Eyes Only (7 page)

The building behind the main house looked like it had been added recently. It was all glass and steel, with a modern look and feel to it. Inside, it was all lines and angles, again stark. A man seated at a desk at the far corner of the entryway looked up and said, “Can I help you? We're closed right now, but I never turn anyone away. What we can't do today, we can always do tomorrow.”

He's a good-looking guy,
Maggie thought. He looked muscular and in robust shape.

Ted made the introductions and went into his spiel. The others watched Phillips closely to see what his reaction was. Annoyance.

“Again? I've had three different people here asking me the same questions. If this keeps up, I might be able to sell my DNA for a profit. Here it is, the hair from my head, the root still attached,” Phillips said, pulling a small sealed Baggie out of one of his desk drawers. “I'm going to tell you the same thing I told them. Gretchen Spyder and I were friends. She really liked to dance. I teach dancing. There's nothing more to tell you other than that I haven't seen her or had any communication with her for years.”

“Sure there is,” Maggie said quietly as she rummaged in her backpack for her special gold shield. She held it up like a beacon. “There's some serious juice behind this shield, so it might be a good idea to tell us what you
didn't
tell those other people. Let's start over. My name is Maggie Spritzer. Talk to me,” she said, slipping the gold shield back into her backpack.

“Okay, okay. Gretchen was a good friend. A really good friend. No, not that kind of friend. I'm gay, and I have a partner, so get that look off your faces. She lent me the money to start this studio, as long as she could come and dance to her heart's delight. Sometimes she'd come in the middle of the night and dance until dawn. By herself. Yes, she had a lover. Sometimes she brought him here. Actually, it was like every other week, when her security, her handler, whoever the hell the guy was, rotated. She had an arrangement with the off-week guy so he wouldn't report to her parents what she was doing. I guess she paid him more to keep her secret than her daddy was paying him. Whatever it was, it worked. For her. The guy's name was Greg Albright.

“It all came to a crashing end when Gretchen came here one night and told me she was pregnant. She was so hysterical, I didn't know what to do for her, so I just let her cry and tried to comfort her. She asked me to talk to Greg and to tell him she went away and wouldn't be coming back. She took a new apartment and hid out until it was time to give birth, at which point she gave the baby up for adoption.”

“Correction,” Dennis said. “Gretchen Spyder gave birth to twins.”

“Really? I didn't know that.” Phillips shrugged. “I never saw her again. But she did something very generous. She canceled the loan she had with me. I own the studio free and clear, thanks to Gretchen.”

“Did you know about her accident?” Maggie asked.

“No. What accident? Is she okay? What happened?”

Maggie spelled it out for Phillips. “They say she's in a wheelchair and might never walk again. We really don't know much more than that. Are you saying Greg Albright doesn't know about the pregnancy?”

“Well, I know that Gretchen didn't tell him, and I sure as hell didn't tell him. If he found out, he found out from someone else. Oh, there is one other thing. Gretchen said Greg wouldn't accept a simple ‘Gretchen is going away' excuse, that he'd try to find her, so she came up with a story and gave me a hundred thousand dollars in American Express traveler's checks made out in his name to give to him along with the story that he was to go to London, England, out to the countryside, and buy a little cottage with a lot of flowers, and she'd join him in a year. She left a letter for him, too. He took it all and left. And I've never heard from him since. I just assumed that Gretchen joined him at some point, since I never heard from her again, either.”

“And you didn't tell any of that to the other people who came here, snooping around?” Espinosa said.

“Look, I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I can read people. What those guys wanted did not bode well for Gretchen. They looked like trained military, and I could tell that two of them were packing heat by the cut of their jackets. I think I pulled it off, because no one ever came back, and that was almost four years ago.”

“Do you have any way at all of tracking down Albright?” Maggie asked.

“No. Sorry.”

“Do you know where Gretchen met Albright? Did anyone but you know about him?”

“Her secret bodyguard, I suppose, but like I said, she paid him well not to squeal on her. I suppose he could be turned. Money talks and bullshit walks. We all know that. The guy might be afraid to open his mouth for fear Gretchen's father would fire him. She told me one time after too much wine that her father, and these are her words, not mine, was meaner than cat shit. She said he was a cruel man. Having said all that, there is nothing more I can tell you. She never said where she met Greg. I know they loved each other. I wish you could have seen her dance. She was a natural. She just glowed when she was free to be the dancer in her. It's hard to accept that she won't dance again. She was a good friend. A really good friend.”

Maggie pulled a business card out of her backpack. “If you hear anything that will help us, please call. If anyone comes back, asking questions, be sure to let us know. We're trying to help.”

Zack Phillips got up and walked around the desk to shake hands with the little group. “If I hear anything, I'll be in touch. If you talk to Gretchen, give her my regards.”

“We'll do that, Mr. Phillips,” Maggie said.

Outside in the balmy evening air, Maggie looked at the others and said, “Are you all thinking what I'm thinking?”

Ted and Espinosa grinned and said in unison, “Isabelle.”

“Oh, yeah. C'mon. Let's grab something to eat, head to the hotel, and call it a night. We're outta here at six in the morning, and it's a forty-minute ride to the airport,” Maggie said.

“We did good today, didn't we, guys?” Dennis said.

Espinosa clapped Dennis on the back. “Real good, kid. Real good.”

Chapter 6

Z
ack Phillips watched the sun creeping over the horizon. He'd barely slept, tossing and turning all night long. He'd talked last night's situation over with his partner ad nauseam until he thought he would go out of his mind with the lack of any solution. His first loyalty was to Gretchen Spyder. She'd trusted him to do what she asked, and he'd failed her. Because. . . because . . . he'd thought Greg Albright had a right to know the secret he'd been entrusted to keep. He felt guilty as hell now. “A guy thing,” his partner had said. Bullshit! What could be worse than a man waiting for the love of his life to show up and being left hanging. With no explanation. And the baby. Twins. He needed to tell Greg that, too. Right or wrong, he had to live with what he'd done. And now he was going to compound the problem.

Zack hitched up his sweatpants. Normally, he was out running at this time of the morning, but today he could barely place one foot in front of the other, much less run his usual five miles. All the lies he'd told lately were starting to eat at him. His placid life was now full of stress and intrigue. His guests last night had seemed the best so far, but he was still glad he had held back. At the present time, he didn't trust anyone. Hell, he couldn't even trust himself. He'd betrayed his best friend. What did that say about him? Not much, that was for damn sure.

“Crap!” It was an explosive sound. So loud, his cat hissed his disapproval and flew out of the room.

Zack rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers for the prepaid cell phone he'd bought at Target a few months ago. He'd used it only three times, and that was to call Greg Albright in England. It took only one meeting with the gun-toting visitors to tell him they were more than capable of checking the calls he made on his own cell phone or any other cell phone that used a SIM card, like a TracFone.

He didn't watch
Law & Order
on TV for nothing. He knew how it all worked. Even though he'd done his best to stay under the radar, he was absolutely positive that he was under surveillance. Too many strange faces around, too many times that the hair on the back of his neck warned him things weren't normal. So he took a deep breath and hit the only programmed number on the prepaid burn phone. He thought he'd been clever when he asked the mother of one of his students to pick up the phone. He'd given her cash, and she'd done as he asked and brought the phone to him before class.

“Greg, it's Zack. Listen, I had another batch of visitors last night. I think you need to relocate, and just to be on the safe side, I'd get some new identity cards if you can. This thing seems to be heating up. Look, they found me, not that I'm that hard to find, but sooner or later, someone is going to tie you to me. There's only so much I can do. And before you can ask, no, I have not been able to get in touch with Gretchen. So, are you going to take my advice?”

Zack listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. His stomach roiled at the torment he was hearing. “Greg, you're the father of the twins. Gretchen's father wants your kids to carry on his bloodline. With you in his corner, he can get the kids, and the Domingos lose. You lose, too. Trust me on that. Is that what you want? I know you didn't know any of this when you did what Gretchen asked you to do. I think now that she was trying to protect you from her father the only way she knew how. She wasn't counting on being in that killer accident.

“The good news is she never told her father about you. I don't know this for a fact, but I would guess that she probably said something like she had too much to drink and had a one-night stand. Something like that. Otherwise, they would already have you in their hot little hands. Do not forget for one minute that he's the richest man in the world, or at least that's what he says. Money is power. If he wants you, you're his. That's the bottom line. Run, buddy, as far and as fast as you can. If you need me to do anything, call only this number. Let's set a time for calls. Let's say, nine o'clock my time. I'm usually home by then. Good luck, buddy.”

When the phone was shoved back into the kitchen drawer, Zack realized he didn't feel one bit better. He immediately took it out and shoved it down in the bottom of a box of cornflakes. If anything, that made him feel even worse. He poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it as he paced the spacious kitchen. Then he poured a refill as he thought about the people who had visited him last night. There was something different about them, as opposed to the gun-toting jerks who had confronted him earlier. The foursome seemed like they were on the Domingos' side, and rightly so. It would be cruel to rip the twins away from the only parents they had ever known. And yet they seemed genuinely concerned about Gretchen Spyder. He didn't know if he was glad or not that he'd opted not to tell them more about Greg Albright.

Zack's shoulders slumped as he made his way to the second floor. He needed to get a move on since he had an aerobics class for a group of senior citizens at eight thirty, followed by a class in ballroom dancing for the same group of seniors. He always enjoyed the classes with the oldsters, all of whom claimed to have two left feet. Which, he'd come to find out, was true. Secretly, he thought some of them came just for the coffee and doughnuts and the socializing. Whatever, he had to get a move on. He crossed his fingers the way he had when he was a child in the hope that things would go well in regard to Gretchen Spyder and the Domingo family. And, of course, Greg Albright.

 

 

Maggie Spritzer was a whirlwind as she raced through her duties as editor in chief of the
Washington Post.
She delegated tasks, signed her name a dozen different places, scanned the morning's front page, and nodded in approval. As an afterthought as she munched on a banana, she watered the plants in her office. And all this was done while she was still wearing her rain gear. She opened the door to check on the boys, who were standing in a straight line, their arms crossed over their chests, waiting for her. Their expressions clearly said, “What's taking so long?”

“You guys ready?” Maggie asked breathlessly. “You know, Ted, that was a brilliant idea you had for the front page. Annie is going to love it.”

Ted basked in his beloved's praise. “It was Espinosa and Dennis's idea. I just ran with it and wrote it.”

“I like the idea of a prize of a Barnes & Noble Nook for the first ten people who can name the woman you wrote about. By the end of the week, Countess Anna de Silva will be a household name. Let's just hope that someone on Spyder Island reads our paper,” Maggie said.

“Everyone reads the
Post,
” Dennis said confidently. “I think you can take off your raincoat, Maggie. The sun is out. April showers bring May flowers, and all that.” Dennis chortled. “Who's driving?”

“Me,” Espinosa said, raising his hand. “Anyone in favor of stopping somewhere for some takeout we can eat in the car on the way out to the farm?”

Settled in the
Post
van, Maggie leaned back and started to talk. “What's your honest opinion of Zack Phillips? We really didn't talk about him last night, and we all slept on the flight home.”

“Seemed okay to me,” Espinosa said as he hit the highway.

“Something was off-key,” Ted said.

“I think he knew something he didn't tell us. I don't think he gave us the full skinny on everything,” Dennis said.

“I agree. I think he knows exactly where Greg Albright, the baby daddy, is,” Maggie said. “My gut tells me that even if we pulled out his toenails, he won't give it up, either. He's a loyal friend. I understand that and admire him for his loyalty.”

“I didn't get that feeling,” Espinosa grumbled.

“That's because you don't have a reporter's instincts. Didn't you pick up anything with your photographer's eye?” Ted demanded.

“No, I didn't,” Espinosa grumbled again as he turned on his blinker to hit a burger house that claimed to have the best hamburgers in the state of Virginia. They loaded up with killer fries, burgers, and fruit pies and added diet sodas to make up for their fat intake.

The foursome ate with gusto. Bad manners or not, they kept up a running conversation about what was going on, with Dennis asking for explicit clarification as to why they were so interested in a man like Angus Spyder when it was the Domingos they should be concentrating on.

“Listen to me carefully, kid,” Ted said. “It all ties together. The girl, the birth mother named Gretchen Spyder, who, by the way, is an only child, was sent to Florida to go to college. She had bodyguards. Because her daddy is who he is. I'm sure she had a list of do's and don'ts a mile long. She wasn't to mix with others, just go to classes and behave herself. Which I guess she did until she met Greg Albright. She somehow managed to convince one of her bodyguards to cut her some slack. She probably paid him a fortune, but I don't know that for sure. Then she finds herself in the family way. I'm thinking she panicked and made arrangements to give the baby up for adoption.

“We have to assume both bodyguards knew of her condition, and again, we have to assume that she paid bodyguard number two to keep quiet, even though it was bodyguard number one who had allowed the dirty deed to take place. It all worked, and Daddy and Mummy were none the wiser until she was in a car accident several years later. You know hospitals ask a lot of questions before they admit you. It came out that she had given birth to a child. Just part of the questionnaire. Her family is notified because she is seriously injured. Her daddy sends someone to take her back to Spyder Island.”

Ted turned to Maggie and said, “We should have checked the hospitals to see what we could find out.”

“Yeah, I thought about that last night, so I called Abner and asked him to hack into the hospital records to see what he could find out. Someone signed her out. Her daddy's goon squad. Imagine that. He couldn't even come to the mainland to see his daughter. What kind of father is that? And where's the mother in all of this?”

“We should be trying to find the two bodyguards,” Dennis said.

The others laughed.

“Kid, they are long gone,” Ted said. “Maybe even dead, for all we know. People like Angus Spyder do not tolerate mistakes or betrayal. The daughter is probably locked up in some dungeon for bringing disgrace to the family. Yet he wants those kids. Go figure. The man doesn't give a hoot in hell that he'll be ripping those twins away from the only parents they've ever known or that the adoption was perfectly legal. They're his blood, and he wants them. Unless he can find the birth daddy. That would be our guy Greg Albright, who supposedly resides in England these days. And that is the end of the story as we know it at this point in time.”

Dennis leaned forward. “So you're saying no matter what we do, he's going to get those kids.”

“Unless we stop him,” Maggie said as she licked at her fingers. “We can do that, you know. Stop him, that is. If you don't believe that, then you don't belong in this group, Dennis.”

Dennis snorted. “This whole thing sounds like some bizarre fairy tale. Us and what army?”

“No army, kid. Just us.” Ted laughed. “Obviously, you need to read up on the vigilantes. Have you already forgotten what happened with the crooked judges? Or the crooked developer who had been your benefactors' childhood friend? And while you're at it, remember who our newest best friend is. Jack Sparrow. That army enough for you, kid?”

Maggie waved off the conversation like it was too stupid to discuss any further. “Ted, what is your gut telling you? Mine is telling me, we're missing something or we've overlooked something.” Maggie's tone of voice was so fretful, Dennis sat up straight and stared at her. He'd learned over time to pay attention to Ted's and Maggie's reporter's instincts.

“Like what?” Dennis demanded.

“I don't know. That's the problem. Ted, am I right or not?”

“No, you're right. When my left eyelid twitches, that means I'm missing something, and it's been twitching like crazy since yesterday. Don't sweat it. Sooner or later it will come to one of us. It always does,” Ted said.

“Let's hope it's sooner rather than later,” Maggie groused. She hated it when she couldn't get a handle on something. And her middle name was
not
Patience.

The rest of the trip out to the farm was made in silence. Espinosa, always a careful driver, kept his eyes on the road and his thoughts on Alexis, while Ted, Maggie, and Dennis tapped out text messages.

“Wow! Look! The parking lot is full,” Dennis said as Espinosa pulled alongside Alexis's car. “Everyone is here, it looks like.”

“Nope! Just the girls! Something's going on,” Maggie said, eyeing the cars. “Park this van already, Espinosa, so we can find out what's going on. Damn, I hope we didn't miss anything.” Maggie was out of the van the minute Espinosa brought it to a full stop.

Inside the kitchen the women went through their little war dance, with hugs and kisses, questions and offers of coffee. The guys stood like dummies in the doorway, waiting for the five-minute festivities to be over. As one, they shrugged and accepted Myra's offer of coffee.

“We have news, and I'm sure you have news, so let's decide if it's war-room worthy or if we can do it all here at the kitchen table,” Kathryn said.

“I think the kitchen table will work, because we're all kitchen-table people,” Alexis said as she moved her chair closer to Espinosa's. She reached for his hand, not caring if anyone saw the little byplay or not. No one cared.

“Go first, Maggie,” Annie said.