Secretive (11 page)

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Z
OE clicked on the inbox and looked at a few of the emails. “There’s my email to Ares, right there.”

Jack’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You’re saying that this cyber crime expert guy is—was—your shady hacker guy, too?”

They both looked down at Bent.

“Not my shady hacker guy,” Zoe said. “Nico’s shady hacker guy.”

Zoe flinched at the sound of shattering glass as shards flew across the room. Something glowing and on fire thudded to the floor in front of the desk. A bottle stuffed with a wad of burning fabric rolled across a pile of papers and bumped into a stack of magazines. Orange and gold flames licked up the stack of magazines, raced along the leg of a near-by chair, and exploded into a column of fire as it consumed the mounds of papers in the seat of the chair. Tendrils of flame shot out across the floor, snaking up and down the piles of paper, igniting them as it spread. Embers flickered in the air of the small room.

It all happened so quickly. One moment Zoe and Jack were talking about email and the next, fire was everywhere. Instinctively, they crouched to avoid the smoke filling the room. Jack stripped off his coat. “Get the laptop,” he called as he kicked a pile of paper out of their path. Zoe grabbed the laptop. She ducked her head, pulled her scarf over her nose, and followed Jack.

The fire reached the long fabric drapes on either side of the broken window. The flames raced up the sides and spread to the swag across the top of the window. Jack had been making for the window, but now he switched direction and aimed for the doorway, beating at the fire with his coat to clear a path. Zoe grabbed the tail of his suit coat and scuttled along. How could it be so bright with fire, yet so dark with smoke? A few embers danced through the air and landed on her scarf. She let go of Jack’s suit jacket and frantically brushed them away as she moved in the direction she thought Jack had been moving.

She felt the doorframe, the paint melting and warm on her palm and then she was out, gasping for clean air in the tiny reception area beside Jack. “Your coat,” she wheezed, and Jack looked down as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. It was a mass of smoldering fabric, the tiny embers already working into the fabric, curling into flames and creeping across the threads. He flung it through the doorway. It landed on one of the stacks of paper that was already blazing. Before they turned away, it was fully engulfed in flames.

Jack reached for her hand. She gripped it, and they hurried out the door, through the building’s entry area, and into the night.

A few people several yards away were moving in the direction of the flames, which were visible through the broken window. Ash and a few embers circled through the air.

Zoe and Jack slipped away, turning down a narrow street. “You okay?” Jack asked as they hurried, putting as much distance between them and the building as possible.

“Yes, I think so,” Zoe said, amazed. She ran a hand over her coat. “Only slightly singed, but I’m sure we both smell of smoke.”

Sirens cut through the night. “There’s no way that anyone will connect us to that fire or trace you to visiting that office, at least until they get to his phone and computer records,” Jack said.

Zoe put Bent’s laptop in her messenger bag then turned to Jack. “Let me look at you,” she said, pulling his arms out and turning him in a circle.

He’d lost his hat, but otherwise looked just the same, except that he was breathing a bit harder than usual. “Do I pass inspection,” he asked, grinning.

“Your shoes have a slightly melty look to them, but you’ll do.” They resumed walking, but then Zoe stopped. “Wait. Your coat. The flash drive was in the pocket.”

Jack reached out to pat the pocket where it would have been, if he’d had his coat on. “It’s gone, melted into oblivion.”

“But you had a copy, right?” It was a statement, not a question. Jack was careful. He was a back-up file kind of guy.

“Of course I have a copy.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw. “There’s a slight problem, though. It’s in Germany.”

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“D
O you have a hotel?” Jack asked as they moved along a residential street. Since they smelled of smoke and made a memorable couple with their sooty clothes, they were trying to keep to the quieter roads.

“Yes, near Victoria Station.” Zoe stopped to consult the map in the guidebook.

“Good. That’s not far,” Jack said, looking over Zoe’s shoulder. “How did you make the reservation? Credit card?”

“Yes.”

Jack frowned.

“If I’d known I was going to be on the run again when I made the reservation, I would have used cash. But I’m a little short on it right now, which is rather ironic, considering everyone thinks I have a secret bank account.”

“We’ll have to risk it,” Jack said. “We need to get cleaned up. I’m not exactly flush right now, either. I have a couple of hundred on me.”

“How can that be? You
do
have a secret bank account.”

“Did. It’s closed now. I’ve been using it to pay for the search for Costa.” Jack checked the map. “Let’s make a quick detour.” He led the way toward a bright, busy intersection.

“This is Piccadilly Circus.” Zoe hung back when she saw the sign on the Underground, the billboards, and the mass of traffic.

“And it’s busy enough that we should be fine as long as we move fast. I have to get some clothes to change into,” Jack said.

“You don’t have more clothes?” Zoe asked.

“My suitcase is in Left Luggage at the airport. It only has a new shirt and a change of underwear.”

“You mean you’re not even staying here?” Zoe asked, shifting around people on the sidewalk, which was becoming more crowded as they moved into the bustling area.

“No.”

“Well, where are you staying?”

“Currently? In Germany, at Costa’s rather bleak castle.”

Zoe jerked on his arm and pulled him to a stop in front of a store window displaying the Union Jack on everything from T-shirts to underwear. “You’re staying at the same place as Costa?”

“I’m working there, maintaining the grounds.”

“How did you get that job?”

“By bribing the last guy who had the job with a large portion of the cash I pulled out of that Swiss bank account. Now, can we stop playing Twenty Questions and get moving?”

“No. I have a few more. Why would you do that? Get so close to Costa? What if he recognized you?”

“I’ll explain, but let’s keep moving. This place looks as good as any,” he said and stepped inside the shop. “I did it to get the info on Costa. I had access to the building, something that I wasn’t able to get when he was in a hotel in South Africa.” Zoe followed Jack through the crowded aisles with rows of Big Ben replicas, Union Jack flags, and commemorative plates imprinted with everything from pictures of Buckingham Palace to the faces of the royal family.

“He’s not going to recognize me because he never sees me. I work the grounds with a thick coat, a hat, and sunglasses when he’s home. It’s when he and his entourage are away that I go inside the building and look around. That’s how I found the info on the flash drive.” He held up a pair of dark pants and a Union Jack T-shirt. “I suppose this will have to do. It’s the least flamboyant thing here. Ah—wait.”

He plucked a navy windbreaker off the sale rack, then collected a package of underwear and socks along with a new hat, this one a knit stocking cap. Zoe had more clothes to change into in her hotel room, but she doubted she’d be able to get the smoke smell out of her coat and scarf. She picked a royal blue scarf and a dark gray coat. They checked out and were on their way again.

They moved away from the hubbub of the tourists and navigated to the hotel, doing their best to avoid the major roads. Cutting across Green Park, they made their way between the golden, winged Victoria Memorial and Buckingham Palace. Zoe goggled at the gold crests and gold-tipped wrought iron enclosing the palace. Normally, she would have wanted to linger, hoping to see the changing of the guard, but the experience of the last hour made sightseeing pretty low on her list. Getting to the room safely was her top priority.

Once in the room, Zoe tossed the messenger bag on the bed, pulled off her smoky coat, and crossed her arms. “I think I understand how things stand between us. You flew in specifically to meet me,” Zoe said. “As soon as you dropped that flash drive with me, you were planning to get out of here, weren’t you? You want me to take the evidence to the police in the States.”

“You’re not a huge fan of the idea. I can tell from your expression.”

“No, I’m not. I’m not your courier. You can’t just ignore me for months and then expect me to come running to you when I finally get your message.”

Jack crossed the room, stopping inches from her. “That package wasn’t a summons. I didn’t have any evidence to finger Costa until a few days ago.” He ran his finger under the chain at the side of her throat and pulled. The ring moved against her chest, seeming to send out a trail of sparks, as he pulled it out from under her shirt. Once it came free from the fabric, he balanced the chain on his finger, and the ring hung suspended between them. “This,” he said as he moved his finger and the ring rocked, “was a message...and a question.”

“I got the message—that you were alive.” She realized she sounded winded, as if she’d finished a 5K. She wanted to back away from his intense gaze and, at the same time, she wanted to move closer to him. “But what was the question?”

Jack rolled the chain between his finger and thumb and focused on it as he said, “Did you want to see me again? If you went to Covent Garden and found Nico, I’d know. If you didn’t,” he shrugged and let go of the chain. The ring fell heavily into the hollow between her breasts.

“So when I didn’t show up...you assumed I was done, that I’d gone back to my life and didn’t care what happened to you?”

“That’s all I could assume. I didn’t know the package had been delayed.”

“So when you got the message from Nico that I was here, you thought...what?”

“I didn’t know what to think. I hoped you’d reconsidered and would be willing to pitch in to help me out of this rather awkward spot.”

“Awkward spot? I think being the target of several police investigations is a bit more than awkward.”

“Precarious? Risky? Are those better descriptions?”

“Closer to the truth, anyway.” Zoe couldn’t help returning his smile. She wasn’t normally one to press people to define their thoughts and feelings, but Jack was always so hard to read. “But now that you know I came as soon as I got your package, what do you think?” As soon as she asked the question, she wanted to take it back. It was too revealing.

“It’s perfect timing.”

He could only mean one thing. Zoe’s heart seemed to shrivel. “Right.” She threw open her suitcase and dug through the clothes. “For the flash drive. Of course. I’ll just change and we can get that taken care of—”

“That is just like you.” Jack caught her hand and pulled her to his chest. “You show a glimmer of feeling and then throw the defenses up as fast as you can. I meant, it’s perfect timing in several
different
ways.”

Now her breathing was totally out of control. She noticed that Jack’s wasn’t too steady either.

He’d just dipped his head toward hers when there was a knock at the door.

They both froze. “Room service?” Jack whispered.

“No. They don’t have room service here,” Zoe whispered.

“Were you expecting someone?”

Zoe shook her head and called out, “Yes? Who is it?”

A masculine voice sounded through the door. “Zoe? It’s Sam.”

“Sam?” Jack asked.

“What’s he doing here?” Zoe murmured.

“You know him?”

“He’s a friend from Dallas.”

“You brought a friend to London with you?” Suddenly there was quite a bit more space between them.

“Of course not. He happened to be on the same flight.”

“Zoe?” Sam called again. “Should I come back later?”

“No, it’s okay,” Zoe yelled then whispered to Jack, “I’ll get rid of him. Hide in the bathroom.”

Jack looked mulish at that, so she said, “You don’t want anyone to know you’re here, right?”

Jack looked in the bathroom. “No exit.” He headed for the balcony doors.

“I don’t even know if those open,” Zoe said. “Oh, they do.”

She closed the doors behind Jack and did a quick visual sweep of the room. The maid had been in earlier so the bed was made, but her clothes and shoes were scattered across the chair and spilled out of the suitcase. She was by no means a neat person, but the disarray looked tame compared to her bedroom at home. There was no evidence that Jack had been here except the lingering smell of smoke and the bag of new clothes on the bed, which she could have bought herself, so she left them and opened the door.

M
ORT rang the doorbell and studied the straw wreath with orange chrysanthemums. A small woman in her mid-sixties with a cap of brown hair and dark brown eyes opened the door. “Mrs. Baumkirchner?”

“Yes,” she said. The aroma of pumpkin wafted through the open door.

“I’m Mort Vazarri with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions.” Unlike some people who shut down when they heard the words “FBI,” her dark eyes lit up briefly in what Mort thought was a flare of excitement. He’d seen this reaction, too, but it wasn’t as common. She was probably a fan of TV detective shows. She patted the collar of her honey-colored sweater and seemed to tamp down her enthusiasm. “Do you have any identification?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mort produced his badge and identification, which she studied carefully before handing it back.

“You can’t be too careful these days.”

“I understand. May I come inside?”

“Of course.” A timer rang and she said, “Those are my pies. I have to get them. Come on back.” She led him through a formal dining room, the table for twelve already set with china and crystal, and into a kitchen that was messy with baking ingredients, bowls, and a Kitchen Aid mixer on the counter.

“Smells delicious,” Mort said as she pulled three pies out of the oven and put them on cooling racks. The spice jars arrayed across the counter made Mort feel a little guilty. Kathy was waiting for him to bring the sage home so she could get started with their pies. Did you put sage in pumpkin pies? He didn’t know.

“So, what is this about?”

Mort pulled his attention back to Mrs. Baumkirchner. “The silver Camry in the driveway is yours?”

“Yes.”

“Did you drive it over to Vinewood yesterday?”

“Where?”

“That’s a subdivision near Frisco,” Mort explained.

“No. I was here, cleaning. I’m expecting a full house and have to get ready.”

“Did your husband drive it yesterday?” Mort had done a little checking on her before he left the office.

“No. My husband is a trucker. Drives for Wal-Mart. He’s been on the road for three days. Due back tonight. But I did let my grandson borrow it,” she said with a frown. “He told me he was going straight to work, then he’d bring it here. His car is in the shop.”

“What’s your grandson’s name?”

“Al Baumkirchner.” Seeing that Mort had taken out his notebook and was writing it down, she amended, “His full name is Oswaldo, but everyone calls him Al. Is there some sort of problem? Is he in trouble?” For the first time, the curiosity was gone, replaced by concern.

“I just need to ask him a few questions as well,” Mort said. Technically, the kid hadn’t done anything wrong except deceive his grandmother. Following someone for one day didn’t exactly qualify as stalking. “Could I get his phone number from you?” Mort didn’t want her to call the kid and spook him.

“Yes,” she said and consulted a list of numbers taped to the inside of a cabinet door. She read one phone number off to him then said, “But he’s out of the country. My son and his wife are taking a Thanksgiving cruise this year. They left last night.”

Mort sighed and asked for the location of the closest grocery store.

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“T
RUCE?” Sam asked after Zoe opened the door.

“Sam, I don’t think—”

“Please. Just hear me out, okay?” Sam asked, working his puppy dog eyes.

“No, It’s not—”

His nose wrinkled as he leaned toward her, sniffed, then interrupted her. “Did they give you a smoking room?” he asked, looking perplexed.

“Ah, no. I—had an outside table at a pub during dinner,” Zoe said, improvising. “Guy next to me smoked like a chimney.”

Sam’s face fell. “So you’ve had dinner already? I was hoping to convince you to let me take you to dinner.”

Zoe’s phone buzzed. It was in the back pocket of her jeans and made her jump. She saw it was Mort calling and said, “I have to take this.” Sam waved his hand in a go ahead motion.

Zoe answered as Sam stepped into the room and closed the door. Not what she’d wanted. She should have asked him to wait downstairs in the tiny entrance way. Too late now, though.

“This is Mort Vazarri. Got an update on the silver car.”

“Great.” Zoe backed up against the dresser. Sam wandered over to the balcony doors and pushed the fabric aside.

“Did you get that?” Mort asked. “Is the connection breaking up?”

“Sorry,” Zoe said into the phone. “What was that?”

“The silver car. I spoke with the owner. She says she lent the car to her grandson, an Oswaldo Baumkirchner. Goes by Al.”

“Nice view,” Sam whispered as he turned back to the room. A thought, a memory, stirred, whispering through Zoe’s mind, but it was gone before she could work out what it was.

“The grandson is out of town for Thanksgiving, so you shouldn’t have any problems. Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.”

“Thanks,” Zoe said and watched as Sam strolled around the end of the bed, mimed drinking a glass of water and stepped into the bathroom.

The sound of running water came from the bath, then the clink of glass on porcelain. “I’ll follow up with him after the holiday,” Mort continued, “and let you know what he says.”

“Great. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Mort said.

“Okay. I mean, Happy Thanksgiving to you, too,” Zoe said and hung up.

Sam emerged from the bath, and Zoe said, “Dinner’s not going to happen, Sam. Sorry.” She opened the door.

“Right. Okay.” Sam passed her then turned back. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem...a little edgy.”

You would be too if you’d just found a dead man and almost got burned up, Zoe thought, but managed to keep the words inside. Instead, she said, “No, just jetlagged.” She practically pushed him out, closed the door, and leaned her forehead against it for a moment before going to open the balcony doors.

It was empty.

“Jack?” she whispered.

“Over here.” Zoe jerked her head to the side and saw Jack hugging the wall, his toes perched on a two-inch decorative molding that surrounded a window on the floor below them.

“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing down into the little garden below them, which was empty—thank goodness.

“I believe the technical term is hiding.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “You can stop hiding. He’s gone.”

Jack didn’t move.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“I’m not fond of them, no,” Jack said, his gaze slipping to his toes.

“Look at me,” Zoe said, firmly. “Don’t look at your feet. It only messes with your mind. That’s the first thing I learned in rock climbing.”

“Since when do you rock climb?”

“You’re not the only one with secrets,” she said. Figuring chitchat was a good thing, she continued. “I took an indoor climbing class and liked it. What you need to do is move your feet first. Slide them along the ledge. Get them into position. Then move your hands.”

After a second, he inched one foot along. “Good. Now the other.”

He moved closer, but ignored Zoe’s outstretched hand and grabbed the iron railing instead. He vaulted over, blew out a breath, and moved into the room.

“If you feel that way about heights, why didn’t you stay on the balcony instead of crawling over to the other window?”

“He was moving toward the window, his shadow getting bigger and bigger. I didn’t know that he wouldn’t come outside.” He dusted his hands. “So, this Sam guy...who is he?”

Zoe noticed his fingers were trembling, but decided not to mention it. “So you don’t want to explore your fear of heights?”

“I have a healthy respect for gravity. Let’s leave it at that and focus on Sam. Why did he barge in here?”

She’d been about to tell Jack about Sam following her and his mother’s lost investment, but Jack’s almost proprietary tone rankled. “There’s really nothing to tell,” Zoe said instead. “He’s a businessman. He rents one of my office suites.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “And he has business in London at the same time you happen to take a trip there as well. Does he travel internationally a lot?”

“I don’t know. Some, I guess.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You’re upset with him for some reason. Don’t deny it. I’ve seen that look aimed at me often enough to recognize it.”

“Why would I be upset with him? He’s just a tenant.”

“Is he?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Zoe asked a flare of irritation surging through her.

“It’s just that he seemed quite at home, coming here uninvited, exploring your room, asking you to dinner.”

“So what if he asked me to dinner? Why would that matter to you? We’re not married anymore.”

Jack looked at her for a long moment then said quietly, “You’re right. I don’t have any hold on you.” He turned away. In a formal voice he said, “We need to change out of these smoky clothes and get moving, just in case the police manage to link you to Bent.” He picked up the bag of new clothes. “Would you like to shower first?”

“No, you go ahead,” she said, “You’re faster.” He could be in and out, probably before she found her clothes from the tangle of shirts and jeans spilling out of her suitcase.

“Fine.” He closed the bathroom door. Zoe ignored the slightly sick feeling in her stomach and rummaged through her suitcase.

The door opened a few inches, and Jack leaned out. His chest was bare and he had a towel around his waist. “Answer this for me if it rings, will you?” He tossed a phone through the air. She didn’t manage to answer because her brain was stuck on processing the visual of his nice expanse of muscle and tanned skin. He closed the door and the water came on.

She shook her head briefly. “Focus,” she said to herself. “Clothes. Pack.” She grabbed a fitted, long-sleeved white shirt, a thick gray sweater vest, and a pair of jeans then shoved the rest of her scattered clothes into her suitcase. As she worked, her thoughts were on the image of the phone arcing through the air.

That movement stirred a memory...something important. There was something about it—something besides the distractingly nice background of a half-naked Jack. She picked up the phone, tossed it in the air, and caught it a few times as she paced around the room. She stopped, her eyes opening wide. “Al,” she whispered as the memory connected.

Sam had thrown a set of keys across the office to Al, the moody teen who worked for Sam. Zoe tapped the phone against her chin as she paced to the balcony windows. Al had put the keys on the counter, and Zoe had noticed the key fob with the initials
O
and
B
engraved in the leather.

Those letters didn’t mean anything to her then, but they did now. They were initials that stood for Al’s full name, Oswaldo, Mort had said, and some long last name that Zoe couldn’t remember because she’d been distracted with Sam’s movements around the room. But it had started with the letter
B
.

Zoe paced quickly around the end of the bed then retraced her steps to the balcony windows, her thoughts racing. Sam had thanked Al as he tossed the keys as if he’d borrowed Al’s car. She remembered that clearly. Did that mean
Sam
had followed her in the silver car?