He tapped out another message, then turned the screen toward me:
I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I stand by what I said. All of it. Good night.
I had two choices here. I could say good-night and usher him out the door or I could seal this moment of bonding with a more tangible move.
I took the PDA from him and placed it back on the table. Then I touched his arm. “You surprised me with your kindness, that’s all.” I smiled. “Good night.”
That dark gaze held mine a moment more before he turned and walked out of my room, closing the door behind him.
I pressed my forehead against the cool wood and waited to the count of twenty before locking the door. I wanted to give him sufficient time to move away. With the door locked, I turned around and sagged against it.
Okay, what had I started here? Had that move been about this assignment or the unexpectedly resurrected need to feel like a woman? I hadn’t wanted a man’s touch or even longed for the company of the opposite sex in ages…not since my world fell apart two years ago.
Why the sudden burst of horniness? I shuddered inwardly at the word. I’d never considered myself on those terms. Calm, reserved, modest. Curious, yes. Ambitious even, but sexually aggressive? Not in a million years.
Maybe this new line of work brought out the tigress in me.
All this time I’d accused my brothers of being thrill-seekers, and look at me. Pressing the envelope at every turn. Seeing how far I could take the moment. Then again, Mason Conrad was Hammond’s right-hand man. It didn’t take a lifetime of detective work to recognize he was certainly the man to get to know.
A frown dug its way across my brow, nudging my conscience. Not now. I closed my eyes and scolded my stupidity. I would not feel guilty for using the guy. He was a murderer, no matter how handsome he looked or how nice he acted. There was no getting around the facts. I should consider myself lucky the guy’d had a handicapped sister and sympathized with my plight. That gave us something in common that I could work with. I had to remember that. I had to use every opportunity to gather intelligence.
Hammond couldn’t be stopped until enough evidence had been gathered on him. Like Sawyer, he’d gotten away with too much for too long. I had to remember that.
I trudged into the bathroom and brushed my teeth again. As I stared at my reflection I wondered how it was that I’d managed to contract that rare infection that had ultimately destroyed my hearing. I’d been raised to believe that God had a purpose for everyone. Somehow I couldn’t see how his purpose for me had included losing one of my senses. But then, he worked in mysterious ways, right? Hadn’t I heard that a thousand times in church? I had to trust something. I couldn’t think of a better choice.
Climbing back into bed, I snuggled under the covers and my mind made the long, twisted journey from spirituality to sexuality. I began to count up the days since I’d last had sex. A long, long time. Did the lack of that kind of relationship in my life prompt this new living-on-the-edge mentality? I’d never felt precisely that way before. I mean, I hadn’t been a prude or a homebody, but I certainly hadn’t ever hobnobbed with mobsters.
Another frown tugged at my lips. How could Hammond and Conrad be such horrible people and appear so normal? I’d gone over that many times today, but no conclusive answer had welled from my gray matter. I should have tried to sleep, but somehow my mind wanted to tarry on the hows and whys of my life. Maybe it was just the lasagna. My mother always said don’t eat right before bed, you’ll have nightmares. Was this going to be a nightmare and I just hadn’t realized it yet?
Detective Barlow had reiterated over and over how dangerous this assignment would be. But I hadn’t let the concept sink past that first level of awareness. I didn’t want to admit that this might be over my head. I wanted to do this…to bring down Hammond—the man no one else could touch. I shivered beneath my expensive sheets. Scary thought. Had the T factor penetrated that deeply? I hadn’t ever thought of myself as the thrill type. Never bungee-jumped or rock-climbed or any of that other edgy stuff. I had always taken my risks in other ways. Like standing up to parents I suspected of child abuse or arguing with the administration when I felt the teachers would suffer over some new rule.
I lay there in the dark for a good half hour mulling over the inexplicable change. Was I having a midlife crisis early, prompted by the traumatic changes in my life?
I rolled onto my side and forced my eyes to close. I had to sleep. Tomorrow would be a long day. Though my duties were light, mostly ensuring that all was kept in order, at this point it still meant staying on my toes. If I expected to learn anything about Hammond and his illegal operations I’d have to be on my toes in more ways than one.
Heaving a sigh, I flopped over and curled my knees up to my chin. Mason Conrad’s remark about my being beautiful just wouldn’t stop intruding. I wasn’t beautiful. I knew that. I looked in the mirror every day, for Christ’s sake. I had nice hair and eyes and I suppose my face wasn’t exactly homely, but I was certainly not beautiful by any stretch of the definition or the imagination.
It was entirely possible that Mr. Conrad had an ulterior motive just as I did. Perhaps he wanted more from me than tidying the rooms. I didn’t get to be twenty-nine, almost thirty, overnight. I understood this kind of game, if that’s what he was playing. I had no recourse but to play it out and see how it went. I intended to use him if the opportunity presented itself. That would make us even, if his motives weren’t genuine.
Okay. Enough. I wasn’t sleeping anytime soon. I kicked off the covers and climbed out of bed. I didn’t bother with the light, just felt my way over to the immense window and drew back the drapes. I opened the plantation shutters and stepped closer to the window to stare out at the night sky. It was clear, filled with stars and a full moon glowing big and round. Gorgeous. The sky always looked prettier from high atop a mountain. The distraction of the city lights dimmed nature’s glory.
No wonder those who could afford this kind of luxury were willing to deal with that steep, curving road. In the middle of June it wasn’t a big deal, but in the dead of winter the only route leading to this exclusive neighborhood would no doubt be treacherous.
Piece of cake, I mused, with a Hummer. Hammond likely had his own helicopter at his beck and call, too, whenever he needed it. The man definitely had it all.
The gaslights placed strategically about the property lent an Old World quality to the shroud of darkness now blanketing the landscape. Come to think of it, the lights along the streets as well as the crooked private road linking this prestigious spot with civilization below had all been gas rather than the traditional electric lamps. The gas lamps didn’t give off nearly as much light; then again, that was likely the point.
Was I bored or what? I’d spent an entire ten minutes speculating on the illuminating power of various light fixtures. I could pace. The bedroom was every bit as large as my entire place back home. I wouldn’t venture out into the hall again for anything. I’d already played it dicey enough on that score. I wasn’t leaving this room again until 6:00 a.m. unless there was a fire or other disaster that rendered the premises unsafe.
Something moved on the other side of the lawn…near the fountain. I shook my head and peered even harder through the darkness. Nothing except the massive fountain complete with a lovely angel atop it that stood in the middle of a beautiful courtyard where the Hammond family no doubt held many a social function. I hesitated at the idea of calling anything held at a place like this a barbecue or cookout. The sparkling pool lay beyond the terrace and looked even more inviting by moonlight.
I folded my arms over my chest and blew out a breath of disgust. I needed sleep. I couldn’t do my best work without enough sleep. Though I only had the one experience to draw upon, I felt certain sleeping most of the day while I followed Sawyer around at night had been the key to staying alert.
I squinted. Okay, now that time I really saw something move. I put my nose so close to the glass it was practically pressed there. More movement.
A face came into view via the dim glow from one of the gas lamps and I gasped, almost stepped back.
Victor Vargas. Hammond’s other personal bodyguard. Then Hammond himself passed through that same faint reach of illumination. What were they doing in the dark? I tried my best to see past where they’d stepped from the darkness but I saw nothing. My breath caught again when a third man appeared.
Mason Conrad. Still dressed in those black trousers, but the white shirt stood out like a beacon in the night. What the hell was going on out there at this time of night?
When I would have stepped away from the window, Mason Conrad’s attention shifted in my direction. My heart shot into my throat, missing a beat before it slid back down and began to pound once more. Though I couldn’t see his eyes through the darkness, despite the meager glow around him, I could have sworn he looked right at me.
He stood there for what felt like forever, staring, not moving a muscle. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to move or even blink.
Just when I was certain he would point an accusing finger in my direction, he walked away, following the others to wherever they’d disappeared.
The instant oxygen filled my lungs once more as my brain jumped into overdrive. What were they doing out there? Did I need to know…?
Yes.
Before reason could poke itself into the mix I quickly threw on my black stretch pants and matching long-sleeved T-shirt. Black socks and shoes. I shoved my hair into a black baseball cap. This was the only disguise I’d brought with me.
I imagined that Barlow would have croaked if he’d known I’d packed any such outfit.
Preparation was half the game, right?
Holding my breath once more, I did the one thing I’d sworn I wouldn’t do again tonight…I stole out of my room.
By the time I reached the parlor my heart was beating so hard that arrest might very well be imminent. I had decided that the front and back entrances were out of the question.
Two sets of French doors led from the parlor out onto a side section of the terrace. Huge decorative pots filled with blossoming foliage offered some amount of cover.
Night had cooled the air, but still I felt sweat form on my skin. I was scared. As much as I wanted to do this—needed to do this—I was a little afraid of the consequences.
I grappled for my bearings and surveyed the yard. One of the garage doors had been raised and light spilled from the big hole it left. I figured that’s where the trio had gone.
Keeping my respiration shallow, I eased away from the terrace, careful to stay in the shadows. When I reached the garage there was no way I could risk being seen at the open door, so I flattened against the closed one next to it. There were actually six bays, each with its own overhead door. Each door offered a small row of windows, which allowed me to peer into the enormous garage.
The three men were huddled around a fourth man. This new man was seated and…
My eyes widened in disbelief.
The fourth man—his back was to me so I couldn’t determine who he was—was tied to the chair. Horror charged through me.
I resisted the urge to look away. Had to see if I could learn anything from whatever they were talking about. I struggled to block all other stimuli…forced myself to focus on the faces of the men speaking. First Conrad…then Hammond.
You know how this will end.
Hammond said this to the man. I missed whatever Conrad had said. Couldn’t make my brain work fast enough.
There was no way for me to guess the man’s response.
Just tell us what you know and we’ll make it quick.
I blinked, understood perfectly what that likely meant. Mason Conrad uttered this comment without so much as a flinch.
The man tied to the chair shook his head adamantly. Victor Vargas, Hammond’s other right-hand man, threw back his head and laughed. Hammond and Conrad laughed, too, but without all the exaggerated body language.
They were going to kill this man.
I had to do something….
I looked around, but then realized that Hammond was speaking again.
…is up to you. I will get to the bottom of this.
Damn. I’d missed something.
Hammond looked at Vargas, who nodded once.
The need to act burned in my chest. I had to…
Terror obliterated the rest of my thought. Hammond and Conrad started toward the open door.
I had to hide.
Frantic, I glanced side to side.
Ran hard and fast.
Then flattened myself against the end of the garage a split second before the two men exited.
I held my breath for fear they would hear me panting. My heart all but stopped as they moved toward the same door I had exited from the parlor.
Conrad hesitated before going in…just long enough to glance at my bedroom window.
I had to get back into that room.
Now.
Ten seconds after the two had disappeared into the house, I shot one last look toward the open garage door, then hurried toward the terrace, careful to stay in the shadows.
I flattened myself against the wall of the house next to the French doors and watched for any sign of Vargas in the spotlight offered by that one open garage door.
When I’d screwed up my courage, I peered into the parlor, which was still dark, and determined that Conrad and Hammond were no longer there.
Holding my breath, I slipped back inside. I stood very, very still for a long time. I couldn’t be sure how long. When I felt relatively certain no one was close by, I moved from the parlor to the corridor that led to the kitchen and my quarters. I surveyed the dimly lit hall. Prayed no one would step into it about the time I did. Explaining away the outfit would be impossible.
My pulse pounding in my brain, I ventured into the hall and then rushed into my room and locked the door.
I didn’t relax until I’d checked all three rooms, under the bed and in the closet to make sure no one was hidden thereabouts. I peeled off and hid my night camouflage. Then I stared out the window and wondered what had happened to that man.