Game for Anything (12 page)

“What the hell—”

“I think it's about time you gave me the whole story. What kind of game are you playing?”

For a moment, Chance said nothing. Tracker could almost hear the man's brain sorting through options. He forced the arm he was holding a little higher. “Don't even think of keeping anything back this time. You can start by telling me what your real connection to Landry was.”

“How do you figure we're connected?”

“There's a smart D.C. cop working Landry's homicide who started me thinking. And there are only two
people that I know of besides me who could break through that security system I set up.” He shoved Chance harder against the wall. “The gay boy becomes her best friend, and his buddy becomes her lover—all in the interest of catching a smuggler. I don't care for that scenario one bit.”

Chance sighed. “Okay. Landry was my partner. I met up with him three years ago. Among other things, we've been doing freelance work for Lloyd's of London.”

Stepping back, Tracker released Chance. “And you didn't think it was necessary to let Lucas or me know that your partner who was dating Sophie and was doing his best to get into her bed was just using her as a cover for his Lloyd's of London investigation?”

Turning, Chance raised both hands, palms out. “I told you. I had no idea that Sophie was Lucas's sister until I saw him at the anniversary party. At that point, I shared what I thought you needed to know. Hell, Landry was my partner. I had to protect his cover. Tell me you wouldn't have done the same in my place.”

The hell of it was, Tracker figured he
would
have done the same thing. He moved to the window. The job had to come first. If he was going to protect Sophie he had to remember that and block his emotions. Outside, the sky behind the Washington Monument was now backlit with pink streaks that looked like narrow, fragile fingers. The clock was ticking. “I need to know everything you know.”

“I didn't lie to you or Lucas about the case. Landry had infiltrated the organization. His job was to pick up the item and pass it on. Only there was a problem. The
item that it was supposed to arrive in wasn't uncrated. The head guy was supposed to contact him last night, and he was to join me right afterward at his hotel. I waited for him there until I finally picked up your message.”

“He was contacted, all right. And whoever did it decided to leave no witnesses. Maybe he even got what he was after. I want Sophie out of this right now.”

Chase studied him. “That's one possibility. But Landry swore that the item hadn't come in.”

“Why did he go into the shop unless it was for the coin? He left the Langford-Hughes party in a hurry. Maybe the coin was hidden in something else, and the head guy told him where to look.”

Chance began to pace. “You may be right, but Landry may have gone to the shop for another reason. It might have been his chance to meet the Puppet Master face-to-face. There's also a chance that the item was delayed on the other end and isn't coming in until the shipment that's arriving Wednesday. That's the day that the shops on Prospect Street are having their annual Celebration Sale. The crowds would provide a good cover for our Puppet Master, and we may be able to get him.”

Tracker let options sift through his mind, weighing pros and cons. It was easy to say that he was going to get Sophie out of it, but how long could he keep her safe if they didn't catch the man behind everything?

“This guy is vicious. Landry's death should convince you of that. I still think the best way to protect Sophie is to let business go on as usual. The only way
to make sure she stays safe is to nab this guy,” Chance said.

“With Landry gone, who's going to pick up the coin?”

“This guy always has a backup plan. They don't call him the Puppet Master for nothing.”

“Yeah, well, I'm going to cut a few of his strings. The security code is being changed at the shop and at her apartment, and I'm installing video cameras. The shop will be closed tomorrow while that's being taken care of.” There was something else that Tracker knew he'd have to do. Hell, he'd known it from the moment he'd seen Landry's body lying on the floor, and talking with Ramsey at the station had only confirmed it. “Two more things. I'm going to fill in Detective Ramsey and his partner, and I'm going to tell Sophie what's going on.”

Chance frowned. “Those are both very bad ideas.”

“Yeah. But Sophie's my first priority, and I can't let anything stand in the way of protecting her. At this point she needs to know that her life is in danger, so she can protect herself. And I prefer to always have a backup plan myself. I'm going to need Ramsey's help on that one.”

 

T
HE PHONE RANG FOUR TIMES
before it was answered. “Yes.” Sleep fogged the voice on the other end.

“I have a job for you,” he said.

“Yes.” The voice was clearer. There was something in the tone. Not eagerness, but fear. “What is it?”

The Puppet Master considered, watching the play of
sunlight as it glinted off the new silver chess pieces that sat on the board in front of him. Very carefully, he moved a knight forward. “The ceramic horse that arrived yesterday at Ms. Wainwright's shop. I want it.”

“Ceramic horse? I don't recall… No. There was nothing like that in the shipment. You must be mistaken.”

He sighed, lifting one perfectly manicured hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. The one bane of his existence was dealing with incompetence. “I am never mistaken.”

His companion moved a rook and captured his knight. Perfect. At least one game was going well.

“I have a copy of the shipping list in my hand,” he murmured into the phone. “The ceramic horse is on it, along with a Louis XIV desk and an eighteenth-century harpsichord. Do those pieces sound familiar?”

“Yes. But I didn't see a horse.”

“It arrived. Your mission is to find it.”

“But—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” He waited until there was silence on the other end of the line. “No arguments. Should you fail, I will be forced to take certain steps. If you want to anticipate your fate, you might want to read this morning's paper.”

He cut the connection before the person on the other end could reply. Then he moved his second knight. “Checkmate.”

He laughed softly as his opponent studied the chessboard with a frown.

“I didn't see that coming.”

It was always better that way. Destroy the enemy before he ever knows you're there. “Your mission will be a little more challenging, my friend.”

 

S
OPHIE AWOKE WITH A START
. She knew even before she turned that Tracker wasn't there. A little band of pain tightened around her heart. It was silly to feel hurt that he'd left before she'd awakened. He couldn't be far. This was his home. She knew he'd be back. At one point in the night, she'd felt his arm tighten around her. She ran a hand down to her waist as if she expected to still feel its imprint.

Feeling ridiculous, she pushed back her hair and drew up her knees. When Chess joined her on the bed, she said, “He's getting to me.”

The cat rubbed against her.

It struck her then that in spite of the fact that she'd been dreaming about Tracker McBride for over a year and sleeping with him for—she glanced at her watch—for about a day, she still didn't know much about him. Well, maybe she knew a little. She knew his name and that he was kind and she could beat him at poker, but in many ways he was as mysterious to her as when she'd only thought of him as The Shadow. The few secrets he'd shared with her last night had only whetted her appetite.

Somewhere in the apartment, there had to be clues. She looked around the room. It was small and the furnishings were minimalistic. Aside from the bed, framed in ebony-colored wood, the only other furniture in the room consisted of a bedside table with a reading lamp and a matching dresser. The walls were
hospital-white and bare, and there wasn't one visible item anywhere that told her anything about Tracker McBride.

Slipping out from beneath the sheet, she hurried to the dresser and opened one drawer after another. She found neatly folded T-shirts, underwear, socks—all in his favorite color, black. The jeans, slacks and jackets in the closet were all either black or white.

“The man needs a little color in his life.”

Chess had no comment.

“I know I'm snooping, but knowledge is power. Not that I'm finding much out aside from the fact that he's neat and he likes silk shirts.” She ran her hand down one and caught his scent. For a moment it was so strong that she turned, expecting to find him in the room. But he wasn't. Beating back the feeling of loneliness that she'd awakened with, she took the shirt off the hanger and slipped into it.

“I like him, Chess.”

The cat snorted.

Sophie frowned at him. “I'm telling the truth. I do like him. He's kind and gentle and funny. We have a lot in common.”

Chess leaped from the bed and rubbed against her leg.

“Well, at least you agree with that. C'mon.”

In the living room, the clothes he'd discarded last night were gone, but her dress lay just where she'd tossed it, and the cards were still strewn across the couch and over the floor. For a moment she stood there as vivid memories of what they'd done filled her mind.

She'd never played strip poker before. Nothing had
prepared her for the sense of power or the thrill she'd felt telling him to take off his shirt or his slacks and then watching him do it. She'd never imagined that she might be excited by having a man follow her commands. Even now she was a little shocked just thinking about it. But she'd be more than willing to play strip poker again as long as her opponent was Tracker.

As Chess hopped up on the couch, she headed for the large cabinet that Tracker had taken the pack of cards from the night before. Inside was a state-of-the-art entertainment center, and the shelves were quite literally stuffed with CDs, videotapes and DVDs. Sinking down to the floor, she began to browse.

His collection of movies certainly dwarfed hers. She ran her hands over the titles, pulling one out now and then to examine it more closely.

She estimated that he might well have the complete collected works of Alfred Hitchcock. Then her eyes widened again as she saw
Casablanca
and
The African Queen.
How clever he was to buy the classics and have them at his fingertips rather than be at the whim of cable TV stations.

“Chess, he must own every movie that Humphrey Bogart ever made!”

“I do, as a matter of fact.”

She jumped and whirled at the sound of Tracker's voice. “Where did you come from?”

“My office is in the other room. Were you looking for something special?”

You,
she wanted to say, and she felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Rising, she linked her fingers together
in front of her. “I was just plain snooping. I guess our game of twenty questions whetted my curiosity.”

She was nervous. She'd played strip poker and made wild love to this man right on the floor where she was standing, and
now
she was having an attack of nerves. How much sense did that make?

“Why don't I fix some coffee and you can ask away?”

“Where have you been?” she blurted out before she could prevent herself. He sounded so cool, as if he found women pawing through his CDs and movies every day.

Tracker glanced over his shoulder at her as he turned the flame on under a teakettle. “I had a meeting and a few phone calls to make. The security code to your shop is being changed as we speak.”

Sophie's eyes widened and she gripped the kitchen counter for support. She hadn't given one thought to John Landry or what had happened at her shop since that first moment when she'd woken up. After that, she hadn't thought of anyone but Tracker. “I have to go,” she said, and started for the bedroom.

“Sophie, I've sent some men to the shop to work on the security. I've also spoken to Detective Ramsey and he feels that it would be better if you didn't open today.”

She whirled back and nearly collided with him. “
He feels
and
you've sent.
It's my shop. You shouldn't have—” She broke off just in time to prevent herself from saying,
left me.
Where in the world had that come from? The man had business to take care of. So did she. It was ridiculous to feel, because he'd left
before she'd woken up, that he'd abandoned her. They had no claims on each other. They were just having a no-strings affair.

He took her hands. “I'm sorry.”

Whatever else she might have said slipped from her mind the moment she saw he was speaking the truth. The possibility occurred to her that he was a little nervous, too, and she felt some of her own tension ease.

Lifting a hand, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought you needed to sleep. I haven't been letting you get much lately.”

She smiled then. “I'm not complaining.”

“I'm not trying to make decisions about your shop for you, either. The news about Landry will be in the papers this morning. There will be a lot of people who will drop by to browse simply out of curiosity.”

She nodded, thinking. “It would probably be better to close today out of respect for John.” She wasn't even aware that she'd moved until she laid her head against Tracker's chest, and her arms wrapped around him automatically. “I can't get used to it. It doesn't seem possible that he's…dead.”

Sophie let herself lean on him. It was becoming far too easy to depend on him for support, and that was a weakness she couldn't afford. Hadn't she learned that lesson yet? “Thank you for taking care of it.”

 

T
RACKER STRUGGLED
with the emotions running through him. Every time he held her like this, something inside of him—some vital part of himself—crept away. From the moment he'd stepped through the door that led to his office, he hadn't been able to gather his
thoughts. He wasn't even sure how long he'd stood there, watching her. Perhaps it was the sight of her dressed in one of his black shirts, with the first rays of morning light haloing her hair. Whatever the reason, it struck him with sudden force that she somehow fit.