Touch of Magic (12 page)

The man at the other end must know by now that
Yussuf
was dead.

"Impossible," said the voice on the phone. "We have a problem. The magician put the goods in a
safe. There's a timing device on the lock. If we try to
open it before the scheduled time, the thing will
blow."

Ballieu
willed himself not to tense. Tension dulled his reflexes. He'd been careful to learn all the
whens
and
wheres
of this contact and had strung the magi
cian along even when he knew he was going to kill him. Now, suddenly, there were complications.

"And those men in the alley?" he asked calmly.

"State Department. They've got two here watch
ing you. Don't worry. That part's under control."

   
Could he chance it, or were the odds growing too high against him?
Ballieu
found himself weighing
decisions. He had nothing to lose; the gain to his organization would be invaluable. The knowledge of increasing risk and the challenge posed to his
skills warmed his blood like whiskey, making him
forget the pain in his belly. No one, not even the
seller, knew he was not here alone, so he had an
edge in the female helping him. He'd never seen
the seller, wouldn't know him by sight, but arrange
ments for visual contact, just like for this verbal one,
had been worked out.

"Where is the safe?" he asked.

He made notes quickly, then tucked them inside
a travel brochure as he hung up. His hand was
reaching to open the door when he saw the Stuart
woman and a boy who seemed to be with her get off
the elevator.

He studied her from his glass sanctuary. Poised. Not arrogant like the little bitch he was stuck with but with a way of holding herself that made him
almost hungry. His eyes roved over her body again.
Poise in a woman with nerve enough to dabble in danger was far more potent than perfume or low-
cut dresses. This one was dabbling, or she wouldn't
be here. He wondered when she would make her move, and how he would kill her.

Khadija
was strolling toward the magazine stand. At least she was punctual.
Ballieu
went out to meet
her, He bowed extravagantly as he handed her the
travel brochure. If anyone was watching, they
would not attach any significance to so obvious a
gesture.

   
"There's a timing device to dismantle," he murmured. "Prove you're as competent as your group
claims."

As she walked away,
Ballieu
felt instinct biting at him. For a final time he wondered if he was making
the right decision. The man who was selling the
film, who had been on the other end of the phone
just a minute ago, was an amateur.

And the danger with amateurs was that they
could panic.

Eight

Channing leaned against a palm tree watching workmen install a new porch light at the bungalow where, except for a fluke, she would have died last night. If ever she'd had any second thoughts about
the commitment that had brought her to Palacio Sol, the death of the maintenance man had re
moved them, she thought. He'd been a victim, like
so many others.
Ballieu
and his kind didn't care who
they killed to accomplish their ends. Maybe she'd
needed to be reminded. She shifted, trying to
loosen the anger from her body.

The day was barely beginning, and already the
sleeves of her white voile shirt felt warm. But she'd
be wearing sleeves her whole time here. For what
she'd been asked to do she couldn't count on a
schedule, nor could she work bare-armed.

"You ever see anybody die before?"

Serafin
was at her elbow before she even heard him. She tried to pull herself free of the thoughts
that were holding her.

"Yes."

She didn't want to explain about Tony, or the
little girl who had died in her arms in that blood-
drenched restaurant. The dimming images had
grown fresh in her mind again, pushing her toward
unfinished business.

Rousing herself, she looked at him with forced
cheerfulness.

"Don't tell me you've finished that math al
ready."

He was wearing swim trunks they'd bought in
one of the lodge shops last night. He studied her for
a moment. His bottomless eyes took on a glimmer of
smugness he couldn't quite hide as he passed her a paper.

"All correct, huh?"

She'd thought the work would stump him, or at
least make him vow never to run away again. Now
she realized she'd met her match in
Serafin
. It tick
led her, the first thing all morning to seem remotely
funny. She raised her eyes and saw his twinkling,
too, and fought a grin.

"I can see it was too easy," she observed, re
turning the sheet of resort stationery.

She'd given him two of them, one filled with
mixed fractions, decimals, and long division, the
other with an essay question. They'd give some idea where he belonged in school when they got back to
L.A. Besides, she wasn't quite sure what to do with a
child twenty-four hours a day.

   
After last night she was more than a little concerned for his safety too. Yet sending him home
would be harder today than it would have been
yesterday. He'd been on his own. He was street-smart. When he'd tried on the swim trunks, she'd
noticed a scar on his thin ribs, and he'd told her he'd
gotten shot "just a little bit" crossing the border. She'd have to trust that her decision to let him stay
with her had been right. Emotional wounds could
be more fatal than physical ones.

"All right. Do the writing assignment, and then you can swim," she said.

Then what would she do with him?

He skewed his face into a look that was supposed
to be reassuring.

"You're worried about me, huh, Channing? But
I've figured it all out. I'll hang around with Wilbur --
 
that bald guy who works here? -- whenever you
want me to. I'll tell him I'm interested in learning
hotel management."

Channing choked. "He'd never believe it."

"Sure he will. He believed it when I said I was a
midget. There's Ellery. I'll split."

She turned and watched as the boy bolted up the
steps toward the dining terrace. How had he known
Ellery's name? She hadn't mentioned a thing about the business she was involved in. Ellery stopped,
thunderstruck, as
Serafin
rushed by. As quickly as they'd spotted the boy, his eyes swung back to her, driving in like nails.

There was going to be a storm now, and Chan
ning moved toward it with relish. She knew Bill
Ellery was in charge. She knew he was going to
blow sky-high over
Serafin's
presence. But she also
knew she wouldn't back down.

Ellery saw, from the glint in her eyes as she came
toward him, that there'd be no budging her.

He tried, anyway.

"What the hell is that kid doing here?" he asked
as they met at the edge of the terrace.

She moved past him without breaking her stride.

"He's my assistant."

She brushed between white wrought-iron tables
that were shaded by green-and-white umbrellas
and pulled out a chair before he even thought about
doing it for her.

"He stowed away," she said, tossing her hair back.
"And he stays. I'm not about to throw him out right
after I've taken him in."

Ellery sat down slowly. He couldn't decide what
to make of her. She seemed too intelligent to have any illusion that the job they were here to do was some sort of game. She sounded too definite. She
knew the risk she was taking -- with herself and with
the boy.

It wasn't a risk to the job she'd been sent to per
form, he decided. It wasn't his business.

"Sleep okay?" he asked.

He'd already seen the answer in the fine lines
under her eyes. She looked up, surprised at his show
of concern.

"I slept," she said, hedging, and unfolded her
napkin as a waiter poured coffee.

Ellery decided not to back off. He wanted to
know how her mind worked. How she thought. That was half the secret to being a team.

He frowned, disturbed again by the knowledge that he was responsible for her safety.

"Why are you so determined to do this?" he
asked. Her commitment to the things she under
took could be a handicap. It could make her blind.
Yet it was a part of her nature that attracted him.
"Because of the doctor or because of what
Yussuf
did?" he pressed.

She seemed to hesitate.

"Both. Neither, maybe." She shook her hair back
again. "Maybe I'm just trying to prove to myself I'm
a Stuart."

Her words were brisk, but she helped herself to a
croissant, avoiding his eyes. Ellery was quiet, put
ting the pieces together.

"Your grandfather say you weren't? When you
picked geology over magic?"

She flicked a look at him. It showed surprise, then
reluctant honesty.

"Yes. What about you? Why'd you choose this kind of work?"

The swiftness of her counter-interrogation left
him with a wooden tongue. He wasn't used to hav
ing the spotlight turned on him, or that tone suggesting that what he did was special.

"Someone needs to," he said. "Better someone
like me than someone with a family like Sam."

Her clear gaze made him shift in his chair. He could see she'd picked up on how close he'd felt to
Sammy.

"Your partner?" Her voice had a softness he
hadn't noticed before. But another voice cut across
hers, jerking him to his senses.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't the superstar!"

Ellery looked up, pleased as he recognized the
cheerful needling, and felt a sudden surge of opti
mism. This assignment might go better than he'd
thought. Max Hopkins was one of the most alert and
quick-witted agents Ellery had ever worked with.
He was also the worst clotheshorse. Ellery observed him with dry amusement. Max's lanky form was all in white. His curly black hair was carefully styled.
He wore a bracelet and the same scent that good
old Reid the Senator wore -- fifteen hundred dollars
a bottle. Max spun a chair around and straddled it, tweaking Ellery's collar.

"When you going to buy a shirt with some life to
it, Billy?"'

"Channing Stuart, Max Hopkins," said Ellery.

If there was going to be anything enjoyable in this
assignment, it would be watching Max and Channing square off for a few rounds. Max liked the ladies and was already giving Channing a covert once-over. Ellery could see him revving up the
charm.

"Max and I work for the same firm," Ellery
added.

Channing got the message and smiled. Max
seemed to have no inkling of her role. Ellery filed
the fact away. Maybe Max and his partner, Walker,
hadn't been told. He'd play it that way until he
checked with Oliver.

"Saw you arriving yesterday," Max said, extending his hand to Channing and displaying dazzling teeth that Ellery knew damned well had been capped. "You and a kid."

"We're the magic act," Channing said.

Max's pale blue eyes looked perfectly innocent,
but Ellery knew him well enough to know that Max
was figuring he could score.

"Channing?" He kept his voice soft but firm. "Max and I have some business to talk over."