Sidney Sheldon's Chasing Tomorrow (Tracy Whitney) (20 page)

The only silver lining to the entire trip had been hooking up with Randy. Randall Bruckmeyer was everything that Oleg Grinski wasn’t. Handsome, good in bed and generous. Admittedly his net worth was a fraction of Grinski’s. But Randall had already promised Svetlana the pair of diamond earrings she’d been hankering after from Neil Lane. Her only quandary now was how to jump ship without Oleg getting vengeful. The last mistress to jettison Grinski had wound up with a glass of acid thrown in her face.

Randy was supposed to be here tonight. Svetlana had worn her sexiest evening dress for his benefit, a skintight red Cavalli that left nothing to the imagination. But so far he hadn’t shown up, further souring her mood.

“Oh my God! Watch what you’re doing!”

A clumsy dark-haired woman bumped into Svetlana from behind, so hard she almost went flying. Her glass flew out of her hand, dousing the man in front of her in red wine.

The dark-haired woman moved forward. Pulling a handkerchief out of her purse, Svetlana began dabbing ineffectually at the huge purple stain on the man’s dress shirt.

He brushed her away, irritated. “It’s fine. I’ll go clean up in the bathroom.”

“What happened?” Bianca Berkeley turned around. The man with the stained shirt was her publicist.

He gestured toward Svetlana. “This chick just dumped a glass of red all over me!”

“How rude! It wasn’t my fault.”

Voices began to get raised. Butch Berkeley joined the discussion, quizzing the second Scientology minder while the first argued loudly with Svetlana. Jean Rizzo’s antenna shot up.
This is it! Something’s going down.
He walked toward the group, but Oleg Grinski stepped in front of him, wrapping an arm around his mistress and temporarily obstructing Jean’s view.

By the time Jean got past the Russian, Bianca Berkeley was nowhere to be seen.

IT HAD HAPPENED SO
quickly, at first Bianca thought she’d misheard. But the dark-haired woman repeated herself, leaning in close to Bianca’s ear.

“FBI. You’re in grave danger, Miss Berkeley. Please come with me.”

A frisson of fear, tinged with excitement, ran through Bianca’s body. Butch mocked her, called her a conspiracy theorist. But she’d always known there were dark forces out there, trying to harm her. Here, at last, was the proof.

She followed the woman into one of the powder rooms and locked the door.

JEAN RIZZO RAN OUT
onto the fire stairs.

No sign.

His heart rate began to quicken. It was happening, now, somewhere in this building, and he was going to miss it. Somehow, Kennedy and Stevens had outsmarted him. But they weren’t even here! It made no sense.

Back in the conservatory, he grabbed a waiter. “I’m looking for Bianca Berkeley. Do you know who that is?”

“No, sir. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“She’s wearing a long black dress with her hair up.”

“I’m sorry, sir. There are a lot of black dresses.”

“She has a huge emerald necklace on.”

“Oh! Yes.” The man’s face lit up. “I do know the lady. She came through here a few moments ago with her friend.”

Jean’s heart tightened.

“I think they were headed to the powder room. It’s right over . . .”

Jean was already running.

“YOU UNDERSTAND, MISS BERKELEY?”

Bianca nodded, her eyes wide with fright. The excitement had all gone now. This was no made-for-TV drama. This was real.

“The ambulance is on its way? You’re sure.”

“My colleagues already called. You’ll be fine, ma’am. You have time.”

“Oh God!” Bianca started sobbing. “I can feel it already. My skin! It’s burning!”

The FBI agent took her hand and squeezed it. “Help is on the way. Try to stay calm. You understand I need to leave now?”

“Of course. Go. GO!”

JEAN RIZZO HAMMERED ON
the locked door.

“Mrs. Berkeley! Mrs. Berkeley, are you in there?”

A strangled voice came from inside. “Are they here yet?”

“Are who here yet?”

“The ambulance.”

“Ma’am, this is the police. Please open the door.”

“I can’t! I have radiation sickness. You might be contaminated!”

Jean took a deep breath. He knew Bianca Berkeley was a kook but this took the cake. “Open the door, ma’am.”

Slowly, the door opened. Bianca Berkeley flung herself into Jean’s arms, crying hysterically. “Where are they?” she screamed. “She said they’d be here! I don’t have much time left.”

She was clutching her neck.

The emerald choker was gone.

ELIZABETH KENNEDY WALKED SLOWLY
but purposefully out of the building. The dark wig still itched, but she no longer cared. Swinging her evening bag, she felt the weight of the Tiffany choker inside and grinned.

Jeff said it couldn’t be done. But I did it.

Now he’ll have to admit I’m the best.

She could see the Metro-North station, just a few yards away.

BIANCA BERKELEY WAS SO
hysterical, it took Jean Rizzo some minutes to get the description he needed.
Silver dress, dark hair. A large green evening purse.

“That’s where she kept the device. The radiation scanner. It’s Russian intelligence, you see. They’ve used this technique before, because it’s untraceable.”

Jean ran into the street.

THE METRO-NORTH STATION WAS
CLOSED.

Elizabeth asked the cop outside, “What’s going on?”

“Bomb threat. They think it’s a hoax but no more trains’ll be running tonight. You’d best get a cab.”

IT WAS PURE CHANCE
that he saw her. A flash of silver caught his eye from fifty yards away. She was crossing the street in front of the train station, apparently looking for a cab.

No getaway driver. No partner coming to meet her. She just wanders out into the city without a care in the world.

Tracy was right. The lady had balls.

Putting his head down, Jean quickened his pace. Elizabeth was forty yards away now.

Thirty.

Ten.

A yellow cab pulled up. She leaned in to talk to the driver. Jean ran forward. At the exact same moment another male figure darted toward the cab from the opposite side of the street. The man wore an overcoat and turtleneck sweater and Jean recognized him from the way he ran as one of the guys from Barneys. A split second later, the second man emerged from the shadows—also from Barneys. Also running.

This time, Jean Rizzo knew where he’d seen them before.

Elizabeth opened the door to the cab and had one leg inside when Jean grabbed her wrist.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

At the same time the other door to the cab opened.

For a split second Interpol Inspector Jean Rizzo and FBI Agent Milton Buck glared at each other.

Then both said simultaneously: “You’re under arrest.”

CHAPTER 18

I
NTERVIEW RESUMED, DECEMBER TWENTY-FIRST,
four fifteen
A.M
. Miss Kennedy, Mrs. Berkeley has made a statement that you posed to her as an FBI agent. Is that the case?”

Elizabeth Kennedy gave Milton Buck a look of withering disdain but said nothing. Just as she had said nothing to all of Buck’s questions for the last five hours.

“You told Mrs. Berkeley that the emeralds in the choker she was wearing had been irradiated. You further convinced her that her life was in danger from exposure to the irradiated gemstones, a deception you maintained with the use of a number of simple props, including these.”

Milton Buck placed an oval-shaped piece of plastic on the table. Not unlike one of those monitors people used to listen in on their sleeping babies, it was battery-powered and flashed red with a crackling sound when you pressed a button at the back.

Elizabeth smirked.

“Is that what happened, Ms. Kennedy?”

Silence.

“The device was found in your possession, along with the emerald choker. Can you suggest any other explanation for those items being found in your purse, Ms. Kennedy?”

Elizabeth yawned and looked away.

Milton Buck finally lost his temper, banging his fist down on the table.

“You seem not to understand what a phenomenal amount of trouble you are in, Ms. Kennedy. Tonight’s felony alone carries a jail sentence of over a decade. Did you know that?”

Silence.

“Then there’s entering the U.S. on a fake passport. Illegal use of credit cards. Identity theft. Impersonation of a federal agent. That’s twenty years, before we even begin to talk about the jobs you and your partner pulled in Chicago and Los Angeles and Atlanta.” Buck’s eyes bulged furiously. “You help me, Elizabeth, and I’ll help you. But keep this up and I will personally see to it that you
rot
in jail for the rest of your natural life. Do you understand?”

Elizabeth cast a critical eye over her French manicure. Milton Buck counted to ten.

“We know you were involved in at least three other high-profile robberies on U.S. soil. We also know you work with a partner.”

“You seem to know an awful lot, Agent Buck.”

They were the first words she had spoken. Milton Buck looked suitably surprised.

“How clever you are! I’m surprised you need to ask me any questions at all.”

Her tone was amused, mocking.

“I want the name of your partner, Ms. Kennedy.”

“What partner, Agent Buck?”

“Is it Jeff Stevens?”

Elizabeth threw back her head and burst into gales of laughter. Milton Buck felt his anger returning.

“Oh dear.” Elizabeth wiped away tears of mirth. “Is that the best you can do? I think I might re-exercise my right to remain silent. If it’s all the same to you.”

Milton Buck stood up, quivering with rage.

“Interview suspended.”

He stormed out.

OUT IN THE CORRIDOR,
Milton took a few moments to compose himself.

This was not going according to plan. What should have been a night of celebration, the greatest triumph of his career so far, was turning into a fiasco.

Milton Buck blamed Jean Rizzo.

The irritating, sanctimonious little Canadian had been a thorn in Milton’s side ever since he showed up in L.A. this past summer, spewing out his preposterous theories about prostitutes and homicides and Tracy friggin’ Whitney. Now, after months of work tracking Elizabeth Kennedy, Rizzo had popped up like the proverbial bad penny, making a mockery of Elizabeth’s arrest and point-blank refusing to accept his lack of jurisdiction, or Milton Buck’s authority. Embarrassingly, the two men had argued about it in the cab, in front of the suspect, with Rizzo insisting he had a right to interview Elizabeth and refusing to relinquish custody unless Buck allowed him access.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Milton Buck snapped as Jean helped himself to a coffee from the machine at the FBI’s field office on the twenty-third floor of 26 Federal Plaza. “You can talk to her when I’m done. Not a minute before.”

“And how long will that be?”

“As long as it takes. Days probably. You may as well go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Jean Rizzo had been as good as his word. Milton Buck peered through the glass into the waiting room and saw Jean sharing a Domino’s pizza with a bunch of older agents. No one ordered pizza unless they were there for the duration.

“How’s it going, Buck? You don’t look too happy.”

The head of the field office, Special Agent Barry Soltan materialized at Milton’s side. Soltan was only a few years older than Milton Buck. Milton resented his superior rank intensely.

“She’s not talking, sir.”

“I see the fellow from Interpol’s still here.”

“Rizzo. Yes, sir. I’ve asked him to leave but—”

“Let’s get the two of you into my office.”

“There’s really no need for that, sir. Interpol has no jurisdiction here. At no time have we invited them to—”

“Agent Buck,” Barry Soltan interrupted. “You just told me your witness isn’t talking. Now, I’d like to get some sleep tonight, even if you wouldn’t. Let’s hear what Inspector Rizzo has to say.”

JEAN RIZZO HAD A
lot to say, to Agent Buck’s great irritation. Special Agent Barry Soltan listened, then allowed him twenty minutes to try to break Elizabeth.

“If I understand it correctly, you both want the same thing. For the young lady to give up the name of her accomplice. Right?”

Agent Buck nodded grudgingly.

“In which case, I don’t see what harm it does to let Inspector Rizzo have a crack at her.”

Jean Rizzo said, “If she doesn’t talk, there’s every chance another young woman will end up being butchered by this maniac. He always kills within two days after Elizabeth completes a job.”

“Except she didn’t complete this job,” Special Agent Soltan reminded him. “She got caught.”

“For all we know, that may make him even more desperate.”

“For all we know, there may be no connection between the two cases whatsoever!” Agent Buck failed to conceal his exasperation. “With respect, sir, Inspector Rizzo’s wasting our time.”

“Enough, Agent Buck.” Special Agent Soltan raised a weary hand. “He’s going in.”

MILTON BUCK NEEDN’T HAVE
WORRIED.

Jean Rizzo was no more successful in getting Elizabeth Kennedy to speak than he had been. After half an hour, Special Agent Soltan asked a few senior agents to join Buck, Rizzo and him in conference.

“I have an idea.” Jean Rizzo addressed himself to the group. “Let’s get Tracy Whitney in there. She may be able to get Elizabeth to open up.”

Milton Buck threw his hands in the air in frustration. “My
God.
Tracy Whitney? Are you still on that?”

“Last time we spoke, Agent Buck, if you remember, you assured me Miss Whitney was either dead or untraceable. Well, guess what? Not only was she very much alive, but I found her within forty-eight hours of our conversation.”

Milton Buck grunted gracelessly. “So? She’s still not relevant to this case.”

Jean longed to tell the arrogant Buck that it was Tracy who’d stolen the Brookstein rubies. Not only was she relevant to his case, she
was
his case. But he bit his tongue, for Tracy’s sake as well as his own.
Let Buck keep chasing his own tail.

Special Agent Soltan raised a hand.

“Hold up a second. We aren’t talking about
the
Tracy Whitney? The lady who took down Joe Romano?”

“Allegedly,” said Jean.

“The con artist?”

“She’s been living quietly in Colorado for the last decade. She agreed to help me with my investigation, as long as I promised her immunity from prosecution.”

Milton Buck exploded. “My God! The arrogance! In what alternate universe can an Interpol operative promise immunity to a U.S. citizen on U.S. soil?”

“Cool it, Buck. Has Ms. Whitney been helpful in your investigation, Inspector Rizzo?”

“As a consultant, she’s been invaluable. She understands the mind-set of the professional jewel thief. Plus she has a personal connection with Elizabeth Kennedy going back years. They were both romantically involved with Jeff Stevens.”

“Isn’t he one of your suspects?” Soltan asked Milton Buck, whose face was now livid, from anger or embarrassment or both.

Jean Rizzo answered for him. “Stevens is a person of interest in my investigation and Agent Buck’s. Tracy Whitney is convinced he has nothing to do with the murders. But he’s here in New York right now and he’s had contact with Elizabeth Kennedy within the last twenty-four hours.”

An uneasy silence descended.

“Is she still insanely hot?” One of the older agents was talking to Jean Rizzo. “Tracy Whitney, I mean.”

“She’s attractive,” Jean conceded.

“Is she single?”

Barry Soltan frowned. “Okay, Frank. This ain’t a dating service.” He turned to Jean. “Where is Miss Whitney right now?”

“She’s here. In New York.”

“Where exactly?” Milton Buck demanded.

“Somewhere safe.”

Barry Soltan said, “Can you convince her to come down here?”

“I can try. You’d have to guarantee she won’t be arrested.”

“We’re not guaranteeing anything!” Milton Buck snapped.

“Sure we are. For now.” Special Agent Soltan overruled him. “The main thing is that we get Miss Kennedy to talk. Bring her in, Inspector Rizzo.”

TRACY’S HEART RACED AS
she approached the interview room. She’d dressed carefully when she left the hotel, in a black cashmere turtleneck and figure-hugging bottle-green corduroy pants tucked into flat boots. She hoped the look conveyed casual confidence, but the very obvious leers of the FBI agents when she walked into the building made her second-guess herself.

Why the hell am I feeling nervous? She’s the one going to jail, not me. I hold all the cards here.

The last time Tracy had seen Elizabeth face-to-face had been in L.A., in the alleyway behind the Brooksteins’ mansion. That had been a triumphant moment. This should have been too. So why were her palms sweating?

Of course, it could have had something to do with the venue. The FBI’s New York headquarters did not exactly qualify as one of Tracy’s “happy places.”

“You’re perfectly safe,” Jean Rizzo told her. “I’m on the other side of the glass, along with Agents Buck, Soltan.”

“Surrounded by the FBI. That’s very reassuring,” quipped Tracy. “Do I need my lawyer, Jean?”

“No. Nothing’s off-limits.”

Special Agent Soltan nodded his agreement. “We appreciate you being here, Miss Whitney. You say whatever you need to in there to get Kennedy to talk. You have complete immunity, so you won’t incriminate yourself.”

Tracy glanced at the short, good-looking agent next to Jean. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a handful of jalapeños.

Jean Rizzo patted her on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

ELIZABETH LOOKED UP WHEN
the door opened, an expression of profound boredom etched on her face. Then she saw who it was and smiled broadly.

“Tracy!” She leaned back in her chair. If she were nervous, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. “Well, well, well. Playing for the other team now, are we? I must say I’m surprised. Especially after our last run-in. Out of curiosity, how much did you get for Sheila Brookstein’s rubies?”

“One-point-seven million,” Tracy said coolly. “You’re so sweet to ask.”

On the other side of the mirrored glass, Milton Buck’s jaw hit the floor.

“Tracy Whitney pulled the Brookstein job?”

“Shhh.” Jean Rizzo waved a hand dismissively, his eyes glued to the two women. Tracy was talking.

“I donated the money to charity.”

“Of course you did.” Elizabeth’s upper lip curled slightly. “You always were quite the saint.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Tracy smiled. “Then again, it’s all relative.”

Milton Buck hissed in Jean Rizzo’s ear.

“You knew about this! You knew Whitney did the Brookstein job! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“And compromise my source? Why should I?” said Jean. “Besides, you weren’t exactly falling over yourself to help
me
with my investigation. Remember?”

“Be quiet, both of you,” Special Agent Soltan snapped.

Tracy had sat down now, face-to-face with Elizabeth.

“It hasn’t been your year, has it?” she said mockingly. “First you screw up the Brookstein job and now you manage to get arrested by not one but two law enforcement agencies on the same night. Not very impressive. Especially when you consider that a monkey could have outsmarted Bianca Berkeley.”

“Bianca took the bait hook, line and sinker,” Elizabeth shot back. “I executed the job perfectly.”

“Hmm. That must be why you’re here.”

Tracy’s confidence was returning now. She was starting to enjoy herself. Elizabeth radiated the same cold beauty Tracy remembered. Her features were perfect, but she was as dead inside as a marble statue. Running her eyes up and down her slender figure, Tracy said, “They’re going to love you in prison. Trust me. I’ve been there.”

Elizabeth looked at her curiously.

“Why do you take things so personally?”

“Probably because I’m a person. Not a machine, like you.”

“A machine?” Elizabeth smiled, composed again now. “Come now, that’s not fair. We’re the same, Tracy, you and I.”

Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “The same? I don’t think so.”

“Why ever not? You’re a thief. I’m a thief.”

“I only robbed from the greedy, from people who deserved it.”

“Deserved it according to whom? You?” Elizabeth snorted with derision. “Who made you judge and jury?”

Outside, Milton Buck muttered under his breath, “Exactly.” He couldn’t understand how Rizzo and the others could listen to this baloney.

“You prey on the old and the weak,” said Tracy.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Sometimes. The old and weak can be greedy too, you know.”

“All you care about is money.”

“Again, not true. I care about Jeff. That’s something else we have in common.”