Deadly Little Secrets

by Jeanne Adams

  Ana opened the files on her laptop. “I’ve got a lot of the data scanned into my computer, including the old case notes from Agents McGuire and Hines. Should I contact them?”

  “I think you’d better, see if they kept copies. Also, I got Agent TJ Michaels’s boss on the phone—he claims Michaels is off on sabbatical, not on a case.”

  “The Inquiry Panel said he was pursuing leads on the Rome case, on his own recognizance, but that he’d gotten sanction to pursue.”

  “Have you discussed that data from Davis, the info on your shipper, with any of the victims?” Pretzky asked now.

  “Not yet. I was working on a flight to White Plains, and got the e-mails about the case crossovers. Then you called.” Ana didn’t say she’d been trying to decide if she could call Gates.

  “I see. You hear anything from Davis?”

  “Davis? No, should I have?”

  She heard the worry in Pretzky’s voice when her boss replied. “He was supposed to contact you, let you know that he’d found two more victims who used the shipper you’re checking on. What the hell is the name of it? I hate calling it ‘the shipper.’”

  “Ark Shipping Inc.” Ana read the data. “There’s a probable sub-corp, D’Or Shipping.”

  “D’Or? That means gold. Gold shipping? That’s original,” Pretzky scoffed. “Ark? That’s weird too. Not like they’re moving paintings or anything else two-by-two.”

  Ana hadn’t put it together that way, but Ark was a biblical reference. Gold. Gold Ark. It was worth a try. She pulled up her favorite search engines and entered gold ark in one search field, gold ship, and then gold box in the others and hit SEARCH.

  “What else?” she asked Pretzky. “You don’t sound like you’re finished.”

  “I’m not,” Pretzky said. “We got word from Berlin that Pratch’s remains may have turned up.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Why now, I wonder?”

  She heard the phone ring on Pretzky’s end, and her boss said, “Hey, gotta go. Call you later.”

  Pretzky hung up so fast there was no time for Ana to say good-bye.

  Nothing obvious pulled up on her search, so she checked e-mail again, but there was nothing from TJ. Checking the time, she called McGuire in New Orleans. He answered on the fifth ring.

  “Hello?” The gruff voice was hard, insistent. “Who is this?”

  “Agent McGuire, it’s Agent Burton. I’m calling about the cold case again, the art fraud—”

  He cut her off. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’ve hit on something, for sure, Burton. I’ve had visitors.”

  “Visitors?” She’d been afraid of something like this.

  “Couple of thugs, aiming to rough me up, or worse.”

  “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

  “I’m good, but they’re not. One’s in the morgue. Gotta say my aim’s not off by much, even if I am an old fart. The other’s in jail, but he ain’t got much to say. Got hired by phone, had my address.” He gave a short barking laugh. “Guess their boss didn’t tell ’em I was armed and dangerous.”

  “I know I told you we’d had more action on the case, Agent. This isn’t acting like a cold case now. It’s had me hopping, but I didn’t feel like anything substantial was moving,” she admitted. She hadn’t either, certainly not on the case, even though everything else seemed to be shifting and going straight to hell right under her feet. “Then all hell broke loose over the weekend, but even then, it didn’t seem related.”

  “I think you better reconsider that, missy,” McGuire advised, his voice still gruff. “And be careful.”

  “I will, as much as I can. Have you been in touch with Agent Hines? I’ve been unable to reach him at his office or on his cell.”

  There was a short pause. “Yeah, tried to call him, got no answer. His office says he’s on vacation.”

  “You don’t think so.” She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.

  “No.” The pause was longer. “No, I don’t.”

  “Shit. Okay, listen, I’ll keep you posted. If you get any more visitors, give me a call.” She gave him her cell number. “You should know too, I just heard they found Pratch’s remains.”

  “There’s something to throw you off the scent,” McGuire said, stopping Ana in her tracks. “Right on time.”

  “You think it’s a diversion?”

  “I think someone wanted him found, wants you to focus some time in Europe on that, rather than on this,” McGuire snapped. “This is getting crappier and more convoluted by the minute. I think you need to send someone to find Hines, you get me?”

  His implication came through loud and clear. Crap, crap, crap. This was the last thing Ana needed in an already brutally tangled case. Partner or not, McGuire was pissed and thought Hines was involved.

  “I’m gonna say this once, missy,” McGuire said slowly, reluctance plain in every word he spoke. “I’m going to tell you that Hines is a top marksman. Sniper, if you get me. You watch out, you hear me?”

  “Got it,” she said, feeling the curl of fear in her belly. A sniper. A perfectly placed shot at the Agency garage. A shot in the dark at her apartment. A shot in the dark at the Opera? That one still didn’t make sense, not in terms of the case. Why would Hines target Gates? She’d figure it out later; for now she needed to get off the phone, get busy. “Thanks, McGuire.”

  “Call me if there’s a change, will ya? I’m staying locked and loaded until I hear from you.” He paused a minute, and he said, “Thank God I sent my grandkids away for a week or so.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad of that.” Ana’s imagination was too vivid to contemplate what might have happened if the thugs aiming for McGuire had found his grandchildren instead. “I’ll call. The minute I hear anything,” she reassured him, and they hung up.

  Ana set her phone down, so that she could use both hands to rub away the goose bumps that rose on her arms. She left the phone and the bed, intending to get water from the mini-bar. She’d taken two steps away from the bed when her phone rang.

  Expecting Pretzky, or TJ, she checked the number.

  It was Gates.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Hey.” Gates’s voice was still raspy, not quite back to the liquid velvet she’d grown to love.

  “Hey.” She forced her voice to be clipped, flat. She wasn’t giving anything away. It hurt too much. “I was just going to call you.”

  “Really?” he said, softly. “How can I help you?”

  She bit her lip, wishing she could hate him. Wishing that she didn’t still want him. “The search we developed turned up some things.”

  “What?” He was alert now, all business. “What did you get?”

  “A shipper in White Plains, New York. Moroni used them, so did the Miami gallery, to ship to Pratch in Berlin.” She’d recognized the international number as Berlin, made the connection. “I’m flying in there in the morning.”

  “Fly into LaGuardia. We’ll meet up.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise,” Ana said, her heart clenching at the thought of seeing him again.

  “Ana.” He just said her name, nothing more.

  “No, Gates,” she said, working hard to keep her voice even. “You shut me out, shut me down. That’s somehow going to be okay now? Now that I’ve got a lead?”

  “No, no, I understand,” he said, his husky voice soft. “It’s just that I found something too.” He was silent for a long minute.

  “Gates?” Her heart clenched. He didn’t sound like himself. He’d sounded sharp for a minute there, but now he sounded tired, almost sleepy.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, still talking softly. “I’m here. It’s another connection.”

  “What?” she demanded. “You want me to give? You give.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he chuckled, and she heard him yawn. “It’s probably not much, but did I tell you I found your hacker, the deep-search one?” he said, taking her back a step. She’d forgotten all about the search, forgotten to follow up
on her tracking of it. Everything else had taken precedence.

  “Who? Where?”

  “Fly to LaGuardia. We’ll pick you up.”

  “You can’t keep this hostage, Gates,” she argued. “Talk to me. Wait. We?”

  “Dav’s here on business,” he drawled. “He humored the invalid, let me tag along.”

  “Are you on meds, Gates?” she asked.

  “Mmmmm. Just took another dose. I hate the stuff, it makes my head swim. Stops my guts from hurting though. Except for one part.”

  “Really?” Now Ana was concerned. “If you still have pain, you should talk to your doctor, or the nurses.” She heard him chuckle softly. “Seriously, Gates.”

  “It’s not medical, Ana.” There was a long moment where all she could hear was his breathing.

  “Gates?” she called. “Gates?”

  “Hmm? I hate to say it, but I’m sleepy now, Ana,” he murmured. “I think I’m supposed to go to sleep, okay?” He laughed, like a pleased but sleepy child would. “I have these really great dreams about you, you know.”

  She realized the meds had taken effect. “No, I didn’t know. Gates,” she said, hearing the pleading in her own voice, but unable to stop herself. As much as she wanted to know about his dreams, she needed the data he had. “Gates? I need to know about the search.”

  “In your own building,” he said softly. “Really weird. Sleep tight, beautiful Ana. I miss you,” he whispered, and the phone went dead.

  What the hell was she supposed to do now? What did he mean, in her own building?

  Ana dropped into the chair by the desk, confused and tired. Nothing occurred to her, no matter how much her thoughts raced. Tears filled her eyes. He dreamed about her, but he’d sent her away. He could care enough to keep hunting, finding out who’d been searching her, and yet be so cruel.

  Now he could turn her inside out with the knowledge that he knew data, and he knew who was stalking her, then hang up because he was too loopy to stay awake. God, she was so confused.

  “I guess I’m going to LaGuardia,” she finally said, moving to the computer to change her ticket.

  Despite her fears, she started to smile, thinking about Gates’s call. What an idiot to phone when he’d taken medication. “I’d better call Dav, though.”

  Picking up her phone, she sent a text to Dav’s phone. He’d asked her to keep him posted anyway.

  Dav, just got a “drunk” call from Gates. He says he has a trace on the deep search on me. Says it’s connected. He wants me to come to LaGuardia—I’m in DC headed to NYC anyway. You okay with that? A.

  She waited for a call or text for twenty minutes. When none came, and there was still no word from TJ, she shut down and went to bed. There was nothing she could do until morning anyway.

  When she arrived in LaGuardia the next day, she went through security and descended to baggage claim. Among the line of chauffeurs and waiting families, a man held a sign with her name on it. She stopped in her tracks, wondering if it were a trick until the man tipped down his sunglasses and she saw Damon, the chauffeur who’d driven them to the restaurant. He smiled briefly, then flipped the shades back up.

  He turned the sign briefly over, and it said, “Walk by.”

  Creepy. Why did he want her to walk by?

  She acted as if she were scanning the overhead signs for the directions to baggage claim, just like half a dozen other incoming passengers. As she walked toward him, he looked at his watch, scanned the paper he was holding, and folded the sign with her name on it.

  He took out his cell phone, just as she walked by him, and he fell into step half a pace behind her.

  “Yeah,” he said, as if talking to someone. “I’m here, but she’s a no show. Yeah, parked outside Gate Seven. No. No, the flight was on time. Yeah. Okay. The short sedan, yeah, the black ’Cedes.”

  He hung up, passed by her, and walked out into the gray New York day at the exit for Gate Five.

  Turning down the concourse, she made her way to Gate Seven and stopped, scanning the crossings, noting the busses and the yellow cabs that were parked or slowly moving through the terminal for pickup. Beyond the first lanes, reserved for cabs and official vehicles, were the lanes for personal pickup. She could see the black Mercedes sedan, with Damon standing by the front bumper, phone to his ear.

  Her phone rang, and she tapped the small earpiece tucked behind her loose hair.

  “See me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come straight out and get in. Leave your bag at the curb, I’ll get it. Mr. G’s in the back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Welcome back, ma’am,” he added, and hung up.

  It couldn’t have gone smoother if they’d rehearsed it. When the door closed, a breath of relief whooshed out, and Dav smiled.

  “Cloak and dagger, I believe you call it, eh, Ana?” He smiled and handed her a glass of sparkling water.

  “Yeah, not really my thing, despite the showing at the gallery.”

  “Hmmm. That was quite the show, in itself.” He chuckled.

  “How is he?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

  Dav didn’t look at all surprised. “Still cranky. He doesn’t remember calling you, or he says he doesn’t.”

  Ana had already braced herself for that. It was enough though, to know that in his uninhibited moments, he thought of her. It might not get her anywhere, or take them anywhere, but she hadn’t been a fling. With all that had happened, both in Rome and with Gates, she wasn’t sure she could stand it if everything they’d done and felt had been meaningless.

  “Detective Baxter,” Dav said, looking straight ahead, “believes that he has identified the sniper.” Dav finally looked at her and she could see the worry, the anxiety that shone in his eyes.

  “Really? Gates was the target, then.”

  “Oh, yes.” Dav’s chuckle was forced, and she knew it cost him not to show just how worried he was about his friend. Ana swiveled to face him.

  “You don’t need to put on a show for me, Dav. I know how much you two mean to one another,” she said quietly.

  He nodded, reaching out to clasp her hand tightly, then release it. He patted it now, a brief acknowledgement of the worry that connected them.

  “You of all people will appreciate how many calls I received,” he said as he tipped his cup of coffee, using it as a prop to keep his hands busy. She wished she had a cup of coffee too, not just as a prop, but because she needed the caffeine.

  “Calls?”

  “Oh, yes.” He smiled at her. “Various factions from all over the world making sure I understood that they had not targeted my second in command.”

  Ana sorted the sentence for a minute then began to smile. “Ah, the rats will run, I guess.”

  “It made for some instant negotiating opportunities,” he said coolly, smiling as he took another sip. “I took full advantage of the situation.”

  She laughed. “Good for you. Some good should come of it.”

  “It is good to hear you laugh, Ana-aki,” he said.

  “It’s good to laugh, Dav-aki,” she said, returning the favor.

  The car made a turn onto the Triborough/RFK Bridge, heading into the heart of the city. “Would you like us to stop for some coffee, or can we get you some at the Waldorf?”

  “Is there a Starbucks near the Waldorf?” she asked, unsurprised that he’d noted her interest in his coffee.

  “In the lobby. Damon?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Would you mind getting Agent Burton a—” He turned to her, inviting her to give her order, which she did. “A venti mocha, when we get to the hotel and bring it up to the suite?”

  “With or without whipped cream, Agent?” Damon asked, smiling as he glanced in the rearview mirror.

  “With,” she said.

  They talked of pleasantries until they got to the hotel, turning off Forty-Ninth onto Park and easing up to the front of the hotel. The car glided beyond the main
entrance to an unobtrusive, private canopy. In seconds, she’d spotted Queller and one of the women who’d been at the gallery opening. The redhead, Declan, was there too, but he was wearing a ball cap and coming in from a run, passing them to go in the main doors. The bellman stopped him and pointed to the cap, which Declan removed before going through the revolving door into the lobby.

  “No ball caps in the public areas,” Dav said with a smirk, sliding out on the same side as Ana so they could easily and quickly move through the private entrance. “I’ve wanted to buy a Red Sox hat,” he said, crossing the elegant boutique-style lobby to where a uniformed doorman had an elevator car waiting. “And wear it as I go through the main areas.”

  She snorted, suppressing the guffaw that wanted to jump out. It was over-hearty, and she knew it, but she was nervous about seeing Gates again. “Think they’d dare say anything?”

  “I heard they made A-Rod, the star Yankee player, take off his Yankees cap, just days after the last time the Yankees won the pennant,” he said, grinning. “Relax, Ana-aki. This will sort itself out.”

  “God, I hope so,” she muttered as they reached the top of the Waldorf Towers, stepping onto the plush carpet and through the doors that another member of Dav’s staff held open.

  “Agent Burton,” Gates’s assistant murmured, her infectious smile blossoming. “I hope your flight was uneventful.”

  “It was, thank you,” she said, trying to remember the perky assistant’s name. She recognized the young woman from Dav’s house. Alice? No, Alexia.

  “Mr. G, Agent, we’ve set up in the conference room. Mr. B had everything up and running, but they made him go rest.”

  “Thank you, Alexia. Damon’s bringing a coffee up for Agent Burton. I trust that you and Theresa were able to get everything we needed.”

  The woman looked affronted, but simply said, “Of course, sir.”

  “Thank you,” he said, striding through a set of double doors to the left. Ana gave the woman a reassuring smile and followed.