Midnight Masquerade Page 15

  "I was looking for Anna. She told me I could come to her in the office with any questions."

  "No, she didn't."

  Well, hell this wasn't getting her anywhere.

  Taking the offense instead of the defense, Rae squared out defiantly. “Are you calling me a liar?"

  "No one is allowed up here. What would you call it?"

  "A misunderstanding, I guess.” She let all the hostility drain away to adopt a silly-ole-me attitude. “I must have heard her wrong. One of the other girls told me I'd find her up here. I didn't mean any harm. It's not like I was going to steal anything. Like, why would I want any trouble on my first night here, right? Unless you make it into trouble.” Rae opened her eyes wide and smiled, playing up the sisters-got-to-stick-together ploy.

  "How did you get past the locked door?"

  "It was open."

  "It's never open."

  Rae sighed. “There you go calling me liar again. We're not getting off to a very good start here if we're going to be friends."

  "We're not."

  Something changed in the other woman's stare, a glitter of dangerous intent warning Rae that becoming bosom pals was out of the question. Time to bluff and run.

  "Well, if Anna's not up here, I'm going back to the party. It's been fun getting to know you better."

  And she started down the stairs. There was silence except for the sound of her heels and the stir of the hair rising up on the back of her neck. She tensed, ready for an attack from behind ... that never came.

  At the bottom of the steps, she risked a look behind her.

  The stairs were empty.

  Puzzled, yet counting her blessings, Rae returned to the main room. She ordered a club soda at the bar and watched the doorway for signs that the jig was up.

  "Hey, girlfriend, you look like you've seen a ghost."

  Rae smiled at the ebony-skinned beauty beside her who seemed to find great hilarity in that stock phrase. “Just a little spooked by Crystal. Is she always that intense?"

  "Everything around here is intense, Snow White.” And she grinned, displaying perfect white teeth. “You're not in the inner circle yet. That's where the excitement is."

  Rae's questions stalled when she noticed several bright spots of color on the other woman's beaded halter top. She followed Rae's stare and chuckled, wiping at the shiny droplets.

  "Must have gotten a little too enthusiastic with my date,” she murmured, then sucked the blood off her fingertips. Her eyes drooped with a lazy pleasure, as if she'd just snorted up a healthy line of coke. Rae took an uncomfortable step back as the other mused dreamily, “Just one of the perks of the job, baby. You'll know what I mean soon enough."

  And her throaty laugh sent a cold shiver to Rae's soul.

  * * * *

  Watching the bold little liar start down the stairs ahead of her stirred a fierceness within Crystal Faye Johnson—or at least that was the name on her bus pass when she'd headed for a new future of political intrigue from the flat, far-reaching fields of her home town in Nebraska to an internship in Washington. She'd never made it to that exciting new career, and her name was Crystal Delite now. She'd gotten sidetracked in that darkened bus station on her first night in town, a distraction that led to an entirely different future for the political science major who'd once held to such liberal views.

  The only view she was interested in at the moment was that of the silky throat of the woman in front of her.

  Just one little taste. No one would know. And then she'd have the truth from the sneaking little bitch.

  She glided closer, opening her whetted mouth, anticipating the sweet, hot delight to come. A sudden jerk from behind had her sharp teeth snapping together on air as she was whisked into the upper hallway.

  "Sorry, sweetheart. She's not on the menu,” goaded an unfamiliar male voice.

  The instant he released her, she spun to furiously attack whomever had been foolish enough to interrupt her plans for dinner.

  * * * *

  At dawn, surprised and relieved that Crystal had never put in an appearance, Rae went home alone to the new apartment she'd just rented in the hilly neighborhood of sprawling old homes ... within walking distance of Nick's hotel.

  She'd told herself the price was right and the hilltop view was worth far more. She'd noted the advantages of a short walk to the subway, high ceilings and eclectic neighbors who tended to live and let live.

  But truth be told, she could look out her bedroom window and see the majestic silhouette of Nick Flynn's rooftop, and if that was as close as she could get to him, she'd take it at any price.

  A sad state of affairs in the love life department.

  She'd gotten out of the cab on the sharply angled street, looking forward to slipping out of her heels and into some heavy duty REM slumber. Until she glimpsed a chunky black convertible parked on the other side of the street a block down. Foot freedom would have to wait.

  She paid the driver and, instead of going up her own short walk, crossed the narrow street. There was no mistake. It was Gabriel's boat of a vehicle. As she circled it, she paused at the trunk. A scrap of flashy silk protruded from beneath the lip of the closed lid. Just the sort of gaudy fabric Gabriel would wear for one of his shirts. Okay, he carried his laundry in his trunk. No big deal.

  Until she saw a spattering of rust-colored specks on the bumper.

  Not rust. Not on McGraw's baby.

  Uttering a soft curse, she pulled up on the trunk. Locked. Having dropped her favorite tool for the job on the stairs at the Noir when she'd thought she'd been discovered, she fumbled in her inadequately supplied purse and came up with a slender-bladed pocketknife. She carried it ‘just in case.’ This was one of those cases, if someone had dumped Gabriel McGraw's body in the trunk of his own vehicle.

  After a frustrating minute of jimmying, she managed to pop the lock. As much as she didn't want to see what was in the trunk, she knew she had to look. But the moment she started to lift the massive lid, it was yanked down with surprising force. From inside.

  "No!"

  "Gabriel?"

  "Don't open the trunk."

  His voice sounded strained by alarm, and all her warning bells and whistles went off.

  "Gabriel, are you all right?"

  "I won't be if you pull up this lid."

  "Are you hurt?"

  "I'll be dead if you don't close the trunk. Now!” Then quickly, breathlessly, he urged, “Do it, Rae. Trust me like I'm trusting you to do what I tell you. I'll explain later. Please."

  There was just enough raw anxiety in that last word. She slammed the trunk lid down, but it was a long minute before she could walk away.

  What the hell was a wounded cop doing hiding out in the trunk of his car?

  She could wonder, but she wouldn't act against his wishes.

  Gabriel McGraw had some serious explaining to do, and she had the feeling that she wasn't going to like it in the least.

  And that feeling just got bigger. Because after she'd showered and was preparing to draw the blinds in her bedroom to get some much-needed sleep, she glanced down onto the street in time to see a woman slip behind the wheel of the big Mercury and drive away.

  That woman was Naomi Bright.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  Trust me. I'll explain everything.

  Yeah, right.

  After an hour of restless tossing, Rae gave up on the idea of sleep. Lying on her back in the artificially darkened room, she stared at the ceiling and tried to make sense of things.

  Gabriel McGraw was in collusion with the woman in Kaz Zanlos's office. Had he been tipping her enemy off right from the start? Had he attached himself to her with his offer of help just to see how close she managed to get before they pulled the rug out from under her?

  She was very close, dangling above the open maw of her own certain death on a literal limb. There would be no help for her should that branch break. Palmer had made that crystal clear. She'd
abandoned official sanctions the moment she acted on her own without going through proper channels with the D.C. police. Whom could she trust? Someone was in league with Zanlos. Was it Gabriel? And what did she really know about the mysterious Marchand LaValois and his shadow ops organization? She'd burnt her bridges with Bette Grover by speaking out prematurely. So who did that leave her to turn to?

  That left Nick Flynn.

  And that left her with nothing at all.

  She'd needed to trust Gabriel. The sting of his betrayal carried a near-fatal venom. She'd needed him for a backup, for a safety net, for a guide to keep her from going too far off course. She'd needed to trust Gabriel ... but she longed to trust Nick.

  She'd opened her heart and soul to a stingy few: her parents long ago and to the Grovers—and see where that had left them. Their losses cut away the tendrils of trust reaching out for a hopeful connection. Without them, she was alone. There had been no relationships, no loves, either minor or earth-shattering, no close friendships in the interim. The tragedy of her past taught her to keep others at bay. It taught her that love and dependence didn't hold the storybook promise of happily-ever-after. Love meant vulnerability. Dependence led to weakness and poor judgment. Both things were better kept at arm's length. And that had been her credo. She hadn't let others get close, discouraging those who would try with the cut of her defensive indifference that was so well-pretended, they thought she really preferred to be left alone.

  But though a solitary existence guaranteed safety from hurt, it was sorely lacking in the companionship department.

  She'd enjoyed Gabriel's banter. Something good might have developed from their friendship, until worms of suspicion had wriggled in to contaminate that prospect. Now he was to be watched and guarded against, like a potential enemy.

  And that left Nick.

  Her need for Nick Flynn went far beyond the want of friendship. The feelings she held for him stirred with the promise of life and expectancy, two things missing from her day-to-day pattern. He excited her. He scared her because of it. She had never intended to want a man—to want his company, his attention, his touch—his love. She wanted Nick Flynn so badly, she ached inside, for all the right reasons that were somehow still all wrong.

  He was a good man with bad connections.

  He was a great lover with a zero percent in the commitment department.

  He made her bubble up with hope of what might be while well knowing it could never happen.

  There was no future with Nick because everything she was actively doing to bring down Zanlos would topple him as well.

  Unless he chose to sever the association now before the damage was done. Or was it too late already? Nick had made his choices. Whether he agreed with Zanlos's policies or not, he was still in his employment. That implied a complicity strong enough to damn him and destroy his career. And any hope of them ever being together.

  No, it was best she put thoughts and dreams of Nick Flynn aside as unrequited. Happily-ever-after wasn't a page to be written in her life story. She was alone with her hard lessons in life to guide her and only her own instincts to trust.

  But could she trust them?

  Closing her eyes, she could see the apparitions that haunted her at twilight. Her father, her mother, Ginny and Thomas Grover. All dead through tragedy. All whispering to her from beyond the grave.

  Of course, she hadn't really seen them. That was impossible. She knew that. She knew that. She believed that because she had to. The alternative was insanity. Had Bette Grover's accusations pushed her beyond that line? That same line her father had crossed, where reality no longer had the same appeal as his fantasy world of alcohol and paranoia?

  Logic gave only three solutions to what she'd seen the night before: they were stress-induced figments of a guilt-ridden imagination, she was crazy ... or she was in very serious trouble.

  * * * *

  Going to work had lost its appeal since his eyes had been opened to the truth about Meeker, Murray & Zanlos.

  Rubbing those tired eyes, Nick let the elevator carry him upward as his mood sank proportionately lower. He'd been up most of the night pouring over the documents Naomi had smuggled to him. Documents so damning he could no longer hide from the truth. He was up to his eyebrows in trouble—illegal and dangerous trouble. By the time he'd fallen into an exhausted sleep on his sofa with all the facts spread out on his coffee table before him, he knew what he had to do. He had to get the hell out of Dodge before the law came gunning for him.

  And he fully intended to take Rae with him.

  He hadn't gotten very far on that plan yet. Not beyond the notion of bursting into the Noir to carry her out over his shoulder. That had a basic, caveman quality about it that appealed to him. But would Rae see it more as a kidnap than as a rescue?

  What if she didn't want to be rescued? That was his biggest worry. What if even after he laid out the facts as he'd discovered them, she didn't want to leave? He couldn't force her to choose an uncertain future with him over the seductive allure of Anna Murray's world of dazzling clothes, exhilarating political circles and cash in hand. Lots and lots of cash. Would she care where it came from if she cared so little about how it was earned? He hated himself for thinking that. He was no angel and had no right to cast judgment upon what she did to earn a living. But the fact remained, he wanted her to care. If he was going to toss everything aside to take a stab at decency, he wanted to take that step with her at his side. They could walk away from their pasts and start over fresh like the D.C. streets each morning, scrubbed down and free of grime and litter. That's what he wanted. But could he make her want it, too?

  The elevator door slid soundlessly open upon the world he'd once craved like an addiction. And like a recovering addict, the sight of it still gave him the yearnings and the shakes. Power. The scent and sight of it exuded from all he observed. How he'd wanted it. Still desired it. But not at the cost attached.

  Naomi Bright sat at her desk staring listlessly at the colorful aquarium fish swimming across her monitor's screen saver. Even as self-absorbed as he was in his own predicament, Nick noticed her unusual demeanor. She was like a champagne gone flat.

  "Good morning, Naomi."

  Her gaze lifted slowly, and only after she'd stared at him for a long moment did recognition spark then just as quickly extinguish. A dull opaqueness shuttered her gaze.

  "Good morning, Mr. Flynn.” Her tone was as lifeless as her demeanor.

  "Naomi, are you all right? You don't seem yourself this morning."

  Her hand rose unconsciously to clutch at the collar of her blouse. The movement drew his attention to the flesh-colored bandage that stood out against the unnatural pallor of her throat.

  "I'm fine, Mr. Flynn. Just a touch of a bug, I guess, so don't get too close."

  She tried to smile, and that made her appearance all the more artificial. Nick's alarm mounted.

  "Maybe you should go home or to a doctor. You don't look well."

  Objection infused a brief animation, but it quickly faded away. “I can't do that, Mr. Flynn. Not today."

  "Why not today?” He glanced at Kaz's closed door. “Is something going on?"

  "You haven't heard."

  The back of his neck prickled. “Heard what?"

  "About Mrs. Grover. She was in a car accident last night. She's in critical condition."

  Nick's first thought was of Rae. How was she going to handle this latest tragedy? Then his mind moved inevitably, awfully to the connotations of what he'd just heard.

  Bette Grover was in the hospital.

  And Kaz Zanlos had power of attorney.

  Coincidence? Not a chance in fiery hell.

  "Naomi, I need a favor."

  Her glassy eyes never blinked.

  "I need you to find me an address for Rae Borden."

  Naomi's well-manicured hands tapped over her keyboard. Nick watched them and wondered how difficult it could be to learn to type with proficiency. After finding
the right contact file, Naomi jotted the address down on one of her pastel Post-It notes.

  "I'll be back later this afternoon if anyone asks."

  As Nick started to turn, Naomi's lackluster response stopped him.

  "He's already asked. He wants to see you right away."

  Nick glanced at the door again. There was no comparison between what Kaz Zanlos wanted and what Rae Borden might need when it came to his time and attention.

  "He'll have to wait until I get back."

  "Mr. Flynn, he's asked for the Grover files. What do I tell him?” Only a minimal distress touched that monumental question.

  "Tell him I asked you for them. Tell him I took them home with me to do the research he asked me to do. That's the truth, isn't it? Don't try to lie, Naomi. I don't want you to get into any trouble."

  Too late. That was what was wrong with Naomi Bright. She was already in trouble, and consequence had sucked the effervescence from her.

  He put his hand over the back of one of hers to give a supportive squeeze.

  How cold she was!

  "Naomi, I'll take care of things when I get back. Tell him I went to get the files. You were just doing what your were told to do. I'll make things right for you."

  She stared up at him, never blinking. “All right, Mr. Flynn."

  As disturbed as he was by her odd behavior, he couldn't spend any more time on it now.

  "I'll be back, and I'll take care of everything."

  She just stared. The eyes of a condemned soul.

  * * * *

  The last person Rae expected to see after shuffling like a zombie to answer her bell was Nick Flynn. She pulled the overlap of her robe together as if that would contain the leaping of her heart.

  "Nick? What are you doing here?"

  Something in his face, some sympathetic softening, alerted her to bad news.

  "What is it?"

  "There's been an accident. Bette Grover is in the hospital. Get dressed. I'll take you."

  What followed was a blur. She got dressed but didn't remember what she put on. She took a moment for some rudimentary grooming, then was out the door with Nick's stabilizing hand at her elbow. He didn't speak beyond telling her what little he knew. A car accident. Critical condition. She sat stiffly on the passenger side of his rental car, taking small, shallow breaths because if she tried to breathe deeply, she feared it would become a sob.