Chapter Eleven
Jerking away from Wyatt and back into the passenger seat, Carrie looked wildly around for the source of the intrusion into the private world they’d wrapped around themselves and saw a Cadillac in the street behind them. As she turned to stare, the woman driver honked again.
Wyatt swore under his breath, turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway, easing around the luxury car.
An older woman with dyed blond hair was staring daggers at them. Rolling down her window, she stuck her head out and called, “How dare you use my driveway for a dalliance with the maid!”
“The maid?”
Oh, right. She was still wearing the borrowed uniform.
Carrie felt her cheeks flame and ducked her head, trying to hide her face.
Wyatt slammed the gearshift into Drive and pulled around the circular driveway, his mouth set in a grim line.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Not your fault,” he answered as he sped away. “That wasn’t going much further anyway. The first time I make love with you, it’s not going to be in the front seat of a car in someone’s driveway.”
She digested that comment. “Did I hear you right?”
He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
“But it’s what you were thinking.”
“Forget it.”
“I don’t think so.”
She wasn’t going to forget something like that, because it was too good a window into his state of mind.
Wyatt wanted to make love to her. And he would. It was just a question of when.
She could continue the very interesting conversation, but she didn’t think that would get her anywhere. Instead, she filed it away for future reference. Very near future.
Changing the subject, she asked, “What did I miss upstairs after I left?”
“Just my daring escape.”
She felt a shiver go through her. He might joke about it, but it had been a very risky way to get out of the apartment.
“I made it,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
“Thank God. But now what are we going to do?” she asked.
“Try another approach.” He turned his head toward her for a moment. “Would you have called Patrick Harrison if I hadn’t gotten back to the car?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you were thinking about it.”
“What should I have done if you hadn’t come back?”
She saw him tighten his hands on the wheel, then deliberately relax them. “Withdraw a bunch of money from your bank account. Disappear.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“You’re smart. You’d learn,” he said, but she wondered if he really believed it.
“You can’t disappear forever.”
“Some people do. Like that woman who was in the Weather Underground who made a new life for herself. Or that mob boss who vanished for a decade.”
“Then you read years later that they were captured.”
“Or not. There are plenty you
don’t
read about.”
“Maybe you’d better give me some tips. You know, in case I actually need to do it.”
“Go to a rural graveyard, find a child born the same year you were and died when she was a few years old. Take her identity. Then move to another location where nobody would know about her. After that, say you lost your Social Security card and need a new one.”
She shuddered. “That’s awful.”
“It works.” He cleared his throat. “Back to Patrick. I don’t trust him.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust anybody. And because he’s close to this situation.”
“That doesn’t make him guilty. And I know he wouldn’t do anything to harm me.”
“Are you sure?”
She gave him a sharp look. “As sure as I can be of anyone. I told you—we grew up together.”
“And you always got along?”
“Didn’t we already talk about this?”
“I’m trying to get as much information as I can. I want to go back and question your father’s maid—and see what I can get off his computer. And I’m not sure I want Patrick around when we do it.” He checked the rearview mirror. “Give me some more background on him.”
She thought back over the years that they’d been together. “There was a period when he was a teenager when he...resented my father, and he did some things that you could consider rebellious. But I did, too.”
“Like what?”
“Him or me?”
“Both of you.”
“There was a boy in school that I liked. I sneaked off to see him and had a girlfriend cover for me.”
“That’s it?”
“Do I have to tell you everything?”
“No.” He glanced over at her. “What about Patrick?”
“Maybe the worst thing he did was borrow one of my dad’s cars—and drive it up on a curb. He whacked up the axle, and then he asked me to help him get it fixed without my dad finding out.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Nice of you.”
“He’d done things for me.”
“Like what?”
She sighed. “Once when I was in sixth grade, I didn’t want to go to school. I got him to help me put a thermometer on a lightbulb, then cool it down again so it looked like I had a temperature of a hundred and one.”
He laughed. “You needed Patrick to help you do that?”
“Well, he caught me in the act, and then he said he wouldn’t tell my dad.” She swung her head toward him. “Your turn. What did you do bad?”
“So you can hold it over my head?”
“I don’t want to be the only one confessing.”
He thought for a moment. “There was a kid in my neighborhood who organized a bunch of us to steal car radar detectors and GPSes.”
“Did you get caught?”
“I felt bad about it and quit.”
She knew they were both using the conversation to keep their minds off their current problems.
“And what else? Did you seduce lots of girls when you were a teenager?”
“Actually, an older girl seduced me. Since you opened up the subject, who was your first? Not Patrick, I hope.”
“I told you, I didn’t think of Patrick that way. It was a guy in college,” she said in a clipped tone.
“A one-night stand?”
“No. We had a relationship. Then he decided it wasn’t working out.”
She hoped from the way she’d said it that he’d take the hint and stop the interrogation. “How did we get into this?” she muttered.
“We were trying to decide if we could trust Patrick. You think that if we went back to your house, he wouldn’t tell the terrorists you were there?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“
You
may be certain of that.
I’m
not taking a chance with your life. I want to talk to the maid, and I don’t trust him to know where you’re going to be.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“Get him out of the house. I want you to call him and set up a meeting.”
“Where?”
He looked around. “We’re near the Macomb Street playground. That’s probably as good a place as any. We can scope it out first to make sure it sounds like a legitimate location for a meeting.”
They drove down Connecticut Avenue, then turned onto Macomb Street. The tree-shaded playground was empty, and Wyatt found a nearby parking spot.
“Be right back,” he said, getting out to look around the area.
When he returned, he said, “Tell him that you’re alone and that you’ll meet him in an hour at the closest picnic table to the gate.” He gave her a direct look. “Can you say that without making him think that you have no intention of showing up?”
“Yes,” she snapped.
“And see if you can make sure Inez is there.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
When he handed her the cell phone, she dialed her home number.
Patrick answered immediately.
“Carrie?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?” He sounded on edge.
“I’m in D.C.”
“At your apartment in Columbia Heights?”
“No.”
“You should come home.”
“You know I can’t. It’s not safe for me to go there. The terrorists could be watching the place, but you can meet me.”
“Where?”
“I’m at the Macomb Street playground.”
“A playground?”
“It seemed like a place nobody would look for me.”
“Is Hawk with you?”
She glanced at Wyatt. “I’m alone.”
“Why?”
She kept her voice even. “We decided that it would be better to separate for a while.”
“I thought he was sticking to you like glue.”
“I’ll tell you about it when we meet.”
“When?”
“I can’t stay around the park—or anywhere else—too long. I’ll leave and come back in about an hour. Can you get here then?”
“Where is it?”
She gave him the directions, then stumbled a bit before she asked, “Uh...who will be in charge at home, in case the kidnappers call?” As she said the last part, she felt her chest tighten. She’d been keeping her mind off of what might be happening to her father, but she’d just brought it front and center.
“Inez will be here,” Patrick answered.
Carrie glanced at Wyatt and knew he’d heard.
“There’s been no word about Dad?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice even.
“No. I’m sorry. Carrie...”
Wyatt squeezed her arm. When she turned to him with a questioning gaze, he pointed to his watch.
“Get here in an hour,” she said to Patrick.
She hung up before he could say anything else, then glanced at Wyatt. “Was that okay?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want him to get a fix on this phone.”
She nodded.
He started the engine. “The sooner we get to your house, the better. When he realizes you’re not at the park, he’ll come tearing home. We don’t want to be there when he does.”
* * *
P
ATRICK
H
ARRISON
PUT
down the receiver, fighting to control the trembling of his body.
Carrie had vanished from the face of the earth, and he’d been terrified that she wouldn’t get in touch with him. He’d told himself he knew her very well. He’d come to realize that she wasn’t as reliable as he’d like.
But she had finally called, and his spirits lifted. Things were definitely looking up.
He paced back and forth, debating what to do. It looked as though his best bet was to simply meet—and take it from there. He’d have liked to get her away from the park before Wyatt Hawk came back, but he realized that the chances of keeping her out of the clutches of her bodyguard were slim.
He turned around to find the housekeeper, Inez, watching him.
“Is there any news?” she asked.
“No. I’m going out.”
“Where?”
“It’s better if I don’t tell you,” he said carefully.
“All right,” she answered in the same tone, her gaze fixed on him.
He’d never been entirely comfortable with the woman, because he’d never been sure of her loyalties or her motives. Now he wanted to tell her to clear out, but somebody had to be at the house. He could feel her gaze on him as he exited the room and headed for the garage, where he’d parked the Lexus sedan Douglas Mitchell had bought him. It wasn’t the car he would have chosen for himself. But that was the way the old man operated. He thought he knew best, and he didn’t care what anyone else thought. Which might have been the reason he’d gotten himself kidnapped.
* * *
C
ARRIE
TRIED
TO
calm the beating of her heart as Wyatt headed up Connecticut Avenue toward Chevy Chase Circle.
When he pulled into a gas station she looked at him questioningly.
“What are we doing?”
“Do you want to go out there in a maid’s uniform?”
She’d forgotten what she was wearing and glanced down at herself. “Right.”
“You can change in the ladies’ room.”
He popped the trunk, and she opened her suitcase, taking out jeans and a T-shirt. When she came back out, she stuffed the uniform into the suitcase and climbed into the car again.
As they headed for Potomac, Maryland, she felt her nerves jangling. She hadn’t been home since she’d made a quick trip to the family estate after the terrorist incident. Wyatt hadn’t wanted her to go back to her condo, so she’d gathered up some clothing from her old room and stuffed it into a suitcase, under Wyatt’s watchful eyes. Back then he’d made her uncomfortable. Now she thought she understood him better. He was opening up in ways she never expected. More than opening up. That unguarded comment about making love to her had floored her. She was going to have to make sure he didn’t forget about it. Actually, thinking about how to get him into bed was a lot more pleasant than thinking about the coming meeting with Inez. Carrie had always thought she and the housekeeper got along, but had she been wrong about the relationship all along? She didn’t know whom to trust anymore.
“What do you know about Inez?” he asked as they drove.
“She’s from Nicaragua. She came here on a work visa fifteen years ago, and my father got it extended so that she’s a permanent resident.”
“She’s been with you fifteen years?”
“Yes.”
“Is she married?”
“I never heard that she was.”
“She left a husband and a son back in Nicaragua.”
Carrie’s head whipped toward him. “You know that how?”
“I had her checked out.”
“Then why were you asking me what I knew about her?”
“To see if she’d told you the whole story. Do you think your father knows about the husband and child?”
“I...don’t know. He never talked to me about it,” she added, wondering if he’d kept the information to himself. Or if maybe he’d used it to keep Inez in line.
She knew he was ruthless, and using private information wouldn’t bother him.
“Maybe she didn’t abandon them,” she said, defending Inez. “Maybe she sent money home to them.”
“I found no record of that.”
Carrie glared at him. “You were thorough.”
“That’s my job. Would she take drastic measures if she thought your father had dug into her past and was going to send her home?”
“You mean like cook up a terrorist plot? Then have him kidnapped? That sounds far-fetched. Where would she get the contacts?”
“It sounded far-fetched that a Federal prosecutor would take money to tell someone when you had a secret meeting downtown. But it looks like that’s what happened. What if someone forced Inez to work with them?”