No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7

by Barton, Sara M.

  “We were hoping Mr. Robacher could tell us what they wanted from Vanguard Advanced,” Mr. Donovan sighed. “It has to be a whole lot more than just the medical simulation.”

  Once it was obvious that the Robachers would not be rescued, the federal joint task force moved in to apprehend the bad guys. Mac, as an Interpol officer, sat it out in the federal building with me, giving me a blow-by-blow explanation of what was happening. Three agents were wounded in the shootout, one of them seriously. Of the six members of the criminal gang, four survived and were taken into custody. They turned out to be Balkans and Serbs hired for the job by the phony Tom. None of them were talking.

  That night, Mac and I got adjoining rooms at the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu, a well-known resort up in Etherton ski country. The task force wanted to keep an eye on the Jenkins Beach house for a few more days, just in case their unknown boss sent out another team of thugs. The federal agents were waiting for that bank account to be accessed by the leader of the gang and Mac was involved in obtaining the necessary warrants for the Swiss account.

  By the fourth day, they knew that they were dealing with a professional. An elderly man with impeccable credentials presented himself at the bank in Geneva to collect the money in the account. He claimed that he needed to have it or his wife would be killed. When her body was tossed out of a dark, nondescript van three hours later, it was clear she had been strangled as soon as her husband was dropped off in front of the bank. The murders were about intimidation and terror. Mac said it was clear there was a leak somewhere, that the old man was a decoy, to expose the international effort to apprehend the boss of the criminal gang. Somehow the man in charge had figured out Interpol was on to him.

  “Best guess? It’s a spy thing. This guy is good, Kim. Scary, too. He has no problem killing people, not only to make sure there are no witnesses, but because he enjoys terrifying people. He knows we’re looking for him and he’s playing a head game. He wants us to know just how powerful he is.”

  Mac worked from his hotel room, occasionally traveling into the city to catch up with colleagues on the joint task force. I spent my time in the kitchen of the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu, observing the master chef, Pierre Boulon, and the pastry wizard, Arlette Mathieu, at work. They were kind enough to share some of their culinary techniques and secrets with me on a rainy Monday. That gave me an idea for my fourth prospective cookbook volume I tentatively called, “The Penny Pinching Gourmet Goes Parisian”. I thought it would be fun to show their food creations in that wonderful setting. My humble, homemade versions of the same dishes, with calories and pennies cut, would be displayed on a simple red-and-white checkered tablecloth, using bistro dinnerware and shortcuts.

  Two weeks after the criminal gang was rounded up, the federal task force wound down its intense effort to capture the leader, citing no new leads to follow. The Balkans and the Serbs were still being held without bail, due to the nature of the brutal killings of the Robachers and the phony Tom. Mac was due to head off to Bahrain, but first he had to close out this case. Mae had remained with her sister as long as Mac and I stayed at the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu.

  “We’re checking out tomorrow, Kimmy,” Mac told me over dinner Tuesday night at the hotel’s casual cafe. “There’s been no return activity at the house, so we think it’s okay to go back there now. There’s nothing the leader of the gang would want there.”

  “That’s great news,” I said, watching him across the table. It was hard for me to imagine not seeing him every day. With the passing weeks, I had grown fond of MacDonald Tweedie in a new way, and the thought of surrendering him to another woman was hard. But I knew that there was no point in coming between Mac and his future plans. After all, love couldn’t be forced.

  Mac ordered an apple galette and two forks, along with a couple of cups of coffee from the waitress. We shared it in companionable silence, lingering over every bite.

  “You seem glum, chum” Mac smiled at me as he paid the bill.

  “I’m going to miss you,” I admitted. “It’s been nice, despite all the terrible, and I do mean terrible, things that have happened.”

  “Not to worry, Kimmy. You’ll be with Mae. That’s a guarantee you’ll hear from me.” He reached over and patted my hand confidently. “After all, I consider you family.”

  I did my best to return his smile, but all I could think of was how much more I wanted to be than just a sister figure to him. Some things are meant to be. Apparently, this was not one of them.

  “Before I forget, I have something for you.” Mac pulled out a long, thin jeweler’s box. “You know that we have to keep that charm bracelet, along with the other items, as evidence for the trial. I picked this up as a “thank you” gift, to tide you over until you can have your things again. Here.”

  I watched his strong, masculine fingers slide the box across the glass top of the cafe table. He tapped the top of the blue case twice for emphasis. As I hesitated, Mac laughed.

  “It won’t bite you,” he assured me. The truth was I didn’t want more evidence of our platonic relationship. I didn’t want another reminder that he considered himself to be the brother I never had. With a reluctant sigh, I picked up the box and lifted the hinged lid.

  “Oh, Mac,” I cried. “It’s charming!”

  “Hence the name ‘charm bracelet’,” he grinned. I examined each little figure with a growing excitement. There was a little chef hat, a flower blossom, and a cupcake. Mac knew me well. But it was the silver heart with its tiny gold key that gave me hope.

  “What’s that for?” I asked, feeling brave.

  “So you know you’re really safe and secure, Kim. We’ve got you locked up tight. People are looking out for you. I don’t want you to stop chasing your dreams.”

  “Oh.” Part of me appreciated the thoughtful gesture, but another part of me was overly aware of the dull ache of unrequited love. My fingers continued to fondle the charms, seeing them shine in the glow of the small lamp on the cafe table.

  “The emerald bead is for your birthday. The cup and saucer are for the coffees we’ve shared. The little car is to remind you of our late-night road trip.” Mac gave me a mischievous grin. “The silver boy and girl are because we’ve been friends forever. That’s a bond that can’t be broken, Kimmy.”

  “I’ll treasure this,” I said sincerely. “It’s so sweet of you.

  When we went back to our rooms on the fifth floor, Mac came in to do a sweep of my room. He checked all the nooks and crannies, to make sure there were no hidden dangers awaiting me.

  “Sleep tight,” he said, hand on the door handle.

  “Mac?” I suddenly didn’t want to feel so alone. It wasn’t that I was apprehensive as much as it was that I didn’t want our time together to end.

  “Yes, Kimmy?” He paused at the doorway.

  “Could we leave the doors open for just one more night?” I asked. Mac’s face softened. He came back into my room and swept me up in his strong arms. I felt his lips on my forehead, kissing me gently.

  “Poor Kimmy. You’ve had such a horrible time of it the last few months,” he said softly. “Of course I’ll leave the door open. You call me if you need anything. I’ll be here in a flash.”

  He gave me another squeeze before he turned and walked back to his room. I felt the wind go out of me as he disappeared from sight.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was ready for bed. I piled up the pillows and gave them a good slap, hoping to get rid of my frustration. It didn’t work. I was still too aware of Mac in the next room and the ache inside me. Why did life have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t I be that woman he wanted to marry?

  The next morning, we checked out of the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu at nine and hit the road in the Jeep Cherokee. We took our time, traveling down the back roads. Our first stop was the Northford house, to check on what was left. Mac had convinced me to hold on to Adelaide’s furniture. We would get it reupholstered down the road. He needed to furnish the small suite he w
as building above the boathouse and thought my mother’s furniture would work. His crew had moved the pieces earlier in the week. Walking into the empty living room, I no longer felt a connection to the house. Adelaide was no longer here. We tidied up the debris, packed up the few remaining items left in cupboards and cabinets, and gathered my clothes. Mac and I loaded everything into the back of the SUV. From there, we headed to Jenkins Beach.

  “Why don’t I take you to the house and help you get settled. Rogan and his guys moved all the furniture to the third floor the other day, so you’ll find you just have to unpack the cartons. You can give me a shopping list and I’ll go to the grocery store.”

  The minute we pulled into the driveway of Bonnie Oaks, I felt the tension leaving me. I looked at the charming cottage. A whisper seemed to roll in on the gentle bay breeze, telling me that this was the beginning of a new year for me, filled with opportunity and happiness. All I had to do was embrace it. I just wished I had the courage to tell Mac how I really felt about him.

  We worked through the afternoon. I unpacked the cartons up in my third-floor sanctuary. Mac carried in all the items from the SUV and removed the trash I piled up by the door. By three, he was ready for a trip to the market. I joined him in the kitchen for an inventory of the pantry and refrigerator. Together, we made a list of needed groceries.

  “How about a nice, juicy steak on the grill tonight,” he offered, “with a nice bottle of cabernet sauvignon?”

  “Lovely,” I agreed.

  “I shouldn’t be too long,” he promised as he headed out the back door. I watched him walk to the Jeep Cherokee. Shaking myself back to reality, I got busy familiarizing myself with the kitchen. I checked out the pots and pans that were available in Mac’s kitchen and headed upstairs, to bring down some of my personal favorites. When I was up there, I grabbed a couple of my favorite utensils, three pans, a couple of baking dishes, and my favorite paring knife in its sheath. With arms full, I used the elevator and made my way back down to the kitchen.

  I set the pans and dishes on the long expanse of quartz counter, trying to keep the utensils from scattering. The paring knife fell to the floor, and as I bent over to retrieve it, I heard a familiar voice call to me.

  “Kim, where are you?” It was Tom — the fake Tom, the man who supposedly died at the hands of the head of the criminal gang. I ducked behind the kitchen island, hoping to hide. With my fingers curled around the sheath of the paring knife, I held it tightly, thinking I might be able to use it to defend myself. “Come out, come out wherever you are! We have some unfinished business, Kim.”

  Tom came around the corner, handgun gripped in his right hand. He smiled a mirthless smile when he saw me cowering there.

  “Perfect. Here we are, all alone. Your boyfriend won’t be back in time to save you.”

  “What do you want?” I managed to stutter.

  “You were a very naughty girl,” he announced. “You lied to me. You had that spice box the whole time.”

  I didn’t like the tone of his voice. The hair on the back of my head was standing on end as I crouched, and I knew he meant to harm me. The thought of meeting the same fate as the Robacher family chilled me to the bone.

  “Get up,” he commanded. When I hesitated, he tsk-tsked me. “The more trouble you cause me, the worse things are going to go for your boyfriend.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I insisted. As he talked, I slipped the paring knife into my pocket, grateful that I had the good sense to keep the sheath for it.

  “Oh, please! You think I didn’t watch you two playing footsie at the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu?” Tom’s eyes glinted as his silken voice let the words hang in the air.

  “Why?” I didn’t expect him to answer the question, but I needed to ask it anyway. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Don’t play innocent with me, Kim! You forget I know you!”

  “What are you talking about?” I was truly baffled. He took a couple steps closer to me and snatched my wrist tightly with fingers that closed on it like a vice.

  “You ruined everything! It’s your fault!”

  “What are you talking about?” I recoiled, terrified by the intensity of his anger. “What did I ever do to you?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, clearly disgusted with me. His mouth was grim as he spit out his words.

  “Thanks to you, I lost five million dollars!”

  Chapter Eleven —

  “I don’t understand!” I cried, feeling frantic as he twisted my arm higher and higher, until it felt like it would pop out of its socket.

  “I was going to sell that damn technology to al Qaeda and you ruined it!” He shoved me across the room, sending me into the wall. “All Robacher had to do was give me the damn program!”

  “What program?” I couldn’t help myself, even though I knew it would only make him angrier. “What are you talking about?”

  “Vanguard Advanced developed a classified program to help doctors and bomb technicians defuse human bombs! Al Qaeda was planning a terror campaign and I was the man who was going to help them succeed, and you ruined it! You had to drag your boyfriend in. You had to get him involved!” Clearly Tom was irrational. This was crazy talk. “Now everything is ruined!”

  I struggled to break free of Tom’s hold and that’s when he struck me across the face. As I fell backwards, I struggled to stay on my feet. That’s when Tom grabbed my left wrist.

  “What’s this,” he demanded, “a gift from your new lover?”

  I saw his eyes on the charm bracelet Mac had given me and that’s when I realized he had gone over the edge. The rage in his eyes blazed hard and I knew he would stop at nothing to punish Mac for winning my heart. It mattered not that Mac was in love with someone else. Tom was bent on revenge. Any moment now, Mac would return. And when he did, he would be walking into an ambush. I couldn’t let that happen. The imposter gave me another hard shove, this time into the refrigerator. I felt the impact of my bones against the cold, hard stainless steel before I crumpled to the floor.

  “I’m going to enjoy killing the bastard!” Tom sneered. “I’m going to make you watch!”

  With a sudden burst of pure fury and desire to protect the man I love, I rose to my full height of five and a half feet, paring knife unsheathed. I lunged at Tom’s right hand with the blade, catching his wrist with a downward slicing motion. The handgun clattered against the limestone floor tiles. I slashed at him again and again as he tried to fight me off, and when I saw him tuck himself to avoid my knife, it was time to get out of there. That’s when I took off running, desperate to get away from the furious assassin.

  “You bitch!” he screamed at me. “I’ll kill you!”

  I headed to the front of the house. I turned the lock and threw open the front door, scurrying down the six steps and racing to the street. Tom was close on my heels when the Jeep pulled into the driveway. Mac threw the SUV into park just as I stumbled and fell. Even as I hit the ground, I heard three shots rang out in succession and then there was silence. As I lay face down on the ground, hot, burning tears filling my eyes, I gave myself up to my fate. With Mac dead, I didn’t care if I lived or died. Feet crunched across the shell driveway. I steeled myself for Tom’s vindictive blows.

  “Kimmy!” It was Mac. He was alive. “Thank God!”

  Strong arms swept me up off the ground and enfolded me in a tender, but firm bear hug. As our eyes met, I saw the unspoken words in Mac’s eyes, and I suddenly knew the spark between us was real. For a fleeting moment, I could imagine Mac’s lips hard on mine, filled with desire and desperate longing. But then the dream passed and we

  “Oh, dear, sweet Kimmy! What did that monster do to you? I’m so sorry! I should have never left you here alone!”

  “How could you know?” I wondered. “How could any of us know what a monster like that was capable of doing?”

  Twenty minutes later, the phony Tom’s body was covered with a sheet as we waited for the
responders to finish taking their measurements and to secure the evidence. I waited in the living room, kept company once again by Julie Amano. She was kind to me, offering to make me a cup of tea. I wasn’t thirsty or hungry, so she sat with me.

  “I’d tell you I know how you feel,” she told me, “but I’ve never seen anything like this in the six years I’ve been a government agent. It borders on the bizarre.”

  “Thanks for being honest,” I replied. “I was starting to think this kind of thing was normal for you people.”

  “Honey, there was nothing normal about this case!” she grimaced.

  I thought about what she said as I sat in a chair, staring out the window. It was true. What made Tom so angry? Mac came back into my life. Mac got the investigation rolling, asking questions and reaching out to his friend. Somehow Tom had gotten wind of it.

  Why did the phony Tom fake his own death? Why was it so important for him to disappear? All his talk about the real Tom Robacher and the battlefield simulation training made no sense to me. What did Tom mean when he said al Qaeda would launch human bombs, and what was the Vanguard Advanced program to defuse these?

  It sounded like crazy talk until Mac explained the finer points to me. We were sitting in the living room after everyone had packed up and left.

  “Al Qaeda is always looking for new ways to deliver suicide bombs. Vanguard Advanced was developing strategies to counteract these efforts, looking at potential uses of products and technologies that might be deployed in a suicide bomb attack, in order to figure out ways to neutralize them.

  “That all sounds so very James Bond to me,” I confessed. “Absurd and unreal.

  “Let’s say that a suicide bomber is given an explosive fuel in a container that can be swallowed. If the container can be dissolved or they use something like a wax plug, do they have the means to take two volatile substances and put them together inside the human body? It might mean people can board aircraft or enter public buildings without detection and blow themselves up. Kimmy, consider the types of food containers currently being made out of sugar cane. They break down the same way garden waste does. Can the process be speeded up? Look at how you clean your dishwasher. The cleaning liquid goes through your dishwasher with a wax plug. When the hot water hits it, the dishwasher gets clean. Are terrorists trying to use this information to create a ‘smart bomb’ inside a human being? As long as terror groups like al Qaeda are developing new ways to arm suicide bombers, we have to consider the ways to prevent them from being successful.”