T is for Temptation

by Jianne Carlo

  “What about parents as role models? We’ve never had any experience. You can’t count the priests. Parents don’t take a vow of chastity.”

  “I don’t know about that. Between you and me, we were parents to the rest of the gang. The other three would never have made it without us looking after them.”

  Surprise had him meeting Alex’s somber gaze. After a moment of careful consideration, he said, “I never thought of it that way.”

  Hands digging deep into pockets, Alex rocked on his heels. “The best day of my week is Saturday when I coach under-six soccer. Working with those kids washes away the sins of the world for me. When you dole out millions to trust fund heirs who don’t deserve a cent, a six-year-old’s point of view clarifies life’s priorities. Don’t get me wrong, I like our lifestyle, the goodies money can buy. But, when it comes down to it, your friendship, your respect matters more to me than any luxury car, any waterfront mansion. At the end of a long day dealing with Palm Beach types, I want to go home to a woman who adores me, and who I adore, and a passel of kids running about.”

  More stunned by the yearning in Alex’s eyes than the impact of his words and overwhelmed by the depth of his trust, Jake couldn’t get a single syllable out.

  “Every job has a purpose, but the most important one in the world is parenting. I believe a parent’s role is an amalgamation of mentor and guardian. From the time you and I met, we’ve been both.”

  Jake continued to stare at him, and Alex averted his eyes and blinked a few times. He cleared his throat and continued, “Of course, if my chosen mate comes with a Mayflower lineage and a fortune, I’m not going to sneeze at the opportunity.”

  Jake’s lips curved, the practical sentiment so basic, so much so, Alex.

  “Ah, crap, this is getting way too maudlin. I could be on Oprah, for Christ’s sake.” Alex rocked on his heels and concentrated on the line of floor numbers as they lit one by one.

  The elevator came to a halt, and the doors swooshed apart.

  A jean-clad, rumpled version of Potsie from Happy Days almost bumped into them as he stumbled through the opening.

  “Sorry,” the teenager said and slumped into a corner and punched the lobby button.

  Acting on boyhood memories of hasty exits, they long-jumped to the suite’s open entrance, each wearing a lopsided smirk. With perfect timing, they froze upon landing and measured feet positions.

  “Drives me nuts the way you do that. I’m two inches taller, yet you always win.” A cough punctuated Alex’s grumbled complaint.

  The elevator opened onto the penthouse suite. Jake’s optimistic mood fell away when he looked up and noticed Henry’s pallor and Flood’s stoic expression. “You interviewed the guest?”

  “The teenager who left as you arrived.” Flood jerked his head in the direction of the elevator.

  Watery sunlight cast deep shadows in the room’s corners, and even though he squinted, Jake couldn’t discern either man’s expression. A long line of windows gave a grimy snapshot of London, and in the distance, a gigantic Ferris wheel punctuated the landscape.

  “Helpful?”Alex asked.

  “Quite. We have photos of the three people involved.”

  “Three? Not two?” Shrugging off his coat, Alex, chameleonic as always, morphed into lawyer interrogator mode.

  “Blast, not again,” Jake muttered as he tugged on one earlobe and walked towards the two men. “Have you ID’d them?”

  “One, unfortunately. Sent the other two photographs to headquarters mere minutes ago. No results yet. I take it you’ve met both the caretaker and this Graziella?”

  Jake slowed and came to an abrupt halt six inches away from Henry and Sir Arthur. Alex shifted until he stood adjacent to him. “I have, Alex hasn’t.”

  “Over here.” Flood motioned to a laptop on a side table, strode over to it, and tapped a few keys.

  Following him, Jake shed his coat and flung it onto the sofa. He stilled the impulse to cross his fingers.

  “Who’ve you identified?”

  Alex sandwiched Jake and Sir Arthur Flood and stared at the LCD.

  “This one.” The Yard man hit the up arrow, and an image filled the screen/

  “Inspector Flood?” Until he uttered the question, the similarity of their last names had escaped Jake’s notice. He cut to Alex and recognized he’d made the connection as well. Two men named Flood working in the same institution, and one had detained Tee at the airport and started the manhunt for her.

  “A surprise to us as well. This has the whole institution in an uproar. Of course, every agency, every station’s on alert. The minute he’s spotted, he’ll be taken into custody. Shall we move on? Time is of the essence.” Sir Flood flicked another key. “This is the woman.”

  “Graziella Leandro,” Jake said, recognizing the Latin beauty. Dread caught his belly like a series of punching fists.

  Flood’s finger hit the up arrow again. “This is the other man.”

  “The caretaker.” Even though he’d expected it, the blow stun-gunned his brain, and his lungs stuttered to a halt.

  “His name is Eduardo Frantz. Graziella is his stepsister.” Alex stepped into the void, literally. “I had them investigated and received a preliminary report earlier. If I can access my e-mail, I’ll forward their backgrounds to you.”

  “By all means, it’ll save time,” Flood said.

  “While Alex is doing that, fill us in on the kid’s story.”

  “Jake, I haven’t had lunch, and this promises to be a long night. While I do this, someone order room service. You know what I want.” Alex stated, as he plonked into a leather chair. Within seconds, his fingers flew across the keyboard and the sound of rhythmic clicks punctuated a sudden silence.

  “Actually, m’boy, we were about to do the same thing.” Henry slumped onto the sofa, and picked up a rotary telephone. “And I could use a stiff Scotch. Jake, will you do the honors?” He pointed at a mahogany encased bar. “How long will you be, Alex?”

  “Less than ten minutes.”

  Although Jake accepted their rationale, impatience licked him into motion. He poured four generous shots of liquor, while Henry placed the meal order.

  All the while, a brainstorming session played in his head: Flood, the airport detention, Graziella, the caretaker. The inspector’s involvement didn’t add up, and he found it difficult to throw Sir Arthur Flood into any conspiracy theory.

  Henry flipped on the gas fireplace when Alex finished, and the four men settled on furniture. Henry and Flood sat, regal in English club chairs, Alex and Jake slouched onto the requisite dark sofa.

  “Ready?”

  Alex shot him a let-them-at-it glance, and Jake nodded.

  “Around ten this morning, the young man you saw earlier waited in the lobby with his two younger brothers for the start of their bus tour.” Sir Flood took a sip of his liquor.

  “The kid who took the elevator as we arrived?” Alex asked.

  “Yes. The two younger boys played with water pistols, which they were warned not to discharge, while their older brother, the young man you two saw, concentrated on an electronic game on his iPhone. An altercation occurred between the young men that resulted in an exchange of liquid fire.”

  Jake shifted on the leather, which squeaked in protest.

  “Our young man heard shrieks and looked up to see an invalid in a wheelchair, dressed in Arabic garb, caught in the line of battle.” Flood’s mouth twitched. “He jumped to his feet to apologize when one of his brothers bumped into the wheelchair and it overturned. Tallulah fell to the floor, and her chadri slipped off.”

  “Tee?” Jake could barely get around the lump in his gullet to get the hoarse question out.

  “Chadri? Isn’t it called a chador?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, it was Tee, and no it isn’t a chador. The word chador connotes basic female Arabic clothing and differs from country to country. Chadri is the traditional garment for Afghan females.”

  Jake cu
t to Alex and watched his lips flatten at the mention of Afghanistan. He knew his friend had made the same association he had; three bank accounts, one of them in Afghanistan.

  “Inspector Flood appeared on the scene, and he ordered the boys out of the lobby under threat of arrest. Ticked off and fearful of his parents’ recriminations, our young lad used his iPhone to photograph the three adults.”

  Sir Arthur cleared his throat, sipped his Scotch, and then continued, “To while away the time on his bus tour, the lad surfed the Internet, saw our televised conference, and recognized Tallulah’s photograph.”

  Room service’s buzz interrupted the conversation. Jake answered the doorbell, dismissed the attendants, and rolled the cart in himself.

  “Okay,” Alex said ticking off points on his fingers. “At this point, we know two facts. One, Flood is part of the conspiracy. Two, somehow he knows Graziella, and the caretaker. Do we have any clue as to where they went?”

  “The bellman recalls they had a car waiting. My men are going through the security videos to try and identify the vehicle.”

  “What about the hotline tip placing her at the airport?” Jake asked.

  “A team’s checking it out as we speak,” Flood replied. He stood, dug both fists into the small of his back, and then walked to the dining table.

  Jake transferred dishes from the cart to the table, and the other men joined him, offering assistance. “Alex, you take care of the drinks. I’m almost done here.”

  Metal clanged as Alex lifted warming lids off plates and beer corks squeaked. Seared meat competed with starch and yeast for domination, and the charcoal-blackened T-bone claimed victory in the smell arena.

  Alex waved his hands above the steak, lifting curling steam to his nostrils. He inhaled and said, “Heaven. Food’s ready. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m eating while it’s hot.”

  The four men sat at the table.

  Jake ate in silence, not tasting a morsel. Analyzing the facts from every angle, the issue of two Floods hit his suspicious bent at the wrong angle. Too many blasted coincidences. But, though it went against all intuition, he resisted the temptation to question Flood about his relationship to the inspector mindful of the man’s long-standing friendship with Henry. Still, the inspector’s revealed collusion with Graziella and the caretaker answered the question Tee’d asked days earlier about the airport incident, “Why me?”

  While Alex finished the last of his trifle, the two older men retired to their original seats, nursing a second round of whisky.

  “I’m heading to the boarding school,” Jake murmured.

  “Saw something?”

  “No. Going with my gut.” Jake eyed the two older men, who were involved in a murmured conversation.

  “Announcing it?”

  He shook his head. “Let’s make it a quick exit.”

  They did.

  Weak pre-dusk shadows cratered the sidewalk in front of the lobby, and uniformed bellmen chattered and paced lines, their black-booted feet seeming to step into deep holes here and there.

  Illusions.

  “Why the school?” Alex asked.

  Startled out of his musings, Jake answered, “The cupcakes. It’s Tee’s comfort conjure. She once told me the pupils at her boarding school found them everywhere when she was upset. And half the time she didn’t even realize she’d done it.”

  Alex turned up his collar against the deepening chill and listing breeze. “It’s worth a shot, I suppose and there’s no real loss to going there. Henry’ll phone us if the hotline tip proves fruitful.”

  The haziness of dusk descended, creating a dim half-light that blurred forms and shapes.

  Illusions.

  Somewhere a master magician dealt from the bottom of the deck and staged events that appeared unrelated. If only they could find the connecting dots.

  A bellman greeted them, and only then did Jake realize they’d arrived at Claridge’s. All at once, the passing of time ladled alarm and angst into his veins, and he fought to catch a breath. He checked his watch.

  “It’s almost five. Tee’s been missing for over six hours. I’ve watched enough episodes of Without a Trace to know the implications. Flood said because she didn’t drink the coffee, the drug’s effects would only last two hours, which means they’ve given her at least one other dose, otherwise she’d think herself to safety.”

  “How long did he say the full effects would last?”

  “Two hours or thereabouts.”

  Silence reigned in the elevator, both men distracted by their own thoughts. As they entered the suite, seconds later, Alex clapped a hand to his forehead.

  “The jacket. Two hours. That’s it.”

  At Jake’s furrowed brow, he added, “It appeared in my room sometime between the two-hour mark and us leaving for the Grosvenor. Tee must have begun regaining consciousness.”

  “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”

  “Can you think of anything else that would explain it?”

  Jake shook his head. “Okay, what’s the significance?”

  “She might have had a chance to escape.”

  “Let’s discuss this in the car on the way to her boarding school. I’ll arrange a rental and MapQuest the school’s address. You call Dee and get detailed directions to the cottage.”

  It turned out 24/7 in the UK was something of a misnomer, and if it hadn’t been for George Brown finding another cousin, they’d have had to wait until dawn to obtain a car. Less than forty-five minutes later, they sped down the M4 en route to Tee’s boarding school.

  At least the weather cooperated. The rain held off, and one by one, diamond stars twinkled against the charcoal sky. As they neared their destination, the highway grew more deserted, and Jake hit the accelerator, gambling on a lack of police presence.

  Around midnight, his cell phone jangled. Glancing over at Alex’s sleeping features; Jake flipped his phone open and answered in a low murmur, “Mathews here.”

  “Good and bad news,” Henry said without any preamble. “The hotline tip is valid. At least four witnesses place Tee at the LondonCityAirport mid-afternoon today, unconscious and in a wheelchair. Both Graziella and the caretaker were with her, no sign of Inspector Flood.”

  A jumping jackrabbit leaped in Jake’s chest, and the hand holding his phone grew so clammy, he had to curl his fingers around the base to keep it from slipping out of his grip. “And?”

  Beside him, Alex jerked upright from a light doze, ran his fingers through his hair, and motioned for Jake to hit the speaker button. He did.

  “They loaded her onto a private jet destined for South America, Uruguay, specifically. The plane took off around four this afternoon. ”

  “Uruguay,” Jake repeated, his mind spinning into dark places.

  “Arthur believes it’s a ruse to detract from the true destination. Right now they’re working through the night to determine the jet’s ownership, and Interpol’s working with air route traffic control centers to determine their precise location. We should know more within the hour.”

  “Once we know their location, what happens next?”

  “Try to determine where the jet will land and intercept them upon touchdown.”

  “Okay, we’ll head back. I’ll call you as soon as we’re in the vicinity. We’ll come directly to your suite.”

  Jake stabbed the end button. When he continued down the motorway and didn’t take the first exit to pull a U-turn, Alex asked, “Aren’t you turning around?”

  “No. We’re only ten minutes away from the boarding school, and every instinct tells me she’s there. If I’d listened to my gut from the time this all started, Tee would be safe. I want to check this cottage out.”

  “Might as well since we’re so close.” Alex yawned and arched his back, knuckling his spine. “We’ve agreed that none of the players so far possess the skills to head up this whole operation, Tony, Graziella, the caretaker. What about Inspector Flood?”<
br />
  “He seemed too hotheaded.” Jake depressed the indicator and took his foot off the accelerator. “But, we don’t know enough about the man to rule him out entirely. And he’s definitely involved. How the hell did he know Graziella? Through Tony? I don’t think so.”

  “The caretaker is a good two decades younger than Flood. Either Sir Arthur’s involved or there’s something connecting the four of them. I know you’re hesitant to consider Sir Arthur because of his friendship with Henry, but we have to add him to the pot.”

  “What’s his motive? Money? According to Henry, his family’s wealthy, titled, and connected.”

  As they left the main highway, urban lights dimmed, and the way ahead became shrouded in darkness. Around a sharp U-turn, the road narrowed into a country lane, and Jake slowed the car.

  “Directions?”

  “I’m checking my notes. We should approach a four-way stop soon. After that there’ll be a brook on our left and a field on the right. Hit the odometer as soon we spot the brook, and we get out at the two kilometer mark, climb over a fence, and walk due east. The cottage is about a ten-minute walk.”

  Jake stabbed the power window button, and a moist, icy breeze wrapped around his throat and hands. A faint hint of manure added a dank texture to the air, and it thickened as the vehicle crawled forwards.

  “This is it,” he said and exerted pressure on the foot brake.

  “Fog,” Alex grumbled, and he swung the door open. “Mud. No, worse, cow crap. Perfect—fog and crap. All we need now is rain. Tee’d better be here.”

  They clambered over the picket fence and surveyed the field. Tall brown grass, slick with dew, brushed against their pants as they strode forward.

  “Are we ruling out Sir Arthur?”

  “No. It’s too much of a coincidence, two Floods in the same organization.”

  “You do realize the implications?”

  “Yeah, Henry’s best friend could be his worst enemy.”

  Maggie May

  Rain sluiced their faces, the wind slanted rivulets, and within seconds they were drenched. From the moment he found out about Tee’s disappearance, Jake hadn’t allowed a second of doubt, a tinge of uncertainty into his mind. Restrained emotions filled him now, coating each sucking step, each hunched motion.