by Ginna Gray
She looked incredibly beautiful and delicate. Almost like an angel come to earth. She was the kind of woman who could arouse in any man his most primitive, protective instincts. Apparently, he was no exception.
The very thought of anyone doing her harm made him feel almost murderous. Why in God's name would anyone want her dead? It didn't make sense.
The next morning Elizabeth awoke to the sound of raised male voices. Yawning, she sat up in bed, pushed her heavy mane of hair back out of her eyes with both hands and looked at the bedside clock. Good heavens. She'd slept for hours. It was past eight o'clock.
Tentatively, she pressed her hip. It was sore, but not as much as yesterday.
From the next room the murmur of voices reached another crescendo, drawing her sleepy gaze to the doorway. It sounded as though Max and his assistant were having an argument.
Too groggy to care, Elizabeth dismissed the men from her mind, fought her way from beneath the mounds of covers and climbed from the bed. Once on her feet she felt stiff and sore and so woozy she had to hold on to the bedpost for a moment to steady herself.
Wow, she thought, cupping her forehead. Whatever those pain pills were, they were potent. She could barely recollect her encounter with Max the night before, which had ended with Detective Gertski's arrival. After that everything was hazy. Vaguely she seemed to recall Max waking her up at some point and insisting that she eat a bowl of soup.
If they had talked at all during the meal she didn't remember their conversation. The moment she had finished her dinner she'd crawled back into bed and surrendered again to sleep.
Taking advantage of the solitude, Elizabeth limped into the bathroom. Showering and washing her hair helped to clear the cobwebs out of her mind. Afterward she blew her hair dry until it fell in a thick, shiny brown curtain around her shoulders. She then put on her makeup and dressed in brown tweed slacks and a cream-colored turtleneck sweater. Gold earrings, a gold rope chain and a gold bangle were her only jewelry.
Through the closed bedroom door she could still make out the men's voices, though they weren't as sharp as before. For a moment Elizabeth debated whether to stay in the bedroom or go out there and risk stepping into the middle of an argument. In the end she decided the heck with it. She wasn't going to remain cooped up in the bedroom all day.
The men's conversation stopped the instant she entered the sitting room. "Elizabeth. What're you doing out of bed?" Max demanded. "The doctor said for you to stay off your feet."
Troy's mouth thinned. He barely spared her a glance and a murmured, "Morning."
"Good morning," she returned as pleasantly as she could manage. Turning her attention to her husband, she replied. "The doctor said to stay off my feet as much as possible. He didn't say anything about complete bed rest. I can put my feet up in here."
"How is your hip?" Max watched her cross the room and frowned. "You're still limping."
"It's a bit sore and stiff, that's all." She sat down in an easy chair and swung her legs up on the matching plump hassock.
"Troy and I were about to leave for a quick meeting with Lloyd Baxter. I'll be back by noon."
Troy frowned. "Max, I don't think we'll be finished by then."
Max shot his assistant that steely-eyed look that Elizabeth was beginning to realize meant his anger was coming to a boil.
"I'll be back here by noon," he repeated, staring Troy down.
Troy didn't argue, but Elizabeth saw that the muscles along his jawline were clenched so tight it wouldn't surprise her if he cracked a tooth. In stony silence he started gathering up the papers and files that had been spread out on the table.
"When I get back we'll have lunch and then I'll take you to the police station," Max continued. "Detective Gertski wants you to look at some mug shots."
"Now, there's a productive use of time," Troy muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Elizabeth to hear.
"What?" Max asked.
"Nothing," his assistant replied, stuffing papers into his briefcase.
When the men were ready to leave Elizabeth started to rise, but Max stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "No, don't get up," he insisted. "Just sit right there and take it easy." Bending over her chair, he gave her a lingering kiss and murmured, "Call room service if you need anything. Okay? I'll be back by noon," he repeated.
Still feeling a bit battered, Elizabeth was happy to oblige. The moment the door closed behind the men she leaned her head back against the soft upholstery and closed her eyes. After what seemed like only a minute there was a knock at the door.
Elizabeth groaned. What now? She hauled herself out of the chair and limped to the door. Going up on tiptoes, she looked through the peephole and gasped.
Her hand flew to her mouth and she jumped back, her eyes wide and horror-struck.
The person standing on the other side of the door was the driver of the black sedan!
He knocked again. Elizabeth stood perfectly still. Then, to her horror, the doorknob began to jiggle. Oh dear Lord! He was trying to jimmy the lock.
Elizabeth sucked in a sharp breath and backed away. She darted a look around. She had to hide. But where?
* * *
Eight
« ^ »
Halfway to the lobby Max realized that he'd forgotten something. "Damn. I left the revised cost estimate in the fax machine after I sent it." The elevator reached the lobby and he motioned for Troy to get off. "Wait here for me while I run back up and get it. I won't be long."
"Sure," came Troy's clipped reply.
Watching him step off the elevator, Max sighed. Troy was still put out with him. Max had wanted to cancel today's meeting with Baxter and stay with Elizabeth, but Troy had hit the roof when he'd told him. Troy had been his assistant for more than ten years and this morning marked the first time that they had ever had a serious disagreement.
"Going up?" a man in the lobby called out.
Max nodded and held down the open button on the operating panel. The man and his wife stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor.
Max acknowledged their thanks with a nod, but his thoughts had already returned to his assistant. Troy had disapproved of the marriage from the get-go, but until this morning Max hadn't realized how strong his resentment was. He'd gone so far as to accuse Elizabeth of making up the story about being hit by a car, or at the very least, exaggerating what had happened.
"Can't you see that she's playing you?" Troy had shouted at him. "It's not enough that she married you for your money. It never is with women like her. She wants you to dote on her."
"What do you mean, 'women like her'?" Max had demanded, his own temper on the rise.
"Rich, pampered socialites," Troy had fired back. "From the time they're born they have everything handed to them on a platter and they grow up thinking the world revolves around them."
"Elizabeth isn't like that."
"Oh, yeah, right," Troy had sneered. "Look, Max, I don't have anything personal against Elizabeth, but a wife—any wife—is going to make demands on your time. And as you taught me years ago, time is money."
Having one's own words thrown back at you is never pleasant, Max thought. However, he could hardly get angry with Troy for learning a lesson well.
"That's true," he'd acknowledged. "However, since I have more money than I could go through in a lifetime, I think I can afford to spend some time with my wife."
"So you're willing to let this deal fall through for her sake?" Troy had demanded. "Even though the detective said it was probably a case of mistaken identity?"
The elevator stopped on the fourth floor and the couple got out. Still going over the argument in his mind, Max barely noticed.
In the end, he and Troy had compromised, and Max had telephoned Lloyd Baxter and rescheduled their meeting for ten o'clock.
The elevator stopped on Max's floor and he stepped off.
A few feet from the elevator he turned a corner and saw a tall, beefy
man with a lumbering gait at the far end of the hall, walking toward him. The guy kept his head down and his overcoat collar turned.
Max frowned. Something about the guy bothered him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. They nodded to each other in passing, but the other man did not quite meet Max's gaze, and his uneasiness deepened. He didn't trust a man who wouldn't look you in the eye.
There was no sign of Elizabeth when Max let himself into the suite. Had she gone back to bed? he wondered. If so, her hip must be hurting her worse than she'd let on. He eased open one of the double doors that led into the bedroom. The first thing he saw was the empty bed.
"Elizabeth?"
He took a step into the room. Out of the corner of his eye he detected a movement. He turned in time to see his wife lunge out from behind the door, a crystal vase held high over her head in both hands. She brought the vase down with all her might. Max barely had time to raise his arm to fend off the blow.
"Ow!" he yelled as the heavy vase struck his forearm. "Dammit, Elizabeth! What the hell is the matter with you? You damn near broke my arm."
"Max?" She stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide, her face chalk white. Dropping the vase, she launched herself at him. "Max! Oh, Max, thank God!"
"Hey, take it easy." His arms closed around her as she burrowed against him and clutched his shirt with both hands. "Damn, you're trembling all over. What's wrong? What happened?"
"H-he was he-here. He … he…"
"Who was here?"
"That … that ma-man. Oh, Max!" she wailed, and started to sob against his chest.
"Okay, take it easy. Calm down. What man are you talking about?"
"Th-the man in th-the car."
Max tensed. "The one who tried to run over you?"
He felt her nod her head against his chest.
"Are you sure it was him? Could it have been a hotel employee?"
"No. I'm positive it was the driver of that car. I'll never forget that face. He … he knocked on the door just a few minutes after you left. I looked through the peephole and saw him. Oh, God, I was so scared. You have to believe me! It was him!"
"I believe you. Shh. Take it easy, you're safe now."
"When I didn't answer he tried to pick the lock. So I grabbed a vase and hid behind the door. I didn't know what else to do."
Max remembered the man he'd passed in the hall. "Was he a big guy in a black leather overcoat? The swarthy type, built like a bull? Almost no neck?"
"Yes!" Elizabeth pulled back just enough to look up at Max. "You saw him?"
"Yeah, I passed him in the hall. It must have scared him off when he heard the elevator stop on this floor. Damn, I knew there was something that didn't sit quite right as soon as I saw him, but I just now figured out what it was. The corridor ends at the door to our suite. He had no business being this far down the hallway."
"How did he find me?" Elizabeth cried. "Why is he doing this?"
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." Max grasped Elizabeth's upper arms to move her aside, but she clutched at him.
"Where are you going? Don't leave me!"
"Take it easy. I'm not going anywhere. I'm just going to make a few calls. The first one to Detective Gertski. Why don't you go back to bed and rest. I'll be right next door in the sitting room."
"No! I want to stay with you!"
Her paleness worried him. It would probably be best if she went to bed, but he could see the stark terror in her eyes. "All right. C'mon."
Swooping her up in his arms, he carried her into the sitting room and settled her on one of the sofas. To reassure her, he perched on the edge of the cushion beside her hip and held one of her hands. He could still feel her trembling.
One after another, Max made a series of telephone calls—to Detective Gertski, Troy, the hotel manager, his pilot and Lloyd Baxter. He had barely hung up from the last call when a knock sounded on the door. Elizabeth jumped as though she'd been shot.
"Take it easy. That's probably Troy." Max almost had to pry his hand from her grasp.
A quick look through the peephole proved him right.
"What the hell is the delay now?" his assistant demanded as he stormed inside through the door that Max held open. "If we don't get a move on we're going to be late."
"I've already phoned Baxter and postponed the meeting. You're going to meet with him at two."
"Me? You mean without you?" He shot Elizabeth a disgusted look. "I knew I shouldn't have let you come back up here alone. She talked you into this, didn't she? Dammit, Max—"
"Just shut up and listen." As succinctly as possible, Max explained what had happened, but when he finished Troy was still skeptical.
"Ah, c'mon. You don't actually believe that someone tried to break in here and kill her, do you?"
"Dammit, Troy, I saw the guy myself. I passed him on my way back to the suite."
"Just because you saw someone in the hall doesn't mean anything. It was probably another guest."
"Then what was he doing all the way down here? There's not another door within fifty feet of this one."
"Who knows? There could be any number of reasons. Hell, maybe he was lost. This deal is important. If we convince Baxter to invest we can get things rolling in Dallas next week."
"Look, I don't like this any more than you do, but Elizabeth is my wife now. I can't just let her fend for herself."
"Do you two mind?" Elizabeth said. "I'm sitting right here. Max, I don't want to be a burden to anyone." Troy snorted at that, but she ignored him and forged ahead, although she was trembling inside at what she was about to suggest. "If you'll just put me on a commercial flight home you can get on with your business here."
"No," Max replied.
"No? What do you mean, no?" Troy demanded. "That's the first sensible thing anybody has said since I walked into this suite. Send her home and let's get back to business."
Before Max could reply another knock sounded. He darted a look at Elizabeth and saw that her eyes were wide with fear. "Take it easy. That's probably the manager. I called and told him what happened and that we were leaving. He said he'd be right up with our bill and he'd bring a couple of maids with him to pack for us."
"You're checking out?" Troy looked outraged. "Ah, c'mon, Max. Don't you think you're overreacting?"
"No. I don't. And I'm counting on you to finish selling Baxter on the deal. Be sure to get his commitment in writing. When you have the deal sewed up call me on my cell phone. If Elizabeth and I are still at the airport you can fly home with us. Otherwise, you'll have to catch a commercial flight back to Houston."
Troy opened his mouth to protest, but Max raised his hand and stopped him with a sharp "Not another word. I've made my decision." He went to answer the door, his gaze still locked on Troy. "You just be at Baxter's office at two o'clock."
The hotel manager was accompanied by two uniformed maids and a middle-aged man, whom he introduced as Lou Greer, the chief of hotel security. Without having to be told, the two women headed for the bedroom and began packing. Introductions had barely been made all around when Detective Gertski arrived.
While Max explained in detail what had happened, the detective took notes on a small pad.
"I don't understand why this man is doing this," Elizabeth said when Max had finished. "And how did he find me?"
"He probably followed you from the crime scene to the hospital, then from the hospital to the Ritz," the detective said. "A little bribe money under the table would have gotten him your suite number. Why he's after you is a mystery that we're still working to solve."
The first thing Detective Gertski did after he put away his notepad was to check the door lock. He squatted down on his haunches and examined the strike plate, the plunger and door frame around the lock. Then he stood up and shined a pen-light down into the card slot. "Hey, come take a look at this," he said to the security man. Mr. Greer walked over to the door and he, too, peered down into the slot.
"Well, w
haddaya know."
"What is it?" Max asked.
"Tool marks on the inner mechanism. Someone definitely tried to jimmy the lock."
"That does it," Max announced. "We're getting out of here."
"I understand how you feel, Mr. Riordan," Detective Gertski said. "If it were my wife this guy was after I'd probably do the same. But it might really help our case if you brought Mrs. Riordan by the station house to look at mug shots before you leave New York. As it stands right now, we have very little to go on."
"If Elizabeth did identify someone, would that be enough to arrest him?" Max inquired.
"Well … no. We'd need corroborating evidence before we could do th—"
"That's what I thought. Sorry, Detective. Weighed against the risk, it's just not worth it. I'm getting her out of this city. Now, before this nutcase succeeds."
The man in the black car watched the entrance to the Ritz-Carlton. A car-service limo pulled up and a phalanx of men, some in the hotel's uniform and others in plainclothes, hustled the target into the waiting vehicle. The man that he'd learned was the target's new husband climbed in after her. A shorter, balding man in an overcoat that had seen better days joined the pair inside the limo.
The sedan driver gave a disdainful snort. The shorter guy had cop written all over him.
The limo pulled away from the curb and the black sedan pulled out to follow, trailing about a block behind. Keeping visual contact with the limo, the driver picked up his cell phone and thumbed in a number.
"This is Angel," he said curtly to the party who answered.
"I've made two runs at the target, but she got lucky both times. I think she's spooked now, because it looks like she and her husband are leaving. I'm following her limo, but it looks like they're headed for the airport."
"What happened?" the other party demanded.
"I told you. The bitch got lucky."
"How?"
Angel's jaw set. An uncomfortable silence stretched out. He didn't like being questioned. The only man he answered to was the big boss, Tony Voltura. In the end he decided he'd make an exception, mainly because he was doing this job at the boss's request.