by Nancy Madore
“Nadia!” objected Gordon.
“I have to go,” she said. Gordon looked as if he were about to say more but Clive stopped him. “Be sure and lock up when you leave,” she told them on her way out.
Nadia left both of them staring after her with worried expressions.
Chapter 26
Delta Junction, Alaska
There was no longer any doubt in Beth’s mind that she was being followed. She could feel the presence, dark and ominous, bearing down on her like a thick fog. Was it the woman from the cemetery? Or was it the person who killed Wayne? Maybe they were one and the same.
At least she was home now…on her own turf. The minute she walked through the door—before anything else—she went straight for her gun. It was a Ruger nine millimeter, a gift from her father. She had other guns too, including a wieldy but formidable Winchester rifle that could put down an elk with one shot and, of course, her father’s gun collection that she’d inherited when he died. But the Ruger was her favorite. It felt right in her hand. Though it wasn’t as powerful as the rifle, it was infinitely more manageable. She was confident that it would slow down any assailant, if not stop them altogether. She felt herself growing calmer as she loaded it, and then carefully placed it in its holster, which she had attached to her belt at the small of her back. Checking that the safety was on, she repeatedly drew the gun and aimed it, practicing the movement until it became smooth and easy. Though it had been a while since she and Wayne had done any shooting, her proficiency was quick to return, and with it, her confidence.
With her gun set and ready, Beth went through the entire house, checking for anything amiss. This led her to the kitchen…and the cabinet where she kept the liquor. She stared at it thoughtfully. She had made a resolution not to drink until this was over.
One drink, reasoned the tiny devil on her shoulder. Just to steady your nerves.
Beth made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table to drink it. Seeing that woman in the cemetery had thrown her for a loop. She’d panicked—and ever since then she had allowed her mind to wander down all kinds of dark alleyways. If she were going to find out what happened to Wayne, she would have to keep her head from here on out.
She had been going on the assumption that Wayne was killed—and was still reasonably convinced of that, despite the fact that it went directly against the findings of a coroner. So what did that mean…that the coroner was ‘in on it?’ It was more likely that he was so baffled by what he saw that he was ready to agree to anything.
It was possible that some kind of freak internal paroxysm killed Wayne. Such things did happen. Although Beth had never witnessed anything like it first hand, she’d certainly heard of cases where it occurred—cases like spontaneous human combustion, where a patient bursts into flames, seemingly from within. She once heard of a case where someone died from laughing too hard.
Whatever killed Wayne left his body completely disfigured. With no other medical explanation readily available, the coroner had labeled it a stroke. Why was it so hard for Beth to accept this conclusion? Was it that she needed someone to blame?
Perhaps the coroner should have classified it as one of those other, more obscure causes of death. Beth’s mind had immediately gone to murder, but really, what manner of lethal activity would result in that kind of mutilation to the body? Though Beth had balked at the stroke theory, it was certainly more plausible than any method of murder she could come up with. It really did appear as if some kind of massive struggle had occurred from within the body. The thought of aliens came to mind, but Beth immediately discarded this with a roll of her eyes.
She had to keep her head and stay focused.
Her mind turned to the dark-haired woman. Who was she? Her cry in the cemetery had pierced some part of Beth that was still raw—so raw that the contact had left her paralyzed. She had panicked, conjuring monsters and all kinds of horrifying possibilities in order to avoid the obvious conclusion that the cry was, simply, an expression of the utmost grief. It carried more anguish than Beth was capable of expressing herself. That was what was most disturbing about it—that it exceeded even Beth’s capacity to grieve.
What was the woman grieving? A missing ring? This seemed unlikely. So was it the loss of Wayne then? Had the woman been planning to meet Wayne there?
Beth had placed the ring on a long chain that she had purchased at the airport and now, she pulled it out from beneath her shirt and examined it. It was not pleasing or exceptional in any way, which led Beth to think that the antiques dealer was right about it being worthless. The metal was not precious. Her finger was still tinged green from the short period of time that she had worn it. The strange markings were the only thing that gave it any interest. They looked ancient and primitive. Still, Beth could not bring herself to believe that the ring had any monetary value. There had to be some significance to the markings themselves.
Or did there? What if it was just some private token between two lovers—a makeshift ring that had no meaning to anyone except the two people whose love it symbolized?
These were the kind of thoughts that made Beth want to reach for a drink.
And yet, it was entirely possible. Wayne had been planning to leave her. The one-way ticket and the extended reservation at the Winchester made this fairly obvious. Perhaps he and this woman were old lovers whose relationship had been rekindled somehow. Maybe the ring was symbolic of something that happened to them in the past.
If the worst happens, visit Brisbin at Highgate Cemetery.
That cryptic message on the back of the picture had simply been signed ‘A.’ The ‘A’ was most likely short for a name…such as Ann. Or Amy. Or Alicia. Any of these feminine names would suit the beautiful dark-haired woman she had seen at the cemetery.
Beth was suddenly tired. The tiredness brought doubts. What if Wayne’s death really was due to natural causes? And what if the dark-haired woman was simply the person he was leaving Beth for? What if there was no murder and nobody was following Beth—and all of this danger and intrigue was just denial?
Beth shuddered.
Why did this possibility—which would mean that she wasn’t in any danger at all—terrify her so much?
Chapter 27
Manhattan, New York
There was something about rushing to make an appointment that made Nadia feel alive. She should have been stressed as she fought her way through the city traffic—she was definitely going to be late—but she felt surprisingly content. As long as she kept herself busy, she wouldn’t have to think about the dangers that lurked all around her. Even her darkest fears seemed to fade into the background when she was focused on the moment.
By the time Nadia arrived at the restaurant, she was flushed and slightly out of breath—but she felt strangely detached from the disturbing events of the day.
In retrospect, she had accomplished quite a lot for having lost a third of the day to—Nadia stopped to think what it was, exactly, that she was doing with Gordon and Clive. Was it a hobby? No, that didn’t quite fit. Was it a job then? Was she some kind of self-appointed secret agent, working with Gordon and Clive to save the world? Nadia almost laughed out loud at this thought. But really, how else could their activities be defined?
Nadia pondered this as she scanned the restaurant in search of Will. She had been angry when she left her father’s beach house, but she’d also felt terribly alive—and even a little excited. Was it the intrigue that caused her to feel this way? She’d read about women who became so accustomed to trauma that they actually began seeking it out. Was this what she was doing? Was she actively inviting disaster into her life?
On the other hand, did she really want to merely exist as one of the ‘worker bees’ that her father described to Ornias—just buzzing along in blissful ignorance, believing that someone else would take care of the world’s problems?
Will spotted Nadia the same moment that she saw him. He stood up as she approached, his blue eyes appraising
her with unrestrained appreciation. He pulled out her chair for her when she reached the table, dropping a discreet kiss on her neck as he helped slide it in. Nadia shivered.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said.
“Busy day?” he asked, pouring her a glass of wine from the bottle he had already ordered.
“Naturally” she replied easily. “And you?”
“Nothing to tell here,” he said. “I’d rather hear about your day.”
Nadia took a sip of her wine. “Well,” she began thoughtfully, “we sold more tickets.”
“Is it slowing down now that the first rush of sales is over?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Those first sales represent the people who genuinely want to be there. The rest will have to be persuaded. They represent the people who I want to be there.”
“And who are they?” he asked.
“They’re the richest and most influential people in the world,” she said. “I look for people who will make more of a contribution than just the cost of the ticket—not just financially, but socially as well. I need people of interest to attract viewers.”
Will nodded. “Makes sense. But how will you get them there?”
Nadia smiled ruefully. “Mostly I’ll appeal to their egos,” she admitted. “I’ll play up the prestige of the event, shamelessly dropping names while pretending that the whole thing will be a complete failure if they don’t put in an appearance.” She laughed. “If all else fails I’ll mention the gift bags.”
“Gift bags?” asked Will. He seemed fascinated by what she was telling him.
“Absolutely,” she said. “No celebrity event would be complete without them.”
“What gifts could you possibly offer that they can’t buy for themselves?” he wondered.
“It’s not that they can’t afford the gifts,” said Nadia. “It’s more that they love being pursued. It makes them feel important.”
“What kind of gifts are we talking about here?” asked Will.
Nadia shrugged. “The sky’s the limit,” she said. “Celebrity gift bags can contain anything from a meal at a five star restaurant to a trip to a foreign country. My gift bags will be packed with wonderful stuff. In addition to the gift certificates to the finer restaurants and hotels, we’ll have items featuring the latest technology, a trip to a celebrated health spa, an array of expensive skin and hair products—and we’re even including a years’ supply of flowers! Today, Georgia was working on securing gift certificates for plastic surgery from a renowned hospital here in New York.” Nadia laughed at Will’s expression. “There’s artwork…pet supplies….” She let her voice trail off. The list was endless.
“How can you afford to present such extravagant gifts to your guests?” asked Will. “Won’t that eat up the money you’re raising for the victims?”
“It won’t cost the victims a cent,” said Nadia. “The products are donated by the companies who sell them.”
“But the gifts you’re describing would cost those companies a fortune!” exclaimed Will.
“It’s actually quite cheap for the advertising it will bring,” Nadia told him. “Where else can a company get this kind of exposure for their product? A single, full page ad in one of the more popular magazines can run upwards of two-hundred thousand dollars. The media’s coverage of the items in our gift bags will be worth ten of those ads. Not to mention the promotional value of having celebrities using their products publicly. It’s a win-win. The celebrities get to be wooed and the companies get their publicity.”
“Wow,” said Will, clearly impressed. “This is more involved than I ever imagined. There are so many pieces that have to come together. How do you do it?”
Nadia smiled, pleased by the compliment. “I just do it,” she said.
“Well, like today for example,” he said. “What did you do today?”
Nadia paused to study Will’s face for any trace of duplicity. There didn’t appear to be any. He seemed merely interested.
“The usual,” she replied, doing her best to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. “Contacting donors. Delegating tasks to the volunteers. Nothing too challenging.”
“Yes, but how do you get these donors and volunteers?” he asked. “Do you just call them up and ask them?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “In fact, I spend many days doing nothing but talking on the phone.”
“Is that what you did today?”
Nadia was about to say that it was, but something stopped her. Why was he asking all these questions? His expression was filled with polite interest but Nadia couldn’t help feeling wary.
“No,” she replied slowly. She was trying to think of something to say that would cover all the bases and be at least partially true. “Sometimes the phone isn’t good enough,” she told him. “There are people who are so important—to themselves, mostly—that they expect to be invited in person. It’s not that they need to be coaxed into contributing necessarily. In fact, there’s a good chance that they actually want to be involved in the event—especially if it’s as big as I’m hoping this one will be. It’s just that some people need to have the red carpet rolled out for them wherever they go. It feeds into their belief that they’re special.” Nadia smiled.
Will smiled too. “So did he—or she—buy the ticket?” he asked.
He knew. She had no idea how, but he had found out that she wasn’t in her office that afternoon. Nadia searched her mind for a name—any name—of someone she might’ve visited that day. It would be more convincing if it was someone who was actually attending the masquerade ball. And it had to be someone local, because she was only out of her office for a few hours. Her smile brightened as the perfect someone came to mind. “You’ll be glad to know that our senator and his wife will be attending the ball,” she replied a bit too cheerfully.
Will looked confused. “I wouldn’t have thought that he was such an egomaniac,” he said. “He seemed so down to earth when I voted for him.”
Too late, Nadia realized her mistake. “Oh—I wasn’t talking about him just then,” she said quickly. “Not at all.” She attempted to downplay her earlier remarks with a dismissive little laugh. “I was just venting about some of the other calls I’ll have to make in person,” she clarified, rolling her eyes. She was trying her best to appear unperturbed, in spite of the fact that her heart was beating so fast that she was a little worried she might have another panic attack. “No, our senator…actually, he’s one of the few people who I enjoy visiting in person. Yes…because…you know, it gave me a chance to talk to him about so many other things besides just the masquerade ball. It’s called networking. Yes…so no, I didn’t mind visiting him at all today. I was glad to do it, in fact.” She forced herself to stop talking.
You’re overdoing it, she thought.
“Well…I guess in that case it was worth it,” said Will.
“What was worth it?” she asked.
“Missing lunch with the most beautiful woman in Manhattan,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I wanted to surprise you by bringing in takeout from that little Italian restaurant you like.”
Nadia just stared at him. She had come so close to telling him she never left her office that day.
And what if Georgia had been in the office when Will showed up? Thank goodness Nadia had sent her on errands for the afternoon! Nadia had done it so she wouldn’t have to lie to Georgia about her own activities. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Will might drop by.
But what if Georgia had been there? Will surely would’ve asked her about ‘the incident.’ Maybe that was the reason he came by the office in the first place.
“I’m sorry I missed that,” she said evenly.
“Me too,” he said, picking up his menu. “Have you decided what you want yet?”
Nadia picked up her menu and stared at it without seeing. Why had Will asked about her day in that way? Had he simply been making conversation, or was he testing her? But why would he do that? Did he suspe
ct something?
It had been a split second decision to tell him that she wasn’t in her office that afternoon. Otherwise, he would’ve caught her in a direct lie. What would he have done in that event? Would he have told her that he knew she was lying?
Nadia glanced at Will over her menu. His mood seemed light. He caught her glance and winked.
She smiled.
Chapter 28
Delta Junction, Alaska
Beth’s eyes flew open and she was instantly wide awake.
She knew that creak in the step by heart. She’d heard it enough times—often listening for it as she waited for Wayne to come home from working the night shift. Always considerate by nature, he would tip-toe as quietly as he could, but no one could avoid that squeaky tread no matter how lightly they stepped. It never failed to awaken Beth—except when she was already awake.
But Beth was pretty sure it wasn’t Wayne creeping up the stairs this time. She reached for her gun and, as quietly as she could, released the safety. She rolled to the side of the bed that was farthest from the door and quietly slipped out onto the floor. Then she crawled to the edge of the bed so that she could peek around the corner, and waited. She saw the bedroom door open very slowly.
Beth’s eyes were adapting to the dark quickly enough for her to see that the person entering her bedroom was small and slender, with very dark hair. It was the woman from the cemetery. Beth’s heart began to beat a little faster, although it was something of a relief to find herself confronted with the one woman, rather than several men from T.D.M.R.
You’ve got this, Beth told herself.
The woman moved slowly and stealthily toward the bed. There was something in her hand. It took Beth a minute to recognize it as a knife—and then another minute to believe what she was seeing. The woman in the cemetery had not looked like the type to cut up a roaster-chicken, let alone to use a knife on another human being. Even Beth wasn’t capable of that. She recalled the harrowing cry she had heard in the cemetery and a shudder went through her.