It was daring, dangerous, and likely to fail. It was also their best shot at escape. He’d run through the options on the drive to Kiev, but his way made the most sense and served two purposes. One, it would cover their getaway, and two, it would buy them time. Linda would have to agree to play her part; however, he was certain she would, once she had the facts.
By the time the tunnel light flashed gold, Ethan was prepared. His notes had been organized and neatly stacked on the lab table. The bones were in their reinforced-steel containers, and the refrigerated units had been sealed and locked. The digital clock on the wall read 6:38 P.M.
He crossed to the access panel and typed in the code. Down the tunnel, a series of iron grates lifted into the air, and the police vehicle wound through the blackened passage. The loading dock was half a flight higher than the warehouse, so he climbed up the rickety steps to greet them.
As soon as the car came to a halt, Lesley bounded out to join him. Before he could speak, she reached up and planted a lingering kiss on his startled mouth. She lingered over the welcome, then leaned against the arms that had risen to catch her unexpected launch. With a voice throaty with laughter, she said, “Full of surprises, aren’t you, Doctor?”
Ethan shot a look at Linda, who raised her hands, palms out. The universal symbol for you’re on your own. Cops, he thought balefully, no help when you really needed them. With a sheepish grin, he returned his attention to the woman in his arms. “I assume Linda filled you in?” he asked with fading hope.
“Told me you thought I’d be safer with her and that you’d bring me up to speed when I arrived.” Turning, she hooked her arm in his and took her suitcase from Linda, who’d moved to join them. “Let’s go upstairs so I can see what else you’ve got waiting for me.”
Or who, mouthed Linda, eyes dancing.
Ethan led the women through the warehouse. Linda saw the spotless surfaces and quipped, “As obsessive compulsive as ever, E?”
“He’s never been late to a faculty meeting. Not one,” Lesley offered conspiratorially. “We call him Big Ben. Behind his back, of course.”
“In high school we called him Kiss Ass. Much more colorful.”
Ethan refused to dignify either comment. Instead, he stood on the bottom step and waved them up. “Come on.”
The suspense was killing her, Mara thought as she peered down at the street. What would Lesley look like? Sound like? Was she tall and willowy or petite and curvy? Given her own very average height and average curves, she had no sense of Ethan’s type. Even worrying about them was foreign to her. She was confident that men found her attractive, but beauty was a lure, not a hook.
A pleasant, feminist thought until you were faced with an unseen supermodel with legs from here to Tuesday, she reminded herself. One with a doctorate and an actual, paid, legal position.
She sighed lustily. “Face it, Mara. You’re out of your league.”
“What’s the game?”
Mara stiffened, then turned, a noncommittal expression plastered on. “Basketball. Don’t have a good jump shot.” Moving forward, hand extended, she sized up the competition. From the season-ready maroon Blahniks to a perennially chic black Chanel suit that hit mid-thigh, Lesley Baxter exuded effortless class and comfort with wealth. Rubies winked at her ears, the stones a perfect match for the simple pendant at her long, elegant throat. Chestnut hair swung in a short, sophisticated bob above her shoulders, the style an excellent match for the cameo face and flawless mocha-colored skin.
If there was a competition, Mara thought, she’d just lost game, set, and match. Her stomach plummeting, she turned up the wattage on her smile. “You must be Dr. Baxter.”
Hazel eyes framed by sable lashes that would shame a cow widened slightly. But good breeding showed. She returned the half smile and murmured, “Lesley, please.” The crisp Boston tones oozed politeness and distant curiosity. “And you are?”
The nauseous plummet of her stomach was met with a strike-on kick from a pointed toe. Ouch. Ethan hadn’t been kidding. His Lesley knew nothing about her, and if he’d had his druthers, probably never would. Because she owed him, she said quietly, “Mara Reed. I work with Ethan.”
Lesley flicked an inquisitive glance at the man who hovered near the kitchen. When Ethan discovered the shiny patina on his loafers, she returned her attention to Mara. “I thought Ethan was working alone. He never mentioned a partner.”
“I’m a consultant,” Mara covered quickly. Apparently, Ethan planned to be of little help during the first round of the gauntlet. But she was up for it. Linking her fingers together, she explained, “For the symbols on the corpses.”
The cool hazel eyes chilled another degree. “A fellow professor, I gather. I see he’s calling in a great deal of support for his research.”
“We have that in common,” Mara supplied simply, eager to end her conversation. She was getting frostbite by proximity. “I have some experience in Christian numerics.”
Lesley curved her lips into a gracious moue of interest. “Ethan described a fascinating set of Greek symbols. He didn’t tell me they were religious in origin.” The censure was light but unmistakable. “Where did you do your training, Dr. Reed?”
Unable to tell if there had been mockery in the question, Mara cocked her head slightly. Warningly. “Not Doctor, Miss.”
Ethan caught Mara’s narrowed look and hurried forward. “Mara studied with an old master. No one you know, Lesley.”
Lesley arched a single ebony brow, a nifty trick Mara had never learned. “And you are an expert on my Rolodex?” she said to Ethan. “How interesting.”
Amused by the show but aware of the danger camped on their front door, Linda decided to intervene. “Shop talk can wait, can’t it? We have more pressing matters to discuss.”
“Indeed,” concurred Lesley, her tone mildly miffed. “Perhaps someone would care to explain the two men watching the building or the police escort?” At the shocked silence, she gestured to the unshaded windows behind Mara. “I may not have studied with masters, but I am observant.”
Because the entire situation was mainly her fault, Mara spoke up. In her most businesslike fashion, she explained, “The men downstairs are hired killers who want to kidnap me and retrieve information I stole from their boss. Turns out Ethan has been working for their boss, unbeknownst to him. The dead bodies he was asked to examine contain clues to a fortune in gold that my grandfather stole, and that their boss thinks Ethan and I can help him find. Linda had to pick you up at the airport because it’s too dangerous for us to be seen leaving the house.
“I’m a full-time confidence artist. Not a religious symbologist. I only know numerics because my father was obsessed with mysticism and he thought he could communicate with God by imprinting symbols on the bodies of his dead parishioners. Sort of a ticket into heaven. He got the idea from my grandfather, who was a thief and a traveling minister, but nothing like my dad.” She shrugged, looking at Ethan, carefully avoiding Linda’s slitted gaze. “Did I leave anything out?”
“No.” Ethan scratched his chin. “I think you hit all the important points. Except for one.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.” Linda spoke from the kitchen, reminding herself to run a sheet on Mara Reed as soon as she got back to the precinct. “This must be a doozy.”
“It will be,” promised Ethan. “And you’ll be a central part of it.”
“Part of what?” The cop pushed away from the island and joined the loose circle formed by a stunned Lesley, a defiant Mara, and a suspiciously pleased Ethan. “I’m the chief of police, Ethan. A favor like picking up your girlfriend or helping you hide your ex is one thing—”
“You’re his ex?” Lesley spoke for the first time since Mara’s revelations. “You’re the ghost he’s here to get rid of?”
I’m a dead man, Ethan accepted. “Lesley—”
“When I suggested you come here to exorcise your demons, I didn’t expect you to be quite so diligent.”
“It was twelve years ago,” clarified Mara. “We were in high school.”
“We were kids then, Lesley.” He fumbled for an excuse, reading the mood that swept across her face. Glaciers held more warmth. “Just kids. Doesn’t mean anything now.”
“Yet you didn’t see fit to mention her to me when we spoke this week.” Taking in the battered duffel at the foot of the bed, she gave Ethan an inquiring look. “She’s staying here, isn’t she?”
“Only since Monday, when I got shot,” Mara offered helpfully, though the sight of Ethan’s rapidly paling face was deeply gratifying. Didn’t mean anything, her foot. “Ethan saved me and put me up here. In his bed.”
“Stop helping me,” he groaned dully. “Lesley, honey, listen. I meant to tell you when I picked you up from the airport.”
“Which you couldn’t do without fear of being shot.” Lesley focused on Mara, who managed to disguise her pleasure at the growing hostility. “You seem to be the only one capable of honesty here. Is something going on between the two of you?”
Ethan watched Mara, torn between horror and bemusement. The thought of Mara as the crucible of truth was laughable, if it wasn’t so damnably accurate. He waited for her to respond, not sure if he preferred truth or a lie.
Truth or lie. The options dueled for release, and Mara sensed opportunity. Say the words, and Lesley would demand to be returned to the airport. Posthaste. Competition eliminated, problem solved. Except out of the corner of her eye Mara could see emotion flash in Ethan’s eyes, in sharp contrast to the stoic expression. He was braced, she realized, for betrayal. For her betrayal. Shaken, she couldn’t fault him. Her track record was lousy. But rule number eleven was to seize opportunity, regardless of the cost. Advantage, Mara.
Not at all sure what she was about to say, Mara began to speak. “We’re friends. That’s it. And barely that. He helped me out of jam and let me crash here until I could move on. Then we figured out our connections, and we’ve been working together ever since.” She stopped speaking, and heard Ethan release a soft breath. In that moment her heart broke once more and she squared her shoulders, dignity intact.
“All right.” Lesley nodded once, and focused her interest on Ethan. “You told me you were searching for adventure. Nice job so far. So, what other delightful surprises do you have in store?”
In for a penny, Ethan thought carelessly. “Well, we need to blow up the warehouse. Tonight.”
Chapter 15
Linda erupted first. “Hello? Cop. Uniform. Badge. Duty to uphold the law?” Her voice rose several decibels, each one bolstered by astounded disbelief, morbid fascination, and stubborn responsibility. “Telling me she’s a thief—”
“Con artist,” Mara corrected. “Much more nuanced work.”
A snarl stopped the ill-timed explanation. Linda’s hand spasmodically gripped the butt of her weapon. The urge to release the holster and shoot blindly nearly overwhelmed. “I didn’t question Mara because you asked me not to. I played taxi for your friend here, again, without probing too much.”
“Thank you, by the way,” Lesley inserted graciously.
“You’re welcome.” Aghast, flummoxed, Linda advanced to stand toe-to-toe with Ethan, her formidable height an asset. Her voice dropped low, almost pleading. “Friendship has its limits. I won’t break the law for you. You can’t ask me to.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t,” he responded gently. Friendship did have limits, he believed. However, when the cause was important, those bonds stretched to cover the worst transgressions. Because true friendship demanded more. “Our lives are on the line here. Mara’s. Mine. And now Lesley.”
Because she could feel herself waver, Linda barked, “Whose fault is that?”
“The men downstairs. Look, I wish I could have gotten to Lesley in time to stop her from coming, but I didn’t understand what we were up against. Mara tried to warn me, and I refused to listen. I’m listening now, and I don’t see many options.” For hours now he’d considered every possibility, but he could see no other way out. No other recourse. “I won’t ask you to participate, but I do need you to look the other way. And to make sure a fire truck arrives on time.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
Ethan nudged Linda to the kitchen stool. Mara trailed after him, with Lesley not far behind. “Just hear me out. Mara was being honest when she explained the situation. Our best guess is that Davis Conroy, who owns this building, has those men outside to watch us. See if we make a break for it.”
“We’ve already eluded them once today.” Mara understood the pull of duty that cordoned off Linda from agreement. Ethics couldn’t be malleable, not if they meant anything. Sure, she adhered to a different moral code, but a code was a code. “Why not use the tunnels again, but don’t come back?”
Ethan had contemplated the option and discarded it. “Because I doubt they’ll be that patient. If we aren’t seen for a couple of days, Conroy will come looking. I owe him a report on my findings by Monday.”
Unfortunately, Mara agreed. She blew out a short, resigned breath. “You want them to think we’re dead. And that all the evidence died with us.”
“Exactly.” Ethan shifted to encompass the three women in his sights. “If we blow up the warehouse, they’ll spend weeks trying to unravel what happened. By then we’re on our way to the treasure and Conroy is none the wiser.”
“Arson, vandalism, obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting a fugitive,” Linda muttered. “All felonies. And what about the dead bodies—the real ones?”
“That’s where you come in. If the fire trucks get here soon enough, the storage units won’t be damaged. I’m done with my investigation, so the bodies can be properly buried this time.”
“Do we know where we’re going?” The question came from a subdued Lesley, whose skin had blanched over the course of the discussion.
“Mara does. Or at least, the clues to it.” Ethan planted his hands on the countertop, his voice brisk. “We need to act quickly. Linda, you should return to the police headquarters. I’ll call your cell when we’re ready.”
“I haven’t agreed, Ethan.” But her resistance wavered. “I took an oath.”
“I understand.” He moved suddenly and tugged her to the windows. Rabbe was returning to the SUV, and Guffin ambled past him, to take his break. “These men shot Mara and they kidnapped her. Their boss won’t hesitate to do something worse soon. All I’m asking for is a blind eye. For now.”
A cocky grin spread across his face. “I have the chance of a lifetime here. No more Big Ben or Mr. Kiss Ass. For once, I’ll take a risk. A huge risk, and damn the consequences.”
“I could just haul your buddies in. A night in a holding cell and you’ll have time to make your escape.”
“Won’t work,” Mara interjected. “Davis Conroy has resources. If Rabbe and Guffin lose our trail, ten more will show up tomorrow. They chased me from Detroit to Louisiana, and I’m good. With two of us moving—”
“Three.” Lesley corrected. “I can help you. And I’m not leaving you alone with him. Again.”
“Fine, with three of us, we’ll be a bright neon sign. Ethan’s plan is crazy, but it will work.” Reading Linda’s mutinous expression, Mara crossed to join her. “Remember tenth grade, Linda? When the cheerleaders would taunt you for being so tall and Ethan charmed them into leaving you alone. Or the fights Ethan would break up for you?”
“Not the same, Mara. Not even close.”
“No, but Ethan is a good man. He’s like a Boy Scout without the ridiculous uniform. He’s never broken a law in his life.”
“Strange that he’d start only after you come back into it,” Lesley murmured.
Direct hit. Mara smiled ruefully. “You’ve got a point. But here’s another. We stay here much longer and Davis Conroy will send in his army to get his information. They come here and you’ll have thugs and gangsters from around the country converging on Kiev like it
was Mardi Gras. You don’t have the manpower or the experience to handle his type. Or, if we sneak out, he’ll find us and kill us. Then our deaths will be on your conscience.” She paused, then finished. “A fire you can put out now or one that you can’t control.”
“If I lose my job over this, I will make your misery my personal mission in life.” Linda brushed past her, aimed for the door. “Call 911 by ten-thirty. The first engines will arrive by 10:45. Leave a message for me at home when you’ve gotten out of Kiev. Ethan, come show me what you’ve planned.” As she made for the door, she mumbled, “Good freaking luck.”
Ethan jogged after her. Left behind in the studio, Mara and Lesley maintained their positions and a leaden silence. Mara, Lesley noted to herself, appeared to be dressed in borrowed finery. The mangled khakis that showcased showgirl-caliber legs had obviously once belonged to a man of Ethan’s height and build. Riotous black curls that women like her admired, but never attempted, framed a triangular face with strong, eye-catching features. Exotic, yet gallingly wholesome. Free, if it were possible, of makeup or even a stitch of lipstick. Which meant the whiskey-colored eyes were natural, Lesley allowed grudgingly.
Swaying slightly, she sank onto the nearby futon, ignoring the shabby comfort of the navy duvet flung over the puny mattress. The spare accommodations Ethan had selected did not invite guests. Other than the office chair across the wide space, the prime seating appeared to be where she’d settled, leaving Mara to perch on one of the kitchen stools or to sit next to her.
For her part, Mara stared with fixed determination at the shadow of Ethan’s departing form, despite the closed door. Certainly, he hadn’t left her here, alone, with his girlfriend. Feeling gauche in her ragged cast-offs, she lifted a hand to the curled fright that passed as her hair. As she did once a week, she swore she’d let the natural strands grow long and force herself into a stylist’s chair. The kinky, untamed curls were no match for the sleek, sophisticated elegance of the professor. Even her vaguely southern accent seemed unconscionably coarse in the face of such—and she had to admit it—such class. The one attribute she could never mimic.
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