“Why? What else has happened?” Thomas asked.
“Didn’t say. Just following orders.”
With that cryptic reply, he set off with them in his wake. As if by magic, the crowd parted for them.
She whispered to Thomas, “Next time I go to Macy’s after-Christmas sale, I’m taking Lucas for crowd control.”
“He’d probably rather face all the Taliban in Afghanistan.”
A few moments later, they entered the director’s private quarters, a spacious office of royal blue and cream. European artwork and expensive books lining the walls infused the room with essences of old leather and older oils. A striking Baroque tapestry riveted her gaze. Until the director turned from the knot of people by a massive mahogany desk.
He stepped aside, revealing Secretary of State Vinton and President Farhadi. Cleo hadn’t even noticed they’d left the gala.
Smiling, hands outstretched, Helen Vinton crossed to them. She shook hands, first with Thomas, then with Cleo. “I’m told you two are responsible for finding the stolen necklace and uncovering this entire plot. I can’t tell you how grateful we all are.”
Thomas dipped his head. “My honor, ma’am. Felt good to be back in the field. I’ve sat at a desk for too long.”
She turned her smile to Cleo. “You’ve had quite the adventure, from what Special Agent Hunt says.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cleo began, at a loss. She couldn’t say what she’d gone through was nothing. “If only I hadn’t posted my picture wearing the necklace—”
The Secretary’s rich laugh cut her off. “I never thought I’d be grateful for Facebook.”
Grateful? “But—” Cleo snapped her mouth shut. Whoa, yeah, posting her picture online had set off the entire search. Not yet a total success but maybe she’d done a good thing after all. Except for Mimi’s injury.
Secretary Vinton introduced them to President Farhadi, who bowed as he took Cleo’s hand in both of his.
“My country is thankful to you both and to the fine agents of the American government and the Interpol task force. I recognized that so-called waiter when he was watching us. He is well known to my government. A minion of Ahmed Yousef. The Islamic Republic has tolerated this enemy of the state for too long. Five minutes after my phone call to the Council, his threat will be eliminated.”
“Yousef will be arrested,” Secretary Vinton added.
Farhadi’s mouth creased in a scythe of a smile. Cleo blinked away the scenario that leaped to her imagination.
The museum director stepped forward. “I agreed to this evening’s charade to catch an assassin and because I was assured Cleopatra’s necklace would be returned. The copy will fool most of the public, but the integrity of the Metropolitan Museum and of the Egyptian people is at stake. When will we have the original piece?”
***
Later that night, Marco Zervas sat in the backseat of his rental Town Car, parked a block away from the Met. One of the bartenders at the gala had been open to extra money. As he listened to the man’s report on his secure mobile, every word walloped his gut.
“My man will deliver your payment as we agreed,” he said, ending the call.
“Where to, boss?” Nedik said from the driver’s seat.
“I don’t fucking care. Just drive.”
As the luxury car rolled silently from the curb, he smoothed on his leather gloves. No telling what had gone on in this damn backseat.
The sequence of events the bartender had described led to only one conclusion. The waiter’s phone was supposed to trigger an explosion in Cleopatra’s necklace. The chip? Probably. Not stolen secrets exactly but military explosive. Damned ingenious.
The Feebs had removed the chip. So that necklace wasn’t the original. He smiled. The down side was that Yousef would need someone to blame for the assassination’s failure. Him.
Not his fault but the terrorist wouldn’t care. With his accounts cut off and no payment forthcoming, he needed funds. He could contact at least half a dozen investors who would pay big. Eliminating Nedik and Hawkins—dangerous liabilities—would come next. Then he would disappear. He’d done it before and come back.
First the antique necklace.
He would force Devlin to fucking hand it over. And he had the perfect leverage.
***
Thomas woke from a fitful sleep with Cleo tucked close to him. Her confidence and the knowledge she was safe were the only reasons he got any rest at all. Every time he woke, thrashing over all the dire outcomes, she was restless too. They each had their personal stakes in this mess. For him, Marco Zervas handcuffed and behind bars. And none too soon. For her, the guilt about her cousin’s shooting and sudden turn for the worse was driving her to take risks he’d never imagined she’d consider.
A hell of a security expert he was. Nothing was secure.
Later after they’d showered and dressed, room service delivered fruit and rolls.
“Anxiety has you in knots,” Cleo said over her mug of coffee. “You think Zervas won’t be lured.”
“I’ll have him in my net soon. Interpol has cut off access to his Swiss and Cayman accounts. He won’t know until too late Yousef can’t go after him. He’s cornered.”
“Then what?”
“The explosive chip.”
“It wasn’t in the copy. We’ve known that since Monday.” She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing with doubt. “Isn’t it in the original?”
He set down his mug. “One of my operatives in Vegas called while you slept. Nothing is embedded in the original but gemstones. So where the hell did Moreau hide the damn chip?”
“Maybe he didn’t hide it,” she suggested. “Maybe Zervas just hired him to make the copy and never gave it to him.”
He slammed a hand on the table, raising a tsunami in his coffee. “Shit! Double cross Yousef? A suicide move, even for Marco Zervas. His funds are cut off, so now he needs the original necklace. But even worse—”
She shuddered. “If he does have the chip, he could sell it to another terrorist.”
Chapter 26
Las Vegas, Nevada
CLEO PROPPED HER elbows on the fence outside the Bellagio and watched the casino-hotel’s fountains. Multicolored lights sparkled on the towering sprays in time with the music wafting from hidden speakers. She’d left cool autumn breezes in New York for oven temperatures in the desert, even at midnight.
And she was wide awake. During the past few days she’d crossed so many time zones the batteries in her body clock had expired. She would allow herself to crash after the FBI locked Marco Zervas in the slammer.
Around the dancing fountains, dozens of people pointed and exclaimed at the light and water show, but Thomas and Lucas paid scant attention. During the trip she’d dozed, but they’d spent most of the time plotting strategy. Even now they were brainstorming and discarding scenarios for snaring the head of Centaur.
Operatives had spotted Zervas’s man Nedik following them from the hotel to La Guardia. Thomas had used his personal credit card for the tickets, so Zervas knew where they went. And where they were staying. The Bellagio wasn’t far from Madame Tussauds at the Venetian, but not near enough to be obvious.
“Any word if he’s arrived in Vegas?” she’d asked after Thomas’s last call to Hunt.
“Not yet,” he’d said, his gaze stony. “Agents identified his thugs at the La Guardia private terminal. They took off in a charter jet with a gray-haired man—had to be Zervas—and an unidentified woman. First we’ve heard of a female in his entourage. The pilot filed a flight plan for Vegas but no word yet they’ve arrived. We’re here. The necklace is here. He’ll be here.”
The only scenario that would work to trap Zervas was using his belief that Cleo knew the necklace’s location. So far he didn’t seem to connect to the wax museums. She could be the bait to lure him out of hiding to the museum. When she’d brought it up in the evening meeting with Special Agent Hunt and the other Interpol team members, she could see the realizat
ion in their eyes. And in Thomas’s tight jaw before he exploded with “Never.” Hunt too had insisted on finding another way.
Cleo had to do something to help. Thomas kept assuring her she’d been invaluable. Thinking of poor Mimi, she knew whatever she’d done wasn’t enough. Would never be enough if her cousin died.
As the water slowly subsided and the music ended, families with infants asleep in strollers and couples arm in arm meandered past them back to the gambling tables and slots. She yanked herself from her funk and turned to see Thomas’s gaze on her.
The fierce concentration and anguish told him what she was thinking. “Forget about it, Cleo. You’re not going to be the cheese in the rattrap.”
“It’s the only way,” she said, lifting her hair off her neck. She twisted it up and secured it with a clip.
Elegant and still the girl next door, he never tired of the warmth of her bright spirit. She had to stay safe. No way would he put her in Zervas’s crosshairs.
The jangle of his phone yanked him to attention. He frowned at the small screen before taking the call. “Yeah?”
“Been too fucking long, Captain.”
A shot of adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream.
“Marco.” He motioned to Lucas. “Wrong. Hasn’t been long enough.”
The color drained from Cleo’s face. Her hands gripped the railing.
A rusty-gate laugh. “You won’t want to wait. You have something I want—the necklace, the original,” Zervas said. “In exchange, I’ll give you someone you want. I expect you want proof.” He spoke to someone in the room. “Bring her over here.”
Her? Not Mimi. God help us all.
“Tommy? Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I screwed up bad this time.”
Andie. The world stopped, his lungs seized up. He made himself breathe. “Andie, honey, are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“I’m okay but dammit, Tommy, they fucking drugged me. That... that asshole I went out with, he delivered me to these three bastards and—”
“Ah, there,” Zervas said, “that’s all the assurance you need. Your sister’s fine. I’ll call again with instructions.”
“You hurt her, you fucking piece of shit, and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
A man’s deep bellow from somewhere in the background.
Then, “Take your hands off me, you fucking gorilla, or I’ll bite you again.”
The phone went to dead air.
He clicked to his tracking software to locate his sister’s phone. No signal. Zervas’s geek had found the tracker the DSF tech guy had installed. He’d ask Hunt to trace the phone’s GPS signal but that was probably futile.
Images flashed across his mind’s screen. Little Andie, mischief lighting her eyes, as she and Cleo sprayed him and Cleo’s brothers with the garden hose. Teenage Andie, strung out on stolen prescription painkillers and tranquilizers. Angry Andie, the last time he’d seen her, reaming him out for abandoning her. Let that be the Andie who faced down Marco Zervas and his thugs.
He swallowed the acid taste in his mouth, summoned the calm and logic he would need, waited until he felt it cloak him in armor. “Lucas?”
The other man shook his head. “Prepaid phone. Untraceable number. I’ll call Hunt.” He stepped away with his phone.
“Thomas, they have Andie?” Cleo gripped his arm, her short nails digging into his skin.
He pulled her into his arms, steadying himself with the feel of her. “The guy she went out with was a plant. He drugged her, handed her over to Zervas and his thugs. She was the woman on the plane with them.”
“No, oh God, drugs, no. Is she... is she all right?”
“So far.” The phone call replayed in his head, the last part offering a glimmer of hope. “She bit one of Zervas’s goons. She may give them more trouble than they counted on. And she managed to tell me there were three of them.” No new players. Good.
“He wants the necklace and he’ll free Andie?”
“He’ll call back with instructions.” He held on tighter. “I should’ve suspected Zervas would know about Andie. I should’ve had her protected. They drugged her with who knows what, maybe the same chemicals she left behind. Anything could set her back, destroy the recovery, her future.”
Cleo stepped from his embrace and took his hands, gripping them in a kind of solidarity. “She’s tougher than that now. And you couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault. But there’s one upside to this twist in his plans. His demand will set up a way to trap the son of a bitch.”
“I hope you’re right.” Because Zervas wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Andie. To make her suffer. To kill her. The ultimate revenge.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
Lucas strode toward them. “Hunt called everybody for a strategy session. Five minutes.”
Thomas nodded, not taking his gaze from Cleo. “I have to focus on getting my sister out safely. Del Rio and I will handle this. You can’t be part of it from now on. It’s too dangerous.”
***
“Hell, all those other times it wasn’t dangerous?” Cleo said to the empty room.
She gave the suite door a shove but it glided shut with an unsatisfactory click. Just as immovable as Thomas Devlin, dammit. Her cheeks burned. A painful knot throbbed behind her sternum.
She stalked to the window, stared down at the pool. Far below, a mother soothed a sobbing toddler in pink while an older brother stood by. Okay, so Thomas was scared shitless for Andie. So was she. Andie was her BFF. They’d always been there for each other. How could Thomas block her out now? He’d accepted, even welcomed her ideas and her help before. So now he didn’t need her?
Gradually her goal had broadened from atoning for Mimi’s injury. She needed to prove to herself she wasn’t the family airhead. And to help prevent more death because of the damn necklace. Shut up in the hotel, she’d go bonkers. She had to do something.
Her phone buzzed. She’d forgotten it was in her pocket. “Yeah?”
“Cleo Chandler, at last.”
At the harsh voice, her breath caught. “Who’s this?”
He barked a laugh. “The Easter Bunny, who else?”
Evil bastard. She bit her lip, remaining silent, forcing herself to wait.
A huff of disdain. “Marco Zervas at your service. Don’t play with me, Cleo. I hold the cards. All the cards, especially the Queen.”
Andie! She closed her eyes and mined strength from her anger. “What do you want?”
“You know the answer to that. Devlin won’t find me. You’re the only one I trust to bring me Cleopatra’s necklace. The antique, not that copy at the Met.”
He’d figured that much out, just as they’d hoped. “How do you expect me to do that? It’s the middle of the night.”
“This is Las Vegas. Up all night. Get the necklace. An hour.”
She considered her options. “An hour’s not enough time. I’ll need longer. Two hours.”
“Fuckin’-A. Two hours. Then send me a photo of yourself holding the piece. You can wear it again.” He chuckled. “If I’m satisfied, I’ll tell you where to meet.”
“What about Andie? Is she okay? If you’ve hurt her—”
But he’d disconnected.
She pressed the heels of her hands on her tired eyes. Now what? What Zervas demanded was impossible. Or was it?
Without knowing it, he’d handed her ammunition.
She headed for the door. Tommy, here I come.
***
“The alleged phone call isn’t enough, Devlin,” Special Agent Hunt declared.
“Not enough? That was Marco Zervas threatening my sister. I know his voice.” Thomas fisted his hands at his sides. His jaw hurt from maintaining a calm façade.
“Judge Martinez is holding firm. If you’d recorded the call, we’d be ahead on getting a warrant to track his credit card usage. We have the names the party traveled under but we need the airport tapes to ID the gray-haired man as Zervas or the woman as your sister.”
“How long will that take?” Three seconds was too fucking long.
“Agents are working on it. When we get Zervas, I want everything done right so we can put him away for good.” Hunt’s expression softened. “I know this is tough. Try to be patient.”
Patient? Not with Andie’s life at stake.
He scrubbed his hands through his hair and hauled in a deep breath. He signaled to Lucas. The two of them walked out of the conference suite.
The corridor was empty except for another DSF operative, Lincoln Trask, who kept watch at the turn leading to the elevators. He acknowledged Trask then said to Lucas, “I can’t wait for their red tape.”
“Do what you have to,” the other man replied, remaining by the conference room’s closed door. His relaxed posture belied his watchful attitude.
Thomas took comfort in the support of his friend, who clearly suspected what he was planning. He turned his back to put through a call to the DSF Research Department. He selected the direct line to the newly appointed director. “I know this is short notice but I need a search.”
“Anything, Mr. Devlin,” Mara Marton said. “Shoot.”
“I can’t wait for the Feebs to obtain a warrant. Zervas has my sister.”
She gasped. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get on it personally.”
He’d hoped she’d say that. Mara was the best. “He could be traveling under more than one alias. So could his thugs. I need their credit card expenses traced. Off the books.” He waited as she wrote down the names.
“I’ll call you back A-sap.”
Normally he’d have smiled at Mara’s use of his military speak. “Thanks.”
“Incoming,” Lucas said sotto voce. “Hostile redhead at your six.”
Thomas turned to see Cleo approaching from their suite farther down the hall. The fire in her eyes matched her hair, a wild halo, as if she’d scraped her fingers through it in frustration. Not unlike him.
“Thomas, it’s Marco Zervas,” she began.
“Cleo, I can’t do this now. Not again.” He held up a hand. “Rescuing Andie is a job for the FBI.”
“But you don’t understand.” She held up her phone. “He called me. He—”
Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) Page 24