Deadly Deals (2 page)

“I heard Charles’s cell chirp, so that must mean our guest is at the foot of the mountain. That means he has to send the cable car down manually. Around four o’clock I saw him going out with the oil can,â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

L
izzie Fox looked like she’d just stepped out of a salon that guaranteed the works as she gathered up her purse and briefcase. Only the flight attendant knew she’d worked through the five-hour flight. She’d freshened up twenty minutes prior to landing. Other weary passengers looked at her approvingly, but she was oblivious.

She was the first one off the plane. The time was 7:10 in the morning.

Early morning travelers took a second to admire the long-legged vision as she strode past the security lines, her gaze raking the limo drivers holding up signs. When she spotted her driver, she waved. Within minutes she was outside and settled in the backseat of the luxurious limousine Cosmo Cricket had arranged for her.

Lizzie shivered even though the heater was blowing hot, delicious air all around her ankles. Outside, a light snow was falling. She liked snow, and yet she hated snow. A long-ago memory of sitting in the cemetery, with a frozen bunch of violets in her hand, swam before her eyes. Jack Emery had saved her that awful night. She knew now that she would have stayed there and frozen to death if not for him. But that was all a lifetime ago. She had a new life now, thanks to Jack and all the vigilantes. Without them in her life, she never would have met Cosmo. Nor would she have ever married. She was almost positive of that.

Lizzie blinked away the tears that were pricking at her eyelids. She leaned forward. “Drop me off at the
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first, but I want you to wait for me.â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

D
ressed in a faux white mink coat and hat, Lizzie drew stares as she exited the luxurious limousine, wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes against the blinding whiteness all about her. She looked like a Russian spy in a popular movie as she strode toward the building that housed Baron Bell’s offices. The door was thrust open by a smiling doorman. He watched as the striking woman, her every move choreographed, sailed across the ornate lobby toward the elevator, which opened as though by magic. And then the goddess was gone, and the lobby’s occupants went back to what they were doing before the vision in white had graced their space.

The only occupants of the old-fashioned elevator were Lizzie and an elderly lady with blue-white hair. The grandmotherly woman carried a cane and was tapping it to the upbeat Christmas music that seemed to be piped in on the top of the elevator. Lizzie’s thoughts were on what she considered the impossible task of finding just the right present for her husband. She leaned forward and pressed the number twelve.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and the elderly lady moved forward. “Merry Christmas, dear. May I say you look lovely today.â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A
fter twenty minutes of wrangling, the quartet decided that Ted, Espinosa, Harry, and Jack would make the trip to Rehoboth together in Espinosa’s secondhand Range Rover. Espinosa swore that he could drive through anything but tire-high mud.

A trip that should have taken no more than an hour and a half turned into a four-hour trek with the bad weather. Even though Espinosa claimed they were making good time considering their current circumstances.

Harry grumbled and mumbled as he tried to figure out why Maggie wanted them in Rehoboth. “It doesn’t make sense to me if Snowden’s people are going to be there to do the breaking and entering. Are we going there because we don’t trust Snowden and his people? Or are we going because Maggie thinks Bell and Newsom are going to head there to get whatever Maggie thinks is hidden there? Ted and Espinosa I can understand. Photos and the like. I don’t like going somewhere blind, with no concrete plan of action. Been there, done that. Pumpkins,â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“S
omething is wrong,â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

C
harles looked down at his coffee cup and was surprised to see that it was empty. He wondered how many cups he’d consumed. Not that it was important in the scheme of things. He knew that however many cups he’d consumed, he’d consume that many more before dawn broke over the horizon. He raised his head to look up at the wall, at the bank of clocks that gave him the time all over the world. For some strange reason, looking at the clocks always calmed him down. As much as he hated to admit it, he was nervous. Sending the Sisters down the snowy mountain and into the waiting arms of Snowden’s people was unnerving him for some reason.

Charles moved his neck from side to side, hoping to alleviate the kinks that were bothering him. He knew what his problem was, and worrying wasn’t going to help solve it. Anytime 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue came into play, things became problematic. He poured himself a cup of coffee and walked over to the window. The snow had stopped about an hour ago, and he could see that it had not started again. The white world outside the window was bathed in a golden glow from the lamps in the courtyard. It looked eerie, ominous somehow.

Charles looked down when he felt something brush against his legs. Murphy on one side, Grady on the other. Absently, he reached into his pocket for the treats that he always carried with him. They were man’s best friend, and as such, both animals deserved everything he had to give for their love and loyalty. Both dogs waited expectantly to see if there would be a second treat, and there was. This time the dogs carried their chew bones over to the hearth and lay down. A sign that their world was just fine. At least for the moment.

Break time was over. Charles walked back to his bank of computers. He saw two incoming e-mails at the same moment the fax machine whirred to life. He was about to click on the e-mails when his special encrypted cell phone rang. It was Avery Snowden. Charles felt his stomach muscles bunch into a knot. “Avery, just give me the short version and the resolution,â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
he Sisters peered out the huge bay window as they dressed for their trip down the mountain. In the end, by popular vote, it was decided that while Annie and Myra would double up on a snowmobile, as per Charles’s plan, the others would ski to the bottom. The Sisters agreed with Nikki’s point that snowshoes would take too much time and rob them of their stamina. Since they were all accomplished skiers, even Yoko, Charles was outnumbered, something that seemed to be happening to him more and more of late. He took the decision with good grace, however, and trekked with the Sisters out to the utility shed that housed the snowmobile and all the ski equipment.

Skis and poles were handed out, along with boots, as Annie fired up the snowmobile and cruised out to the snow-covered apron in front of the cavernous shed that held all manner of seasonal equipment needed to reside on the mountain.

A bit of confusion ensued as the girls squabbled over the boots and whose was whose. Finally, the matter was settled, boots were snug on their feet, their snow goggles in place. Annie, Myra, and Charles watched them make their way to the ski trail at the edge of the mountain.

Snow flurries that had been sparse were by then heavier and swirling in all directions. The worry in Charles’s eyes did not go unobserved by Myra and Annie. Myra patted his arm and said, “Not to worry, dear. The girls are excellent skiers. They’ll watch over Yoko, as she is the novice of the group.â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

K
athryn Lucas stared out of the van window at the snowy landscape. She was sitting next to Nikki, who was texting Jack. At least that was who she thought she was texting. In actuality, Nikki was texting the office manager at her old law firm to get the latest update via Lizzie Fox.

The driver of the van leaned his head back and shouted, “We’re forty minutes out of the city. Pick your drop-off spots, ladies.â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

B
y the time Myra and Annie made their way to the
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apartment building, both women were exhausted, physically as well as mentally. Myra held the door open with her shoulder as Annie trudged past her. “I have never, ever in my life been this cold or this exhausted. These damn boots have given my blisters other blisters.â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

J
ack Emery threw an extra log on the fire and watched the flames shoot upward. “Stand by the fire, Harry. You’ll warm up in a minute. I cranked the heat up to ninety. God, I have never been so cold in my entire life. I’m going to heat up some chicken soup. We’ll both be good as new in a few minutes. First, though, I’m going to warm up some socks in the dryer. My mom always used to say ‘If your feet are warm, you’re good as gold.’ Maggie says that, too, so it must be true.â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

M
urphy and Grady hippity-hopped through the snow as they did their best to lead Charles and Maggie down the street and around the corner.

Charles was fuming. “I was gone only ten minutes, and they plowed in my Hummer! Unbelievable!â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

J
ack Emery bolted upright, unsure what had awakened him. He looked around, but Ted, Espinosa, and Harry were still sound asleep under mounds of covers and pillows in front of the fireplace. He looked down at his watch: 4:00 AM. He looked over at the fire, which was still burning nicely but could use another log or two.

What was it that had woken him up? The landline hadn’t rung. None of the guys were snoring. There were no animals in the house to make noise. Was it the total quietness? Did the house creak? Old houses, and this was an old house, made strange noises from time to time; settling, the old-timers called it. Jack looked toward the bay window and realized what it was that woke him. Blue and red flashing lights were arching off the walls. “Shit!â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

M
artine Connor swung her legs over the side of the bed, wondering what it was that had woken her. The silence that surrounded her told her there was nothing going on. Her throat was dry, and she needed a drink of water. She looked at the red numerals on her bedside clock, which glowed like beacons in the dark room: 4:10. She would have gotten up in another twenty minutes anyway.

Martine rummaged around on the bedcovers until she found her old robe, a chenille one that she’d had forever and a day. It was worn, frayed, an old friend she would never part with. It even had matching slippers, which were just as old and worn, and just as comfortable.

She brushed her teeth, then shuffled her way to the kitchen, where she made her own coffee. She’d always been an early morning, two-cups-of-coffee-and-one-cigarette kind of person. Just because she was the president of the United States didn’t mean she couldn’t remain that kind of person. It was this quiet time that she liked, “being alone with the universe time,â€

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

B
ert Navarro, director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, looked out at the sea of white that greeted him as he prepared to exit the Hoover Building, where he’d been a virtual prisoner, along with all the other agents in the building, since the snow started falling twenty-four hours ago.

He adjusted his aviator glasses against the blinding whiteness that surrounded him. He hated being out and about with a day’s worth of beard, his clothes rumpled, his white shirt less than pristine. Considering the circumstances, he decided not to give his appearance a second thought.

Normally, he had nerves of steel, was great under pressure, and demonstrated clear thinking whatever the situation. This storm, though, with the power outages and resultant loss of communication with the outside world, had thrown him for a loop. He was worried about the vigilantes, especially Kathryn, and he was more than a little concerned about Jack and the others. He consoled himself with the fact that Jack was good at improvising, and he had Killer Harry on his team. Robinson and Espinosa always came through in the clench, so he shelved his concern for his friends. He had done what he could and hoped the others were doing the same thing.

Until the storm, Bert hadn’t realized how much he depended on his cell phone to communicate with the outside world. He’d always taken power and convenience for granted, something he would never do again. Candles, flash-lights that depended on batteries simply didn’t do the job in his line of work.