Telling Lies

by Cathi Stoler

  Moto nodded his head at the bodyguard, who was on her in a flash, unceremoniously yanking her to her feet by her jacket. Helen hung there for a moment, an inch off the floor, her legs flopping around like a rag doll’s.

  “Now, that wasn’t very smart, was it?” Moto nodded again at the bodyguard, who lowered her until her feet touched the ground. “Check her for weapons—the case, too. I’m a little pressed for time right now, but we’ll get together later for a longer chat.” His words set her heart racing again.

  “Bring her downstairs when you’re done,” he ordered his man as he left the bedroom.

  The man nodded his assent. “Up against the wall and spread your legs.” He patted her down roughly, seeming to enjoy her discomfort, pressing the gun hard into the back of her neck to remind her who was in charge.

  Helen felt the chill of the cold steel as he prodded her body. She closed her eyes, wanting to pound her hands against the wall, yet knowing it was futile to protest.

  “Stand up straight and don’t move.” He finally finished with her and moved on to the bath case. Just as he pressed the catch, his pager went off. His frown told Helen that something was going on. Snapping the lid closed, he shoved the case at her. “We’ll get to that downstairs. Carry it and don’t try anything.” He paused and looked directly into her eyes. “I will not hesitate to shoot you.” Helen had no doubt he meant it.

  With one beefy hand clamped to her shoulder and the other holding his gun, he steered her down the staircase and into the living room.

  Helen went along meekly, grateful that she was still breathing.

  That was the good news. The bad news was that her chances of escaping right now were virtually nonexistent. If only she could signal Aaron. She knew that he and the FBI were out there beyond the window, watching Moto’s every move. If they saw her, they might bust in. The Sumo-guy here was the real problem. She needed to distract him.

  Helen started to cough. Big, deep coughs that wracked her body, brought tears to her eyes, and shook her chair enough to inch it closer to the window. “Water.” She grabbed her throat and gasped dramatically. Sumo-guy came nearer, peering at her through eyes that were mere slits in mounds of meaty flesh.

  “I need water.” She mimed drinking as a new round of coughing overtook her.

  Sumo-guy turned away from her and elephant-walked toward the room’s doorway, which had remained ajar. He started to shout out something in Japanese. Helen coughed louder and scooted the chair farther back. She reached behind her, grabbed the window curtain, and shook it like crazy. Please, God, let Aaron see that, she prayed. While her watcher’s back was turned, she scooted her chair to where it had been and kicked the case under it. She continued coughing and gasping. When a maid finally scurried into the room with a glass of water, Helen actually needed it.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Miayamu Moto’s Town House

  The Stanfield Hotel

  New York City

  Laurel and Lior followed the bodyguard from the kitchen up a staircase to the town house’s main floor. There seemed to be a commotion of some sort going on at the other end of the hall. One of Moto’s people was standing in a doorway shouting in Japanese. Lior thought he heard a woman calling for water.

  “Lior,” Laurel said in a puzzled tone, “I think that’s …”

  “Later,” he replied brusquely.

  The bodyguard they’d captured stopped short and turned in the direction of the noise. “Don’t try it.” Lior pushed his gun deeper into the man’s back. “Just take us to Moto and don’t say a word.”

  Quietly, they entered a large, wood-paneled study. The three men in the room were in the midst of a heated argument. Two were seated at an enormous ebony desk, while the third paced back and forth, stabbing the air with his hand as he spoke. The men were so focused on their dispute that it took several moments before they were aware that they were no longer alone, the realization changing the atmosphere like quicksilver.

  Lior could feel the fury coming from the Japanese man seated behind the desk. Although his voice was low, it whipped through the room like a tsunami bent on destroying everything in its path. Abruptly, Moto stopped talking and turned to the trio who had entered, his face contorted with pure venom for one brief second.

  Lior took advantage of the surprise their intrusion created. Slowly, he gazed at each man. David Hammersmith, Jeff Sargasso, and Miayamu Moto. They could not fail to see the threat in his eyes.

  Lior sensed that Laurel, who was still behind him, was about to move. Seeing Hammersmith and Sargasso together might make it hard to keep her in check. “Not yet, Laurel. There’ll be time for them later.”

  “Who are you?” Moto demanded and rose from behind his desk, taking in Lior’s gun pressed into his bodyguard’s back. “What do you want here?”

  “My name is Lior Stern, and this is Laurel Imperiole,” he replied as if making introductions at a cocktail party. “I’m here for the painting, and Ms. Imperiole is here for Mr. Sargasso.” He dipped his head in Sargasso’s direction.

  “As far as Mr. Hammersmith is concerned, we’ll leave him to the police to face charges of kidnapping.”

  As furious as he was, Moto’s composure never deserted him. He scrutinized Lior and Laurel and attempted to take charge. “Mr. Stern,” he emphasized the agent’s name, “you’ve interrupted a very important business meeting. Possibly—”

  Laurel cut him off. “Who’s in the room at the end of the hall?” She pointed in its direction.

  He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully, assessing the situation immediately. “Perhaps it’s someone you know. Why don’t we find out?”

  Lior noticed Laurel move to his side and turn toward him hopefully. He knew she’d recognized the voice they’d heard. Without taking his eyes from Moto or his gun from the bodyguard’s back, he nodded his assent.

  Moto barked an order in Japanese. A few moments later, her watcher thrust Helen, clutching her bath case, into the room.

  “Helen?” Laurel gasped, “What are you—”

  Moto answered for her. “This woman claims to be the hotel’s assistant bath concierge.” He gestured at Helen. “As you can see, she also seems to think that her costume and her accoutrements,” his glance took in her now rumpled black suit and the bath case clasped to her chest like armor, “will convince me. What do you think, Ms. Imperiole?”

  Lior didn’t give Laurel time to answer. “This woman is of no interest to me.” He shrugged. “I’m here for the painting. As the Americans are fond of saying, we can do this the hard way,” he pointed his gun at Moto briefly, “or the easy way. It’s up to you.”

  “Forgive me,” Moto said, glancing between the two women, “but she does seem to be of interest to your friend.”

  Lior noticed that Laurel had locked eyes with Helen, each desperately trying to communicate with the other.

  “I thought perhaps you’d like to save her life,” Moto nodded toward Helen. “Maybe I’ll let you have it in lieu of the painting. Or not.” At these last words the man guarding her placed one huge hand around Helen’s throat and began to squeeze.

  Lior could see the fear in Helen’s eyes. The man was squeezing just hard enough to make her gasp. A little more pressure and it would be fatal. “That’s not an option.” Lior’s eyes were dark and ominous. “I’m taking the painting. Right now.”

  “Stop it,” Laurel screamed at Helen’s torturer and started toward them.

  “Stay back.” Lior knew there were too many people in the room for him to control them all.

  Laurel’s movement spurred Jeff Sargasso into action. He leapt up from the desk. “You’re not getting that painting.” Rage contorted his face. He reached for a black portfolio case that had been resting on the floor next to the desk and screamed at Laurel. “You fucking bitch, this is all your fault. You and your fucking snooping. You’ve screwed up everything.” He grabbed the case with both hands, wielding it like a shield, and strode forward aiming it at Laurel’
s head.

  “No, Jeff, no.” Hammersmith had until now remained silent throughout the encounter. “The painting! Don’t, you’ll destroy it!” His words came in a jumble as he tackled Sargasso.

  As Hammersmith lunged for Sargasso, Lior shoved Moto’s bodyguard out of the way and grabbed for Laurel, who was watching the scene in horror, not realizing the danger she was in.

  A second later, a shot rang out, and Sargasso fell to the floor, a small hole in the center of his forehead.

  Lior turned in the direction from which the shot had come. It was Helen who had fired. Her watcher had released her and run to protect his boss. Seizing the opportunity, she’d apparently produced a gun from somewhere and used it to stop Sargasso.

  For a few moments, everything was still, then pandemonium broke out.

  * * *

  “Go, go, go!” Aaron shouted into his headset to the waiting NYPD and FBI teams as he and Mickey kicked open the door to the library. They’d entered the premises a minute before, and the gunshot spurred them into action. Gun drawn and already aiming, Aaron stopped short at the sight of Laurel doubled over, clutching her stomach, Helen at her side.

  “Laurel!” He rushed to her side, his only thought that she’d been shot.

  “She’s okay. She’s okay.” Helen must have seen the absolute panic he felt reflected in his eyes. “She was with … that … The Mossad guy saved her.” Her words tumbled out, racing over each other. “I … I shot Sargasso,” she nodded to his prone body. “He went after Laurel, but I got him first.”

  Aaron looked to where Sargasso lay sprawled on the floor next to a huge desk. A dark man was bent over the body, reaching for something nearby. Shit. Aaron recognized the figure of the Mossad agent from the Delrusse gallery. He looked away to get Mickey’s attention, but the FBI agent was calling for backup to help him subdue a huge Japanese man who was screaming and beating his chest.

  When Aaron turned back a second later, the Mossad agent had vanished. Not possible. He swiveled from side to side as he stepped to where the agent had been.

  “Oh, he’s gone,” said a voice from the far side of the desk, “So is Moto and my beautiful painting. Disappeared.” The words came from David Hammersmith, who was sitting huddled on the floor where he’d landed in the shuffle. “My brother thought he would handle Moto and get the painting for our family. I had a better idea.” Knees pulled up and arms wrapped around them, he continued to speak, while staring ahead and not really seeing anything or anyone. “You’ll never find them, you know. It’s over.” He laid his head down on his knees and began to sob.

  “Hey,” Aaron poked him on the shoulder, ignoring the man’s blubbering. “Where did they go? How did they get out of here?”

  Hammersmith lifted his arm and desultorily pointed toward a panel behind the desk.

  Aaron approached it and saw that it was in fact a small door disguised to look like one of the room’s wooden panels. He stood to its side and pushed it open carefully with the barrel of his gun. The compact space behind it was empty. There was a stairway going down, which he suspected came out a block or two away. He signaled to one of his men to check the passageway.

  Mickey was giving him a high sign, and he walked over to the agent.

  “We rounded up most of Moto’s people, including two other bodyguards, plus that fat one over there,” he indicated the man who now wore shackles on his hands and feet. “No one is talking.” He shook his head. “Not yet anyway.”

  “Moto and one of his guys got out.” said Aaron. “But not with the painting.”

  “It’s still here, then,” asked Mickey hopefully.

  Aaron shook his head. “No, that Israeli agent got it, and he disappeared, too.”

  “Shit,” exclaimed Mickey. “How the hell did that happen? Aaron, what’s going on? And why the hell is Laurel here?”

  Aaron stared at his friend, not knowing how to reply. Helen’s words had told the story. Laurel was part of what happened today because she’d come here with the Israeli. That meant she’d kept her plans from him, not trusting him.

  “You’d better believe I’m going to find out,” Aaron’s voice was edged with steel.

  “Okay.” The agent gave his friend a long look before turning his attention to the body on the floor. “But do it soon. At least we got Sargasso and Hammersmith.” He sighed heavily. “What a fuckup. It’s going to take me months to explain this to the brass.”

  Mickey walked over to his team, who were waiting on his instructions. “I’ve got to get these ‘foreign nationals’ down to headquarters. Then I’ll be back. We’ll need to talk.” He looked over the suspects waiting to be transported. “Thank God they’re not diplomats, or I’d really be screwed.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

  He watched as his friend started giving orders to his team. Mickey had let him off the hook for the moment, but he’d have to be ready with answers when he returned, especially about Laurel’s involvement.

  In the meantime, he had a crime scene to secure, a prisoner to interrogate, and witnesses to interview, including Laurel … before he put her out of his life forever.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Kips Bay

  New York City

  “It’s over. Aaron won’t speak to me or see me.” Laurel looked into the calming white tea Helen had given her as if the leaves at the bottom of the cup could show her a brighter future. “I want him in my life. I don’t want to live without him.”

  Helen didn’t know what to say. It had been nearly two weeks since the fiasco at the Stanfield Hotel. In that time, Laurel hadn’t heard from Aaron. He wouldn’t take her calls or return any of the messages she left.

  Helen understood how Laurel felt, but she couldn’t blame Aaron. He might have been able to get past their arguments and Laurel’s high-handed stubbornness, but it had been Laurel’s decision to help Lior Stern without informing him that finally pushed him to his limit. That had been the one thing Aaron couldn’t forgive. It had changed the outcome of the case and put a tremendous strain on his relationship with Mickey Buonarroti.

  Mickey had returned to the town house after insuring his Japanese wards were all safely ensconced at Twenty Six Federal Plaza. The atmosphere had been strained as he, Aaron, Laurel, and Helen had hashed over every aspect of the case into the early hours of the morning.

  Helen had been glad to be alive to tell the story. She hadn’t really believed the Israeli agent would let Moto’s big guy squeeze the life out of her, but she hadn’t known for sure. Stern had, after all, walked away with the painting. That had been his mission, not saving her butt.

  Helen had laid out her theories on what had gone down. Later she’d add today’s developments to the notebook she’d kept on the case. For now, she just talked things through.

  Neither Aaron nor Mickey had been too thrilled that her assistant bath concierge subterfuge had fallen apart and that she’d been captured. At least her curtain waving had gotten their attention. True, if they’d arrived a few minutes earlier, she wouldn’t have had to shoot Sargasso. Thankfully, Moto hadn’t known that his bodyguard had neglected to search her case and find her gun. He had assumed she was trying to keep up her bath concierge act by holding onto the case. If she hadn’t had the gun, well, who knows? Horrible as it had felt to kill someone, even Sargasso, she had saved Laurel’s life, and the shooting had been ruled as justified.

  Helen believed that Moto, on the other hand, would probably have murdered Sargasso in cold blood once the deal had been done. She was pretty sure that the billionaire believed that Sargasso had his fifteen million and would have tortured him first to get it back. Add in the fact that David Hammersmith—someone Moto would never trust—had been the secret buyer, and Sargasso’s fate had been sealed. And, unless they could find Sargasso’s bank records, that elusive fifteen million would be missing forever.

  She was also certain that Moto had used the Drake Delrusse Gallery as a ruse to throw anyone who might be watching off t
he scent. It had worked to some degree.

  Aaron had listened attentively to Helen’s thoughts, and she could see that he and Mickey had agreed with her suppositions.

  Aaron’s approach to Laurel’s explanation of events had been entirely different. Aaron was obviously beyond angry and devastated by what he thought of as Laurel’s betrayal.

  Seeing Laurel at the town house and thinking she was hurt had been a true shock. Realizing that she’d planned to be there with the Israeli had been tantamount to stabbing him in the heart.

  When Laurel had begun to tell her story of going to see Hammersmith—another one of her secret plans—Helen had seen Aaron start to slip away. By the time she’d explained about Lior Stern rescuing her from Hammersmith and involving her in his scheme to retrieve the painting for Israel while giving her the opportunity to catch Sargasso, he’d been gone.