by Lyn Stone
Then the door opened and Mary guessed immediately what his reaction was going to be.
A curvaceous and partially dressed blonde filled the gap between the edge of the door and its frame. Diana Seacomb, Jim’s adviser’s wife. Though Mary had never met the woman formally, she immediately recognized her.
“Take your time, Jimmy, hon, I’ve got it!” the woman sang out as she thrust a twenty under Mary’s nose.
Mary snatched the bill and pocketed it. “Thank you.”
“Hey, where is the—you’re not the pizza person!” Mrs. Seacomb declared, frowning.
“Obviously not.”
“Well? Who are you?” the woman asked impatiently, one long red nail tapping against the edge of the door.
“The fiancée,” Mary said in a carefully controlled voice.
Mrs. Seacomb’s eyes widened as she stepped back. “Jim?” she whined loudly.
Mary wanted nothing more than to break something and run out of the building screaming with outrage. But practically, she knew she had no way to go anywhere else.
With no purse, no credit cards, and only Mrs. Seacomb’s pizza money, she felt pretty well stuck. At least until the confrontation.
Automatically, she glanced back toward the elevators. As good as his word, Ford was gone. Thank God. She couldn’t bear for him to witness this farce. She should never have come here. Never.
Mary watched with dedicated interest as Jim Whalen, the former soul of propriety, exited the bedroom, his lower half wrapped in a towel. She reveled in the profound shock on his face when he looked up, his left hand arrested in the motion of smoothing back his damp hair.
“Well, Reverend Whalen,” she said in her coldest tone, “I seem to have caught you at an inopportune time.”
“What—What the—”
“Hell am I doing here?” she finished for him. “You owe me a fifty from last week.” Which he had borrowed to pay for the dinner he’d invited her to.
Now that she thought about that, she recalled the countless times he had conveniently forgotten his wallet. Jerk. Freeloader. Bastard.
“If you haven’t got fifty, then just give me whatever you have,” she ordered. “Now!”
“You—you’ve come here for—for money?” he stuttered.
His eyes darted around the room as if somebody might appear to drag him out of his nightmare.
“Just find your damned wallet, ‘Jimmy, hon,’ before I go totally ballistic.”
He started to say something else, but Mary slowly shook her head in warning. The man never had been very quick on the uptake, but he did realize there was no reason for this present situation except the obvious.
Mary hoped he would opt for action over explanation in his attempt to get rid of her. He did.
It only took him a couple of tense moments to disappear into the bedroom and return. He was wearing a pair of wrinkled corduroy slacks and holding another twenty.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mary,” he said in a pained whisper as he offered her the crumpled bill. “We should talk. I’m so sorry.”
“No argument there. You’re as sorry as they come. I need change, too. Quarters,” she said with a lift of her chin, daring him to question her need for them or what more she intended to demand.
He slid a shaky hand into his pocket and hurriedly fished out three coins. When she took them from him, she saw the frightened plea in his eyes. If word of his little assignation with the professor’s wife—obviously not a one-shot deal—ever made it back to the husband, Jim’s future at Vanderbilt Divinity School was dead in the water. She only wished she could stand to stick around to watch that corpse float.
Mary smiled the most evil smile she could dredge up and hoped he worried himself into permanent impotency.
She turned to leave, and at the last moment, said over her shoulder, “I would hurry on that thesis and scare up a résumé if I were you. News like this tends to travel rather rapidly.”
His groan as he closed the door satisfied her immensely.
Mary met a pimply faced boy in a striped shirt, carrying a large, flat box just as she reached the end of the hall. “Don’t expect a tip,” she advised him bitterly. “I think they just lost their appetites.”
When he started to brush past her, she stopped him. “Wait a minute. That is for Whalen, isn’t it?”
He nodded. With a tug, she drew off the engagement ring Jim had given her. “Open the box,” she ordered.
“Ma’am, I can’t do that! Unless this is your order.”
“Open the damned box!” she demanded through gritted teeth.
He gingerly lifted the lid, his eyes wide as he watched her. Mary plopped the ring on top of the pizza and watched it embrace a mushroom. “I hope he chokes on it!” she declared. “Tell him I said so.”
She couldn’t even remember taking the elevator. All of a sudden, Mary found herself several streets away from the high-rise and leaning against a phone booth.
For a moment, while still disoriented, she considered calling Ford Devereaux. He couldn’t have gone far, and she had his cell-phone number.
Then she straightened her shoulders and shook herself into full awareness. No, she couldn’t do that What would she say—“Come and get me, I just discovered my fiancé’s been devoutly screwing somebody else”? Not hardly.
She refused to cry. James Whalen would not make her crazy just because he had decided a little sex was in order. Men required it; that was a fact of life. And she certainly had not done a thing in that department to prevent his embarking on an affair.
But with his mentor’s wife? Jim must be stark raving crazy to risk such a thing. She hoped they got caught. It was small of her. Mean, really. Strong as the urge was, she vowed to herself she wouldn’t call the professor and tell him. But oh, how she hoped somebody would. Jim ought to suffer for this, big time.
If she really wished that on Jim, could she really have loved him? He’d never encouraged her to sleep with him, even though she had told him she wasn’t totally inexperienced. He had quietly forgiven her that one mistake when she had confessed it. Big of him, wasn’t it? The sanctimonious jerk.
Now she knew all that drivel about respecting her had been just that. Drivel. But why hadn’t he just broken their engagement if he had discovered he didn’t want her or love her?
Well, of course he didn’t love her. Anybody with half a brain could see now what her attraction had been. Money. He’d insisted on their attendance at various charity balls and auctions, and getting them involved in the society Mary had formerly ignored. He’d known she would inherit Gran’s house as well as everything her father owned, since she was an only child. His interest had to be the money. And ambition, of course. She wished, now, that she had told the snob up front what the real situation was, but he had never asked.
Or maybe he had simply used her for cover. She just might have been a perfect front for an ongoing affair with the professor’s wife.
Whatever they were, Jim’s reasons didn’t matter at this point. Nothing he could ever say would put things back the way they were. Not that she wanted them put back.
She brushed her face with one hand and found her cheeks wet with tears. Even so, they seemed generated more by humiliation and chagrin over misplaced trust than by grief at losing Jim. She admitted that feeling stupid and naive was infinitely better than being heartbroken over the whole thing.
So much for Jim and his greedy intentions. Mary realized she had more pressing matters to worry about right now. Like what to do next with only forty dollars and seventyfive cents and no place to hide.
She pounded the glass wall of the phone booth once, hard enough to bruise the side of her fist, and then pushed inside to call a taxi. Surely by the time it arrived, she would have thought of someplace to go.
The banks were closed now, and even if they were not, she had no identification. No ATM card, either. The preschool was locked at this hour, so she couldn’t get her purse until tomorrow.
The money from Jim w
ouldn’t take her very far. Her father would wire her more if she could guess where he was and called him, but she would still need ID to collect it.
It seemed she had two choices. She could phone Ford Devereaux for help, or she had to risk going home.
No contest. She could not imagine having to explain to Ford why she couldn’t stay with her fiancé after all. Besides, no one had followed them here. Even if that man had escaped capture and knew where she lived, Mary knew she could sneak inside and out again, undetected.
It wouldn’t take long to pack a suitcase and get her extra credit cards and passport. She could be out of state before midnight, and out of the country by morning. Much as she hated the thought of running and appearing guilty, Mary knew she had little choice.
Not only might this Perry guy be coming after her, the FBI would surely be hot on her trail. They would definitely not give up on getting those diamonds. Her flight would probably put her on their Most Wanted List.
Ford might understand why she left once he got over his anger, but his superiors would not.
She’d have to disappear until they recovered the diamonds and she made certain the man who’d tried to kill her was safely locked away—if those things ever took place.
She would call in a few weeks and, if necessary, come back and testify about all that had happened. It would be her duty to do that. Until then, she planned to get as far from Nashville as she possibly could. Tibet sounded nice.
When the taxi arrived, she climbed inside and gave an address for the street that backed her house. She ignored the little prickling on the back of her neck.
It wasn’t paranoia, she knew that much. Not when everyone was truly out to get her.
Chapter 4
Ford still had a job to do, whether he liked it or not. He returned to the parking garage and moved the van to a spot where he could see the street out front. If Mary or her boyfriend decided to go anywhere tonight, they’d have to come down here to get Whalen’s car. Anyone intending to go in would have to park in the garage or across the street, which he could clearly see.
He reclined the seat a little and got comfortable while he thought about everything that had gone on today. The most puzzling of all were his orders. “Turn her loose, tell her she’s safe, and watch her like a hawk,” Blevins had said.
The file on Perry indicated that he was a pro. He went after the big boys—politicians surrounded by an army of security. Difficult hits. True, this theft ring the task force was after included some international dealing, but their hiring Perry to take out an antiques dealer and a schoolteacher seemed weird. Maybe Perry was moonlighting, keeping in practice between political jobs, or just racking up kills for the hell of it. Who knew? But even Blevins couldn’t brush off the fact that Perry was after Mary.
Something smelled strange about this whole deal, Ford thought. Blevins seemed convinced that Mary had the diamonds. But a dead suspect—which is what she would be if Perry got to her—couldn’t pass them along to anybody. Blevins should have reasoned that if anything happened to Mary, they might never find the gems or the person who was supposed to smuggle them to Amsterdam. If she died, the investigation would end right there.
While Ford had been the one to discover the tie-in between the three jewel thefts, Blevins had been assigned to run the show here in Nashville as agent in charge. The man knew his gemstones, and the Bureau had used his expertise on numerous jewel-theft cases before.
Duvek, the regional director, had kept Ford on this one, as well. Like the victim, Antonio, Ford’s mother ran a local antiques shop here in town. Ford knew the business fairly well since he had worked with his mother during his high-school and college years. Also, Nashville had been his home until he’d joined the army, and he knew the city.
These diamonds were to take the route of the other stolen lots. Then the agents would pick up everybody who had a hand in their disposition and have the proof to make the charges stick.
Blevins had really dropped the ball on this play, however. It had been on his watch that somebody—probably Perry—had killed Antonio. He might know all about jewels, but Blevins seemed to be inept as hell about conducting an investigation.
Ford supposed that was why skirting a few rules seemed excusable. Making quick decisions on his own had been a matter of life and death before he joined the Bureau. And now he felt responsible for Mary’s life.
He might have overplayed his hand in letting her hear his tape, but he had felt certain she would cooperate after the scare she’d had today. He couldn’t very well admit to Blevins that he had let her listen to the taped conversation without confessing he had made a copy for himself.
Why did he have this gut feeling she was telling the truth about not having the jewels? If she’d lied, she sure had quick reflexes. That story about the dolls had spilled out way too fast to be made up. He had listened to that tape repeatedly while he’d been on surveillance. It was certainly possible Antonio had given her dolls instead of diamonds.
But he still couldn’t figure why Damien Perry was involved in this. That first murder during the theft in Virginia seemed to have been inadvertent, and definitely wasn’t Perry’s doing. The owner surprised the thief rifling his safe and got a bullet for his trouble. Had Antonio’s death been planned?
He and the killer had argued a little first, but only a few words had been decipherable, whispered as they were. Why had they whispered? Had they known the place was bugged? Blevins was working on beefing up the sound on that. Hopefully, he was better at that than surveillance.
Ford stretched his legs, trying to get comfortable without letting the van’s seat back any farther. He needed to be ready to roll if anything happened. He almost hoped something would. Maybe a lovers’ spat, a real row that would have Mary dialing his number, demanding his help. He refused to think about what she could be doing upstairs right now with Whalen.
He’d keep watch, of course. That was his assignment. But he felt as though he ought to do more, to stay closer than he was now, in spite of what Blevins had just ordered.
Hell, she probably thought that her fiancé would be able to provide all the protection she needed. What kind of guy was he, anyway? Would he believe God would provide all the protection Mary needed? Ford winced at that and shifted uncomfortably. If he could show the man pictures of a few of the innocent victims in their files, he might be more inclined to offer the Big Guy a little help down here.
Ford knew he couldn’t leave things the way they were. He had to impress on the man how important it was to keep Mary secluded. She would never be safe until Perry was out of the picture one way or another.
He climbed out of the van and strode back to the elevator. She wouldn’t appreciate this after he’d said he wouldn’t show his face, but Ford knew he had to make certain this Jim knew how critical it was to keep Mary out of sight.
For such exclusive apartments, they weren’t very soundproof. He heard the shouting long before he reached the door. A loud crash from inside sent him running. He tried the knob, found it locked and began pounding. “FBI! Open up!”
Sudden quiet greeted his announcement and only a few seconds later, the door opened. The man who opened it stood there hyperventilating. He looked scared. “Wh-what do you want?”
Ford hadn’t thought Mary would have picked a loser in the looks department, given how pretty she was, but this was ridiculous. This guy was movie-star handsome. He was a tall, wiry sort, barefoot and wearing only a pair of unsnapped corduroy pants. Ford wanted to break his caps—teeth and knees.
“If Mary’s hurt, you are dead meat.”
“Mary?” the man asked, glancing over his shoulder. “She isn’t here.”
“The devil she’s not!” Ford growled and pushed his way inside past lover boy. “She came in here not half an hour ago and I just heard her yell!”
He scanned the room and stopped at the sofa where a petite blonde sat hunched over, wringing her hands. Not Mary. Relief took his breath away. Then s
udden dread made him suck it back in. If she wasn’t here, then where the hell was she?
Ford swiveled around and backed the guy against the doorjamb with an arm against his throat. “Where is she, Whalen? Where did she go?”
He gasped for breath and Ford let off a little. Very little. “She—she came here, but then she left. I don’t know where she went. What do you want with her?”
Ford looked again at the sexy little blonde. It wasn’t really that hard to imagine what had taken place here. Mary had caught preacher boy with his britches down. Was the man a total idiot? How could any guy in his right mind prefer that little piece of fluff over there to Mary Shaw?
He released the man before he gave in to the urge to pound him into the carpet. “If anything’s happened to her, you son of a bitch, you’d better find a real good place to hide.”
Ford hurried downstairs to find her. She would surely need him now, because she couldn’t possibly be thinking straight. Either she’d be too angry to remember she was in danger, or crying too hard to see where she was going.
He didn’t mind her needing him in this way, he told himself as he began searching in earnest. Defending Mary was his job. Ford took that to mean defense against any and every thing that threatened her. This didn’t feel as impersonal as a business-as-usual assignment, however. Not when he thought of what that bastard, Whalen, had done to her. Probably wrecked Mary emotionally.
Lord, that had to be a shock—to find the guy she loved making it with somebody else. Sweet little Mary, who really worked hard at being courageous when it went against her nature to be that way. He admired that in her.
An hour later, he knew he wasn’t going to find her. He had searched everywhere—both stairwells, the basement, the roof, even the alleys nearby—fully expecting to find her curled up in a corner somewhere, licking her wounds. Mary had no money and no transportation. Where could she have gone?
Ford went back to the van. She might have set out walking, but where? Not his place. Too far away and, besides that, Mary wouldn’t want to face him and admit this. Would she go home? Surely she wouldn’t risk that. But in her state of mind, she might have discounted the danger. Hell, maybe she just wouldn’t care.