The Nosy Neighbor (17 page)

“Why?” Lucy shrugged. “An unstable person, someone teetering on the edge, wouldn’t make a good impression on the FBI now, would she? They’re crawling all over me, trying to wear me down. They think I’m lying about the brokerage accounts and the house in Watchung. Remember what you were thinking when I came up with that card that opened the gate? I saw all of your faces. You were thinking, how convenient it was that all of a sudden I remembered I had it. You know you all thought I might be mixed up in whatever Jonathan has going on. I’m not,” Lucy said wearily as she sat down next to Mitch.

Mitch locked his gaze on her. “And you think he’s here now because of the footprints you saw in the snow.”

Lucy nodded. “Yes.”

“Call around the neighborhood and see what you can find out. Want another beer?”

“Yes, thank you, I would like another beer.”

Wylie blew into the house like a wild gust of wind, his arms loaded with groceries. His eyes were watering, and his cheeks were red from the stinging snow. “Rachel left all this stuff on the table for me along with a note. She won’t be back till next Saturday. We are going to have a feast, lady and gentlemen. The cat is doing nicely, thank you.”

Jake was the only one who seemed interested in the array of food.

“I saw Rudy clearing his driveway,” Wylie continued, “so I asked him if anyone had been around asking to shovel driveways, and he said no. He said he was watching television in between blowing out his driveway. As a matter of fact, he said other than us and Rachel leaving, no one has been on the street all day. What he said was, there were no strange cars on the street.”

A look of disgust washed over Lucy’s face. “A kid wanting to shovel snow wouldn’t arrive in a car. Nor would Jonathan if he was up to something and being sneaky about it. He could very easily have come in from the back, off Frances Road. He could have parked on Richard Road and walked up this street. We haven’t been plowed out. Maybe he didn’t want to get stuck. I’m telling you, it was Jonathan. Where’s your phone book, Wylie?”

Wylie bent down to open one of the kitchen cabinets. He handed her the white pages. “We’ve eliminated three already, Nellie, Rachel, and Rudy. That leaves Carol, Joan, the new people on the corner, the Hendersons, and Tom and Alice.”

They watched as Lucy dialed her neighbors, one by one. The conversations were short and succinct. No one had offered to shovel their driveways. No one had seen anyone around her house all day.

“Then who was at my house?” Lucy demanded when she hung up from the last call. “Did he just drop from the sky?”

Jake scooped his chopped cabbage into a bowl. “This could turn out to be one of those little mysteries in life that is never explained or solved. You’re here, you’re safe, the dogs are safe, and that’s all that matters. We won’t let anything happen to you, Lucy.”

“What’s the game plan, guys?” Mitch asked. “I’m going to be heading home in the morning. But I can always come back if you need me. If you just want to ask me something, call or e-mail me. I’m going to write up a report for you. You can hand it over to the
feebs
or you can just keep it. Your call. My firm does work for a bunch of different government agencies, and our credibility is above reproach. I think I’ll start on the report right now, Wylie, if you show me where your computer is. After dinner, I’m going straight to bed. The plows will be working overtime tonight, but by five or so, the roads should be in good shape. I’ve got a business to run, and I hate being away more than a day or so. Did I mention that my bill will be in the mail?”

When Wylie and Mitch left the kitchen, Lucy plopped her elbows on the table, dropping her head into the palms of her hands. “I think I’m scared, Jake. I thought I knew Jonathan, but I don’t know
this
Jonathan. My God, I was going to marry the man. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I wouldn’t make a good spy. I guess I gave myself away a hundred different ways when I spoke to him. The one thing I do know about Jonathan is he is not a stupid man. Then there’s this…this thing going on inside my head. I’m staying here tonight. I don’t care if I have to sleep on the floor.”

Jake sat down across from Lucy. “Fear is a healthy emotion, Lucy. I would probably be worried about you if you tried to blow all this off as inconsequential. My personal opinion is you have to open up to the feds. Don’t hold anything back, or it will jump up and bite you. Truth always wins out in the end.”

“No, Jake, truth does not always win out in the end. I’m a lawyer, I should know. If I had a nickel for every dishonest client who said they were telling the truth, I’d be rich. God, I’m tired. How about you?”

“I can’t remember when I had as much fresh air as I’ve had today. I think I’m going to go to bed after dinner, too.”

Lucy leaned across the table. “Jake, after seeing that house, what do you think Jonathan is up to?”

“Jeez, Lucy, I don’t know. Like Drew said, the guy’s a badass dude. He must be one hell of an actor for you to have been so bewitched.”

“I swear to you, Jake, it never occurred to me that my ex-fiancé was anything other than what he professed to be. Maybe I was too busy with work and wrapped up in my own world to pick up the clues. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. He knows I’m onto him. I just wish I knew what all that stuff at the house means.”

“If you put my feet to the fire and I had to venture a guess, I’d say your old friend Jonathan is bringing illegal people into this country, and that house is a stopover. A place that is safe and secure until they get to their final destination, wherever that might be. Money laundering is a billion-dollar business. Then there are the drugs. I think you can just about take your pick or go with all three.”

“Aside from all that first-class security, there’s something about that house that bothers me. I can’t quite put my finger on it,” Lucy said, frowning.

Jake nodded sympathetically.

Ninety minutes later, the kitchen was cleaned, the leftovers—of which there weren’t many—were wrapped and stored in the refrigerator. Mitch and Jake both headed off to bed, saying good night.

Wylie turned to Lucy and put his hands on his hips. “It’s just you and me, Lucy. I’m as tired as those guys, but I’m wired, too. Let’s put another log on the fire, have a snort of brandy, then we can go to sleep. You can have my bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“No, Wylie. I’m not taking your bed. I sleep on my own couch fairly often. I’ll just curl up with the dogs here by the fire. I’ll be fine.”

Wylie added two logs to the fire. Sparks showered upward. Lucy was reminded of the Fourth of July sparklers she and Steven used to wave around when they were kids.

While Wylie poured brandy into two balloon glasses, Lucy wiggled her fanny back and forth, the warmth from the fire racing up and down her back. How good it felt.

Glasses in hand, Wylie led her to the couch. They sat down next to each other, each of them more than a little aware of the other. Lucy strained to
hear
Wylie’s thoughts. She almost fell off the couch when she
heard…what now, Romeo? Do I put my arm around her shoulder, do I kiss her? Maybe I should ask first. She’d laugh her head off if she knew I haven’t been with a woman in over a year. What the hell is she thinking? Is she waiting for me to make a move?

Lucy watched as Wylie gulped at the fiery liquid in his glass. When she saw his eyes start to water, she set her glass aside, moved to the right, throwing her right leg over his and yanking him toward her, all at the same time. “I think you need to kiss me
right now.”
The command came out in a sexy, throaty growl.

Wylie obliged. Talk about wishful thinking.

When they finally came up for air a long time later, the three dogs were on their haunches staring at them intently. Lucy burst out laughing.

Wylie stared at Lucy. “I liked that. Yeah, I did. I mean, I really did. You’re a great kisser. I haven’t been kissed like that in oh…”

“A little over a year.” Lucy giggled.

Wylie pretended outrage. “You read my mind. That’s dirty pool.”

Lucy laughed again. “I was getting impatient. You couldn’t make up your mind. You know us lawyers, we have to make snap decisions. By the way, I liked it, too. Want to do it again?”

“Are you one of those women who likes to toy with a man’s affections? I don’t want to have my heart broken.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? That wasn’t a fun question, was it?”

Wylie jumped up and walked over to the fireplace. He poked at logs that didn’t need to be poked. He turned around, his eyes bright. “I was serious. I think I started to have feelings for you that first day I met you. Coop loves you, so that endeared you to me right off. I don’t want to catch you on the rebound, Lucy. Been there, done that. I’m thinking if you aren’t ready or if you don’t share my feelings, then we should sit on separate chairs. Or…or something.”

Lucy bounded off the couch, causing the dogs to move backward. “Do you think I just go around kissing guys who have nice dogs? Huh? Well, do you? Listen, there’s a lot going on in my little world right now. The fact that I allowed myself to kiss you, and make no mistake, I kissed you, should be all the proof you need that I…that I…care about you.”

She was right next to him, her body a hairbreadth away from his. She could smell the brandy on his breath. He opened his arms, and she stepped into them. She felt the hardness of him as she laid her head against his chest. Nothing had ever felt this right, this good. A sigh of pure happiness escaped her lips.

Wylie swayed dizzily, his gaze going to Coop, who seemed to be drooling in anticipation. His mouth worked silently. She likes meat loaf. The huge dog stared at his master a moment before he lay down, stretched out, his head dropping onto his paws. Wylie almost swooned. That was Coop’s seal of approval.

“Want to go for it right here, or are you one of those women who needs a bed?” Damn, was that growling voice his?

“A bearskin rug would be nice.”

“Uh-huh?” His eyes almost bugging out of his head, Wylie couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A sweatshirt flying across the room, sweatpants dropping to the floor.

Lucy laughed as she unhooked her bra. “You better hurry or you won’t be able to catch up.”

Speed. She wanted speed. “Watch this!”

Lucy watched.

The man standing at the twentieth-floor window of the Woodbridge Hilton Hotel that was a mere seven minutes by car to Lucy’s house bore absolutely no resemblance to the man known as Jonathan St. Clair. His identification, international driver’s license, credit cards, and passport said his name was Spiros Andreadis, a Greek national. His credentials said he worked for a Swiss clock company. Thanks to shoe lifts, Spiros Andreadis was two inches taller than Jonathan St. Clair. His eyes were a startling blue opposed to Jonathan’s hazel and now stood out sharply against his olive complexion. Spiros’s hair was coal black and matched his mustache. Jonathan St. Clair sported sandy-colored hair, and his upper lip was clean-shaven.

The Greek’s clothing, shoes, and all items in his possession shrieked that they were
not
made in America. His luggage, one bag, was sturdy, battered cowhide and bore travel stamps from all over the world.

His shoulders stiff, his stance angry, Jonathan whirled away from the window. It was late, he should go to bed. The only problem was that he was too angry to go to bed. He’d spent close to two hours tramping through a virtual blizzard to reach Lucy after a dozen phone calls to her home and cell went unanswered, only to find she wasn’t home. He was further irritated that he didn’t have a key to her house. Lucy’s explanation for why she wouldn’t give him a key was simple, “Jonathan, I’m always home, why do you need a key?” What Lucy didn’t know was he
did
have a key. Three visits ago, he’d been so miffed at her refusal to give him a key, he’d waited till she finished her fourth glass of wine and fell asleep, at which point he took the key from the peg by the back door and pressed it into some melted candle wax. The next day he’d gone to a drugstore and within ten minutes he had a bright, shiny key in his hand. For all the good it did him. Who knew Lucy would add a new lock, the kind that went into the molding at the top of the doorframe. She’d never stuck dowels in the sliding doors before, either. At least he didn’t think she had. Right now he was too angry to think straight.

If she had been home and opened the door, he would have killed her. “Always pay attention to your gut warnings,” he muttered.

The last thing he’d expected when he walked off the plane was snow. He’d left tons of snow, ice, and cold in Zurich. He’d expected temperatures in the high thirties. It was, after all, only November. He also hadn’t expected the phone call he’d received as he was going through customs. The moment he’d heard the voice on the other end of the line he knew what had happened. “The property was compromised several hours ago.” His eyes murderous, Jonathan, aka Spiros Andreadis, snapped the encrypted cell phone shut and jammed it in his pocket. His instincts were on the money. The only question was, who had compromised the house and property in Watchung, Lucy or the FBI?

His original intention had been to go to the apartment he maintained in Manhattan. His second thought was to check into a New York hotel. Furious after the phone call, he’d rented a car and headed through the storm to New Jersey. It was a damn good thing he hadn’t gone to the house in Watchung, which had been his third choice.

He had to fall back and regroup, something he’d never had to do in his line of business. It was not a pleasant thought.

He was back at the window, his expression still murderous.
Just how the hell much snow is out there anyway?
According to the Weather Channel and the desk clerk, it was going to snow through the night. He supposed he should feel lucky because, according to the clerk, all the airports were shut down. With the airports closed, anyone following him would be stuck at one airport or another. By the same token, he wouldn’t be able to leave if the airports didn’t open up soon. “Lucky, my ass,” he muttered.

Jonathan flipped open his cell phone again and dialed Lucy’s number. When her voice mail came on, he hung up. It was after midnight: where was she? He rang the number again and again, hanging up each time after the seventh ring. If she was sound asleep, the steady ringing should alert her or, at the very least, rouse the damn dog who slept on her bed.

The startling blue eyes narrowed.
Maybe she isn’t home. Where do people go in the middle of a snowstorm? Nowhere, that’s where.

Jonathan continued to watch the falling snow. He wondered how the rental Lexus would do in all this snow. What he really needed was a powerful SUV, but the rental agency said none were available. He’d never driven a Lexus before that day. He didn’t even know if it had front-wheel drive. What if he got stuck in the snow? Maybe it would be better to wait till morning. He could pass the time by ordering drinks from room service and dialing Lucy’s number.
Where the hell is the woman I’m supposed to be marrying?

Angry beyond words, Jonathan hooked his foot under one of the chairs in the hotel room and dragged it closer to the window. He sat down and stretched out his legs so they rested on top of the heating unit.

He’d made a mistake, and that mistake’s name was Lucille Baker. Down through history, he’d been told, women were men’s downfall. Sex, according to history, was the reason nothing went right in the world. A sound of pure misery escaped Jonathan’s lips. Sex had nothing to do with his predicament. He didn’t love Lucy Baker. She was just someone to use to help him set up his retirement and a new life. His original plan had been to get rid of her a year or so into the marriage. A divorce if she behaved herself and wouldn’t come back to haunt him. A nice clean kill à la Adam Ligar if she stepped out of line.

Where had it all gone wrong? He knew that
he
hadn’t made a mistake because he was a perfectionist and an expert at covering his ass, so it had to be on Lucy’s end. Left to her own devices she would never, ever, have stumbled onto his affairs. Somehow or other he’d come up on either the CIA’s, or the FBI’s radar screen. He’d gone to extraordinary lengths to protect himself once he knew they were onto him. Knowing how the government agencies worked, they had probably paid Lucy a visit and threatened all kinds of things. That would surely account for the change in her attitude. Lucy was no actress; he’d picked up on her nervous tone immediately. She was probably scared out of her wits. Then there was that little tidbit about the Internal Revenue Service appointment. He’d seen through that immediately, too.

Jonathan’s feet hit the floor with a thud. He got up, called room service, and ordered a bottle of Chivas Regal and a bucket of ice. He then dialed Lucy’s number again from his encrypted cell phone. Again he hung up on the seventh ring.

He started to pace because he was furious and needed to do something to control his anger. He was angry because he knew Lucy was hiding out. It really infuriated him that she thought she was smarter than he was. He had to find her, and he had to find her soon. He closed his eyes—envisioning a net descending over him. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He continued his frantic pacing until there was a knock on the door. He accepted the tray and handed the waiter a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

Three drinks later, the edge was off his panic, his breathing had returned to normal, and he was beginning to feel drowsy. He was back on the chair watching the snow slap against the windows as he tried to plot out the coming hours.

Twenty minutes later, he sat up straight as the thought hit him like a thunderbolt. Nellie! The old lady Lucy worked for part-time. She went to Florida for the winter. Lucy had said there was a going-away dinner for her not too long ago. That meant Nellie’s house was empty. All he had to do was break in and watch and wait for Lucy to return home. Satisfied with his plan, Jonathan walked over to the king-size bed and pulled down the covers. His last conscious thought before sleep overtook him was,
Get in my way and you get what you deserve.

The dream was always the same, and that night it was no different. Usually it came just before he was due to wake up, enabling him to remember the details clearly…

He was a vagrant, a bum in filthy clothes with rags tied around shoes that he’d stolen from someone else. He needed the rags because the shoes he was wearing were too big. He dragged his feet as he picked through garbage Dumpsters for aluminum cans and anything else he could sell or barter. He wanted to cry that he’d been reduced to picking through garbage to survive. Until a year ago, Leo Banks had had a good life, a nice apartment, a car, a pension plan, and a small amount of money in a savings account. Small because he liked fine things and didn’t deny himself. He knew the value of savings and set aside what he could so that he could still enjoy a good life. He was, after all, only twenty-five, with a goal of retiring at forty. He had plenty of time to save for retirement. To him, the savings account was more of an emergency fund.

In his dream, he wondered what happened to the $2800.

He was whistling as he rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor. He smiled and waved at the receptionist who, for some reason, was ignoring him on that fine spring morning. It didn’t matter. Then he noticed that no one else was greeting him or giving him high fives. Puzzled, he walked down the hall to his office and stopped short when he saw two men in dark suits waiting for him. He could feel his stomach start to flip-flop as he saw one of the men pull a set of handcuffs out of his pocket. His face draining of all color, he listened to the charges of embezzlement, then he was read his rights as he was led away, protesting that he hadn’t done anything wrong. The conversation on the ride to police headquarters consisted of two words from the men: “Shut up.”

He walked up a pair of dirty steps, careful not to get his new suit dirty by brushing against the walls. His handcuffs were removed before he was shoved into a room and told to sit and wait.

It was some kind of crazy mistake. He hadn’t embezzled any money from anyone. Obviously, he needed a lawyer. If ever there was a time to use his emergency fund, this was it. He hoped his $2800 was enough to cover the up-front money all lawyers charged when they agreed to take on a client.

As he stewed and fretted, he heard a commotion outside the room. He likened the sounds to what he imagined a bomb scare would sound like. Walking to the door, he opened it to see cops, detectives, and office personnel running in all directions. He didn’t stop to think but moved with lightning speed. It took him only a second to slide out the door and cross the room to the dirty steps and dingy walls. He never looked back.

He half ran and half walked down the street till he found a long narrow alley that led to other darker, smellier alleys until he came to where a group of homeless people lived. The little community of vagrants stared at him, but no one stopped or questioned him. He found a wooden lettuce crate oozing rotted lettuce and sat down. He hugged his arms around his chest as he struggled to get his emotions in check. He tried to figure out what had happened to bring him there. He sat for hours, his new neighbors watching him. When he started to cry, a toothless old woman came over and started to croon to him. He cried harder as he sobbed out his story. The old woman motioned to the others, who gathered close with offers of scraps of food and some water. One old man even offered half a cigarette.

“We won’t tell,” someone said. Frightened out of his wits he listened as his new best friends told him where he could get free food and a free bed for the night. Days, his friends said, were spent scavenging for things to sell and barter. The old lady told him to take off his fancy clothes and brought him a pile of rags to put on. She said she would wrap up his clothes and shoes, and put them away. He was so numb that he agreed.

Days later when he came out of his stupor, he tested out his disguise by walking past the police station with a few of his new friends and generally hanging out until the two detectives who had arrested him showed up. He walked right past them, deliberately jostling them. Both looked right through him with no sign of recognition.

Safe.

This, then, was his new life. He knew if he tried to use his ATM card, he’d be picked up within minutes. He also knew he would never be able to go back to his apartment. His new car would be repossessed. He couldn’t risk calling any of his friends because they wouldn’t want to get involved. That he knew as surely as he knew he had to keep breathing in order to stay alive.

Days passed, then weeks, and finally months. Almost a year to the day of his arrest, he looked into the backpack he’d found in someone’s trash can, and counted out his money. He had $647 dollars and a gun that was fully loaded. The gun was stolen, too. It was payback time. He’d had a whole year to figure out who set him up for the embezzlement charge—his manager’s son-in-law. With that knowledge under his belt, he spent three whole months with the help of his homeless friends tracking Adam Ligar and his every movement until he had his routine down pat.

“Dolly!” he called to the old woman. “It’s time to get my suit cleaned and my shoes polished. D day!” The old crone cackled as she hurried off to get the suit and take it to the cleaners. An old man named Billy hauled out some rags and polished Jonathan’s shoes by spitting on them. It was a perfect shine.

He cleaned up at a gas station and tied his hair back into a ponytail. His beard was on the scruffy side, but it would do.

It was time.

The meeting with Adam Ligar was at a steakhouse called the Barb Wire. He’d called earlier, arranged the appointment by saying he was interested in hiring a new broker and business manager and only had a few hours but a ton of money to invest. Ligar couldn’t agree fast enough.