In Their Footsteps & Thief of Hearts (51 page)

“The top of page thirty-five and six,” said Clea. “That’s what she’s torn out.”

“I’m looking for it.” Jordan thumbed quickly through the driver’s copy. “Here it is. Top of page thirty-five. Article about the Manchester slums. Building renovations.

Another about horse breeding in Ireland.”

“Try the other side.”

Jordan flipped the page. “Let’s see. Scandal in some ad agency. Drop-off in the fishing harvest. And…” He paused. “Today’s shipping schedule for Portsmouth.” He looked at Clea.

“That’s it! That has to be it. One of their ships must be arriving in port.”

“Or leaving.” He sat back, deep in thought. “If Van Weldon has a vessel in Portsmouth, then it’s here for either a delivery…”

“Or a pickup,” she finished for him.

They looked at each other, both struck by the same startling thought.

“It’s taking on cargo,” she said. “It must be.”

“It could be purely legitimate cargo.”

“But there’s the chance…” She glanced up as they pulled in front of their hotel. At once she was climbing out the door. “We have to call Portsmouth. Check which vessels are Van Weldon’s.”

Thief of Hearts

475

“Clea, wait—”

But she was already hurrying into the building.

By the time he’d settled with their driver and followed her up to the room, Clea was already on the phone. A moment later she hung up and turned to Jordan in triumph.

“There’s a
Villafjord
scheduled to dock at five this afternoon. She sails again at midnight. And she’s registered to the Van Weldon company.”

For a moment he stared at her without speaking. Then he said flatly, “I’m going to call the police.” He reached for the phone.

She grabbed his hand. “Don’t! Jordan.”

“We have to alert the authorities. It could be the best chance they’ll have to nail Van Weldon.”

“That’s why we can’t blow it! What if we’re wrong?

What if his ship’s here to take on a cargo of—of undies or something? We’ll look like a pair of idiots. So will the police.” She shook her head. “We can’t tell them until we know
exactly
what’s on board.”

“But the only way to learn that is…” He froze in the midst of that thought. “Don’t you even dare suggest it.”

“Just one little tiny peek inside.”

“
No.
This is the perfect time to call in Richard. Let him—or someone else—handle it.”

“But I don’t trust anyone else!”

Again he reached for the phone.

Again she grabbed his hand and held on tightly. “If we let too many people in on this,” she said, “I guarantee there’ll be a leak. Van Weldon will hear about it, and that’ll be it for our big chance. Jordan, we have to wait till the last minute. And we have to be sure of what they’ll find.”

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Tess Gerritsen

“You don’t really think you can stroll aboard that ship and have a look around, do you?”

“When it comes to making unauthorized entries, I had the world’s best teacher.”

“Uncle Walter? He got caught, remember?”

“
I
won’t get caught.”

“Because you’re not going anywhere
near
the
Villafjord.
” He shook off her hand and began to dial the telephone.

Desperately she snatched away the receiver. “You’re not doing this!” she cried.

“Clea.” He heaved a sigh of frustration. “Clea, you have to trust me on this.”

“No, you have to trust
me.
Trust
my
judgment.
I’m
the one with everything to lose!”

“I know that. But we’re both tired. We’re going to make mistakes. Now’s the time to call the police and put an end to all this. To get back to our lives—our
real
lives.

Don’t you see?”

She looked into his eyes.
Yes, I see,
she thought.
You’ve
had enough of running. Enough of me. You want your own
life back, and I don’t blame you.

Defiantly she raised her chin. “I want to go home, too.

I’m sick of hotels and strange beds and dyed hair. I want this all to be over with just as much as you do. That’s why I say we do it
my
way.”

“Your way’s too bloody risky. The police—”

“I told you, I don’t trust them!” Agitated, she paced over to the window, paced back. “I’ve survived this long only because I didn’t trust anyone.
I’m
the only one I can count on.”

“You can count on me,” he said quietly.

Thief of Hearts

477

She shook her head and laughed. “In the real world, darling, it’s every man for himself. Remember that. You can’t trust anyone.” She turned and looked at him. “Not even me.”

“But I do.”

“Then you’re crazy.”

“Why? Because you’re an ex-con? Because you’ve made a few mistakes in your life?” He moved toward her and took her by the shoulders. “Are you
afraid
to have me believe in you?”

She gave a nonchalant toss of her head. “I’d hate to disappoint anyone.”

He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. “I have complete faith,” he whispered. “And so should you.”

His kiss was sweet enough to break her heart. And that frightened her, because she knew now there could be no clean parting between them, no easy goodbyes. The break would be painful and haunting and bitter.

And inevitable.

He pulled back. “I’m going to have to trust you now, Clea. To do as I ask. To stay in this room and let me take care of this.”

“But I—”

He silenced her by pressing a finger to her lips. “No arguments. I’m going to assert a little male authority here.

Something I damn well should have done ages ago. You’re going to wait for me. Here, in this room. Understood?” She looked at his unyielding expression. Then she gave a sigh. “Understood,” she said meekly.

He smiled and kissed her.

She smiled, too, as he walked out of the room. But when 478

Tess Gerritsen

she went to the window and watched him leave the building, her smile faded.
What makes you think I’m so damn trust-worthy?
she thought.

Turning, she saw Jordan’s jacket, which she’d left draped over a chair. Impulsively she thrust her hand in the pocket and pulled out the gold watch. She flipped open the dented cover and looked at the name engraved inside: Bernard Tavistock.

And she thought, This will end it. Here and now. It’s going to end anyway, and I might as well do it sooner than later. If I take this watch, something he treasures, I’ll cut the ties. Cleanly. Decisively. After all, that’s what I am. A thief. An ex-con. He’ll be relieved to see me go.

She thrust the watch into her own pocket. Maybe she’d mail it back to him someday. When she was good and ready.

When she could think of him without feeling that painful twist of her heart.

Glancing out the window, she saw that Jordan was nowhere in sight.
Goodbye,
she thought.
Goodbye, my
darling gentleman.

A moment later she, too, left the room.

Thirteen

Richard Wolf was on the telephone to Brussels when the doorbell rang. He paid it no attention—the butler would see to any visitors. Only when he heard Davis’s polite knock on the study door did Richard break off his conversation.

The butler, looking oddly uncertain, stood in the doorway. It was something Richard hadn’t gotten the hang of, dealing with all these servants. His Yankee sense of privacy was always being violated by all the maids and butlers and underbutlers whom the Tavistocks insisted upon keeping underfoot.

“Pardon the interruption, Mr. Wolf,” said Davis. “But there’s a foreign gentleman at the door. He insists upon speaking to you at once.”

“Foreign?”

“A, er, Sikh, I believe.” Davis made a whirling gesture over his head. “Judging by the turban.”

“Did he say what his business was?”

“He said he would speak only to you.” 480

Tess Gerritsen

Richard cut the call short and followed Davis to the front door.

There was indeed a Sikh waiting on the front step, a short, pleasant-looking fellow with a trim beard and a gold tooth. “Mr. Wolf?” he inquired.

“I’m Richard Wolf.”

“You called for a taxi.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t.”

Without a word the Sikh handed an envelope to Richard.

Richard glanced in the envelope. Inside was a single gold cuff link. It was inscribed with the initials J.C.T.

Jordan’s.

Calmly Richard nodded and said, “Oh, right. Of course.

I’d forgotten all about that appointment. Let me get my briefcase.”

While the Sikh waited on the doorstep, Richard ducked back into the study, slid a 9 mm automatic into his shoulder holster and reemerged carrying an empty briefcase.

The Sikh directed him to a taxi at the curb.

Neither of them said a thing as the car moved through traffic. The Sikh drove exactly the way one expected of a cab driver—calmly. Recklessly.

“Are we going some place in particular?” asked Richard.

“Harrods. You will stay there half an hour. Visit all the floors. Perhaps make a purchase. Then you’ll return to my taxi. You will recognize it by the number—twenty-three.

I will wait for you at the curb.”

“What am I to expect?”

The Sikh grinned in the rearview mirror. “I do not know.

I am only the driver.” He paused. “We are being followed.”

“I know,” said Richard.

Thief of Hearts

481

At Harrods Richard got out and entered the store.

Inside he did as instructed, wandering about the various departments. He bought a silk scarf for Beryl and a tie for his father back in Connecticut. He was aware of two men lingering nearby, a short man and a blond man. They were good—it was a full five minutes before he noticed them, and only because he’d glimpsed them in a mirror as he tried on top hats. He lost them briefly in the gourmet foods section, but picked them up again in housewares. If Jordan hoped to make contact, it was going to be difficult. Richard knew he could shake these guys if he wanted to. But then he’d probably shake Jordan, as well.

A half hour later he walked out of Harrods. He spotted taxi number twenty-three parked across the street, the Sikh driver still sitting patiently behind the wheel.

He crossed the street and climbed in the back seat of the taxi. “No luck,” he said. “I was watched the whole time.

Is there a backup plan?”

“This
is
the plan,” said a familiar voice.

Richard glanced up in surprise at the rearview mirror, at the face of the bearded, turbaned driver. Jordan’s brown eye winked back at him.

“Gotcha,” said Jordan, and pulled the taxi into traffic.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Little game of wits. How am I doing so far?”

“Splendidly. You outsmarted me.” Richard glanced back and spotted the same car following them.

“I see them,” said Jordan.

“Where’s Clea Rice?”

“A safe place. But things are coming to a head. We need help.”

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Tess Gerritsen

“Jordan, Interpol’s already stepped in. They want Van Weldon’s head. They’ll arrange for the woman’s safety.”

“How do I know we can trust them?”

“They’d been watching over her for weeks. Until you two shook them off.”

“Veronica’s working for Van Weldon. Oliver may be, as well.”

Richard, stunned, fell momentarily silent.

“You see, it reaches all levels,” said Jordan. “It’s like an octopus. Tentacles everywhere. The only people I can really count on are you, Beryl and Uncle Hugh. And you may regret hearing from me at all.”

“We’ve been waiting for you to contact us. Hugh’s calling in old favors. You’ll be in good hands, I’ll see to it myself. MacLeod’s just waiting for the chance to move on Van Weldon.”

“MacLeod?”

“Interpol. That was his man on the train platform. The one who saved your lives.”

Jordan chewed on that piece of information for a moment. “If we come in, how will it be arranged?”

“Through your uncle. Scotland Yard will oversee.

Whenever you’re ready.”

Jordan was silent as he dodged around a tight knot of traffic. “I’m ready,” he said at last.

“And the woman?”

“Clea’ll take some convincing. But she’s tired. I think she’s ready to come in, too.”

“How shall we do it, then?”

“Sloane Square, the Underground. Make it an hour from now—eight-thirty.”

“I’ll let Hugh know.”

Thief of Hearts

483

They were coming up on the Tavistocks’ London residence, one in a row of elegant Georgian town houses. The car was still following them.

Jordan pulled over to the curb. “One more thing, Richard.”

“Yes?”

“There’s a ship docking this afternoon in Portsmouth.

The
Villafjord.
”

“Van Weldon’s?”

“Yes. My guess is, she’ll be taking on cargo tonight. I suggest the police perform a little unannounced inspection before she leaves port.”

“What’s the cargo?”

“It’ll be a surprise.”

Richard stepped out and made a conspicuous point of paying for the ride. Then he walked up the steps and entered the house. As Jordan drove off, Richard saw that the car that had followed them remained parked outside the Tavistock residence. It was just as he’d expected. The men were assigned to watch him; they had no interest in any Sikh driver.

All the tension suddenly left his body. Only then did he realize how edgy he’d been.

And how close to the precipice they’d been dancing.

Back at the hotel, Jordan parked the taxi a block away, and sat for a moment in the driver’s seat, watching to see if any cars had followed him. When he saw nothing suspicious, he stripped off his beard and turban, got out and headed for the building.

Trust me,
he thought as he climbed the stairs.
You have
to learn to trust me.
He knew it would be a long, slow 484

Tess Gerritsen