Mauve set a plate in front of Oscar with steaming gravy-covered Betsy and potatoes. She smiled to herself, watching his eyes light. His fork hit the plate at the same instant the plate hit the table. Poor overcooked Betsy didn’t stand a chance.
“My!” Mauve clasped her hands. She seemed delighted and flustered at Oscar’s gusto. Pixie would bet her house—if she had one—that Mauve didn’t see too much gusto around this household.
“Great food, Mauve. Pull up a chair,” Oscar said in between bites.
Mauve shook her head vigorously. “Thank you, but I hope you don’t mind if I tend to the chore of getting your room readied. I hadn’t expected…” She turned pinker with each word. Pixie thought she was too sweet a lady for Chauncey’s father, who probably never told her how sweet she was. She was about to kick Oscar under the table to say something nice, but he knew how to appreciate his cooks.
“We’ll miss your company, my good woman. Do what ever you need to do, but don’t go to any trouble for me.” Oscar beamed his handsome manly smile at her, only looking slightly like a mobster.
Mauve trilled a giggle and waved as she ducked out of the kitchen into the back hall.
“What a doll. He doesn’t deserve her.”
“You don’t even know him.” Never mind that she’d been thinking the same thing.
“Don’t pretend you don’t agree,” Oscar said, shoveling another forkful of food into his mouth.
She heard a fake-coughing noise at the door and bolted around in her chair to see Sir Miller standing in the doorway. Geez, she wondered how long the man had stood there listening to their gossip about him. Her mind raced past the mental chastising and straight to making amends. She jumped from her chair.
Oscar looked cool and unruffled as he continued to eat and gestured to an empty chair.
“Join us, old fellow.”
“I’ve already eaten. Thank you,” he said sardonically, his lips compressed to a knife-like line.
“Please join us anyway,” she said. “I love your kitchen and Mauve has been spectacularly hospitable to us—and you too. I know we’re inconveniencing you terribly…” She rambled until Oscar cut in.
“I’ll need to take a tour of the house—every nook and cranny, including all exits and closets. Then we’ll decide where we’ll be safest to spend the night.”
Sir Miller nodded, then stiffly pulled back a chair to sit, keeping his eye on Oscar as if the man were about to steal his silver. Oscar gave a lot of people that impression. On purpose, Sophia figured.
A clatter sounded at the front door, then the bell rang. They all turned toward the kitchen the hallway that led from the kitchen to the front of the house. Sir Miller made to rise and Oscar motioned him to stop, slipping a gun from his pocket and standing. The elder Miller didn’t listen. Pixie looked between them and sat frozen.
“You forget I’m experienced in these matters. I’ll call the men out front and see what’s going on,” Elder said to Oscar. He slipped a mobile phone from his pocket and pressed one number. He moved toward the hall while he listened for the answer. As he moved into the hall, leaving her and Oscar behind, he spoke to them over his shoulder. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll attend to it.”
Oscar took a step after him and looked at her. “I don’t like this, but it’s you I’m here to protect, not his old…”
A loud crashing sound of the door slamming open interrupted him. Pixie jumped up and ran into Oscar’s arms. He wasted no time sweeping her away in the opposite direction of the noise, through the door to the back hall.
“I hope Mauve is out of the way,” he said when they heard a bloodcurdling scream in the midst of the sounds of the scuffle.
“Damn.” He shoved her in a closet and she opened her mouth to protest until she saw the look in his eyes. He put a finger to her lips, nodded, closed the door on her and left her in the dark with an ironing board and who knew what else. The muted echo of another gunshot—which she sincerely hoped came from Oscar’s gun—convinced her that this closet was a perfectly wonderful place to be at the moment. She vowed to herself that she would stay there in the closet until she starved or until Oscar or—better yet—Chauncey came back to get her. Whichever came first.
She was not a chicken. She was underprepared. She had no gun, after all. Besides, even if she had a gun, she barely knew how to use one. After a few more fainter sounding gunshots, there was a pause, then the sound of footsteps coming toward her. She hiccupped.
Her vow to stay put went out the window and she shoved the door open and flew back into the hallway to see Oscar trotting toward her with his gun stuck in his pants. Her first thought was about how dangerous that was for him, quickly followed by “What happened?”
“They got Sir Miller and they took Mauve. They came in and grabbed her just as I got there and we exchanged some bullets.” He stopped in front of her, bent slightly forward to catch his breath. She touched his lowered shoulder.
“What happened?” At least her hand wasn’t shaking. Now if she could get her heart to stop trying to bust out of her rib cage she’d feel like a pro. She took an almost steady breath.
Oscar stood straight and stared at her.
“What the hell were you thinking coming out of that closet? How did you know it was me and not those half-baked lunatics coming after you?”
She widened her eyes. She hadn’t thought of that.
“Never mind,” he said and hauled her in for one of his bear hugs. “At least they didn’t get you. Chauncey won’t have to kill me.”
She pushed him off. “But, Oscar—they have his father!”
He shook his head. “And Mauve…I don’t understand it. I need a drink. Then I’ll call this in.” He went for the bottle and she was right behind him.
Meanwhile
Chauncey left on foot and dashed to the nearest Tube entrance. He would start with the one woman on the list. Either he could eliminate her immediately or she’d crack the fastest if she was the traitor. According to the background, she was the only one on the list with a child and he knew Azzam’s M.O. He would want to exploit the weakest link and a woman with a child would be it in the man’s mind. Not a bad strategy.
He exited the Tube and walked at the fastest clip possible without seeming in a hurry to any passersby. He wasn’t sure there was a need for subterfuge, but it was automatic now. They may well have someone watching her house. He was careful to circle around and cut through the back entrance along the line of bushes where he spied a basement entry on the side. He kept low and used the shrubbery hugging the house to cover him while he unlocked the door with his tool. The lock was old, as was the building, and no special skill was required for this one. In less than thirty seconds he let himself into Detective O’Connor’s basement.
His first job was to search for listening devices or other strange wiring. It didn’t take him long to find it. His stomach clenched when he saw the box. She was the one. His mind spun and he paused to figure his approach. He had to leave the device in place to avoid Azzam catching on that he knew about the mole. He also had to get her out of here without incident to get her to talk freely. He needed to take her to a place where she’d feel safe. His home. HQ was probably also being watched. He’d take her back to his father’s house—the new base camp for the case.
The flash of Pixie’s fiery red hair appeared unbidden in his mind as if to remind him of the stakes. The thud of his pulse drummed in his ears louder and faster. He paused and took a deep breath, then he moved up the stairs to find this pathetic, sorrowful woman who had betrayed them all in the name of saving her daughter. The churn of feelings about her betrayal caused him to pause again when he reached the dark hall to the parlor and the light and sound of a television set. He reminded himself that he needed her cooperation to lay a trap for their tormentor.
He saw her from behind, slouched in her chair. She lived alone with her daughter so he expected no one else to be about. Stooped low, he silently crept behind her, stood
and clamped a hand hard against her mouth while the other held his gun to her temple.
He showed her his badge, convinced her to stay quiet by putting a gag over her mouth, then took her from the house the way he came, leaving the television humming in their wake.
On the street, he’d taken her gag off and cuffed her to him. Talking in a fast clip, he said, “I know all about you feeding Azzam intelligence.” She opened her mouth and bucked. He slapped his arm around her face and pulled her in before he continued. Beads of sweat rolled on his temple. “Don’t say a damn word. I know he has your daughter.”
He felt her tense, ready-for-flight stance sag against him and he unwrapped his arm from her face. “Cooperate and all will be well.”
Tears streamed down her face, but she remained silent. He moved them along the street. She moaned and sobbed intermittently, clearly on the verge of a breakdown. He stopped them in the dark, away from the streetlamp a few meters from the Tube entrance. He needed to calm her.
But he wanted to strangle her. She was a deadly fool. He could hardly stomach what she’d done. He reminded himself she was a mother protecting her child. She should have known better, but she succumbed. He reigned in the flood of emotions that came to rest in an uneasy weight in his gut. He tried to ignore the fact that he had his own vulnerability. He could easily make foolish decisions if he didn’t cool off. Why had he brought Pixie to London? His stomach felt like he’d swallowed a lead ball. He needed a clear head. And this woman’s cooperation.
“If you want your daughter back alive,” he rasped in Mary’s ear and vice-gripped her arm, “you’ll work with me and be very helpful.”
She stared at him with fearful eyes. He watched her throat as she gulped.
His phone chirped. His surprise at the sound faded in a flash as he recalled that the growing list of people who had the number included Oscar. A glacier formed in his bloodstream with uncharacteristic speed. His stomach lurched. Detective O’Connor watched him. He put on a stony face and reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve the phone. There were only four people who had the number and they all had only one reason to call. And it wasn’t good. He tapped the phone on and clamped it to his ear.
“Yes,” he said.
“Trouble.” The voice belonged to Oscar. His insides twisted. He felt Mary’s eyes on him in the silence around them while he waited for the bad news.
“Not Pixie. They have your father…”
“Damn it. She’s okay? Damn it to hell.” He blew out a breath and felt his body decompress from the cold grip. He didn’t know how he should feel, but his relief felt like a betrayal to his own flesh and blood. His father could handle being a hostage better than Pixie could, he reasoned. His father had been in this brutal business all his life. He was a tough old man. At least on the outside. He’d wondered what the old man hid all these years, from everyone save his wife, Chauncey’s mother. Perhaps it was the soft vulnerability of caring too much that his father worked so hard at hiding. Like Chauncey did himself.
“One more thing.” Oscar’s voice snapped him back. “They took Mauve. It was strange. They came in and got her after they had Sir Miller. Like they were looking for her, or …”
“Or they were looking for a woman they didn’t know.”
“And they took the handiest one they could find,” Oscar rasped with disgust. “Azzam wasn’t with them,” he told Chauncey.
“Who were they?”
“Regular guys, English speaking. One had a gun, the other had a knife. Azzam sent the B-team. I think I hit one of them.”
“There was gunfire?” A beat of silence from Oscar’s end of the line made Chauncey’s heart sound like a cannon. Mary whimpered.
Oscar finally spoke. “He’s used up his official resources. He’s outside the cell’s mission.”
Chauncey interrupted. “And they took Mauve thinking she was Pixie.” He said the words, looking directly at his captive. She looked confused. “You’re not too bad at this game for a stranger with no history,” he said to Oscar.
Oscar laughed on the other end of the line, a subdued version of his normal raucous bellow. The man held nothing back. Chauncey felt a momentary pinch of envy. Oscar was there with his Pixie.
“Do you want to talk to Pixie?”
The question stopped him. “No.” It was his automatic response. He always held back. But it was the right thing to do. He could not afford foolish sentimentality to interfere in his decisions. He had a mission. He needed to concentrate on pulling his captive in.
He asked, “What about the men out front? Casualties?”
“Funny about that. There was no one there. They cleared out ahead of time—like they’d been warned or called off if I didn’t know better.”
Chauncey’s eyes shot to Mary’s. He’d bet his father’s life she had something to do with the disappearance of the police detail. Then it occurred to him that he was about to do exactly that—bet his father’s life on her information.
“Hold tight. Don’t call it in yet. I’ll be there within the hour.” He signed off.
Then he grabbed Mary by the shoulder and shoved her down the stairs to the underground. She yelped and jabbered and he barked an order to silence her.
“Not another peep from you. If you want your daughter’s life saved and your own, you will do everything I ask. Gladly.”
She shook her head and sniffled.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. You’re the target. You’re the man whose life I gladly agreed to exchange for my daughter’s.” She spoke in a hard voice this time, her eyes gleaming like a rabid animal. He’d have to tread carefully here. Mary looked to be on the edge of sanity, and tipping to the wrong side. How did a trained professional Scotland Yard detective end up being such a fool? For once he thought of his father and realized some insight into the man. Emotion welled up at the dizzying possibilities. But this was no time for epiphanies.
“Whether I end up dead or alive, the only way you’ll see your daughter again is if we can get to her now before he kills her. Because he surely will and intended to all along. You must know this. Everyone in the office knows this.” He hissed the words.
Her eyes went wide and welled up, but her mouth remained a grim line. They stood among a thin crowd as the train pulled up and they got on the door that slid open nearest them. He didn’t let her sit. They stood at a pole and he wished he’d talked to Pixie. But she was a distraction he couldn’t afford. He had no idea if this wild-eyed woman in front of him would try taking him down or running. She was most definitely desperate.
“Where are we going? You know they are watching HQ…if…if they see me compromised they’ll….” She sobbed the words once they got off the Tube and he half dragged her up the stairs to the surface.
“Don’t worry. Unlike you, I am careful.” It was mean, but only half of him felt sorry for this woman. The other half was enraged with her stupidity.
She let out another sob and he cursed himself for the indiscretion. Taking a deep breath, he led her to the shadows of a nearby building. He needed her in a hopeful frame of mind so that she wouldn’t go crazy. He needed her help.
“You’re not the only one who has a loved one at stake here. They have my father and another woman and they’re after me and my love. We need to work together to solve this. I know this man and if you cooperate and give me whatever you know about his operation or his cohorts, I swear to you I will get your daughter back alive for you. Do you understand? I’m your best chance of seeing your daughter again.”
She stared at him and, miraculously, her eyes were dry. Her mouth went to that grim thin line and she nodded. He believed her. He was going on instinct, but sometimes one had no choice—something his father would never agree with. But after it was all over and his father and he were sitting in their study in front of a fire sipping brandy he’d make sure he told the old man he’d been saved by instinct.
He arrived at his home with Mary in tow. Once he round
ed the corner and saw the house, still unprotected, he rounded on her, remembering. “What happened to the men out front? Why did they disappear? How are they involved?”
“They’re not involved—no one is involved but me. I changed their orders, had them called away.”
“What the hell could possibly have convinced them to leave a security post for one of the goddamned commissioners of Scotland Yard?” he shouted at her as he hurried them up the walk.
“I told them you had it under control, that you had given the order.”
“Damn. No one could check with me since I’ve been out of communication.” At least she was a clever traitorous fool. But he was never going to tell her that. He dragged her up the front steps and barged through the unlocked door.
Sophia knew why Chauncey hadn’t wanted to talk to her on the phone. She knew he resented that Azzam had taken his father and not her. And they took Mauve, the faithful family caretaker, leaving Sophia’s useless behind behind. She paced around the kitchen picking up a handful of chips as she walked by the bowl. Someone in this house liked junk food, bless their hearts. She’d needed a fix ever since Oscar had called Chauncey and he said he’d be back within the hour. An hour was a damn long time in a circumstance like this. She stopped and looked at Oscar. He sat at the table, sipping his scotch. She had no idea why he bothered because he seemed to be immune to the horrid stuff. She hadn’t been able to swallow even one sip.
Some Bond girl she was turning out to be.
Oscar cleared his throat. He wasn’t known for his subtlety so she figured he had a tickle, until he spoke.
“Are you okay, Pixie? I’ve never seen you like this. You’re really soft on this Chauncey fellow aren’t you? How serious is it?”
“What are we playing, twenty questions?” She gave him her best glower.
He laughed. “Now that’s the Pixie I know and love. You’ve also answered my question.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he picked up his scotch and took a swig instead. She shrugged, took a step, then turned and plopped herself into the chair opposite him. She bent her head forward and rested her forehead on her arms on the table. Of course she wasn’t kidding Oscar. She had to stop kidding herself too. She was in love with Chauncey. She was stark raving madly in love with the man.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 85