Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Sandra Chastain

  His bed. It was empty. Emptier than it had ever been before. Even Sterling’s clothes were gone. He didn’t know what she had heard if any of the conversation or how much of it she understood. Worse, he didn’t know what he could do to make this right. He swore again and padded to the bathroom, picking up his clothes as he went. He didn’t know where his briefs had gotten to this time, probably under the covers at the foot of the bed. Well, just let Elizabeth find them when she hustled in to tidy up. He’d hired a maid for that, but she insisted on doing his personal things herself. Maybe this would stop her.

  He stuffed his clothes in the hamper, kicked the corner of the bed, and changed the light switch to sunlight.

  Glancing around once more, he decided that it was time to redecorate. The room was too severe. It felt cold.

  Sterling wasn’t in it.

  TEN

  Sterling just couldn’t believe it! Mac, the man she’d just spent the night with, the man she’d shared her life’s story with and to whom she’d explained her need for independence, was leaving her out of the loop. It was too much.

  After listening to Mac’s conversation outside the doorway, Sterling grew furious. She tucked the sheet around her, commanded Mac’s bedroom door to open, almost crushing a small package with a large card marked Sterling on it with her foot. She reached down, tucked the package under her arm, and strode down the hall. If she encountered Jessie, so be it. Jessie wasn’t a child. She was just sheltered, like Sterling had been. It was time something made her want to leave the mountain. It didn’t have to be a murder to do it.

  Spending the last ten years inside the Paradox building had been Sterling’s way of dealing with an uncertain world. She’d been safe and she’d become more successful in her career than she’d ever dreamed. How many women were on a first-name basis with prominent art dealers and collectors, heads of state, buyers and sellers of rare and exclusive merchandise? How many women controlled the amount of money that she did? And then again, how many women had no one to share their lives, their dreams, or their futures with?

  She’d always had Conner. He was her family. But now he was married to Erica and his priorities were already changing. She’d decided to find a new job, a new career, a new apartment. Since returning to her own apartment would only put her in Vincent Dawson’s clutches.

  What did it matter now since he was coming here to get her? She needed to know when and how.

  Minutes later she was back in her own quarters. But she’d been so incensed that she’d walked, the pain in her heart stronger than that in her legs. Her wheelchair was still in Mac’s bedroom.

  So be it. Apparently everyone knew what had happened. She took a quick shower, dressed, and headed for the office Mac had set up for her. Once inside, she turned back to face the open door. “Close and lock,” she said. The doors complied. At least they closed; she had no way of knowing whether or not they were locked.

  For the rest of the morning she learned how to operate the new computer Mac had installed. Mac had tied the files of Paradox into the main operation for the complex. With the hours Sterling had spent learning how to interface internationally, she was able to find a way to Mac’s conference call. She had no doubt that Mac would know when she gained access, but what could he do?

  The holographic screen on the opposite wall was suddenly filled with Mac, sitting behind his desk. For a moment he looked startled, then angry.

  “Gentlemen, it looks as if Ms. Lindsey has joined us. Sterling, I trust you will remain silent if I allow you to remain on-line.”

  Sterling wanted to scream. If he allowed her? She counted to five, took a deep breath, and said as sweetly as she could manage, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Thank you for your concern on my behalf. Go ahead, Mr. McAllister. I’m listening. If you need to know anything from me, just ask.”

  “General Scott here.” The screen changed to the speaker, a bald man with enough medals to impress even Sterling, a woman not easily impressed. “All right, what’s the problem, Mac?”

  “First, let’s meet the team,” Mac said. “You know General Scott. We are also joined by a friend we’ll call only Daniel. You’ll understand if we don’t show his face. Daniel is an expert on international crime and on the criminals who operate from the shadows.”

  The screen changed to the silhouette of a man sitting in front of a window. The bright sunlight behind him effectively disguised his features.

  They received only a nod from Daniel.

  Mac continued, “And there’s Burt, who knows more about the underworld in our own country than J. Edgar Hoover ever did.”

  Sterling jumped when a shot of their own chef, Burt appeared. “Sterling, sweetie,” he chided, “you didn’t eat your casserole or the breakfast I sent this morning. But I forgive you.”

  Sterling blushed. Burt couldn’t see her face, but by now, he and every one at Shangri-la probably knew she’d spent the night in Mac’s bed.

  “You remember Raymond, my assistant and chief of security. And finally, I think you all know Conner. I’ll let him explain what we’ve learned.”

  Conner’s dear face appeared, lined and haggard. “Afternoon, all. Sterling, it would be better if you didn’t know what we’re doing. It could put you in more danger.”

  “If I’m in danger—” Her image suddenly flashed on the screen. She was surprised to see that she didn’t look tired at all. In fact, she glowed as if she’d just reached into her Christmas stocking and discovered new legs. “I think I’m entitled to know what you’re doing and why. Explain, Conner.”

  Conner smiled and shook his head. “All right. Here’s the skinny. Vincent Dawson, personal adviser and aide to Senator March from Louisiana, has been identified by my assistant as the man who shot her employer and wounded her ten years ago.”

  The general: “Preposterous. Even political advisers have to pass a security check.”

  Conner continued. “Because he was never identified, never charged, he has no criminal record. The only blot on his background is the possibility of a ‘relationship’ with Congresswoman Gardner, his former employer.” Conner described the congresswoman’s will, Dawson’s inheritance, and the subsequent lawsuit, then moved on.

  “On the surface, Vince is as clean as a whistle. He apparently converted the bearer bonds to a fictitious name and cashed them in and funneled the proceeds into his account as needed, under the guise of income earned. He could then buy his way into a major role in March’s campaign for the Senate. Since then he has very quietly become a very powerful man in Washington.”

  “Sterling,” Mac said, “do you want to tell us about your encounter with Mr. Dawson?”

  “Ten years ago I was interning with an investment and securities firm.” She explained about the phony millionaire’s appointment to buy bearer bonds and how she interrupted the thief as he was emptying the safe. “My employer was murdered and I was shot and left for dead.”

  “And the police never found the killer?” Burt asked.

  “For a long time I was in a coma. I couldn’t give them much of a description. I was a temporary employee. The police thought he must have had inside help. Then when I told them he was wearing a ski mask, the police didn’t believe me.”

  The general interrupted. “You didn’t see him, but you’ve now decided that Vincent Dawson is that man. On what basis?”

  “His eyes,” Sterling said calmly. “They are very unusual, something like a mottled blue-gray marble. I saw his lips and I heard his voice. Gentleman, it was Mr. Dawson. I am certain of that.”

  “As I was about to say,” Conner explained, “he and Sterling met in the New Orleans airport. Once he saw her, he sealed off the airport and began a search. There was no reason for his action, if he hadn’t recognized her.”

  “And,” Sterling added, “he knew I recognized him.”

  Burt came onscreen. “So, even if we have a positive identification, it wouldn’t hold up in court.”

  The man in the shadows hadn’t
spoken, until now. “The last thing Dawson wants is the publicity. He’s a very powerful man with a reputation to protect. He won’t go public and neither can we.”

  “We know,” Mac said seriously, “he’s called in Jonah.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Sterling,” Conner began, “Jonah is—”

  “I know, a paid assassin. I appreciate all of your concern, but I don’t think you can fix this.” She thought about Erica and the baby and Conner. “I won’t have any of you put yourselves at risk for me. I disappeared ten years ago, and with your help, I can do that again. It’s the only way.”

  “She could be right,” Burt said.

  “Maybe so,” Conner agreed.

  Mac nodded. “Once Dawson finds out that she’s out of it, he’ll be forced to move on.”

  What none of them was saying, Sterling decided, was that they had no intention of dropping the matter of Vincent Dawson. They just wanted her to believe she could be protected.

  “Shall I look into the Federal Witness Protection Program?” the general asked.

  “And advertise where she is?” Burt asked in disgust. “In all likelihood the man is going to be the president’s assistant. We have to hide her ourselves. I’m thinking that I know the perfect place, but we’ll talk about that later, Mac.”

  Sterling heard the emphasis on later and knew that this powerful group didn’t even trust each other. There would be no inside information for her here. So long as her life was at risk, they weren’t going to talk about their plans. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to seem to agree. Whatever she did, she’d have to do it alone.

  “Thank you, all of you,” she said. “But I’ll figure out my own future.”

  Sterling signed off, sorry now that she’d been so quick to close and lock her door. If she were in a normal office, with normal windows and doors, she could simply crack open her door and listen. Her safe haven was definitely a prison.

  Shangri-la not only kept the world out, it kept people in.

  A short time later the locked door opened and Jessie came inside, pushing Sterling’s wheelchair. “Mrs. Everett said for me to come and get you for lunch. I thought you didn’t go anywhere without your chair.”

  “Normally I don’t. But I’ve decided I need to practice. Lately, I’ve had to get where I wanted to go on my own.”

  “Speaking of going somewhere, I called you this morning to see if you wanted to have breakfast with me. Where were you?”

  “I … I must have been in the shower,” Sterling said, uncomfortable at breaking her vow of honesty to Jessie. But there were times when a little white lie was necessary.

  Jessie glared at her doubtfully. “Uh-huh. Well, are you ready to go?”

  “Sure. I’m starving.”

  Jessie held the chair while Sterling sat down, then flipped the footrests down.

  “By the way, Jess, I’m curious. I thought I locked the door you just came in.”

  “You did, but if you know the code, you can override the computer. Don’t tell Dad, okay?”

  Sterling had the feeling that she hadn’t fooled Jessie at all. Maybe her breakfast call had been in person. She’d spent most of her life at Shangri-la. She probably knew more about the computer security program than Mac thought.

  That didn’t make Sterling feel particularly good.

  Neither did Burt’s broad grin when he brought their food. “Sony you missed—breakfast, Sterling. I made you an extra-big salad for lunch. By now … you must really be hungry.”

  “Not more casserole?” she managed to say, more sweetly than he expected.

  “Oh, no. I decided Mac was right. Casserole is off the menu. I’ve switched to seafood salad for you two.”

  “And what are you serving Mac—nails?”

  Burt’s grin widened. “Nah, I figure he needs a big batch of oysters.”

  When Burt left, Jessie picked up her fork, looked at Sterling, and said, “You ought to know that I approve of you and Mac. It will just take a little getting used to.”

  “Jessie, there is no me and Mac.”

  “Oh? Whatever you say. But I think there is. It’ll be so good to have someone here that isn’t old. We can watch movies, swim, do … girl things.”

  Sterling sat back with a sigh. “Jessie, you need someone your own age to do things with, and you need to do those things away from here, out in the real world. If you transferred to your college campus, you’d have so many new and exciting experiences out there.”

  Jessie’s face went stark white. “No! I can’t do that!”

  “Why not? Your life isn’t in danger, and whatever physical problems you had seem to have been solved. Trust me, Jessie, isolating yourself is wrong.”

  “I thought you understood. I never leave the mountain.” She stood. “It isn’t that I don’t want to. I can’t!” With that, Jessie ran out of the room.

  Sterling sat, staring down at her salad in dismay.

  “Don’t feel bad, Sterling.” Burt interrupted. He had obviously been listening around the corner. “That’s what she does when someone tries to get her away. The only thing that’s worse is when Mac forces her.”

  “What happens then?”

  “She has extreme anxiety attacks. Can’t breathe, can’t see, and finally she passes out. He’s tried everything. Brought in the best doctors. Nothing works.”

  “But why? Why won’t Jessie leave the mountain?”

  “Because the only time she ever left was the time her mother died. Jessie still holds herself responsible for Alice’s death. She wasn’t responsible; the woman killed herself and she almost killed Jessie. Alice was so messed up by then that she thought it was the only way to save herself. Jessie was too young to understand her mother’s problems, and how selfishly her mother acted.”

  “How awful. What about Mac? Is that why he rarely leaves?”

  “Mac? No, Mac is doing penance. He was gone at the time of the accident. Alice begged him to stay, told him that she’d kill herself if he left. She’d threatened this so many times before that he didn’t believe her.”

  “But this time she was serious.”

  “She was and it’s hard to tell whether Mac or Jessie carries around the most guilt.”

  Sterling finished her lunch in silence, picking out the shrimp and leaving the rest untouched. What a group of wounded people they were. Mac and Jessie were prisoners of their past pain, hiding away in a mountain. She’d also hidden herself away in a prison. Now she was going to disappear, become another person in a new life where she’d be just as much a prisoner as she was before.

  Back in her quarters, Sterling picked up the gift she discovered outside Mac’s door, still wrapped in shiny paper and Christmas ribbons. More secrets, she thought as she ripped the foil away revealing a small box. Inside the box was a handmade, roughly crafted bell. A slip of paper enclosed explained that the bell was a replica of the one in the chapel by the lake at the foot of the mountain.

  The legend of the bell explained that early Spanish travelers retreated to the mountain in time of trouble to ask for help. The people in the valley below knew when they heard the bells ring that their prayers had been answered.

  An artist, recovering at Shangri-la from drug addiction, had sculpted the bell, ringing it triumphantly when he left. Mac had the piece reproduced and given to all who came to the mountain searching for refuge.

  Sterling cradled the small rough piece of art in her hand. Would it ring for her?

  Vincent Dawson sat at the bar and cradled his drink with one hand. He was waiting, waiting for the man who would erase all his problems. Downtown Washington in December was a lonely place. Congress had been adjourned. Most of the senators and representatives had taken their families home. But he’d come back alone. That move was rare, for he usually stayed at his boss’s side. In order to make his return to the capital believable, he hinted that he had a new lady friend who lived there.

  Much of the work he did for the senator had never
been revealed. March was weak and easily led, but now and then a stubborn streak of decency, a result of his wife’s rapidly eroding influence, asserted itself. He was confused and scared by the airport incident. Vincent explained that the search of the airport was brought on by a bomb scare, but that it had been nothing to worry about.

  Having sat at the bar for over an hour, Vince decided that Jonah apparently wasn’t coming.

  He drained his glass, stood, and buttoned his overcoat before exiting into the wind and cold. As he walked toward his car a figure joined him.

  “About time,” the man said.

  “Who are you?” Vincent asked, glancing around at the deserted street. He could be mugged or killed and nobody would know.

  “Who’d you send for?”

  “Jonah?”

  “Let’s not use names. Get in your car and tell me what you need.”

  That wasn’t what Vincent had in mind. Talking in a bar was one thing. Driving off with a hit man was not the kind of risk he was prepared to take.

  “Make up your mind. Either we go together, or I’m out of here.”

  Vince unlocked the car doors and crawled behind the wheel. Jonah waited until the lights in the car went off, then got inside.

  “Drive.”

  Fourteen blocks later Vincent had explained his situation.

  “Everybody knows about that mountain. It’s a fortress. No one could get inside. Draw the woman out and I’ll take care of her.”

  “How?”

  “That’s up to you. There’s a chapel on the lake at the base of the mountain. Get her there. Once it’s set up, call me at this number. It’ll cost you fifty thousand dollars cash.”

  “Fifty thousand dollars? I don’t have that much.”

  “Then you’d better get it. You’ve got three days.”

  “You’ll be at this number?”

  “No, but my answering machine will. Just say ‘Rendezvous at midnight’ and I’ll know.”

  ELEVEN