The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

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The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 32

by Stephanie Queen


  Rick moved fast. Jumping in the car, he focused on the drive and pulled out all the stops. It was time to cash in on any and all markers he may have around town with the Boston Police Department.

  If he thought his adrenaline pumped before, it only got worse—or better depending on your perspective—and he was taking a whole new perspective on this. It was going to be a kick to save a lady in distress.

  Swerving the car into an empty spot that wasn’t strictly meant for parking, he threw open his door, scanned the market, blew out a breath and said out loud, “Shit.”

  It was a perfect Friday night in October, and even at this late hour the place was crawling with partygoers leaving bars at the end of the night. The college crowd mixed in with the after business crowd and they milled and laughed and there was no way he was going to find Theresa without help. Rick zeroed in on a mounted police and trotted over, reading the man’s ID badge from ten feet away even in the dim lighting of the night.

  After launching into his lengthy explanation and seeing the policeman’s countenance go from mild interest to skepticism, Rick’s mind started searching for another approach. Then he heard the unmistakable shriek of laughter from nearby and spun in that direction. There was Theresa spilling out of the door of the nearest bar with a crowd of people, mostly men. The frown formed on his face without forethought. Wasting no more time, he waved at the policeman and bolted.

  “Theresa.”

  She looked in his direction and her smile faded to a puzzled frown. “Rick Racer. What a surprise running into you.”

  He cut her off. “Come on, we have to get out of here.” He took her by the arm before he noticed the stares of her companions turn from mild interest to hostile.

  “Hey,” one of them said.

  “What are you talking about? Are you possessed?” Theresa tried pulling her arm back.

  Rick didn’t let go. But he did suddenly remember why he was not in this action-hero game after all. This was the tricky part. He looked at the faces of three young men—all three towered over him and outweighed him by about fifty pounds each. He told himself this was not junior high all over again. He could out-think them. He turned to Theresa and decided a scare tactic was in order. It was a cheap, but effective way out.

  “St. Cyr’s on the loose and he’s after you.”

  She shrieked. Her friends grabbed him by the arm and tossed him aside. “What’s the matter? Are you all right? We can get rid of this guy if you want…”

  “No!” Rick shouted.

  “No. Not yet,” Theresa said. She looked at him and he felt a slight guilt creep up, but before he could explain, her face changed. “St. Cyr is out to get me and they sent you to save me? Where’s the rest of the muscle? I bet you don’t even own a gun!”

  Rick’s jaw dropped. Even if he had been thinking the same thing moments before, it was her indignation that got to him. “Sorry I didn’t come riding in on a stallion, but I’m it. Now quit the whining and let’s get out of here before we cause any more commotion.” He noticed people turning to look at them, in particular the mounted policeman he spoke with earlier. The guy already thought he was a crackpot, and his car would probably be towed any second if they didn’t move.

  “Why should I go anywhere with you? I’ll just call my father.”

  “Fine, you can call him from the car. He’ll explain everything.” Rick took her elbow and started tugging her in the direction of where he hoped his car was still parked. Three pairs of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him aside in a split second. That’s when the cop and his horse started trotting over.

  “You’re bluffing, Rick.” Theresa looked smug.

  “Shit. Call your father. I’ll call him for you.” He shook some of the hands off him and flipped out his cell phone in a quick gesture as he watched the cop approach. “What’s his cell number?”

  “Call him at home.”

  “He’s not there.”

  “How do you know?” Her tone was too sassy, and his blood started to boil. Unfortunately for him his eyes were drawn to her pouty lips and that only ratcheted up his tension, along with certain body parts. Geez. Time to pull out his ace. Hopefully it was a winner because he didn’t know exactly what it meant. He was betting the house that she would know.

  “Because he’s on his way to the Berkshires,” he told her.

  Bingo. She turned white as a sheet and stumbled. He gripped her again, this time harder, and he put an arm around her shoulder.

  “Let’s go.” He moved her and she followed. He had an urge to say something nice to her all of a sudden, but that would have to wait.

  “Are you all right, Theresa? You’re not going with this clown are you?” From one of her thug friends.

  “Ma’am, is everything okay?” That was from the police officer on the horse. She looked up at him and he seemed to recognize her instantly.

  Rick figured he better talk fast. That much he could do. “Yes, officer. The mayor asked me to escort Theresa home this evening. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

  They all looked at Theresa for confirmation, and she nodded—then gave them a wan smile.

  “Okay, Rick. Let’s go. Dad will be waiting,” Theresa said. Her voice was way too bright, but at least she attempted the role. Rick nodded and then half dragged her back across the brick and cobblestone plaza as she stumbled along in her ridiculous heels.

  “How could you wear those shoes out to a place like this? You have someone carry you over in a litter or something? Because I don’t see how you could have walked.” Rick was still talking fast, but not as fast as his heart was pumping. The car was still there and he blew out a breath of relief.

  “I know how to walk in heels. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “I wasn’t worried about you, believe me.” He opened the passenger door and shoved her inside, then raced around the front of the car, flung his door open and jammed himself into the seat. “This was all Peter’s idea. I don’t have any idea what’s going on. But I’m bringing you back to Cambridge and you better not complain about it because I’m sure it has something to do with saving your skin from St. Cyr.”

  “Stop being so mean. Why are you always so mean to me?” Her eyes glittered. He remembered her concern about her father. The softening was involuntary. He felt his hardness slip away even as he tried to rescue it as if it was his last defense. Something was assaulting him, something very unfamiliar. He could at least keep the frown on his face, even as she looked at him and he didn’t really want to frown at her any more.

  His hand went to her face. It wasn’t his idea. When she trembled he really lost it, and he found his lips a whisper from hers before his brain re-engaged. It was too late to stop. He clutched her jaw and plundered her pouty mouth because the prompt to do so was taking up all the available space in his brain. It was like an alien took over his mind and turned it to mush. More than he could say for other body parts, which were hard as granite and getting damn uncomfortable.

  And that was before she moaned and threw her arms around his neck. He found himself plastering her to the seat and stroking the curves of her breasts, as he tasted every corner of the inside of her mouth with his tongue. The next moan he heard was his. Geez. Don’t you have to be somewhere? Cambridge.

  He pushed her away from him as if it had all been her idea that he should assault her. Who knew, maybe it was. Then, gripping her by the shoulders to hold her off, he reasserted his frown.

  “We have to get out of here and get to Cambridge.”

  She laughed. “Yeah. I’m sure the safety of the free world depends on it.” She didn’t pout this time, but looked at him like she was enjoying his continuing discomfort. She probably did engineer his loss of control somehow. He watched her eyes change from laughing to heart-melting, half-lidded, pleasure-filled pools. The jolt to his body was a shock and he knew she knew. Goddamn am I ever in trouble. His frown was gone, and he only hoped his fear didn’t show. He turned from her, shoved the car in
to gear and drove off as if he’d been trained at Quantico to be a wheelman.

  Chapter 23

  Back in Cambridge

  Rick pulled his car into the driveway, barely fitting it in behind the so-called nondescript sedan that was already parked there. He’d never get it. The ridiculous car shouted “The cops are here!” It was Bill and Bob. Good. Maybe they’d fill him in on the minor details, because in spite of Theresa’s nonstop babbling on the way over, he hadn’t learned a blessed thing. He stopped the car and she stopped talking. They turned and looked at each other.

  “Mission accomplished, Ricky baby. Now what? You do realize I have nothing to wear?” She stared at him. He stared back. He had no idea what to make of the baby moniker and the “nothing to wear” comment. He was inclined to think it meant she’d be sleeping naked, but somehow he doubted that’s what she really meant. Her eyelids lowered and she slid forward. This time it was her idea. He obliged and pulled her the rest of the way until she was flattened against him and his lips were crushed to hers.

  That’s when the outside lights popped on and their lips popped apart. He felt like a con trying to escape prison under the searchlights. Caught red handed. She gave him a sly smile, and he figured all was not lost. Yet.

  “The jig is up. Time to face the firing squad. You ready?” Rick said. He found himself actually smiling back at her.

  “This is nothing. Wait till you have to answer to my father.” She was already out the car door before his heart returned from its fall to his guts. As soon as the blood returned to his brain he jumped from the car and caught up with her at the front door. It opened before she knocked, and Bill and Bob stood on the other side. For the life of him he couldn’t remember which one was who. He made the introductions anyway as he and Theresa walked inside under their speculative gazes.

  “Bill. Bob.” They nodded in succession, sorting themselves out. “This is Theresa Torini, the mayor’s daughter. We’re watching out for her till the general returns.”

  Bill and Bob raised their brows. Theresa laughed.

  “You guys are a hoot. So serious. They’ll catch St. Cyr any minute now and throw him in the psych ward where he belongs and it’ll all be over.” She walked past them into the library. Rick and the boys looked at each other and followed.

  “Where is the general?” Bob asked.

  “Since when did you sign on for duty, Rick?” That was Bill, the sharp one.

  “Don’t rub it in. I just returned from my first mission and it didn’t feel too bad.”

  “Your first mission?” Bob said with skepticism.

  “Hauled in the damsel in one piece, didn’t I?” They nodded their acknowledgement and walked into the library. Rick headed straight for the bar to celebrate or something, but stopped dead in his tracks.

  Dennis McBain stood in the very spot he was aiming for, pouring himself a drink. Dennis looked up and smiled in a dark, cynical way.

  “McBain. You’re a little confused. The Mad-house campaign headquarters is downtown, last I heard—unless they kicked you out of the hotel?” Rick folded his arms.

  “He’s with us. We just got back from our own mission. Very successful, if I do say so myself.” Bob was very pleased, and smiled with a nod at Dennis.

  Shit. This was getting very complicated, Rick thought.

  “You want a drink, Rick? Looks like you could use one. Don’t worry. I won’t be stealing any campaign secrets—we’ve already uncovered all the secrets we need. Nothing left to do between now and Election Day besides have our press conference in the morning.” Dennis handed him a drink, and Rick nodded. He refused to let on his confusion, but he needed to get the story. He seemed to be the only one who was a tad sketchy about the details of these missions.

  “I’ll take one of those, if you don’t mind. It’s been a trying night so far. I hope Daddy’s okay.” Theresa took a glass full of golden liquid from the obliging Dennis McBain. Rick had no idea what it was, except that it was nasty and strong. He suppressed the urge to stop Theresa from drinking it for a variety of reasons. Why should he want to stop her anyway? Geez.

  They all settled into their corners, and Rick figured it was his show. Time to get the story. “Bill, tell me about your mission.”

  The man’s face lit up. “We went with Madeline Grace and McBain to Nurse Ratched’s house—”

  “Nurse Ratched?” Rick asked in a voice pitched higher than he intended. Bill was about to confirm, but all he did was nod before the front door banged open and a fresh crowd of people crashed into the hall. Rick rushed to the door with Bill, Bob and Theresa right behind him.

  There stood Sam, Acer, Valerie, Jon and Morty. It was 4:00 a.m.

  “Where’s the general?” Sam asked.

  “Not here yet. Due any time,” Bob said.

  Rick rubbed his eyes. Geez.

  “Do they have St. Cyr?” Val asked.

  “Not last I heard,” Bill filled her in.

  “What about Sarah?” Jonathan asked.

  “Not a word.” That word was from Dennis, who came to stand against the doorjamb of the library with his drink in one hand, staring at the rest of them like he was the only sane one. Who knew? Rick thought maybe he was.

  “I’ll have another drink, bartender.” Rick walked back into the library, pushing past McBain and motioned for the rest of them to follow. Sam and Acer were quiet and hung back.

  “Time to call the general.” Sam flipped open his phone. Rick figured he would need to talk to those two to get the real and complete picture. Fat chance. Instead he got his drink, and the rest of them lined up behind him. Then he walked back out to the hall for the showdown. He could handle those two tight-lipped secretive bastards. This was his campaign, after all, and they didn’t want their precious general to lose the war.

  Sam was snapping the phone shut with unusual vigor. But it was the look on his face that alarmed Rick.

  “What?”

  “No answer,” Sam said.

  “I think I’ll have one of those drinks now,” Acer said. The two men pushed past Rick into the library. There was nothing left to do but wonder and follow.

  “You do realize it’s past four in the morning?” For some unknown reason, Rick would feel better if those two were sober. They were too under control. The thought of them losing it was scary to contemplate.

  “So you’re saying Sarah was behind this whole thing?” Val was angry.

  “Looks that way to me,” Bill said.

  “Mrs. Senator Brown and Theresa both say so. Better face the facts, sweetheart,” Acer said. Could the guy be any less politically correct? Val looked like she was mentally slapping him silly. Maybe a couple more drinks and Rick would have to play referee.

  “I’m not Sarah Lisky’s biggest fan,” McBain said, “but I’m sure she wouldn’t go that far. She was being blackmailed or coerced somehow.”

  “Possibly,” Sam conceded. “But unlikely. It’s best to assume the worst. It’s no coincidence that both St. Cyr and Sarah are missing. They could be gone by now.”

  That comment seemed to chill the room. Rick certainly felt his goose bumps rise. He drained the rest of his drink.

  “That makes no sense. Where would they go? This isn’t some international espionage ring here. They have careers, friends and family. They aren’t about to go into hiding over this. They aren’t spies like you,” Jonathan said.

  “Jonathan Lake, you surprise me.” Rick tried smiling. He would never provoke these guys like that.

  “Spies?” Acer said.

  “Let’s not get personal here, guys.” Rick’s alarm ratcheted up.

  “Sarah’s as guilty as they come. I don’t care what the reason is.” That comment was from Bill. Not a comforting statement from someone out of the DA’s office.

  “Figures you would say that,” Val accused. “You don’t even know her or anything about her.” The woman was audacious enough, or tipsy enough, to take a step forward.

  “How about if I make some
coffee? Or how about some breakfast?” Rick was scaring himself now. They all looked at him with blank stares. “I can cook bacon and eggs. I went to the PJD School of Culinary Arts.” They continued with blank stares. Tough crowd. “That’s all I can cook.”

  “No, thanks,” McBain said.

  Acer started pacing. Val got herself another drink. Jonathan folded his arms across his chest and stood watching everyone. Bill and Bob sipped their drinks slowly and checked their watches every ten seconds.

  “I’ll be in the basement,” Sam tossed over his shoulder on his way out the door. Rick knew that was code for something, but couldn’t for the life of him say what.

  “I’m calling Madeline.” Val fished her cell phone out of her bag and started punching numbers. “I wish she didn’t go with PJD on this mission.” She stood with the phone on her ear, waiting. Rick wished these people would quit referring to their mysterious missions. He looked over at Theresa. No wonder she’d been quiet. She was asleep on the couch—alongside Morty, with his computer open and blinking on his lap.

  Sam came back in the room and nodded at Acer. They disappeared to the hall for a secret spy conference. Rick held himself back from following.

  “So Bill, you were telling me about your mission. Something about Nurse Ratched?” He may get this story yet.

  Val shoved her phone back in her bag. “Wherever they are, either their phones are off or they don’t have coverage.” She started pacing. Rick might join her in a second. He looked at Bill for his story.

  “The nurse was very helpful. We got her full confession on a flash drive,” Bill said.

  “We have a flash drive?” Val, Jon and Rick spoke at once. Sam and Acer appeared in the doorway.

  “Let’s have it,” Acer said.

 

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