“DeLuca’s my buddy. He’ll back me up. C’mon, get moving. We’re going downtown.” He gestured again.
I leaned against the wall, holding the crowbar in the one arm he could see. I really didn’t have time for this. But Leonard was the puzzle piece that would make the picture whole.
And who was out here getting the information? Me, that’s who. Not omnipotent Graham. Our landlord could just suck up a few news vans a little longer.
“Leonard, old buddy, I’m trying to help you out here. DeLuca can’t save you if he’s running from the cops. They’ve already picked up your buddies at the apartment,” I warned. “That’s what happens when you work the right side of the law. I don’t need friends in low places. I’ve got authority on my side. Your best bet is to work with the cops before you end up like all Archie’s other enemies.”
I was taking shots in the dark. Since he paled a little, I figured I’d come close to the mark. But as I’d said, men with guns have no imagination. They think bullets will take care of everything for them. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He fired the gun at my feet to get me moving. I swore and nearly jumped off the scaffolding before I got my heart beating again. I glanced down. He’d taken out a few aluminum scaffolding poles, tilted the platform, and blasted a hole in the ground three stories down. I’d been serious about bullets hitting babies in the next house. That’s the kind of weapon it was. I lost all sympathy with him.
Before he could really hurt someone, I whacked his gun hand with my crowbar. He hollered but clung to his precious P90. Not taking any more chances, I dropped my lasso over his head and yanked. This time, he had to release his weapon to grab the rope before I strangled him. I wouldn’t have wept if his hands had slipped, but survival was probably Leonard’s strongest instinct.
The P90 bounced against the scaffolding. I kicked it with my cowboy boot and sent it flying into the bushes below. Leonard cursed and tried to lunge after his substitute penis. My lovely knot caught him right below the ear, and he gagged.
I had the handcuffs out of my pockets and on Leonard before he knew what hit him. I slipped a wireless bug under his shirt collar while he was screaming. The cops probably wouldn’t let me hear him squeal, but I intended to be there, one way or another.
When he refused to cooperate and answer my questions, I yanked the rope down around his arms and gave him a shove off the scaffolding. His yells as he dangled over the side couldn’t be heard over the circus noise in front. I really needed to investigate that once I was done here.
I checked my knots to be certain they’d hold and called Sean. He was sitting at the police station with Carla. I told him where the cops could find Leonard and his gun.
And then I slid down the tilted platform to go home.
* * *
I was hot, cranky, and worried after nearly having a heart attack several times over. I was not in the mood to deal with Graham’s fury. I’d wanted to stay and watch the cops bring down Leonard. I had to pray that Sean and Carla handled a scene that I’d created, and that really irked. I actually debated ignoring Graham’s summons and going down to the police station to throw in a few accusations of my own just to get the ball rolling.
But noooo, I had to come running for our landlord just as if he were part of the family.
Leaving Leonard shouting, I shoved past the shrubbery into our street. That’s when I fully comprehended what had Graham up in arms. Crikey! I gazed in awe at the spectacle filling our quiet, respectable neighborhood. Leonard’s shouts were drowned in the commotion. I doubted anyone had heard the gun.
Satellite trucks and mobs of reporters with microphones and cameras blocked the narrow pavement and sidewalk. Idiots had set tripods over historic wrought iron fences and aimed long-range cameras at elegant mansions with security systems that were probably filming them right back. Cop cars with strobe lights were everywhere, trying to break up the gathering mob.
How very convenient for dangling Leonard. A policeman was already talking into his phone and running toward the shrubbery where I’d told them they’d find the dangerous weapon. Leonard was a little easier to spot.
I didn’t have time to duck, prepare, or escape an armada of media. I was wearing an army coat, cowboy boots, and a long braid and didn’t look anything like the celebrity images of me the media had caught a few weeks back. So, I’d caused a riot at an embassy dinner once. I shouldn’t be recognizable now.
But some astute observer still spotted me. He elbowed a camera man who turned his lens my way. A talking head shoved a microphone in my face. Before I could retaliate, two over-eager reporters caught my arms and shoved me into their truck, sticking another microphone in my face.
“Is it true that Patra Llewellyn is your sister, Miss Maximillian? Does she have evidence that Sir Archibald Broderick murdered her father?”
Frazzled and so far beyond annoyed that another planet was involved, I didn’t hear the rest of his inane questions. It wasn’t as if I intended to answer them. He’d grabbed me. He’d physically hauled me into his van against my will, just because I’m small and unassuming. Maybe his giant ego thought I’d enjoy being the center of attention, or maybe he thought that he was protecting me from a crowd, but it was assault and kidnapping in my book.
While the camera whirled, I snatched the microphone out of butthead’s hand and beaned him with it. Startled, he didn’t fall but dodged out of my way when I elbowed him aside and took the driver’s seat. I was operating on high anxiety and pure adrenaline. I had just dropped a gunman off scaffolding, and they thought they’d get away with kidnapping?
“You want to see what real media manipulation feels like?” I yelled.
They’d left the van running to operate all the equipment. With malice aforethought, I put the shift into gear, and we were rolling.
While the reporters scrambled for safety, I leaped out the wide open door.
The enormous satellite van full of expensive tech rolled straight into the smaller local TV news van in front of it. And kept rolling. That should solve Graham’s problem. Eventually.
I ran for the house as the smaller truck angled into the street, connecting with a car. The semi-sized vehicle gathered momentum and rammed the next bumper in line. I was on the porch before the crashing, swearing, and screaming reached its peak.
Mallard held the door open for me. We nodded curtly, and I left him admiring the street scene.
Too angry and exhausted to take pleasure in the chaos I’d created, I dragged up to my shower. Let Graham steam in his own juices. This introvert had had all the personal interaction she could handle for one morning. I wanted food and cold drink and my dark quiet corner of the basement. Maybe I should be a spider like Graham, weaving webs in darkness.
I didn’t need to inquire how the news vans had found Patra’s address. I’m sure it was on her employment application and merely a matter of some enterprising clerk selling the information.
It was Patra I wanted to strangle. She had no right to expose us to the world with a byline on that article. In our family, discretion was second nature. As far as I was concerned, she might as well have pulled up her shirt and flashed the world.
She’d better stay out of my reach for a long time. I was too furious to even care if the cops had found dangling Leonard or left him to hang.
Once I was showered, clean, and cool again, I donned a T-shirt and my denim dress. I braided my wet hair as I wandered to my window to see how the van wreck was going. We were on a slight hill, and those big semi-sized satellite trucks carry a lot of weight. Cars and little Econolines had been shoved willy-nilly into the narrow street or up against fences. Security alarms wailed. Police lights flashed down the street, but the patrol cars couldn’t get any closer. I could hope they’d collared Leonard but whether he was back at the precinct yet was a matter of debate.
A few smart cameramen were filming the melee. The talking heads were screeching at each other or their cell phones. People eased out of their hous
es to investigate. We seldom saw our neighbors so I studied them with interest. Looked like they were a motley international lot — made me feel right at home. Maybe we should have a block party.
Abruptly, a voice blared from a loudspeaker directly over my head. I nearly jumped out of my sandals and raced for the stairs before I recognized Graham’s tactics. He’d probably have a Batman floodlight shining on Leonard by now except it was still daylight and there was no smoke.
The loudspeaker was playing tape #1143 of Sir Archie Broderick, Paul Rose, and the vice president of the United States being warned that the media was manipulating Congress in support of defense and oil industries. The part where Paul Rose warns that Graham is breaching national security was abruptly followed by a tape of Paul Rose introducing himself at a campaign rally, just in case anyone was tone deaf and didn’t figure out who the speakers were.
Few of them would recognize Graham’s voice, but I could see shock as the entire mob recognized Rose. And possibly the former VP’s distinctive drawl. These were D.C. reporters, far more familiar with politicians than I was.
Now that he had their attention, our resident tarantula proceeded to play Patrick Llewellyn’s tape of Broderick minions and a general discussing manipulating the media to foment revolution — supporting Patra’s article if anyone recognized the voices, which they probably wouldn’t.
Except bless Graham’s evil heart, he produced an audio clip of General Smedbetter introducing himself, followed by the voice of the Brit PR flack Whitehead accepting a position as an attaché to the British ambassador.
I winced as Nick’s new boss was greeted by Sir Archibald himself. Ouch. Maybe Tex would take Nick back.
The only voice identity missing from Patrick’s original tape was the smooth-talking American politician. We’d no doubt identify him as one of Rose’s cronies eventually. Rose seriously owed the evil triumvirate if they’d covered up the Iraqi scandal for him.
Contrary creature that I am, I was starting to enjoy the circus.
Cameramen climbed on top of their wrecked vans to get better pictures of the house. Downstairs in my office, a faint alarm shrieked. The cheap spy trap in the attic across the street had been set off. I grabbed my spy glass and scanned the windows, but it looked like workmen in the attic, taking in the street entertainment. No goons with holsters and no Leonard, thank heavens. If nothing else, the circus outside prevented Sir Archie or DeLuca from gunning for us — and I had Graham to thank for that.
He was doing his job, keeping us safe. My grandfather would be proud — or bust a gut at the chaos usually created by me and my siblings. Maybe our antics were starting to grow on Graham.
I still had to figure out how a D.C. gangster like DeLuca came into play and why Smitty would murder Reggie, though. It didn’t seem to fit the big picture, although it looked like poor Bill was the connection between the loose ends.
Watching the world go by wasn’t the kind of physical release I needed from the frustration of this maddening day. I still didn’t have all the answers, but I was betting Graham did. I picked up a water gun I’d removed from EG’s possession and filled it up.
My phone rang and Patra’s number appeared on the screen. Holding my breath and trying not to scream, I answered.
“Your spider in the attic is totally whacked,” she said in greeting. “I’m in a bar across from Poo Manor, watching the news reports. I don’t think I’ll go back to the house. Where are you?”
“In said house,” I growled, “surrounded by howling animals ready to eat us all alive — because of you. Go away, little girl.”
She chuckled. “I’m probably out of a job, so I guess I’ll have to. Maybe I’ll visit Magda in Paris. I speak passable French. Think anyone there will hire me?”
“I’m sure Magda will be delighted to introduce you to Chaos International. What if I ask Graham if that job in Atlanta is still open?”
“That would be great,” she said.
I could almost see her perk right up. I’m not entirely certain why I’d made the suggestion given the bedlam she’d created, but I’d rather she was safe with us than with whatever Magda was doing far, far away. I was reluctantly starting to appreciate the advantage of allies.
The loudspeaker broke into a rock version of the national anthem, complete with screaming guitars. With a sigh, I headed for the stairs to Graham’s lair to pull the plug.
“Find Nick at the embassy,” I told Patra, still carrying the phone. “He’s probably been fired and will need a shoulder to cry on. I’ll get back to you after I figure out how to warn EG and head her off,” I said. “And if life is really good, Leonard Riley is singing down at Bill’s precinct. You probably should avoid that area for now, but give Sean a call. He might still be there.”
“Oh, I’ll do better than that. Sam’s here with me. I’m sending him back into BM to pick up a recorder from the men’s room. While all the good little sheep followed the leader to the street, Sam opened some kind of line into BM’s archives. He’s downloading as fast as the cable will allow before security gets back to their desks. Expect fireworks.”
“I’m in awe. Let’s adopt him. Gotta go.” I clicked off and stuck the phone in my denim pocket. Graham’s office door was closed.
I opened it anyway. Our insane landlord wasn’t in his web. His monitors were broadcasting footage of the madness below as well as the herd of BM employees and fire engines in the street at Patra’s workplace. I’m sure his scanner was picking up police calls to Bill’s apartment and possibly screams of rage at the British embassy. I took a quick look around at the monitors in hopes of seeing General Smedbetter and Sir Archie running for their lives, but there was no footage of the airport.
Figuring he couldn’t have got far, I headed for the gym.
Graham was stripped to boxing shorts and gym shoes and whaling the tar out of the heavy bag. Sweat streaked down his broad back, so he’d been at it for a while. The man was as frustrated as I was if he hadn’t even bothered watching the crowd reaction to his coup de grâce.
I’d changed into a dress and sandals so I wasn’t ready for fun and games — not his kind anyway.
My kind, I could handle. I squirted him with the water gun.
Thirty
The water gun didn’t stay in my hand for long. I hadn’t expected it to. It accomplished exactly what I’d wanted — Graham’s full and undivided attention.
He continued to grip my wrist even after the plastic toy flew across the room. Despite the sweat, he wasn’t breathing heavily, but when he dragged me up against his muscled chest, I could feel his heart pound.
“I can’t decide whether to thank you, pop champagne, or beat the bottle over your head,” I said, before I stood on my toes, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him.
He reacted with gratifying speed, wrapping his big arms around me and hauling me against him. His mouth was hungry, as hungry as mine. So okay, now I knew adrenaline junkies got high on lust. My skirt rose high as I wrapped my legs around his hips and hung on while he spun my head into new dimensions.
We were both breathing heavily by the time the loudspeaker silenced. Sirens screamed in the distance. Men yelled. Horns honked. A few unmonitored security alarms continued shrieking. Graham returned me to the floor. I took a deep breath and stepped back.
“Whatever we’ve got going is a very bad idea,” I warned.
“Probably,” he agreed with unnecessary alacrity. He reached for me again. “But I appreciate your way of expressing gratitude.”
I dodged and grabbed the water gun. “Until you’re ready to accept us as more than flies in your web and come down to dinner like a human being, we’re just not doing this. I’m aware that I’m as nuts as you, but at least I’m trying. You’re not. So stay in your attic and spin dangerous webs, if you want. I have to go back down and deal with the real world. I just wanted you to know that we recognize and value your efforts.”
I backed out and left him standing there with wate
r running off his chest. A magnificent sight. My knees still trembled and my female parts screamed in protest, but I didn’t do casual sex anymore. I’d tried it. It wasn’t satisfying. Usually, I could do it better myself. Graham was a whole different set of problems, and I just wasn’t ready to deal with them yet.
Mallard was down in the kitchen watching the news on his flip-down kitchen computer, humming to himself, and preparing an enormous lasagna. I could smell peach cobbler cooking. I didn’t remember having lunch, so I snatched an apple.
“Life is complicated,” I said, trying to get my head and my priorities straight.
“For complicated people,” Mallard agreed. “I will be happy to fetch Miss Elizabeth Georgiana.”
“You think you can escape past that madhouse?” I nodded in the direction of the front of the house.
“Certainly. They are too busy untangling their vehicles to bother with the street behind us. Is Miss Patra safe?”
“Miss Patra needs her panties smacked, but from all reports, yes, she’s safe and unemployed. I’d meant to ask Graham about that CNN job, but I’d better wait until he cools down.” Literally as well as figuratively. “I’m assuming Nick is safe, although he may be ticked. He should be home for dinner. I need to run down to a police station and offer a few clues.”
“Very good. I’ll hold dinner until you’ve returned. There’s an excellent ham sandwich in the refrigerator. Don’t be too late.”
My jaw probably dropped. Mallard never made sandwiches for me. I had to be usurping Graham’s lunch. I nearly whistled in awe as I stole the magnificent creation from the refrigerator shelf — on a baguette, with ripe tomatoes and curly lettuce. And some kind of fancy cheese, and mustard. I really could get into living like this.
“Bless you,” I mumbled through chewy fresh bread.
Mallard merely smiled as he admired the news footage of Senator Paul Rose dodging cameras.
Undercover Genius Page 24