The Borrowed and Blue Murders (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) (33 page)

“In a minute.” I dashed into the bathroom, not ready to try on a borrowed necklace or blue earrings or a borrowed blue garter or whatever blue borrowed things she’d chosen, bless her. I needed to be alone.

Breathe, I told myself. Take air in and let it out. I stood against the bathroom door, eyes closed, trying to calm down. Maybe we should have postponed the wedding. Too much, far too much, was interfering. Our babysitter was in the burn center; our wedding planner was dead; I’d just shot a former patient, and not only that. Tony might get mugged at any moment by persons unknown. The jump drives were still in his possession, and he was a mess waiting for someone to show up for them.

Visions of espionage, secret codes, death and pain were not what were supposed to fill a bride’s head before the ceremony. I needed to center myself. To focus on the commitment Nick and I were about to make. To focus on Nick. But when I thought of Nick, I saw him as he’d been the night before, blitheringly drunk, unconscious and snoring. I told myself to forget that, to think of Nick the way he was when Luke was born, steady and misty-eyed beside me, coaching me through the worst of the contractions. Or to think of him the first time I saw him, to remember how I couldn’t think straight once our eyes met, how his aftershave drugged me, how the texture of his jacket sleeve seduced my arm. Nick. Remembering him made my chest hurt. I missed him, needed to talk to him, needed to hear him reassure me not just about what had happened last night and last week but also about what was about to happen this night and afterward.

Stop being so wimpy, I told myself. Get a grip. Slowly, I opened my eyes, turning to the mirror. And gaped at the face that gaped back at me. I hadn’t looked at myself since I’d had my makeup done in the salon. The cheeks were heavily rouged, the nose and chin caked with base so thick that it would crack if I smiled. The eyelids were painted a startling shade of kelly green that clashed with the shocking pink heavily outlining my glossed lips. Oh God. How could Susan have let me leave the salon looking like this? I’d paid a week’s worth of grocery money to get my makeup done, and I looked grotesque and cartoonish. Where was a washcloth? I grabbed one and dampened it, pawed my face with it. I’d have to take it all off and start from bare skin. But where was my makeup case? My hands were trembling, and the white washcloth became mottled with stains of vermilion, forest green and burnt orange. Somehow, I gathered my own sack of makeup, reapplied a light base, a hint of natural blush, a subtle blend of violet and rose shadow, a little mascara, a deep flesh-toned lip gloss. Yes. At least I looked like myself again. And, I realized, the simple process of applying my makeup had grounded me. For the first time in days, I felt in charge. I stood at the mirror, pleased with myself, admiring the dark hair swept loosely back into a simple chignon, elegant wisps framing my face, a few strands of gray adding drama. I looked almost like a bride.

Molly was dressed, but I still needed to put myself into my gown. And I needed to find out whether Tim had arrived yet with my father. Checking myself in the mirror one final time, I stepped out of the bathroom, swathed in the hotel’s thick terry cloth robe. Little Luke still slept in his chair, just as I’d left him, but Susan was sitting stiffly on the love seat, gawking at something near the door. At what? Puzzled, I started into the room. Susan noticed me and, too late, I saw her shake her head no. Why?

Moving into the sitting room, I saw Eli.

“Eli—you’re here.” A stupid greeting, but I was grinning, happy to see him.

He had come to the wedding, just as he’d said he would, and standing beside the bar, dashing in a black tuxedo, Eli was so striking, so commanding, that at first I didn’t notice anything else, not even the limo driver standing right behind him.

As I approached, Eli smiled. “I told you I’d be here.”

My arms opened for a hug, but Susan gasped, “Zoe, don’t,” and the driver stepped forward, warning, “I don’t think so.” His voice was hushed, his eyes menacing. “Nobody touches this guy until he gives me what I came for.”

I stopped, my arms embracing empty air, and glared at the limo driver. So. I’d been right about the sneakers. There had been something wrong about him. Probably, he was the guy who was supposed to get the jump drives from Tony. Probably, like everybody else, he’d gotten the brothers confused. But now, somehow, we had to steer him to Tony.

“Where are they? Hand them over.” His mouth was against Eli’s ear.

“No, you’ve made a mistake. See, he isn’t—” I’d been about to say that he wasn’t Tony. To explain that Tony, not Eli, was the brother with the jump drives. Mid-sentence, though, it occurred to me that I shouldn’t do that. Nobody but Tony was supposed to know about the jump drives. If I said anything about them I put us all in jeopardy and ruined the FBI’s whole plan. What was I thinking?

“He isn’t what?” The driver revealed the gun he’d been pointing at Eli’s back. It had a long, awkward muzzle, probably a silencer. Oh dear.

“He isn’t…” I struggled to think of an end to that sentence. “…very healthy. He’s just getting over brain surgery.” Eli looked surprised, but I kept babbling. “He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He said he might not make it.”

“Where are they?” The driver had stopped listening and turned his attention back to Eli. “Hand ‘em over.”

“Does anyone know what he’s talking about?” Eli looked at me; his eyes were violet.

Of course I did. But I shrugged, shook my head. Susan watched me, confused and suspicious.

“Cut the crap, dude. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

Eli blinked at him.

“Shit, man. What the hell’s wrong with you? I called you yesterday told you to bring them. What are you up to? I could kill you right now.”

The driver had no idea that Eli wasn’t Tony. And Eli had no clue what was going on.

“Okay, look. I won’t hesitate. I’ll kill them.” He pointed his weapon at Susan and then at me. Eyes burning, Susan glowered on the love seat like a cornered wildcat.

“No, you won’t. Because, if you even try, I’ll never give you what you’re looking for. And also, while you’re firing the first shot, I’ll break your neck.”

Beads of sweat were pearling on the driver’s forehead. “Just give me the damned drives, pal. Nobody gets hurt. We all go on with our day.”

I stared at Eli. How could I let him know about the jump drives that Tony had, or that the FBI wanted Tony to give them to the guy?

“Come on,” I tried. “Stop messing around and give them to him, will you? Where are they? In your room?” I nodded toward Nick’s suite. “Did you leave them next door?”

Eli didn’t even blink. He got it. “What the hell, Zoe. Way to give me up.”

“Your room’s next door?” The driver jabbed the gun at Eli. “Shit. Let’s go have a look.”

“Not so fast.” Eli turned to face him. His face was composed, his voice calm. “I’ll give you what you want, but if you harm anyone, the women or anyone else, I’ll find you. And while you’re still alive, you can watch me feed your nuts to my dog. Got it?”

The limo driver opened, then closed his mouth, attempting a sneer. The gun seemed unsteady in his hand. Obviously, he hadn’t been prepared for Eli the assassin; he’d expected to deal with Tony the computer geek. “Look, man. I got a job to do. I’m supposed to collect and deliver. That’s all. Let me do it and we’ll all be happy.”

“Fine.” Eli’s eyes remained on the driver’s. “Let’s go.”

The driver looked at Susan. “Wait. I can’t just leave them here.” He dug in his pockets, pulled out a coil of plastic rope. “Here. Tie them up. Together—I only got the one rope.” .

Without hesitation, Eli took the rope and tied us back-to-back on the floor. Then, with a gun pointed at his back, he led the limo driver away, and the door closed behind them.

“T
HAT WAS
E
LI? HE’S
hot. But he could be Tony’s twin.” Susan began talking the second the door clicked shut. She tried to move her arm, yanking the rope against my rib cage. Reflexively, I pulled back. Susan cursed. “Dammit, Zoe. Stop moving; just hold still and tell me what’s going on. What is he here for?”

“Hang on, Susan.” I tested, trying to move my arms, my hands. To squirm or wriggle. I couldn’t. Eli had tied us too tight.

“Zoe. Stop pulling on the rope. You’re killing me.”

It was no use. Eli had left almost no slack. Why not? Whose side was he on? Finally, I gave up, beginning to panic. “He’s here for those jump drives. The ones I told you about.”

“Did you ever find out what’s on them?” She was panting. Trying to have a discussion.

“No. Not yet. The feds won’t say.” I was grunting. “But I knew something was wrong with that driver.”

“No, you didn’t.”

What? “I most certainly did—”

“Why didn’t you say something—”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he had a gun?”

Her butt pressed against mine. We lay there, arguing, spine-to- spine, cheek-to-cheek.

“If I’d have been able to talk to Nick, he’d have found the gun. But
someone
wouldn’t let me talk to Nick.”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault that some lunatic was driving your limo? You’re the one who thought he was so odd; why didn’t you do something?”

Oh my God, we sounded like bickering hens. In his little chair, still sleeping, Luke let out a deep sigh.

“Susan, forget all that—they’ve gone to Nick’s suite.”

“Why? What do they have in there?”

“It’s a long story. Now we need to get help.”

“So, what do we do? Scream?”

“We could try.”

“Okay. What should we shout? ‘Help’?”

“ Help’s good.”

“Okay.” I could feel her every breath. “On three.”

Together, breathing as one, we counted. And on three, we belted out
“Help!”
with all the power of our tightly fettered lungs. Luke slept on as we repeated it again and again, until our throats were raw. But, unfortunately, the Four Seasons’ boasts of thoroughly soundproofed rooms were accurate. Nobody responded. Finally, breathless, we stopped shouting.

“Now what?” I croaked.

“It’s getting late. The photographer will be looking for you. Eventually, Karen or Davinder or somebody will come get you.”

Oh God. People would be arriving. Nick and I were supposed to get married in an hour, and I’d just sent a gunman to Nick’s room.

“Let’s try to get out of here.”

“You’re not serious.”

“We have to try. Press your back against mine and push.”

She did, and I did. “Now what?”

We were like two mummies bound together. “I don’t know.” I’d never had to travel without using my arms or legs, much less when tied to another person. We pushed against each other, driving our thighs down to the floor. We flopped forward and back. We twisted our torsos up to a twenty-degree angle and collapsed.

“Hold on. I have to rest.” Susan panted. “I’m getting carpet burn on my face.”

We lay for a moment, breathing, noticing the undersides of the dining chairs and table. When Luke started to crawl, this would be his vantage point.

“Okay. Ready.” Susan had recovered. Against my back, I could feel her heart, still racing. Our bodies were damp, our breathing rapid and shallow, perfectly in sync.

“Maybe we can slither to the door.”

“Slither?”

“You know, push and wiggle. Shimmy.”

“Okay. To which door?”

“Nick’s.” The door that adjoined to Nick’s suite was closer than the door to the hall. Besides, the suite was where Eli and the driver had gone.

“On three.” Again, we counted together. Again, I felt her muscles work in unison with mine. Susan and I didn’t exactly slither; probably we resembled an inchworm more than a snake. We pushed our backs up and thrust our torsos ahead, flailed our united legs back and forth and up and down. We rolled and tipped, groaned and grunted, and gradually, one centimeter at a time, made our way to the door.

Where we lay, huffing and puffing. “Now what?”

It was a legitimate question. We couldn’t reach the doorknob. We couldn’t really bang on the door with our heads or feet. And depending on what was going on in the suite, we might not want to.

We tried to listen through the double door, hearing no gunshots, making out only garbled baritone sounds. And then, when we’d run out of ideas and energy, we heard the click of the passkey in the lock. The door swung open and Molly skipped in, Karen right behind her.

M
OLLY HELD MY HAND
, stroking my face, asking questions. Were we hurt? Had someone robbed us? Was there still going to be a wedding? Did Nick know we were tied up? Should she go tell him?

The rope was too hard to untie, so Karen used a nail scissors. It took some time to cut the plastic; it was thick and the nail scissors had short, rather dull cutting edges. Susan was busy giving instructions to Karen, so I had plenty of time to answer Molly’s questions. “No. No. Yes. No. No. Everything is going to be okay.”

As soon as my hands were free, I cupped her face and kissed her, assuring her that we were fine.

“But who tied you up, Mom?”

“Uncle Eli.”

“Who’s Uncle Eli?” Karen was confused.

“Uncle Eli?” So was Molly. She’d never met him. “But why?”

Good Lord. I needed to explain, but I couldn’t, not then. “To help Uncle Tony. It’s a long story.”

Susan nudged me. “Zoe. We sent them next door. Should we call security?”

“No. No security.” The FBI wanted the guy to get the drives; security might interfere. Might even get hurt.

Karen watched us, her brown eyes baffled. “Zoe? What can I do?”

I nodded. “Sweetheart.” I took Molly’s hands. “In the bedroom, there are some boxes of jewelry and hankies and stuff. Can you and Karen go into the bedroom and pick out something borrowed and something blue for me to wear?”

I met Karen’s eyes; without words, my gaze told her to keep Molly there.