“I met him because he was involved in Carrie’s case,” Wyatt said. “I’m sorry we made up a story, but we needed a reason to walk into your home, because we need to ask you some questions.”
“What do you know about my husband’s death?”
“When we arrived at the house he was lying on the floor, bleeding,” Wyatt answered. “There was nothing we could do for him.”
Rita made a moaning sound. “If I’d been there...”
“They probably would have killed you, too,” Wyatt said.
Carrie watched a shudder go through the woman.
To Carrie’s relief, she lowered the gun. But she didn’t put it down. “Tell me what you found.”
“The house had been searched by someone who didn’t care about making a mess. Aaron was in his office. He was struggling to give us information—before it was too late. He gave me the combination to his safe.”
Mrs. Madison’s eyes widened. “His safe.”
“Did you know what was in it?”
“Aaron never gave me the combination. What did you find?”
“For one thing—money. Which is still there.”
“And a book with notations that we can’t decipher.” Wyatt kept his gaze on the woman’s face. “I want to show you what we found. I’m going to reach slowly into my pocket so you can see exactly what I’m doing. I’m not armed. Don’t shoot me.”
Moving very slowly as promised, he slid his hand into the pocket of his sports coat and pulled out the little book he’d taken from the safe. Carrie hadn’t even known that he’d brought it along.
“Can you tell us what it is?” he asked.
Chapter Nine
Rita reached out and took the book from Wyatt, looking as if she was testing its weight in her hand.
“Have you ever seen this before?” Wyatt asked.
“I don’t think so.” She riffled through the pages, looking at the sets of numbers.
She shook her head. “This appears to be something Aaron hid from me.”
“Why?”
“Maybe he was ashamed of what it represented.”
“Because?” Wyatt pressed.
Carrie’s breathing stilled as she waited to hear more.
“I think these are notations of his gambling wins and losses,” Rita said.
“Gambling?” Wyatt asked, clearly surprised by the unexpected answer.
As Rita put the gun back into the drawer, her expression turned sad. “I didn’t know it when we married, but he was heavily addicted. At first he won, and I wondered where he got the extra cash, since he couldn’t be making that much money as a junior prosecutor. We had a confrontation, and he bragged about how good he was at picking horses and playing blackjack. Then his luck changed. He never talked about it, but I knew from the way he was acting.
“I suspected he owed a lot of money. I was so frightened about what would happen if he couldn’t pay. I begged him to get help, but he wouldn’t do it. That’s why I left him.”
Carrie thought about the woman’s family background. “Couldn’t your parents cover his debts?”
“I’d asked them to bail him out a few years ago. They’d made it clear that they wouldn’t do it again.”
Carrie nodded.
“So he might have done something for money—something that he wouldn’t have considered under other circumstances?” Wyatt pressed.
She gave him a pleading look. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “Once he sold a piece of jewelry that had been in my family for generations. After that, I put my valuable pieces in a safe-deposit box—one where he didn’t have the key.”
Carrie nodded sympathetically.
“It was like he was on drugs,” Rita went on, speaking more to herself than to them. “A sickness he couldn’t free himself from. I tried to help, but I couldn’t reach him. Not on that.”
Carrie put a hand on her arm. “We’re both sorry to be pressing you, and I’m sorry that we made up a story about Wyatt’s knowing your husband, but we’re in a terrible situation. In the last few days, there have been two attempts on our lives. We’re trying to figure out who’s behind the attacks. I mean, besides the obvious answer of the terrorists.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through, and I’m sorry I pulled a gun on you.”
“It’s understandable,” Wyatt answered, “given that the cops are making it look like we’re suspects. Did they tell you anything they haven’t said in public?”
“No. Just that they wanted to talk to you about...what happened last night.”
Wyatt’s expression turned grim. “I think we’d better leave,” he said. He gave the widow a direct look. “They may be looking at security tapes from the building, and they may ask what we said to each other. I’d appreciate your not telling them we were here. But if you’re forced to, you can say we came here looking for information.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Did you talk to the police about Aaron’s gambling problem?”
She flushed. “No.”
“You might want to tell them.”
“Why?”
“It gives them another motive for his murder—one that doesn’t lead back to us.”
She nodded. “You said there was money in the safe? Could you give me the combination?”
“Yes.” Wyatt gave her the numbers and the directions, which she wrote down on a piece of paper and put in the drawer with the gun.
“Thank you.”
Carrie stepped forward and hugged her. “I’m so sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry that we had to approach you this way.”
“I understand.”
“We’d better go,” Wyatt said. “And again, we’re sorry for the intrusion.”
“Let me go back to the living room and make sure the coast is clear,” Rita said.
When she’d left the room, Carrie looked at Wyatt. “You think Aaron Madison could have told the terrorists where and when I was meeting—for money?”
“It could be. He’d do anything he had to—if the mob was going to come after him for money.”
“The mob?”
“He wasn’t placing bets with the Easter Bunny.”
Before Carrie could reply, Rita hurried back into the room. “There’s a police detective Langley in the living room.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He wants information about Aaron. I hate to tell him about the gambling.”
Carrie clamped her hand on Wyatt’s arm. “What about us? If they find us here, they’ll take us down to the station house.”
“I’m thinking.” He turned to Rita. “Is there another way out of the apartment?”
“There’s a service door in the kitchen, but you have to get back to the living room before you can use it.”
Wyatt looked at Carrie. “You can change clothes with the maid.”
Carrie stared at him. “What?”
“That will get you out of here.”
“What about you?” Carrie asked.
“I’m going to have to use another method.” He turned to Rita. “Ask the maid to step in here.” When she’d gone, he turned to Carrie. “We’ve got to make it look like Rita and the maid weren’t cooperating with us, which will be better for both of them when the cops start asking questions.”
“How?”
“We’re going to force them.”
Mrs. Madison was back with the maid in a few moments. When she stepped into the room, Wyatt pulled out the gun he’d concealed under his jacket.
Rita and the maid, whose name tag said Pamela, gasped.
“My partner needs to wear your uniform. Take it off,” he said to the maid in a harsh voice. “You can wear my partner’s clothing.”
When she stared at him in dumb shock, he growled, “Hurry. We don’t have a lot of time. Or do you want me to take it off of you?”
Pamela began hastily unbuttoning her uniform, while Carrie took off her slacks and jacket. The uniform was a little large on Carrie, but it would have to do.
When the clothing exchange was finished, Wyatt turned to the maid. “Get in the bathroom and stay there. You, too,” he said to Rita. “And keep your mouths shut for the next twenty minutes.”
She looked shocked but did as he’d asked.
When he’d closed the door behind the women, he turned to Carrie.
“Walk down the hall to the kitchen, and leave the apartment through that door. Exit the building through the service entrance,” he said to her. “Meet me at the car.”
She answered with a tight nod.
Wyatt grabbed a chair and tipped it up so that the back held the bathroom door closed. Then he turned back to Carrie.
“You’d better get going.”
Her heart was pounding as she asked, “How long should I wait at the car?”
“No more than ten minutes. If you hear sirens, get the hell out of here.”
“I—”
“Go.”
She gave him a fierce hug, then made herself step away. Everything they did was crumbling into a mess, but she wasn’t going to just turn herself in to that detective in the living room.
Trying to look normal, she walked down the hall. When the police detective’s gaze flicked her way, she forced herself to keep walking, then breathed out a sigh as she stepped into the kitchen. Every moment she expected him to come charging after her, but nobody followed. With a sigh of relief, she stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her. She should have asked where the service entrance was, but she’d been too shocked to think of that detail.
When the elevator arrived, Carrie stepped inside and studied the buttons. There was one for the lower lobby, and she thought that might be the right place. Or maybe she could go out through the garage.
At the lower level, she exited and looked around, remembering that Wyatt had cautioned her to keep her head down. She could see she was definitely in a service area. Upstairs, there had been marble, polished chrome and the smell of air freshener. Down here, there were cinder-block walls, cement floors and the smell of laundry detergent. A sign had various directions on it—pointing to the laundry room, the trash room, the storage room, the garage, and deliveries.
She could get out through the garage or the trash room. Which was better? she wondered as she headed down the hall. Probably she’d encounter fewer people in the trash room.
The sound of voices stopped her, and she stepped around a corner as two women in maid’s uniforms passed. They paid her no attention, and she walked right on past.
Praying the cops hadn’t stationed someone to guard the exit, she stepped inside the trash room. Nothing assaulted her but the smell of ripe garbage.
At the other end of the room was a door that led outside. As she entered a rectangular area at the end of a wide driveway, she let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d feared she wouldn’t get out of the building, but here she was in the open air. Still, she couldn’t let down her guard. Surely there was a camera out here. Forcing herself not to run, she walked up a ramp and found herself in an alley between two apartment buildings.
After hurrying down the narrow cement lane to the street, she paused to get her bearings, then decided that the car must be on the street to the right.
She’d been terrified that she’d be caught before she could get away. Now that she was outside, she found herself praying that Wyatt would show up quickly. If she reached the ten-minute limit, she’d have to decide what to do.
That was the least of her problems, she realized, as she spotted two uniformed officers walking down the street checking the license plates on the cars.
* * *
U
PSTAIRS
, W
YATT
walked to the sliding glass doors that made up most of the bedroom wall.
When he opened the curtains, he found a wide balcony with a couple of expensive patio chairs and a table between them.
He opened the doors and stepped out, looking down at the three-story drop.
Wishing he’d come prepared, he scanned the bedroom and saw nothing immediately useful. With a grimace, he glanced at the bathroom door, then he stripped the spread off the queen-size bed and pulled the top sheet free.
But now what? He had one sheet and three balconies before ground level.
Using his teeth, he started a tear in the fabric, then ripped it in half. He took the two halves outside and tied one to the railing, testing the knot. If he fell, it was going to be a long drop to the ground.
But he had no other options at the moment. The women in the bathroom could start yelling. Or the cop in the living room could come back to find out what was keeping Rita.
When the knot on the sheet held, Wyatt pulled it into a narrow rope. With the second sheet tied around his waist, he stepped off the side of the balcony, using his legs to take some of the pressure off his arms. Still, the bullet wound stung as he descended to the next level down. Glancing at the curtains on the bedroom window, he saw that they were closed and thanked God for small favors.
There was no way to get the first half of the sheet free, so he had to leave it where it was like a signpost announcing his escape route. With a grimace, he tied the second sheet to the current railing and repeated the procedure, climbing over the side and lowering himself down as fast as he could.
A muffled scream made him almost let go of the sheet as he reached the balcony below. Looking toward the window, he saw an elderly woman dressed in a bra and panties standing inside the bedroom staring at him in horror.
“Sorry,” he called out and turned quickly away. He didn’t have another rope, but he was close to the ground. Probably the woman was calling 911, he thought as he climbed over the railing and lowered himself as far as he could before letting go. He landed on the lawn at the side of the building and wavered on his feet.
Thankful that he hadn’t twisted an ankle, he took a moment to straighten his clothes, then headed for the street where he’d left the car, praying he was going to find Carrie waiting.
Chapter Ten
Carrie was nowhere in sight.
Wyatt’s heart started to pound again as he saw instead two cops standing near the car. The car that had an assault rifle hidden in the trunk.
Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that the officers didn’t have X-ray vision.
Were they responding to the woman who had seen him come down the building? Had the detective upstairs come into the bedroom, found the women in the bathroom and called for backup? Or did these guys just happen to be checking the area? If he turned around and headed the other way, he’d seem suspicious. If he kept walking toward them, they might recognize him, but he figured his best option was to keep going.
Trying not to look as though his heart was racing, he passed the car. Once he’d gotten by the cops, he started trying to figure out where Carrie might be. Probably she’d seen the uniforms, too, and walked past. That was, if she hadn’t already been arrested.
He couldn’t stop doubts from chasing themselves around in his mind. He was supposed to be protecting her, and he’d gotten them both in a mess of trouble by going to Rita’s apartment. The way he had two years ago in Greece by sleeping late when he should have been on his toes. That slipup had cost his partner her life.
He shuddered. This wasn’t like that at all. He hadn’t made a mistake because he was too involved with Carrie. He’d wanted information from Rita Madison, he’d taken a calculated risk and he’d learned something they didn’t know before.
And now he had to find Carrie.
Trying to think the way she would, he headed for the shopping center, cursing himself for not giving her one of the untraceable cell phones. But when they’d left on this fact-gathering expedition this morning, he’d assumed they were going to stay together.
He reached the shopping area and started looking in stores.
As he walked past a coffee shop, Carrie came out, still wearing the maid’s uniform, as he’d assumed she would be.
He felt a flood of relief as he saw her and noted his own profound relief mirrored on her face. Their eyes met, and he fought the need to stop and take her in his arms. Instead, he kept on walking, hoping the moment hadn’t called attention to them.
She fell into step behind him as he kept moving down the street toward the main shopping area, hoping he looked as if he was a guy out killing some time—or maybe picking up something for his wife. When he turned into one of the upscale department stores, she followed him.
He paused inside the doorway, looking around as though he was trying to locate a particular department.
Several shoppers passed, and Wyatt pretended that he and Carrie had simply come in at the same time.
When they were alone for a few moments, she spoke. “What are we going to do?”
“Better not to be seen together. You spend about five minutes in the ladies’ room. I’m going back to the car and hope that the cops have moved on. I’ll drive over and pick you up at this exit.”
She looked down at her clothing. “I’m wearing a maid’s uniform.”
“Maybe you’re out shopping on your lunch hour. You can change into something else later.”
A woman with a shopping bag was approaching the exit where they stood, and he stopped talking abruptly.
As though they’d simply bumped into each other casually, Carrie nodded at him and started walking toward one of the clerks at the jewelry counter, where he presumed she was asking for directions to the ladies’ room. He walked toward the shoe department, stopped to look at a couple of oxfords, then exited the store. Turning back the way he’d come, he headed for the car. As he approached, he saw that no one was paying any attention to the vehicle. Was it a trap?
If he’d had an alternate means of transportation, he would have left the car where it was. But he hadn’t even thought he’d need one false identity—let alone more. The alternate driver’s license and credit card had simply been a precaution. Renting another vehicle under the same name wasn’t going to help. And stealing a car was too risky.
After unlocking the car, he climbed in and sat for a moment gripping the wheel before pulling out of the parking space and heading back the way he’d come. When he slowed near the store exit, Carrie came out and looked right and left before walking rapidly toward the vehicle and climbing in. Before she’d had a chance to buckle her seat belt, he drove off, turning down Western Avenue and then into a residential area.
Carrie sat with her head back and her eyes closed, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching over and laying his palm over her clenched hands. She knitted her fingers with his, holding on tight.
“I was scared,” she finally said.
“So was I. When I came back to the car and found you weren’t there.”
“And I was frightened for you. What happened upstairs? How did you get away?”
“I tore up a sheet and used it to climb down from the balcony.”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“I made it.” He laughed. “After I scared the bejesus out of an old lady in her underwear two levels down.”
Despite the gravity of their situation, Carrie laughed, too, and he liked the sound.
Wyatt kept driving, making several turns past upscale houses with well-kept landscaping. As far as he could see, no one was following them, but there was one more thing he had to check. He found a driveway with tall hedges on either side and pulled in.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure nobody put a tracker on the car.”
“Could they do that?”
“It’s not likely, but I need to be certain,” he said, thinking that a lot of things that weren’t likely had happened since he’d taken the job of protecting Carrie Mitchell.
* * *
C
ARRIE
WATCHED
W
YATT
get out of the car. Bending over, he ran his hand under the front bumper and along the sides, moving slowly and repeating the process in back and on the other side.
When he got back in, he looked relieved. “I think we’re okay.”
“Are we?” she asked, not just thinking about the transmitter.
They were sitting in a car screened by tall bushes on each side, making a private little enclave on a residential street. Before he could start the engine again, she shifted out of her seat and reached for him across the console.
Would he resist the embrace? She held her breath, waiting to find out what he would do. To her relief, he leaned into her, sighing as he gathered her closer.
“Lord, Carrie,” he murmured as he ran his hands up and down her back and into her hair.
“I was so worried about you,” she whispered.
“Yeah. Likewise.”
She was so relived he was all right. That she was all right. That they were back together again. And all she could think about was getting close to him, feeling the reassurance of his arms around her again. Craving as much of him as she could have, she hoisted herself over the console, into his lap. Because his legs were long, his seat was far enough from the wheel to make room for her.
She had never been wild and reckless, but she felt that way now. Without giving herself time to change her mind, she straddled his lap so that the hot, needy place between her legs was pressed to the front of his jeans.
He made a strangled sound. Before he could change their positions, she tipped her face up and found his mouth. The moment their lips met, the kiss turned so hot that it could have started a wildfire. The morning’s adventure had driven both of them to the edge of desperation.
What she needed was to close her eyes and focus on the man who held her in his arms instead of everything else that was happening to her.
He sipped from her mouth, then deepened the kiss. She loved the taste of him, the feel of his body, the way he clasped her tightly. She’d been craving this since last night, and the terror of the past few hours had only intensified her emotions.
She forgot where they were, forgot everything except the need to get close to him—as close as two people could get.
His tongue dipped into her mouth, exploring the line of her teeth, then stroking the sensitive tissue on the inside of her lips, sending hot currents curling through her body.
She knew he had tried to keep his distance from her because he thought it was the right thing to do. And she knew now that he had given in to the heat building between them. His hands stroked up and down her ribs, gliding upward to find the sides of her breasts, then inward, across her nipples. At the same time, she felt the erection that had risen behind the fly of his jeans pressing against the part of her that needed him most.
Earlier she’d been wearing slacks, but the maid’s uniform was more convenient. If she took off her panties and unzipped his fly, they could do what they both craved.
Her breath shuddered in and out as he undid the buttons at the front of the dress and slipped two fingers inside, dipping under her bra to stroke her nipple, sending heat shooting downward through her body.
She could do the same thing, she thought, as she unbuttoned the front of his dress shirt enough to ease her hand inside, playing with his crinkled chest hair. She found a flat nipple, feeling it stiffen at her touch. Sliding back a little, she reached for his belt buckle.
Before she could undo it, the sound of a car horn went through her like a shock wave.