by Stephen Frey
Jackie’s eyes were wide open, and she had one hand over her mouth. “The guy came to your apartment to erase the e-mail?”
“And make sure I hadn’t made a record of it,” he added, remembering how the place had been ripped up.
“How long were you gone?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“How could the guy have found where you lived so fast?”
“Good question. One I’ve thought a lot about. But I can’t come up with a reasonable answer.”
“It’s too bad you didn’t print out the e-mail or take down the sender’s address.”
“I did the next best thing,” Conner said. “I memorized it and wrote it down later. It was an AOL address.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Read it to me,” she said, picking up a pen.
“Why?”
“I know someone at Time Warner. I’m sure he could get an AOL person to find out who the address is registered to. After all, they are the same company.”
Conner pulled the small piece of paper from his wallet and read off the characters, looking up when he finished the string the second time.
“I’ll call my contact in the morning,” she promised. “Have you had any more trouble? Anyone else tried to break in?”
Conner thought about the man who’d fallen from the fire escape. “I don’t know.” He didn’t want to alarm her. “I’ve been staying at Gavin Smith’s place over on Park.”
“That’s probably smart. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me any of this the other day.”
“Like I said, I’m not sure it’s good for you to know about it. Foranybody else to know about it.”
“Are you worried that somebody might come after you again?”
“Absolutely.” He could see that he’d scared her.
“You should go to the authorities and tell them what happened,” she suggested, a worried look on her face. “Let them handle it. If Project Delphi and Global Components turn out to be the same entity and you go down to Washington asking a lot of questions, you might end up in trouble again. Why not let people who are trained to deal with this kind of stuff follow up on it? I’ve got a friend at the Securities and Exchange Commission who could help.”
Conner grinned. “You sure have a lot of friends.”
“It’s good to have friends,” she murmured, looking down into her lap.
He tilted his head to one side. Usually she had so much energy. “Jo, what is it?”
Jackie hesitated. “Let me put a call in to him tomorrow,” she said, ignoring the question. “And please don’t go to Washington. This thing sounds very dangerous. I’m going to call Baker Mahaffey and cancel your meeting with Vic Hammond.”
“Don’t do that,” Conner said firmly. He had to find out what had happened to Liz before Meeks went to the cops. “I have to go down there. And don’t call that person at the SEC either,” he warned.
“Why not?”
“I’ve got to take care of this myself.”
“But why?”
“I just do.”
“Don’t be stubborn.”
“Remember what you said about moving forward when you think you should stop,” he reminded her, standing up. “I’m just taking your advice.”
“I’m calling my contact at the SEC,” she said loudly as Conner reached the door.
He spun around. “What?”
“I’m calling the SEC whether you like it or not,” she snapped.
“What’s your problem?” He’d never heard talk like that before. “Look, if you don’t want to help, I understand. It could be dangerous. But don’t get in my way.”
“You think you’re bulletproof or something? You think nothing bad is ever going to happen to you because you’re Conner Ashby and nothing bad ever happens to Conner Ashby.” Her lower lip was trembling. “Let me tell you something, bad things happen to good people all the time.”
“I’ve never seen you like this before, Jo. What the hell is wrong?”
She didn’t answer.
“Jo?”
Still no answer.
He hesitated a moment longer, then stalked out of the office and slammed the door.
Amy stood on Thirty-third Street across from the Empire State Building, watching the entrance Conner had disappeared into twenty minutes ago. They’d been all over her last night about the cap falling out of the backpack. Which meant they were watching her. If not all the time, most of it. Maybe even while she was watching Conner. Maybe right now.
The hell with them. She didn’t care if they were watching. The only reason she’d agreed to help them was to get back into Conner’s life. But it didn’t seem to be working. Yesterday in the Park had been nice, but now he was cheating on her with Jackie Rivera up in that office. The way he had when they were dating back in the spring.
She’d watched Conner have dinner with Jackie several times before he’d dumped her for Liz Shaw in May. And he hadn’t stopped seeing Jackie while he was dating Liz.
Amy knew everything about Conner Ashby. She’d been following him for months. She loved him.
Amy gritted her teeth. Jackie Rivera had bought herself a lot of trouble.
Conner waited outside the office door for five minutes, listening to Jackie sob quietly, feeling awful. Finally he turned the doorknob and pushed. She was sitting in her chair, elbows on her desk, face in her hands, shoulders heaving.
“I forgot to remind you to give me the address of Baker Mahaffey’s Washington office,” he mumbled.
She glanced up, startled. She hadn’t heard him come back in. “Just leave,” she pleaded, wiping mascara from her tearstained cheeks. “Please.”
“Nope,” he said, moving into the office. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’ll call security,” she warned, reaching.
But Conner grabbed the phone before she could. “No you won’t.”
She tried to dart past him, but he caught her by the arm. “Why are you crying?”
“Let me go.” She struggled to break free, but he was much too strong.
“Talk to me, Jo. Come on. We’ve known each other too long for this crap.”
“I’ll scream.”
“Jo, don’t. You know I just want to help.”
She gazed up into his eyes for a few moments, then leaned against him, tears beginning to stream down her face.
“Jo,” he whispered. “What is it?”
“My sister has cancer,” she sobbed. “I found out yesterday afternoon.”
Conner hugged her tightly.No wonder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Maria’s such a good person. So nice to everyone. So generous. Everybody loves her. How can this happen?”
“You can’t think like that, Jo. It’ll drive you crazy. What’s happened to your sister has nothing to do with being good or bad. It just has to do with being.”
“Why not take me? She’s a better person than me.”
“Nobody’s better than you,” he said, caressing her damp cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I didn’t want to bother you. It’s my problem, not yours. I have to deal with it myself.”
Jackie had been the matriarch of her family for so long. The one who was always strong for everyone else. She didn’t know how to be weak. Conner kissed her gently on top of her head. “It’ll be all right.”
“Nowyou’re involved in something dangerous,” she continued. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“You aren’t going to lose me.”
“You don’t know that.” She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. A powerful sob racked her body.
“Yes, I do. Nobody’s going to get me.”
“I hate you,” she said softly.
“Thanks a lot.”
“You know I don’t mean that. I just . . . I just don’t want to lose another person I care about.”
The words hung in the stillness of the office. “You’re
going through a difficult time, Jo. This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“Conner, you must know I have feelings for you,” she whispered.
“You’re upset about Maria.”
“That night you walked me home from dinner, last winter. When we almost kissed. Do you remember?”
Conner nodded. “Of course.”
“Would you have kissed me if I hadn’t turned away?”
“Jo, I don’t think now is a good time for us to talk about—”
“Tell me,” she demanded, staring deeply into his eyes. He looked away, but she put her hands to his face and made him look at her. “Tell me.”
. . .
Several of the analysts were still at work, and Lucas didn’t want them seeing Cheetah again, so they couldn’t meet in Rockville. In fact, he wasn’t going to allow anyone other than the analysts into the Rockville facility from now on. He’d decided that at six this morning while he was driving his rusting ’95 Accord around the Capital Beltway toward the I-270 spur. A few of the analysts wanted to get started early this morning, so he’d had to go in and unlock the space at the crack of dawn. Easy money was a strong incentive.
Which was the thing that bothered Lucas about Cheetah’s reaction yesterday. The man stood to make a quarter of a million dollars if he just kept his mouth shut and played along. Instead, he’d suggested an incredible explanation for Franklin Bennett’s true motivation in setting up the operation. But why? The only answer seemed to be that these men really did have the power to permanently ruin someone’s life—or worse. A shiver raced through his body. It was August, but for a moment it had felt like February standing out here.
They were meeting in the Union Station parking garage; Cheetah had come back from New York City by train. On the top deck of the structure. Lucas was in the southwest corner of it, gazing up at the stars. The Sunday night sky over Washington was crystal clear and the light show above him was spectacular. His eyes flickered down to another spectacular sight—the lighted dome of the Capitol.
“Hello, Mr. Reed.”
Lucas’s eyes raced toward the sound of the voice. Cheetah stood a few feet away. He’d never heard the man coming. “How was your trip?”
“More fuel for the fire.”
“What do you mean?”
“People are definitely worried about what the president is doing. Project Trust is getting a lot of attention behind the scenes. But nobody can get specifics on what he’s going to announce. He’s got it covered up very well.”
“Well, we’ve got our own problems.”
“What do you mean?” asked Cheetah.
“One of the analysts found something yesterday.”
“What?”
Lucas hesitated. “It appears that Secretary Bryson may have an issue. I want you to check into a company board seat he held before joining the administration.”
“What company?”
“Global Components Incorporated.”
“Global Components?” Cheetah whispered. “You’re kidding.”
Even through the gloom Lucas could see the shock on the other man’s face. “No, I’m not,” he said. “Why? What is it?”
Cheetah glanced at the Capitol, then back at Lucas. “I was with a contact of mine today in New York. A man I’ve known for a long time who used to be in the FBI. He’s in the private sector now, but he has just one client. Seems that client is also very interested in Global Components.”
13
Conner hoisted the briefcase strap to his shoulder as the elevator doors parted, then stepped into the deserted lobby of Gavin’s building, the clicking of his hard-soled shoes on the black-and-white tiles echoing loudly. The ceiling was fifteen feet high, bordered by intricate moldings, and the walls were covered with beautiful paintings. Classic statues, nice furniture, and large plants decorated the area, too. There was even a small waterfall in one corner, bubbling soothingly. The monthly maintenance on this building had to be more than the entire rent on Conner’s apartment. He’d always assumed Gavin could easily afford this lifestyle—the apartment, the mansion in East Hampton, and, now that he knew about it, the place in Miami. But the red ink on that stack of bills in the kitchen drawer was making him wonder.
“Have a nice trip, sir.” The uniformed doorman held the door open.
Conner pressed a five-dollar bill into his white-gloved hand and moved down the steps to Park Avenue. “Thanks for getting the cab.”
“My pleasure.”
Conner hesitated at the bottom step, checking up and down the darkened avenue, then hurried toward a waiting taxi. “Port Authority,” he ordered, dropping onto the backseat and slamming the door. “And step on it.”
“Easy on the hardware, buddy,” the cabbie said gruffly, flicking on his blinker and moving slowly out toward the middle lanes.
Conner pivoted in the seat, peering through the rear window. Even at four in the morning there was traffic in Manhattan. “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go.”
“Relax, kid. We’ll get there when we get there. If you’re late, you should have left more time. As I always tell my daughter: Leave early. But, of course, she’s like you. Constantly rush-rush. That’s what’s wrong with your generation. You’re all trying to jam too many activities into too little time. You’ve got to stop and smell the roses . . .”
Conner wasn’t listening. He was studying a pair of headlights that had pulled away from the curb up the street from Gavin’s building along with the cab. He’d noticed the sedan before getting into the taxi, but figured there wasn’t anyone in it.
“You got to appreciate life, kid,” the cabbie continued. “You only go around once.”
“Right.”
“Because the thing is . . . you never know.”
Conner turned halfway around, taking his eyes off the headlights for a moment. “What did you say?”
“You never know, kid. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in sixty-two years on earth, it’s that very sobering fact. You just never know.”
Conner sank down onto the seat. Jackie had said the same thing to him last night while they were standing at her apartment door. He’d taken her to dinner after leaving her office, then walked her home. She invited him in, but he politely refused. They had shared a bottle of wine during dinner, and he’d almost accepted the invitation, tempted to explore his feelings for her. He was certain he’d done the right thing by leaving, but now he was having second thoughts. He realized how much he cared for her, and, realistically,you never did know. There might never be a second chance.
“You think you know,” the cabbie muttered. “You think you can anticipate everything, or at least be ready for it.” He frowned. “But you can’t. And it’s exactly when you think you’re ready for anything that you get shocked. It always happens that way.”
Conner nodded. That was true.
“Listen to what I’m telling you, kid.”
Conner pictured Jackie’s face, regretting for a moment what he hadn’t done. Then he shook his head. No. That had been the right decision. The timing was all wrong.
He took a deep breath, pulling himself back into the present, then checked for the headlights again. Still there. “Pull over here,” he directed, making a snap decision. The traffic light ahead had just turned red. “Right now,” he said, shoving a wad of ones into the slot.
“All right, all right.”
They were still several blocks from the Port Authority, but this was his opportunity. The red light would block the sedan for a few seconds. If whoever was inside wanted to keep up, they’d have to get out and follow on foot. He’d know in a few seconds what the deal was.
Conner darted from the cab and ran down Eighth, checking over his shoulder every few steps until he reached the Port Authority, hurrying inside and hustling up two long flights of steps. This early in the morning the place was deserted. When he stopped at the top of the second flight to see if he’d been followed, there wasn’t anyone in sight.
C
onner headed toward the door leading to the bus bays. Most of which were empty, still awaiting the inbound rush from the suburbs. But there were a few buses in the lot, engines idling, running lights on. He coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. There weren’t that many buses, but the carbon monoxide was still thick. He glanced around, then headed toward the ramp to the street.
“Hey!”
Conner looked back as he reached the top of the ramp. A Port Authority police officer was loping after him.
“You can’t go down there! It’sway too dangerous. That’s only for bus traffic. Stop!”
Conner ignored the man and sprinted onto the spiraling ramp. Halfway to the street he heard the roar of an engine and was momentarily blinded by powerful high beams as a large bus swung into view. He rushed to the side of the ramp, a waist-high retaining wall, and pressed his legs against it. Holding his breath and gazing over the side at the street, twenty-five dizzying feet below. He shut his eyes as the shiny silver bus roared alongside, just inches away.
Then the bus was past him in a burst of wind, and he was still in one piece. He sprinted the rest of the way down to the street, reaching Ninth Avenue just as another bus roared onto the ramp. He leaned over to catch his breath for a few seconds, then took off. Running past delis and shops just opening up.
At Thirty-seventh Street he turned right and slowed to a jog. A friend from Merrill Lynch—the same guy he’d asked to help him find out more about Liz’s resignation—was to have left him a rented white Taurus on the north side of the street between Ninth and Tenth. Keys hidden beneath the left front fender. Conner spotted a white Taurus at the far end of the block, sprinted to it, knelt down, and ran his hand along the underside of the fender. There. He grabbed the keys. Moments later he was behind the steering wheel and headed toward the Lincoln Tunnel and New Jersey, his eyes flashing back and forth between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. Thinking about Amy Richards and what had happened Saturday in the park.
He was certain the dark blue baseball cap with the red emblem that had fallen out of her backpack in Central Park was the same hat he’d seen the blond woman wearing outside Merrill Lynch. Which meant that the woman he had seen was Amy. Too much of a stretch to think that another tall blonde wearing the exact same cap had appeared out of nowhere. Plus, he’d run into Amy on Wednesday night, then again Friday afternoon in the Diamond District.