Triumph (14 page)

Her lucky break. Kelly went a different way without a backward look at him, going through double sets of doors with a stream of people. There was no sign of Bach in the lobby. She made double sure he wasn’t following her when she stepped into the elevator that would take her to the penthouse suite.

Exhausted and preoccupied, Kelly didn’t see Deke catch up again and watch her until the doors closed. She had no idea that Huxton had stationed himself on their floor for the night or that he confirmed her safe entry into the suite with a text to Deke. All she wanted to do was flop on a freshly made bed and not think.

 

Wire-framed fixtures with bare bulbs threw harsh light over the cinder-block walls of a corridor meant for hotel staff and catering equipment. Gunther Bach nodded to a slightly built man going in the opposite direction, pushing a wheeled cart overloaded with dirty glassware and plates. He could only hope the fellow would take him for a banquet manager or some such personage.

The man kept his head down, as if he hoped not to be noticed as well, and concentrated on what he was doing. He made a turn into the chaotic work area Gunther had already passed. A cloud of dishwashing steam drifted down the corridor when the cart rattled through the doors.

Gunther coughed and continued to walk briskly, heading for an exit that led to the hotel’s parking lot. Once outside in the night air, he breathed more easily. He narrowed his eyes, adjusting to the relative darkness of the parking lot, looking for his luxury rental before glancing at his watch.

He had ten minutes before Konstantin would arrive. Time enough to collect himself and rehearse what he would say. His silent partner would expect a complete report.

First, Gunther took out a silver cigarette case and treated himself to a calming smoke. Then he crushed the butt underfoot and got into his car to wait.

Soon enough, a huge black SUV rolled past him. Gunther glanced at the plates, comparing the numbers to several sets he had memorized. One set matched. The vehicle was Konstantin’s.

He watched the SUV go into a parking space, getting out of his car when the brake lights went off. Gunther looked around the parking lot, which was empty, except for a few exuberant drunks who weren’t likely to remember him or anything else.

The passenger door of the SUV opened with a soft click as he appeared in its mirror. Gunther got in.

Konstantin himself was at the wheel, which was unusual. His bulky body seemed too large for the seat he occupied and his black, disheveled hair brushed against the interior roof. The dark blue birthmark on his face didn’t show much in the shadows. A stray glint of light revealed a heavy ring on one of the meaty, thick-knuckled hands resting on the inner curve of the steering wheel.

The man was a brute. But highly intelligent. At this stage of the operation, Konstantin ranked one level below Gunther himself.

“Good evening,” Gunther said.

Konstantin growled a reply as he pushed a button. Gunther heard the doors lock.

“Where is your driver?”

“He was needed elsewhere,” the other man replied. “Too many ears make problems. Now talk.”

Gunther obliged in detail. Occasionally Konstantin cut him off with an impatient grunt, telling him to get to the point.

“We made many new friends,” Gunther said sarcastically. “With luck, some will talk to us tomorrow or the next day. Even I have never seen so many rich people in one place—Natalie Conrad is like a magnet. Imagine paying millions to put your name on part of a building. But people do.”

“Were you photographed with her?”

“No,” Gunther said. “But she knew I was there. She reached me at the airport just in time. The opportunity could not be ignored.”

“We were ready for you,” Konstantin said simply.

He reached for a flask and unscrewed the cap. The sickly-sweet smell of plum brandy reached Gunther’s nose. The other man took several swigs and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“One of my men saw you talking to a blond woman. Very pretty. Who was she?” Konstantin asked the question as if he knew the answer and was only looking for confirmation.

“Kelly Johns. She is a news anchor from Atlanta. We had lunch together recently—very recently. She tried to pump me about my financial enterprises, supposedly for a feature report.”

“And?”

“I thought of a distraction. My attempt at seduction disgusted her.”

Konstantin laughed rudely. “For a reason. You are old.”

Gunther bit back a curt reply. “But I found out what I wanted to know.”

“Go on.” The bulky man took another nip of brandy.

“That she was lying about her reasons for meeting with me. For a fraction of a second there was fear in her eyes.”

“Always good to see,” Konstantin muttered.

Gunther anticipated the next question. He took several sheets of thin paper from an inside pocket of his jacket and unfolded them on the dashboard. Konstantin squinted.

“She is not on this list. Therefore, she was not invited. Security was very tight for this event. Natalie told me that. Of course, she has no idea why I changed my plans at the last minute. I suspect she thinks I still have feelings for her.”

Konstantin shook his head. “You?”

“I won’t shatter her cherished illusion. She is still useful, and we need new clients with deep pockets. None of our accounts have been frozen.”

“Yet.” Konstantin seemed distracted. Gunther noticed him looking into the rearview mirror. There were other people in the parking lot. Well-dressed guests were waiting in the valet line for their cars to be brought.

Double-wide service doors opened suddenly. A long cart was thrust through, laden with thick, yard-high rolls of something gray. Gunther caught a glimpse of brightly colored edging. The red carpets were being removed from the ballroom.

“So much work,” Konstantin muttered. Three men pushed the heavy cart, and one in front helped steer it to a storage building.

He and Gunther watched in silence as a second cart followed the first. The men handling it set the brakes to keep it from moving and went to help the others unload.

Gunther turned and looked over his shoulder. They were not that far away. He could see a dark stain spread beneath the second cart, dripping from a corner. A roll of carpet thrown on top bulged in the middle.

He faced forward again. Konstantin offered a few words of explanation. “It had to be done. And I did not want the body in my car.”

“Who was killed?”

“A thief. His name is not important.”

K
elly awoke to sunlight pouring in through the penthouse suite windows. She’d forgotten to close the drapes before collapsing into bed last night. She pushed back the covers and sat up, yawning. At least she hadn’t slept in her evening gown. There was a drift of silky, sage-green material over one of the armchairs. Her high heels were where she’d kicked them off, more or less in a corner.

Barefoot, she padded to the bathroom, looking for her robe. The hotel air-conditioning had been auto-set to high, and the chemise she’d slept in wasn’t enough to ward off the chill. Tightening the sash knot on her way back, Kelly noticed a piece of paper that had been shoved under the adjoining door of the penthouse suites.

She hesitated, but only for a second. Kelly picked it up.

 

 

Deke hadn’t signed it. But by now she knew the number he’d added—it had appeared on her phone often enough. Kelly looked at the clock. 8:46. Way too early to activate her sense of humor. She ripped the note in half and shoved it under the door to his side.

She was annoyed with him, nothing more. That he hadn’t told her absolutely everything about the operation wasn’t the end of the world, and so what if she’d been startled to see him in the spotlight with two women. Her momentary flash of jealousy was completely irrational. Deke was an intriguing guy, and great-looking, but Kelly had accompanied him to Texas to get another side of a story she wanted to do. It was best to leave it at that.

She walked to the window, gazing out on Dallas by day. Like Atlanta, it was divided by fast-moving highways weaving through skyscrapers and older buildings of brick, though Dallas was nowhere near as green. The morning sun brought out the businesslike look of the city. The magic was gone.

Kelly turned away, looking for the room service menu. She frowned when she saw that another note had replaced the first on the floor. There was something else beside it—a long, green stem.

He must be enjoying this little game. Kelly walked over and stopped by the second note, reading it without picking it up.

 

 

Kelly relented. She turned the lock and opened it. There stood Deke holding eleven red roses in a vase. She picked up the long-stemmed one on the floor and stuck it in the vase. “Are those a peace offering?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What for?” Her question was sincere enough. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Good to know.”

“Besides, I’d rather have coffee.” She walked in, looking around some more.

“It’s in the carafe. Good morning. How are you?”

Kelly gave him—and the room—a fast once-over before she replied. “I’m barely awake.”

He looked a little silly holding that tall vase of long-stemmed roses, what with the stubble outlining his strong jaw and his messed-up dark hair. He wore the same tank top and athletic pants with a stripe down the side that he’d had on before dressing for the ball yesterday.

There were no signs of a passionate encounter anywhere in the suite. The couch pillows were lined up. There were no delicate underthings tossed on the floor or hanging from the chandelier. Through the bedroom door, she could see that the king-size bed had been slept in, but only on one side. The other half of the comforter was unwrinkled, still neat and square-cornered.

Done. Deke didn’t even seem to notice that his suite had been inspected.

He set the vase by the widescreen TV and gestured toward the table, which was set for two. “I was hoping you’d join me.”

“Look, about last night,” she began, then stopped.

“I understand.”

“Let me finish,” Kelly said firmly. “After I left Natalie Conrad up there, I just wasn’t up for meeting anyone. Call it nervous system overload. I didn’t mean to be rude to your colleagues.”

“They were cool with it. You did look tired.”

The second comment irked her. Kelly lifted one of the metal domes on the room service spread, happy to see crisp bacon and scrambled eggs. She could use a hearty breakfast. “One of your female agents would be a good angle for the story.”

“I was thinking the same thing myself.”

“Really.”

“They do things differently from us guys,” he began.

“How?”

“I can give you their numbers if you’d like to do some interviewing. After hours, we huddled at the hotel bar, had a few drinks, caught up on business—”

“I get it.” Kelly picked up a piece of buttered toast and bit off a corner. “So did you find out everything you needed to know last night?”

“I was about to catch up to you to talk about that when that huge guy stepped between us.”

Kelly thought for a minute and then she remembered, but vaguely. Black hair, badly dressed. She hadn’t seen his face. “Who was he?”

“No one you would want to know. I recognized his face from a photograph Hux took. Didn’t expect to see him here, though. I’m not sure if it means anything.” Deke pulled out a chair for her. “I’ll brief you on other stuff during breakfast, okay?”

She sat, tucking her robe under her and adjusting the lapels. His suite was chilly too. “After. I need to eat.” Kelly noticed that Deke didn’t seem to feel the least bit cold. Worked for her. She got to admire him half-dressed by the light of day.

He looked really good in the morning. One man in a million did, and here she was with him. Being with him, about to eat breakfast with no one else around, felt pleasantly domestic—in a highly sensual sort of way.

“You spent a lot of time with Natalie Conrad,” Deke said. He leaned back in his chair, munching calmly on the last piece of toast. “What’s your take on her?”

Kelly searched for the right word. “Natalie? She’s—intense. And hard to figure out. But this project means a lot to her. She wants to name the museum after her late husband. I got the feeling that she’d do anything to make it happen.”

Deke brushed the crumbs from his hands. “The bidding frenzy was really something. Mrs. Conrad knows how to get rich people to give it up.”

Kelly poured coffee for both of them. “They get their names on the museum. If it gets built.”

Deke looked at her inquiringly.

“I noticed that she never mentioned a start date or where it would be located. An architect’s model doesn’t mean anything. You have to wonder, right?”

“That works both ways,” Deke pointed out. “Pledges don’t mean anything either until the money is in the bank.”

Kelly nodded, cradling the warm cup in both hands as she sipped coffee. “True. Cynical, but true. So how about your investigation? Any leads?”

“The short answer is yes. The team has to put it all together. Looks like our bad guys are trying to get into Dallas and start doing business. We can request go-aheads to investigate some, do online surveillance on others, and keep talking to our informants. If big money is being moved, we move in.”

“Moved?” Kelly laughed. “You mean like in a truck?”

“They do it all the time. But it’s not the easiest way.” Deke switched the subject. “Hey, I got the photos of the bracelet thief to the cops—thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t mention my name if they catch him. I don’t have time to chat with detectives about something I didn’t see.”

“No problem,” Deke teased. “I’ll take the credit. Did you get any other photos after that?”

“Not once I was sitting next to Natalie. And not after. The noise, the bling, the lights—” Kelly set down her cup and rubbed her temples. “Go away, little headache. Please go away.”

“Sorry about that.”

She smiled at him. “I’ll live. I wanted to be there. And I got something out of it.”

“Is Natalie going to give you an interview?”

“That’s a long shot, but I did ask,” Kelly replied. “I got a polite no.”

“Which won’t stop you.”

She acknowledged that fact with a shrug. Deke rose and went to get his laptop, bringing it over to the table. Kelly watched idly until the screen came to life.

He’d created a spreadsheet of sorts, with some of the photos he’d shown her before the ball and some new ones. Crooks to the left, likely victims to the right, and available agents in a middle column. Several names of celebrities and the socially prominent popped out at her.

The Hales were not among them, Kelly noticed. Not every rich person was an easy mark. She suspected that the dignified Mrs. Hale would think nothing of using her beaded evening bag to beat up a crook.

“Are you going to tell those people to watch out?” she wanted to know. “Besides the bracelet getting stolen, nothing happened, right?”

“Not yet. But it wouldn’t be the first time we alerted banks in advance. For what that’s worth,” he added. “We don’t always know who’s on our side and who isn’t.”

“What about someone like Gunther Bach?”

“Not a damn thing we can do about him until a whole lot more dots get connected. We watch and wait, that’s all. He may be en route to Mexico again. And from there, we don’t know.”

Kelly studied the faces. “I forgot to ask if you had run-ins with any of these characters before.”

“Only one.” He pointed to a man with a narrow face. “I testified against him a couple of years ago. That was why I had to kiss you.”

The memory was potent. The suddenness of his lips on hers, the strength with which he’d pulled her body close to his—she tried not to look at Deke now. “Is that your standard evasion technique?” she joked.

“Actually, no. It’s not in the manual.”

Kelly could feel his gaze on her. She kept her tone light and her mind on the business at hand. “Whatever. So you think these new developments might be related to the shooting in Atlanta?”

“It’s a strong possibility. Some of what we’ve been hearing on the streets suggests it, and the evidence could point that way.”

“Could you be less specific?”

He picked up on her sarcasm without reacting to it. “We’re a long way from arresting anyone. We can’t get warrants without probable cause and actual facts. There are a lot of pieces to this puzzle. This is only the beginning.”

“Hmm. I like the sound of that.”

“Say what?”

“This could be a series, not a one-time feature.” Kelly looked up at him. “Can you e-mail me these files?”

“No.”

The blunt reply didn’t invite a discussion of the reasons why he couldn’t. Kelly let it go. She’d wangle the information she wanted out of him somehow, promise him something he really wanted—then make him wait for it.

“Okay. Well, I should get back to Atlanta tonight.” She didn’t want to ask him if he was staying or going. “Is that jet available?”

“No. However, I’m authorized to buy you a commercial ticket.”

“Sweet. Go for it.” Kelly sipped the last of her coffee as Deke tapped the keyboard.

He waited for an airline page to download, and scrolled through the available flights. “There’s a three-ten nonstop to Atlanta with a couple of seats left in first class. Window or aisle?”

“Window. If I can look out, I don’t have to talk to anyone.”

“I know what you mean. You’re checking a bag, right?”

“Yes.” She put down the empty cup. “Before I forget, thanks for the look at your operation. Going undercover with you really was interesting.”

Deke closed the files and shut down the laptop. “I guess we both got what we came for.”

Looking at his broad shoulders as he turned away from her made her inclined to disagree. That wasn’t all. Deke had a way of walking that would catch any woman’s eye. Long legs, nice butt, solid muscle in the middle, and those
arms
. She wouldn’t mind being held in them right now. Maybe messing up his disheveled dark hair even more. Kelly was regretting her ankle-length robe and ironclad professionalism.

“Yes. I should type my notes while everything’s still fresh in my mind. Beats browsing at the airport bookstore.”

“You have plenty of time.”

Kelly made a wry face. “Just enough. I have to pack, shower, grab a taxi, and trek to the gate.”

“Even so—”

“Deke, my last flight out of DFW involved the monorail, a shuttle bus, and close to a mile of walking. It’s not my favorite airport.”

“It is big,” he admitted. “Think of it as exercise.”

“Don’t you get enough chasing crooks?” Deke certainly looked like he did. She wondered when and if she would get to see him showing this much muscle again.

“Not always.” He clicked a final key. “Okay, you’re good to go. Want me to send the reservation to your smartphone?”

“Please.”

A moment later, her phone chimed, distantly, inside the evening bag in her suite. “Modern living. I love it,” she said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Kelly got up to go, tugging at her robe. “Deke, one more question,” she said casually.

“Ask away.”

“Since when does the government authorize a freelance agent to buy first-class tickets?”

“It doesn’t. I used my miles.”

Kelly shot him a disbelieving look. “I hope you didn’t use them up.”

“There’s more where those came from.”

She was all for hustling, but he seemed a little too eager to send her on her way. “Aren’t you sweet. But that really wasn’t necessary. Your next ticket is on me. I have more frequent-flyer miles than I know what to do with.”

“Forget it. My pleasure. Call me when you get to Atlanta.”

Several hours later, Kelly was relaxing in a comfortable first-class seat, letting her mind drift as she looked out the plane window. She had the row to herself and had curled up with a book she wasn’t reading and notes she wasn’t writing. Lazy clouds drifted over sprawling ranches, which changed to farms dotted with irrigation circles as they flew on. The patchwork-quilt look of the landscape was comforting. After a while she dozed off.