tooth pendant with one hand while the other steered. Beads of sweat formed above his brow.
“I’m a reporter for chrissake, not Rambo,” he told himself.
• • •
Dawn had broken as his compact car pulled into the neglected sandy and crushed shell road leading to his parents’ oceanfront cottage. Had it really been ten years since he lost his father? Five for his mother? Since his parents had been gone he couldn’t bring himself to visit. Generations of Andrews had inherited the beachfront cottage. He was the latest in a long line. Real estate agents had made him tempting offers, citing it as prime property, but he just couldn’t bring himself to sell the innocence of a boyhood spent building sandcastles and flying kites, memories of his father finding refuge from his demanding job in the city and of his mother’s desire for a change of scenery. His great-grandfather had built the place and he relished stories told by his grandfather and father about its history. He still had dreams of one day having a son to inherit the old cottage. Only dreams.
He pulled into the long, rutted driveway. As he approached the cottage his heart overflowed with the emotion of times gone by and of times yet to come. He swallowed hard. The clapboards were weathered and faded, the windows streaked, and the front yard overgrown with weeds and wildflowers. Yet, even in disrepair, the bungalow cottage emitted a charm that drew him like a magnet.
He parked the car, stepped out and stared at the cottage’s worn beauty. He drew a deep breath, inhaling the salty, moist ocean air. He closed his eyes, wanting to capture a moment from the past. There was a peace among the trees filled with birdsong and the waves crashing against the craggy rocks, music to his ears, a melody of the past.
He opened his eyes and cast a glance at his car. He focused on the petite figure who peered out of the window at him. Hers was a face of wide-eyed innocence. For a moment he just gazed at her, drinking in the ocean blue of her eyes, the milky complexion, classical nose, and lush lips.
He went to the car, opened the door, and greeted her with a welcoming grin.
“We’re in Cape James,” he explained. “I inherited this place from my parents. Since it’s so secluded I felt you would be safe here.”
“It’s lovely,” she said in perfect English, her eyes darting about. “It is so much like a home in the villages of France. May I come out for a closer look?”
“Of course,” he answered, relieved she seemed pleased. He offered her his hand and helped ease her out of the back seat.
As she stepped out of the car, he caught his first good look at Angelique. The first thing he noticed was her slight frame. She stood well below his shoulders, tiny like a ballerina. The tight jeans, though, revealed feminine proportions and he could only guess the firm curves continued under the baggy sweatshirt. He became self-conscious of his staring and the effect it was having on his anatomy when she tilted her head, questioning him with her eyes.
She parted her plump lips to smile. Hers was a smile that added life to her pallid face, a sparkle to her even, white teeth, and made her eyes dance. She seemed so human.
“I like it here,” she said and let out a contented sigh.
Her eyes opened wide like those of a child discovering her gifts on Christmas morning. She looked around at the expansive lawn, the quaint cottage, and at the robin’s egg blue sky. She fluttered about the yard in unabashed merriment. With grace she danced in circles, flinging her arms away from her body, swaying in and with the gentle breeze.
Laughing, she knelt among the sprouting crocuses and daffodils, caressing the satin petals and leggy stems. She ran her hand over the long, dewy grass to examine its texture. She turned up her nose to capture the clean scent of the ocean air.
He watched her, amused, mesmerized by her magical beauty. Her hair glist
ened like corn silk in the dawning sun. She had removed the cap and rubber band and long tresses cascaded over her shoulders and down past her waist. For a moment he wished she wasn't so attractive.
She met his gaze.
“Would you like to go in and see the house?” he asked.
“Must I? It’s so beautiful out here with the flowers and sunshine. I haven’t felt the sun’s warmth for so long.” She hugged herself, immersed in nature.
“Haven’t you ever been outside?”
She shook her head. “I’ve only been out between automobile trips from hotels and theaters. This is so special.”
“You can spend as much time as you wish outside here. The beach and the ocean are in the backyard.” He pointed to the house and beyond.
“A beach? Here?” Her eyes lit up and she sprang to her feet. “Where? I’ve only seen photographs. I never . . .”
“We have to go through the house to get out back.”
As he walked up the overgrown cobble path toward the front entrance to the cottage, she followed like an eager puppy. At the entrance, Brian jiggled the heavy brass key in the rusty lock. The dead bolt retracted with a click. He pushed open the solid oak door and walked into the dark room. Angelique followed him as he pulled his penlight out of his pocket and used it to light the way.
They walked across the wide plank floor that squeaked with their every step, to a far window. He pulled on a cord, drawing the lined draperies open like a stage curtain to reveal sliding glass doors. Through the streaked glass was a magnificent view of a golden sandy beach, endless blue ocean, and the silhouette of a lighthouse centered in the bay.
Angelique let out a squeal and jumped up and down like a child on seeing the view. He had barely unlocked and slid open the door when she rushed out on to the wooden deck and down the creaking steps leading to the beach. He followed, leaning on the rail to watch Angelique as she frolicked in the sand.
With abandon she tossed off her shoes, digging her bare feet into the gritty sand. This probably was her first encounter with sand, and what would be the first of many new experiences. Like a whirling Dervish she danced around in circles, reveling in the freedom of the sand and sunshine. Her swirling hair covered her face like a shimmering veil, but did not hide the smile that radiated like the sun itself.
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