Pandora's Box (4 page)

She had to get in touch with him anyway to talk about dinner.
 
She always had dinner with her dad after a mission.
 
This was the one tradition he held to.
 
He’d started it on the eve of her first mission for the CIA.
 
She couldn’t remember having such an honest conversation with him before that.
 
Since most of her jobs were top secret, he was the only person outside of her superiors she could confide in.
 
After all, he had a higher security clearance than she did.
 

Message thirty-two.
 
Her father again.
 
According to the date and time, he’d left the message minutes before she’d walked in the front door.
 
“I can’t have dinner with you tonight.”

Alarm bells went off in her head.
 
She moved closer to the answering machine, listening carefully to not only his words but to the tone of his voice.

He said, “I apologize for the late cancellation.
 
You deserved a better father than me, Maddie.
 
Please, stay home tonight.
 
Don’t go to the president’s ball.
 
If you do, you’ll just get in the way.”

Get in the way of what?
 
Madison
hovered over the answering machine.
 
Her father never missed a dinner with her.
 
Over the years they’d had a few at
midnight
because of earlier engagements.
 
But he’d never cancelled completely.
 
When she’d been shot on the job, he had arrived at her hospital room with a light meal as soon as she was awake and recovering.
 

She grabbed her cell phone and tried again.
 
It rang a few times before going to voice mail.
 
Still not answering.
 
He hadn’t sounded frantic or worried on the last message.
 
In fact, his voice had been extremely calm and in control.

Wild horses couldn’t keep her away from the charity ball tonight.

She reflected on her father’s last message while taking a long, hot shower.
 
The thing that bothered her the most was the cancelled dinner plans.
 
She couldn’t imagine why he wanted her to skip the ball.
 

******

Madison
glanced at her bedside clock.
 
She’d taken too long in the shower.
 
She’d have to rush if she wanted to make it on time.
 
Lucky for her, she had a versatile closet.
 
Being an agent meant dressing for a variety of parts; her clothes reflected that.
 
Oddly enough she couldn’t find her favorite dress, a flirty little black number.
 
She couldn’t remember taking it to the cleaners.
 
Odd.

Shrugging, she chose a black gown that clung to her curves with a back that plunged all the way down to the swell of her bottom.

Before she could change into it, her eyes fell on her unmade bed.
 
Someone had been inside her home while she was gone.
 
The covers had been purposely rolled, the pillows tossed to the floor.
 
An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.
 
She swallowed, queasy.
 
Grabbing the top cover, she stripped it from the bed.
 
She smoothed the blue sheets back in to place, tucked them in on both sides, and fixed the cover over it.
 

She layered her pillows with small square ones in front and the big rectangles in back.
 
Since she’d been a kid she’d been obsessed with having a neat bed.
 
After placing a large round one in the center she surveyed her bed with a critical eye.
 
Not a wrinkle.
 
The knot in her stomach unclenched.
 
She took an easy breath.

Madison
wanted to search her apartment for stolen items, but she didn’t have time.
 
If she didn’t get dressed and leave within the next fifteen minutes, she’d be late to the ball.
 
She didn’t want to disappoint President Law.
 
He’d always been good to her.
 
And of course she wanted to find out why her father didn’t want her there.

So she tossed the dress over her head and struggled into it.
 

A knock on the apartment door startled her.
 
She pushed a dangling diamond earring through her ear and hurried across the apartment, hoping she would find her father on the other side of the door.
 
And that was when she saw it.

A decapitated doll sat in the corner chair, facing the door.
 
She must have walked right by it earlier without noticing it.
 
Madison
went to it, grabbed both pieces and stared down at the pretty porcelain face.
 
Blond curly hair fell in messy waves and the blue eyes sparkled.
 
This doll had been brand new.
 
Now who in the world would buy a doll just to tear it apart and leave it in her apartment?

Only one name came to mind.
 
Her lips flattened in to a tight line as she thought about her most notorious and determined enemy.

The door opened and DeMarco stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
 
He opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut when he saw what she was holding.
 
His brows drew together.
 
He searched her face, obviously confused and concerned.

“What the hell is that?” he finally asked.
 
His deep voice caressed her nerves.

“Someone left me this little gift while I was away.”

“Someone?”

“The Blonde Assassin, I think.”
 
She tried to push the head back onto the doll’s neck.
 
“Who else would do something so bizarre?”

DeMarco, handsome in a white tuxedo jacket, nodded at her.
 
“You’re probably right.”

She gave up trying to reunite the head and body and tossed both parts back to the chair.
 
“Have you heard anything about her or from her in the past three months?”

The nameless killer had a fatal fascination for
Madison
’s cases.
 
She called the office sometimes, but no one could get a trace on her.
 
She popped in and out of
Madison
’s life, doing whatever damage she could manage before vanishing into thin air.
 
And
Madison
had no idea why the woman had singled her out.
 
That’s what bothered her the most.
   

“Not a word,” DeMarco replied.
 
“And I don’t like it.
 
I think she’s keeping very close tabs on you.
 
She knew you were out of town.”

Madison
digested the information slowly.
 
DeMarco was probably right.
 
Madison
’s eyes drifted to the doll again.
 
The bitch had been in her apartment, going through her things.
 
She felt violated.
 
“I wonder if she took anything.”

She scanned the room, looking for anything else that was out of place.
 
A huge red spot on her carpet caught her eye.
 
She hunched over it, moved the carpet fibers around with her fingers.
 
Still damp.
 
She smelled it.
 
Red wine?
 
Her anger rose another notch.
 
Petty vandalism set her teeth on edge.
 

DeMarco broke into her dark thoughts with, “You look fabulous.”

“I feel naked,” she complained.
 
“I feel naked without my gun.”

“You aren’t on duty tonight.
 
Try to enjoy the evening.”

“I could carry the gun in my purse, but…”

“You hate carrying purses,” he finished the sentence for her.
 
A huge smile stretched his lips thin.
 
“I remember.
 
They make you feel too girly and too encumbered.
 
Nice to see some things don’t change.”

“I could strap the gun to my thigh, but I’ll have to walk through the metal detector with the rest of the guests.
 
It’s possible they could make me remove it at the door.”

“Leave it here.”
 
DeMarco’s hands went to her shoulders and held her still, capturing her complete attention.
 
“You can always borrow mine if you need it.
 
I saw the guest list.
 
I don’t think the
Washington
’s conservatives will get too rowdy tonight.”
 
His fingers gave her a gentle squeeze.
 
“I can’t get over how beautiful you look.
 
I always loved your hair down.
 
You’re going to have every man at the ball falling at your feet.”

Now he was starting to freak her out.
 

“Why are you here, Marc?”
 
She grabbed her black wrap.
 

“I thought I’d give you a lift to the party and fill you in on what’s been going on here during the last three months.”

DeMarco took the wrap from her fingers.
 
He waited patiently for her to turn around and then slid the silky black material over her bare arms.
 
His hands lingered a few seconds longer than necessary, sending an unwanted shiver up
Madison
’s spine.
 
Did he want to rekindle the past?

Or was he after something else?

With a last disgusted look at the doll, she left DeMarco to lock the door behind them.
 

He caught up with her halfway down the hall and walked her to the car, hand on the small of her back.
 
Playing the part of the gentleman, he opened the car door for her.
 
The little gestures began to add up to big trouble for
Madison
.
 
He was definitely up to something.

His plan to kill the president was running a smooth path.
 
Soon the betrayer would be dead—as well as a few other pawns in his little chess game.
 
Collateral damage.
 
Nobody important.
 

He sat at his desk, hands clasped beneath his chin, and he waited for the news to hit the airwaves.
 
It didn’t matter what channel he watched.
 
The assassination attempt of a president would cause every network to break into regularly scheduled programming with special reports.
 
And of course someone would be lying dead when the smoke cleared.

Although, probably not the president.
 

Not tonight.
 
First, he wanted Malcom Law to suffer.
 
He wanted to see fear brewing in that deceitful man’s eyes.
 
Most of all he wanted Malcom Law to know he was behind everything, the puppeteer pulling the strings on a whole orchestra of people.
 
Some willing players, while others did his bidding unwittingly.
 

He could practically taste victory already.

The phone rang and he grabbed it.

“Is everything in place for tonight?”

The Blond Assassin breathed, “Everything.
 
Just as you requested.”

“Don’t call again until you’ve completed your next assignment.
 
It’s too risky.”

“But what about the charity ball?” she asked.
 
“Don’t you want to know if it worked?”

He reminded her, “I’ll hear about it from the television.
 
I repeat, do not call again.”

He severed the connection and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment.
 
The end of his mouth threatened to curve upward slightly.
 
Yes, everything was going exactly as he’d foreseen it.
 
And no one was going to get in his way.

No one.

******

It took twenty minutes to reach the party and during that time they talked about work non-stop.
 
Madison
told DeMarco everything about the last three months, every minute detail until she realized it sounded too much like babbling.
 
She no longer felt at ease with DeMarco.
 
Funny how a few comments could turn everything upside-down.

They finally reached their destination, and
Madison
realized she’d practically been holding her breath.

DeMarco left the engine running, got out, and handed the keys to a valet.
 
He hurried to her side of the car, opened the door, and held his hand out to her.
 
She stood tall, head held high, careful to walk slowly in the three-inch heels.
 
Camera bulbs flashed as the media took pictures, mistaking them for VIPs.