Vision Impossible (9 page)

“Uh . . . not in so many words,” I said, still trying to figure out how I wanted to play this.

Grillfriend eyed me suddenly, her eyes suspicious. “
When
did he hire you, exactly?”

“Yesterday,” I told her.

Again she appeared quite surprised. “And when did he get into town, again?”

“This morning. I picked him up from the airport myself, actually. You two probably just missed each other.”

“If he hired you yesterday and you picked him up today, then how did he meet you to hire you?”

“We had a virtual interview last week, and he called me yesterday to offer me the position.”

“A virtual what?”

“Interview.”

“How does that work?” I could tell she was stalling, feeling me out, so I just went with it.

“Skype,” I said. “He has a webcam and I have a webcam and we can speak to each other and see each other over the Internet.”

“You mean like webcam sex?”

“A bit like that, yes,” I said. “Only no sex. Just an interview.” Oh, boy, Tanner hadn’t been kidding. Des Vries did like ’em dumb and slutty.

“Well,” she said, moving into the condo and over to the TV, “you can go home now. I’m gonna wait here till he gets back.”

Crap. Now what? In desperation I sent a text to Dutch. “I’ll just let Mr. Des Vries know that you’re here and tell him that I’m leaving for the evening,” I said merrily.

She didn’t even look up from the couch. “Whatevs,” she said, sifting through the plastic bag to pull out a blue blazer, matching skirt, red and white scarf, and what looked like an ID badge. She then got up to toss the whole bundle into the fireplace.

“Don’t like your uniform?” I asked, curious about her actions.

“I got fired,” she said testily. “And it was total bullshit. I mean, you spill one pot of coffee on an Arabian prince, and it’s like you murdered someone or something.” Mandy then moved over to the switch by the side of the fireplace and flicked it. Flames sprouted immediately and began to consume the clothes. She smiled at the sight of the flames consuming her clothes. “The condo in Prague didn’t have a fireplace,” she said.

“Are you going to get a new job?” I said, eyeing the screen of my phone anxiously. Where was Dutch?

Mandy made a
tsk
ing sound. “Rick told me that if I ever got sick of working for the airlines, that I should just quit, so this is practically the same thing. I only flew a couple of times a month anyway, and that was only so I could fly free when Rick had one of his business meetings out of the country and he wanted me along.”

“Ah,” I said again, just as my phone pinged with an incoming message.

When I read the text, I nearly laughed, but it would have been mean, so I held in the chuckle and took the phone over to show Grillfriend, holding it up for her so she could see the text. “He sent you a message,” I said.

She leaned forward from her seat on the couch and squinted at the screen to read the text line by line . . . out loud. “ ‘Tell Mandy to get her ass out of my condo. I’ve met someone else. It’s over between us.’ ”

Grillfriend squinted at the message for about ten more seconds and then she burst into tears.

I spent the next hour trying to convince Mandy to leave the condo. She had a meltdown to end all meltdowns. There were a lot of waterworks and Kleenex, and I knew that until she left, Dutch couldn’t come home. Short of zapping her with my stun gun and dragging her limp self into the elevator, I didn’t know how to remove her from the premises.

“Mandy,” I said evenly, after a fountain of tears and nonstop wailing. “You gotta go. I need to get home soon, and I can’t leave Mr. Des Vries’s condo with you still here.”

“I love him!” she wailed. “He’s my soul mate!”

The urge to roll my eyes was really strong, but I kept them staring straight ahead while I tried to think of something to say. Normally I would’ve dipped my toe into those intuitive waters and come up with a few insights for her, but two things stopped me: First, I didn’t want to tip my hand that I had that kind of ability, because I didn’t know if this girl knew any of the real Rick Des Vries’s associates and would blab to them that he had a new psychic sidekick, and two, the girl was just a mess, and where the heck was I even going to start? I mean, she thought a misogynistic, abusive, cutthroat, murdering weapons dealer was her
soul mate
. The girl had issues . . . serious,
serious
issues.

“You know what I always do when a guy dumps me?” I said carefully.

“What?” she blubbered into her snotty Kleenex.

“I go shopping!”

Mandy began sobbing again in earnest. “Rick always gave me money to shop!” she wailed. “Now I don’t have any money for clothes or my nails or to get my hair done!
And I just lost my job!
”

In desperation I snuck off to the bathroom and called Dutch. “I don’t know what to do!” I told him. “She won’t leave!”

“Sweetheart, you’ve got to
make
her go.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” I snapped. “I can’t call the police because we’re not supposed to involve the authorities, and so far I haven’t been able to get her to stop crying long enough to pick her face up out of the tissue and listen to me!”

Music erupted in the background on Dutch’s end, and it was so loud I didn’t hear what he said next. “Hello?” I said. “Are you there?”

The music subsided again. “Sorry,” Dutch said. “I didn’t realize it was going to be so loud in there.”

“Where are you?”

“A bar.”

I could feel my temper flare. Here I was dealing with a blubbering ex-girlfriend and Dutch was out getting a beer. “Nice,” I said, in a voice that clearly suggested it wasn’t.

“Easy there, Edgar,” Dutch said. “I’m meeting Kozahkov here.”

I inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “Sorry,” I said.

“Listen, Abs,” Dutch said. “I gotta go meet Viktor; if you can’t get Mandy to leave the condo, don’t worry about it. I’ll be back there in about two hours and I’ll deal with her.”

“She’ll recognize you for an impostor,” I told him.

“Then start feeding her some wine,” he suggested. “Get her drinking and keep ’em coming until she’s good and drunk. If she’s still conscious when I get there, she’ll be looking at me through beer goggles, and I doubt she’ll notice I’m not Des Vries. It should be fairly easy to pour her into a cab and have one of Frost’s guys drive her car back to her place. She’ll wake up tomorrow and think it was all a bad dream.”

“Is there any alcohol here?”

“There is,” he said, and I could tell he was smiling. “I had a chance to bring in some groceries while you were out shopping. Check the wine rack. I’m pretty sure you’ll find enough there to pickle her.”

I felt better immediately. “Okay. And you be careful,” I warned him.

“I will,” he promised, and the blast of music told me he was once again entering the bar.

After hanging up with Dutch, I moved out to the kitchen, bypassing Mandy, who was still weeping dramatically on the sofa, sifting through pictures on her phone, presumably of her and Rick in happier times.

On the way I noticed that Dutch had left out on the counter some of his files on Des Vries, Kozahkov, and other members of the Chechen Mafia, and I discreetly moved all these to one of the kitchen drawers so that Mandy wouldn’t see them and suspect our ruse. I then rummaged through the cabinets until I found the wine goblets, and set one on the counter before thinking better of it and reaching for a second glass. After uncorking a bottle of red, I poured us each a generous portion and went back to the sitting area.

“Here,” I said, waggling the wineglass above her.

Mandy lifted one mascara-smudged eye out of her tissue. Without a word she took the glass, sat up, tilted it back, and guzzled it down.

Classy.

She then reached for the other glass I held, and with a shrug I gave it to her and took the empty back to the kitchen.

Just as I set that one in the sink and was getting another clean glass for myself, there was a buzzing sound from the intercom by the elevator. I left the kitchen and headed over to the control panel just as my phone gave a chirping noise. I focused on the intercom first, and it buzzed again, causing me to jump a little. Timidly I hit the TALK button and said, “Yes?”

There was a pause, and I realized I needed to release the button. Once I did, the voice of the doorman came through the speaker. “Yes, ma’am, this is Daniel, your doorman.”

I frowned. What did he want? My phone chirped again, but I ignored it for the moment. “Yes, Daniel, what can I do for you?”

“Your guests have arrived,” he said.

Huh?
“My guests?” I asked.

“Yes m’am. Three gentlemen who would rather not give me their names, but they assure me they were invited to personally stop by and see Mr. Des Vries.”

“Mr. Des Vries isn’t here,” I said to him.

There was a pause, then, “They would like to wait for him in the penthouse, ma’am.”

I blinked at the intercom. “Uh . . . okay,” I said, wondering what to do.

“Perfect,” came Daniel’s cheerful reply. “They’re on their way to you.” I realized belatedly that Daniel had mistaken my
Uh . . . okay
for
Go ahead and send them up!
I thought about buzzing him back to have them wait there, because without Dutch at my side, I didn’t really know what I should do.

I had pulled my phone out of my blazer pocket to send Dutch a text when I saw that Frost had already sent one to me. It read:
Your flowers have arrived.

The text was code. It meant the company in the lobby wasn’t good company to have without a gun handy. As I lifted my hand to press the buzzer again and tell Daniel to hold on, the elevator pinged and the doors, which had remained open since Mandy arrived, began to close.

“Oh, sheep!” I hissed. Thinking quickly, I stuck out my arm, allowing the door to hit it and retract; then I pulled one of Mandy’s suitcases halfway onto the elevator to prevent the doors from closing and hold the car at our floor. Once that was done, I considered my options. If I buzzed the doorman back and told him that I’d changed my mind and ordered him not to send up the “guests,” wouldn’t that look suspicious? Our cover was so tenuous that I hated to do anything that could be out of character for Rick’s assistant, and I realized that if I really
was
Rick Des Vries’s newest employee, I’d never insult his company by keeping them in the lobby to wait for him. I’d let them come up and serve them refreshments like any good personal assistant would.

The elevator pinged again and the doors attempted to close, bouncing off Mandy’s luggage in an impatient manner. I scowled, then turned and ran back over to Mandy.

“What?” she said, looking up at me with her puffy eyes and runny mascara.

“You need to leave,” I told her, nearly in a panic.
“Right now!”

“But I want to talk to Rick!”

Fueled by fear, I reached down and clenched my hand on to Mandy’s arm, pulling her to her feet and not caring that she spilled some of the wine onto the floor.

“Hey!” she protested, but I wasn’t having it.

“Out!” I said firmly, pulling her forcefully down the hall toward the elevator doors. “And I mean it, Mandy. We’ve got company in the lobby, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll make yourself scarce,
capisce
?”

“Is it another girl?” she demanded, standing stubbornly at the open elevator and mightily resisting my efforts to shove her inside.

I stepped back and tried a different tack. “Do you know what Mr. Des Vries does for a living?” I asked.

She blinked at me. “He does something with imports and exports.”

I forced a smile. “Yes, that’s correct. Mr. Des Vries is in the import/ export business, and right now a few of his
very
important clients are on their way up here. I will have to entertain them until he gets home, and I don’t have to tell you, Mandy, that if Mr. Des Vries arrives here later to find you in a state of emotional distress and embarrassing him in front of his associates, he will likely be
very
upset. Furious, even.”

I emphasized that last part so that she would clearly understand what I meant, and the trickle of fear in her eyes let me know she did. “I should go,” she said, stepping quickly to grab her luggage and wheel both suitcases into the elevator.

She then turned around and held her hand on the door to prevent it from closing. “Would you please tell him I miss him?”

“Absolutely,” I promised. “I will tell him personally the moment he gets here how much you truly miss him.”

Mandy opened her mouth to add something else, but I cut her off. “I will also tell him how gorgeous you looked and how impressed I was with you and that he is a fool to consider letting you go. Now
please
leave, Mandy, and exit out the garage—okay?”

She nodded and her eyes welled again, but she said nothing more, only offered me a small wave as the doors closed.

With a sigh I looked at my phone, which was chirping again.

Text from Frost:
Your flowers are beginning to wilt in the lobby.
I hurried into the living room and began to collect all the tissues and mop up the wine.

Another ping made me pause and eye the phone again. Text from Dutch:
I’m on my way back. Stay put and get rid of Mandy!

I growled and rushed to the kitchen to throw out the Kleenex and dump the remaining wine in Mandy’s glass down the drain. I was about to text Dutch back that Mandy had been dealt with when I got an incoming text from Frost:
Your flowers are in the elevator. You will need some water.
(This was code for “grab your gun and be prepared for anything.”)

I grabbed my purse, which held both my pistol and stun gun, fished them both out, then tucked them into the waistband of my skirt against the small of my back, making sure my jacket covered them. Then I texted Frost,
Who sent me flowers?
I was hoping he could give me a clue as to who was in the lobby and on their way up.