Dead Ringer (16 page)

She stored that tidbit away. Her mother liked daisies. Somehow that fit; they were such simple, innocent flowers.

"They're very happy," she murmured. "Like sunshine."

"She said they stood for purity and loyal love." He gazed out the window, lost in thought.

Purity and loyal love-not exactly her specialty.

"Is the rest of the ranch this spectacular?"

Victor turned and smiled. "See for yourself." He gestured her into the corridor again, then led her through a maze of stone and log hallways to a series of equally astonishing spaces. Lounges, dens, a library. His office was another paean to the hunter's art, with animal heads hanging over the room. Distasteful as it was, she noted the room's location; it was one of her prime search targets. Bug one in here.

From the office, they went to the dining room. Vaulted to the ceiling and decorated in mountain colors of granite and deep green, its centerpiece was a huge oval table carved out of what looked like a single tree, with raw, beveled edges that showed a web of tree rings.

"This is wonderful," she told Victor, and found herself speaking the truth. "Do you use it every day?"

"Yes. You can see why." He gazed around the spacious room appreciatively. "I'm glad you like it."

Great. Bug two here.

"And now," Victor said, ushering her toward the doorway, "perhaps you would like to refresh yourself before dinner? Let me show you to your room."

She cut Victor a sideways glance. He seemed pleased with himself. The ranch had impressed her and he liked impressing her. It looked like the wide-eyed routine had worked, but how much longer could she keep it up?

She tightened her jaw. As long as she had to. Until she found what she'd come for.

And what about the other-her mother and God, her aunt?
Marian.
When would she meet Marian? A ripple of yearning caterpillared over Angelina's heart, coupled with an equally strong wave of apprehension. What if Marian took one look and recognized her as family? Worse, what if she didn't?

Meanwhile, Victor was leading her into the stone-lined hallway. "I took the liberty of inviting a few friends this evening. I hope you don't mind."

She looked suitably alarmed, not only as the self-effacing woman she was trying to be, but as herself. Hard enough to pretend in front of one person. Several would be even more difficult. And the more people underfoot, the harder to escape and begin the search she'd been sent to undertake.

At her expression, he smiled indulgently. "Nothing to worry about. Just a few neighbors. A small dinner party. Wear the black dress you wore to the Governor's Ball."

She sent him a look of dismay, as though disappointing him were the worst thing she could do. "Oh, but I didn't bring it. I'm sorry, Victor. I thought this was going to be casual."

For a quick moment, a frown crossed his face, and she couldn't help tensing. Then he smiled again and shook his head as if shaking off his irritation at her. "Never mind, darling. I'll find you something appropriate."

I'm sure you will, dear

But she was oddly relieved at how easily he'd capitulated.

He led her up a spiraled staircase cut out of the same honey wood as the rest of the house, then accompanied her down a passage lined with a rustic railing overlooking the lower floor. Turning a corner, he opened a door and escorted her inside.

"The family rooms are in this wing," he said. "Mine is just down the hall."

Apprehension rose at the disturbing thought of his bedroom's proximity and she glanced around, wondering how much longer he'd stay. The room was inviting if you liked quaint, with a stone fireplace for added mountain charm. A bent willow rocker matched the bed, which was covered with a colorful quilt. Someone had left a vase of flowers on the dresser-daisies, lilies of the valley, and blue cornflowers. Over it all hung a faint scent, sharp and spicy-not pine exactly, but something fresh and woodsy.

"It's charming," she told him, hoping her approval would send him on his way. "And smells divine."

He smiled and kissed her hand. "I'm glad you like it. My wife used to read in here." A shadow crossed his face before quickly disappearing, but a lump of pleasure struck Angelina.
Mother's room.

"Rest," Victor ordered sternly. "Rest and restore. A woman's essence is fragile and needs constant replenishment. Make sure you get plenty of Eden's Gate water." He pointed to the blue bottle and glass resting on the bedside table. "I'll see you tonight. Refreshments begin at seven." And he whirled out.

A woman's essence?

She'd met some crazy men in her time, but no one who cared about her essence, whatever the hell that was. Most were too busy with her more ... physical attributes.

As Victor had predicted, her bags had been unpacked and stowed, her clothes folded neatly in drawers. She pulled one open to find white bras, pink panties, and robin's egg-blue nightgowns staring back at her like eggs in an Easter basket. She grimaced at the nun's collection and wished fleetingly for her red silk peignoir. But her most provocative things were stored back in Helena, somewhere in the offices of Treadwell Insurance. She picked up a white, lacy bra and wondered who had folded it and placed it neatly in the drawer. It made her hair stand up to think of a stranger touching her things.

Relieved to be alone, she eased into the rocker and glanced around. The mountain decor was homey, peaceful. A far cry from the spangles and bright lights of Angelina's other life. Once she could have imagined herself in a room like this. Now...

She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to absorb her mother's presence.
Are you here, Mother?

She rocked gently, waiting for a reply, but none came.

Would her mother have sanctioned Angelina's assignment? Would she have wanted her husband trapped, caught, and punished?

Not likely, party girl

Abruptly she stood, not wanting to think about her mother's approval. Instead, she checked her watch, calculating how much longer she should stay put before venturing back downstairs to place her listening devices. It was five now. She had two hours before Victor's dinner party began. Time enough to do a little exploring and still make it back to change.

She peeked out the door. The log beams in the hall looked back, round and silent. Heart thudding, she stepped out, praying she'd be able to retrace her way back to Victor's office.

Without getting caught.

CHAPTER
9

Finn stepped into the abandoned mine and shrugged off his heavy backpack, rolling his shoulders in relief. The thing weighed a ton. It should, packed as it was with blankets, sleeping bag, hiking gear, communications equipment, spare battery packs, weapons, and ammo.

Leaning the pack against the mine entrance, he opened it and riffled around for the compact monitor that registered Angelina's position. The signal flashed reassuringly, but did little to relieve the uneasiness he'd felt all day. Three hours ago, a helicopter had dropped him on the side of Devil's Teeth and it was all he could do to concentrate on his footing during the climb down.

Of course Angelina was all right. Women like her always landed on their feet.

Swallowing apprehension, he wiped sweat off his forehead and peered into the mine's blind-dark blackness. The interior felt cool and welcoming after the heat of the climb down, but he could barely see a few feet ahead.

Tugging the flashlight off his utility belt, he clicked it on, and a bright halogen glow filled the space. He passed the light over earthwork and wooden supports, some of which looked none too sturdy. No footprints marred the ancient dirt floor. No sign of habitation or visitation. It looked like the place had been forgotten by time. And he hoped, Victor Borian.

As he trudged farther in, Finn discovered fallen beams blocking some of the deeper recesses, but he was able to penetrate far enough to map out a fork in the passageway. To the right, a busy warren of channels had been hewed into the rock. To the left, a narrow track led to a bolt-hole and secondary supply route, complete with an ancient ladder cut into the stone. He threw some light on the top end of the ladder and peered up at what looked like a warped trap door, dusty with cobwebs. He made a note of it in case of emergency, but retraced his steps; the path here was too narrow to set up camp. Instead, he chose an open area about fifteen yards from the entrance that looked as stable as any he'd seen.

His pack held a battery-powered fluorescent lantern, which he switched on, settling in under its clear, white light. He unpacked the satellite phone, stowed his weapons and ammunition where he could get at them quickly, and unrolled the sleeping bag. As he worked he saw Angelina's face in every crevice, her smile in every shadow. What was she doing? If Borian hurt her... Finn clamped down on the thought before it set off a small panic.

Ease up. She'll be fine. She's smart. She can do this.

That litany had played in his head all day, but barely disturbed the swirl of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Growling in frustration, Finn checked his watch. Seven. Another five long hours until their rendezvous.

A picture of her rose in his head, her luscious lips tilted in that tempting smile, her mossy eyes challenging, egging him on. He smiled. Man, she was a handful.

But gutsy. It took nerve to do what she was doing.

Not for the first time, he wished she'd taken the chance he'd given her and backed out. If anything happened to her, anything at all...

A squeeze of guilt tightened his chest. He'd almost lost a partner once. He didn't want to go through that again.

Those goddamn bugs better work. They were his only link to her. The transmitters and the pin. He gazed at the monitor again, the green blip steady in the darkness.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since early that morning. Digging into his pack, he found some of his food stores and tore open a power bar. The thing tasted like old rubber, but he had a feeling nothing was going to taste right until Angelina showed up.

* * *

Angelina darted down the night-lit hallway toward Victor Borian's reception. She caught a reflection of herself in a window and paused for a moment. Were her eyes too bright? She put a hand on her heart, hoping it would somehow force her breathing back to its normal pace.

The dress she wore had been delivered to her room by a maid with a note from Victor.
For tonight.

"It was Mrs. Borian's," the maid had explained.

When Angelina had slipped into the dress, an eerie feeling crept through her. How many times had her mother worn this? Had she been happy when she put it on?

Now, Angelina stared at herself in the window, remembering how the midnight-blue satin made her face translucent, as it must have done to her mother's. The high neckline and bouffant skirt covered most of the skin Angelina would normally have exposed and transformed her into a pale, virtuous version of herself, as though the nice girl she might have been was just waiting for a chance to get out.

Liar. Fraud.

A
boom of laughter sent panic careening through her. She turned her head in the direction of the party noise, dreading the evening, but knowing she'd better hurry before Victor sent his troops out looking for her.

One last time, she fingered Finn's circle of pearls, its luster creamy white against the rich, dark blue satin. He was nearby, huddled in the recesses of an abandoned mine, but close. All she had to do was take off the pin and he'd come for her. Suddenly the piece of jewelry felt like a lifeline, a direct connection to the cool, mocking gaze she never thought she'd miss, and all at once did.

Would he be pleased at her work today? She'd planted all the bugs, installed the watchdog filter on the phone in Victor's office. And she hadn't been caught. Not yet at least.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Exhale, party girl. Time to shine.

Heading toward the sound of voices, she found the get-together spilling over the hallways and living area near the front of the house. She scanned the crowd, looking for Victor. A few neighbors? There must be fifty people mingling amid small, linen-covered tables and twinkling lights. Women wore cocktail dresses, bright with summer colors, turquoise, and hot pink. Men wore sports coats without ties. They were noisy in a subdued way, too polite to have a really good time.