18

 

When Sledge and Kristin left the interview, he felt that he’d cleared the last hurdle in a long and grueling race. All he had to do now was deliver her to Steve Spinner in New Orleans and draw his pay. Then he’d be free again.

The attendant who’d guided them to the interview led them through several back corridors to the main concourse and then to the gate where their New Orleans flight stood ready to depart.

“Your luggage is already on board,” he said. He turned and left without another word.

“I kind of liked Roger Brinkman,” Kristin said as they belted into their first-class seats, “but that Novak character gives me the creeps.”

“He’s spooky, all right,” Sledge agreed. “I thought he’d try to prove we were liars, but he turned out reasonable enough. We can’t talk about it here, though. We’d better plan our meeting with your father, Jocelyn.” He hoped his overemphasis of the name would point Kristin’s thinking in the right direction. They had to continue the masquerade because they didn’t know how Steve Spinner would react to Sledge’s catching on to the identity switch.

“I’d rather think about anything else,” Kristin said.

That thought cast a pall over conversation, but Sledge presently found an opening. “What will you do after we…uh…meet your father?”

Kristin made a face. “Leave as soon as I can, I guess. When I’m near that man, I feel like something bad is going to happen at any moment. He’s been so mean to—to—the woman I was with in Colombia.”

“You won’t stay around to help her?” Sledge found he was curious about that friendship.

Kristin shook her head. “I’d only complicate the decisions she has to make about herself and her father. Besides, I have to write my stories. They’re the reason I went to Colombia.”

Red flags went up in Sledge’s mind. “You won’t forget what the man in Miami told us?”

She gave him a hard look. “I have enough to write without that. Shouldn’t we have told Mr. Spinner we’re coming?”

Her change of subject was emphatic, so Sledge went along with it. “I thought it was better this way.” He wouldn’t put it beyond Spinner to have his goons take Kristin away from him. Then Spinner could refuse to pay on grounds that Sledge hadn’t finished the job. In any case, he’d come too far to take chances now.

At Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans they recovered Kristin’s luggage and took a taxi to Steve Spinner’s downtown offices. Sledge took his light carry-on with him. Kristin’s face showed a tight-lipped tension, and Sledge’s temper rose as he remembered his other meeting with Spinner. Governed by that mood, he barged into Spinner’s outer office more abruptly than he intended.

He faced a startled brunette receptionist whose name sign said she was Yvette Dijon. She looked up in alarm, first at him and then at Kristin.

“Is something wrong?” Kristin asked.

“Not…not really,” the girl said. “But you look so much like the lady that was here yesterday.”

Kristin’s face lined with worry. “Isn’t she here now?”

“No.” Now the receptionist looked worried. “She went to the ladies’ room and never came back—left her luggage right there by my desk. Everyone got excited, and some of the men went looking for her. It was most peculiar.”

Kristin’s eyes quickened. “Do you remember her name?”

The receptionist looked blank. “No one ever said. Sometimes I wonder about things that go on here.”

Sledge had had enough. “We’ve come to see Steve Spinner,” he said, surprised that his voice echoed off the walls.

The receptionist recoiled. “He’s in conference with Mr. Crowder. I can’t disturb him now.”

Sledge lowered his voice. “Of course you can’t. So I’ll do it myself.”

He’d lately been contemplating life as the New Sledge, but thinking about Steve Spinner brought out the old, cantankerous one every time. He took Kristin by the arm and propelled her toward the inner door.

The shocked receptionist pressed a button on her desk.

The door opened into a small vestibule, where their way was blocked by the cheerful bodyguard who’d joined in the invasion of Sledge’s apartment. Sledge dropped his carry-on bag and prepared for trouble.

Though the man barred their way, he smiled, rubbed his palms together, and spoke with an Irish brogue. “Well now, Mr. Sledge, this is most irregular.” He cast an appraising glance at Kristin. “But seein’ what ye’ve brought with ye, I think Mr. Spinner will waive his usual requirement for an advance appointment. Still, ye’d best let me go ahead of you.”

He turned and led them through the inner door. Sledge picked up his carry-on and reached again for Kristin’s arm, but she jerked it away and followed the bodyguard. Sledge had no choice but to follow.

Seated at a spacious desk, Spinner greeted them with an indignant scowl. Nearby, a smaller man with horn-rimmed glasses maintained a neutral expression. He apparently wasn’t high enough on the totem pole to be allowed indignation. Off to one side stood another sizeable bodyguard Sledge hadn’t seen before.

“Here’s your daughter,” Sledge said. “That completes the job.” From the corner of his eye he saw Kristin wearing an angry expression.

Maybe he’d squeezed her arm too hard. He shouldn’t have let his anger at Spinner affect the way he treated her.

The billionaire showed a sarcastic smirk and spoke to Kristin. “Welcome home, Jocelyn.” He turned to Sledge. “I hope my little lost sheep didn’t trouble you too much.”

Your sheep is more like a wildcat, Sledge thought. But he said, “She’s not too bad for a spoiled brat.”

Kristin threw him a furious glance but said nothing.

Tired of Spinner’s cat-and-mouse game, Sledge charged ahead. “Do we agree that I’ve kept my part of the bargain?”

“Completely.” Spinner gestured toward the man in horn-rimmed glasses. “Crowder will write you a check now or, if you prefer, he’ll wire-transfer it as he did the first payment.”

“The other two hundred thousand, as agreed,” Sledge said. “Plus these expenses.” He handed a paper to the man with the horn-rimmed glasses. “I’ll take the wire transfer.” He had no doubt Spinner would pay, but, given the looks the second bodyguard was throwing his way, Sledge doubted that he’d make it to the airport with a check in his pocket.

The man with glasses ventured a question. “What about the other expenses in Colombia? The ones we’ve heard about seem a bit high.”

Sledge glowered. “What did you expect? In a country bloated with drug money, bribes don’t come cheap.”

Spinner gave his assistant a ferocious glance. “Don’t worry about that. We got what we wanted.”

Before his boss’s disapproval, the assistant seemed to shrink into himself. Apparently, his charter did not include asking questions.

Spinner turned to Sledge. “Our business is concluded.” He gave a nod of dismissal. “Can we give you a ride somewhere?”

“Don’t bother,” Sledge said. “I’ll catch a taxi.”

He might at least have said thanks.

As Sledge turned to go, Kristin touched his arm. “You—you’re going to go? Just walk out of here and that’s that?”

She was dangerously close to stepping out of her identity as Jocelyn. The sooner he left, the sooner she could drop the masquerade. His anger still burned against Spinner and against himself for letting it influence his treatment of Kristin.

With an effort, he suppressed it and spoke in a softer voice. “My job is done, and now I’m only in the way. You’ll be all right from here on.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Tell your friend to be careful with her story.”

“I will tell her.” Kristin’s eyes searched his. Was it his imagination that he thought he saw hurt in them?

As he headed for the door, the second bodyguard moved to intercept him. Sledge stopped and locked eyes with him. “Don’t crowd me, buster. I can find my own way out.”

Without a doubt, Old Sledge was back. He didn’t much like the idea.

The cheerful bodyguard interceded. “Jumbo, ye’d be wise to give the gentleman room. He’s what happened to the man you replaced.”

Jumbo did not greet this information with pleasure, but he stood aside. Sledge paused in the doorway to check his back trail. Everyone remained in position, but Kristin’s face reflected hurt and anxiety. Her expression tugged at his heart, but he forced himself on through the vestibule into the outer office.

She’s a tough-minded journalist. She can take care of herself.

Still, it took all his willpower to keep from going back.

The receptionist gave him another fearful glance as he passed her desk, and he realized his face must be showing his anger. He stopped with his back to her and deliberately re-established control. When he turned again, he showed a cheerful countenance, waved his carry-on at her, and said, “Be sweet, Miss Dijon.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, her face still filled with fear.

Show-off. Since when do you get your kicks by frightening ladies?

Once in the hall, his tradecraft took over. He rode the elevator to the second floor and took the stairs down to the lobby. He passed up the taxis waiting nearby on Canal Street, walked two blocks, and caught a cab in front of a hotel on a side street. He wasn’t important enough for Spinner to bother with, but a vendetta by the bodyguards was another story.

At the airport he booked a flight to Houston. Coach class this time. He felt more comfortable that way. Only on climbout did he relax and lean back with satisfaction. He’d completed another difficult and worthwhile mission and had done it well. As a bonus, he and Kristin had discovered the hidden weapons factory, a potential threat to national security, and they’d alerted the proper authorities. Whatever action the factory required was none of his responsibility.

Images from his dream of successive hills to climb flickered through his mind, but he thrust them aside. He’d earned a relaxing vacation, and he intended to take it.

All the facts said he should feel completely satisfied. So why didn’t he?

For one thing, he remembered Kristin’s hurt expression. She was a headstrong brat, but now that they were apart he realized he’d enjoyed being with her. Beyond that, some instinct told him he hadn’t seen the last of his involvement with that factory.

But most of all, that familiar sense of the world’s emptiness descended on him like a cloud of volcanic ash.

 

****

 

As Spinner’s office door closed behind Sledge, Kristin felt a swirl of conflicting emotions—anger at the brutal way he’d gripped her arm, pain at his unceremonious departure, and fear of facing Steve Spinner alone. Without knowing it, she’d come to depend on Sledge to meet the challenge of the unexpected. That made her angrier yet, but this time with herself.

I’m a fine career woman, she thought. I have the story of a lifetime, and now I’m getting creepy over facing the man who sent me to find it.

Behind her, Spinner laughed. “Thank you, my dear, for keeping up my little subterfuge. Sledge is adept at bashing things around, but he was too dumb to find out who you really were.”

Kristin fought back an impulse to defend Sledge. “I’ve heard Jocelyn got back all right. I’d like to see her.”

“She isn’t here.” Spinner’s scowl darkened. “The ungrateful little wench has run away again. What did you find out about the massacre?”

Kristin pretended she hadn’t heard. “What about Raúl Ramirez—the man who traveled with Jocelyn?”

“Disappeared. He didn’t take a flight back to Colombia.”

She wondered why he’d taken the trouble to know that. But she asked, “Are they together?”

Spinner shrugged. “Who knows? But she’ll come back when she needs money.” He looked down his nose at her. “I sent you down there to investigate a massacre by right-wing death squads. What did you find out?”

“I found out they didn’t do it.” Kristin steeled herself for the onslaught she knew was coming.

His eyes flashed. “What do you mean, ‘They didn’t do it’? Everyone knows—”

“What ‘everyone knows’ is wrong.” Kristin was determined to hold her ground. “The women of the village say the massacre was done by guerrillas dressed like the right-wing defense forces. They couldn’t be wrong. Too many of them told the same story.”

Spinner’s face flushed. “They could be paid to lie.”

“They weren’t paid. Besides…” She stopped, shocked that she was on the verge of telling about finding the bodies.

“Besides what?” Spinner’s eyes bored into her.

Panic rose inside her. She had to do something. But what?

“I can’t talk about it now.” She covered her face with her hands and sank into a chair. “It’s too horrible,” she sobbed, “and I’ve been through so much. You can’t ask me to talk about it now.”

Head down, she rubbed her eyes to redden them. She hated weeping women and despised herself for pretending to be one. But Elena Ramirez had taught her a few tricks of expediency. Her tear-filled gambit seemed to work, for Spinner ceased his attack.

She rubbed her eyes until tears flowed down her cheeks, then looked up. “I’m sorry. Right now I’d just like to rest.”

Spinner’s voice grew soft, but his eyes held a canniness that said the truce was temporary. “Of course, my dear. You’ll stay the night with us. My chauffeur will take you home.”

Her heart turned to ice. How long could she parry Spinner’s questions without saying something she shouldn’t? “I’d like to stay at a hotel,” she said. “I need to be around people.”

Spinner flipped a switch on an intercom. “Miss Dijon, please get Kristin Halvorsen a room at the Orleana and have my chauffeur drive her there.” He turned back to Kristin. “We’ll talk over lunch tomorrow. I’ll send someone for you at eleven thirty.”

She showed her meekest expression. “That will be fine.”

In the outer office, Miss Dijon treated her with new respect, and the chauffeur was courtesy itself. Still, she was glad to be alone in her hotel room.

She would have promised Spinner anything to get away, but she had no intention of talking to him again. By lunchtime tomorrow she would be halfway to New York.

And Spinner, for all of his billions, could not touch her then, could he?