16. Deadly Deals

by Fern Michaels

  Maybe she was going about this all wrong. Maybe she should put Baron Bell's picture above the fold and go with a headline that applied to him. Like those pictures the New York papers printed about the most hated man in America: Bernie Madoff. Her reporter's instinct told her people would care, but they'd move on. No, she had to go with the babies and the parents. The headline would come to her. She was sure of it.

  Eating always helped her think more clearly. How weird that she'd worked through her lunch hour. Maybe she needed to remove herself from what she was seeing for a little while. She could go to the cafeteria and get a corned beef on rye and whatever else they had that would complement the corned beef.

  On her way down in the elevator, Maggie's fist shot in the air. Out of nowhere her headline hit her between the eyes. "You're toast, Baron Bell!"

  Chapter 5

  Lizzie Fox looked like she'd just stepped out of a salon that guaranteed the works as she gathered up her purse and briefcase. Only the flight attendant knew she'd worked through the five-hour flight. She'd freshened up twenty minutes prior to landing. Other weary passengers looked at her approvingly, but she was oblivious.

  She was the first one off the plane. The time was 7:10 in the morning.

  Early morning travelers took a second to admire the long-legged vision as she strode past the security lines, her gaze raking the limo drivers holding up signs. When she spotted her driver, she waved. Within minutes she was outside and settled in the backseat of the luxurious limousine Cosmo Cricket had arranged for her.

  Lizzie shivered even though the heater was blowing hot, delicious air all around her ankles. Outside, a light snow was falling. She liked snow, and yet she hated snow. A long-ago memory of sitting in the cemetery, with a frozen bunch of violets in her hand, swam before her eyes. Jack Emery had saved her that awful night. She knew now that she would have stayed there and frozen to death if not for him. But that was all a lifetime ago. She had a new life now, thanks to Jack and all the vigilantes. Without them in her life, she never would have met Cosmo. Nor would she have ever married. She was almost positive of that.

  Lizzie blinked away the tears that were pricking at her eyelids. She leaned forward. "Drop me off at the Post first, but I want you to wait for me."

  "Yes, ma'am," replied the driver.

  Lizzie leaned back and watched the traffic. Her mind raced through her agenda for the day, then stopped. She smiled; she had it covered. Now she could set her thoughts to what in the world she was going to get her new husband for Christmas. Cosmo had promised that when she got back, he was going to take the day off, and they were going to a forest to chop down a real Christmas tree. She'd teased him, saying Vegas didn't have any forests, and he'd said, "Oh, yes, they do. You just need to know where to look." And that had been the end of that. A big tree, he'd said. He'd even bought a pickup truck to cart it home. He was so proud of the seventy-five-dollar rusty clunker. Then he'd announced that the springs under the seats were shot. He'd called it a kidney crusher. She'd giggled all day over their newest possession, but she had to admit, she couldn't wait to go out to the forest to cut down the tree. But that wasn't solving her problem of what to get Cosmo for Christmas. Something would come to her; she was sure of it.

  When Lizzie stepped from the limousine, a strong gust of wind almost blew her over. The snow was coming down heavier and in squalls. She hoped it stopped before her return flight back to Vegas later in the day.

  Lizzie signed in, was given a card saying she was a visitor. She looped it around her neck as she made her way to the elevator.

  Maggie was waiting for her the minute she stepped out of the elevator. "Martin called to say you were on your way up. Let's go to the kitchen. I just made some fresh coffee, and I bought some doughnuts and bagels on the way in. We'll just close the door and have all the privacy we need."

  Lizzie sniffed appreciatively as Maggie poured her a cup of the fragrant coffee. She watched as the EIC toasted bagels and spread them lavishly with butter and cream cheese. "Oooh, this is sooo good. I didn't realize how hungry I was. I never eat on planes. Do you?"

  "As a rule, no. I usually travel with my own snacks, but I will eat the fruit. So, tell me, do you have a game plan, or do you want to hear mine first?"

  "My appointment with Baron Bell is for eleven o'clock. When I leave here, I want to go back to my house to shower and change. I'm simply going to lay my cards on the table and hope the man sees the light. I expect him to clam up and admit to nothing. If you have something you care to give me to show him, that just might make it easier for the Dawsons and the Evanses. Thank Ted for me for getting the Evanses to sign on. What are they saying on the mountain?"

  "They're saying everyone in question is under surveillance. The girls are ready to move at a moment's notice. In case no one told you, you are to take pictures of Bell's office, especially that monstrosity of a safe. Charles's people managed to get the blueprints, but things can change. Not that the safe will have been moved. I understand it weighs a couple of tons. Do you think Bell will lie to you?"

  "Oh, yeah. I have my ducks all in a row. When are you going to start running your articles? By the way, I saw on the Net that Bell is gearing up for his White House kids' Christmas party."

  "Yeah, we blew that one up big-time. I gave him way too much press, but you do what you have to do to get where you want to go. I'm sure he was preening like a peacock when he read all his accolades. The man is vain, even though he pretends otherwise."

  Lizzie finished her coffee and bagel. Maggie tidied up the kitchen, unlocked the door, and led Lizzie back to her office. Lizzie tried not to laugh at the way Maggie was balancing several bananas, an orange, and a box of Ring Dings. In the office, Maggie dumped her snacks in her desk drawer.

  "You want to see Espinosa's photos in glorious color on the computer, or do you want to hold them in your hands? The guys did a great job. It's going to cost me a meal at Martin's, but it's worth it. I think you'll agree when you see what we have."

  Lizzie reached for a stack of glossy pictures. She took her time looking at each one, her eyes misting as she looked down at the babies. Maggie watched the lawyer's jaw set, her eyes turning steely and hard. She felt sorry for Baron Bell.

  "They're great, Maggie. Do you have a headline to go with these?"

  "I do. Want to see it?"

  "You bet!" Lizzie watched as Maggie clicked her mouse. She leaned over to stare at the stark headline. She clapped her hands. "That'll do it, Maggie! It's perfect! Good going, Miss EIC! Listen, I have to run. Say hello and good-bye to everyone for me."

  The two women hugged each other. Maggie walked Lizzie to the elevator.

  "Good luck. If I can do more, call, okay?" said Maggie.

  "Will do." They hugged one more time. "See ya in the funny papers."

  Maggie laughed. She stood at the elevator for a long time before she made her way back to her office. Her expression was short of dreamy, almost the same as Lizzie's expression when both of them had looked at the cherubs on the glossy prints. For the first time in her life, she gave some thought to her biological clock ticking away second by second. She rather thought Lizzie was probably thinking the same thing on her way home.

  Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

  The office phone was ringing when Maggie slammed the door of her office. She felt like she was going to cry any minute. "Yes," she barked into the receiver.

  "That's how you answer your phone? Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" Jack Emery barked in return.

  Maggie sniffed. "What? Are you calling to pick my brain, or are you calling me to tell me something I don't already know, which I find to be very unlikely? Why aren't you in court?"

  "I'm not in court, because crime has taken a holiday, and I already locked up all the bad guys. Actually, I was calling to ask if you wanted to go to lunch with me and Harry. I'm on my way to pick him up. He's being a real pain in the ass with the construction guys working on his dojo. The foreman on the job pulled me
to the side yesterday and asked me if there was any way for me to take him off their hands. Bring Ted and Espinosa. We'll have a regular party, you know, one of those three-hour lunches we used to do. By the time I get him back to the dojo, they'll be ready to quit for the day. Of course, Harry won't see it that way and will probably kill one of us, but what the hell. Anything for my friend Harry."

  Maggie laughed, her sour, maudlin mood gone for the moment. Jack could always make her laugh. "Squire's Pub, twelve thirty, work for you?"

  "It does. It would be nice if the Post picked up the tab," Jack said, then hung up when Maggie started to sputter.

  Jack had to park more than a block away and hoof it back to Harry's dojo. He had to wiggle his way between utility trucks, cable trucks, telephone trucks, plumbing vehicles, plus the cars and trucks of the workers. Harry's Ducati was wedged in so tight in the back, he would have to physically pick it up and turn it around if he wanted to take it out. Aha! That was why old Harry had invited him over: he needed extra muscle to get his bike out to the street. Little did Harry know he was on his way anyway.

  Jack made his way to what had once been the back door and was now just a big, gaping hole in the building. A dozen different people could be seen scurrying about, shouting orders to one another. Harry was leaning against a half wall, drinking tea.

  "I bet you could clear this room in a few seconds if you served those guys some of that shitty tea you're guzzling," Jack said by way of a greeting.

  "Eat shit, Jack. I only share my shitty tea with those near and dear to my heart. What do you think? Not that I value your opinion or anything. I'm just curious."

  "I love it. So will you when it's done. Listen, I know a secret. Well, I sort of know a secret that concerns Yoko. Nikki didn't exactly tell me I couldn't tell you, so I guess I can. You know me. When I give my word, nothing, not even wild horses, can drag it out of me. I pretended not to be interested so I wouldn't have to give my word so that I could have a clear conscience when I told you."

  Harry set his cup with no handles down on the half wall. He raised three fingers. Jack knew he had precisely three seconds to tell Harry the secret, or the great master of the martial arts would kill him on the spot.

  "Okay, okay. Look, I'm just the messenger, okay, so don't do something you're going to regret," Jack said with a straight face. "That also means you can't even think about doing something. It seems...Jesus, Harry, I don't know how to tell you this. I guess I just have to blurt it out. Yoko has had a change of heart. She doesn't like pink anymore. She's into...champagne colors. That means you have to get rid of all that pink shit we bought. The bright spot is it was on sale. That should take away some of your pain, and, buddy, I am feeling your pain. I thought it was beautiful, but...it's champagne from here on in. Nikki said all the girls agreed. It seems pink is now passe. Who knew, Harry? Certainly not me."

  "I paid a thousand dollars for all that pink crap on sale, and now I have to throw it out. Is that what you're telling me, Jack?"

  "Well, yeah, it's either that or Yoko is going to throw you out. She doesn't like peonies anymore either. Women are so fickle!" Jack proclaimed dramatically. He looked at Harry and thought he'd never seen a more stupid expression in his life. "After lunch we can go shopping. You want to go to Target or Neiman Marcus? Walmart is also a possibility. Your call."

  "What if all that crap isn't on sale, and I have to pay full price?"

  "Then, oh, well. The cost of love is expensive, Harry. You want to kill someone right now, don't you? Stifle that feeling. Try your best to feel the love that's going to come your way with all those soft, muted champagne colors. Oh, I almost forgot. Nikki said Yoko is now into champagne-colored roses and white tulips. I didn't know they had champagne-colored roses. Did you know that, Harry?"

  The stupid look was back on Harry's face. He was also speechless.

  "What I would do if I were you is this...and may I say I'm glad I am not you. I would call some florist and leave a standing order for delivery. That's what I would do, Harry. Harry, what's wrong with you? Are you having a fit or something? Shake your head! Drink that damn tea! Ah, that's good. Your eyes are uncrossing. I never saw you cry before, Harry. I know, I know, you aren't crying. It's all the sawdust and Sheetrock dust clogging up your eye pores, or whatever it is that gets clogged up in your eyes."

  Harry looked at Jack and smiled. It was the most evil smile Jack had ever seen in his life.

  Jack opted to run like hell, calling over his shoulder, "We can order from a catalog or online."

  Harry stopped in his tracks. "Do you have a catalog?"

  "I do, Harry, I do. I swear to God I do! After lunch we can go to the house. Catalogs come by the pound to the house. I have hundreds of them. We can have everything shipped to my house. You feel better now?"

  "I do, Jack. I really do. Help me with the bike."

  Thirty minutes later they had the Ducati on the street. Both of them were huffing and puffing.

  "This is your property, Harry. Why didn't you tell those guys to move their trucks so you could get your motorcycle out of there?"

  "Are you kidding! They get paid by the hour. You're free."

  Jack digested that information as he looked at an oil stain on his suit jacket. Good old Harry had a point.

  It was still snowing when Jack parked his car two blocks from Squire's Pub. He was glad he'd changed his shoes for his Nikes. Harry managed to squeeze his cycle into the skinny space close to the passenger-side door of Jack's car. He was covered with snow. He shook his dark mane of hair and yanked it back into a ponytail. He shook himself like a wet cat and took off on the run. Jack just shook his head at the sound of Harry's sandals slapping on the wet, snowy concrete.

  The pub was jammed with office workers who preferred to eat their lunch away from their desks. It was also one of the most popular watering holes in the District. Jack was glad Maggie had called ahead for a reservation. He spotted her and waved.

  There was a bit of a commotion as Jack and Harry removed their jackets and shook them out to rid them of the snow that was sticking to them.

  It was hot and steamy in the cozy booth at the back of the pub. Waiters, trays held high, moved quickly as they shouted to one another. Everyone knew the service was only as good as the tip you left. Maggie was known as a high tipper. A waiter appeared, listened to their order, and raced off.

  "How do you like this weather?" Maggie asked.

  "It sucks. I wish I were on some island somewhere, on a beach with white sand, warm breezes, and a drink in my hand," Jack said.

  Harry agreed.

  "It's not going to happen. This is the Christmas season, so get in the spirit." Maggie looked down at her watch. "Lizzie should be in Baron Bell's office right about now."

  "How do you think that's going to go?"

  "Surely you jest, Jack!" Maggie teased. "How do you think it's going to go? We're talking about Lizzie here. He's toast."

  Jack made a face. "Don't be so sure, Maggie. I've seen that guy in court. They call him Saint Baron around the courthouse. There is also speculation that he has a couple of judges in his pocket. I'm just saying."

  "By chance, Jack, are those the same judges who get tongue-tied when Lizzie appears in front of them? You want to put his record up against Lizzie's?"

  Jack shook his head. "No, Maggie, I don't. I just don't want you to forget that Bell has some really powerful friends here in the District. Yes, I know Lizzie does, too. He goes in and out of the White House like it's his home away from home."

  Harry watched the two of them, his head going back and forth like he was at a tennis match. He decided it was time to weigh in. "Lizzie will be working at the White House come January second."

  Maggie laughed. "Bell will be history by January second. Here, check this out," she said, sliding a folder across the table. "I'm sharing my headline with you. What do you think?"

  "Well, damn. You're right. I think he might be toast," Jack agreed.

  "Mig
ht be?" Harry said, his tone full of menace.

  Jack slid the photos and the mock-up headline back into the folder just as the waiter set down a huge tray with a dozen hot dogs, all topped with "the works," along with a triple order of onion rings and french fries.

  The trio dived into the food, each of them mumbling that his or her cholesterol was in the normal range.

  Ten minutes into the food orgy, Jack dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. He fixed his gaze on Maggie. "Are Harry and I sitting this one out? I haven't heard a thing from the mountain."

  Maggie stopped eating long enough to say, "I don't think so. The last thing I heard was you guys are going to be front and center. Stay on the alert."

  "We're always on the alert, aren't we, Harry?"

  Harry glared at Jack.

  Jack tried for one of what he hoped was his more innocent expressions, and said, "Maggie, what do you think of champagne as a color?"

  "Oh, I love it. When we were on the mountain, we were talking about interior decorating. It's all the rage. It's so clean and elegant looking. You know, regal somehow. I seem to remember Nikki and Yoko saying they liked it. Why? Are you going to do some redecorating?"

  "Not right now. Down the road possibly. Maybe in the spring," Jack replied. He risked a glance at Harry, who appeared to be in a trance. He winked at Maggie and reached for his fifth hot dog.

  Chapter 6

  Dressed in a faux white mink coat and hat, Lizzie drew stares as she exited the luxurious limousine, wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes against the blinding whiteness all about her. She looked like a Russian spy in a popular movie as she strode toward the building that housed Baron Bell's offices. The door was thrust open by a smiling doorman. He watched as the striking woman, her every move choreographed, sailed across the ornate lobby toward the elevator, which opened as though by magic. And then the goddess was gone, and the lobby's occupants went back to what they were doing before the vision in white had graced their space.