“But you still think they might be dirty. You’ve said it before.”
“I don’t know them. I know you.”
“And I’m telling you they are not dirty.”
“We need to look for the source of the kill order.”
“We need to catch Franklin first.”
“Unless they tie together and this is all related,” I say, appealing to the scientist in her. “You like hypotheses. We need to create them and prove them wrong, so we can move on. I’m asking you to help me make a list. On that list has to be your parents’ guilt and innocence.”
“Yes. Okay.”
I shove my food aside. “If Franklin somehow sourced the drugs from your family, even years ago, your parents might have known too much. You might know too much. You recognized that man in the photo.”
“And Franklin was CIA,” she says, following where I’m leading. “He could have insiders that framed us.”
“Exactly,” I say. In which case, her parents would have died for nothing.
Julie chooses that moment to jump onto the table and lean over my plate to smell my partially eaten burger. I offer her a fry. She looks insulted and turns away, and leaps to the ground. Amanda laughs. “You really don’t know cats, do you? They don’t eat just anything like dogs. And they darn sure won’t eat anything on your terms. If you are going to be a cat daddy, you have to learn these things.”
“You can teach me. Or I have a feeling Julie will teach me once this is over and I take you home with me.”
“Where is home, Seth?”
“Manhattan.”
“Our city.”
“Yes. Our city. And our apartment. I bought the place we shared there.”
Her eyes go wide. “That would be ten million dollars.”
“Twelve now,” I say. “I told you. I’ve made a lot of money over the years, even before I left the agency, doing side jobs. But now, with Brandon Enterprises, life is calmer. You can have a cat. You can be who you want to be and use your skills how you want to use them.”
“You make this sound so simple. I have a kill order on my head. I want to go with you, but I might have to go underground again.”
I stand up and walk to her, pulling her to her feet and close. “I bought that apartment because I wasn’t ready to let you go. And I’m still not. We’ll figure out what that means, but we stay together. Say it. We stay together.”
“I won’t destroy your life.”
I cup the back of her head and pull her mouth to mine. “You are my life. Say it. We stay together.”
“Seth,” she breaths out.
“Amanda—”
“We stay together.”
*
For our dinner outing, I’m back in the attire I’m accustomed to in New York: a gray suit and tie, with a starched white shirt. Amanda is stunning in a cream-colored dress, with a flared skirt, that contrasts with the red hair of her wig and looks straight off the runway. A choice she makes after learning that Karen Reynolds not only attends Fashion Week in New York, but is all about labels and the “it” crowd of Dallas.
Rather than walk to the restaurant that is right next door, we pull up in the Porsche 911, to which the keys were delivered right before our departure. Amanda and I enter the restaurant that is as Art Deco as our hotel, with round tables, dangling lights, and oversized, abstract artwork on the walls. We greet the hostess and, aware of the favorite table that the Reynoldses sit at, I tip her a large bill to place us at the table next to them.
The Reynoldses, both attractive and in their thirties, are already at their table when we sit down, and the game is on. “I need wine,” Amanda says. “Really expensive wine. And it’s all your fault.”
“How is it my fault, sweetheart?”
“I just want to create my clothing line. I don’t want to think about warehouse locations. And I don’t want to leave our gorgeous penthouse in Manhattan.”
The waiter stops by and I order what is indeed a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine. “Please bring that quickly,” Amanda tells him. “It’s my sanity.”
The waiter gives her a wide-eyed look before departing and Amanda is back at it. She inhales and sets her hands on the table. “I’m going to need a new Chanel bag to deal with this.”
“What about your fashion brand?”
“Chanel inspires me to be better.”
“Right. Well, as for the penthouse, we aren’t leaving it behind. We’re just adding a second home here. And for five million dollars, you’re going to find something you love.”
“Maybe I will feel better after the wine.”
The waiter returns and fills our glasses. Amanda sips hers and I ask, “Better, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” she says. “You do handle my panic attacks well. I’m sorry.”
I kiss her hand, amazed at how damn well she plays these roles. We’re just looking at the menu when John Reynolds steps over to our table. He’s tall, thin, with dark hair, and intelligent, calculating eyes, dressed in a blue suit I’d tag at five thousand dollars. “I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, but we’re at the next table …” And so it begins. Five minutes later, we’re at their table. They’ve helped us order their favorites, sharing our bottle of wine while Amanda chats it up with Karen, an attractive enough blonde, considering her face is frozen with what I assume to be an early Botox addiction.
“Talk to me about what you want in a house,” John presses, once we move to a second glass of wine, while Amanda has begun showing her designs to Karen on the internet, on the website the agency apparently built for her overnight.
“Someplace elite,” I say, “and I’m not just talking about in terms of property, but who’s who. While our diamond business is our bread and butter, Amanda really wants this fashion line to go well.”
Karen suddenly shrieks and then holds out Amanda’s phone to John. “Look at this diamond. Oh my God.”
John looks at it and then at me. “I think I need to sell you a house to pay for the diamonds she is now going to expect me to buy. I’m a broker and an investor, which means I might be able to help you in a number of ways. Commercially and personally.”
“Really,” I say. “I’m interested.” I glance at Amanda and Karen with their heads together, and then back at him. “Just getting her together with your wife has already calmed the beast she can be.” I hold up a finger. “Between you and I, of course.”
He chuckles. “Of course.”
“The sooner I pay for something so she can’t get cold feet, the better.”
“We can certainly get moving on this quickly.”
Two hours later, the bill is paid, with my black card, of course, and we exchange numbers with the Reynoldses. We exit the restaurant with them, with the 911on full display. John whistles and a conversation about cars follows that drags the meeting out another thirty minutes.
Finally, Amanda and I are in the car alone. “Thank God, it’s over,” Amanda says, collapsing against the seat. “That woman exhausted me, and I’m not talking about Karen. I’m talking about being that person I created. Now we just have to smile and bear the hotel staff so I can get out of this wig.”
“If it’s any consolation, you killed it in there,” I say. “We’re in.” My lips curve. “And let’s keep the wig for another hour or two. I think I might like it.”
She cuts me a look. “How much do you like it?”
“I’ll let you answer that question after we test drive it.”
*
The minute Amanda and I walk in the door of the suite, Julie is at our feet. Amanda kicks off her heels and scoops her up, hugging her. “Isn’t it wonderful having a furry child greet you at the door?”
I have a flashback of the scar on her belly, and shove aside the gruesome story of how she lost her ability to have children, and just how much of a sacrifice she’s made for her country. “I might get used to it,” I tell her, and that earns me one of the most gorgeous smiles I’ve ever seen from her.
&
nbsp; “I need to feed her,” she says, walking toward the kitchen.
With that memory on my mind, I hold back, and pull my phone out, texting Bear: Meet me in the parking garage in five minutes. Copy?
He replies instantly with: Copy that.
I head to the kitchen to find Julie on the counter eating, and Amanda still in her red wig. “Do you want the red-haired personality to go with the wig.”
I laugh and stop at the opposite side of the counter. “No,” I say. “I’ll take you with red hair, right after I meet Bear downstairs to update him.”
“Do I need to come?”
“He’ll piss you off and I’d rather that not happen.”
“Agreed,” she says, at the same moment my phone rings.
I dig it out of my pocket and glance at the number. “John already.” I answer the call. “John. That was fast.”
“I have a place to show you tomorrow. Are you up for it?”
“Of course. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at ten,” he says. “And Karen wants to do some spa thing with your wife. Can I put her on?”
“Not a problem.” I cover the phone and offer it to Amanda. “Karen wants to talk to you. I’m going to my meeting.” She nods and accepts the phone.
“Karen,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
I walk to the operations center, unlock it, and enter, grabbing my personal cellphone I’d left behind in case something went wrong. I re-enter the kitchen and hold it up to let Amanda know how she can reach me. She nods and I head to the door.
A few minutes later, I step into the garage to find a black sedan waiting for me by the elevator. I walk to the passenger door and climb in. Bear is in the driver’s seat as expected. “Before you bitch, look at your text messages. I sent you the proof you wanted. And I get why you wanted it handled. The pictures and the kill order with your name on it are now erased for good. But look at it now. It’s a Code 1 message. It’s going to be deleted in ten minutes.”
I glance down at my cellphone and tab to the messages. “There’s no message.”
“The message is there.”
I go ice cold inside. “Please tell me you didn’t send it to that phone you gave me.”
“Of course I did. That phone has special technology attached. It’s protected.”
“Fuck me. Amanda has that phone. Show me the message.”
“Holy hell.” He grabs his phone and tabs through it, handing it to me.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “Delete it now.”
“I can’t. It’s a timed program and—”
I am already out of the car and running toward the stairwell.
Chapter Nine
Amanda
Karen is talking and talking. And talking, but finally we end the call. I stand there in the kitchen and inhale a deep breath, the spicy wonderful scent of Seth lingering in the air. I love that man. I love him like I never thought I could love. The phone in my hand buzzes with a message and, afraid it’s something important, perhaps from Bear, I open it. And I suddenly can’t catch my next breath. My eyes burn and my chest hurts. I’m looking at a photo of my mother in a pool of blood, with a bullet hole between her eyes. I start to hyperventilate.
Afraid the next image is my father, but having to know, I move downward, and find a kill order. My parents’ kill order, assigned to Seth Cage. I really can’t breathe. The buzzer indicating the keycard sounds and I run for the foyer, the agent in me, the trained killer in me, kicking in. I’m behind the door, my gun out of my purse and in my hand by the time it opens. He steps inside, the door shutting behind him, and I place my back against it. He knows I’m there. He turns to face me and I point the gun at him.
“The only reason you aren’t suffocating on your own lungs right now is that I want answers.”
To be continued in Part 3 …
Amanda’s side of the story and the conclusion!
Keep reading for an excerpt from
Coming soon from Headline Eternal!
I hold my gun on Seth, I will my hand to stop shaking, but the image of my dead mother and a kill order with Seth’s name on it I’d found on his phone moments before just won’t stop tormenting me.
“I did not kill your parents,” Seth says, now trapped by the door of our hotel room, where I’ve confronted him. The hotel room that was supposed to be the place we fell in love again. The place we’ve plotted and planned to take down a madman who wants to poison innocent people. Because I thought we were better together. Instead, it was just him setting me up again. “It’s a misunderstanding,” he adds. “I did not do this, any more than you committed espionage.”
“Obviously you are not getting the point,” I say. “Let’s try this again. The only reason that you aren’t drowning in your own lungs right now, is that I want answers. The only reason.”
“No,” he says, calmly. “It’s not. It’s because you know me and you know I would not hurt you or anyone you cared about. You know this.”
I motion to the door and, damn it, my hand is shaking right along with my knees beneath the fancy cream-colored cocktail dress that I’d loved an hour ago and hate now. I hate everything about this night. And the shaking is not from fear. It’s from the pain of loss and betrayal. My parents are dead and the man I loved, and trusted, killed them. “Flip the locks and make sure we don’t have any unwanted company.”
He quickly does as I’ve ordered, and I can’t help but notice how perfect his gray suit and tie remain, not a wrinkle to be seen, when my world is one big wrinkle. He’s always perfect, so smooth, just as he was in our dinner with the Reynolds couple early tonight, but he is not perfect at all, and I am such a fool.
“I did not kill your parents,” Seth repeats, “any more than you committed espionage. Think about this, sweetheart. We were both framed and we need to find out by who, and why.”
“Do not call me sweetheart,” I bite out, “ever again.”
“Hating me, dividing us, gives power to whoever is behind all this.”
“Whoever. Right. The nameless whoever.” I motion with my gun. “Go to the operations room, where I have my lab set up. Where the many ways I can kill you are at hand. And if you think you might grab me and the gun, I’d think twice if I were you. See, I never told you all the ways I can poison you. I guess I never really trusted you.”
“Yes, you did,” he says, moving toward me, and I don’t back down, because I don’t back down, not to mention I’m in slippery stockinged feet, a small detail people like us don’t miss.
He encroaches on my space, stopping directly in front of me, the gun all that is between us. That always spicy scent of him is no longer delicious. I shove my gun at his chest, over his heart, while my heart is shattered, my eyes meeting his. “It would be poetic justice to shoot you in the heart right now.”
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Poison Kisses Part 2 Page 8