“We don’t have an appointment,” Devin interrupted. “But we have come a long way to see your roses.”
“My roses?” Yvonne’s face softened, and her lips broke into a smile.
“I want to stock a rose garden, and we’d like to see your selection,” Ford said.
The woman stepped back and opened the door for them to proceed inside. “Come in, please. I should warn you, once I start talking about my roses, I go on and on.”
“Is anyone else here?” Ford asked, looking around curiously.
“I run this business alone. I am a widow.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“My husband left me these wonderful roses to keep me from the loneliness.”
Still carrying the cat, she led them down a dark paneled hallway into a bright and spacious office with curving glass windows that caught the light. Bouquets of roses in a variety of pinks, purples and yellows filled vases. Baskets of rose plants hung from the ceiling while ceramic pots displayed miniature flowers in delicate pink and soft lavender.
Eyes sparkling, Devin took in the room with an appreciative sniff. “This is your office. You work here?”
Yvonne set down the cat, led them to a window seat and gestured to a desk almost covered by flowerpots. “These plants are my special projects. I’m still budding some of my roses. But fall is the best time to take cuttings.”
Devin took a seat beside Ford. “Cuttings?”
“That’s how we rose breeders propagate our plants. Did you not come here to buy?” She lifted a pot and set the plant on the table before them.
Ford didn’t answer her question. “Do you keep records of your buyers? I’d like some references.”
“Of course. I have mailing lists and a catalog, all produced on my computer.” She drew herself up proudly while the cat rubbed her ankles. “Ach, I am forgetting my manners. Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Ford said. “We came here because we’d heard you grow black roses.”
“La fleur du mort. The death flower. It is very rare; the blacks are my proudest possession. Roses grow in every color except blue. Now that I have the black, blue is my next great project, very difficult.”
His hopes rose. If black roses were this rare, she couldn’t have grown many. They need only check a limited number of buyers. “Do you have a list of customers who have bought black roses from you?”
“I do not sell the black roses.”
Devin’s eyes rounded. “Never?”
“I cannot grow enough blacks to sell. The temperature must be just right, the hormone balance perfect. In addition, the plant requires sixteen essential nutrients, and if any are missing, it will not grow or bloom.”
“Could we see the blacks?” Devin asked.
“I’m so sorry. They are not in bloom. You must come back in the spring.”
Devin gestured to the blooms around them. “How did you make these others bloom out of season?”
“Ah, most roses are more cooperative than the black. I can change the temperature in the greenhouses and adjust the lighting and fool them into believing it is spring.” She frowned. “The blacks are stubborn. I have not learned how to fool them.”
“Have you given away any of the blacks?” Ford asked.
“No.” Anger flashed across her face. “But six or seven years ago, just after I finished at university, thieves broke into my greenhouse and stole cuttings from my blacks and a rare green. I spent much money to put in the alarm system.”
Devin looked at Ford who was obviously as puzzled as she. The Black Rose had killed Rhonda during the winter. How could the blacks only bloom in the spring? “Does anyone else display blacks at the rose shows?”
“Ja. Sir Richard Kaplan has mastered the black rose. But I do not think he stole the cuttings. A man in his position would not stoop to thievery. Besides, his black roses are different from mine.”
“How so?”
“Roses come in six shapes and five flower centers. My blacks are shaped high-centered like this yellow.” She plucked a stem and pointed to the petals. “See, the long, inner petals of the bud arrange themselves in a pointed cone. This shape is often found in hybrid teas, grandifloras and floribunda.”
Devin stared at the yellow rose. “And Kaplan’s blacks?”
“Are quarter-centered.” Yvonne picked a lavender flower and handed it to Devin. “See the inner petals fold into three, four or five distinct sections. It is different than mine. And so is the shape.”
Devin twirled the rose between her fingers. “Does Kaplan sell his black roses?”
“I do not know. He probably doesn’t sell many. Why must you buy black roses? I have many other—”
“I’m sorry,” Ford spoke gently. “You’ve been very helpful. But we are only interested in the blacks because of their uniqueness.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’d hoped you could sell them to me. But I appreciate your time. Would you by chance have Kaplan’s phone number and address? Maybe he’ll sell them.
After repositioning several potted plants from her desk, Yvonne slipped in front of her computer. She typed quickly, bringing up a database. “Here he is, Sir Richard Kaplan, and his London address.” She printed the information on a piece of paper and handed it to Ford. “Will you go there next?”
“Maybe, why?”
“English rose breeders tend to be secretive about their stock. They are often reluctant to share information with outsiders.”
“We appreciate your help,” Devin said.
“Thank you.” Devin shook Yvonne Jansen’s hand. “You’ve been terrific.”
Devin and Ford said goodbye and walked back through the garden to the car. Ford opened her door for her. “If the timing works out, we can be in London tomorrow, then fly home the following day.”
She waited until he walked around the car and slid behind the wheel before saying more. “Ford, when did Ambassador Willowby say the Black Rose began leaving the flowers on his victims’ pillows?”
“At least twelve years, maybe fifteen ago.”
“And how old would you guess Yvonne Jansen is?”
“About thirty.”
“So unless she took up the job of a professional assassin at the age of fifteen, she’s not who we’re looking for.”
Ford started the car, made a U-turn and headed back toward the city. “You think Kaplan is the source of the black roses?”
“We can’t forget the stolen cuttings,” Devin said. “Or the fact the money was wired to London.”
“Let’s see what background information Anne can dig up on Sir Kaplan.” He gave her his best charming glance. “Are your instincts warning you of trouble?”
“Nope. It’s my normal paranoia kicking into gear.”
Chapter Nine
FORD FOLLOWED the GPS and signs to downtown Amsterdam. Preoccupied with her thoughts, she was surprised when Ford pulled into a parking lot. She sure hoped he intended to eat soon. Her stomach rumbled at the very idea of food. But as they walked around the block, instead of entering a restaurant, he led her into an electronics store filled with television, stereo and computer equipment.
Now what was he up to? “What are we doing here?”
“I can’t work effectively unless I’m in constant communication with my office. This is the best electronics store in Amsterdam.”
She should have realized he needed to be in touch with the world. Ford couldn’t maintain control if he wasn’t on top of things.
“Excuse me,” Ford said to a bored-looking clerk with a handlebar mustache and a pierced eyebrow. “I’m looking for a satellite phone with an encryption system.”
The salesman twisted one end of his mustache and spoke in a disinterested monot
one. “If price is no object, the microCOM-M is the best for world-wide communications.”
Ford nodded. “Write me up.”
She recognized the confident look on Ford’s face and whispered, “Don’t tell me. You own a company that makes it, right?”
“Guilty.” He turned to the salesman and handed him a credit card. “No need for the box.”
She waited for the clerk to leave and ring up the sale before protesting. “Ford, if you use the card, the transaction can be traced.”
“Relax. We’ll be leaving the country within the hour.”
“I suppose dinner is out of the question?” she grumbled as they walked back to the car.
He took her hand, squeezed and held it. “Not at all. What would you like?”
The scent of apples and cinnamon wafted out of a restaurant, and she tried to steer him toward the inviting scent. “That smells delicious.”
He kept going, tugging her back to his side and handing her the car keys. “First, I have to make a few phone calls. Would you mind driving?”
She sighed with resignation, ignoring her protesting stomach. “Where to?”
“The airport.”
While she navigated the foreign streets of Amsterdam, plagued by the city’s concentric ring of canals, one-way streets and traffic, he flipped on the operating system and placed call after call, secure in the knowledge that the encrypted system couldn’t be traced.
“From Amsterdam, I’d like two first-class tickets to Rome, two to Capetown, another set to Buenos Aires, another to Tokyo and two to London. That’s correct, all in the same name. All leaving within the next hour.” He glanced at his watch and spoke to Devin. “That leaves us thirty minutes to get to the airport with another half hour to spare.”
Finally she understood. He’d cleverly masked their destination by purchasing multiple tickets to different countries. If the assassin tried to find them by computer, the Black Rose would have no idea which flight they’d taken. The tickets cost a fortune, but Ford didn’t seem to consider the expense. It must be nice . . . She’d converted the price of Euros to American currency and figured he’d paid another small fortune for his encrypted cell phone—but to him that was probably pocket change.
She followed a sign that pointed toward Schiphol Airport while Ford woke Anne with another phone call. Poor woman.
“Sorry to wake you. You can reach me by phone, text and email. And I need you to do more digging. I want everything on Sir Richard Kaplan, business interests, hobbies, his travel itinerary for the past decade or so. The same information is needed on Yvonne—oh, you already have it? Great. Yes, email the file.”
Ford listened for a minute. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for the stockholders meeting. Yes, we’re heading to London. I’ll need a car at the airport, more conservative clothing for both of us and a place to stay the night. Make us an appointment with Kaplan. Don’t tell him why I’m visiting. That’s right. I’ll also need a suitable gift, business cards, the entire British package.” He paused again. “Good idea. Call them and give them my love. Thanks, Anne. I owe you one.”
Ford’s lips tightened at something Anne said. He hung up and immediately began dialing. “Martin, yeah, I know it’s the middle of the night. Sorry. Have you learned who is buying Norton Industries stock?” He paused. “Keep on it. I don’t want surprises at the stockholders meeting. I’ll be there. Count on it.”
Devin waited, impatient for him to finish. She wished she could do the background search on Kaplan. She only hoped Anne was as thorough and trustworthy as Ford thought.
“Beef up security,” Ford ordered. “Don’t hire any new people. I’d prefer to keep this in-house. I’ll authorize overtime. Have the phones checked for taps, the offices for bugs. I’m not sure when I’m returning yet. How’s the buyout coming on the Silicon Valley deal? Don’t lose that, the technology is impressive. Sell our interest in the railroad stock if you need the cash. Put a limo at my disposal and have a maintenance crew reinstall the windows in both my home and the office with bullet-proof glass. Yes, I know it’ll cost. Thanks.”
Realizing the powerful man beside her was the real Ford Braddack, she wondered where the man who’d enjoyed a simple meal on horseback had gone. He couldn’t be easily categorized, and both sides of him were all too compelling. While the man on horseback made a great partner, she wasn’t as sure about the man beside her.
She pulled into airport parking just as he ended the conversation with Martin. His partner didn’t sound as eager to buy the new technology as Ford. But then, she supposed that’s what made a great partnership, complementing one another’s strengths. “Where now?”
“I need to place one more call.”
“You’d better hurry,” she said, barely containing her irritation.
He checked his watch. “Relax. We have thirty minutes and carry-on luggage.”
Ford switched to French, and she had no idea who he was talking to. At this point, she didn’t care. Just the speed of his conversation depressed her.
Not true.
His pace had nothing to do with her melancholy. While the calls might be necessary, she took exception to them. He needed to communicate with his office, but she missed his glances that indicated he cared about her opinion. He hadn’t discussed his plans with her. He’d ordered transportation, clothing and accommodations as if she was someone to be taken care of—not a partner.
She missed his touch and the feeling of closeness they’d shared, but she missed being treated as an equal more. She couldn’t stop wanting Ford’s love. Although she couldn’t do anything about his feelings, she could put an end to his high-handedness.
Instead of allowing him to make all the decisions while she sat cooling her heels, she’d see to feeding her growling stomach. Without waiting for him to finish his conversation, she tossed him the keys and opened the car door, looking for signs to the terminal.
She hadn’t taken five steps, before he joined her and took her hand. He glanced sideways at her. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m hungry.” Spotting an elevator, she kept moving and maintained a breezy tone. “While you work, I thought I’d find us something to eat before the flight.”
He released her hand and curled his arm across her shoulders. “I’ve taken care of a meal.”
“How did you know what I wanted to eat?” Something in her tone must have warned him her question wasn’t about food. They entered the elevator, and he pushed a button, his eyes piercing hers with honest confusion. “Tell me what’s bothering you. Please.”
“I am capable of choosing my own food and clothes. When possible, I’d like to be at least consulted before you make decisions that affect me.”
At her impassioned words, he straightened, his affable manner hidden by a guarded yet intimidating wariness. “I see.”
A momentary flicker in his eyes revealed her words had wounded him before he hid the vulnerability behind a polished reserve. After a long, disconcerting moment, she ducked from beneath his arm and faced him. “I know you mean well, but I’m not used to someone making decisions for me.”
He pocketed his newly acquired phone. “You never mentioned this before.”
Reaching out with one long finger, he pressed the emergency stop button, halting the elevator between floors. Images flashed across her mind, of Ford carrying her through the rain, of his hands on her backside during that massage, of the heat in his eyes when he asked her to wear the red dress.
As she recognized the simmering heat in his look, her breath caught. Fire spiraled deep in her belly. Her legs weakened, and she swayed. She retreated until her back pressed the cool wall. “I don’t like being bossed around. That’s one of the reasons I started my own business.”
He stalked her, stopping mere inches away. “You aren’t very good at following directions. The red
dress would have looked great on you.”
“I wanted you to back off.”
“You don’t know what you want.”
He stepped so close that with every breath, she could feel heat radiating off him, smell the hot spicy scent that made her mouth water. A tremor of desire shook her.
Damn him, he knew how she felt. He’d seen her tremble, heard her catch her breath. She couldn’t fight him anymore.
She reached around his neck, dug her fingers into his hair and pulled his head down to kiss her. She leaned closer, molding her body to his. They kissed. She had no idea for how long they tasted each other, sensually exploring with tongue and lips and roving hands. She only knew she wanted him to hold her, kiss her like this forever.
She grew hotter, needier. Her senses spun, yet he seemed in complete command. Except the bulge in his jeans told her differently. And so did the catch of his breath.
He was the one who pulled back, his eyebrow raised. “You picked one helluva time to change your mind.”
“I didn’t . . .” Heat rose to her face. He’d turned her mind to mush, her body to a tingling mass of raw nerves. What was it about his kisses that made straight thinking impossible?
He grinned, clearly pleased with himself and her admission that he could overwhelm her so easily. She’d gone from downright annoyance to practically ready-to-rip-his-clothes-off in less than an instant. He’d be intolerably confident now.
As he pushed a button and the elevator resumed moving, her nervousness turned to apprehension. She’d always prided herself on her independence. She had her own business, and no one would decide what she should eat and wear—no matter how well-intended his choices. Just then, the doors opened, and she walked beside him, her thoughts pensive and sobering. How could she feel so wondrously happy and so terribly miserable at the same time? If this was love, she wanted no part of it.
As if she had a choice.
She was so jittery after their encounter in the elevator, her hunger had disappeared. When they were in danger, he tried to protect her, yet treated her as an equal. But once the immediate peril had passed, Ford took charge with an ease so smooth and deceptive she had difficulty recognizing where to draw the line.
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