by Ana Leigh
“It’s not going to keep me awake worrying about it, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“What reason would I even have to try?”
“I have no idea. You brought it up, Mrs. Manning.”
“And even if I’d succeed, what good would it do? I don’t have anything except these clothes on my back.”
She was babbling and she knew it, but she was too nervous to remain quiet.
“Glad to see they fit.”
The truth hit her like a lightning bolt. She stopped abruptly. “So it was you!”
“What?”
“You’re the one who got me this jogging suit and the other supplies.”
“Somebody had to do it.”
She should have guessed from the beginning that Robert would never consider anyone’s interests but his own. “Thank you, Dave. It was very thoughtful of you.”
“Don’t blow it out of proportion, Mrs. Manning. I’d have done the same for anyone. You’re under my protection.”
“Protection? I’d say it’s more like under suspicion, Agent Cassidy. Prisoner, more realistically. Where do you think I could go? I have no passport, money, charge card or identification. I don’t even have the money to make a phone call.”
“You could always call Daddy collect. I’m sure he’d send the corporate jet to slip in under the radar and rescue his little princess.”
“Do you really hate us that much, Dave?”
“I don’t hate anybody, Mrs. Manning. Not you, your father or that schmuck you married. I’ll just be glad when all of you are out of my life.”
His cell phone suddenly beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket.
“Sneezy here,” Kurt Bolen said, using the code name the agency had assigned him. “Looks like you’ve picked up a friend. We’ve got a make on a guy who appears to be following you.”
“Give it to me.”
“Five eleven. Dressed in jeans and a black jacket. We’re too far away to see much more than that in this fog.”
“Stay with him. We’re about two blocks away from the hotel. Call Dopey and tell him to meet us in the lobby. Sleepy and Happy are to remain with Donald Duck.”
“This soup is getting thicker, so step it up,” Kurt said.
“Donald Duck, Dopey, Sleepy, Happy! That was the most stupid conversation I’ve ever heard,” Trish declared when he slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I hope it was more intelligent on the other end. Do you fellows actually use those ridiculous names? Furthermore, you’re mixing up your toons. Donald Duck is Mickey and Minnie’s friend. The Seven Dwarfs prefer the company of Snow White. I hope you gave me a name, too, in this game.”
“We didn’t have time, but I’d recommend Cruella DeVille.”
Dave took her elbow and hurried her along. She practically had to run to keep up with him.
Suddenly several thuds slammed into the building beside them.
“Dammit! He’s got a silencer!” Dave cursed. He grabbed her hand and they started to run. Another bullet bounced off the sidewalk at their feet.
They ducked into an alley and Dave motioned her to silence. Then he pulled a pistol out from under the leg of his jeans.
Trish’s heart was pounding in her chest. She had no idea what this was all about, but trusted Dave and remained silent. It all was too much to try and absorb. Four days ago she was sweltering in the bright sunshine of Washington, D.C. Now she was crouched in a swirling fog in an alley in Germany with Dave Cassidy—the last man she expected to see holding a gun in his hand. This had to be the mother of all nightmares.
They heard the sound of running feet and Dave shoved her lower and raised his weapon. He gave two short whistles when he recognized the two men who came into view.
Kurt Bolen and Justin Addison ducked into the alley and joined them.
“Sorry, Dave, we lost him in the fog,” Kurt said.
They made it to the hotel without any further incident. Don Fraser met them in the lobby.
“How long have you been down here?”
“A couple minutes,” Don said.
“Anyone come in?”
“Not since I arrived. What’s going on?”
“Is Manning okay?”
“Yeah, Pete and Rick are with him. Manning didn’t like being pulled away from some fraülein he was hitting on at the bar. He’s a real piece of work. Am I the only one who can’t stand that guy?”
“There’s a big fraternity,” Dave said. “Let’s get upstairs.”
After checking out her room, Dave proceeded to give Trish explicit instructions. “Keep the door locked. A couple of us will be outside it all night, so don’t worry.”
“Are you saying someone is trying to kill me?” Trish asked. “How do you know the man wasn’t shooting at you?”
Dave shook his head. “No reason to make me the target. At first I thought it was CIA keeping tabs on you until the shooting started. At this point, we still want to keep you alive.”
“Why would anyone want to kill me?” she asked. “I don’t even know what this is all about.”
“I bet your husband knows. The shooter may have been sending him a message. By the way, stay away from the window. Whoever it was is still out there somewhere.”
“Thank you, Agent Cassidy,” she grumbled. “I’ll try not to keep that thought in mind when I attempt to fall asleep.”
Trish soon found out that truer words were never spoken. After several hours of tossing and turning, she finally managed to fall asleep, only to awaken a short while later to a ringing telephone and bright sunlight streaming through the window.
The call was from Justin Addison, who informed her they would be leaving for the airport in thirty minutes.
Trish jumped out of bed, took a quick shower, then dressed in the jogging suit again. She stuffed her other clothes into the paper bag and was ready when the knock sounded on the door.
Robert was with them. It was the first time she’d seen him since they’d arrived at the hotel. If he was aware of it, he didn’t mention or make a pretense of showing any concern over the attempt on her life last night.
She’d like to tell him a thing or two. He owed her a big apology—not that he’d ever offer one. But thanks to him she now was the target of an assassin.
While waiting for the plane to be gassed up, Dave came over and handed her a paper cup of hot coffee and a Danish pastry packaged in plastic.
“Sorry, this is the best I could rustle up.”
She smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” She took a deep draft of the hot brew. It was perfectly sweetened to her taste. She smiled in appreciation. He hadn’t forgotten.
A short time later they boarded a cargo plane without any further delay and all of them slept most of the way back to the States.
As soon as they landed at Andrews Air Force Base, they were met by the CIA and taken to a room on the base. Same modus operandi, same questions and the same answers from her. The only difference this time was that her interrogators were a Mr. Baker and Mr. Bishop.
By the time Baker and Bishop had finished questioning her, the squad had dispersed. Robert was also nowhere in sight. A polite driver in a black limo drove her home to Georgetown.
Nothing was as comforting as the sight of home. She had a lot to hash out in her mind, but the physical exhaustion and emotional stress of the last few days had drained all her energy. She’d have to think about it tomorrow.
“Now you know how Scarlet felt, Trish,” she murmured.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” the driver said, offering his hand to assist her out of the car.
“Oh nothing. Nothing at all,” she said.
Julie, the maid, and Trish’s dog Ayevol greeted her at the door with his usual enthusiasm. The cocker spaniel’s wagging tail beat a hearty welcome. She wrote a short note to her father, then took a quick shower and climbed into bed.
Ayevol jumped up on the bed and stretched out with his head on her thigh.
“You won’t believe wh
o I’ve been with the last couple of days,” she said, scratching him behind his ears. She rested her hand on the dog’s head. “I was with him, Ayevol. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, sweetheart.” She patted the dog on the head. “After all, ‘tomorrow is another day.’”
Right on, Miss Scarlet.
With a pleased smile, Trish closed her eyes and slept.
The first thing Trish did when she woke up was reach for the telephone and call Deb. She hadn’t spoken to her best friend for a week and could not wait to tell her the news. They agreed to meet for breakfast.
An hour later Trish smiled with pleasure as she watched men’s gazes follow the tall, willowy blonde crossing the floor of the restaurant to join her.
The two women had been inseparable companions since childhood, had attended a Swiss boarding school together in their early teens and later had graduated from Wellesley together. Soon after, Deb had married Dr. Thomas Carpenter, ten years her senior and a successful brain surgeon. Two years ago, she and Deb had formed an interior decorating business, which had begun to build up a respected reputation.
“Darling, you are absolutely glowing,” Deb said when she sat down. “I know it can’t be that you’re pregnant, so what is it?”
The salutation was Deb’s usual greeting to everyone. It was a convenient affectation that she carried off so well that most people never suspected that often it served a double purpose. Through the years, the greeting had become a signal between them for Trish to recognize by the tone of voice in the way she said it, when Deb either liked or distrusted an individual. This had often proven to be very useful in dealing with people, both socially and in business.
“Deb, you are not going to believe this.” With a smug smile, Trish handed Deb a copy of her divorce papers, then sat back and laughed at her friend’s reaction as she perused it.
Deb squealed with joy. “The scourge finally signed the divorce papers!” She glanced at Trish askance. “What did you do, hold a gun to his head?”
“Now you know I’m more up close and personal than that,” Trish teased. “I held a knife to his throat.”
“We’ve got to celebrate this.” Deb motioned to the waiter. “Darling, a couple of Bloody Marys, please.”
“Can’t we settle for orange juice?”
“Not on your life. Tom and I have been waiting for this day as much as you have. Let’s hear all the delicious details.”
Trish told her of her agreement to accompany Robert to Morocco. As much as she hated to withhold anything from her friend, she honored her word to the CIA and kept out of the conversation any mention of their involvement or the rescue by a special ops squad.
Deb whipped out her cell phone. “I’ve got to tell Tom. He’ll be ecstatic.”
“Hold up. I have something more to tell you. I ran into Dave Cassidy.”
Debra’s green eyes widened with disbelief. “You’re kidding! Where?”
Now what? She hated lying to Deb. “He was on the same plane as we were coming back from Germany.” At least that was the truth.
“You mean he came here on business?”
“Apparently he lives here.”
Deb threw her hands up in the air. “Tom and I go away for a week, and this is what happens. Is he married?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t ask!”
“I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”
“That doesn’t always mean anything. You know some men remove them when their wives aren’t around.”
“Debra, I’m talking about Dave. Mr. Straight-and-Narrow Cassidy.”
“Trish, that doesn’t sound like you. When did you become so cynical?”
She sighed. “Yeah, I know. That’s how my father contemptuously refers to Dave.”
“Henry has his own agenda.” Deb reached over and squeezed her hand. “So how did it go?”
“Horribly.” Trish looked up desolately. “He’s very bitter, Deb. I think he hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Trish. Good Lord, anyone who ever saw the two of you together knows Dave could never hate you. He’s probably carrying the same torch that you are, and when he found out you were married, it probably made matters worse.”
“I am not carrying a torch for Dave Cassidy. I just want us to be friends again.”
“Right. He’s as ugly as sin, as mean as a junkyard dog and could never function below the waist, anyway. I’m glad we’ve got that settled. However, darling, having said that, I question if you read his body language correctly. Dave more likely is more jealous than bitter. And if that’s the case, it’s a darn better sign he’s not married than the fact that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”
“Easy for you to say,” Trish murmured and lowered her head in dejection.
“Did you tell him you’re a free woman now?”
“That would have been difficult to explain since I was with Robert. Besides, I think I’d be wasting my time. He clearly is not interested in having me in his life.”
“You’ll never know unless you try. Don’t you know by now, darling, men don’t understand the game of love. They go blundering through it like storm troopers. It always takes the right woman to explain it to them.”
Laughing, the two women clinked their glasses. “Men,” they said in unison.
“Hey, what is that?” Trish reached over and grabbed Deb’s wrist. “New, isn’t it?” she asked, staring at the diamond and gold bracelet on Deb’s wrist. “Did you and Tom raid Tiffany’s when you were in New York?”
“Just a little bauble Tom gave me for our eighth wedding anniversary,” Deb replied, tongue-in-cheek. “Cute, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes. Cute, Deb. There are enough diamonds there to…” Diamonds. She suddenly remembered Colin McDermott had mentioned diamonds to Robert in Morocco.
“To what?” Deb asked.
Trish snapped back to awareness. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You were saying there are enough diamonds to what?”
“To blind a person, Debra Carpenter. Shame on you.”
Deb took a long look at the bracelet. “There are a lot, aren’t there?”
“I’ll say. It must have cost a mint.”
Deb’s smooth brow creased in a frown. “You don’t suppose Tom is having an affair, do you?”
“Yeah, right!” Trish scoffed. “When mules fly like Pegasus.”
The two women looked at each other, broke into laughter, and once again clinked their glasses together.
As soon as Trish returned home, she looked up the telephone number of Kim Harrington in New York, and was lucky enough to catch her at home. In loyalty to her brother, Kim refused to give her Dave’s address. After Trish explained they had run into each other again, and she had to talk to him, Kim finally conceded that at age thirty-four her big brother was old enough to handle his own problems. She relented and gave Trish Dave’s telephone number and address.
Thoughts about McDermott, Robert and diamonds kept running through Trish’s mind for the rest of the day. She had forgotten about the diamonds entirely and realized she had never mentioned them to the CIA. From what she remembered of the conversation between Robert and McDermott, the Irishman had indicated Robert had the diamonds in his possession. He would still have to have them because he and Ali had never left her before Dave and his squad showed up. And since they’d been transported home on military planes, Robert could easily have smuggled the diamonds into the country. She was curious enough to try and find out.
Trish rooted hurriedly through a dresser drawer, found what she was looking for, and hurried back to her car.
Chapter 4
From habit Dave glanced around the barroom as soon as he entered. The place had begun to fill with the after-work crowd. Singles hoping to make a lucky connection for the night and tired businessmen needing a jolt of whiskey to jump-start their psyches and get back in the race.
He walked over to the bar, sat down on one of the stools and
ordered a Scotch on the rocks.
He’d finished the drink and was nursing the second one by the time Mike Bishop showed up and slipped onto the stool beside him.
“Sorry I’m late. Baker caught me on my way out.” Mike ordered a beer and as soon as the bartender left, he asked, “So, what’s on your mind, Dave?”
“Prince Charming’s not too happy with me these days,” Dave said, referring to Jeff Baker’s code name in the Agency. “I figure it’s because of the mission.”
“That’s bullshit, Dave. Nobody’s blaming you. This isn’t the first mission that went bad. Hell, I can think of a dozen or more of them when I was leading the squad.”
“He says the Agency’s taking heat over the bin Muzzar slaying. Mike, I swear my squad had nothing to do with his death. We didn’t fire a shot until we reached the cover of the rocks. If he was killed at the palace, it was after we pulled out.”
“I believe you and so does Baker. And we all knew the whole damn mission stunk from the beginning. You gotta let it go, Dave.”
Dave motioned to the bartender for a refill. “What about McDermott? I want another crack at him, Mike.”
“You’ll get it. That is if the Brits don’t get to him first. They’ve got their own ax to grind with him. Right now, no one knows where he is. He’s got a slew of aliases and fake passports. The SOB could be anywhere. It’s going to take time to track him down, but I promise you the Dwarf Squad will get the call when we do.”
“You get anything of value out of his backpack?”
“Just another alias and a phony passport.”
“I gather you didn’t get anything out of Manning either.”
“No. Claims he never met the guy until then.”
“Yeah, right.”
Dave shrugged. “What can I say? His wife gave us the same story. She came across pretty sincere to me, but she could be a damn good actress.”
“Yeah, a guy’s a fool to believe anything a woman tells him.” Dave picked up his drink and downed it. “What?” he asked in response to Mike’s puzzled stare.
“You’re beginning to sound like me before I met Ann. What’s your problem, Dave?”
“Colin McDermott. That’s my problem.”