Honey (21 page)

“No matter,” Liz said, pulling her back to the present. “How would you feel about bringing your hot doctor over for drinks this Friday? Nothing fancy, just a cheese platter and some two-buck chuck, but I already checked and Peter and Pol can make it. Brian hasn't gotten back to me yet, but Sarah and Cole are coming by with the baby. What do you say?”

“Actually this Friday isn't … good for me—us.” Friday was Drew's Investors' Day and thus the sting operation.

“Oh, that's too bad,” Liz said, sounding disappointed and maybe a little miffed, too. “Another time, then. I'll leave it to you to let me know when you're free.” She made as if to end the call.

Heart pounding, Honey shocked herself by saying, “Liz—wait!”

“What is it?”

Honey hesitated, weighing her words. Though she'd resisted the temptation to tell Marc anything about the FBI's plans for her, she needed to confide in someone. If things went poorly, if something happened to her at Drew's hands, she didn't want her friends, and most of all Marc, left thinking she was a brainless bimbo who'd betrayed them all by going back to her abuser.

And she could use, if not advice, certainly a sounding board. Liz was one of the smartest and most grounded people Honey knew. Ever since joining FATE, she'd looked up to Liz not only as a mentor but also as the big sister she'd always wanted. The courage with which Liz had faced cancer was a testimony to her inner strength. Above all, she could trust Liz to give her straight talk—even if the answers weren't always ones Honey wanted to hear.

“That promise I made last Monday night, I'm afraid I'm going to have to break it.”

Liz paused and Honey could all but hear the wheels turning as she thought back to their last FATE session. “Honey, why? He's a violent sadist. He's hurt you before. There's no telling how he might retaliate this time, especially since you've rejected him. What could you possibly have to gain by getting back with him? Why would you even consider coming within ten feet of a guy like that?”

How about because I look dreadful in orange?
“I … ” Honey stopped herself from saying more. What if the FBI had tapped her phone? To her best recollection, the cell hadn't left her hands or her sight, not even during her FBI interview. Still, if she was wrong, she risked dragging Liz into her mess, and above all Liz had her son to consider.

“Honey, for God's sake, say something—anything.”

“I … Is there any chance I could come over for a few minutes?'

 

“There are certain shades of limelight that can wreck a girl's complexion.”—Audrey Hepburn,
Breakfast at Tiffany's

 

The message Marc received from Liz, one of Honey's FATE friends, had come from out of the blue. When she asked to speak to him in person rather than over the phone, he knew something serious must be up. Pulling a twelve-hour shift as he was, the hospital cafeteria was the best he could manage, given the short notice. She agreed to meet him there on his morning break.

Sighting a built brunette wearing a visitor's badge and eying the diners, Marc pushed his plastic chair back from the cafeteria table and stood. “Liz?”

She nodded, looking relieved. “It's so nice to finally meet you. Honey's told us quite a lot about you.”

Taming his curiosity as to what she might have said, he gestured to the lines leading to the hot and cold food bars. “Can I get you some breakfast?”

She glanced down to the paper cup she held. “I'm good with coffee, thanks.” She slid into the seat across from him. “I really appreciate you making time to meet, Doctor Sandler.”

“Please, call me Marc, and I'm the one who's grateful to you for accommodating my work schedule. I know a hospital cafeteria probably isn't what you had in mind, but the coffee here isn't half bad.”

She shrugged. “I've had more than my share of hospital food in the last few years, so no worries. I consider myself almost a connoisseur at this point.”

Rather than pry, he said, “Honey's mentioned you two are in some kind of a group together, but I don't know much else.”

She hesitated. “I can't really speak about the nature of our group with you—that would be up to Honey and what her comfort level is.”

“Of course.” He glanced at his phone, checking the time. He had to be back on the floor in ten minutes. “I'm afraid I can't stay long.”

“I know you're busy but this was too important to let go and—” she leaned forward, lowering her voice “—I wasn't entirely comfortable discussing it over the phone.”

“I think you'd better tell me what's on your mind.”

She sighed heavily. “Are you aware that the other day when Honey went back to pack up her … old place, she was picked up by the FBI?”

The FBI! “No, I was not. That night I noticed she was in an off mood, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. What could the FBI want with Honey?”

“It's not Honey they're after, but Jerk Face—sorry, Winterthur. Drew Winterthur is the man who—”

“I'm familiar, yes.”

“The feds suspect him of stock fraud but they need more proof—his recorded confession—and they want Honey to get it for them. He's holding some kind of big bash at the Waldorf for the investors he's swindled, and Honey is supposed to get it then.”

He'd always known Winterthur was a boozer and a brute. What he hadn't realized was he was also a real-life Gordon Gekko.

Thinking back to the trashed apartment, Winterthur's handiwork, he said, “Can't she just say no?”

Liz hesitated. “Unfortunately Jerk Face set up one of his dummy corporations in her name and got her to sign the incorporation papers by making her think it was the apartment lease. If she doesn't do what they want—”

“They'll indict her, too.” Marc gripped the edge of the table. It was eight years ago all over again, history repeating, only the loved one involved on the wrong side of the law wasn't his drug-dealing brother but Honey, the woman he loved. And unlike Tony, she was innocent. “Thank you for telling me. I know it can't have been easy.”

“It wasn't, but from everything she's told us about you, you seem like you genuinely care for her.”

“I do. I haven't known her all that long, but I love her.”

Her tense expression eased. “Then my telling you was the right thing to do.”

He nodded. “It was. But what I don't understand is why Honey didn't tell me herself.”

Sure, he'd been working a lot that week, but the other night when she'd come home in a mood, he'd given her ample opportunity. Instead of telling him the truth, she'd talked nonsense about taking off to Paris. After all the progress they'd made these last few weeks, the barriers they'd broken down, could it be she still didn't totally trust him?

Liz hesitated. “She's afraid you'll interfere.”

Damn right he was going to “interfere.” FBI or no FBI, no way was he letting her go back into the lion's den alone.

“Believe it or not, she's trying to protect you.”

Marc didn't need protecting, but after this was over, Winterthur well might. Rather than say so, and risk Liz clamming up, he asked, “When is this all going down?”

“Tomorrow starting at noon.”

*

D-day, Operation Moneybags, dawned cloudless and mildly warm—a stark contrast to the storm taking place in Honey's mind. One worry at least had proven unfounded. Getting Marc out of the house had been surprisingly easy. Thank God for his early morning staff meeting, which had allowed her to get ready unobserved. Pulling off the charade of getting back together with Drew didn't allow for half measures. Full makeup, big hair, and lots of cleavage had, until recently, been a way of life, but now she felt as though she were slipping back into a costume.

Standing in the back of the FBI surveillance SUV, she stared into the dressing mirror and asked herself yet again if Carlson's trust hadn't been misplaced. Until a few weeks ago, she'd been trapped in a long-term abusive relationship with an intimate partner. Before that she'd been an escort and, earlier, a runaway. Despite all the marvelous changes she'd made since meeting Marc, she still didn't have her GED. Was she truly “asset” material?

And then there were the logistics of the operation, which truly boggled her mind. Surveillance in the wireless era seemed to be part
Star Trek
, part
James Bond
. Given the slinky dress Drew would be expecting her to wear, where could she conceal a wire?

As it turned out, the digital device, no bigger than a pen cap, was sufficiently sophisticated to record not only sound but also high-definition video, streaming it live to a remote computer. In her case, it was disguised as a bejeweled clip and affixed to the hair fascinator she'd be wearing. It seemed her penchant for vintage fashion had a practical application after all.

But technology, no matter how advanced, could only take you so far. There was, as always, the human factor to consider. Marc.

Liz had counseled, even pleaded, for Honey to come clean with him, but Honey had held firm. He'd never go along with her putting herself in such danger. He might well try to stop her. Who knew, but he might go all Sir Galahad on her and follow her inside the Waldorf. Interfering with a federal investigation carried a stiff penalty, including jail time. Ever since they'd met, he'd put himself out on the line for her, starting with the morning she checked herself out of
his
ER and he showed up at her apartment to make sure she was safe. The days of her putting him on the line were past.

She looked between Carlson and Wilkes; the latter had just completed a sound check. “Are we done?”

Carlson shook his head. “Not quite. You'll need a safe word.”

Even under these circumstances, Honey couldn't resist. “A safe word? I wouldn't have figured you for the type.”

Carlson's ears turned bright pink. “Something you can easily work into the conversation in the unlikely event that things go south, and we need to get you out of there.”

Small surprise, the first word that came to mind was a name.
Audrey
.

And why not? The actress was the closest Honey had ever come to having a patron saint. Knowing that invoking her name would bring her the necessary aid and exit strategy made her feel watched over and safe—or at least as safe as someone concealing a recording device to entrap her violent and apparently felonious former lover could be expected to feel.

She only hoped she wouldn't need to use it.

“Audrey?” He looked predictably puzzled.

“Trust me, Drew hearing me say ‘Audrey' will be the most natural thing in the world.”

“Remember the script we went over,” Carlson counseled. We need him to incriminate himself explicitly.”

Honey nodded. “Assuming he doesn't throw me up against a wall on sight, I'll get you your evidence.”

Carlson cracked an actual smile, the first she'd so far seen. “You're confident, that's good.”

“Of course I'm confident. Men like Drew live and breathe to do one thing when they're alone with a woman like me.”

Blushing, the agents traded sheepish looks.

Taking pity on them, Honey supplied, “Brag.”

*

Eyes on the parked Con Edison truck, Marc pulled up the hood of his gray sweatshirt and fell back, blending in with the other pedestrians packing the city sidewalk. Dressed to the nines, Honey descended from the vehicle's rear, walked over to the curb, and flagged down a taxi to take her the few blocks to the Waldorf. Standing back as she got in was one of the hardest things Marc had ever had to do. Playing dumb earlier while she'd continued lying to him hadn't proved any picnic, either. Instead of going to work as he'd told her, he'd hung around, staking out his building. As soon as she'd left, he'd followed her.

Now he waited for the cab to whisk her away and then made his way over to what must be the FBI surveillance SUV. Reaching it, he rapped his knuckles on the rear passenger side door. A couple more knocks brought the heavily tinted window rolling down.

A dark-haired man wearing sunglasses poked his head out. “Can I help you with something?”

“I don't know, can you? I'm looking for my girlfriend. I just saw her step out of this van.”

“Sorry, pal, you've made a mistake.”

“I don't believe I have. My name's Sandler, Doctor Marcus Sandler.” He reached up and dropped his hood.

The guy's eyes bugged. “Jesus, did anyone see you? Never mind, get in!”

Marc didn't have to be asked a second time. He grabbed the handle, slid the door back, and climbed inside.

He glanced around, giving his eyes a moment to adjust from the sunlight. The vehicle's interior looked like a compact version of the bridge of
Star Trek
's USS
Enterprise
. Though he'd known they were setting up a sting, the sheer quantity of surveillance equipment took him aback. Closed-circuit TV monitors lined the console. Six side-by-side cameras afforded a 360-degree panorama of the hotel block as well as its interior. Videotape decks, video printers, a power periscope, motion detection and logging devices galore—if Honey's safety hadn't been at stake, Marc might have geeked out on the sheer coolness of it all.

Feeling eyes on him, he turned back to the agents. “Which one of you is Carlson?'

The dark-haired man stepped forward. “I am.”

He and his blond partner were both in dark suits. A third man, shaggy-looking and wearing headphones and a zip-up jacket, sat with his back to Marc, gaze glued to the monitor before him. “I've got her coming outta the elevator.”

Glancing over the guy's shoulder to the screen, Marc saw Honey step off a hotel elevator and head down a carpeted hallway. Based on the way she kept patting one side of her headpiece, it was a pretty good bet that's where the recording device was concealed—damn!

“How much do you know?” Carlson's question had him dragging his gaze away from Honey.

He straightened and turned around. “Enough to know you're trying to nail Winterthur using my girl as bait.”

The blond agent spoke up. “Until a few weeks ago, she was Winterthur's girl.”

“That was then, this is now.”

Marc thought back to the foiled fancy lunch meant to celebrate the start of their future together and a wave of regret washed over him. Since meeting Liz and learning of the sting, he felt almost as if he and Honey were star-crossed lovers from an Edith Wharton novel. As with Ethan Frome and his Mattie or Newland Archer and his Countess Ellen, Fate with a capital “F” always seemed to find a way to drive him and Honey apart.

Only Marc wasn't having it.

He looked back to the nearest monitor as Honey approached a busy banquet room. “If you won't pull her out, then put me in, too.”

Whatever happened, Marc was determined that Honey would know it wasn't only her FATE group friends she had to rely on. She had him.

“I'm afraid that's out of the question. We're professionals, Doctor. We've got this.”

“But, I'm a veteran at this. I've worn a wire before.”

“How so?”

Marc hesitated but only for a moment. “My brother was dealing drugs, and I turned state's evidence against him. Because of me, he's in prison.”

Until now, Marc had never admitted that to a living soul. He was pretty sure his mother at least suspected, but they never spoke of it, not directly. Even though betraying his brother had been in the service of doing “the right thing,” a part of him had never fully forgiven himself. Every time he saw his mother's gaze list toward the empty chair at the dining room table, he felt another chunk of his soul chip away.

The agents exchanged looks, no doubt impressed at what a heartless SOB he was. Marc tensed, waiting.

“Okay, but you can't go in like that. Nobody's going to buy that you're an investor.”

Marc glanced down at himself. Along with the hoodie, he wore track pants and his running shoes and carried a backpack. For once his fashion failure was in the service of stealth. Had he left the house in a suit, Honey would have surely noticed.

“And Winterthur's already met you at the hospital fundraiser in February.”

Jesus, how long had they been following Winterthur and, by extension, Honey?