i 9fb2c9db4068b52a (35 page)

“I’ll try and get back in time to pick you up, but...”

“I’ll get a ride with Zebediah, or I’ll call a cab.”

He wagged a stern finger at her. “Promise you won’t try anything stupid with Heidt.”

The blast of the departure horn saved her from having to make a promise she was not sure she would keep. He delayed long enough to drop a light kiss on her cheek, then he was gone.

Claudia stood at the railing, watching Jovanic hurry back along the boardwalk, helmet under his arm as he disappeared between the shops that fronted the parking lot. This was what she could expect from a relationship with a cop—left at a party with no date. She stood there, wondering what to do, when a man dressed as Merlin entered her line of vision and spoke in Zebediah Gold’s voice. “Ancient Egyptian suits you, sweetie.” He gave her a friendly kiss through the long white beard and touched her bracelet. “Nice asp.”

She looked him up and down. The rich blue-velvet wizard’s robe emblazoned with silver moons and stars, and even the tall, pointy cap, seemed to fit him. “Where’s that gold thong you promised?”

“I chickened out. Merlin beckoned instead.”

“Well, you do cast spells over women.”

“You should know, darling.”

“Don’t push it, Zeb.” The yacht rolled a little as it moved into the channel and she lurched against him. Zebediah steadied her. “I’m glad you told me what you were going to wear, sweetie. It’s a marvelous disguise.”

“I wanted to introduce you to Joel.”

“What have you done with him?”

“Didn’t you see him take off like a bat out of hell? He got a call and that was that.”

“Forget about him; let’s walk like an Egyptian. Dance with me.”

“Okay, but you have to help me figure out who Bryce Heidt is.”

“Darling, can’t you stop working for five minutes and just have some fun?”

His impatience was justified, but the truth was, she wasn’t going to rest until she could prove that her suspicions about the senator were justified. For now, she acquiesced and stepped with Zebediah onto the parquet dance floor, where a handful of couples were dancing to the Monster Mash. Twisting her feet and shaking her shoulders, she felt like a kid again. The steps didn’t matter, as long as you were moving to the beat. She couldn’t remember the last time she had danced, nor had so much fun.

She was enjoying herself immensely, when the Graingers bore down on them and cut in. Zebediah relinquished Claudia to Martin with a graceful flourish, and danced off with Lillian.

When the music stopped and the DJ called for a slow dance, Claudia thanked Martin Grainger for the dance and started to walk away.

He held onto her hand. “How about one more, if I promise not to tread on your toes?”

“Okay, last chance. Just remember, I’m wearing sandals.”

He glanced down at her feet, then let his eyes roam slowly up the split in her dress, where her legs showed through to mid-thigh. “Nice,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t talking about her costume. “Say, what happened to your date? We had to hold up the departure for him.”

“Unfortunately, he was called away to an emergency.”

“Is he a doctor?”

It was an innocent enough question, but after learning that Jovanic had investigated Martin Grainger, Claudia felt uneasy with his curiosity.

“No, it was something else,” she said, allowing him to draw her into his arms as the music started up again.

Martin leaned down, his alcohol-fumed breath hot on her ear. “I saw on the news that they caught the guy who killed Ivan Novak.”

“Yes, they do have someone in custody.” He was holding her too close, and Claudia pulled away, putting a few inches between them. Apparently getting the message, he dropped his arm and stood there looking ridiculous in his green tights and red breeches, his forehead damp with perspiration.

Martin reached into his breeches for a handkerchief and began mopping his forehead. “It’s a getting warm in here. Why don’t we go out on deck so we can talk.”

The music followed them, getting fainter as they stepped through the bulkhead into the cool salt air. The marina was far behind them now, and they were sailing into the open waters of the Pacific. Even without a moon, the yacht’s lights left a golden wake behind them. A sight Claudia wanted to share with Jovanic, not Lillian’s husband in that stupid getup.

“Let’s go below, to my stateroom,” Martin said. “So we can talk in private.”

Claudia stared at him, surprised that he would make such a blatant overture. “I don’t
think
so.” She went to slip around him but he grabbed her arm.

“Wait! You’ve got it all wrong... wait... Lil told me about Bryce Heidt... what you told her about him.”

That stopped her.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “We’ve discussed it with the senator, and he denies those charges, absolutely.”

Like he’s going to admit it.

“There’s video, Mr. Grainger.”

“Call me Martin,” he insisted, releasing her arm and mopping his forehead again despite the drop in temperature from the lounge. “Claudia, honey, you know we’re in the entertainment business, and I’ll tell you, these tapes can easily be dummied up. When someone gets to be big and important in political circles like Bryce Heidt, it’s pretty much open season. And the closer he gets to the presidency, the more his enemies are gonna snipe at him. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past ‘em to hire a look-alike for those tapes.” He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket and reached up to scratch at his goatee. “Bryce is a deeply religious man, a family man. Believe me, honey, he never would risk everything he’s worked so hard for all these years... to do the kinds of crazy things you
thought
you saw on some tape.”

Claudia met his gaze with a slight frown. “Actually, I never told Lillian that I saw the tape, nor what’s on it.”

His eyes widened. “Well, I’m just assuming... guessing, aren’t I... anyway, Bryce wouldn’t do
anything
that would get him blackmailed. He’s smarter than that.”

It wasn’t worth it to debate what she had seen with her own eyes. She wondered whether his desire to protect the senator was more for Heidt’s sake, or for Lillian’s political aspirations.

“Is the senator on board tonight?” she asked.

“Of course.” Grainger led her back to the lounge, his eyes darting from group to group until he found the one he sought. “Over there. See Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd? You can’t miss him in that stovepipe hat.” He looked as proud as if he were the senator’s campaign manager. He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Now Claudia, I
can
count on you not to pester him, can’t I?”

She mentally crossed her fingers. “Martin, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

The band finished their set and took a break. Claudia kept an eye on Abe Lincoln, who appeared to be having a good time as he worked the room, always surrounded by an admiring group, laughing at something someone said, gesticulating as he expounded on some subject dear to his heart.

When the next slow dance started, Claudia elbowed her way through the crowd and moved in on him.

“Mr. President,” she said, making her voice a little deeper, a little breathier. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

Heidt turned, the smile set to charm already in place. “Why, Cleopatra,” he said, offering her his arm. “I’d be delighted.”

He excused himself to his wife and the couple they had been chatting with, and gave Claudia his arm.

His hand felt warm and strong, closing around hers as they stepped onto the crowded dance floor. The other hand roamed down low on her back. The band played early Beatles, and Heidt kept good time with the music, expertly gliding her around the floor. “Do I know you, Cleopatra? I feel as if we’ve met.”

“Mmm, not exactly,” she said, remembering to keep her voice low. “But I’m a big follower of yours, Mr. Lincoln.”

“Really? I’m honored.”

“Actually, I’ve been seeing quite a lot of you lately.”

He leaned back so that his groin pressed against her, and looked at her searchingly. “And where would that have been? At one of my speeches?”

It took all her willpower to keep from pulling away from him; to give him a seductive smile from under her lashes; a little shake of the head. “I don’t think so.”

“Interesting. Was it... on TV?” Playful now, getting into the mood.

“Uh, you might say that.”

“Okay, you’ve seen me. Have I seen you, too?”

Claudia shook her head. Over his shoulder, she saw his wife, Mariel Heidt, staring at them, her face tight, and not just from the nip and tuck of plastic surgery.

Heidt bent her backwards and swung her around. “You’re making me curious, you little minx of the Nile... you’ve seen me, but I haven’t seen you?” Claudia moved her head so that the black wig touched his cheek, and softly lied through her teeth. “Your Lincoln costume can’t hid your wonderful physique, Senator; I saw a lot of it in Lindsey Alexander’s home movies.”

Bryce Heidt’s steps faltered. His hand tightened on her back and he dipped his head close to her ear. “What do you know about Lindsey’s movies?”

As close as he was holding her, she hoped he couldn’t feel the thudding of her heart against her ribs. “Lindsey and I went back a long way.”

“Is that so? It’s a shame about her death.”

“Yes, a shame.”

Heidt didn’t pursue the topic and they danced in silence for a few beats. Then he said hesitantly, “So do you offer the same kind of services as Lindsey?”

“Well, Senator, that depends on what you’re looking for.”

“It sounds like you
know
what I’m looking for.”

“I think I do. But... well, Lindsey got more than she bargained for, and that concerns me.”

“Lindsey was greedy,” Heidt whispered into her ear. “I’m sure you wouldn’t put yourself in that position, would you?”

It couldn’t be this easy. Surely, he wouldn’t give himself away, just like that. Claudia made a rapid assessment of the situation. She wasn’t threatening him, so he was unlikely to attack her as Bostwick had in his office. Not here, on a yacht in the middle of the ocean with dozens of people whirling around them. Still, she would make sure to stay away from the guard rail.

She smiled up at him from under her thick curtain of lashes. “Tell me, what position would you want me in, Mr. Lincoln?”

Heidt gave a little groan and she felt an unwelcome movement against her abdomen. “Your wife is watching,” she cautioned, giving him a little push.

He twirled her away from him, trying to impress her with his dance moves. When he reeled her back in, his eyes were glazed with lust. “Let’s go outside,” he said.

Martin Grainger had been risky enough. The prospect of leaving the safety of the lighted salon and accompanying Heidt outside appealed to her about as much as swimming in a cesspool, but it was her one chance to get any information from him.

“How do I know I’m safe with you, Senator?” Her tone was coy, but the words came from the bottom of her heart. “You have nothing to worry about,” Heidt assured her with an arch wink. “I’m not hard to please.”

No, you’re just plain hard.

Heidt led Claudia off the floor and out on deck, clinging to her as if they were superglued together. He seemed very familiar with the yacht’s layout.

He’s probably been a passenger a dozen times,
she reflected, considering how tight he and the Graingers appeared to be.

He guided her as smoothly as if they were still dancing, past life vests and deck chairs, around a small swimming pool and into a dark alcove behind the aft gangway. She could hear his breathing quicken with his mounting excitement. “Okay, Cleopatra, tell me what you’re going to do to me. I’ve been a
very
bad boy.”

Claudia pushed him away, playfully tapping his chest. “First things first, Mr. Lincoln... tell me about Lindsey.” His jaw tensed. “She’s not in the picture anymore. Let’s stop talking and get on with my punishment.” Suddenly, he was down on his knees, pressing his face into her crotch, knocking his stovepipe hat askew. “Will you be Mistress Cleopatra when we meet, or is there another name I should use?”

The situation was rapidly spinning out of control. She had to do something, fast.

“Lindsey didn’t kill herself, did she?” she blurted, pushing on his shoulders, twisting her body away from him.

Heidt jerked to his feet, crushing the tall hat against the staircase above. “Who
are
you?”

Claudia spoke fast, urgently. “The police have reopened the investigation into her death. They’ve got a suspect in mind, Senator. I think you know who it is.”

He was silent, digesting what she’d said. The waggishness vanished and gave way to a concerned frown. He might be a pervert and he might be a killer, but he hadn’t risen to his present political level without brains.

“You’re suggesting that I was responsible for her death?” he countered. “That’s nothing short of outrageous.”

Preston Sommerfield’s handsome face popped into Claudia’s mind. He had at least as much motive as Heidt to kill Lindsey. “Blackmail is a good motive for murder,” she said, throwing out the bait to see what it might produce.

Heidt took a sudden step backward and landed against the cabin wall, his face drained of color. “Who are you with? The police?”

“No.”

“The media?”

“I’m not
with
anyone.”

An expression of confusion and puzzlement crossed Heidt’s face, then cleared. “Wait a second; you’re the woman Martin told me about. We
have
met before, haven’t we?”

“It doesn’t matter, Senator, just tell me about Lindsey.”

“We had a business arrangement,” he said brusquely. “Nothing illegal.”

“But blackmail
is
illegal, and she could have trashed your career.”

He was the consummate politician once again, carefully modulating his voice to keep his emotions carefully concealed. “I wasn’t anywhere near her the night she died. Check with my office; I was at a fundraiser.”

The alcove suddenly felt as tight as a coffin. Without another word, Claudia squeezed around him and out onto the deck.