Pimpernel

by Sheralyn Pratt

  Jack was careful to keep his expression neutral. “We grab her.”

  “And if it looks like she might not be bad?”

  “We grab her.”

  Ren took his phone out and started typing something into it. “So we’re moving tomorrow, either way.”

  Jack nodded. “Tomorrow she’s either going to be locked in as the head of the investment scam and be happy about it, or she’s going to be blindsided. Either way, it’s the best time to get what we need out of her.”

  There was a silent moment of agreement.

  “I’ll bring her in,” Ren said.

  “I’ll make sure she doesn’t get away,” Margot added.

  “And I’ll prep the safe room,” Jack said.

  Then they all went their separate ways.

  Chapter 17

  Claire recognized a lot of faces in the courtroom Monday morning, including Professor Smith, who waved at her from his seat in the front. Claire waved back, sticking to the rear of the room where things felt a little less claustrophobic. At least one class seemed to be on a field trip of sorts, although Claire didn’t recognize anyone. They were probably law students.

  She started to take a seat in the back corner of the courtroom, but when her OCD decided that all the chairs in the courtroom were too dirty to be touched, Claire stuck to standing in the back. Luckily there were enough people present that she wasn’t the only one standing.

  Twenty minutes after she arrived, Ryan was led in wearing a standard prison jumpsuit, hands and feet restrained. It was like watching an actor walk onto a movie set, hair perfectly mussed and with the trendy length of scruff to land him in the category of handsomely disheveled.

  Claire tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t even try. He simply walked to his designated spot and took a seat, facing the judge.

  “I call this case to order,” the female judge said from the bench. “We’ll go on the record starting now. My name is Judge Eleanor Banks, and I’ve just come from an off-the-record meeting with attorneys involved in both sides of this case where we discussed certain streamlining procedures, which I will now make part of the public record.”

  Realizing that the they were at the boilerplate part of the hearing, Claire looked around the courtroom, her eyes searching for the invisible partner—Mr. SUV—who had gotten both her and Professor Eastman into this whole mess. Whoever the man was, he was far too invested not to have someone in the courthouse today. It could be anyone, but more likely it was a person who fit a certain profile…someone like the two guys who had grabbed her and thrown her into an SUV after the bail hearing four weeks ago.

  Suddenly on high alert, Claire’s eyes looked over the gathered crowd. This was a game she could play with the best of them: find the person who fits the profile. Today’s challenge? Find the henchman to a very, very unethical man.

  None of the students fit the profile—not because they were students, but because their body language was too undisciplined. The teachers and the media were out, too. Too self-absorbed.

  Claire let her mind do what it compulsively did—map the body language of each person she hadn’t already filtered out as a suspect until she singled out seventeen people who displayed no genuine interest in the case. Eleven of those individuals appeared to be either waiting for a later case or just randomly observing, which left six people present in the courtroom with suspiciously disciplined body language.

  Happy to have something to focus on other than the filthiness of the chairs, Claire applied the same techniques she used to land investors on the six suspicious people in the courtroom. They were all men. All dressed casually. All sat and pretended to listen while not giving any of the unconscious indicators that they were actually doing so.

  Rather than tensing at the presence of the shady men, something in Claire loosened and flexed as she assessed them. Reading body language and micro-expressions was the one thing that focused Claire and made her feel totally in control, even off her medication.

  After about a minute, Claire decided the six men were not together. At least two of them were present to report back to a third party real-time, and one of those two individuals was recording everything.

  That left four men.

  Two had the posture of men who had been in the military, the third had the posture of someone trying to pretend he’d never been in the military, and the fourth kept texting someone on his phone. He looked casual enough, but there was an intensity in his eyes—not to mention a massive girth to his arms—that didn’t match his seemingly casual attitude.

  Men like Guy #4 intrigued Claire. He understood body language well enough to manipulate it at will, which was something Claire couldn’t do. She needed software and avatars to pull that off, but not Guy #4. He was the real deal. So as the judge droned on about procedural requirements, Claire studied him.

  It wasn’t until Guy #4 pressed his lips together at something he read on his phone that Claire realized the man had undergone facial reconstructive surgery. A lot of it. The neutral look on his face may have been partly due to training, but the fact that many of the muscles required to generate expressions were no longer in play definitely helped.

  Why would a man who didn’t look much older than thirty have reconstructive surgery?

  She studied the man’s profile, trying to imagine how it might have originally looked, even though there was no way to tell. All she could see was that the post-surgery results left him looking like an actor—one of the guys she saw in the trailers when she went to the movies. A martial arts guy who drove cars and wore a suit.

  What was the actor’s name?

  Knowing she would obsess until she figured it out, Claire used her phone to search the keywords until she found the face. It was a match. The guy texting on his phone looked like a young Jason Statham. He even had the same crop cut and five o’clock shadow as the actor.

  Maybe he was a stunt double or a stand in? If so, what was he doing in a courthouse in Las Vegas?

  Claire went back to assessing the other three suspicious guys, who more than once made eye contact with the judge. That didn’t seem like a good thing.

  “In the interest of time and efficiency of this hearing,” the judge was saying, “all the pre-filed testimony for appearing witnesses will be entered into evidence at the close of this hearing, without the need to make a motion.”

  Whatever that means, Claire thought, looking back at Guy #4. He definitely had ulterior motives for being in the courthouse, but for the life of her, Claire couldn’t tell what it was. What she did know was that he had picked up on the fact that she was staring at him, and he was purposefully not looking back.

  It was normal to look back.

  A new voice pulled Claire’s attention back to the proceedings of the court.

  “Your Honor,” Ryan’s lawyer was saying. “My client is an upstanding member of the community. He has a full-time job at the university, is a homeowner, and ha—”

  “Upwards of $300 million tucked away somewhere,” the prosecutor said over him.

  The judge’s gavel came down. “This is not a bail hearing, counselor,” she said to the prosecutor. “We had that several weeks ago and I granted your request to deny bail for this defendant.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said. “I was just—”

  “Interrupting the opening statement from the defense,” the judge said diplomatically. “I would ask you to hold your peace until you are directed by the court to speak.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Judge Banks was not in a good mood, it seemed. Or maybe this was her normal. Either way, Claire wished she’d skip to the part where the handcuffs came off and Ryan got to go home. The defense attorney asked the judge to do exactly that, while the prosecution demanded that judge acknowledge that there was sufficient evidence to prosecute, and allow the trial to go forward.

  Claire was in the middle of mentally tearing apart the prosecution’s claims when the ju
dge leaned into her microphone and responded.

  “The court sees every reason for Professor Ryan Eastman to face a jury of his peers and prove his innocence, if that is indeed that is their finding,” she said. “This case will go forward with the defendant’s trial scheduled to begin March 21 of next year.”

  Wait. What? The world around Claire seemed to disappear into a vacuum.

  No…not possible. Yet Claire’s mind replayed the judge’s voice again and again in her head, and it always said the same thing.

  Ryan was not being released.

  The floor seemed to drop out from underneath Claire and her body went numb as the words echoed through her. Ryan was going to trial. In March.

  In March?

  Her heart started jackhammering in her chest. It was the second Monday of November, and Ryan’s trial wouldn’t be until March?

  Claire leaned against the back wall for support when the room started to spin. She couldn’t keep going that long. She couldn’t remember that many numbers for that long, even off her medication. The sequence was already 4,248 numbers long thanks to all the smaller investments Ryan had allowed into the project when he was first getting started. But they were all still numbers that needed to be remembered for as long as Ryan was in jail.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  She couldn’t set things right—not when she’d been promised that doing anything unauthorized meant Ryan would take a knife in the back in a blind corner of the prison.

  She had to keep going. She had to keep playing the game for five months, but…how?

  Remembering 4,248 numbers for three weeks was doable. She’d just done it. Remembering 5,000-plus numbers or more for five months while pretending to be normal was a different story entirely. She couldn’t do it, not unless professionals tied her down and locked her in a padded room.

  The reality of her situation left Claire feeling like she was caught in a free fall, even though the ground was still firmly beneath her feet. She pressed a hand against the wall in reflex, trying to fight back the dizziness while her pulse pounded like a kick drum in her neck, then in her temples. A million invisible pins started pricking into her hands, quickly moving higher and higher up her arms. She couldn’t breathe—she needed to breathe. Her mind knew that, but her body wouldn’t do it.

  When her knees buckled beneath her, it seemed to happen in slow motion. Someone raced to her side. She saw them and tried to tell them she was fine, but realized nothing was coming out of her mouth. People were talking all around her, responding to the verdict from the stand, but all Claire heard was the hamster speed of her own heart as it hammered away in her ears.

  Then the world went black.

  Chapter 18

  Somewhere between the courthouse and the ambulance, Claire woke up again. She tried to tell the EMTs that she didn’t need to go to the hospital. As it turned out, the words she thought she was saying had not been the words coming out her mouth.

  In the end, she’d been tested for stroke systems before being carted to the hospital. It was there she heard the diagnosis she’d try to tell people back at the courthouse.

  Panic attack.

  Although, truth be told, she’d never had one this bad before. She’d always been able to talk before, and she’d never done a full collapse on the floor and been unable to get back up. It was mortifying.

  When a shot of valium came her way, Claire didn’t fight it. The drug wrapped around her like a warm blanket from the inside out. Then things got comfy. Then an amazing thing happened.

  She slept.

  There was a brief moment of awareness when Daniel came to pick her up. She didn’t hear his voice, but she recognized his scent, strangely enough.

  “Stronger than you look,” she muttered, or thought she muttered, when he cradled her out of the wheelchair and into his car. “You didn’t look this strong in your sailor shorts.”

  Again, maybe the words left her mouth, maybe they didn’t. All Claire knew was that for the moment, she felt safe.

  Chapter 19

  Jack, Ren, and Margot all watched the monitors to the safe room, none of them wanting to be the one who spoke first.

  Finally, Ren took the plunge. “She’s going to freak out when she wakes up.”

  “Definitely,” Margot agreed. “Someone should be in there when she does.”

  They both looked at Jack.

  “In costume, or out?” he asked.

  Margot shook her head. “I don’t think there’s a right answer to that. She’s likely to lose it, either way.”

  Ren took a thoughtful breath. “She was eyeing me at the courthouse. She might recognize me if I’m the one who’s in there when she wakes up.”

  “And she might be out of it, and just see a tattooed strongman who has her locked in a room,” Margot countered.

  He shrugged. “It’s a thought.”

  Margot shook her head. “We need a better one.”

  Another moment of silence.

  “We need to know what she thought was going to happen today,” Jack said.

  “And what evidence she had for thinking it would happen,” Margot added.

  Jack nodded. “So which of us is the best person to get that out of her?”

  “I am,” a female voice said from behind, and they all jumped. In a flash, Ren’s gun was out and aimed, then he lowered it.

  “Kali?” he breathed. “How did you get in here?”

  “I’ll show you later so you can fix it,” she said in that cool, nonplussing way of hers. “But I think I’m the one who should talk to her when she wakes up. I’m pretty sure I can get her to give you the answers you need.”

  Jack could tell Margot desperately wanted to say something scathing in response, but she was still recovering from being surprised. As for Jack, seeing the woman face-to-face again was a reminder that he hadn’t quite gotten her name right when he’d created the Kali Fischer identity last year.

  Given a do-over, he would go with a common Middle Eastern name. At the time, he’d been focused more on airports and the possibility of Kali being detained based on ethnic profiling. A European name was still preferable when it came to making it past the TSA, but looking at Kali and seeing her exotic features firsthand really did cause a head tilt of skepticism when the last name Fischer popped out of her mouth.

  “Kali,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “I didn’t know you were coming into town.”

  “Only for the afternoon,” she said, giving his hand a quick shake as her eyes glanced up at the screen showing Claire sleeping alone in the safe room. “I think I’ve got her number enough to get her on your team if you put me in there with her.”

  “That can be arranged,” he said. “Want Margot to fill you in on what we know first?”

  “I sent it all to her,” Margot said flatly. “Nothing more to share.”

  “I’m good,” Kali agreed before leveling her iceberg eyes on Margot. “Although do we know who her biological father is yet?”

  It looked like it physically pained Margot to shake her head in the negative, but she did.

  Kali stepped forward and handed Margot a paper. “It’s just a hunch, but I think this might be a good direction to look.”

  When Margot hesitated in taking the paper, Ren took it for her. Without hesitation, he unfolded it, his eyebrows raising at what he saw. “I’m pretty sure I can get a sample for a test.”

  “And we should get you in the room with Claire before she wakes up,” Jack said, seeing how close Margot was to picking a fight with the one woman she considered a rival. Sometimes avoidance was the best policy. He gestured to Margot’s private elevators. “Right this way.”

  “Wait!” Margot objected. “Am I the only hesitating even slightly at the thought of throwing someone we barely know in with this girl just because she shows up and says we should?”

  Kali didn’t even blink. “I’m here as a favor to Jack.” She sent him a pointed look. “And because I think yo
u and Claire are one conversation away from becoming allies.”

  Jack liked the sound of that. “What gives you that idea?”

  Kali held up the notebook Ren had taken out of Claire’s closet safe. “This.”

  “Where and when did you get that?” Margot snarled, casting an accusatory look at Ren. He held his hands up in innocence.

  “I put it back in the safe,” he said.

  “And I got it back out on my way here,” Kali said. “I’ll confess that I don’t know exactly what Claire’s up to, but I know enough to know if she’s lying in there. I can get you the truth.”

  “Put her in,” Ren said. “She’s our best choice. She’s about Claire’s size, she’s pretty, and she’s female. Of all of us, Kali will cause the least alarm in there.”

  “I’m a woman,” Margot balked, although her pride seemed to stop her from adding I’m pretty.

  “Yeah,” Ren agreed. “A woman who regularly makes grown men wet their Tom Ford suits if she holds eye contact too long. Claire will shut down with you in there as quickly as she’d shut down with me.”

  “And in the meantime, we’re not even going to question how this woman knew to be here at the exact place and time to offer what she’d offering?” Margot blurted. “Does no one else find that suspicious?”

  Kali studied Margot for a moment, then blinked and gestured toward Ren. “He messaged me to say that you were all grabbing Claire today and to speak now or forever hold my peace. So I got on a plane.” Without waiting for a response from Margot, Kali looked back at Jack. “I can help. Your call as to whether you want to take it or leave it.”

  “Take it,” Jack said without hesitation. “What do you need?”

  “Just put me in there,” Kali said. “I’ll call you in when it’s right.”

  “Me?” Jack asked, the thought making him uneasy. “Me, specifically?”

  She nodded. “Yes, you. Out of costume. Her brain won’t fully wrap around the situation until she sees you and understands how you got involved. She needs to start dialing into the big picture here and seeing her place in it. Only then can she make a move.”