She reinserted it and tried again. She had practiced this many times at home, but found that she could never tell how long it would take her. She wasn't an expert and lacked the feel of the pins' touch against the pick. It could be minutes or hours. She prayed it was the former.
Willa froze as she heard footsteps coming toward her. She angled her wrist up and checked her watch. Only twenty minutes had passed. Was the man coming to see her? The old man who talked softly and yet she could sense the danger, the anger he possessed. No, it wasn't his tread. It was one of the other men. She pulled the pick and tension tool out and was starting to flee back to her cot when the footsteps receded. She waited a bit more, just to be sure.
The tools went back in and her concentration redoubled. Now she could feel the pins glancing off the pick. One by one she lifted them to the sheer line, all the while holding the tension tool so rigidly that her forearm and wrist started to ache.
The last pin fell into place and she pulled the pick out and turned the tension tool like a key. The dead bolt vanished into the door. She drew a deep breath and mouthed a prayer. Turning the lantern down to its lowest level, she listened intently and then swung the door open.
Willa waited a few moments and then slowly moved out into the darkness.
CHAPTER 28
SEAN SIPPED HIS COFFEE and watched the gate of the condo building through his camera's zoom lens. It was in the mid-eighties in Jacksonville and he'd taken off his jacket and thrown it on the passenger seat of his Avis rental and had the air cranked up. The parking lot of the condo building was in full view behind a fence of imposingly scrolled wrought iron.
A minute later he sat up and put the car in gear. His target had just walked out the sliding glass front doors and taken a moment to slide on her Maui Jims against the bright sun. He noted that she was loaded for bear in a pleated miniskirt, high heels, bare, tanned legs, and a tank-top blouse that showed off cleavage so deep a man could easily get lost.
She pointed her key fob, there was the ubiquitous chirp, and she climbed in her car. The combination of the low chassis of her Mercedes convertible and a sneaky breeze caused her skirt to lift enough to where the slim line of the white thong underneath was momentarily revealed along with her tanned upper thigh. She smacked a button on the console and the metal top mechanically hinged up and slid back into its receptacle.
Her car whipped through the automatic gates and sped off with the ocean gusts sending her hair straight back. The sight would've made a lovely car commercial for the Germans. Sean eased after her.
Her first two stops were dry cleaning pick up and a pharmacy run. Maybe birth control pills, thought Sean as he watched from the opposite curb.
He just had to smile though because the woman knew how to work it. Wherever she walked-and the lady definitely knew how to walk -men gawked. When she climbed in and out of her car, the woman seemed to do so in slow motion, displaying for an astonishingly long moment in time all the things that made men sweat at night and fantasize during the day. And when she slowed all the men seemed to slow with her. And then they would finally freeze in place until the tanned legs, perfect butt, and titillating cleavage disappeared in a Mercedes-Benz burst of power.
Her next destination, an exclusive residential neighborhood, was more promising. Sean watched her pull into the driveway of a magnificent and beautiful stucco and red tile house with palm trees out front. Using his zoom lens on the camera, Sean was able to see the person who answered the door. The gent was tall, distinguished, with thick graying hair and dressed in slacks and a polo shirt with a blue blazer.
Sean snapped several shots of them before they went into the house.
Sean noticed the mail truck working its way down the street. After it deposited the mail in the mailbox of the house, he waited until the truck had turned the corner before driving his car over to the box, flipping open the lid, and checking the mail there.
"Greg Dawson," he read off one envelope. He kept going through the stack. Another letter caught his eye. It was obviously a solicitation sent out to anyone on a database tied to a business. "Greg Dawson, Vice President, Science Matters, Ltd."
This was getting more and more interesting.
He put the mail back, drove down to the end of the street, and did a quick recon of the area. He saw an avenue of opportunity, a vacant tree-filled lot two doors down from Dawson's. He slipped out of his car and, camera in hand, walked through the vacant lot, jumped a small wall, skittered through the backyard of the house next to Dawson's, and peered over a stucco wall separating the properties. The coast clear, he scaled the wall and dropped down at the rear of the lot and crouched behind a grouping of bushes.
The backyard was lushly and professionally landscaped. He eyed the large pool, waterfall, and the pool house that matched the materials used on the main house. Dawson definitely had money. There was a table next to the pool. A pitcher of lemonade and two plates were laid out there. He focused his camera and waited. An Hispanic woman in a maid's uniform came out with a tray of food, laid it out, and then went back inside.
Dawson and Cassandra came out a few minutes later. Dawson held out the chair for Cassandra and they sat down to eat. Cassandra had a smile on her face as she looked around at the luxurious surroundings. Sean could easily discern the lady's thoughts. She could get used to this lifestyle real fast.
When Dawson pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across to Cassandra, Sean managed to get shots of this too. Dawson said something, but Sean couldn't hear over the sound of the waterfall. She opened the envelope and Sean saw the edges of cash as she slid some out. He got shots of this too.
A bit later Cassandra kicked off one of her stilettos, stretched a long leg out, and boldly planted her foot squarely in her lunch companion's crotch. The lady wasn't subtle, thought Sean. However, the man scowled at her and said something. Sean couldn't hear, but the lady looked severely put off as she hastily slipped her high heel back on.
He didn't know Dawson, but Sean applauded the guy's ability to so rebuff Cassandra, Queen of the Sluts.
After lunch, Cassandra drove back home. When she got there Sean dropped his tail and called David Hilal. Without telling him what he'd just learned he asked about Science Matters, Ltd.
"They're one of our competitors on the contract."
"You know a Greg Dawson?"
"He's heading up the entire biodefense bid for Science. Cagey as hell and not above doing whatever it takes to nail a win. Why?"
"Just running a theory down. So you're counting on Cassandra's ties to DHS to win you the contract?"
"Well, we feel our proposal and technology is superior to Dawson's team, but having Cassandra really helps. She knows the project, the players, and the government side cold. Other things being equal, if it's a toss-up, the tie will probably go to us."
"So weren't lots of people trying to get her, like Science Matters? And they're a lot bigger than you, right?"
"Sure they are. And I know they probably offered her a lot of perks and probably more money, but Tuck was able to convince her to come with us."
Sean nodded thoughtfully. "Any idea how?"
"It's just an idea."
"Let me hear it."
"He might have offered her part of his equity stake in the company. I know she gets a salary because I pay the bills. But the equity part would be papered just between them."
"Even though you're a partner?"
"Like I told you, a minority partner. Which basically means I have to eat my gruel and ask for more, politely."
"But if Tuck and Cassandra are having an affair and it comes out?"
"It would not be good for us."
"Any reason why she might want the affair to come out?" asked Sean.
"I don't see why. If she does own a piece of the company it would just hurt her, right?"
"Not if she has a Plan B that pays her even more, Dave."
CHAPTER 29
TWO HOURS LATER Sean waite
d until a car drove through the gates of the condo building and he followed it in, the automatic gates closing behind him. He parked in a visitor's slot, grabbed the slender box off the front seat, and walked into the building's foyer.
The concierge, a wiry, balding man in a too-big blue blazer, looked up from his newspaper. "Can I help you?"
Sean patted the box. "Flower delivery for a Ms. Cassandra Mallory."
"Okay, you can leave 'em here."
"No can do. My sheet said personal delivery only. She has to sign for them."
"I can sign for them. We don't like delivery people using the elevators."
"Come on, give me a break. They barely pay me enough to cover my gas. I live on my tips. You're not going to tip me, right?"
"Those flowers ain't for me, so damn right I'm not."
"Look, I'm just a working stiff trying to make a living. I got a dozen long-stems in this box and another fifteen deliveries to make before eight tonight. I'm busting my butt for chump change."
"You look a little old to be schlepping flowers."
"I used to have my own mortgage finance business."
The man gave him a knowing look. "Oh."
"So can you just call up and tell her I'm here? If she doesn't want them, no sweat."
The man hesitated but then picked up the phone. "Ms. Mallory. It's Carl at concierge. Look, I got a flower delivery for you here." He paused. "Uh, I don't know. Hang on a sec." He looked at Sean. "Who are they from?"
Sean riffled in his shirt pocket and consulted a blank piece of paper. "A Greg Dawson."
Carl repeated this into the phone. "Right, okay, you're the boss."
He hung up and looked at Sean. "Your lucky day. She's in Unit 756. Elevator's over there."
"Super. Hope she's a good tipper."
"You're a good looking guy, so if you're really lucky she might tip you something else."
Sean feigned puzzlement before saying, "What, are you saying she's a babe?"
"Let me put it this way, friend, when she saunters across the lobby I feel like I'm in a Playboy fantasy. Only reason I keep this crummy job."
Sean rode the glass elevator up, staring out at an incredible view of the coastline. Cassandra must've been waiting by the door because it opened only a second after he knocked. She was barefoot and wearing a terrycloth robe that stopped mid-thigh. Her hair was damp; she might have gone for a swim or taken a shower.
"Flowers?" she said.
"Right, from a Mr. Dawson."
"I have to say I'm surprised."
Sean gave her the once-over. "Ma'am, you strike me as someone who gets lots of flowers from gentlemen."
She flashed him a smile. "You're sweet."
"Just need you to sign here." He held out his pad and a pen. While she signed, he opened the box. Inside were twelve long-stem roses that he'd bought from a street vendor for four bucks.
She held one and smelled it. "They're beautiful."
"You have a vase to put them in? Good to get water on them right away."
She glanced up at him and her smile deepened. As she ran her gaze over his lean six-foot-two-inch frame and handsome face, she said in a throaty voice that made Sean feel suddenly unclean, "What's your name?"
"Sean."
"I haven't seen you around before, Sean."
"I haven't been around before. My loss, I guess."
"Why don't you bring the flowers in while I look for a vase?"
As she turned she managed to slide her breasts across his forearm. It was done so well that Sean could only conclude the lady had perfected the motion over the years. He followed her in and closed the door behind them, the lock automatically clicking into place.
The condo was a luxury one and Sean noted details of great expense everywhere. The lady also had good taste in art, furniture, and oriental rugs. She reached the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and bent over. The view this presented to Sean actually made him blush. A pair of tiny black panties had replaced the white thong, but the rest was all Cassandra.
Still bent over she turned, obviously to make sure he was watching. As her gaze followed his she feigned being startled. "Oh, I'm sorry."
He managed a grin. "I'm not. The female body is beautiful, why hide it?"
She smiled back. "I like your attitude."
She took so long retrieving the vase he could have identified her dead body by her butt cheeks alone. She finally straightened up and turned to him.
And stopped smiling.
She stared at his camera screen, at the shot of Greg Dawson handing her the envelope.
"What is this? Who the hell are you?"
Sean sat down on one of the barstools set next to the granite kitchen counter.
"Where did you get that picture?" she said accusingly.
"First go get some clothes on. Your striptease act is wearing kind of thin on me."
She scowled at him. "Why the hell shouldn't I just call the police?"
In answer he held up the camera again. "Because then this fab shot of you and Greggie boy will get sent to DHS. And unless you can explain to them why a man who runs the company that's competing with Tuck Dutton's firm is handing you an envelope at a nice cozy lunch at his house, Science Matters can kiss that fat contract goodbye. Am I right or am I right, Cassandra? Now go get some clothes on!"
She stalked off to change. When she came back she was covered up in a mauve-colored velour warm-up suit.
He nodded at her approvingly. "Much better. Now I can actually treat you like an adult." He sat down on the sofa in the living room that had impressive water views. She sat across from him and tucked her bare feet under her.
"So I take it the flowers weren't from Greg?" she said with attitude.
"Nope. His blowing you off at lunch was entirely legit. Maybe he's used to chicks like you and knows better."
"So who exactly are you and what do you want?" she said. "Because the sooner you get out of here the better."
"One ground rule, you're not asking the questions, I am."
"Why-"
He held up the photo and she quickly closed her mouth.
"I know about you and Tuck Dutton."
She rolled her eyes. "Is that what this is about? Please."
"You were having an affair with him."
"Prove it."
"I actually don't have to. I can leave that to the FBI."
"FBI? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Tuck's wife was murdered and his oldest daughter kidnapped. You telling me you didn't know that?"
"Of course I knew about it. It's been in all the papers. His sister is the First Lady."
"You like screwing the First Brother-in-law?"
"Go to hell."
"That's something you should be worried about, actually."
"What is that supposed to mean exactly?" she said in a false bored tone.
"It means exactly that the oldest motivation in the book for a philandering husband to bump off his wife is so he can marry the mistress."
"It wasn't like that with me and Tuck."
"So what was it like? You can either tell me or the FBI. And the agent running the case isn't nearly as nice as I am."
"He was attracted to me."
"Yeah, that I know. But if you did the little bend and hold you just pulled with me, I can hardly blame the guy. Well, I can blame him, actually, because he's obviously a weak little bastard. So why'd you come to work for him when I'm sure you got better offers elsewhere from bigger companies?"
"You seem to know a lot about me."
"I've always been a curious guy. You were saying?"
"He said he'd be really good to me if we got the contract."
"So not just salary, a piece of the equity?"
"Something like that."
"I'm not interested in 'something like that.' I want facts."
"Twenty percent of the contract profit," she said hastily. "Over and above my salary and bonus."
"But then you did get a better offer,
although it was after you signed with Tuck."
"I don't know what you mean," she said hesitantly.
"Sure you do. You have a fling with Tuck. Dawson has his ear to the ground and finds out, or maybe he put you up to it, who knows. But now he has the proof to take to DHS. Banging the president's brother-in-law. They find out, Dawson wins the contract and you get a backdoor payoff. Maybe part of it was in that envelope he gave you today." He held up the camera. "Only now I have the proof about you and Greggie to give to DHS and crater your dream. Interesting development, wouldn't you say? And why a cash payoff?"
"Greg said they can track any funds these days. Electronic, Swiss bank accounts, anything. The cash was sort of a down payment."
"Okay."
"Look, maybe we can cut some kind of deal."
"I'm not looking for cash in an envelope."
"Deals don't have to always be about money." She glanced at him anxiously. "I know you think I'm probably a slut, but I'm really not. We could have a lot of fun together. I mean a lot."
"Thanks, but I'm not really into women who show their ass to every delivery guy who knocks on their door. And not to be too blunt but when was the last time you were checked for an STD?"
She moved to slap him but he caught her by the wrist.
"You can't sleep your way out of this one, lady. This is not about some lousy government contract and screwing your way to the nice condo life on the water. Unless you cooperate with me you're looking at being a clear accessory on a murder-kidnapping charge. In Virginia, where it took place, that's a capital offense. And death by lethal injection may be painless but you still end up really dead."
The tears started to flow now from Cassandra. "I had nothing to do with any of that, I swear to God."
Sean pulled out a digital recorder and set it on the coffee table.
"Sit."
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