Mysterious

by Fayrene Preston

  It had been all he could do not to pull her into his arms and tell her that she wasn’t going anywhere, Jerome thought grimly. But he had resisted. The initial hurt and anger he had experienced when he learned that Jennifer had not told him of her plans hadn’t lasted long.

  Very quickly, deep concern and fear for her had replaced the hurt and anger. He had decided that she must have a very good reason for keeping this meeting to herself, and that it must also be very important to her. That was enough for him. Even though he had no way of knowing whom she had contacted or exactly what her plans were, he at least knew where she was going and what time she would arrive. And he had every intention of being there before her, to protect her with his life if necessary. He disciplined his breathing to a deep and even rhythm and waited.

  A little while later he felt her weight lift from the bed and heard the quiet sounds of her hurried dressing. She stopped only long enough to lay a soft kiss on his cheek and then she was gone.

  Jerome sat up and reached for his clothes.

  #

  The warehouse was dark and cold, a concrete and steel cave that smelled of cardboard and sawdust packing. Jerome eased silently into a space between stacks of crates, deciding he was at best only a few minutes ahead of Jennifer. His eyes probed the shadows intently, wondering if the person she was to meet was already here. Just then, down at the end of the warehouse, he heard a door opening, and stiffened.

  Jennifer peered cautiously around the edge of the door, unconsciously holding her breath. So far so good, she thought, and breathed a brief prayer of thanks. The warehouse appeared empty and the side door had been unlocked, just as the note had said it would be. She slipped inside, then gently pushed the door to.

  Fumbling in her purse, her shaking fingers closed around the shaft of her flashlight. She brought it out and clicked it on. She needed to find a light switch. Meeting Wainright in the dark wasn’t in her plan, she decided as she remembered how fast she had received her response.

  She had been able to call Wainright only this morning after Jerome had gone into his office. She had almost lost her nerve when Wainright had answered in that familiar raspy voice. But she had told him she wanted a face-to-face meeting with him, and he had said he would arrange it and get back in touch with her.

  Just a few hours later the brief note had been slipped under the door. It had said that Wainright would meet her at one o’clock in the morning in a warehouse down by the river. It had given the address, and had also said "Bring the microdot." It had been her confirmation that Jerome’s suspicions were correct. Wainright was the enemy, and Richard had suspected him. That was why Richard had begun to act so strangely.

  Now the narrow beam of the flashlight speared through the darkness, playing along a near wall, seeking and finding a bank of light switches. Praying that the switches would not trigger any fans or other machinery, she experimentally flipped a few on and off until she found one that activated the overhead light directly in the center of the warehouse.

  The edges of the expansive room were left in shadows, but, she thought, they shouldn’t need a lot of light, or, for that matter, time. The tapping of her heels on the concrete floor seemed unnaturally loud as she hurried toward the cone of light and its illusionary safety.

  The stealthy gray-haired woman slipped behind the shelter of a hulking forklift. She had taken the precaution of removing her shoes to avoid making any noise, and the cold of the concrete floor seeped up into her stockinged feet. She ignored it.

  Her eyes scanned the warehouse, briefly pausing on Jennifer Prescott. Jennifer wasn’t the reason she was here tonight, though, so her gaze resumed its search. She took a moment to wonder where Phil had taken up position. He had insisted that if she was going to come, he would be here to back her up. She knew she could depend on him. But locating Phil wasn’t her primary interest either.

  Suddenly her eyes narrowed. There he was – a shadow within a shadow. Leo allowed herself a brief sigh of relief. She had found him, the man who was her main concern. Behind the crates, not fifteen feet away from her, crouched her son—Jerome.

  Jennifer clasped her hands together, attempting to still their tremors. How swiftly and drastically circumstances changed, she thought. Just a short time before, she had left Jerome sleeping peacefully. She still didn’t know where she had gotten the strength to get out of that bed and leave him. She supposed it had come from her love of him and her desire to make things right for the two of them.

  She knew she was taking an awful chance in coming here to try to bargain with Wainright, but it was something she felt she had to do. If all went as she hoped, in a couple of hours she would be able to crawl back in beside him, knowing that this nightmare was finally over. Then maybe they could begin again, just two people in love, without the baggage of her past weighing them down. That was what she wanted more than anything else in the world.

  A sixth sense warned her, and she whirled. A man stood before her. He was tall, perhaps forty, and dressed in a beautifully tailored three-piece suit. His elegance, though, was spoiled by a certain sinister edge to the smile curving his mouth. He could be only Wainright.

  Jennifer mentally chastised herself. If she were to come out of this encounter the victor, she was going to have to stay more alert. She had been so deep in her wishes and hopes for the future, she hadn’t even heard his approach.

  "Jennifer." He gave a slight nod, and his all-too-familiar raspy voice sent cold, hard fear coursing down her spine.

  "Mr. Wainright," she returned with more firmness than she felt. Looking behind him, she saw that two other men had materialized from out of the shadows to flank him, their emotionless faces staring at her from beneath the brims of their hats. She recognized them, and her blood froze.

  "You told me to come alone." Fear made her throat constrict, and the words did not seem to carry as much firmness as she wished. She tried again and this time was successful. "I assumed you would return the favor."

  "Ignore them," he advised almost pleasantly. "They’re merely here to keep me company." He flashed her a smile that in reality only emphasized his malevolent countenance. "I’m afraid of the dark."

  She looked again at the two men. They were the same two men who had pursued her so relentlessly before she had met Jerome. "I presume one of these men is the ubiquitous Gardner Benjamin."

  Wainrlght dismissed the man in question with a chillingly nonchalant shrug. "Mr. Benjamin was just a liaison between Richard and myself. He’s no longer with us. His contract. . . expired."

  And more than likely so has Brewster, Jennifer thought bitterly. Keep your cool, she advised herself, or you’re not going to have a chance. She drew in a calming breath and tried another tack. "And what about Brewster?"

  A frown temporarily creased Wainright’s brow. "Brewster? I don’t know who you’re talking about. And we’re wasting time. Do you have the microdot or don’t you? My men searched your boyfriend’s apartment and couldn’t find it."

  "Destroyed it, you mean."

  "The microdot is important, Jennifer, and I mean to have it, one way or another."

  Nervously she licked her lips. She was about to take a wild shot in the dark. "Before we discuss the microdot, I have something I have to ask you."

  A look of impatience crossed Wainright’s face. "What’s that?"

  "I want to know what happened to Richard. Is he still alive?"

  Something like a start of surprise went through Wainright’s body, then vanished. Seeming to choose his words carefully, he said, "Richard’s alive, but you’ll never see him again unless you turn over the microdot."

  Jennifer had seen his surprise at her question, and while not immediately able to decide exactly what it meant, she knew she couldn’t trust him. "What proof can you give me that he’s alive?"

  "As soon as you turn over the microdot, I’ll have my men take you to him."

  "Come now, Mr. Wainright. Do you really believe that I would agree to something like that
?"

  He favored her with another of his deadly smiles. "Forgive me, Jennifer. One should never underestimate an adversary. You’ve been a most worthy opponent. You’ve handled yourself admirably throughout this entire ordeal. But it has been an ordeal, hasn’t it? So if you’ll just give me what I want, you’ll be reunited with Richard, and be able to go back to a normal life." His face hardened cruelly. "You have no choice. We will not discuss Richard until I have the microdot."

  Jennifer’s mind raced. It seemed as if they had reached an impasse. She could bluff, but she wasn’t certain she would be able to carry it off. As she was deliberating what she should do next, there came a scraping sound from the shadows.

  Wainright reacted instantly. Grabbing Jennifer, he pulled her back against him and his heavily muscled arm whipped around her neck as he jammed the barrel of a pistol against her temple.

  His two hired gunmen reacted just as swiftly. Guns appearing in their hands as if by magic, they fanned out into the darkness, each going a different way.

  "It seems you didn’t come alone after all," he rasped into her ear. ’That could prove to be a fatal mistake."

  Desperation for Jerome’s safety was upper most in her mind. "I tell you, I did. It’s probably just some rats."

  Jerome didn’t know who or what had made the sound, but he knew he hadn’t moved a muscle since Jennifer had entered the warehouse. It really didn’t matter one way or another though. The second the steel-blue barrel of the gun had jammed Jennifer’s head, a cold sweat had broken out over him. He drew his own gun.

  As one of Wainright’s men continued toward him, he tried to think, but the only clear thought that kept coming through was that he refused to let it all end like this. There was something very important he had left undone: He hadn’t told Jennifer he loved her yet. And he had every intention of doing so as soon as possible.

  From behind the forklift Leo tracked the man’s progress. As far as she could see, Jerome didn’t have a chance. She wasn’t sure what she could do, but she knew one thing: She couldn’t let anything happen to him.

  In the center of the warehouse Jennifer struggled vainly against Wainright’s iron grip. It was all happening too fast, and it was out of her control. To her right she caught sight of Jerome. He must have followed her! A feeling of helplessness washed over her. If anything happened to him, it would be her fault entirely. She wanted to call out to him, but she knew better than to bring Wainright’s attention to him.

  Then to her left and directly across the warehouse from Jerome’s position, she heard a fight break out. Barely able to turn her head, she looked to the side to see Phil, the cabdriver who had picked her up. She had no idea what he was doing here, but he had evidently jumped the second of Wainright’s men.

  Jerome, too, was observing the fight, but there was nothing he could do about it, because the man who had been quietly stalking him was closing in, the pistol in his hand shifting to cover suspected hiding places as he came ever closer. He would have to be careful, Jerome cautioned himself. Using his gun would be a last resort. He needed to disarm this man as quickly and as quietly as possible.

  Jerome held his breath, every muscle in his body coiled, ready to spring. The man was almost upon him. And then suddenly there he was, at the corner of the nearest crate. Jerome hurled himself from his hiding place.

  As he slammed his shoulder into the man’s side, the collision forced grunts of pain from both of them. They crashed into another stack of crates, and Jerome’s gun was knocked out of his hand. He straightened and felt the crown of his head connect with the man’s chin. The blow staggered them both, and Jerome fell to his knees, waves of dizziness swirling over him while he clutched urgently at the man’s right arm, clawing for the man’s gun.

  But before he could get hold of it, a heavy fist clubbed the back of Jerome’s neck, followed by a knee that slammed into his forehead. His head whipped back and the knee came again, this time smashing into his chest. Jerome lost his grip and fell backward onto the floor. For a split-second he allowed himself the luxury of lying still, then the thought of Jennifer in the grasp of Wainright had him struggling to his knees. He looked up just as the man he had been fighting raised the pistol until it was pointed directly at his head.

  "No!"

  Jerome heard the screams of protest in that fraction of a second before it seemed death would come to him. He recognized Jennifer’s voice, but there was also another that came from behind him. The man standing in front of him heard it also, and his finger squeezed the trigger.

  There were two shots so close together that they could have been mistaken for one. Jerome saw a stunned look cross the man’s face, then a bright red stain leaked out across the man’s chest and he crumpled to the floor.

  Wainright heard both shots as well, and in his surprise he allowed his attention to stray. Jennifer’s terror for Jerome gave her strength. Frantically she brought her elbow up against Wainright’s right arm, the one that held the gun, and simultaneously dug the heel of her high-heeled shoe into his instep. Wainright let out a yell and she wrested free. Immediately her eyes searched for and found Jerome. He was getting to his feet. She let out a sigh of relief. Obviously he was all right.

  Behind her she heard a noise and spun, ready to fight for her life. She discovered a well-muscled, tough-looking man bending over a semiconscious Wainright. Brewster.

  She gasped in horror. This couldn’t be happening. Brewster was the man who had been ransacking her apartment the day she had discovered Richard lying on the floor, his blood all around him.

  He looked up at her and grinned briefly. "Sorry to have arrived so late, Jennifer, but my men managed to cross some signals." He fastened a pair of handcuffs on Wainright.

  Jennifer took a step backward. "You!" Her throat clamped around the word, and she found her next words were barely audible. "You’re the one I saw at our apartment."

  "No, don’t be frightened." He stood up and held out his hand to her, but she began backing away, her eyes clearly expressing her fright. He followed slowly, talking to her carefully, making every effort not to frighten her any more than he already had. "It wasn’t what you thought. I didn’t kill Richard. Please believe me. I work for the National Defense Organization," he explained. "And Jennifer"—his voice was gentle—"Richard’s alive."

  All at once Jennifer swayed, weak with a great swelling of relief. Brewster gripped her arm, steadying her. "I don’t understand," she murmured.

  "When you walked into the apartment, I had already called for help. Richard wasn’t dead. But he had been knocked out and was suffering a severe head wound, which explained all the blood. You see, Richard came to us when he began to suspect Wainright, and your brother and I have been working together ever since. But Richard, feeling the second microdot was his insurance, hadn’t told me where it was. You may have heard our argument over that very fact."

  "There’s a second microdot?" Jennifer whispered, stunned.

  "At any rate, I knew Richard would survive, but I also knew he’d be out of the action for a while, so I was searching your apartment, trying to find the microdot before Wainright did. I had no idea you had walked in and seen me until I found the packages you had dropped. And one other thing, being a lieutenant with the St. Paul police was my cover here." Suddenly his attention was caught by something behind her. "Oh, God, no! Bob," he barked to someone unseen, "call for an ambulance."

  Jennifer turned and let out a gasp. Jerome knelt, cradling Leo against him. He had undone her coat and blood was seeping from a wound in the left side of her chest.

  He pressed a handkerchief to the ugly hole. "Leo, you’re going to be all right, do you hear me?"

  Her faded blue eyes opened and seemed to focus on him for a moment. "Jerome ..."

  "Don’t try to talk," he murmured, smoothing away strands of gray hair from her colorless face.

  "Jerome." Leo whispered weakly. "I—I’m sorry." Then she lost consciousness.

  "Somebody get
an ambulance here fast!" he yelled frantically, unable to comprehend why Leo was even here, or why her last words to him before she lost consciousness were "I’m sorry." His head was still ringing from the blows he had taken, and he felt dizzy.

  Jennifer dropped down beside Jerome, and her arm went around his shoulders, briefly hugging him as tightly as she could. "The ambulance is on its way," she murmured soothingly, even as sirens began sounding in the distance.

  Holding Leo to him with one arm, he used the other to reach up to her face. "Thank God you’re okay! What happened?"

  Jennifer tried to smile, but couldn’t seem to manage it. Reaction had set in, and she could feel herself trembling. She glanced a few feet away from them as Brewster knelt beside the man who had been about to shoot Jerome. He was talking quietly to one of his agents, who still held a gun in his hand. She supposed the agent had shot the man before he could get off another round. Across the warehouse an agent was handcuffing the man Phil had fought.

  She looked back. "It’s all over, Jerome. It’s all over." Gingerly she touched the nasty bruise that was beginning to form on his forehead. "Are you in pain?"

  "Just a little. Mainly I’m concerned about Leo. Dammit, she took a bullet for me! Why?"

  White-coated ambulance attendants suddenly swarmed in. "We’ll take over now." Quickly they hooked her up to a cardiac monitor and replaced Jerome’s bloodied handkerchief with a thickly padded gauze bandage. "Who is she?"

  "Her name’s Leo," Jerome snapped, "and be careful!" It seemed to him as if they were being extraordinarily clumsy and rough with her.

  "Leo what?" the attendant asked, who in reality was performing his duties with professional expertise. "She doesn’t seem to have any identification. We need to know if she has any allergies."

  Unnoticed, Phil had approached the group around Leo, and for the first time he spoke. "Her name is Leonora Mailer. And as far as I know, she has no allergies to any medication."