by Lakes, Lynde
Sinclair passed her the phone. Not knowing who to call, she dialed the same attorney who had come to her rescue the last time. Her mouth went dry when he failed to answer. She left a brief message. Would he pick up his calls tonight? Should she try someone else? Who? She stared at the phone for a minute, then pushed it away. She folded her shaky hands and leaned back in the chair.
“You want to just sit here and wait for that attorney, Mrs. Brown, or get this over with?” Sinclair asked. “If you’re innocent you shouldn’t mind a few more questions.”
She rubbed her aching head. “If! Of course I am innocent!”
“Good,” he said, and resumed his questioning.
Over and over, Sinclair and two leaner detectives took turns asking her what seemed like the same questions. She was exhausted and her blood sugar had dropped, making her feel reckless and agitated. Did her trembling hands make her look guilty?
Nikki forced herself to meet Detective Sinclair’s gaze. “I have a sugar problem. Could someone please get me something to eat?”
“Get her a sandwich,” Detective Sinclair grunted to no one in particular.
One of the officers left the room, but he never returned. Inside, she was screaming: Get me some food—anything—a crust of bread, a handful of raisins. If she admitted something would they let her eat?
“One more time, Mrs. Brown, what prompted you to enter the residence?”
She had a strong urge to ask the tenacious detective if he suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. “I told you. Radlavich dragged me inside.”
“He strong-armed you?”
She felt like a kindergarten-tattle-tale, shifting the blame. “Not exactly. You’re right. I should have refused with more force.”
Admitting her part in the unlawful entry didn’t satisfy the detective. He kept the grueling questions coming until another detective entered the room and whispered something in his ear.
Sinclair glared at her for what seemed like an eternity. “Okay,” he said finally. “You can go, Mrs. Brown.”
For a moment she sat there stunned, not understanding. After clipping her wings, Detective Sinclair had opened the cage door.
“Don’t leave town,” he added in a gruff voice.
She rose on wobbly legs and left the room, questions swirling in her head. She stopped at a pay phone and cancelled her message to the attorney. Then, trembling, she paused at the vending machine in the hallway and managed to stick some coins in the slot without dropping them. She drank down an orange juice in thirsty gulps. Energy seeped back into her body.
“Drinking cold stuff that fast’ll give you a headache,” Dayd said. Nikki looked up. She hadn’t seen him standing there.
“You give me a headache,” she snapped. “Go away. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Is that the thanks I get for springing you?”
“You got me into the mess. Don’t expect any gratitude.” She brushed past him and headed out the door into the night.
“I think I know where they’re holding Glenda,” he called.
She froze in her tracks and slowly turned to face him. Was this another lie? She couldn’t chance it—he might be telling the truth. “Where?”
“Arrowhead Springs Hotel.”
She knew the place, Georgian architecture, a once elegant, six-story landmark that overlooked the valley. “Why there?”
He held out a key chain with an obsidian arrowhead on it.
She grabbed it and examined the stone under the nearby streetlight. She knew during the 1930’s, in the hotel’s golden era, that such symbols dangled from the hotel’s brass key chains. “Where did you get this?”
“Under Kitty’s bed.”
Her heartbeat speeded. “We have to show this to the police.”
He looked at her with steady eyes. “Can’t. Took it from the crime scene.”
Pressure built in her chest. “Stole it, you mean.”
“Let’s not get hung up on semantics,” he said, still staring her down with a closed expression that made her want to scream.
“Don’t doubletalk me,” she snapped. “If you expect me to hold out on the police, give me a damned good reason.”
“To keep Glenda alive,” he said in a voice that chilled her to the marrow of her bones. “The hotel is owned by a religious organization. The cops would have to tread easy, and that could alert the kidnappers and force them to move Glenda to another location. Then we’d be back to square one.”
She turned the stone over in her palm. “Don’t you think finding this is a little too convenient? Maybe the killer intended for it to be found, to mislead.”
“I thought of that. But it’s all we have, and if Glenda is being held by any of Godunov’s men, time is running out.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nikki slammed her refrigerator door. “What’s the deal, Radlavich? I expected to go directly to the Arrowhead Springs Hotel and instead you brought me home.”
“I told you. We aren’t ready.” Dayd didn’t even look up. He rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his forehead with the fingers of both hands.
The dark circles under his eyes revealed that his sleepless nights were taking their toll. Without thinking, she paused and massaged his neck. He glanced up and met her gaze, looking as stunned as she was.
She moved away and busied herself with removing the fast food from the bags. She served him one of the Arby’s roast beef sandwiches and added a glass of milk. Then she settled across the table with the same for herself. The juice she’d had at the police station, and the half bag of French fries she’d devoured on the way home, had brought her sugar back in line, abating her inner trembling. Now, she ate her sandwich slowly.
She met Dayd’s gaze. “I can’t take this anymore. You have connections, or we’d still be in jail.” She leaned forward. “I need to know exactly who and what you are. And why I should trust you to rescue my friend.”
Dayd let out a long breath. “You have absolutely no reason to trust me.”
She crumpled the napkin in her lap into a tight ball. “So convince me, Radlavich.”
“Work with me on this.” His voice was husky. “I’m having trouble letting go of my own doubts.”
“Your doubts! How could you doubt me?”
His searing gaze bore through her for what seemed like an eternity. “Forget it. I’ll lay my cards on the table.”
He opened his wallet and showed her an ID. “I’m CIA, assigned to an international security group.” He leaned back as if that said it all.
“Skimpy deck of cards, Radlavich. I need more than that.”
He sighed. “Somehow I figured you would. Since glasnost, the opening of Russian markets, unscrupulous Russians and men who work both sides of the street prey upon American businessmen. I stop them.”
Nikki tried to read his eyes. How could she believe anything said by a proven liar—a man who broke into homes with the ease of a cat burglar? Still, the police had let them go, so this time his ID must be authentic. “You lied to me and practically held me captive in my own home. Is that what CIA people are trained to do?”
“We’re trained to do whatever it takes to get the job done.” He looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t up front with you, but you could’ve been part of Luke’s operation.”
“What operation?”
“Luke ran a scam on people. He promised fantastic profits in companies that existed only on paper. When they fell for it, he left them with their big dreams and empty bank accounts. If they complained, he fingered them for a hit by one of Ivan Godunov’s goons.”
Fingered? Hit? This man scared her with his gangster slang. Yet the things he said about Luke frightened her more. Her stomach tightened. How could she have ever loved a man like that? She pushed away from the table, leaving half of her sandwich. Fighting nausea, she paced the floor. Luke was far worse than she’d imagined. But there was no time for regrets. Glenda had to be her prime concern.
“
Why can’t we go to Arrowhead Springs now?”
“Because before we got past the front gate Glenda would be dead. Our best bet is darkness and surprise.”
“It’s pitch black out. What more do you want?”
From the hallway, Mitzi gave her sad, attention-getting meow. Dayd stiffened and glared at the cat. “It will take a tight plan, the right tools and equipment and—you’re not going. Boris and I will get Glenda. This isn’t a rescue for amateurs.”
Nikki remained silent, unable to get the horrible things that Luke had done out of her mind.
Dayd tilted his head as though surprised. “No argument?”
Nikki shrugged. “Make yourself at home. I need a hot shower.” Luke had ordered the murder of innocent people and then came home to her like nothing had happened. She felt so dirty.
Dayd reached out as though to grab her hand. She moved quickly to avoid his touch.
“If it’ll make you feel any better,” he said, “Luke even fooled big governments.”
Dayd’s words helped, and it was unnerving that his reassurance meant so much.
****
Dressed in clean jeans and a green sweater, Nikki paused in the doorway, surprised to see Dayd asleep on her sofa. With his head resting on the back cushion and his long legs stretched out in front of him, he filled the room with his rugged male presence. Even in sleep, his lean body looked firm and hard, a physique of steel. He was breathing deeply, obviously totally exhausted. She had an urge to put a pillow under his head and cover him with a blanket, but that might disturb him. He looked harmless now, his chiseled features gentle, almost boyish.
Dayd’s face suddenly contorted. He began to mumble softly, “Lars, oh God, Lars…blood everywhere…I did it…” He thrashed about and let out an agonized cry.
Nikki froze, listening. He mumbled unintelligibly, thrust a powerful arm into the air, and then stilled again.
Had Dayd killed someone named Lars? Maybe the police were right. Perhaps he did kill Luke…and Kitty…perhaps many people. Hold on, she told herself. A person can’t be blamed for their dreams.
The ringing telephone shattered the silence of the room. Dayd’s eyes flicked open and he met her gaze. She fled to answer the ring, embarrassed he’d caught her staring at him.
“Listen carefully,” a man with a Russian accent said. “I will say this only once.”
Nikki felt the blood drain from her face. “Who is this?”
Dayd was up like a shot and put his ear close to hers.
“No questions,” the man said. “I will trade you Glenda Hollinger for the disks. Bring them to the National Orange Show auditorium Monday night.”
Nikki knew a Russian dance troupe was performing there. “Let me speak to Glenda.”
“Nyet. If you want her, come alone. No police. If you drag the police into this, Zimsky will lop off your friend’s pretty head.”
Nikki flinched. Dayd drew her closer, his breath feathering over her cheek. He mouthed, “tell him no.” Was that Dayd’s heart pounding along with hers? Her knees shook. “Why can’t we meet now?”
“Monday,” the Russian growled.
“How will I recognize you?”
Dayd was vigorously shaking his head.
“I will find you,” the man said in a clipped voice. “Come backstage at the eight o’clock intermission. Tell the guard you want Belinda Petrovna’s autograph.”
Nikki heard a click, then nothing. Trembling, she slowly returned the receiver to its cradle.
Dayd grabbed her by her shoulders. “You can’t go. It’s a trap. You don’t even know who called.”
“He’s one of the men who took Glenda—that’s all I need to know.”
“You’re not thinking straight. Glenda knows too much for them to ever let her go, and we don’t have the disks to swap.”
She met his gaze unflinchingly, feigning more courage than she felt. “Bedspread’s gone. For all we know they rolled Glenda in it, and she’s never seen her kidnappers. It may be enough that they think I have the disks.”
Dayd shook his head. “You’re in fantasy land.”
Nikki put her hands on her hips. “Either you find Glenda by tomorrow night, or I’m meeting the caller on his terms. And nothing you can say will stop me.”
Dayd towered over her, hurricane anger in his brown eyes. He tightened his hold on her arms; she refused to wince. “Dammit, Nikki, this isn’t a game. And your idiotic threats won’t work.”
“Not a threat. A promise,” she said in a low voice. “I want my friend back, and I’ll deal with the devil to get her home safely.”
“Nothing you can do will assure that. And meeting with a member of the Russian Mafia is suicide.”
“How do you know he’s with the Mafia?”
“Because the disks wouldn’t interest anyone else.”
She studied him. “They interest you. Are you working both sides of the street the way you claimed Luke did?”
Dayd raked his black hair with rigid fingers. “Look, I don’t have time to play games with you. I’ll try to get Glenda back, but not on your timetable, or that Russian slug’s either. Understand?”
She understood. But it didn’t change a thing.
Chapter Eighteen
While feeling her own nerves jumping, Nikki watched Dayd pace her apartment like a caged lion.
“You can’t stay here,” he said. “And judging from your fast flight from your dad’s digs the other night, his place is out.”
She crossed her arms. “You got that right.”
“I only know two places where you’ll be safe. And one of them…” The huskiness in his voice as his words trailed off suggested that his first thought was his place. Nikki’s face heated, imagining herself alone with this dark and dangerous man in his hotel. She raised a brow. “And the other?”
“A bed-and-breakfast in Redlands not far from your dad’s home. The owners are good people. You’ll be safe with them.”
“Redlands is ten miles away.” She couldn’t rein in her rising tone.
“Another reason it’s safe.”
“I’ll do it on one condition. I’m driving my own car. You can follow me.”
“Not a good idea,” he said.
She crossed her arms. “Then forget it. No way are you going to stick me ten miles from home without transportation like last time.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. He glared at her as though he wanted to shake her. Instead, he dropped his arms and said, “There’s no time to argue. Let’s go.”
The B & B Dayd checked her into was a historic mansion with a gable roof and old world charm. As soon as he left, Nikki crawled into bed and fell into a restless sleep. She dreamed of the ghosts of the inn’s original owners, who somehow changed into skulking Russians. She ran screaming from them—into the waiting arms of a faceless man who soothed her with gentle lovemaking. She awoke not wanting to leave those strong, safe arms. It was a struggle to shake off the lingering, very disturbing emotions and move past them.
To her relief, by the time she’d showered and hurried downstairs to breakfast she was back in control. After her first solid meal in days, a country breakfast with homemade biscuits, Nikki headed up the hill toward the Arrowhead Springs Hotel. She needed to learn something that would spur Dayd to move faster on this.
Nikki glanced in the rearview mirror. Her stomach tightened. A silver car much like Dayd’s rented Lexus gained on her. He’d told her to stay put. Oh, blast it. If he caught her heading for the hotel he’d be furious. She slowed, not sure what to do. The car zoomed by so fast she didn’t get a look at the driver. Damn. She had to face it. Dayd could be waiting at the hotel when she arrived. Well, he’d just have to accept her need to do this.
Her hands tightened on the wheel—in determination, then for safety. A road sign warned of sharp curves ahead. After a few S-bends, the road straightened, and she caught another glimpse of the hotel.
The intensity of its intriguing pull sent a thrill up her
spine and she pressed harder on the gas. From her apartment, on clear days, she admired the hotel perched high above the city. She’d daydreamed of the gala Hollywood parties held there during its heyday. A newspaper article on the hotel’s history intensified her interest, and now she had a good reason to visit the place with all its nostalgic charm.
The surrounding mountains, dusted with an early snow, gave her a feeling of serenity. It was hard to believe Russians could be holding Glenda in this tranquil setting. Yet, the closer she got to the hotel, the greater her sense of urgency. Much to her dismay, the prospect of seeing Dayd heightened that urgency.
At the 2000-foot elevation, Nikki turned right and drove down a palm-lined road, past the towering copper statue of an Indian pointing the way to the Arrowhead and the hotel. In the early days Indians had found healing springs and steam caves beneath the Arrowhead and considered the area to be a holy ground.
A uniformed guard at the gate took her name. “Purpose of your visit?” he asked.
She smiled up at him brightly. “It’s been a life-long dream to come here and look around.”
He gave her a brochure with a map and waved her on.
Thank you, God. This was easier than she’d expected.
She circled the parking lot. Dayd’s silver Lexus was nowhere in sight. Relief and disappointment flooded over her in two clashing waves. Nikki pulled into a space between a van and a Honda Civic and got out of her car.
The hotel, operating as a Christian center, teemed with people coming and going to Sunday services or meetings. Snippets of foreign languages—a few that sounded Russian—told her some of the people in the gathering probably came from religious groups outside the United States.
Nikki glanced at the map the guard had given her and decided to check out the bungalows first. The door of the first unit was wide open. A man came outside carrying a ladder and some tools. “Sir,” she called. He kept on walking.
Nikki knocked on the bungalow next door. A plump redhead answered. She showed Glenda’s picture to the woman and explained the situation.