“Sure, she’s right here.” Casey covered the receiver with her palm. “A detective for you.”
“Jerry?”
Casey shook her head as Cecelia took the phone and introduced herself.
“Ah, Mrs. Manning. If you could come down to the hotel café, please. We just need another moment of your time.”
“We’re terribly busy. I gave my statement to Detective Gadsden last night. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not. We have suspects in holding, but I can’t keep them there without cause. I just need you to take a look at a few photos.”
“Of course. I’ll be right down.”
She knew there was more to it. Detective Gadsden should have been asking her these questions. The voice wasn’t quite right, either, but she refused to cower again. She’d be safe enough in the café with her daughter beside her.
“I have to go downstairs for a moment and look at a couple of pictures. Apparently they have some suspects in last night’s trouble. Will you come with me?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Cecelia gave an excuse to the other women who were taking the last load of items out of the suite, then she and Casey headed downstairs.
“It didn’t sound like Detective Gadsden,” Casey said.
“No, it wasn’t. He must have sent a colleague.” She punched the button for the lobby level as well as the floor above it. “Can you keep an eye on me—be my backup—and still let me handle whatever this is?”
“Are you expecting trouble?”
“After last night, I wouldn’t be surprised by anything.” That was an understatement, for sure. “It should be a straightforward process, but if I’m wrong, do the right thing and call your uncle.”
“You know I will.”
Cecelia’s palms were damp as the elevator stopped and the doors opened at the second floor. “I mean it, honey. Don’t interfere, just make the call.”
Casey didn’t look happy about it, but she made the promise as the doors closed between them.
At the café, a man with dark hair brushed back from a face that might have passed for mid-twenties stood up from a nearby table as she paused at the hostess station.
“Mrs. Manning?” He flashed a badge, and then extended his hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I’ve ordered coffee.”
Closer now, she could see he wasn’t as young as first glance implied. “Thank you, but I’m terribly short on time.”
“A big night ahead of you.” He gestured for her to join him at his table.
“Yes.” She settled into a chair and waited for him to resume his.
“I’ve heard about the gala. The pediatric department is fortunate you’re on their side.”
He was a little too slick for Cecelia’s taste, and there was something in his eyes that warned her to tread carefully. Her phone was in her lap, turned on and ready to press the number one.
“It was my husband’s idea, and I’m pleased to carry it out.” She poured herself a cup of coffee in hopes of appearing far calmer than she was.
He pushed a folder across the table and opened it. Only two pictures were inside, and neither of them bore the slightest resemblance to last night’s assailants. She looked from a candid shot of her brother to a similarly candid shot of Emmett. Then she looked back up at the man who was certainly not a detective.
And then she knew. She’d walked right into his trap. “Mr. Isely?”
He nodded. “Forgive the deception.”
Emmett would be furious, and she’d never forgive her stupidity if she let herself get taken. She scooted her chair away from the table. “I really must get back to the preparations upstairs.”
“But I only need a moment. Which man means more to you, I wonder?”
Terror lit in her body. The air in her lungs turned to stone.
“Do give me an answer. I have a man positioned behind your daughter, ready to put a bullet in her head at my command.”
With a steady hand, Cecelia raised her coffee cup to her lips, smiling over the rim. She would not alarm the other patrons or give this monster any reason to hurt her daughter.
“I love my brother.”
“Blood over lust, then?”
She waited, her hands calm in her lap as she glanced around. “Where is Mr. Holt?”
“Not to worry, he’ll be here to dance with you again tonight. As they say, I’m banking on it.”
Who was this man? He dared to make a move like this—in the open? He had to know that her brother as well as Emmett would be watching her. The bastard seemed fearless. Do this right, Cecelia. She needed to play the part. Make the right moves. For all their sakes. “Will you be in attendance, as well? I might be able to arrange a seat in exchange for an appropriate donation.”
Isely stared at her. “You are remarkable.”
“Thank you.” She set the cup down, thankfully without cracking the saucer. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Not quite yet. Where is the formula?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And that lack of knowledge sent a chill skating down her spine. This man was dangerous in a way she’d never faced before. She’d met all kinds of people through her husband’s career and living in this area, and she knew everyone had secrets. But Isely oozed lethal in an entirely different capacity.
“You are a very poor liar,” he said. “I advise you to choose discretion over valor here, Mrs. Manning. Unless your skills improve, you will need a great deal of assistance from friends in your new career. We might come to a mutually profitable arrangement if you cooperate now.”
“I believe the term is ‘asset.’ And I will never be one of yours.”
“Tell me where I can find the formula or I will take down your brother and expose his crimes for the world to judge.”
His threats and arrogance ignited something dark and deadly deep inside her. She felt the shift like an earthquake as her resolve kicked into high gear. She never considered herself capable of blood lust, but she had an overwhelming need to send Mr. Isely straight to hell. The man sold weapons to the highest bidder, invested in research for the sole purpose of profiting from atrocities. He was as low as a life form could be.
“You’ll try to do that anyway,” she countered.
“Try?” He arched a brow. “No, no. I always succeed in my endeavors. However, one detail from you could prevent much suffering.”
“No. I don’t quite trust you, sir.” She knew he would eventually try to take down Thomas anyway, for the sake of his revenge if he got nothing else from this venture. She had to pause to keep from shouting. Or leaping across the table and attempting to strangle him. Either action would surely be construed as a signal to shoot Casey. “As for Thomas, he can take care of himself.”
“I know you need to believe it.”
It was too much. He didn’t know her, would never know her. The pricey suit and cultured voice were merely a costume to hide his lack of humanity. By design or circumstance, he’d become something absolutely vile. But he would never know her or her brother.
“You know nothing about me or my needs.” She was a moment away from tossing the coffeepot at his head. “I cannot give you what I do not have. I suggest you take your own advice and discreetly crawl back under the rock where you belong.”
“Well, well.” He sat back in his chair, a reptilian smile sliding across his face. “You are a delightful surprise. I am so honored, Mrs. Manning, to be the first to see this side of you.”
“You will not succeed.” She leaned forward. “I won’t let you.”
“Oh, I look forward to our next meeting.” He stood. She did the same. “Have a lovely evening.”
She had to find Emmett... She blinked, realized she had totally forgotten to hit the speed dial for h
im.
Too late to worry about that now. She had to find her daughter.
Chapter Twelve
Plaza Hotel, 7:35 p.m.
From across the balcony, Holt watched Cecelia navigate the sparkling rainbow of expensive gowns anchored by tailored and rented tuxedos. Most of the men had worn classic black tie, but a few had chosen more festive touches of holiday color in honor of the season.
Holt wasn’t one of them. He’d been honest with her about that. He didn’t do holidays, had never had a reason to. In her red tulle ball gown with its jeweled waist she was as untouchable as ever; still, his hands itched to do so.
He only had to keep himself under control for one more night. Then it would be over, one way or another.
With a flute of champagne in his hand, he exchanged pleasantries with people who only assumed they knew him, and wondered if he’d been foolish to attempt this alone. Cecelia had been right about one thing. He was exhausted from maintaining surveillance to assure her safety, searching her history for common ground and keeping up appearances at his real job. It would all be worth it if he could get her out of here alive and stop Isely.
The large crowd, even bigger than he’d expected, shifted and flexed, blocking his view of her again. He hustled up the staircase to take a better position. There was a younger blonde glued to her side. The daughter. At least Cecelia was guarded well. Even without the benefit of the research photos he’d studied, their resemblance was uncanny. And while he hadn’t spotted Director Casey specifically, Holt knew he’d have several people in place.
Now he just had to dance between the sharp blades of Isely’s revenge and the director’s protective nature. Preferably without getting sliced to ribbons in the process.
Since Isely’s first warning, Holt had searched through every detail about Cecelia’s life. Nothing he’d turned up indicated any reason to worry about her endangering Isely’s ultimate revenge plot against Thomas.
Today, as he’d put his escape plan and backup options in place, he dug deeper still and hadn’t found the thing that explained Isely’s uncharacteristic impatience. He’d searched headlines and found no change in current events. He’d poured through obituary columns and death notices and come up empty.
The widow had no field experience, and though the CIA employed her, it was in a legitimate, low-key administration post. She’d only recently returned to that post after taking four months’ leave to care for her husband during his losing battle with brain cancer.
She hadn’t been close enough to the agency to even catch a rumor that might assist or harm the German crime lord, and yet Holt couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
What did Isely know about the woman that had him so focused on her?
It remained the unanswered question, so Holt turned his mind to what he did know: Isely. The man was smart. Devious. Determined beyond reason to destroy Thomas Casey. As the sister, Cecelia had obvious value as leverage to cause pain. People were mere tools to a man like him.
Thank God there weren’t too many men like Isely in the world. Of course, in Holt’s line of work he saw more than his fair share of them.
A man with a booming voice announced the orchestra was ready, and three wide ballroom doors opened on cue.
He watched the crowd flow through them, Cecelia and her daughter standing at the center greeting donors with gracious smiles. Other people important to the charity foundation did the same at the other two doors, but Holt decided he’d wasted enough time.
Setting his champagne aside, he returned to the ballroom level and gave Casey a cursory nod as he greeted Cecelia. Immediately the daughter went on alert, but Cecelia’s perfect society smile didn’t so much as flicker.
He didn’t know whether he should be pleased or insulted.
“So glad you’ve arrived, Mr. Holt,” she said. With a quiet word to her daughter, she slipped her arm through his. “Let me show you to your table.”
This was unexpected. “That’s really not necessary. I just wanted you to know I was here.”
“I knew.” Her smile remained, but her blue eyes showed clear relief.
“What happened?” He’d had his phone on all day. His random yet frequent checks of her safety had indicated nothing untoward had occurred. “You didn’t call.”
“There was no need. This way.”
She guided him through the sea of round tables set for ten and he took stock of the setup, comparing the final arrangement to the plans he’d read in her suite last night. At the far end of the room, on the other side of the wide dance floor, the long head table perched on a riser. A podium stood ready at the center of the head table, a small orchestra to one side and what appeared to be a DJ’s table on the other.
Two walls of the ballroom were lined with long tables draped in snow-white linen and decorated with Christmas colors. Silent auction items were laid out with suggested starting bids on each paper. Four bar stations were prepped, but currently closed.
His concern grew with every step she took closer to that head table. He’d known his donation would get her attention, but being front and center was more publicity than he wanted. Dining with half of the moneyed elite of Alexandria and Washington, D.C., wasn’t his idea of discreet. Would nothing go right in this last stage of his plans?
Alarms went off in his head when a familiar couple entered through a side door. Lucas Camp and his wife, Victoria Colby-Camp, strolled in, Lucas’s limp barely evident this evening. They approached the round table closest to the dance floor and were soon joined by Thomas Casey and Cecelia’s daughter, along with her husband, Levi.
He’d known about the connection. Cecelia considered Camp a dear friend. The man was Casey’s godfather. But of all the friends she might have in attendance, this one man, working with or without Thomas, could ruin everything.
It was increasingly clear Holt was going down in flames tonight. He’d been prepared for that. But he could not let any of them get in the way of his keeping Cecelia safe.
Still, of all the contingency plans he’d made, this was one he hadn’t anticipated. He started crafting an excuse to leave, knowing he could duck back in and take her later, but she led him straight up to a place at the end of the head table. Next to a place card with her name.
What the hell?
As the event organizer, shouldn’t she be closer to the podium? Relieved as he was not to be seated with Camp, he had to wonder what game she was playing.
“This isn’t necessary.”
“Of course it is,” she countered. “You singlehandedly lifted us to our pre-event goal and your gift will inspire others in the room to follow your example and give generously.”
“I can’t.”
“You must.” She lowered her voice, but there would be no argument. “Anything less would be an insult.” She squeezed his arm. “Stop scowling. Besides, I need you.”
That declaration hadn’t been easy for her. He nodded. Something had rattled her today and she wanted him to help her cope. Why hadn’t she called him? As often as he’d checked in on her, how the hell had anything significant happened? Wouldn’t her daughter have sounded an alert? Casey had been with her mother the entirety of the day.
The way Cecelia looked at him, waiting for his answer, a surge of protectiveness shot through him, and he patted her hand, warming her cold fingers. “I’m here.”
“Thank you.” She nodded toward others finding seats at the other end of the long table. “Let me introduce you.”
“I look forward to it,” he lied with an easy smile.
He could feel Camp’s eyes boring into his back and the urge to turn around or roll his shoulders was overwhelming. He resisted, thanks to the years of practice at controlling or denying his physical responses for the sake of the job at hand.
Bring on the
overcooked chicken and speeches so he could retreat, he thought. With her. His instincts were prickling and he kept an eye on the shadows for any sign of Isely’s thugs or Thomas’s Specialists.
He supposed he should add Colby’s agents to the list of possible party crashers. Unfortunately, he hadn’t done his homework on them.
Well, there were worse things than winging it, and as soon as he had her out of this hotel, he’d have the advantage once more.
* * *
CECELIA HAD BEEN more than a little relieved when Emmett had finally joined her at the door. She’d worried all day that somehow Isely had uncovered his betrayal and taken action.
Keeping the unexpected encounter with Isely to herself had been the right thing to do. That monster intended not only to destroy Thomas but also to destroy Emmett. She had to stop him. Neither her brother nor the man beside her would want her to act on her own instincts. After all, she had no real training to speak of. But she suspected that was the only way to help both of them.
She had to do this. Yet she was no fool. Her daughter had her back. Cecelia was reasonably sure she had half convinced Casey that Emmett really was trying to protect her.
He was far closer to being that white knight than he realized.
She’d known the moment he’d joined the cocktail reception. Something in the air changed when he was near, when she felt his gaze on her. It was a sensation she’d never thought to experience with anyone but William. While he had done his habitual reconnaissance, she’d been swamped by guilt. She barely knew Emmett, yet her feelings for him were so strong, so vivid.
Now that she was touching him, she never wanted to let go. She introduced him to the others who shared the head table. It was a wonder watching him show such charm and relaxed polish when she knew the rough edges and constant vigilance lurking underneath.
As everyone took their seats, her daughter came up behind the head table. “Mom?”
“Is there a problem?”
Harlequin Intrigue November 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2 Page 12