Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Veronica Forand

  Alex walked around the shop trying to devise a method for contacting her family. Cardboard Easter bunnies and eggs decorated the walls and the windows. The family always spent Easter weekend at their cottage in Martha’s Vineyard. She recalled those periods as nirvana, marked by cool weather, deserted beaches, and time alone with her sisters, her mother, and occasionally, her father. Everyone should be there now. She dialed the cottage number. Disconnected.

  Keeping a cheery disposition and trying to avoid plunging into a fit of despair, she acknowledged the store clerk with a wink and perky scrunch of her nose. She had one more chance at warning them: her sister Anna’s cell phone. Anna often refused to follow the security demands made by their father. She’d jumped off the career path and out of the media’s glare to raise two children with her loser husband, Jason; at least that was the intel from Julia when they’d last spoken.

  A little girl answered. “Hi. You’ve reached Anna Northrop Dillard’s phone. Please leave a message.” What could Alex say? That she was being chased by a murderer and was warning the family before they became Luc’s next victims? Yep. That’s exactly what she needed to say.

  “Anna, it’s Alex. We may be in Code Delta. I’m on the way to the cottage.” Her heart raced with the realization that she’d just warned her family of a death threat. If they received the message, security would be increased for all family members. She hated frightening them, but the warning was necessary.

  She erased her call history, returned to the counter, and then handed the kid back his phone. “Thank you.”

  She reached for his phone number, folded it, and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  “So I’ll wait for your call.” He leaned against the counter like the stud he’d be in a few years. Perhaps he’d find a local beauty and have two point five kids. If she had options, she’d choose that life with Henry.

  “Sounds great.” A quick wave and she was out the door.

  She drove a half mile away to a hidden pull-off on the side of a soybean field in order to plan her next move. Several hours later, her neck ached as though someone had twisted it, a pasty film coated her mouth, and the moon had disappeared. So much for a quick escape. She had to find a more efficient means to travel to Massachusetts than driving a stolen car or boarding a plane with a stolen passport. She would use her real passport, but it had expired several years before. She’d only held on to it in case she ever required assistance from the US embassy. Using it on a plane now, she’d be pulled into security and never get home.

  The drive to Charlotte, North Carolina, took four hours. Her driving skills were rusty, and the buffeting from the massive tandem trailers and big rigs screaming by her kept her wide awake for the entire journey. The adrenaline charging her system while running from the hotel decreased to a simmer. Except for a knot in her stomach, a rock in her throat, and a dagger in her heart, she felt fine.

  She arrived in the parking lot of an all-night Walmart in a cookie-cutter suburb by 6:00 a.m. She fluffed her hair, put on Henry’s jacket, and cruised into the store as though she was picking up a gallon of milk after a long night at work.

  She found a sports duffel bag to carry her limited worldly possessions. She then made her way over to the electronics department searching for the right television, the right person. Her target wore a University of North Carolina sweatshirt. A twentysomething with a yearning for a huge plasma television set. After leering at it for several minutes, he shrugged and moved on to a smaller version. Bingo.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  He glanced at her outfit and grinned, apparently thinking she was worth speaking with for at least a few minutes. “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor? I have to access some cash for a plane ride back to Tampa, but my boyfriend seems to have emptied my bank account.”

  Doubt and suspicion clouded his face and lowered his eyebrows. “So you want my money? Sorry, babe, but…”

  “I don’t want your money. I want to use my credit card to buy that television for you.” She pointed at the flat screen of his dreams. “For six hundred dollars, cash. It’s a savings of over a thousand dollars, but no returns, for obvious reasons.”

  He stared back at the TV with a lust he’d probably never harbored for a woman. “Six hundred?”

  “Cash.”

  “I’ll need to run to the ATM.”

  “I can wait.” She wandered around the store while she waited as though she made transactions like this all the time. The hunting department contained a few side display cases with a selection of bowie knives. She picked out one with an ivory handle and a leather case, although in reality, the ivory was a cheap laminated knockoff. It seemed shorter than the others, about a six-inch blade instead of the usual nine- or twelve-inch blade. At least it was 1095 carbon steel. Strong enough to pierce Luc’s malevolent heart.

  Ten minutes later, her mark arrived with a tall, muscular friend dressed for a day on a construction site in worn jeans, a faded blue T-shirt, and work boots. From the grins on their faces, they obviously thought she was desperate. She was, but she wouldn’t be held hostage. She still had the car, a half tank of gas, and eighty-eight dollars and thirty-two cents.

  “Jesse was waiting for me in the truck. He can help carry it,” her target said in response to her lifted eyebrows.

  She assisted them in moving the massive box to the checkout counter, along with help from the store stock crew. The cashier also rang through the duffel bag, the knife, a bottle of water, and a bag of Doritos. She hadn’t enjoyed those since she’d left for Europe. Pulling out the credit card she found in Simon’s closet, she held her breath, hoping the transaction went through. It did.

  In the parking lot, a thick wad of twenty-dollar bills filled her pockets, providing her with her first reason to smile since seeing Luc. The two men walked away with their dream television. All in all, a good deal for everyone, except Simon.

  Next item of business, she had to ditch the car. Too bad, because it was a sweet ride, but she’d never make it up the East Coast alone in a shiny red convertible with a LoJack beaming her GPS coordinates. She abandoned it in a garage a few blocks from the train station in Charlotte.

  The next train departed toward Providence, Rhode Island, via Washington, DC, at 7:00 a.m. Alex purchased a coach seat and hopped aboard. Ten minutes later, the first train of her journey left the station.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Simon hung up his phone and cursed. The conniving wood nymph had stolen his credit card and was out shopping for a television set. What the hell was she going to do with it? Sell it?

  He punched the bed in his third-rate Parisian hotel room hard. Yes. She’d sell it for a fraction of the cost and walk away with the cash. Damn it to hell. He’d misjudged her over and over again, from letting her gain access to Henry’s house to not searching her before leaving his bedroom, to flying her to the States, her home turf no less, with enough cash to go anywhere and a smitten earl at her beck and call. He’d never botched an assignment more in his life.

  His blond conquest from the night before stirred. “Simon, ça va?” Her bronzed skin looked decadent on top of the bunched-up white sheets. His already-heated blood shifted focus. The temptress stretched her arms above her head, flexing the muscles in her chest and elongating her lean stomach. A perfect respite from the chaos brewing outside. She turned on her side and motioned him over.

  His smile returned. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

  One more journey in this woman’s embrace would go a long way toward keeping his demons at bay. He rested his head on the pillow next to her and began to rub her lower back and the smooth skin of her ass. He’d call Henry after he had his fill of Valerie.

  A knock on the door broke the moment. Simon stilled. If his competitors found him, he’d have more to worry about than a stolen credit card and Henry’s painting.

  The knock continued, more rapidly and aggressively. Simon placed his finger on Valeri
e’s lips to keep her quiet and then pulled out his gun.

  “Who is it?” he called out in English, stepping to the door stark naked and carrying the Beretta in his hand.

  “Open up, lover boy.” Nicola’s voice penetrated the wood and scorched his veins.

  What the hell did she want? He opened the door, knowing she’d never leave until she gained entry. Nicola, wearing black leggings, black knee-high boots, and a long gray transparent shirt, pushed her way past him without so much as a glance at his naked body until she arrived at the foot of the bed. If he had to choose a lover at that moment between Valerie and Nicola, he’d have to flip a coin. They both wore sex like a weapon.

  Not one to be disturbed by his state of undress, Nicola examined him from shoulder to toe, making his manhood retreat at the indignity, and then she turned to Simon’s last bit of sanity, the beautiful woman lying in the bed. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “Not anymore.” He slipped on his jeans and threw Valerie her little black dress.

  Nicola sat in the small, stained chair by a window overlooking the side of a brick wall and watched Simon and Valerie dress.

  Valerie bolted as soon as she pulled her dress down, carrying her shoes out the door. The deadly glare she’d launched toward Nicola was received with a smirk. His partner reveled in screwing with others’ lives.

  “She seemed nice.” Nicola opened the two-thirds-empty bottle of Russian Standard vodka on the table and took a swig.

  “Piss off.”

  She stood and moved to his side. “Feeling frustrated?”

  He wished his father’s beatings had knocked the morals out of him and not into him, because at that moment, he longed to entice Nicola onto the bed and finish what he’d started with Valerie.

  “What the hell do you want? Shouldn’t you be at Luc’s house?”

  She caressed his arm and smiled as he took a step back. “I needed an update and thought I’d get it firsthand.”

  “Your only job at present is to monitor Luc and find his contact in Kabul. Figure it out and then get the hell out of there.”

  “It’s difficult to learn anything from him since he’s still traveling around.”

  “He’s not back?” The news couldn’t have been worse. Was he going after Gabe? He clenched his fists, damning himself for not taking care of everything himself.

  “I anticipate he’ll return today or tomorrow morning.” She shrugged as though this was normal for Luc. She’d only spent the past six days with him, and yet her responses implied more than a week’s worth of intimacy. When she embedded herself, she went all the way. Her eyes locked with his, and her expression transformed from sophisticated girlfriend to experienced operational officer. “You keep me chasing artifacts while you get to negotiate deals of steel. My skills are becoming rusty. Next case, I get the guns, you secure the collateral.”

  “I’ve had my share of shitty assignments, too. Grow some balls and do your job.”

  She stiffened and then glared at him. “When do you meet with Teodor?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Good.” She slouched onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, an awkward place to see her after everything he and Valerie did in the same spot a few hours before. “How’s Henry doing with his quest?”

  “Dismally. He’s too focused on Gabe’s absence.”

  “Didn’t she accompany him to Atlanta?”

  “She disappeared during the auction. Henry let the painting get away in order to chase her down.” Simon needed vodka more than Nicola did. He took the bottle Nicola hadn’t bothered to recap and upturned it, letting the liquid burn his throat. After one more swig, he relaxed.

  “Did we lose it?” she asked.

  “I have a call in to Quinn. I want to know where the painting is at all times.” Another sip, another step closer to serenity. “Who knew a piece of art could cause so much trouble?”

  “You offered it. ‘No bother,’ you said at Secretary Hanlen’s request. ‘My brother will never miss it, he rarely steps foot in his gallery.’” Her snicker did nothing to diminish his concern for Henry and Gabe. They’d become caught in this web because of him. Hopefully, Henry wouldn’t have his heart broken in addition to losing his heirloom.

  “He’s not too focused on the painting right now. Gabe has some link to Luc. Henry saw Luc’s initials tattooed on her chest.”

  “The missing girlfriend?”

  “Probably. Henry has no idea where to find her, and I haven’t had any new information to offer him. All I know is he saw Luc at the auction in Atlanta. Now both Gabe and Luc are missing.”

  “I’ll try to find out his location.” Nicola stretched out her legs and crossed her arms over her chest. She appeared exhausted. Sleeping with the enemy always frayed nerves and caused insomnia.

  “You look like shit. Why don’t you take a nap here and then go back?”

  As usual, she became an enraged adolescent at his comment about her needing anything to perform her job better. She slid off the bed. “I’m fine. Just wanted to check in.”

  “Consider yourself checked in. Sure you don’t want to stay? My morning somehow freed up during the past twenty minutes.”

  “Quel dommage.” She grabbed her purse and opened the door. “Good luck tomorrow.” She strode away without a backward glance.

  …

  During the long hours of her train ride, Alex slept a little, stared out the window, and nursed a severe case of melancholy. Each mile down the track separated her farther from Henry. Her heart broke in two, severed by distance and unbearable circumstances, but protecting him was paramount.

  Arriving in Washington, DC, Alex had a five-and-a-half-hour wait for the next train to Providence. She wandered into the sunny afternoon, enjoying the freedom of walking around for a few hours without the fear of discovery.

  At the local McDonald’s, she attached the knife case to the inside of her waistband. If she angled the long knife toward her hip and under Henry’s leather jacket, no one would notice it, but she could reach it with ease. It wasn’t a gun, but it should work if Luc came close enough.

  She purchased a bacon cheeseburger and a bottle of water. Nothing tasted quite right. Perhaps her taste buds had soured permanently. Besides eating junk food, Alex had nothing to do but regret her cowardice in running away from Luc. She should have killed him at the gallery with a broken champagne flute, a small marble statue, or a shove through the window. Forty-five stories straight down in a free fall would have killed him, but the moment had passed, and he was alive, and she was running.

  She headed toward the train station, but the allure of the tattoo parlor across the street provided her a perfect time killer for the final half hour before the train left. The careful placement of three small and, hopefully, inexpensive lines would eliminate Luc’s mark forever.

  The train to Providence took six hours. The travel exhausted Alex, but she continued onward. She couldn’t take the chance of someone getting hurt because she’d dallied. The bus out to Woods Hole in southern Cape Cod didn’t cost as much as she’d expected, providing her with a few additional funds after buying a ferry ticket to Martha’s Vineyard.

  When she stepped foot on the ferry, she started to relax. On a clear day, the island could be seen from the mainland. If the boat went down, Alex could swim the final half mile to her parents’ house. Nothing would stop her now.

  Would her family be mad at her?

  And her sisters. God, how she’d missed them. Despite being labeled as the odd sister, she’d always craved their approval, love, and respect. They tried to understand her, but they just didn’t get her method of learning through immersion. Speaking only Spanish to the housekeeper, only French to the au pair, and only Korean to the woman at the library, she became fluent within months of beginning a new language. She only needed to learn a word once, and it would stick in her brain. The way her mind processed and decoded information didn’t interest others; it scared the hell out of them, as though
some demon had possessed her.

  When she realized other people couldn’t learn languages as quickly or distinguish the material composition of things in quite the same way she could, she tried to hide her talents. But it was impossible. She not only saw the world differently, she reacted to it differently. For years, she’d believed she’d been poisoned by a radioactive isotope and had received special powers. The powers, however, had never proven to be of the superhero variety.

  She lost her father’s respect, because, in her father’s words, she didn’t use her God-given talents to make something of herself. If she’d achieved high grades and graduated from college, perhaps he would have loved her more.

  She went to the bathroom to brush her hair, rinse her face, and remove her “Danielle” contacts. Back to brown hair, brown eyes, old jeans, and an old T-shirt. She almost resembled the frightened young woman who had left home eight years ago with a small duffel bag and five thousand dollars cash to book a plane overseas and begin a new life. Alex Northrop, daughter of Peter and Gabrielle, sister of Anna and Julia, had disappeared that day. Today, she was going home.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Simon drove an hour north of Paris to Betz. On the outskirts of the village, he turned onto a long driveway toward a fifteenth-century stone farmhouse surrounded by fields recently prepared for new crops.

  He remained in his rented Mercedes until Teodor arrived in a chestnut Maybach.