A Man of Secrets

by Amanda Stevens

  * * *

  THE CALL FROM RUSSO—or at least the man they believed to be Russo—came just as Natalie was closing up shop that night. She glanced at Spence who nodded as he picked up the extension in the workroom. Natalie knew the call was being traced, just as every call that had come in that day had been.

  Her fingers were shaking as she gripped the phone, recognizing Russo’s gruff voice immediately. He got right to the point.

  “For your sake, I hope you’ve decided to cooperate,” he said.

  “You left me little choice,” Natalie said, hoping her statement didn’t sound as practiced to Russo as it did to her. If he guessed that she had been coached, the natural assumption would be that she had gone to the police, and Natalie shuddered to think what Russo would do in that case. “If I give you the diamonds, what assurance do I have that you’ll leave my son and me alone?”

  There was a pause, then Russo laughed softly, a sound that sent deep chills up Natalie’s spine. “If you give me the diamonds, what reason would I have to kill you? Pleasure?”

  Yes, Natalie thought, shuddering. A man like Russo would probably take a great deal of pleasure in killing. Maybe that was why he’d killed Anthony.

  “At least give me your word,” Natalie said, trying to hold him on the phone for as long as she could.

  Another laugh. “All right,” he said. “You have my word. But if you double-cross me, if I see a cop within a mile of you, your son’s as good as dead. Understand?”

  Natalie gripped the phone even tighter. “I understand,” she whispered.

  “There’s a pay phone at the corner of Houston and Alamo,” Russo said. “You have fifteen minutes to get there.”

  The phone clicked and the line went dead. On shaky legs, Natalie went to the doorway of the workroom. Spence was talking softly on the phone, but his gaze was on her.

  “Did you get a trace?”

  “A pay phone,” Agent Skelley said. “On Commerce.”

  “Get the area staked out,” Spence said, checking the clip on his weapon.

  Both of them looked keyed up, wired, ready to move, but Natalie’s words stopped them.

  “I think I should be the one to go,” she said.

  Identical expressions of exasperation crossed Skelley’s and Spence’s features. Spence said, “We’ve been through this, Natalie. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But why should she have to take my place?” Natalie demanded, glancing at Skelley who had changed into a sweater and skirt identical to hers. The agent had even combed the curls out of her light brown hair in imitation of Natalie’s more casual style.

  Spence said, “Agent Skelley’s been through rigorous training. She knows the risks.”

  Skelley shrugged, as if the danger she was about to face was inconsequential.

  The easy thing would be to sit back and let her do it, Natalie thought. She had no wish to play heroine, but she would do whatever was necessary to protect her son. If Russo suspected a trap, he might go straight for Kyle.

  She said as much to Spence. He glanced at Skelley. “Wait for me outside. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Skelley rolled her eyes as she walked by, giving him a look that clearly said, Where did you get her?

  Spence closed the door behind Skelley, then turned and placed his hands on Natalie’s arms. “You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. We all do.”

  “But if it doesn’t work… If he suspects a trap…”

  “He won’t,” Spence said. “Agent Skelley’s an expert at this, believe me. She could fool her own mother if she had to, and as far as we know, Russo has never seen you up close. It’ll work.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Natalie challenged.

  “It will.” He bent and kissed her quickly. “Keep the door locked and stay out of sight. I’ll let you know as soon as there’s news.”

  * * *

  TIME CRAWLED. Natalie lost count of how many times she’d glanced at her watch. She couldn’t help worrying that something had gone wrong. Her imagination went wild, thinking up the worst possible scenarios. What if the plan hadn’t worked? What if Russo smelled a trap and opened fire? What if Spence had gotten hurt or…worse?

  Stop it! she ordered herself. Don’t borrow trouble.

  Finally, just to occupy her mind, Natalie got up and started straightening her workroom. Frank’s “boys,” as he’d called the young men who had cleaned up the room, hadn’t known what to do with some of the boxes and packing material she’d had stored on the shelves, so they’d stacked them all in a corner. Natalie began to put all the materials away.

  Finishing that, she dusted her hands and glanced around, wondering what she could do now. Her eyes fell on the asparagus fern hanging in the small window behind her desk, and she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d watered it. Filling a pitcher from the bathroom, Natalie pulled a stepladder over to the window and climbed up, feeling the soil with her fingers to determine dryness.

  Suddenly her hand touched something solid, and her first instinct was to recoil at the unknown. Then her curiosity got the better of her, and she lifted the item from the pot, staring down at the little black tape recorder she held in her hand.

  Natalie recognized it immediately. It was the one Anthony had given to Kyle, the one she’d asked her son to return, only he’d said he couldn’t find it. A small fabrication, to say the least. Natalie remembered the day Kyle had come back to the workroom to get his teacher’s present. Later, she’d noticed the stepladder had been pulled over to the fern, but she’d assumed Michelle had used it to water the plant. Now Natalie realized that Kyle must have climbed up on the ladder and hidden the recorder in the fern, so Natalie wouldn’t make him give it back to his father.

  She studied the controls for a moment. The recorder was voice activated, and the tape was all the way to the end. Natalie rewound, then pushed the Play button. Her own voice startled her in the deep quiet of the shop. The beginning was chopped off, while the recorder activated itself, then her voice came in loud and clear. She was talking to Michelle, issuing a string of instructions before rushing out on an errand. The next sound, again chopped at the very beginning, came from Michelle. She was talking on the telephone, obviously to her boyfriend.

  So much for following instructions, Natalie thought dryly.

  She reached down and fast-forwarded the tape. Again she heard her own voice, this time talking on the phone to a supplier, then to a courier, making arrangements for a package to be picked up and delivered.

  Natalie was about to fast-forward again, when the significance of the last conversation hit her, slamming her heart against her chest. She had been making arrangements for Anthony’s package to be picked up. The tape recorder had been turned on the day of Anthony’s murder. Kyle had hidden it late that afternoon. And if it had been recording that day…what about that night?

  Her hands shaking, Natalie sat down at her desk and listened to another phone conversation, then another before fast-forwarding once again. Suddenly, her breath suspended in her throat as she heard the voice she’d been searching for. She rewound for just an instant, then pressed Play.

  “…are they?” Anthony’s voice demanded.

  Her own voice, sounding shocked, asked, “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  Natalie heard herself gasp on the tape as Anthony grabbed her arm. Memories of that night came crashing in on her. She remembered how surprised she’d been to see Anthony in her shop, then afraid because of the way he was acting. She’d never seen him look so desperate, so out of control. Now Natalie understood why. The diamonds were missing and he must have known Russo would come after him.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” her voice demanded on the tape.

  “Where are they, Natalie?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m calling the police. Even you can’t get away with this, Anthony.”

  There was a hesitation, as Anthony pulled the pho
ne jack out of the wall, then, “You found them, didn’t you?” A crash, as he threw the phone against the wall. “You thought you could pull a fast one on me, didn’t you? You’ve always been just a little too clever for your own good, Natalie. But not this time. Now hand them over before I do something we might both regret—”

  Natalie remembered how he had glanced over her shoulder as someone came up behind her. “What are you doing he—”

  She gasped as the sound of her body crashing to the floor came over the tape. Her whole being tensed as she leaned forward, staring at the little black box on her desk. Whose voice would she hear next? The murderer’s?

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Anthony demanded on the tape. Another silence, then, “She’s still breathing. You’re damned lucky you didn’t kill her.”

  A second or two went by, during which the only sounds Natalie heard were background noises as someone moved about the workroom. Then Anthony’s voice, taunting, said, “What were you doing, following me? Did you think I’d come here for an assignation with my ex-wife?” He laughed—a mean, nasty sound that chilled Natalie to the bone. “Were you hoping to watch?”

  The response was a low, garbled sound, like someone in pain. Then Anthony laughed again and said, “Look at her. Even unconscious, she’s twice the woman you are. Did you really think you could take her place? You’re nothing more than a high-priced call girl.”

  There was another sound of protest, then almost in a whisper the woman spoke for the first time, and Natalie’s heart stopped for a painful second as she recognized the voice on the tape. The voice of Anthony’s killer.

  “Do you know how much I hate you?” Melinda whispered. “How much I hate her?”

  “I have some idea,” Anthony answered, unconcerned. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

  “The same way you did,” Melinda replied. “With a key. For someone who thinks he’s so smart, you can be awfully stupid, Anthony, leaving your keys lying around for your wife to find and duplicate. I have keys to your car, to your office, to your private files, and to that cozy little apartment you share with your mistress. You didn’t know I knew about her, did you? Sleeping with Natalie’s best friend. Couldn’t you be a little more original, darling?”

  She must have gotten his attention with that, because Anthony’s voice lost its mocking edge. He said grimly, “You never answered my question, Melinda. What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to kill you,” she said. It was Melinda’s turn to laugh, and she did so, with gusto, obviously relishing having the upper hand for once. “You didn’t really think I’d let you walk out on me, did you? Not after everything I’ve done for you, you bastard.”

  “Where did you get that gun?” Anthony asked. His voice sounded strained, unnatural, as if he were striving for a calmness he was far from feeling.

  “From your office.” The mirth had disappeared from Melinda’s voice, and she sounded grim now, completely resolved. “It’s registered to Natalie. You bought it for her right after the two of you were married, remember? She told me all about it, how she despised guns and wouldn’t have it in the house so you took it away. Everyone forgot all about it, but I didn’t. I knew you still had it, and now, when I kill you, everyone will think Natalie did it. She’ll go to prison for your murder. It’s too perfect.”

  “It is too perfect,” Anthony agreed. “Too clever by far for you to have dreamed up all by yourself.”

  “I’m a lot smarter than you ever gave me credit for,” Melinda retorted angrily.

  “No, you’re not,” Anthony said. “You’re just a stupid little nobody who would stab her own mother in the back if the price was right—”

  Suddenly, Melinda screamed as something crashed to the floor, followed by definite sounds of a struggle. Then Anthony, breathing hard, said, “You stupid little fool. Did you really think you could pull that trigger? You haven’t got the guts or the gumption—” His voice cut off sharply on a gasp, as if he’d been taken by surprise.

  Then another voice—a voice Natalie thought she recognized—said, “She may not have the guts or the gumption to kill you, but I do.”

  Anthea? Natalie thought in disbelief.

  Anthony gasped again and groaned—a low, animal sound that sent chill after chill pulsing through Natalie. A loud thud followed, presumably his body falling to the floor, and Natalie’s hand flew to her mouth as she realized she’d just heard the sounds of Anthony’s murder on tape. Her heart flailed against her chest as she closed her eyes tightly, trying to fight the nausea rising inside her.

  Then Melinda screamed, drawing Natalie’s attention back to the tape. Anthea said harshly, “Shut up, you idiot. We’ve got work to do. You very nearly cost us everything.”

  Definitely Anthea, Natalie thought.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Melinda whined. “He jumped me and took the gun away from me—”

  “Shut up,” Anthea ordered. “And help me move Natalie over here, near the body. Put the knife in her hand.”

  Natalie was shocked to hear herself groan in protest on the tape.

  “Hurry!” Anthea urged. “She’s coming around. We’ll call 911 from the pay phone downstairs—”

  There were more sounds of frenzied activity and then in the background, a door closed softly. Then everything was silent.

  Natalie, her heart pounding, stared at the tape, thinking that it was all over. She’d heard everything, but then the recorder had been activated again, and Anthony, gasping, struggling for breath, said, “Natalie…not…the one. Natalie…not you…not you…”

  It was the same thing he’d been whispering when the police had arrived to find Natalie, murder weapon in hand, kneeling over him. “Natalie…not you…”

  The police, of course, had interpreted that as a dying man’s accusation, pointing the finger at his murderer, when in actuality, Anthony had been trying to clear her.

  Natalie sat stunned by the revelations she’d heard on that tape. When she looked up, there was a shadow in the doorway—tall, thin, with short black hair slicked back…

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  For a moment, Natalie thought it was Anthony who stared across the room at her, and then, with a painful plunging of her heart, she realized it was Anthea. Anthea, dressed in black trousers and a black turtleneck, the masculine clothing adding to the ghostly illusion. Anthea, holding a gun leveled at Natalie.

  In spite of the weapon, she looked as stunned as Natalie felt. Her eyes were glued to the tape recorder, which was still running. Loud voices sprang from the tape—police officers ordering Natalie to drop the knife and move away from the body, Natalie’s stuttered responses to their questions, and then Anthony whispering into the hushed silence one last time, “Natalie…not you…”

  Slowly, taking care to make no sudden moves, Natalie lifted her finger and pushed the Stop button. Anthea was still standing in the doorway, but now the stunned look had left her face to be replaced by one of anger. She advanced toward Natalie and held out her hand.

  “I’ll take that tape.”

  When Natalie hesitated, Anthea said, “After listening to that, do you doubt I would pull this trigger?”

  Natalie shook her head, her eyes on Anthea, but her mind was casting about frantically for a weapon or a means of escape. Unfortunately, she seemed to be trapped.

  She placed the recorder in Anthea’s hand. Quickly, Anthea ejected the tape, slipped it in her pocket, then placed the recorder on Natalie’s desk. For the first time, Natalie realized Anthea was wearing gloves, and that—perhaps even more than the gun—brought home the woman’s sinister intent.

  Anthea motioned with the gun. “Get your car keys,” she ordered. “Nice and slow. We’re going for a little drive.”

  “Why should I go with you?” Natalie asked, her heart pounding like a piston inside her. “You obviously intend to kill me. Why should I make it easier for you?”

  “Because if you don’t,” Anthea said matter-of-factly, “I’ll s
hoot you dead where you stand. Now, get the keys.”

  Natalie knew Anthea meant what she said. In either case, her chances didn’t look good, but at least, if she went with Anthea, she would be buying herself a little more time.

  Natalie removed her purse from her desk drawer and fished for her keys. She held them up, and Anthea grabbed them out of her hand.

  “Let’s go.”

  As Natalie walked ahead of Anthea into the shop, her gaze went automatically to the front door, praying that Spence would walk through at that moment…and praying that he wouldn’t. Anthea had already killed one brother. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t kill another.

  As if reading her mind, Anthea said, “Spence won’t be coming to save you, if that’s what you’re hoping. In fact, he may not be coming back at all.”

  Natalie glanced over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s walking into an ambush,” Anthea said and smiled. “A setup. Russo knows the feds are on to him, and he’s laid a little trap of his own.”

  Natalie gasped, her heart tripping in fear. “You told him?”

  “Just like I tipped the FBI to the fact that Anthony was holding the diamonds. Men are so stupid,” Anthea added in disgust. “None of them have a clue.”

  “But you do,” Natalie said, forcing an admiring note into her voice. “I always thought you were the clever Bishop. Smarter by far than Anthony.”

  “Stuff it,” Anthea retorted, jabbing the gun into Natalie’s ribs. “You’re not going to get anywhere by trying to keep me talking.”

  They were outside now, going down the steps. Anthea was right beside Natalie, holding her arm. Natalie could feel the gun poking against her side as they descended the steps together.

  “Where are we going?” Natalie asked, her gaze scanning the surroundings.

  “Just keep walking.”

  It was late and a weeknight, so the Riverwalk was deserted, the restaurants and shops having long since closed. Natalie wondered if she should try to break away and make a run for it, but, as if sensing her intention, Anthea tightened her grip—as strong as any man’s—on Natalie’s arm.