Tricks and Traps (Gray Spear Society Book 7) (8 page)

"That's because it isn't a trick. What would you say your greatest strength is?"

She paused to consider the question. "I'm sneaky and clever. I always find a way to win, even if it isn't the obvious way."

"A very admirable trait."

Sheryl looked over at Tawni again. The woman's beauty and athleticism drew Sheryl's attention like a magnet. Tawni also had an intensity in her eyes that promised excitement.

"And your worst weakness?" Aaron said.

Sheryl shrugged. "I don't have one. I'm perfect."

He stared at her without even a hint of a smile.

In a quieter voice, she said, "Vanity, I suppose. I like having an audience. I want to stand out from the crowd."

He frowned.

"You're disappointed."

"In our business," he said, "we never have an audience. Vanity is a problem."

"And what business is that, sir?"

Instead of answering her, he stood up and stretched his arms. He wore a gray jacket tailored to fit his huge chest. She didn't know if she had ever met a more physically intimidating figure.

"According to our research," he said, "you've never had a long-term relationship with a man. I also noticed you seem very interested in Tawni. Are you a lesbian?"

The blunt question left her speechless. It was such an inappropriate thing to ask. Her face grew hot.

He looked over at Tawni. "I can't argue with your taste. Tawni is much more than just a pretty face. She has a cunning mind and a strong heart. A fearless warrior. I'm quite fond of her."

Marina gave Aaron a hard look.

"In a paternal way," he added quickly.

Tawni looked down and smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"Well?" Aaron stared at Sheryl. "Are you a lesbian?"

She raised her chin defiantly. "Yes, and I'm proud of it. For the record, Tawni is absolutely beautiful. Of course I'm interested in her. I'm not embarrassed at all to admit it."

Tawni covered her eyes.

"How did your parents react when they found out?" he said.

Sheryl winced at the memory. "Not well."

"Be more specific."

"I really don't want to talk about this."

"Answer the question." There was menace in his voice.

"They hired a psychiatrist to 'fix' me. It didn't work, obviously. Then they sent me away. I can't go home until I decide I like men. It's fine. I'm happy and successful now. I get to do what I want without being nagged. I don't have to conform to conventional expectations. I don't have to dress like a house wife."

Aaron grunted. "Tragic. Could you have sex with a man if you had to?"

Sheryl straightened. "What kind of question is that?"

He walked towards her. "My business often involves gathering information. Sexuality can be used to facilitate that process."

As he approached her, she instinctively took a step back.

"I'm not a whore," she said.

"I never said you were. It's a simple question. If innocent lives were at stake, could you let a man fuck you?"

Sheryl was starting to get the idea these people were secret agents. She wondered whether they worked for the government.

"I suppose I could," she said, "if it really was a matter of life and death. I'm getting very tired of these personal questions."

Aaron nodded. "I have one more. Have you ever killed anybody?"

"No, of course not! I'm a magician, not a murderer. What's wrong with you?"

"It's not a big deal. Most of the people in this room have a blood-stained score card. Tawni, Norbert, and Jack. Nancy, what about you?"

"Just one kill, sir," Nancy said, "but it was memorable."

Sheryl didn't find Nancy attractive. The woman's brown, frizzy hair made her look like a clown. She was big and round in a boyish way. Her plaid shirt was something a redneck might wear.

"You'll have to tell me the story someday." Aaron faced Sheryl. "As you can see, you're in a room full of killers."

"You sound like a gang of criminals," she said.

"We're soldiers in a war. We take the lives that must be taken. This interview is finished. I'll show you to your room now. Everybody else is dismissed."

The rest of the crowd walked quietly out of the ballroom. A moment later, Sheryl was alone with Aaron. She realized she was exhausted from stress.

He grabbed the footlocker, but instead of rolling it, he lifted it by the handles. He carried it so easily, it looked like the box was empty.

"Your suitcase is in your car?"

She nodded. "In the parking lot."

"Lead on."

They walked back through the lobby and went outside. The fresh night air felt good on her face. They went to her rental car. She opened the trunk, and he put the footlocker inside.

"Do you mind if I leave now instead of spending the night, sir?"

"I got you the best room in the hotel," he said. "You can leave in the morning."

"Sounds like I'm staying."

"Correct."

She sighed. "By the way, it's not nice to threaten me, give me orders, and treat me like a servant."

"Being popular isn't part of my job. Grab your suitcase."

She took her suitcase from the back seat of the car. They headed towards the hotel.

"You don't care if people hate you?"

"My team doesn't hate me," he said.

"All those people report to you?"

"Except for Marina, yes."

Sheryl furrowed her brow. She realized working for Aaron meant being part of a team. It was a strange concept for her. She had been a one-woman show almost her entire life, and it had been a lonely life. Maybe it was time for a change.

They reentered the lobby. Stone tiles on the walls sparkled in the soft light.

"This is a nice hotel," she said.

"Thank you. I'm proud of it."

"You work here?"

"I own it," Aaron said.

That statement stopped her in her tracks. Once again, he had managed to shock her. He nodded towards the elevator, and she resumed walking.

"You must be a billionaire," she said. "No wonder you can afford to pay me a million dollars."

"Technically, the money isn't mine. I just control it."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," he said. "While we're on the subject of hotels, I need to explain something. My real name is a secret. Never use it in front of strangers. The staff of this hotel knows me as Mr. Berrycloth. It's extremely important that you don't slip up. Lives could be lost."

"You'd kill over a name?"

He looked at her, and the serious expression on his face was his answer.
Is everything a matter of life and death with this guy?

They entered the elevator. He pressed the button for the twentieth floor, and it went up quickly.

"You did well tonight," he said casually.

"Huh?" She blinked at him. "It was my worst performance ever. I was so stressed I could barely force a smile. The tricks were so simple an amateur could've done them, and I still screwed up a few times."

"You fought through it like a professional, even after Marina mugged you. Most women would've broken down. You didn't do anything stupid either. You adapted, made good choices, and survived. You should be proud of yourself."

Despite everything, she smiled a little. He was right.

They eventually reached her hotel room which was at the end of a long hall on the top floor. He gave her a key card.

She opened the door and went into the room. She was surprised to find it was a luxury suite with two bedrooms, a living room, and a full kitchen. Golden fabric covered the furniture, and plush, black carpet covered the floor.

"This is great," she said.

"I'm glad you like it. If you get hungry, call room service. Just mention the name Mr. Berrycloth, and you'll get anything you want, free of charge. And don't try to leave,
please
. I'll see you in the morning."

"I feel like a prisoner."

"I'm trying to keep you safe from dangers you don't understand. But if you just stay here and relax, I promise no harm will come to you. If you run off, there is no such guarantee."

He turned and walked away.

* * *

Sheryl had decided to order room service after all. She had rushed through a quick dinner before driving down to Chicago, and now, five hours later, she was very hungry.

Her meal was laid out on the desk in her hotel room. The main dish was jumbo crab cakes, and they were cooked to golden brown perfection. Her vegetables were sautéed brussels sprouts and steamed broccoli. A bottle of fine red wine and a glass stood within easy reach.

She was about to start eating when a knock on the door startled her.

"Room service," a deep male voice called.

"I already have my food!" she yelled back.

There was another loud knock.

She rolled her eyes and went to the door. When she opened it, she found herself staring at a shotgun. A giant suppressor was mounted on the barrel. A man dressed in black military fatigues was carrying it.

"Be quiet," he growled. "Find a chair and sit down."

Her heart was beating fast as she went back into the main room of her suite. She sat on a padded couch.

The intruder stood before her with the shotgun aimed at her forehead. He was a big, very muscular man. It seemed like she was meeting a lot of them lately. His reddish hair was cut so short she could see his scalp. His square, cleanly shaven jaw and light blue eyes made her think of a Hollywood action hero.

"I'm Special Agent Jenkins," he said, "FBI. I'm part of the Special Missions Unit. We hunt down terrorists."

Sheryl tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. "I'm not a terrorist."

"But you associate with them. Tell me about Aaron." He waved his shotgun menacingly.

"I don't know anything about him."

"He's responsible for more deaths than you would believe. You spent two hours with that monster tonight. Don't tell me you didn't hear anything interesting."

She shook her head. "He told me he owns this hotel. That's all. I don't even know his last name. How do you know I was with him?"

"We've been observing that rattlesnake for two months. You walked right into our stakeout. You're Sheryl Kapanina. How do you know Aaron?"

"He came to my dressing room last night and paid me to come here."

She had spent her life playing with illusions, and she instinctively knew when somebody was trying to fool her. She had trained herself to always look past the distractions and see the details that mattered. This situation felt wrong.

"How did you get up here?" she said.

Jenkins raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean? I took the elevator."

"Dressed like that? Carrying a big shotgun? This hotel is full of people. Somebody could've seen you."

"You're the one who needs to answer questions, not me. Now talk. This isn't a game!"

He fired the shotgun at the couch. Buckshot tore up the thick cushion only a foot from her arm. Even with a suppressor, the gun made a loud thump.

That's a good distraction,
Sheryl thought.

"Can I see some identification, please?"

Jenkins snarled. He took a leather wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to her.

She examined the contents and found an FBI badge, a driver's license, credit cards, and other forms of identification. All of it showed the name Nate Jenkins.

"This is a brand new wallet," she said. "No wrinkles or bends."

"So?"

The wallet contained a neat stack of twenties. She examined the money. The crisp bills looked fresh from the mint, and the serial numbers were consecutive. There were no other denominations.

"Hey!" Jenkins yelled. "Don't touch my money. Put it back and give me my wallet."

She returned the wallet. "You've been on a stakeout for two months?"

"That's right."

"Where have you been hiding?"

"Why does that matter?" he said. "Now shut up and tell me about Aaron."

She narrowed her eyes. "New wallet. Tight haircut. Freshly shaved. No small bills or loose change." She shook her head. "Not what I'd expect after a long stakeout."

"You're forgetting I'm the guy with the gun! I will waste your ass if you don't start cooperating."

"I don't think an FBI agent would kill an innocent witness. Aren't you supposed to take me downtown for interrogation or something? Are you going to read me my rights? Where is the rest of your team? Why are you alone?"

He grabbed her by the throat and forced the tip of the shotgun into her mouth. She could taste the warm metal and gun powder.

"You ask a lot of fucking questions," he growled. "I want to hear answers instead."

She looked into his bright, blue eyes. She expected to see anger but found compassion instead. He held her throat gently, as if he were being careful not to hurt her. Suddenly, she understood.

She turned her head to get the gun out of her mouth. "You need to practice your acting skills. I'm not buying it."

"What?" he yelled.

"I bet you work for Aaron. This is some kind of crazy test to see if I can be trusted."

She heard clapping, and Aaron walked out of one of the bedrooms. She hadn't known he was in the suite. Marina followed him.

"Well done!" he said. "As you deduced, this is one of my men. His real name is Smythe, and he's my second in command. You're right about his acting skills. His natural honesty and integrity can be an obstacle at times."

Smythe stepped back and stood at attention. All the pretend anger had vanished.

Sheryl relaxed. She was very proud of herself for seeing through the charade so quickly.

"As a reward for your excellent performance," Aaron said, "I'm going to tell you a few things about me and my people. You can eat while I talk. I don't want your dinner to get cold."

She had lost her appetite, but she knew it would return soon. She went back to the desk and grabbed a glass of wine. Alcohol seemed like the right way to start this meal.

"The greatest magician of all is God," he said. "He created an illusion so perfect it fools nearly everybody. Less than one in a million people even suspect it's a trick."

She shook her head. "What are you talking about, sir?"