by Lynn Ames
“Yes.”
“If I were Niles, I would’ve taken precautions. I would’ve moved anything valuable someplace it wouldn’t be found. I wouldn’t leave it sitting around in my house on my computer, or anyplace obvious, for that matter.”
Jay sat down on the universal machine’s seat, facing Kate. “You think he hid everything someplace that couldn’t be traced to him?”
“I’m just saying it’s entirely possible that the FBI won’t find anything useful in the material they carted away.”
“Even if that’s true, I bet they won’t stop there. They’ll haul him in and make him tell them what he knows.”
“One step at a time, sweetheart.” Kate stood up. “For right now, this doesn’t have any bearing on what you’re doing.”
“No? What if the search warrant covered his phone records? He and I had that conversation. The Feds are going to see that.”
“He called you, not vice versa. And the conversation lasted less than two minutes.”
“It still happened,” Jay said.
“If they come knocking, you tell them the truth—that Niles called you and asked you for information, and you refused to provide him with anything.”
Jay looked morosely at the cement floor. A stab of fear sent a chill coursing through her bones and she shivered. “What if the FBI comes after the manuscript? What if they compel me to turn it over to them?”
Kate knelt down before Jay and took her hands. “Look at me.”
Jay lifted her eyes to make eye contact.
“Your manuscript is a work of fiction. There is nothing classified in the book. Your fictional characters deal with fictional scenarios in a fictional world. Under what grounds could they seize the manuscript?”
“I have no idea. But you and I both know that if the Feds want something to disappear, it generally does.”
“The Feds are very good at intimidation, as they’ve proven already in this case, but we aren’t easily bullied. We can ask a lawyer, if you want, but if they had the ability to compel you to produce the novel, they would’ve done it. They don’t want a very public fight in the courts.”
Kate stroked the backs of Jay’s hands. “Think about it. If you had to testify in court, you’d have to talk about the ways in which your book differs from the classified truth. They can’t have that.”
“True,” Jay grudgingly agreed. She wasn’t yet ready to let go of her fear. “But they could haul me in for a closed door session.”
Kate rose and pulled Jay up with her. “Sweetheart, I think it far more likely that you’d get the same treatment as Black Quill or Jeremy—the Feds would come and bluster and try to get you to back down. But that’s not today. So how about if we grab a shower and have a nice, quiet dinner instead of worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet?”
Jay glanced at the curl bar. She really should finish her workout. But she wasn’t in the mood anymore, and, as if on cue, her stomach rumbled. “Fair enough.”
“Excellent. What are you making me?”
Jay shook her head. “Are you ever going to learn to cook?”
“Why would I want to do that when I have you to do it for me?”
“Good point.”
Sabastien finished sautéing the veal and removed it from the stove. He turned off the flame and arranged the veal on the plates alongside the rice pilaf and steamed green beans. When he looked up, Vaughn was staring at him. “What?”
“In the middle of a crisis, you’re busy cooking gourmet meals.”
Sabastien shrugged. “I am French. We never miss a good meal. Besides, how do we know when we will get the next one? We do not, so we enjoy now, while we can.” He handed Vaughn her dish, carried his own to the table, and sat down.
“Where did you get the fresh ingredients, again?”
“I told you before, Vaughn Elliott. I had the caretaker go to the market and make these purchases before I arrived. He does not ask questions, nor has he ever seen my face. He does not know my name, and he has been in my employ for more than a dozen years. I pay him well for his discretion, and he has never disappointed me.”
“Yet.”
“Argh. You are such a pessimist. You think we can live on those barbaric rations you had our friend Peter send?”
“They’re called MREs. The initials stand for Meals Ready-to-Eat.” Vaughn pointed her fork at him. “And if they’re good enough for our soldiers, they’re good enough for you.”
“Is this not so much better?” Sabastien closed his eyes and savored the flavors on his tongue.
Vaughn swallowed a bite of veal. “It’s excellent. Enjoy it now, because you’re done contacting that caretaker until all of this is resolved.”
“You are such a kill switch.”
“Kill joy.”
“Quoi?”
“The expression is ‘You’re such a kill joy,’ not a ‘kill switch.’ That’s something else entirely.” Vaughn took a sip of iced tea. “Peter needs the list of companies John Robie hacked. He wants to cross-reference those with known Commission members.”
“I will do that as soon as I am absolutely certain that my e-mail communications are absolutely secure. I do not want to risk the Black Knight learning any more of what I know. And I do not want to expose Peter or you.”
“How long do you think it will be until you can transmit again?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On how successful we are at creating a diversion.”
By the time Jay’s plane landed at LAX, she was three hours late.
Rebecca picked up the phone on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Jay. I’m finally here. I’m so sorry. My flight got diverted because of a nasty thunderstorm in Chicago.”
“Unless you were in the cockpit or have some superpower that allows you to control the weather, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t your fault. Do you have a checked bag?”
“I do. I couldn’t decide on what I was going to need for this trip, so I brought a little bit of everything.”
“Okay. I’ll swing by and pick you up outside of baggage claim in about thirty minutes. Trust me, it will take you that long to get your bag. I’m driving a red Mercedes.”
“See you then.” Jay disconnected the call and speed-dialed Kate. “I’m on the ground.”
“Are you still in the airport?”
“On my way to get my bag and then meet Rebecca.”
“Are you sure about staying at their place?”
“I offered five times to stay at a hotel. They wouldn’t have it. They said it would be far more convenient to collaborate if I were staying with them.”
“Jamison Parker, collaborating with Writers Guild Award-winning screenwriter Rebecca Minton Thomas on a treatment and screenplay of her latest novel. I like the sound of that.”
“I’m still pinching myself. I can’t believe this is real.”
“Believe it. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks. Kate? They really liked it.”
“Of course they did. It’s brilliant.”
“You’re biased.”
“I’m honest. Now go write a gripping screenplay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Are you sure you didn’t want to come?”
“What? And sit around watching you work? No thanks. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy here.”
“Okay. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“It’s in my job description to worry about you. It comes under the heading, ‘Other duties as assigned.’”
Kate laughed on the other end of the line.
“My bag’s here.”
“Goodbye, sweetheart. Say hello to Dara and Rebecca for me.”
“I will. Bye.” Jay disconnected the call and grabbed her bag off the carousel. It didn’t take her long to spot Rebecca’s car—it wasn’t just red, it was fire engine red. She waved so that R
ebecca would see her.
“Sweet ride,” Jay said, after she gave Rebecca a hug.
“Dara said you had a thing for mid-life crisis cars. This is as close as we have to one of those.”
“Very funny. I said Kate had a thing for mid-life crisis cars, not me. And why would you two need one of those, anyway? It’s not like you’re even close to middle age.”
“It’s LA. A status car is de rigueur.”
“Of course it is.”
Rebecca checked over her shoulder and pulled out into traffic. “Actually, neither one of us gives a rat’s how-do-you-do about keeping up appearances. The truth is, I have a thing for red, and this was the only car on the lot that caught my eye.”
“Ah. So the truth comes out.”
“It always does,” Rebecca agreed. “Speaking about truth, I don’t know how closely your manuscript adheres to the facts of the events of the Hyland incident, but if even a third of it bears a resemblance to reality, I can’t imagine living through that.”
Jay felt the familiar tightening in her chest. “We almost didn’t.”
Rebecca glanced over at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay.” Jay smiled wanly. “I knew what you meant. The plot is loosely based on the facts. Close enough to convey the point I wanted to make, but unique and original enough to preserve state secrets and security protocols.”
“Did I mention how much I love the book?”
Jay laughed. “You might have said it a time or two when we talked the other day.”
“Did Dara mention how much she loved the book?”
“She might have mentioned it a time or two as well. I’m definitely feeling the love.”
“We’re so honored that you would consider letting us adapt this with you.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m the one who’s honored. This is surreal to me.”
“Been there, done that,” Rebecca said as she changed lanes to get off the freeway. “Script doctoring On the Wings of Angels was an out-of-body experience for me.”
“Speaking of surreal…” Jay knew she probably shouldn’t bring it up, but this might be her only opportunity alone with Rebecca.
“Hmm?”
“I’m sure you’re aware that Dara told me about Constance.”
Rebecca smiled broadly. “I am. Can I just say how glad I am she did that? Now I have someone else who shares the secret. You can’t imagine how hard it is for me not to shout to the rooftops that I’m married to Constance Darrow.”
“I bet. How did you keep a straight face when I was gushing at the movie premiere?”
Rebecca chuckled. “I so wanted to tell you. I almost gave it away at least three times. If Dara hadn’t warned me off with a look, I’m sure I would’ve spilled the beans.”
“You must be so proud of her.”
“She’s amazing.” Rebecca’s smile lit up her face. “And I’m not saying that just because she’s my wife either. I was a Constance Darrow groupie long before I knew who she was. Did Dara tell you how I figured it out?”
“She said it was an expression she used in an interview on David Letterman’s show when you were in the audience.”
Rebecca nodded. “I couldn’t believe it was her. So I waited for her outside the stage door after the show and told her very discreetly that I’d figured it out. She bolted so fast it made my head spin.”
Jay noted the pained expression as it flitted across Rebecca’s features. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a difficult memory.”
“The story has a happy ending, as you know.”
“As all good romances should,” Jay said.
“We’re here.”
Jay blinked. She wasn’t sure what she’d envisioned, but this glorious, sleek, modern, single-level structure took her breath away. “This is incredible. This is a beach house?”
Rebecca smiled. “Wait until you see the living room. It’s got floor-to-ceiling glass that opens onto a deck and looks out over the ocean. We have our own private beach.”
Jay grabbed her suitcase out of the back seat and followed Rebecca inside.
“We’re home!”
“Hi.” Dara came around the corner and greeted them. She was dressed in a pair of khaki shorts that accentuated her long legs and a crew neck t-shirt. “Welcome, Jay. I’m so glad you’re here.” She gave Jay a warm hug as Jay set the suitcase upright on its wheels.
“This place is amazing.” Jay spun around to take in the state-of-the-art kitchen, the post-and-beam construction in the living room, and the afore-mentioned glass wall with the sliding glass doors in the center.
“Thanks. I kind of like it, myself.” Dara grasped the handle of Jay’s roller bag. “Come on. I’ll show you your room. It’s right down here.”
As they walked down the hallway, Jay noted the artwork on the walls. “I love the beauty of these landscapes—they’re breathtaking.” Her heart rate accelerated and her knees buckled when they came even with a three foot by four foot framed photograph displaying the distinctive grandeur of the mesas in Chinle, Arizona. She reached out and put a hand on the wall for support. Let it go. You’re safe now.
“Jay?” Dara’s brow was furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”
Jay regained her balance and shook her head to clear it. “I-I’m fine. That’s gorgeous.” She pointed at the picture.
Dara continued to stare at her dubiously. “It was a gift from my dear friend, Renée Maupin.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “I know her work. She’s a friend of yours?”
“We grew up together.” Dara cocked her head to the side. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Sure.” Jay realized she sounded less than convincing. Should she explain? Could she, without going into excruciating detail?
“Do you need to sit down?”
“No. Really, I’ll be fine. It’s just… That picture is Chinle.”
“You know it?”
Jay nodded. “I spent a few months there in the late 1980s. It’s complicated.”
“I take it that wasn’t a pleasant experience.”
“Some very bad men tried to kill me there. They ran me off one of those mesas.” Jay gestured to the photograph. “It took me months to recuperate.”
This time it was Dara who looked shell-shocked. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“It was a long time ago.” Jay shrugged, as if doing so would somehow slough off the memories. “It’s okay. Let’s keep going.”
“Your room is right down here.” Dara resumed walking and turned right into an airy, open bedroom that featured another glorious view of the ocean. She rolled the suitcase over to the closet.
“Wow. I’m running out of superlatives for this place,” Jay said.
Dara moved into the middle of the room, her eyes filled with concern. “Why would someone want to do you harm?”
Jay sighed.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I can see this is very painful for you.”
“No. It’s okay. There’s just no easy way to explain the circumstances. I could write a book about it and no one would believe me.” Jay stuffed her hands in her pockets. “The very short version is that someone from Kate’s past wanted retribution against her and decided that the most effective way to hurt her was to hurt me.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It was the worst time of our lives.” Jay wanted to lighten the mood. “But, as I said, it was a very long time ago and, as you can see, all’s well that ends well.”
“I feel terrible for dredging all that up for you.”
“You didn’t. Please, I don’t want you to give it another thought.”
Dara glanced out the window. “How about a walk on the beach at sunset to clear away the cobwebs?”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Why don’t you get settled and join us out there?” Dara pointed in the direction of the water.
When she h
ad gone, Jay sank down onto the bed. If she closed her eyes, she still could see the guardrail, and the cliff rising up to meet the car, and… She jumped up and lifted the suitcase onto the bed, unzipped it, and unpacked her clothes. It was better if she kept busy.
Fifteen minutes later, Jay luxuriated in the feeling of her bare toes in the sand. Dara and Rebecca were at the water’s edge. The sun almost kissed the horizon.
Jay paused and inhaled. The smell of the salt water, the sound of the waves beating against the shore, and the sight of the bright orange orb touching the water—all of it soothed her soul. She took several deep breaths to settle herself and joined her friends.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kate glided across the water in her kayak. The sun was just peeking up over the horizon and Saratoga Lake was smooth as glass in the early morning. A deer grazing along the shore caught her attention and she paused to watch.
The shrill sound of her cell phone ringing inside the waterproof bag behind her seat startled Kate. With the three-hour time difference between New York and LA, she was positive Jay wouldn’t be awake. They’d fallen into a routine of talking every night just before Kate went to bed. She grabbed the bag, unsealed it, and answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Good morning.”
Kate raised an eyebrow. Peter was an early riser, but, like her, he enjoyed his solitude in the morning. Making phone calls was highly unusual. Unless…
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. We have work to do, though, if you’re available.”
“Now?”
“Now would be good. I’ve got a Skype call scheduled in an hour, if you can make it over here in time.”
Kate calculated the time difference with Spain, or wherever Vaughn and Sabastien might be. They likely were five hours ahead of New York time. She squinted into the distance. If she paddled hard, she could get back to her car within twenty minutes.
“I’ll be there.” She disconnected the call without saying goodbye, stowed the phone, and picked up her paddle.
Twenty-two minutes later, she hauled her kayak out of the lake and secured it on top of the SUV. Fifty-seven minutes after she’d received the phone call, she walked into Peter and Lorraine’s house.
“Right on time,” Peter said. He clicked the mouse to bring up Skype on his computer. Immediately, Sabastien’s ID came up with the incoming call.