Tell Me No Lies (9 page)

She started to write Sonya's name at the top of the list, then crossed it off. She couldn't let the police question the elderly housekeeper; it would frighten her to death. After her experience with the Moscow authorities, Sonya had a natural dread of officials.

God, what if he asked for proof that Luka was her father? What would she do then?

But that at least was closer to the truth than the rest. Luka had been like a father to her. He'd gotten her out of Russia, seen that she attended the best boarding schools, that she was safely hidden away from all her father's enemies. And if he didn't bring her home for Christmas or the summer holidays, if he never wrote or sent cookies, at least he'd kept her alive. What more could she have asked of him?

Emotion clogged her throat again, and she fought to clear it. She would not break down in front of Hank Bonner.

As if he knew she was thinking about him, he said, "What's taking so long?" He knelt down in front of her and glanced at the almost blank page. "Look write down Edie's Flowers. I saw their truck outside your house yesterday."

He was watching her closely, but something had softened in his face. For a moment it almost seemed as if he felt sorry for her.

"Edie's Flowers," he said gruffly. "Write it down."

Slowly, her fingers formed the letters. Her brain cleared, and she remembered the caterer's name. The rest soon followed.

Hank said nothing more while she wrote, but she felt him there. A small inner voice urged her to tell the truth and ask for his help. The longing to lean on someone was suddenly overwhelming.

She gripped the pen tighter; trust no one had been liter motto for thirteen years. She couldn't abandon it now just because a pair of green eyes had looked kindly at her for a moment.

Finished, she handed the list to Hank. He skimmed it, nodded. "Okay, I'll check this out."

She rose, collected her things, and with as much dignity as possible, walked to the door.

"I'll have the coroner call you about the body."

She stilled, something freezing inside her. "What do you mean?"

"Someone has to bury him. You're next of kin." -

An overwhelming sadness gripped her. Burying Luka would be the last kind thing she could do for him. But it was also the one favor she couldn't grant. Not if she wanted to keep her distance. "I refuse the honor." She laced the last word with a touch of acid.

Contempt flew across Hank's face and shamed her. She raised her chin. Who was he to judge her?

"You're not going to lay this on the city. Not with all your millions."

She stiffened at the rebuke in his voice, and used whatever frost she could muster to reply. "If it's merely a question of money, I'll pay for whatever is necessary. But make the arrangements with my lawyer. I'll have him call you."

"Fine."

She reached for the knob, desperate to get away.

"Don't go anywhere I can't find you," he said.

She ignored that, sailing out into the day. Down the stairs, over the scrap of grass, through the parking areas. Running, she was running, gasping, until the apartment was out of sight.

At the main road she stopped, a hand to her pounding chest, and gulped in huge mouthfuls of air.

***

Hank stood in the doorway and watched Alex sprint across the parking area and disappear around a corner. Something nagged at him, but he couldn't figure out what A buzz of anger vibrated inside his chest, but below it he felt something else. Something unexpected and not entirely welcome. She'd frozen like a cornered rabbit in there small, white, and trembling. And for a moment some damn soft spot inside him had wanted to hold her the way he held Mandy after one of her nightmares.

That would have been a stupid move. All he needed was to fall for her. Falling for
anyone
was a risk he wouldn't take, let alone a suspect in his murder case.

A damn cold-blooded suspect. Kole must have been a pretty bad guy to turn her off like that.

Bad enough to want him dead? Want him dead enough to kill him?

He closed the door and faced the mess inside the apartment. He had to admit he couldn't see Alexandra Jane creating this vast swath of destruction. He examined the tear in a cushion. A deep gash, as if it had been slashed with a knife. But not a precise cut If she had wielded a knife, the cut would no doubt have been careful and meticulous. As careful and meticulous as every move she made.

But if she hadn't trashed the place, who had? Someone who had been desperate to find something. What?

And what did her mysterious roadside chat in the middle of the night have to do with any of it?

He picked up the silver picture frame she'd dropped when he entered. The photo had been ripped out; paper edges stuck to the sides.

And then he realized what had been nagging at him: She said she'd come for pictures of her mother. Had she taken any with her?

***

Still shaky, Alex reached her car and let herself in. What had just happened? How had she let herself be caught like that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She desperately wanted to get away as fast and as far as possible. Putting the car in gear, she drove off, no clue where she was going. The hunger to run to escape overwhelmed her.

Her relationship with Luka had been exposed. How soon before it became public knowledge? How soon before it got back to the wrong people?

She found herself southbound on the Taconic. The winding parkway with its tree-lined landscape soon gave way to the exhaust-filled rumble of the interstate, and to the toll booths and bridges that led to the complex world of Manhattan.

She ditched the car in the garage a block from her office on Madison and Sixty-first Street. Trying to shake her feeling of foreboding, she walked to the sleek glass tower, anonymous among so many other lofty structures. The security officer recognized her and waved her in. She took the elevator to the ninth floor and let herself into the office of Baker Financial.

Letty Birnbaum looked up in surprise from her post outside Alex's office. "Thought you weren't coming in today." Letty's acid red hair was teased into new heights, her dress tight and cut low enough to glimpse a bit of cleavage. Not exactly the pin-striped conservative who should be representing Alex's business to the world, but something about Letty had struck Alex from the first. An openness, a free-spiritedness Alex longed to possess.

"Changed my mind," she said.

Letty snorted in disbelief. "You just can't bear to take a day off." She smiled and leaned forward conspiratorially. The glimpse of cleavage increased to an eyeful. "So, how'd it go last night?"

If she only knew. "Great. No problems." Alex riffled through the pink message slips Letty handed her. Smolov, her contact in the Russian Duma, had called twice. Was mere a problem? He'd assured her there was enough support in the Parliament for the tax legislation they needed. Was opposition gathering again?

"Well, you were a hit in one quarter." Letty nodded over to the office. Through the open door, Alex saw a huge bouquet of flowers covering the center of her desk.

"Who are they from?'

Letty pulled back in shock. "You think I looked?"

Despite her distress, Alex smiled. "Absolutely."

Letty sighed. "You know, you should trust people more." The mournful look she threw Alex turned into a wide smile. "Okay, so I'm busted. They're from Petrov." She waggled her brows suggestively, which Alex ignored.

''Okay. Thanks." She started toward her office.

"Okay, thanks? You get flowers from one of the hottest guys on the planet even if he is old enough to be your father and that's all you can say?" Her voice took on a note of concern. "Are you all right? You look, well... tired."

Alex forced herself to smile. She didn't like that her distress was so clear on her face. "I'm fine. Late night. Lots of excitement."

"Want me to hold your calls?"

"Thanks."

Finally, Alex escaped into her office, closed the door, and sank onto the pale green leather couch. She was thinking more clearly now, the fear of discovery settling in as undeniable fact. Fact she had to face and deal with. Hank Bonner knew about her relationship to Luka, so where did that leave her?

Absently, she stared at the flowers. A thick bunch of gaudy hothouse blooms, they were showy in an overblown way, like an overdressed woman with too much makeup. Miki had probably spent a fortune on them. Then again, he wouldn't think them worth much if he didn't pay through the nose. Money was the only arbiter that mattered in the new Russia. She thought of the old joke she'd heard time and again in Moscow. One new Russian tells another about a pair of shoes he bought for five hundred dollars in Paris, and the second businessman calls him a fool; he could have bought the exact same pair for a thousand dollars up the street.

She closed her eyes. Her mind refused to stay on the problem of Luka. Hank knew about Luka or thought he did. She'd lied to him. Again. And someone had searched Luka's apartment down to the floorboards. Had they found what they were looking for? What had it been? What had Luka discovered? Whom had he told?

The questions wound through her like an endless maze, up one blind alley and down another.

She sighed, picked up the phone and called Moscow. It was after ten p.m. there, so she rang Smolov at home. He answered the phone himself.

"Sasha!" His big bear voice boomed Russian in her ear. "I thought you would never come to work. I hear you had quite a night. Petrov is pleased."

She glanced at the flowers. "So I understand. Is that why you called? For congratulations?"

He cleared his throat. "Not exactly. I wanted to let you know that Dashevsky is making noises again." Dashevsky was the Russian prime minister and a lukewarm supporter of favorable tax legislation for foreign investment in Russian oil. The vote would take place in a few months, and it was vital that the bill pass. "I don't think he was pleased with the splash your little party made. Pictures of the Russian consul shaking hands with your governor were in the morning papers."

She massaged her neck. One more problem was all she needed. "He's blown hot and cold before. Is this a real threat?"

"With Dashevsky, who knows?"

"Find out. And if it is serious, find a way to shut him down. We need that vote."

She disconnected and began to punch in another number when a knock sounded.

Letty poked her head in. "You have a visitor." Her brown eyes sparkled mischief, and Alex groaned silently. She needed time alone to think and plan. She opened her mouth with a polite excuse, but another voice spoke first from behind her secretary.

"Hello, darling." Miki Petrov pushed the door open wider and stepped into the office, his smile clearly indicating that she should be delighted to see him.

Letty's brows rose at the word
darling.
She winked at Alex and backed out, tactfully closing the door behind her.

Alex's heart sank. She didn't have the energy to fend off Miki today. But she didn't have a choice either. She stood and extended her arms, pasting on a smile. "Miki! What a nice surprise."

He strode across the room, thick silver hair contrasting with his pitch black brows. He kissed the tops of her hands, then her cheeks. "I couldn't wait to see you again."

"The flowers are lovely. And so unnecessary."

"It is always necessary to say how much one appreciates excellence." Still holding on to her hands, he pulled away to admire her. "You were marvelous last night. The papers are full of it Fantastic job. Let me take you to lunch to celebrate."

Alex's stomach turned. "I'd love to, but I'm swamped with catching up. Can we do it another day?'

Petrov shook a finger at her. "I won't hear of it. You work too hard. A relaxing meal with a glass of wine will do wonders. Come. I will not let you refuse." He tucked her arm in his and walked her to the door.

Alex couldn't think of a way to separate herself without making him suspicious. "All right. Where shall we go?"

Petrov tapped a finger against the side of his nose. "Let's make it a surprise."

She stopped at Letty's desk on the way out. "Looks like I'm being kidnapped."

Letty looked at Miki with approval. "Well, don't expect me to ransom you."

Outside the building Miki's limousine was waiting at the curb. A giant of a man in a long black leather coat stolidly guarded it.

Yuri the henchman.

His eyes were bloodshot, and she hoped he was feeling as lousy as he looked.

Wordlessly, he opened the car door and as he reached for the handle she noticed a series of crude tattoos on his massive knuckles. Jailhouse souvenirs. One, a dollar sign tattooed in the web between thumb and forefinger, meant he'd served time under the Soviets for hard currency speculation.

Everyone was in the money game.

Apprehension brushed her, but Yuri was docile as a lion on a leash and stood at attention while she and Miki got in. Then he closed the door behind them and slid into the driver's seat.

Scanned by Coral

6

The limousine headed uptown. There were any number of restaurants on the Upper West Side that Miki favored, all trendy and overpriced. But the car stayed on the East Side, finally stopping at a sedate building two blocks from the Guggenheim.