In Plain Sight

by Fern Michaels

  Myra nodded. It hardly came under the heading of action, but if it was all they were going to get, she was all for it.

  While Annie conversed with Avery Snowden, Myra let her thoughts go to Nikki and Kathryn and what they were doing to correct Kathryn’s screwup.

  The elevator slid open without a sound or a ping to announce its arrival. Both women stepped out and almost knocked over Joel Goodwin who groaned and muttered something that wasn’t too complimentary. “Good God, ladies, what are you doing here again? You picked my brain, you drained my blood. I swear on everything holy, there is not one other thing I can tell you.”

  “We know that, Mr. Goodwin. We aren’t here to talk to you. We’re here to talk to her,” Nikki said, pointing to Pam Warren, who had gone as white as the blouse she was wearing.

  “Pam! What does Pam have to do with anything?” He addressed his next comment to his secretary-receptionist, who looked like she was going to black out at any moment. “Pam, do you know anything?”

  “I think what you should have asked her, Mr. Goodwin, is what did she tell Mr. Moss this morning about our visit here and whatever else she knows? Then I think you should ask her how much money he paid her. Then you should inform her we ran her bank account, and guess what we found?” The last comment was a lie, of course, but neither Goodwin nor Pam needed to know that.

  “Pam! Is this true? Did you sell me out? Why would you do such a thing? Tell these ladies it isn’t true? Oh, God, it is true. I can see it on your face. Why? Tell me why you would do such a thing?”

  Pam Warren started to sniffle, then outright bawl her eyes out. She reached into her desk for a wad of tissues.

  “I’ll tell you why, Mr. Goodwin. Lincoln Moss intimidated her for one thing. Then he flashed a wad of cash, and what woman can’t use a wad of cash. She probably viewed Jane Petrie as someone doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing, which, of course, is true, so she figured why not. It’s that simple.”

  “Dear God! What did you tell that monster, Pam?”

  “All right, all right! I gave him Jane Petrie’s address in France. And her cell-phone number. He paid me a hundred thousand dollars. He only wanted to give me ten thousand. I laughed at him. I wanted more than the sixty-six thousand dollars you paid Jane Petrie. You would have paid her another sixty-six thousand if she’d supplied that after picture. You know it, Joel. He said . . . he said . . . I could have an accident. And that no one would ever know it wasn’t really an accident. Everyone in this town knows how powerful Lincoln Moss is.

  “Then he said he would call me at home and asked if he had the correct telephone number. I have an unlisted telephone number, and yet he somehow had it. He wanted to know who was in the conference room with you this morning. I couldn’t give him names, so I just said the FBI. Then he left.”

  “You’re fired, Pam. Clear out your desk. You just put Jane Petrie’s life in danger. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “Well, if I did, it’s your fault, Joel. You deal with people who break the law. What she was doing was illegal. So I took his money? So what? Do you think I wanted to end up in some ditch alongside the road or worse yet, mugged and raped?”

  “And do you really think you’re any safer now than before you spilled your guts?” Kathryn asked.

  “Now he knows what you know, and he knows who told him. I think if I were you, I’d run to ground,” Kathryn said. There was not one ounce of sympathy in her voice. Pam Warren burst into tears again, all of her defiance gone.

  Pam Warren looked at the faces staring at her as she shoved her personal things into an oversize shoulder bag. Her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely pull the zipper to close the bag.

  “What does this mean now?” Goodwin dithered.

  Kathryn shrugged as she watched Nikki’s fingers on her iPhone. She knew without asking that she was sending a text to Jack in France. “Let me ask you a question, Mr. Goodwin. Do you think Jane Petrie would have heeded your advice when you called to warn her and relocated? If so, then we can assume she’s safe, at least for the moment.”

  “I think so. I scared her, I do know that. Where she would go I have no clue. She’s gone many times to France so I have to assume she’s made some friends who could, I guess, hide her out. For all I know, she could be out of France by now and be someplace where she thinks she’s safe. I did tell her to read up on Lincoln Moss. If there is nothing else, ladies, I’d like to head on out and get myself a stiff drink.”

  “Don’t expect me to give you a reference, Pam,” Goodwin snarled, as his secretary headed for the elevator.

  It was brutally hot as only July can be in Washington. Doubly hot in the garden pavilion at the Home Builders Depot. The overhead sprinklers that dispensed a fine, cool mist on the hanging wilted plants did nothing to cool things off.

  Dennis West looked around for Jason Woods and finally spotted him at the back end of the pavilion, stacking different-colored wheelbarrows. Woods, he noticed, spotted him almost immediately. He could see the young man’s shoulders tighten up. Dennis chewed on his lower lip as he made the instant decision to approach and confront the young man. He didn’t think twice but sprinted across the pavilion and held out his press credentials. “Got a minute, Jason?”

  “Actually, I don’t. My boss doesn’t like it when we conduct personal business during work hours. Since you aren’t a customer, that puts you into the personal category.”

  “I can clear it with Mr. Quincy for you. That is his name, isn’t it? I just want to ask you a few questions. It concerns Rosalee Muno and Amalie Moss. Look, let’s not beat around the bush here. I know you’re helping them, and that’s a good thing. Really it is. Those two women need all the help they can get right now. But, you see, here’s the thing, you are out of your league. Lincoln Moss is not a guy you want to tangle with. Trust me on that. I represent people who can truly help.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. West. You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

  Dennis sighed. “No, I do not have you mixed up with someone else. Please, tell me where you took those women. And here is another question for you. Do you know the FBI is also looking for those women? They are. You really do not want to mess with the feds, young man. Not because they did anything wrong but to protect them. And there is one other thing you need to tell those two women. The nurse, whose name is Jane Petrie, the one who sold the picture to In the Know, left the area and is now in France. The FBI is looking for her, too. The people I work for, and I’m not just referring to the Post, told me that Lincoln Moss might, and we are certain of this, just so you know, have people on the way to France to talk to Petrie. We believe she is in danger. She did sell that picture to the tabloid, then she hightailed it out of here. That should tell you something, Jason.”

  Jason felt like his insides were turning to jelly. How much could he bluff? “I don’t know why you’re telling me all this. I have no idea why you are fixated on me. I can’t help you. Listen, I have to get back to work. I get paid by the hour. You want to stand here and watch me, that’s fine. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to alert the manager and file a complaint. I need this job, so butt out of my life, mister.”

  “Listen, kid, everyone knows you and Rosalee are very good friends. The neighbors told us how you went to the house to see her. The chick in the paint department introduced you to Rosalee. You’re making a mistake by not talking to me. I just want to help.”

  “I don’t need your help and I don’t want it. Go help someone else. Now leave me alone.”

  Dennis shook his head to show his disappointment, but he did walk away. The kid would crack sooner or later. He walked out to the parking lot and reported in to Ted and Maggie, who had been whispering with their heads close together. Dennis was almost inclined to tell them to get a room.

  “We need to put a tail on him. Call that guy Snowden. I think I scared him, so he’s going to do something. The thing is, will he work the rest of
the day or leave early? I’m thinking he knows he’s being watched, so he is going to finish out the day, then try to give us the slip. He’s a bundle of raw nerves. I’m on my way to the paper now. I don’t think he’s going to do a thing right this moment because he’s too scared. He’s going to try to bluff it out. That’s my opinion, for whatever it’s worth.”

  Back in the garden pavilion, Jason was indeed a bundle of nerves. He had to play out the day and act normal. Whatever the hell normal was. He looked down at the watch on his wrist. An hour to go till lunch. Maybe he’d get a brainstorm before then. Maybe he would somehow be able to recruit Stacey Copeland. But if he did that, it would mean one more person would know about Rosalee and Amalie. Crap! Sweat dripped down and into his eyes, burning them. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. What to do? What not to do? Whom to trust? Hell, that was easy, no one!

  Soaked to the skin in his own sweat, at one minute to twelve Jason stripped off his work gloves, swiped his forehead on the sleeve of his T-shirt, and headed back to the break room. Inside, he leaned up against the door and started to shake. For one wild, crazy moment he wanted to go to the police. He squashed the idea the moment it entered his head. More sweat trickled down his face. He could smell his own stink. He wished he could dive into a pool of ice cubes. He raised his eyes and saw the intercom directly in his line of vision. Stacey! Maybe Stacey was his answer. Like he had so many choices to draw from. He marched over to the console and pressed the number nine for the paint department. Stacey herself picked up. “How can I help you today?” she said, cheer ringing in her voice.

  “You can help me by hightailing it to the break room, but don’t look obvious. I’m in some deep trouble, and I need your help. Can you do it?” Jason hissed into the phone.

  “Oh, yes, we’re open till nine. We have hundreds of colors to choose from. I’m sure you’ll find one to your liking. Be right there,” she hissed in return. “You’re scaring me, Jason.”

  Five minutes later, Stacey Copeland slithered into the room. “Why do I feel like I’m in some kind of I Spy TV show? My God, you look awful. What’s wrong?”

  Jason rolled a can of cold Pepsi across his forehead and around his neck. “Everything and anything is wrong. I need your help. Actually, it’s Emily whose name is really Rosalee who needs your help. And her boss, too. I’m being watched. I have them in a safe place for the moment, but I can’t go to them because people are . . . people want to harm them.” He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  Stacey held both her hands up, palms facing Jason. “Whoa there, Nellie. Back up and start at the beginning and tell me everything. If you want my help, you need to tell me every little thing and do not hold anything back. Deal?”

  Jason nodded, the words tumbling out of his mouth at the speed of light. He ended with, “This is the only place where you and I can talk. They even know about you. The guy flat out told me the girl in the paint department introduced me to Rosalee. They’re probably going to start watching you, too. That’s why we have to move fast. We cannot be seen together. You understand that, right?” Stacey nodded.

  Stacey brushed at her long auburn locks. She swallowed hard. “That . . . that’s awful, Jason. I hate men who abuse women. Absolutely hate them. I’ll do whatever I can. Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. I take martial-arts classes.”

  Jason looked at his watch. Satisfied that he still had time on his lunch hour, he started to lay out his plan. “You have to go get them in your car. I’ll write you a note to give them. Even though Rosalee knows you, she might not want to leave with you. The note will reassure her and once you explain, it should be okay. Pack up the gear and keep it in your car. Take them to a hotel. I’m thinking hiding in plain sight is better than skulking around and hiding. Draws too much unwanted attention. I took some money out of my tuition fund, but I made a serious dent in it when I bought the camping equipment. I’ll have to take out some more tonight on my way home.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “This will have to do for now until I can get more. So, you’ll do it?”

  “Of course I’ll go get them, but they don’t need a hotel. I’m house-sitting for some people I know. I have the house till August 15. That’s almost a whole month. We can hide them out there. No one will know. It’s a big old house that was refurbished in the Columbia Heights neighborhood. Three blocks from where I live with my roommate. It’s just a hop, skip, and a jump from ritzy Adams Morgan. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I like the idea. And get this, it’s less than a mile from the White House. It will be like hiding them like you said, in plain sight, so to speak.” At Jason’s blank look, she said, “You know that old adage, keep your friends close, your enemies closer? Same kind of thing. No one expects to find what they’re looking for right under their nose. For now it is a plan. You okay with that?”

  Jason continued to roll the cold Pepsi can, which wasn’t so cold anymore, all over his neck and up and down his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay with that. I’m going to draw you a map. Whatever you do, do not call them. Do not use your phone at all. Better yet, take the batteries out till you get back. Don’t call me either. This break room is the only place we can meet and talk. I appreciate your helping me, Stacey.”

  “Hey, what are friends for? And besides, I owe you. You introduced me to Jackson. We are becoming good friends. Almost as good as you and Rosalee.” What she didn’t say was she would like it a lot better if Jason and Jackson switched places, but she didn’t. “Hey, you want half my sandwich. It’s turkey and roast beef,” Stacey said, taking her lunch bag out of the fridge.

  “No thanks. I’d barf it up if I ate it. My stomach is in knots.”

  “Well, mine isn’t, and I make good sandwiches. You need to calm down and relax. You’ll give yourself a coronary.” Stacey bit into her sandwich and rolled her eyes. It was all lost on poor Jason, who was busily drawing a map on a strip of paper toweling.

  Stacey popped a can of Dr Pepper and took a long gulp. “How will I let you know I have them safe at the house?”

  “Tomorrow morning in this break room, that’s how. Soon as we report in in the morning. I will just assume you made it safe and sound. If there is a problem or something goes awry, then call this number. I just got it. Here’s the number,” he said, writing it on the map he was making. “Only call the number if something goes wrong. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Listen, don’t follow me out. Wait at least ten minutes. I have to be back on the pavilion. Today, I hate this job. Good luck, and thanks, Stacey.”

  “No problem. See ya in the morning. Hey, what about food and stuff?”

  “You gotta do it all for them. Make sure you stress to them they are not to leave the house.”

  “Okay. Okay, Jason. Please, relax, it’s going to be okay. I got you covered.”

  Chapter 9

  A look of disgust on his face, Jack looked over at Harry, who sported the same look of disgust. They’d arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport, were picked up the moment they stepped outside by a man in a chauffeur’s uniform who did not speak one word of English. He held up a placard with Jack’s and Harry’s names on it, and motioned for the two of them to follow to where he’d parked his town car.

  From the airport, he’d taken them to their hotel, a private mansion owned at one time by a royal named Lord de Breluil. Annie said on arrival they should ask for Oliver, the head concierge, and to tell him the countess said hello and to do whatever they asked of him. Such as arrange car services, make dinner reservations at the Le M64 restaurant. He was helpful, but without telling the man what they were really after, they had to do the rest on their own.

  The hotel was a short walk from the Champs Élysées, not that either Jack or Harry was in the mood for sightseeing.

  “We’ve been here twelve hours and have nothing to show for our efforts other than all that rich food that is lying really heavy in my stomach,”
Jack grumbled. “Nikki would kill me if I told her what I ate for dinner. Yoko would string you up by your toes, Harry.”

  “The police were no help, and we struck out at the flat Jane Petrie rented. All we know is she registered, then checked out. She turned in her rental car just hours after she rented it. No one we talked to remembers seeing an American in the area where she’d booked her reservation except for the reservation clerk, who said when she checked out she said that she had a sudden family emergency.”

  “Annie and the girls are not going to like this,” Harry said.

  “You’re right about that. Did you get the feeling when we were talking to the landlord or whatever these people call the person who owns the flat that handles the registration or whatever . . . that she wasn’t being entirely truthful? She was giving off vibes that made my hair stand on end. Maybe we missed a beat and should have offered a bribe. What do you think, Harry?”

  “What I think is if Petrie has been coming here several times a year and staying at the same place, she’s more than likely built up some kind of rapport with the owner of the flat. I’m thinking when she left in such a hurry, she would have told the landlady not to answer any questions if someone came looking for her. She also probably told her to go ahead and rent out the flat and didn’t take a refund. Petrie probably slipped her a few bucks to keep quiet, and along with being able to rent out the flat again, that made the woman happy. Petrie will probably call her from time to time to check to see if anyone really is checking up on her. We can go back first thing in the morning and take another shot at her. This time, we lean a little harder and of course offer up a substantial. . . ah . . . gift for whatever knowledge she has to share. Your French is good enough to get your point across, isn’t it, Jack?”