Danny beckoned me inside. “Come on in. But, don’t say anything.”
“What?”
Danny silently led me into the kitchen then down the hall and into the living room where Bennett and his team, as Danny referred to them, had gathered. One man still sat at my computer. Another man held what looked like a metal box.
Bennett held out his palm as I approached. I stared at the small object in his hand. I glanced at Danny with a puzzled expression. He pointed to the object, then pointed to the wall directly above my computer. Then the man sitting at my computer held up a piece of paper with the words “Listening device.”
I stared at the words on the paper, and felt the cold claim my insides again. All those scary images that had danced through my head earlier returned. A strained whisper escaped. I couldn’t help it. “Oh, my God …”
Bennett quickly turned to the man beside him and dropped the object into a metal box. The man snapped the box shut.
“Now, it’s clean” Bennett pronounced. “Signal’s gone dead.”
“Now we can talk,” Danny added.
Still stunned that someone had been eavesdropping on me, I could barely think, let alone talk. “My God, was that thing here when I moved in four months ago?”
“It looks like a newer model, plus there was no dust or dirt accumulation,” Bennett answered. “So we’re thinking it was put there fairly recently. But we can’t be sure. It may have been placed last year when someone else lived here.”
I glanced at Danny. “That has to be it. There’s no reason anyone would be listening to my conversations. I’m not a politician. I just work for one.” I shook my head, trying to remember all the times I had friends in or … or Danny. Oh, my God! Danny … last weekend.
I glanced at Danny, and he must have read my mind because he started to smile. “I hope they enjoyed themselves.”
I closed my eyes. “Oh, my God …”
“What’s important, Ms. Malone, is no one will be listening to you now. And no one will enter your house unless you allow them. We’ve secured both front and back doors, all the windows, and the basement area. In fact, we’ve sealed off the basement since you told us you never use it. And the door locks have been replaced with our special digital entry system. We’ve also installed our control system in the hallway. I’ll explain the emergency call function.”
“They even repaired that back door,” Danny said with a grin.
“What happens if one of my relatives or a friend drops by when I’m not here and they look in the windows? Does that set off an alarm or something?”
“I’ll show you. Plus, we’ve installed video cameras around the outside of the house, so our technicians will already be alerted if someone starts snooping around your house. Friend or foe.”
I was more than impressed. “Wow, you guys certainly are thorough.”
Bennett actually smiled; first time I’d seen a trace of one. “Our job is to keep you safe, so you feel safe, Ms. Malone. Feel safe and be safe. Now, let me show you what we’ve done. Let’s start at the front then we’ll work our way throughout the house.”
Bennett walked toward the front door, and I followed dutifully after him, flanked by Danny. Feel safe and be safe. Good words. Now if I could only believe them.
_____
“They’ve killed it,” Trask said, tossing the earpiece onto the desk. “Who the hell is Prestige Systems, anyway?”
Raymond scanned through a list on his computer screen. “Gotta be privately paid consultants. Their website only has an e-mail address and a phone number for messages. My bet is the boyfriend knows them. Or maybe one of the senator’s staff. Who does the senator’s security?”
“Probably the same agency that staffs all their events. Preferred Professionals. They supply all the servers and wait staff. But I learned they have a security company as well. The caterers are separate. Not connected.”
“Preferred Professionals …” Raymond leaned back in the chair and took a drink of hot coffee. “Rumor has it that years ago half their serving staff were CIA spooks.”
“Still are, from what I’ve heard.” Trask drummed his fingers on the desk. “Maybe Prestige Systems is their company.”
Raymond shook his head. “My gut says no. Something tells me these guys are private and they specialize. But check on Preferred Professionals again, okay? See what you can find out about their security business. I’m betting they mostly provide security for events and personal protection like Russell’s.”
“Okay,” Trask said distractedly, staring at the monitor screen again. “Look … they’re showing Malone the video system. Damn! They’ve locked that place down tight.”
“Yeah, they have,” Raymond said, observing Trask’s annoyance. He couldn’t resist adding to it. “You’re not getting in there again.”
Trask didn’t respond, but his answer was written on his face. Extreme aggravation. Trask wasn’t used to being thwarted.
“I know you’re pissed, but it was bound to happen sometime, Trask. You’ve been doing these jobs for years. Random roll of the dice. You know, statistics.” Raymond grinned, just because it would annoy Trask even more.
Trask just shot him a look.
“Anyway, it sounds like you got what we needed. You copied the file. I’ll take a look and share it with Spencer. And that stuff in the desk drawer didn’t sound important. What was it again? Flash drives from the Allard girl?”
“Yeah, and they looked like the same ones I’d taken from her apartment and that house on the Eastern Shore. But I wanted to take a closer look at the Grayson girl’s daytimer. She had notes written all over the thing. Lots of initials. I’d only started going through it when Malone came home.”
Raymond took a deep drink of his hot coffee, thinking. “That doesn’t sound like much. Notes on a daytimer, that’s all. Office stuff, most likely. I’ll tell Spencer, but I think he’ll agree.”
“So, what do you think they’ll do next?”
Raymond took a long drag on his cigarette, felt that burn, then blew out a slow smoke stream. “Oh, I know what they’ll do. Once they hear about Malone discovering the break-in and her new security system, they’ll shut down all direct surveillance. Reduce the risk. We’ll check occasionally, just to keep an eye on her. But they won’t authorize any actions. You can bet on that.”
Trask smirked. “I figured as much. They’re making a mistake though. If she starts snooping around again, no telling what she’ll find.”
“Well, right now, Malone hasn’t found out anything really. Just general information. More research on international monetary issues. Big yawn. Nothing important. Nothing that ties Ryker to anything specific. Not like Wilson did. Wilson overheard Ryker mention one of the banks involved in the transfers. Then Holmberg asked about the specific bill going through committee. The Jorgensen girl doesn’t know any of that, either.”
“How can you be sure?” Trask looked dubious.
“Because she would have been spilling her guts to someone in Chertoff’s office by now. Ryker’s made a lot of enemies over the years. There are plenty who’d love to have the ammunition to take him down.” He flicked the ash off his cigarette.
“He’d better be more careful then. More slipups and he’ll hand them all they need. Better keep his mouth shut.”
Raymond snorted. “He’s a politician. He’s incapable of that.” Trask stared at the monitor again. “Listen, why don’t you just stay loose for a couple of days until we hear from Spencer on what the group decides. Then, you can take off for a week on your boat. Maybe more. Who knows?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Trask said absently, staring at the screen.
Curious at Trask’s concentration, Raymond said, “You’ve been doing stakeouts too long, Trask. Stop staring at that screen and get out of here.”
“You’re right. It’s just …”
>
“Just what?”
“I don’t know … something about Malone’s boyfriend. Something about him looks familiar. I haven’t had a good look at him. He’s usually got his back to the camera or his head turned away.”
“How many years were you in the Marines, Trask?”
“Five. Why?”
“And how many years were you a mercenary?”
“Twelve. What are you getting at?”
“And you’ve been working with me for seven years. You’ve met thousands by now, Trask. Just like I have. Same story. After awhile, we think we recognize everybody. They all start reminding us of someone. Usually someone we’ve killed.”
Trask returned his attention to the screen. “Or wanted to.”
“Yeah, that too. Now get out of here and start planning where you’re gonna sail.”
Trask finally smiled. “Roger that.”
twenty
Later Tuesday afternoon
Danny slipped his arm around my waist as we watched the Prestige Systems team back their black Suburban out of my driveway. “Feel better?”
I did, actually. It was hard not to, after seeing the complex system Bennett’s team had installed. “Yeah, I do. Thank God.” I turned to Danny. “And thank you. I wouldn’t have known where to find a company like that. And Peter surely wouldn’t.”
“You would have probably asked Casey, and he would have put you in touch with someone,” Danny said as we walked toward the front door where Casey was standing, staring up at the video cameras Bennett’s team had installed. “But they wouldn’t have been as good as these guys. And that’s what I wanted for you.” He kissed my temple. “I want to keep you safe, Molly.”
Even that small touch of his warm mouth stirred me. Now that fear had finally slunk back into the bushes, I was finally able to feel other sensations. Desire, for one. Pressed close to Danny, desire rose quickly. Only the presence of Casey kept me from suggesting Danny and I go inside.
“I’m impressed,” Casey said as he walked toward us. “That is one helluva system they’ve installed for you. What’d you say their name was again?”
“Prestige Systems,” Danny answered. “I can give you their number. You need a recommendation.”
Casey grinned, “I’m not surprised. Well, done, Double D. I have a feeling Peter Brewster is lucking out and doesn’t even know it.” His smile evaporated quickly. “I’m just glad you won’t be vulnerable anymore, Molly. These neighborhoods are way too tempting for thieves.”
“I’ll say.” Danny nodded in agreement. “You were lucky you came home when you did and scared the son of a bitch away. And you were sharp enough to notice someone had been inside. Other people might not have picked up on those signs.”
“Yeah, I guess. It’s just …”
“Just what?” Danny prodded.
“I still don’t understand why a thief who’s taken the time to watch my schedule so he could break in would spend time looking at my computer files or poking around in the desk drawers.”
“Maybe he was looking for money?” Casey suggested.
“Yeah, maybe,” I agreed. “It’s just …”
Danny studied me. “I can tell something else is bothering you, Molly. What is it?”
“The bottom drawer had Karen’s office daytimer pulled out from the files. Celeste Allard said Molinoff was angry when he couldn’t find it in the office. Also in that drawer are the flash drives where Celeste put all of the stuff she was researching for me. They’re on three flash drives.”
Both Danny and Casey stared at me. “I thought Celeste was simply doing e-mail searches for you,” Danny said.
“That’s right, but she also researched that organization I told you about, the Epsilon Group. You remember when we went to see that speaker?”
Danny nodded. “Yeah. And I remember how boring he was. Don’t tell me you have his speeches on those flash drives?”
That made me laugh. “To tell the truth, I only skimmed through them earlier this summer. It’s mostly research notes on economic issues. Stuff like that.”
“I think it’s more likely the thief opened that drawer looking for your financial information,” Casey said. “Probably hoping to find credit card statements or bank statements with your account numbers.”
That resonated. Nothing like money to get someone’s attention. “Good Lord, you’re right.” I shook my head. “Of course, that’s what he was looking for. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I think you’re still spooked by what happened today,” Danny added. “And, be honest. It’s only been a little over four months since Karen’s murder. A lot of bad memories.”
Casey grimaced. “I’ll say. Another reason to be glad you’ve got this new system. This is a dangerous city.” He glanced at his watch and started walking away. “I’d better get back to the house. See what else Peter wanted done today.”
Danny and I followed him toward the sidewalk. “Do me a favor and shut down my computer system, please,” I remembered to ask. “I’ll be in tomorrow.”
“Who did the system for the Russell house, do you know?” Danny asked him. “Or did you handle it?”
Casey opened his car door. “Matter of fact, I didn’t. The system was already in place. I checked it out and everything was working perfectly. I thought we had top of the line, until I saw this.” He glanced back at the house. “I’m going to suggest to Peter that he take a look at this one. After what happened here, I’ll bet Russell will want an upgrade.”
“I’ll bet you’re right,” Danny agreed.
Casey started his car. “Why don’t you two go out for a late lunch or early dinner. You deserve it,” he suggested with a smile, then pulled out onto P Street.
“I was about to suggest that very thing,” Danny said, as we watched Casey drive down the street.
The mid-afternoon summer sun filtered through thick maple trees bordering the sidewalk. Cicadas droned overhead, high pitched, in the heat. Maybe a shady patio not too far away, with an icy pitcher of sangria and lunch leftovers. Gourmet fare. Then a fast pace back to Fortress Malone.
I slid both arms around Danny. Public display of affection, be damned. “If I’m not mistaken, you made a delightfully lewd suggestion earlier this morning before the criminal interruption.”
Danny smiled that slow smile that always set my pulse racing. “You’re reading my mind.”
“Turnabout is fair play,” I said as I lifted my mouth to his.
Tuesday evening
Raymond sipped the aged scotch as he watched Pennsylvania Avenue traffic far below. Headlights flashed on, taillights bright in the early evening. “Have you heard from Ryker yet?” he asked the man standing beside him at the large window.
“Oh, yes,” Spencer replied. The large diamond in his ornate gold ring caught the overhead light as he lifted his glass to his lips. “He was not happy Malone discovered the entry this morning and the bug. I reminded him that none of the actions would have been necessary if he hadn’t gotten careless a month ago. If he hadn’t shot off his mouth where Wilson could overhear, we wouldn’t have had to clean up after him.”
Raymond chuckled. “I bet that shut him up.”
“Yeah, it did. For the time being. He’s getting full of himself now that the bill passed his committee.” Spencer drained his glass, moving away from the wide window as he walked across his spacious corner office to the beige leather chairs clustered about a coffee table.
Raymond followed after him. “I’m not surprised. Ryker delivered his committee. Now, Dunston has to deliver the Senate committee.” He sank into buttery soft beige leather and leaned back into the chair. “Do you foresee any problems? Dunston seems to have burrowed into the chairmanship.”
Spencer picked up the cut glass decanter on the table and poured more amber liquid into Raymond’s glass. “Not r
eally. Dunston’s made sure the bill is treated as bookkeeping issues mostly. International money transfers. Common daily occurrences. Nothing interesting.”
Raymond admired the liquid gold in his glass. Light sparkling off that outshone the flash of Spencer’s enormous diamond to his way of thinking. “Except in those cases, the transfers would be done by your banks.” He smiled at his old comrade, then took a drink of nectar and felt the gold coat his throat.
“Amen,” Spencer grinned and lifted his glass. “He who holds the money, makes the money.”
Raymond stared toward the window, lights from the Washington Mall and monuments shone in the distance. Early evening twilight. “We were lucky today. With Trask, I mean.”
“Ohhhh, yes.” Spencer settled into the chair across from Raymond. “I promised Montclair there’d be no contact with Malone. You’re going to keep an eye on her. Just occasionally. That’s enough. Nothing obvious. As we said before, she doesn’t know anything. Not really. Those Wilson files are simply reports of monetary policy. I assured Montclair she knew nothing.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way. I told Trask he could take some time off. Go sail his boat, take a break.”
“Tell him he can start his break in Europe.” Spencer reached inside his jacket and withdrew a silver storage drive and placed it on the coffee table. “We need Trask to deliver this to our man in Stuttgart. We want a personal delivery on this matter. You can tell Trask we’ll book him through London first, then Paris. I don’t imagine he’ll mind an extended stay in Europe. The tourists will be leaving for home soon. Leaving Europe to the Europeans once again.” He grinned.
“I think he’ll enjoy it. The sailboat can wait a few weeks. He wants to buy a bigger boat anyway. So he might as well go shopping along the south of France.” Raymond laughed until his cough started. But the glorious molten gold soothed the annoying tickle away.
“Vive la France,” Spencer agreed, lifting his glass.
the end
about the author
Bestselling mystery author Maggie Sefton was born and raised in Virginia. She grew up in Arlington, a stone’s throw across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C. Maggie’s hometown has always had a special hold on her, which she blames on her lifelong fascination with Washington politics. Maggie swears she’s been watching politicians since she’s been old enough to read the Washington Post. Author of the bestselling Colorado-based Kelly Flynn mysteries (Penguin), her books have spent several weeks on the New York Times bestseller list and the Barnes and Noble bestseller list.
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