Born in Danger

by Susan Kearney

  “Really?”

  “Hey.” He stopped walking and cupped her chin. “Give me a few days, and then I’ll slow down enough to explain, okay? Right now, I have to concentrate on protecting us.”

  “That’s my job,” she insisted.

  A startled glimmer lit his blue eyes. “Bear with me?”

  He won points for not arguing, and for an answer, she kissed him. While his explanations might be short, he put everything into his kiss. Tender ferocity. Passion that warmed her from scalp to toes. And bliss. Kissing Ford was pure, unadulterated bliss that left her head swimming and her lungs breathless.

  When he released her, the tension between them diminished.

  To regroup, she turned toward Martin’s grand, three-story house decorated with coupled columns, monumental steps, wall surfaces with pilasters and a sculpted classical figure by a fountain. It had a chilly feel to it, lacking a woman’s touch, and she recalled Martin was a bachelor.

  Hand in hand they strolled toward the front steps where the driver waited for them. “We found a cook, a maid and Martin’s gardener living over the garage. The Doc is clearing the upstairs areas before you enter.”

  A slender, gray-haired man dressed in a suit and tie exited the house. His thin face was almost hidden by thick black-framed glasses, a mustache and neat goatee.

  “Is that Martin?” she whispered as the brown-eyed man approached.

  Ford shook his head and frowned. “I don’t recognize him, but he seems familiar.”

  The driver checked his clipboard. “He’s the cook. He’ll return to prepare the evening meal at around five o’clock.”

  Ford shrugged. “I suppose I’ve met him at one of Martin’s dinners.”

  Without saying a word, the cook tipped his hat and walked by. They continued to wait outside while the Doctor took a long time to inspect the house. Finally, the head security agent came outside.

  The moment Devin saw his steely eyes, her instincts kicked into life. “What’s wrong?”

  “The house is safe, but you should see what I found.”

  They climbed a wide flight of stairs, strode over Persian carpets and down a hall of gilded mirrors and Renaissance art. The Doctor motioned them to enter a white bedroom at the back of the house. An alabaster chintz spread covered the canopy bed. Two lacy pillows lay at the headboard.

  On each pillow lay a single black rose.

  Her heart slammed her ribs. On rubbery legs, she shuffled toward the bed. The rose had a long stem with half-inch thorns. The bloom was coal-black with petals that curled in at the tips.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Ford said.

  Every nerve in her body signaled danger, but she couldn’t resist a quip. “I just want to smell the roses.”

  “Very funny.”

  She bent toward the flower and inhaled. The overpowering scent sickened her. “These have the aromatic scent Kaplan described. If we take a picture and text it, he can tell us if this variety is the same as the London black rose.”

  “Damn! Stop the cook!” Ford spun on his heel, sprinted pell-mell down the hall, leaped three steps at a time and charged out the front door.

  Startled and confused by his actions, she and the Doctor raced after him. They didn’t catch Ford until he’d stopped at the front gate.

  “Sir?” the Doctor asked.

  The hairs on her nape lifted, and goosebumps angled down her back. “Ford, what is it?”

  “I know why the cook looked familiar.” Ford pounded his fist into his palm.

  “The cook?” The Doctor peered through the gate down the empty road. “What about him?”

  “The gray-haired man who passed us as we came in?” Devin asked with a frown.

  At Ford’s hint, she realized the cook’s brown eyes had seemed familiar to her, too, but she’d discounted the possibility of knowing anyone in this fancy neighborhood.

  Ford sprinted back to the house. “The he is a she.”

  “Yvonne Jansen?” she guessed aloud as she ran at his side. “The money ended up in Amsterdam, but she’s too young to have committed all the assassinations.”

  “Maybe she’s a copycat. But it makes sense. The black roses on our pillows. Her showing up here.”

  “Why didn’t she kill us when we visited her home?”

  “We took her by surprise. And she’s a pro who wouldn’t panic and make a hit without careful preparation. She wouldn’t risk dead bodies in her home and a police investigation.”

  In the foyer, Ford grabbed his phone, hit speed dial and said into the receiver, “Anne, I need that information on Yvonne Jansen, her family, her dead husband, her business, if she has a criminal record.”

  The Doctor entered the hallway. “We’re moving you from here. The police put out an APB, and we’ll notify Interpol.”

  “Don’t bother.” Devin sank into a chair. “That woman has a hundred disguises. With her ten-minute head start, the police won’t find her. And if we leave, she’ll no doubt follow. With your security team now in place and the high walls around the house, we’re safer here than at a hotel.”

  “How did she gain access?” Devin asked.

  The Doctor checked his list. “She gave us the real cook’s name, and I’ve just learned this is his day off. I’m sorry. This would never have happened if we’d been on the job more than a few hours.”

  Devin fought to keep her voice even. “The black roses indicate she’s making her hit tonight.”

  Ford dropped the receiver into its cradle. “Damn. She couldn’t have picked a worse night.”

  “You can’t go on that stage,” Devin said with a sinking feeling he wouldn’t listen.

  He raked a hand through his hair, and his eyes hardened. “You don’t understand. The only way to catch the assassin is with bait.”

  And he intended to be the bait. Horror rose to choke her. “No!”

  “It’s the only way. Only you and I can recognize Yvonne. We don’t have her picture. Anne thought the woman was simply camera shy when she couldn’t find anything on the internet. Now we know why. But if the Black Rose is coming tonight, it’s our chance to nab her.”

  FORD, DEVIN AND the Doctor spent the rest of the day preparing for the stockholders meeting. The posh New Orleans hotel had one of the most convenient locations in town—directly on the Mississippi River on the Canal Street edge of the French Quarter. The window-walled tenth-floor lobby was a masterpiece of Carrara marble, fine paintings and antiques. The rooms boasted marble foyers and baths, antique furnishings and plush king-size beds. Ignoring the weeping river and French Quarter views that were truly spectacular, Devin was more concerned with security.

  As she, Ford and the Doctor walked with his security team through the hotel’s ground floor where the meeting would be held this evening, Ford’s phone rang. The team spread out in all directions while Ford listened for several minutes then put down the phone.

  “That was a senator who owes me a favor and has a connection in Interpol. Yvonne’s husband was killed by a bullet between the eyes. He also grew black roses. It is believed that after Yvonne’s husband was killed, she inherited both businesses.”

  “She took on his assassination work?” Devin frowned. “The pieces fit. Her husband must have done the earlier killings.”

  “Yvonne’s fluent in French, and her husband was thirty-nine years older.”

  So Yvonne’s husband was old enough to have been a young man displaying roses in London after World War II. Devin remembered Yvonne had called the black roses la fleur du mort, the death flower—a fitting name for an assassin—and in French.

  As Ford continued to make phone calls, an apprehensive chill shimmied down her spine. If Yvonne had been paid in full by Henschel, why was she still after Ford when Henschel was dead?

  Had the
assassin feared she and Ford would succeed in exposing the Black Rose’s identity? Had their investigation forced Yvonne to come after them? No. Yvonne had known they were on her trail before she and Ford contacted Grendal. While a leak at the British embassy could explain Yvonne’s picking up their intentions so quickly, there were several other possibilities. Perhaps Yvonne kept tabs on Ford’s private jet. Or there was a security leak. Something didn’t fit, and the ambiguities bothered her. They still didn’t have all the puzzle pieces.

  Oblivious to her worries, Ford suddenly covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “What do you want to wear tonight?”

  She appreciated his remembering to ask her. There might be hope for his high-handed tendencies yet. Putting aside her premonition of disaster, she held out her hand for the phone and spoke directly to Anne. “Would a pantsuit be appropriate?”

  “Yes,” the secretary said.

  “Okay, then I’d appreciate your finding one that’s loose enough to wear a bullet-proof vest underneath. And Ford should wear one, too. I want sneakers on my feet—no heels.”

  Ford cocked his eyebrow as he listened. At her last request, he shook his head.

  “I may have to run. Don’t they have sneakers with bling on them? Also, I’ll need a shoulder-strap purse large enough to hold a handgun. That’s it. Thanks, Anne.”

  Ford switched off the phone, and as they entered the empty but ornate auditorium that would be filled to capacity tonight, he took her into his arms. His arms cradled her. He looked grim. “I’m letting you come with me only because if I didn’t, you’d come alone.”

  “I’ve met Yvonne. With both of us looking, we stand a better chance of spotting her.”

  He ran his hands up and down her arms and stared straight into her eyes. “I’d pay one of Doc’s men to keep you someplace safe, except I don’t think you’d forgive me.”

  “I wouldn’t.” While she relished his concern and was warmed by his protectiveness, she stood firm. No way was she sitting at home worrying while he took all the risks. “The Doctor assured me he can disguise me so my own mother won’t recognize me. I’ll be safe.”

  His expression didn’t change. Clearly, her words hadn’t satisfied him. “Once we spot the Black Rose, promise me you’ll let the Doctor and his team handle her.”

  “I have no intention of confronting Yvonne,” she assured him truthfully.

  She was about to make him promise to do the same, when a short, balding man with a paunch approached, his shiny shoes squeaking on the plush maroon carpet. An unlit cigar hung from the corner of his mouth. “It’s about time you got back.”

  Ford shook the man’s hand. “Devin, I’d like you to meet Martin Crewsdale, my partner.”

  Devin offered her hand, and Martin pumped it enthusiastically. He winked at her, removed the cigar and pointed it toward her. “So you’re the reason he’s late. But I’m sure Ford will pull off the stockholders meeting with élan. He always does.”

  When Ford started to fill in Martin on the security arrangements and the surprise presentation on the holographic equipment he’d flown in from Silicon Valley at the last moment, Martin put up his hand like a cop stopping traffic. “I don’t need details. I’ve got problems of my own.”

  “What problems?” Ford asked.

  “I haven’t learned who’s buying Norton stock,” Martin complained. “The buyer is smart. They’re moving slowly but steadily, managing not to run up the price.”

  “What percentage?”

  “As of this morning, twenty-five percent. The entire operation has your handwriting on it. You sure you know nothing about it?”

  Ford’s eyes narrowed. “My capital is tied up in the Silicon deal. Besides, if I intended to buy more stock, I’d have told you.”

  Martin puffed on his cigar and blew a ring of smoke. “Sorry. I heard a rumor with your name attached.”

  “You heard wrong. What else have you got?” Martin started a detailed explanation of bylaws, voting rights and amendments. Ford had been correct about his partner’s tendency to worry over every detail.

  More interested in the security arrangements than the men’s discussion, Devin wandered down the gently sloping floor toward the stage. One of the Doctor’s men remained with Ford while another agent shadowed her.

  Ford had explained how the firm needed to balance looking prosperous with appearing careful of stockholders money. She strolled between the dinner tables set with crisp linen, gleaming silver and fine china, thinking his company had done a good job. Frilly white carnations surrounded delicate lavender orchids at the center of each table, looking elegant but not extravagant.

  The bullet-proof glass shield that would protect the elevated stage had not yet arrived. Ford had explained that the Doctor’s team would make certain that the entire area was vacant before the glass would be set in place on the stage and a cordoned-off area would keep guests away. Timing was critical. The glass had to be in place just moments before the guests arrived to prevent the Black Rose from discovering their deception with a last-minute walk-through.

  Devin ambled across the stage and sat, letting her legs dangle and swing over the edge. If she were the assassin, from where would she take her shot? From among the guests at the nearby tables? From the seats that rose in steps along the sides and back of the room?

  Tilting her chin, she stared upward. Metal I beams crisscrossed the ceiling. Lights dangled from steel supports. A small room, up high, by the ceiling, would ensure a perfect shot at the stage. She imagined that lighting and sound people worked in the small, elevated booth during theater productions. In addition to the itch on the back of her neck, a bad feeling clutched her stomach as she stared at the darkened room. She’d mention to the Doctor that one of his men should stand guard there as well as by the trap door under the stage that David Copperfield had once used during his magic act. Not that she needed to be telling ex-Secret Service agents how to do their jobs—but still, it never hurt to be thorough.

  Ford would also be vulnerable from behind. But six burly guards would prevent anyone from going backstage.

  The Doctor had every corner of the room and each entrance and exit staked out. So why was her stomach tied into one big pretzel? And why was the back of her neck prickling?

  ALTHOUGH DEVIN looked very different in makeup and should be unrecognizable to the assassin, she shuddered to think what Ford would say if he discovered her deception. However, she couldn’t let his feelings interfere with her work. She’d been hired to find the assassin, and that’s what she intended to do. Besides, she and Ford would never be safe until Yvonne was behind bars.

  Devin now had a wider nose, fuller lips and darker skin. The bullet-proof vest disguised her curves, and a chestnut wig hid her golden-blond curls.

  When Ford had told her that he usually greeted the stockholders as they entered the hotel auditorium, she’d asked him and the board members to remain backstage. The Doctor had agreed. Hopefully no one could pass through the cordoned-off area, and the protective glass was now in place. As long as Ford remained onstage, he’d be safe.

  Ford had probably assumed she would remain with him. However, when he’d turned to greet a business associate, she’d slipped away to change clothes and apply the makeup and wig. She’d never intended to remain backstage but hadn’t discussed her plan with Ford, then lied to the doctor, saying Ford had approved her scheme.

  The Doctor took Devin’s arm, and they wandered through the increasingly crowded room. Knowing Yvonne might disguise herself as a male or a female, Devin carefully searched every face. If she spotted the Black Rose before Yvonne disrupted the meeting and the Doctor’s men apprehended the assassin, Devin could stop worrying about Ford’s safety.

  The Doctor suggested they ignore anyone over six foot or under five foot three inches in height, but the majority of people fell between those parameter
s. The Doctor leaned down toward Devin. “Anything?”

  “Zip. How long does the cocktail party last?”

  “Forty-five minutes. We only have ten left.” When the crowd took their seats, it would be easier to ensure she didn’t miss a face. But the room was enormous, and after the stockholders settled at their tables, she wouldn’t have the freedom of movement she had now.

  She needed to find Yvonne soon. Despite the guards and the protective glass, Devin couldn’t curb the feeling they’d overlooked something.

  Craning her head, she looked upward and yanked on the Doctor’s arm. “Didn’t you post a guard in the lighting booth upstairs? I don’t see him.”

  The Doctor peered up and frowned. “I don’t see David, either.”

  The Doctor reached into his pocket, signaled, and within moments one of his men joined them.

  “Have you seen Yvonne?” the agent asked.

  “No, and David’s not in sight.”

  The agent spoke quietly into his microphone. “There’s no answer. I’ll check on him.”

  “I’ll go with you,” the Doctor said.

  Devin accompanied the two men, hoping the Doctor wouldn’t forbid her presence. She looped an arm through his, making it more difficult for him to slip away. “If there aren’t any problems, maybe I can spot Yvonne from up there.”

  The Doctor shook his head. “You’ll be too far away to see individual faces. Besides, Ford wouldn’t want you in danger. Stay here, and I’ll assign another of my men to you.”

  “No need to take a man off the job. Besides, I brought binoculars,” she argued, strolling toward an exit. “But I won’t endanger myself or get in your way. I’ll wait until you give me the go-ahead.” She sensed him weakening. “Come on, I’m the only one who can positively identify her. Besides, the hairs on my neck are standing straight up.”

  “What does that mean?” the Doctor asked as he held her back and let the other agent go ahead of them.

  “My instincts are kicking in. She’s upstairs. I feel it.”

  They climbed the steps, following the agent but at a distance. With a team member already upstairs, the Doctor apparently wasn’t too concerned about allowing her to accompany him.