“What’s going on?”
“Come inside,” he says and leads me into the back where there’s a wall of computer screens. “We hacked into street cameras and pulled the tape on Rico Holland’s house for the past three weeks. You’ll be very interested at what we found.”
“Tell me.”
“A couple of people appeared regularly, so we ran facial recognition on them. One didn’t come up with anything. The other two did: one was a convicted criminal, deported back to Belarus two years ago for racketeering, and now he’s back. The other? A guy named Nicholai Krauss. A.k.a. Rafe Hendel. As Hendel, he’s been pretending to be a successful businessman when in reality he runs security for Holland and his mentor, a guy by the name of Harrison Blackwell. There is also a woman who lives there—at Holland’s house—part time. I took photos over to Tara, but she didn’t recognize either one.”
I shake my head in impatience. I knew all of this shit. I thought he had new information for me? “Your point?”
“My point is that the connections link him to a crime syndicate in Belarus. We need to tread carefully.”
“Put 24/7 eyes on Holland immediately.”
“We already have his house under surveillance, but we’ll amp it up to include his place of business and his person. Anyone else you want followed?”
I shake my head. Pacing in the limited corridor of empty space in the connecting offices, my hands thrust inside my trouser pockets, a thought occurs to me, and I spin around. “If you were trying to keep tabs on somebody, how would you do it? What I mean is, considering all the types of equipment available today, what’s the most unobtrusive?”
The corners of Nathan’s lips curl downward as he considers my question. “A GPS tracker slipped into an article of clothing that he or she’d always wear. One with a long battery life. I’d probably put several in the person’s clothes, in the car, in a handbag or backpack.”
“What kind of range would they have?”
“Probably not too much, but if you have someone tailing the subject in real time, then the range wouldn’t be all that significant. The battery life would be more urgent, but if you have multiple trackers, then that would cover all bases.”
“They may have done that” —I start pacing again— “in which case they might know where she is right now. And I fucking don’t. We need to go back to her friend’s house and lean on that woman to tell us where Marley is. Or at the very least, to call her and put me on the damn phone with her. I’m not wasting any more fucking time. Her life could very well be in grave danger.
Driving like a bat out of hell, Rick gets us to Tara’s in minutes. I actually have my fingers literally crossed that she’ll be home. This time I let her know of our arrival with the buzzer, and she fortunately lets us in. Fortunately for her, for if she didn’t, I was going to take her down. Not literally, but I guarantee she wouldn’t like it.
I waste no time telling her. Her peaches-and-cream complexion pales in front of my eyes.
“I’ll call her right now.”
We all stand there as she switches it to speaker phone, and it rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Finally, I hear the voice I’ve been so desperate to hear.
“Hello.”
“Marley, it’s Tara. I need to speak with you.”
“What’s going on?”
“First tell me that you’re all right.”
“I’m fine.”
“Where are you right now? Are you at your hotel?”
“No, I’m at a dinner. Are you on speaker?”
“Yeah. Who are you with, Marls?”
I grab the phone from Tara, unable to wait another second. “Marley, this is Fletcher. Please tell me that you’re not with Rafe Hendel.”
35
Marley Jacobs
My heart torpedoes into my throat. First, because his voice is filled with alarm at the prospect of my being with Rafe. Second, because I’m not supposed to be working. At all. Per our agreement. Per our legally binding contract.
“Marley, tell me you’re not with Hendel.”
“I-I can’t tell you that. I am.”
“Listen to me very carefully. Is he next to you?”
“No, not at the moment.”
“Good. Listen carefully. He is working for Rico Holland. He has been all along. I can tell you for certain that he’s not a wealthy businessman but a foreign-born associate of Holland. He is going to take you to Holland, maybe even tonight. Probably tonight.”
My eyes dart frantically, scanning the room for Rafe. I spot him coming toward me, but he stops to speak with someone at a table near the entrance. “What should I do? Leave without telling him?”
“Where are you right now?”
“Four Seasons. Los Angeles.”
“I don’t want to scare you, but they probably have every exit covered. I’m going to send my people over to get you. You’ll know they work for me when they give you a code word. Give me a word to give to them.”
“Um, I don’t know… I don’t care. Anything.” I glance at the table. “Pellegrino.”
“Pellegrino,” he repeats, “like the sparkling water. Remember, don’t say a word to him and wait until someone approaches you and says the code word. Whatever you do, don’t leave with him.”
Rafe returns and flashes me a look of annoyance. He always expects my complete and undivided attention when he hires me. I quickly speak into the phone. “Sorry, we’ll have to continue this conversation later. Thank you.”
I swivel my body back toward Rafe and try to quell the shivery sensation I feel all over my body at the information Fletcher just gave me. Can it be true? But all this time? He could have snatched me so many times—he had numerous opportunities. Though it’s true I never got in a car with him. That security precaution may have saved my life.
He darts a look at me from the corner of his eye. “What was that all about? You know I don’t like it when you take calls when you’re out with me.”
I try to think of something important enough to justify taking or making a phone call, but my mind goes blank. “I’m sorry. I figured since you stepped away, it was a good time to check in with my friend about a personal matter. Is everything all right?”
I hope I sound normal to him because I can hear the tremors in my voice, and the pitch definitely went up a few decibels.
His facial expression still pinched with irritation, he jerks his head. “I’m thinking we duck out early so we can go to the Mondrian sooner. I have a couple of friends meeting us there. It should be fun,” he adds lightly.
I’ll just bet he has a couple of friends meeting us. His words multiply that creepy sensation I have as if my skin is becoming electrified. First, because Fletcher told me to stay put until his security arrives and second, because these so-called friends are almost certainly also employed by Rico and aren’t friends at all but people out to help kidnap me. That’s not going to happen. Not if I have anything to say about it.
“But we’ll wait until after dinner, right? I’m starving.”
Taking a sip from his ice water, he nods, his expression reluctant. “I suppose. For the price of the tickets, we should at least eat the meal. We’ll leave before dessert though since we can enjoy some with our drinks later.”
That is the first time Rafe has ever complained about the cost of anything. He’s definitely acting differently… unless I’m just noticing things I wouldn’t normally take note of.
The third course arrives, a string bean and red potato salad tossed with white beans and Asiago cheese and drizzled with lemon dressing. The food is spectacular, and if I weren’t so queasy from what Fletcher told me, I’d really be enjoying it. Time is ticking and only minutes later, the entrée arrives. I linger over the meal as long as possible, worried that Fletcher’s security would arrive too late. From what he warned me, I believe that every exit will be covered by Rico’s people. I absolutely can’t take the chanc
e of running.
“Oh, before we go,” I start, “can’t we have a few dances? It’s been a long time since I went out on the town.”
He doesn’t try to hide his frown. “I’m not a good dancer—and I have to be honest. I find the prospect of dancing with a professional like you intimidating. I’d rather enjoy your company at poolside with a tumbler of good whiskey.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I’m not all that professional these days, am I? Indulge me this one time. Please? It’s been a stressful week.”
It doesn’t take a genius to see that he is far from pleased, but I’ve backed him into a corner. If he shuts me down, he’ll be showing his hand prematurely. He’s normally very accommodating to me although it’s true I don’t usually ask him for favors of any kind. Still, I think he has to give in, mollify me, or risk his nasty little operation going south. “One dance, one song,” he finally concedes.
I attempt a big smile, but it freezes on my face. I’m trying to play it cool, but I’m frightened and my heart is hurt. I can’t believe that Rafe is actually here to do me harm. I thought we were friends.
Could Fletcher be wrong?
Could he be making this up to get back at me for ignoring his demands about working?
As the main course dishes are cleared from the table, Rafe stands, extends his hand, and leads me to the dance floor. The band is playing a relatively sedate tune, and it turns out that Rafe is a pretty good dancer despite his claim, but the song is over all too soon. “Time to go, Marley. Our carriage awaits.”
“Okay. I’m just going to run to the ladies’ room, and I’ll be good to go. Will you wait by the table or the door?”
His voice is polite, but I can see annoyance flicker in his eyes. “I’ll be at the table. Please don’t keep me waiting too long.”
As I make my way to the restrooms, I stay hyper alert, my eyes roaming my surroundings. Fortunately for me, the entire path to the restroom is crowded, so I feel somewhat safe.
Rafe is acting out of character, lending credibility to Fletcher’s claims. The previous times I’ve been out with him, though granted, he was not overly friendly and talkative, he was never impatient or irritated. Tonight, he was both.
When are Fletcher’s people going to arrive? I don’t know how much longer I can fend off Rafe. If it comes down to it, I’ll just have to tell him I’m not going with him.
There’s a line about ten deep at the entrance to the restroom. Good. For once I don’t mind waiting on line at all. It’s buying me more time. I’m curious as to how Fletcher found out about what actually happened at that party. I never told him. He’d been so cold to me when I needed him most that the idea of disappearing was more appealing than trying to defend myself.
He was the one who screwed up, not me.
Then again, he never really liked me, did he? This whole ridiculous arrangement of his was one he forced on me. From day one he saw me as an adversary, never an ally.
And yes, Mr. Creed. I hold grudges too.
The restroom line moves faster than I’d like it to, much faster than it would have if I really needed to pee. There’s no one behind me, or I would let the person go ahead. I have to decide what I’m going to do if these damn security people don’t get here before I’m forced to take drastic measures.
The ladies’ lounge is luxurious, and each stall has its own sink along with the toilet. I decide to loiter a little while longer. The room is crowded, so it’s loud with multiple conversations when I hear a voice call out to be heard over the din.
“Is there a woman named Marley in this room?”
I freeze in the stall, unsure if I should answer. Would Rafe send a woman in here looking for me? Or could it be Fletcher’s people? I have to take the chance.
“I’m in here. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I was asked to find you. I’ll wait for you just outside the door, ma’am.”
Asked to find me? That doesn’t tell me much at all. I take a deep breath and open the door, stepping out to find many eyes on me. I almost laugh and totally would have if I weren’t so freaked out by the circumstances.
“Well, this isn’t fair,” I say lightly. “You all know my name now, and I don’t know any of yours.”
Everyone laughs and goes back to fixing makeup or brushing hair. I make my way to the exit, my mind racing. It suddenly occurs to me that if Rafe is working for Rico and Rafe knows my real name, then so does Rico. And if he knows my name, he might know Tara’s also… which means Tar could be in danger too.
Fuck me, this is all my fault for getting us involved with a slime ball like Rico Holland in the first place. Looking for an easy way out all those years ago, I bought myself a boatload of trouble. I just hope I didn’t get it for Tara too. She didn’t buy his bullshit from the get-go.
There’s a dark-haired woman standing outside. I’d say she is about thirtyish. She stands out mainly because of her clothing. Black trousers, black shirt, and a headset. Our gazes lock as I approach her.
“Mrs. Creed?”
I nod. “Who are you?”
“My name is Leigh. Your husband sent us to get you out of here safely.” She hands me a phone. “Your husband is on the line. You can confirm with him.”
Before I accept the phone from her, I ask for the code word.
“Pellegrino,” she says quietly.
I take the phone and hold it near my ear. “Hello.”
“Marley. Go with Leigh. She’ll take you to your hotel to get your things and then drive you to the airport. I have a plane there waiting for you.”
“What? A plane to where?”
“Home, of course. We have things to discuss, and you’re not safe in LA. Or anywhere. Mr. Hendel has proven himself to be very adept at finding you. We’ve got to figure out how.”
“All right. I’ll go with her now.” I hand Leigh back her phone.
“Sir, I’ll stay in close contact and check in with you every half hour.” She looks at me while he’s saying something, her expression giving nothing away. “Yes, sir.”
She replaces the phone in her pocket. “Let’s go, Mrs. Creed.”
“What do I do about Rafe? Shouldn’t I tell him I’m leaving?”
“After you’re safely out of the building, one of our people will approach him and tell him you were taken ill and had to leave. Chances are, though, that he has people watching the exits so he’ll know regardless.” She grasps my arm, leaning her head toward me and looks me in the eye. “You should be prepared,” she warns in a grim tone, “for things to get a little ugly if they try to stop us from taking you away.”
“How ugly?”
Her forehead furrows as she arches her eyebrows. “As ugly as it needs to be. Let’s go.”
We walk briskly down the hall to the main exit. Along the way two very large men fall in with us, covering our flanks. At first, I thought they might be Rafe’s men, but they say nothing, and neither does Leigh. They’re protecting us from the side and rear. The four of us go out the door unimpeded. The sleek ebony sedan is just to the left of the hotel entrance in the circular drive. We are so close to getting in when our path is abruptly blocked.
36
Fletcher Creed
“Sir, they almost made it to the car when they were accosted by Hendel’s people.”
“Accosted how?”
“They’re trying to stop her from getting in the car. They have more manpower, but we can use the hotel security staff if necessary. Last time I checked, kidnapping is illegal, so if Mrs. Creed tells security she wants to leave, it will be hard for them to stop her unless they go rogue on the situation.”
“Keep me informed. I want to know as soon as the car is moving away from the hotel, and it should go straight to the airport. Forget about picking up Mrs. Creed’s belongings from the hotel. I want her in the air ASAP.”
Shit.
I disconnect the line and try to distract myself by looking at a contract that our legal department drew
up for me this afternoon. The words just swim in front of my eyes, and I cannot make any sense of them.
I can’t remember being this nervous—ever. My stomach feels like my enemy, and I have a vicious headache. I am doing my very best to ensure that no harm comes to Marley.
A healthy portion of this situation is mine and why my stomach is revolting against me. I haven’t been honest with even myself when it comes to how I feel about Marley. It’s not time, as I told myself earlier today, to acknowledge that I have feelings for my so-called wife.
No, it’s far past that.
I’m in love with her, deeply in love, and I’m damn well going to get her back. She and I are going to sit down and confess every secret and detail of our pasts to each other so that this kind of clusterfuck never has to happen again. Then we’re going to meet with my entire security team and possibly the FBI as well to figure out how to stop cold that motherfucker Holland.
It’s not just Marley’s safety at stake here. Our research into the man has yielded very unexpected fruit. Turns out the bastard is affiliated—to what degree we don’t yet know—with human traffickers. Even children. They target the most vulnerable people, entice them into going abroad with bullshit stories. Once they’re in countries where law enforcement is often lax or corrupt—or both—they take away their passports and strand them someplace where the people don’t speak their language. At that point they can auction them to the highest bidder, and the victims don’t stand a chance at escape. They sell them for sexual slavery or black-market organs. They became nonpersons, incapable of advocating for themselves.
In addition to that—as if that’s not enough—he and his mentor, a man who started out in energy and then added to his financial empire with online catalogs selling everything from weapons to sleazy sex accessories, have been quietly taking over media companies. What I’ve learned in the last two hours is it was indeed a coincidence that both Marley and I both have a history with Rico Holland. It was a bizarre coincidence and one that must have caused him a few nights of sleep that I married her right before he was set to spring his trap courtesy of one Rafe Hendel, former hacker from Belarus and all-around henchman.
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 24