Game for Anything (18 page)

The bells on the door clanged again, and this time Meryl hurried in.

Sophie continued to feign a fascination with the items in the window. What was Meryl doing in her shop? The question had no sooner formed in her mind than she spotted Chris Chandler talking to Noah and fluttering his hands. Beyond him, she caught a glimpse of Millie Langford-Hughes and her husband, Sir Winston, making their way toward the shop. The suspects were gathering.

Millie made a beeline for Chris Chandler, but Sir Winston paused to pour himself a cup of lemonade. He was wearing a large white Panama hat to shade his face from the sun, and Sophie again felt that flicker of memory stir at the edge of her mind. What was it? What couldn't she remember? It wasn't until he leaned down and handed a glass of lemonade to the little boy tugging at his jacket that something finally clicked.
A stranger who looked familiar.

Later, she would wonder what exactly triggered the memory—the fact that he was wearing a hat or that she'd glanced at his hands on the cup of lemonade. All she knew at the time was that she'd seen those hands before, in that shop in England where she'd met John Landry. Only the hands had belonged to a woman who'd been wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a portly woman who had rescued a ceramic vase when a child had almost dropped it.

Tracker. She had to tell him, but when she glanced toward where he'd been standing, he wasn't there.

“Problem?” Natalie asked in a very soft voice.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie could see Meryl examining a chess set.

“You have to get Tracker,” she said as she pretended to examine the jade figurine Natalie was holding. “I can't explain, but I'm almost sure that Sir Winston is our man.”

The moment Natalie moved toward the door of the shop, Sophie scanned the crowd of people milling past on the street. In a moment, they swallowed Natalie up, too, and there was still no sign of Tracker. Sophie was about to go back to the counter when she saw something else reflected in the glass: Meryl was placing a ceramic horse next to the one on the bureau. Whirling, Sophie watched her take the original horse and slip it into her bag.

 

“W
HAT DO YOU LIKE
on your hot dog, Mr. McBride?” Ramsey asked.

“I'll skip it. I don't want to stay away too long,”
Tracker said. When Ramsey had signaled to him, he'd crossed the street to join the detective.

“Relax,” Ramsey said as he shot a stream of mustard on his hot dog, then added relish and onions. “My best detective is in there.”

“Yeah. But a couple of our prime suspects are outside. Noah could invite them in at any time and our party could begin.”

“Here,” Ramsey said, handing him a bottle of ice water. “Our shooter gave me a name this morning.”

“Who?” Tracker asked.

“He claims he was hired by Meryl Beacham.”

“Damn it,” Tracker said as he started back across the street. “She's in there with Sophie right now.”

The moment Natalie Gibbs strode out of the shop, they stopped short and waited for her to join them.

“Sophie wants you,” Natalie said to Tracker. “She thinks Sir Winston is our man.”

Ramsey pulled out his walkie-talkie. “My men will handle Hughes.”

“What's up?” Natalie asked.

“The shooter says Meryl Beacham hired him,” Tracker said. “You go back in through the front. Ramsey and I will circle around through the alley. Don't tip your hand unless you have to.”

 

S
OPHIE STARED AT THE GUN
that Meryl had drawn out of her purse.

“Nice disguise, Sophie,” Meryl said. “I particularly like the mustache. And since I wasn't expecting you, I might even have been fooled. But when you're about to steal something priceless, you learn to keep
a sharp eye out for anyone who might be working undercover.”

“Why, Meryl? Why are you involved in this?”

“Money, power,” Meryl said. Then a cold smile played about her lips. “And the thrill of playing the game and outwitting everyone.”

Stall. Tracker will be here.
It helped not to look at the gun, so Sophie kept her eyes on the other woman's face. “You won't get away with stealing it, you know. There's a video camera on you even now.”

Meryl smiled at her. “Where I'm taking this, the pictures won't matter. We'll never be caught. Now let's go. You and I are going out the back door.”

Sophie held her ground. “There are security people everywhere. You won't get far.”

Meryl laughed softly. “Oh, I think I'll get far enough with you as my hostage. It would have been so much simpler if you'd been killed yesterday or even today, but you seem to have nine lives.” Her smile faded. “And you've caused me to lose face with my partner. For that reason alone, it would give me very great pleasure to shoot you. Start walking into the back room.”

“But you won't shoot me. I'm no good to you dead.”

Meryl met her eyes steadily. “That's right. But if your handsome boyfriend comes rushing in the door to save you, I'll shoot him. Move.”

Don't panic,
Sophie told herself. She walked slowly. Each second she could delay would give Tracker time to do something. They made it into the back hallway without anyone coming into the shop.

It was only as she punched numbers into the security pad on the back door that Sophie realized her hands were shaking. And when she tried the door, it wouldn't open.

“Stop stalling.” Meryl jabbed the gun into her back. “A bullet can cause a lot of pain without killing you.”

“I'm not stalling. It's a new code.” This time, she went more slowly. “Is Noah in on this with you?”

“Your assistant hasn't been very efficient. His job was simple—just make sure the piece got into the hands of the right customer.”

“Why would he agree to do that?” Sophie asked.

“Greed at first, and then fear. This game has very high stakes. If you fail, you die. And I don't intend to die. Open the door, Sophie.”

Gripping the handle, Sophie opened the door and scanned the courtyard. It was empty.

Meryl took her arm and pressed the gun against her spine. “We're going into the alley. I left my car there. Don't try anything or I will shoot you in the back, and you'll spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair. Do you understand?”

Sophie nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak. Where was Tracker?

“And if your boyfriend shows up, warn him to stay away. Understood?”

Sophie nodded again.

The gun jabbed into her back. “Answer me, Sophie.”

“Yes,” she managed to reply. “I understand.”

And then they were walking slowly across the flag
stones. Just as they stepped out into the alleyway, Tracker spoke. “Drop the gun, Meryl.”

Sophie had time to register where he was standing, just to Meryl's right. And then Meryl was swinging the gun toward him. She saw Tracker make his move and, in the same instant, Sophie launched herself at Meryl's gun arm.

As her fingers closed around the woman's wrist, she saw the flash of fire, heard the deafening explosion and then they were both tumbling to the ground. Sophie felt her head strike something hard, and saw a bright explosion of fireworks. Through them, she saw Tracker subdue Meryl and Ramsey slip handcuffs on her wrists.

There was something important that she had to tell Tracker, but when she tried to sit up, she couldn't seem to lift her head. It hurt. Then Tracker was beside her and he was running his hands over her, expertly, thoroughly, the way he always did in her dream. Relaxing, she closed her eyes and started to drift.

“You're bleeding!”

The shouted words dragged her back to consciousness. Opening her eyes, she tried to focus, but now there were two Trackers bending over her. “You're not supposed to yell. You're supposed to say, ‘You're safe, Princess.'”

“Damn it, Sophie! Did she shoot you? Where?”

“Ouch! Don't touch my head. I think it's broken. But you can touch me everywhere else.”

“Get an ambulance!”

He wasn't supposed to yell. That wasn't part of her
dream. “Tracker.” She couldn't see him quite as well now. Everything was turning gray.

“Shh.” He took her hand. “Don't talk.”

“Winston Hughes. I think he's the Puppet Master.”

Then she closed her eyes and slipped into the dream that was waiting for her.

 

S
OPHIE SAT UP
in the hospital bed and threw her legs over the side. Her headache had settled into a dull throb just about where the stitches were, and she wasn't seeing double anymore. There was only one Mac sitting in the chair near her bed, her concerned gaze on Sophie. And there was only one Chess sitting on her lap. Lucas had smuggled him in.

“I'm getting dressed.”

“The doctors want you to stay another night,” Mac said firmly. “They don't like to fool around with concussions.”

“I'm fine.”

Chess let out a disgusted snort.

Sophie glared at him. “Don't you start. I'm fine, and I have to get out of here because I have to track someone down.” She hadn't seen Tracker for over twenty-four hours, and a cold fear had begun to build in her.

“Sophie, if you get out of bed, I'm going to have to get up and out of this chair.” Mac paused to run a hand gently over her belly. “And the baby just fell asleep.”

Sophie tried her best to scowl at her friend. “That's blackmail.”

“Whatever works. I promised Lucas and Tracker that I would keep you here until they arrived.”

Sophie's eyes narrowed. “When will they get here?”

“Whenever they finish up at the police station. Lucas called while the doctor was with you and filled me in on the latest. Millie Langford-Hughes has been fully cleared. The only thing she seems to be guilty of is marrying cads. Meryl's attorney advised her to take the deal they were offering, and she's singing her heart out. They'll be able to nail Sir Winston Hughes. He was trying to say that the two coins they found in his wall safe were ones he purchased in good faith.”

“And Noah?” Sophie asked.

“He was told that he would receive the backing to open his own shop if he would just help out. According to Meryl, that was the ‘carrot.' When Jayne Childress was killed, he caught on that the little game they were playing was a deadly one. He continued to go along with them because he was afraid for his life.”

“I'm going to hire him an attorney,” Sophie said. “In his place, I might have done the same thing. He couldn't have known what he was getting into at first.”

“Tracker predicted that you would do that,” Mac said.

“Really.” The man seemed to have time to talk to everyone but her.

“Really,” a male voice echoed.

She turned and felt her heart lurch when she saw him standing in the doorway with Lucas. Relief warred
with an almost overwhelming desire to run right into his arms. But she had a game plan.

“I think I'm beginning to understand the way your mind works, Princess.”

She lifted her chin. “We have to talk.”

Mac rose from her chair. “C'mon, Lucas. Let's take a walk down to the nursery. I'd offer to take Chess, but I don't think the nurses would approve.”

 

T
RACKER DIDN'T THINK
he'd ever seen a room cleared quite so efficiently. “Nice going, Princess.”

The temper in her voice and the stiffness in her spine assured him, more than anything her doctors had said, that Sophie was going to be all right. Even wearing a faded hospital gown and a bandage on her head, she looked every inch the Princess. The fear that had been rolling around inside of him since he'd realized that she was bleeding in that alley began to fade.

She was safe, and so was he. And he had a plan. Since he figured Sophie might have one of her own, he locked the door. Then he held out the daisies he'd been hiding behind his back. “These are for you.”

She stared at them. “You brought me flowers.”

“Yes.” Since she didn't seem inclined to take them, he laid them in her lap.

“Why? No.” She raised a hand to stop him before he could reply. “You brought them because you're a kind, sweet man. And they're beautiful.” She lifted them and held them to her face for a moment.

So far so good,
he thought. He was just about to reach for the box in his pocket when he saw the first tear roll down her cheek. “Sophie?”

She tossed the flowers at him, then swiped impatiently at her cheeks. “I know exactly what you're doing. You're giving them to me to soften the blow when you tell me that you don't want to see me again. You'll probably bring up some baloney about how we don't have anything in common. We come from different worlds. And then you'll slink off into your shadows again. Well, I'm not having it.”

“You're not?” He'd been dead wrong. He still didn't have a clue about the way her mind worked.

“No.” She swiped at her cheeks again. “I don't want to have an affair with you anymore.”

The pain hit him like a sucker punch in the gut.

“No-strings affairs aren't much better than one-night stands. Either one of us could decide to pack up and go.”

She met his eyes, and he saw all of the fears that he had been feeling for the past twenty-four hours reflected in them. She was every bit as afraid of losing him as he was of losing her. How could he have thought they were so different when they were so much alike?

“I want to marry you,” she stated.

For the second time in as many minutes, he felt as though he'd been punched low and hard. “Sophie.” He moved toward her then, but she raised a hand.

“You can't talk me out of it. It's marriage or nothing.”

Tracker opened his mouth and shut it. So much for the proposal he'd planned. There was just no predicting his Sophie. Slowly, he smiled. “We're getting married.”