Undercover Genius (13 page)

I glanced up to Nick. “Hear that, dear? He thinks you’re a
thug. What do you think the senator will say about that?”

I deliberately title-dropped. A real reporter or spy would
already know who lived across the street and where they worked. I didn’t think
Leonard was good. I wanted him to know right upfront that we had as many or
more connections than he had. That tactic usually assures that pestilences like
Lenny don’t annoy me later while they work for the information.

“Tex would say that I couldn’t hurt a flea if my life
depended on it,” Nick said with assurance. “He would be proud that I’ve
defended my home and family from a worthless no-good lying reporter.”

“Excellent. And I’ll vouch for Mallard. He was only
protecting poor little me.” I rubbed the knuckles for effect. “Perhaps you
didn’t quite comprehend my message yesterday, Leonard. My sister is harmless.
You go back and tell your boss she’s actually eager to be a reporter for the
biggest news agency in the world. And then you might mention that the rest of
Patra’s family is plumb out crazy with connections so far-reaching that we can
remove you from the planet without anyone the wiser. Are you getting all this?”

The rat was sensing defeat. His nose twitched and his gaze
darted around the room. And I had tried to sound so reasonable, too. I left the
knuckles on while I began photographing every piece of paper and card in his
wallet.

“How do I know your sister isn’t as crazy as the rest of
you?” the rat demanded.

“It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” Nick asked,
strolling over to cut the ropes around his prisoner’s feet. “We think Patra is
crazy for wanting to work for an asshole. But if that’s what she wants, we’ll
see that she gets it. We’re giving her your photo and ID. If she sees you
anywhere near her, she’s to call the police without question. She’s a good
girl. She’ll do exactly that.”

Mallard just tapped his bat impatiently against his
shoulder, a man of few words.

“You rich, privileged asses will get your comeuppance,”
Leonard growled. “I’m not letting this go.”

Nick and I looked at each other and laughed. “Rich!” Nick
said with shades of meaning.

“Privileged.” I nodded agreement. “We probably should start
a trust fund.”

I finished up by snapping a photo of our nosy prisoner. I
had him now, although I didn’t think I would mention how I could make his life
a living hell with his entire identity in my hands.

I threw the wallet back after Nick released his wrists.
Leonard was still massaging blood into his hands and didn’t catch it.

“Just think of my grandfather as Mafia and you’ll understand
us better,” I said sympathetically. “He’s not with us any longer, so the
younger ones are making their own way in the world. But Nick and I, we know the
connections, if you take my meaning. Be a good spy, do your basic research, and
then go back and tell your boss that Patra is as clean as she looks.”

“Or else what?” the rat snarled, but I could tell it was a
half-hearted retaliation.

I shrugged. “Depends. Your credit may disappear. Your dog
may take flight. You might meet with some unpleasant uglies in a dark alley. Do
you really want to find out? Do your research instead of spying on pretty girls.
You’ll understand.”

We could probably do all that and heave a horse’s head on
his bed if we were feeling mean enough, but our usual retaliation tended to be
behind the scenes. Unlike Graham, Nick and I hadn’t erased our pasts. And since
our mother had consorted with everyone from the CIA to the rulers of foreign countries,
we’d run tame in palaces. Riley could fill a book on us with almost no effort.

An uneasy feeling rolled over me as I realized we’d been
able to hide behind our mansion walls these last weeks, but now our address was
in the hands of one of the biggest bullies of them all, thanks to Patra. Graham
would be very unhappy if more creeps showed up.

“Oh, and one last bit of advice,” I said with saccharine
sweetness, hoping to put an end to this once and for all. “Patra is a good
person to have at your back. You really don’t want her for an enemy.”

He snarled and escaped the crazies. Now that I had his name,
I could search in BM’s computers and see if he left a report. It could be
entertaining reading.

I looked out the window to see if the coast was clear. Sean
O’Herlihy, the gadfly reporter, was leaning against our wrought iron fence,
studying the house where I was standing. Had Patra called him or was he
following Leonard? The interesting point was that when Leonard emerged from the
alley into the street, the rat caught sight of Sean, and scampered in the
opposite direction from the Metro to avoid him.

Score one for O’Herlihy. The rat not only knew him, but was
afraid of him.

After giving the house another thoughtful look, Sean
sauntered off in the same direction as his fellow reporter. Not dumb. The good
reporter sensed a story.

I gestured for departure by the stairs. “Job well done.
Coast is clear. Even O’Herlihy has gone away.”

I’d had my suspicions about Sean and his motives in the
past, but as far as I’d determined, he really was after Graham’s story and
nothing more. Mallard seemed to trust him, which had to be enough for me.

Mallard reset the trip wires. Still scowling, Nick sauntered
down the stairs, examining the construction project as if he owned the place.

“The place looks like a McMansion,” he said in disgust, gazing
around the over-sized family room.

“You prefer dark and dingy?” I passed him and headed to the
first floor. “With EG’s bats maybe?”

“Elegant,” Nick corrected. “Our original woodwork is
sophisticated and elegant and doesn’t look like a nursery.”

“Thanks for stepping up to the plate while I was out,” I
offered. “We don’t need any more spies than Graham.”

“Getting friendly with the spider in the attic, are we?”
Nick asked testily. “He’ll throw us out as soon as Oppenheimer files the
lawsuit on the house.”

“We should buy this place and aim telescopes and satellite
dishes at him,” I agreed cheerily. “Is Oppenheimer getting any closer to
Reggie? Are there hidden funds we don’t know about?”

“My guess is that Reggie spent years siphoning off Max’s
money for drugs and we’ll never see a cent,” Nick said gloomily. “We won’t be
able to afford house upkeep even if Oppenheimer can get it back.”

“One day at a time, grasshopper.” I located the unboarded
window, sat on the sill, and decided the distance to the ground was negligible.
“Maybe we’ll grow on Graham and he’ll let us stay.”

Nick’s laugh followed me out. Sooner or later, we’d been
thrown out of most of the palaces and tents we’d occupied.

Patra’s perspective

Patra stood on the corner, waiting for Ana’s spy to stomp
past. She’d seen Ana in action enough to know her sister had probably raked the
jerk over the coals a few times and threatened him with their powerful
connections.

Sometimes, if she was feeling generous, Ana would offer the
jerks a bit of cheese to tempt them in another direction. Patra was curious as
to that direction. The creep didn’t look happy.

Sean showed up a moment later and fell in step with her.
“His name’s Leonard Riley. Used to be an investigative reporter until he got
locked up for wiretapping and other stupidity. Now he’s either too old or dumb
to learn the technology, so Broddy uses him for small snoop jobs. What’s he
doing hanging around?”

“Spying on me. I’m trying to decide how to use him,” Patra
said, watching as Riley stepped into a bar. “But if he’s a drunk, he’s not
worth the trouble.”

“We all turn into drunks eventually. How else do we
anesthetize ourselves to the shit we see around us?”

“By acting on it instead of complaining. Isn’t that what you
think you’re doing by spying on Graham? What did he do to you?” Deciding Sean
was more interesting company than a drunken sneak, Patra leaned against a lamp
pole to talk.

“Way back when we were toddlers, my dad and Ana’s dad were
friends. Her dad got killed. Mine got sent to jail. And Graham rose out of the
ashes. He keeps doing that. Let’s just say I’m curious as to how.”

From beneath lowered lashes, Patra studied O’Herlihy. For an
older guy, he was more than attractive. He probably had more than ten years on
her, which put him nearer Ana’s age bracket. She’d never met Graham, but she’d
heard Ana’s complaints. Their host was probably in his thirties as well. She’d
learned conspiracy theories at her mother’s knee, but she was only interested in
the one involving her father.

“Old news,” she said dismissively. “Times have changed.
Ana’s father was a terrorist before Ireland got rich. Now they’re bankrupt
again, along with everyone else. The IRA is driving around in rusty BMWs.
Muslims are the enemy now, not Protestants. Once they run out of oil in the
Mideast, war mongers will move on to Africa. Historical cycles, doomed forever
to repeat themselves.”

“A Maximillian through and through,” Sean said admiringly,
before catching sight of someone or something down the street that made him
frown. “Riley has called in the heavyweights. I wonder if he got permission
from BM to pay hired help.”

Patra cast a casual glance over her shoulder. It was a mild
Saturday evening. The neighborhood was a mix of offices, row houses, and
boutique hotels. The street bustled with pedestrians and traffic. She wasn’t as
adept at sorting out Americans as she was Europeans, but she assumed the people
in gaudy shirts were tourists. The ones in jackets and blazers were a little
more DC.

The six-foot, three-hundred pound gorilla wearing a narrow
tie and shoulder holster under his shiny gray suit coat would be recognizable
anywhere.

“Charming,” she muttered. “Looks like the guy from the limo,
except this one’s bald. Did Riley put a hit out on me or on Ana?”

“Your whole family, if his employers can afford it. He needs
his job and it appears as if someone is interfering in it.” Sean looked
entertained.

Patra wondered if she should call Ana and Nick, but she was
a grown up now. Calling on her older siblings shouldn’t be necessary. She
didn’t think this goon could have burned her London apartment, but it had
probably been one like him. Thugs were international.

“I have a college education. I ought to come up with a
better trap than sex,” she grumbled, snapping a few quick photos of the gorilla
and shooting them off to Ana as a precaution. Then she straightened her gauzy,
low-cut tunic, tousled her hair, and smoothed a wrinkle from her cropped
leggings.

“There’s nothing better than sex,” Sean said laughingly.
“Just ask your mother. But I don’t think you’ll get far with this creep.”

“I don’t need to get far.” With a lazy saunter, Patra
strolled toward her target. He didn’t even cast her a glance. She
tsked
under her breath, pretended to
stumble on her high heel, and fell into the gorilla’s arms.

He caught her with brute instinct. He would have brushed her
off, but she grasped his coat sleeve.

“Oh, thank you, sir. My feet are so tired, I can scarcely
lift them. I really don’t need bruised knees too.” She lifted a leg clad in
tight knit and wiggled her toes at him. “Let me buy you a drink. I was just
headed for Maxine’s here anyway.”

She took his arm, limped a little, and he silently dragged
her into the dark bar.

Patra had seen her mother perform this next act so many
times, that she could repeat it in her sleep. In fact, she’d used it more than
once through college, adapting according to her purpose. She squeezed the
thug’s arm, lit up like a lantern, and as if totally surprised by the company
inside, cried, “Mr. Riley, what are you doing here? This is so exciting!” She
tugged her baffled escort in the same direction as his pal. “I never thought
I’d have a chance to meet you.”

She settled cozily on the bar stool next to Riley’s and held
out her hand. “Patra Llewellyn, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She gestured
at the gorilla, who took the stool on her other side. “This gentleman just
saved me from an ignoble fall, and I’m about to buy him a drink. Could I buy
one for you, too?”

Riley gaped. Really, he was getting too old and slow for his
job if he bought that act. Beside her, the gorilla shrugged his hefty shoulders
and ordered a whiskey neat.

At the sound of the door opening, Patra glanced at the bar
mirror. Sean slipped in and headed for a dark corner. She sparkled even
brighter to provide him entertainment.

“I’ll just have a tonic and lime,” she told the bartender
apologetically. “I have a lot of prep work to do for my new job, and I don’t
want to be fuzzy. How about you, Mr. Riley? Another round? Now that I’ll have a
salary, I’ll be able to pay my credit card again.”

He nodded, quit gaping, and donned a suspicious expression.
“Patrick Llewellyn’s daughter?” he asked in a surly tone, not responding to her
best innocent smile.

Patra upped her Brit accent. “You know daddy? Oh, that’s
terrif! Did you work on any stories together? The world has changed so much
since he was alive, I don’t think he’d recognize it. He thought Dick Tracy
wrist watch phones were ridiculous, and now look at where we are.” She pulled
out her smart phone, snapped a shot of the three of them together, and sent
that off to Ana, too, just to jerk her chains. “May I upload this to my
Facebook account? It’s just so exciting meeting you this way.”

“Dammit, no!” Riley finally found his tongue. “Broderick
hates for us to expose ourselves in social media. You’d better take that
account down.”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that. I’m not an important investigative
reporter like you, but I have fans already. It’s the greatest way to build an
audience. I’m certain Mr. Broderick will understand marketing. How about you,
Mr. Riley, what have you been working on lately?”