by Debra Dixon
Sully dragged a nagging thought forward. “Isn’t it a tad foolish to keep a book like this?”
“How many phone numbers can you memorize?” She interrupted as he opened his mouth to answer, and added, “When people move a lot. When people get killed and have to be replaced. And unless someone knows what the information is, what are they going to do with the book anyway? Everybody carries day planners, pocket calendars, electronic organizers. It wouldn’t even look odd. Besides that, Phil was surrounded by security!”
“Someone got in to search the office.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Jessica asked unhappily, walking back to the pavement.
“Who do you think has it?”
“I don’t know. It could still be on Phil,” Jessica lied. “Or some mugger could have thrown it in the trash. If that’s true then we’re all spinning our wheels for nothing. Next question, and speed it up. I really do need to check on Iris.”
Sully looked up at the moon, his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure I have a next question. All I know is that Harlan is going to love this Hollywood plot.” He shook his head. “Goldilocks, a missing millionaire, a code book, the CIA, and Mata Hari. It’s a helluva a fairy tale.”
“Are you planning to read Harlan this bedtime story?”
“Not on your life.” He shot a glance at her and started for his car. “I’ve had all the butt chewing I can stand for a day or two.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to give Peter a call at home and see if our friends, the suits, visited them today.” Sully yanked open his door and folded his long frame behind the wheel. “If the suits have taken over the investigation, then they already know everything we know. There’s nothing to do.”
Jessica shut the door, and when the electric window slid down she asked, “And if they haven’t taken over?”
“I don’t know, Jessie.” Sully reached for something in the glove compartment and then handed her the derringer. He looked at her hard as he started the engine. “I don’t know.”
Iris’s room looked different at night. All the rainbow colors disappeared into shades of gray, the purples into black. There wasn’t even a night-light, but Jessica wasn’t surprised. Iris wasn’t the kind of kid who’d need a night-light.
Staring down at her, Jessica lost track of time. She wondered how often Iris’s friends slept over, filling up that empty twin bed. She wondered a lot of things as she stood there. There was something so peaceful about Iris’s face. And finally it was that peacefulness that had Jessica wondering if she’d made the right choice that night. She was playing God with this child’s father. Maybe she should have told Sully about the call, trusted the police or the FBI to find Phil before they killed him.
No, she told herself, refusing to second-guess a decision that was already made. She and Iris didn’t need a bunch of tin heroes looking to make promotion. They needed that book. Iris said she’d never seen a book like that.
It wasn’t downstairs. The suits had dragged off a mountain of files to go through, so she had to assume they hadn’t found anything obvious in Phil’s office. Yet. But she seriously doubted they were worried about Phil’s life. The way they played the game it was every man for himself. If they couldn’t find the book, the agency might, just might, begin to worry about getting Phil back alive.
Jessica grasped the corners of the spread and pulled it over Iris, who lay scrunched up in the fetal position with her hands curled under her chin. Covering her up should have been simple, but it wasn’t simple at all. Tucking a child in was like making a promise—a promise that you’d be there when they woke. A promise to watch over them while they slept.
Such a big promise, Jessica thought. One that was made every day by millions of people. She wondered if it still felt so important after you’d done it hundreds and hundreds of times.
Pausing, she tried to remember if she’d ever been tucked in, and she couldn’t. She remembered a cavalcade of nannies turning off the lights, and she remembered lying in bed whispering to Jenny. They’d always shared a room, even though there were plenty of bedrooms in her father’s house. They’d had twin beds, and nannies who hated trying to keep them from talking all night. An unexpected grin grabbed hold of her as she recalled how many times they’d had to bury their faces in pillows to muffle the laughter. A snort always managed to leak out somehow and bring whatever dragon had been hired to watch them that week.
They hadn’t had a night-light either. Didn’t need one. They had each other. The smile faded as Jessica realized exactly when she’d begun to hate the dark. Glancing over at the empty twin bed, she ordered herself not to cry. Her chin crumpled anyway. It always had a mind of its own.
And once the tears arrived so did the impossible wish. Jessica stared at that bed and wished as hard as she’d ever wished in her life, and when she was through, she was still alone. Jenny was still dead. And she couldn’t forgive herself for being alive. Or for what she had become. Wishing never changed a thing, but she always tried.
“If wishes were wings,” she whispered to the empty bed, in a barely audible voice, “then frogs wouldn’t bump their butts when they hopped.”
Jenny thought that was about the funniest thing their father had ever said to them, and he had come up with some beauts. Never appropriate to the occasion, never remotely wise, but well worth repeating late at night after the lights went out. Uncertainly Jessica touched an index finger to one lock of Iris’s hair.
“Sleep tight,” Jessica breathed and turned away. She’d had about all the pain she could take for one night.
“Jessie?”
It was such a tiny word, and it cut her heart open. For a split second, time flew backward, sucking her into a memory she didn’t want and couldn’t stop.
“Jessie?”
“What?”
“I don’t like it,” Jenny whispered. “It’s too dark.”
They huddled beside each other on the bed, which was a dirty mattress thrown on a rusty old frame. Jessie, the older twin by three minutes and twenty-nine seconds, leaned back against the wall and made it unanimous. “I hate the dark.”
Jenny leaned back, too, pulling her arms inside her favorite T-shirt for warmth. It read—I SHOT J. R. GIVE ME THE MEDAL. “It’s getting colder. Do you think they’re going to starve us?”
“No. Daddy won’t pay them if they hurt us. I think starving counts as hurting us, so they can’t do that. At least I don’t think so. Why would they? All they want is the money. That’s what they said. Just the money.”
“Just a couple of days.”
Unspoken between them was the fear that their abductors had lied. Silence, which had never bothered them before, was suddenly like a third person in the room, a threat to be wiped out.
“Jessie?”
“What?”
“I hope Daddy pays them soon.”
“Me too.”
“Jessie?”
“What?”
“Is it going to be okay?”
“Yeah. I promise.”
“Jessie?” Iris called again, raising her voice as she sat up. “Are you okay? Is it my dad?”
“No!” But she didn’t turn around.
That’s when Iris knew she’d been crying. Adults hated to let anyone see them cry, so Iris stayed put and took a couple of deep breaths with her hand on her harmony ball. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn’t any worse, so nothing else could have happened to her dad.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, kiddo,” Jessica said as she wiped the moisture away from her eyes and swung around.
“That’s okay. I don’t like being alone.”
“Me either.”
“You can sleep in here tonight.”
Smiling at the way Iris so easily offered comfort, Jessica said, “Maybe I will.”
“You would really?”
“Sure.” Jessica sat on the bed, crooking one leg beneath her and letting the other rest on the floor
. This close she could see Iris well enough to read her expression. “How are you holding up?”
Iris reached for her hand, which Jessica gave to her without hesitation this time. She knew the drill. After a minute, Iris let go and said, “Better than you.”
The ghost of a smile crossed Jessica’s face. “You got me at a bad time. I’ve just spent the better part of the evening being grilled by our favorite detective. That’d ruin just about anyone’s aura.”
“I like him.” Iris fluffed her pillows up behind her and leaned back. “Why does he make you sad?”
“He doesn’t. The man makes me nuts!”
“So who makes you sad?”
“Who says I’m sad?”
Iris pressed her lips together in a letter-perfect imitation of an old maid schoolteacher who’s just been lied to. “Well, you were crying, and when I hold your hand you make me want to cry. What would you call it?”
“Okay. So I’m a little sad,” Jessica confessed. “I miss my sister sometimes. She died when she was barely older than you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. That was a long time ago. You remind me of her sometimes. Like when you called me Jessie. She called me that too.”
“So does Sully.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Jessica complained wryly.
“You want us to stop?”
Amazed, Jessica realized she really didn’t. “No. You keep right on. It’s kind of nice now that I’m used to it again.”
“Good.” Iris nodded her head as though new Middle East peace accords had been signed. “Because you aren’t a Jessica.”
That forced a laugh. “Thank you. I think. That’s what your dad always said to me—that I wasn’t a Jessica. I guess you and he are a lot alike.”
Clasping her hands on her lap, Iris asked, “Did he ever say anything about me?”
“Of course,” Jessica lied. “He talked about you all the time. How proud he was of you. How smart you were. How pretty.”
“He really thinks I’m pretty?”
“No. He thinks you’re gorgeous and that he’s going to have to hire fifteen more Lincolns to keep the boys away.”
“Do you think he’s coming back?”
The quiet question came at Jessica out of nowhere, and she didn’t know how to answer it. How could she answer it? Once more she had the feeling that she was the grown-up in a child’s world. That position magically bestowed her with the intuition of the universe as far as Iris was concerned.
Yet the only intuition Jessica possessed, she didn’t intend to share with a child. She believed that Phil’s time on earth was currently numbered in hours. As long as the book was missing, he stayed alive, but it was only a matter of time before someone found it. Then Phil became expendable, depending on the point of view of whoever had the book.
Once the kidnappers had the book, they wouldn’t want Phil around to screw up their plans. They’d kill him. Even if he made it to the exchange site alive, Phil was dead the moment the book changed hands. And if by some twist of fate the book was never found, Phil would be just as dead because he’d be excess baggage to the kidnappers.
Instead of saying any of that, Jessica asked her own question. “If we had a way to get your dad back, would you want to take it?”
Iris leaned forward. “Yes.”
“Even if it meant not telling the police?”
“Like ransom? Like if he’s been kidnapped?”
“Yeah. Exactly like that.”
“Couldn’t we tell Sully?”
“Especially not Sully.”
“Why not?”
“Because this isn’t about punishing the bad guys or getting evidence. This is about getting your dad back, and I don’t think I can do it if my hands are tied by the police. I don’t want to have to follow their rules.”
Iris watched her without expression. “Sully would make you do that?”
“He wouldn’t have a choice.” He has to play fair. He can’t kill the bad guys before the exchange to save your father.
“What happens if we do it your way?” Iris asked.
“We wait for a call. We offer them whatever they want. And I pick the time and place for the exchange to make sure they bring your daddy.”
“And if we told Sully?”
The bad guys won’t be dead when we’re done.
“Sort of the same thing. Except I wouldn’t be there at the exchange.”
“Oh, no!” Iris said quickly. She scrambled up on her knees, leaning forward. Right before she grabbed Jessica’s arm, she stopped herself and clasped her hands on her thighs. “You have to be there. I don’t know why, but you have to. I knew you were the one as soon as you answered the phone.”
“No,” Jessica got up, rubbing away the chill bumps on her arms. Only one other person in her life had had this kind of blind faith in her, and Jenny was dead because of it. “No, don’t think like that. I’m not here because of some cosmic plan. I’m here because I was the only phone number you could remember.”
But Iris kept looking at her with that eerie certainty, making Jessica wonder what she’d done to deserve such trust. Besides giving orders and sweeping in here like you had all the answers? Like you were the hero of an action-adventure film come to save the day? You wanted the job, and now you’ve got it.
“I don’t come with a guarantee, Iris. All I can do is what I can do, and it may not be enough.”
“It will be.” Iris slipped down off the bed. “I’ve got to brush my teeth and wash my face.” With that she was gone, subject closed, life-altering decision made.
Jessica was left alone in the dark with the consequences of her arrogance, fighting the dread and nausea that threatened. The first thing she did was flip on the light to dispel the shadows, but the cheerful colors didn’t have time to work their magic. The shrill jangle of the phone shattered the silence even before her hand dropped away from the switch plate.
TEN
Welcome to Jericho. Life’s a beach.
Sully pulled back the screen door and unlocked the faded wood one to let himself in. His beach house was a far cry from the Munro estate, and only supposed to be temporary. Casa Kincaid—in the less affluent section of the island where the houses were mostly rented by the week to middle-class tourists—had weathered a number of violent storms and had the scars to prove it. However, the house suited Sully, who’d also weathered a number of violent storms and had the scars to prove it.
On stilts and wrapped by a porch, the place had become home so quickly that Sully couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Or maybe it was the solitude of the beach at night. He dragged a hand through his hair and tossed his keys on the scuffed coffee table that had come with the house. The gun, his tie, and his wallet followed as he melted into heaven. Heaven was an easy chair that he’d spent the better part of five years training to fit every nook, cranny, and bone of Sullivan Kincaid to a T. Tonight, he sorely needed that chair to ease his sorrows.
Jessie Daniels was hard on a man.
His mouth twisted into an unwilling smile. No argument there.
Jessie had the art of man-frustration down to a science. Without visible effort on her part, she had all of his senses wrapped up in three separate and incredibly complicated issues—the lady, the case, and her body. Sully closed his eyes and decided a woman shouldn’t be able to lie with a mouth that could kiss like that. One accomplishment was a talent and the other a sin. Hell of it was, he just couldn’t figure out which was which.
And he needed to figure it out. Quick.
As far as he could tell, Jessie was dangerous for someone like himself, someone who’d sworn to keep his life simple. She stirred things inside him that other women had never been able to touch. When he looked at her, emotions shifted in his chest and common sense disappeared. Jessie was dangerous all right, because she wasn’t the kind of woman a man could walk away from.
The image of her on the driveway as he drove out the gate stuck in his mind. Bare
foot and hugging herself, she didn’t look capable of taking care of Jessie, much less Iris. But he knew better. He knew there was steel beneath the softness. The woman was a chameleon. That was the only reason he hadn’t turned the car around.
Well, if he were completely honest, the gate closing had something to do with it.
Perspective was a lovely thing, Sully admitted. He could use a little more of it in handling Jessie. Handling Jessie. Now there was an idea with merit. Sully smiled again and regretfully hauled himself out of the chair.
He had work to do. He couldn’t sit there all night spinning fantasies while the real world waited. Cop instinct took precedence over base instinct. Jessie was damn close to changing that, though. He definitely needed perspective.
The phone was in the kitchen, which meant he could at least grab a beer before calling Peter Keelyn. Inexplicably Sully felt the need to fortify himself when it came to dealing with Jessie in any way, shape, or form. As he walked past the answering machine, he pushed the flashing message button and pulled his shirttail from his jeans.
The beer hadn’t even made it out of the refrigerator before Sully set it back down and closed the door. He leaned against the cold metal surface and stared at the answering machine.
“Hey, this is Peter. You know that feeling you had? Guess what? The freakin’ CI of A crashed the Munro party this afternoon. They shut down everything, flashed a ton of ID, and every third word was ‘national security.’ They asked for full cooperation on this one. Then told us to go twiddle our thumbs until further notice. Nobody’s to breathe a word or make a move without clearing it. No media. And Harlan says they’ve got the juice to make it stick. So watch your back, buddy. They’ll be coming your way. Hell, they’re probably already there, and you just don’t know it. Sneaky bastards.”
Sully listened as the machine beeped and whirred and clicked before it finally stopped, leaving the room silent. It was over then. Done. He was out of the loop, and no longer responsible for passing along what he knew.