The Face of Deception (19 page)

She smiled. “You're right. You have a unique talent and an efficiency I appreciate. I told Timwick the way you handled the problem at Barrett House was admirable.” She paused. “But, unfortunately, Timwick is not as efficient and he's become nervous and irrational. He's begun to disappoint me. You do realize that he's merely been channeling orders from me?”

“Not the President?”

“Definitely not the President. He's not involved.”

He was disappointed. It would have been a feather in his cap to have done this job for the most important man in the free world. “Then I should be charging more money, shouldn't I?”

“Should you?”

“If he doesn't know about what you're doing, then he's a potential threat. If he was involved, he could protect me. You can't do shit.”

“Do you want to be protected, Fiske? I don't think so. I've read your dossier and I don't believe that's one of your priorities. You're not a man who relies on anyone but himself.”

His gaze narrowed on her face with sudden interest. Smart. “Money is protection.”

“Your fees are exorbitant. You probably have enough in a bank in Switzerland to live like a king.”

“I'm worth my fee.”

“Of course you are. I'm just pointing out that you could have retired in safety a long time ago. So why are you risking your neck doing this?”

“There's never too much money.”

She shook her head. “You like it. You like the risk. You like the game. It gives you immense satisfaction, and the harder the game, the greater the risk, the better you like it. You love the idea of doing something no one else can do.” She paused. “The most difficult thing on earth is getting away with murder, isn't it? That's the supreme challenge, the most interesting game.”

Christ. Maybe too smart. “Perhaps.”

“Don't be so wary. We all have our own agendas. I find your philosophy perfectly reasonable, and it happens to coincide perfectly with my needs. That's why I chose you.”

“
You
chose me? Timwick chose me.”

“Timwick gave me a number of dossiers and he thinks we chose you together. I chose you, Fiske. I knew you were the one I needed.” She smiled. “And I knew you were the man who needed me.”

“I don't need anyone.”

“Of course you do. I'm the one who can increase the difficulty of the game. I can give you a challenge that you've never been faced with before. Don't you find that idea exciting?”

He didn't answer.

She chuckled. “You do. I knew you would. You're probably sick of working under Timwick. You like bold strokes—decisive, clean thinking. You won't have any problem with waffling from me.”

He'd bet he wouldn't. “You're cutting Timwick out of the picture?”

“I'm saying that you go back to Atlanta and check on Kessler. You pay lip service to Timwick, but you obey my orders and answer directly to me.”

“It would help me decide if I knew what all this is about.”

She studied him. “No, it wouldn't. You don't care. You think all of our complicated machinations are stupid. You're just trying for a power hold. You appreciate power. It's part of the game.”

His lips twisted. “You think you know me that well?”

She shook her head. “But I know you well enough to survive you.”

“Do you?” He put his hands around her throat. “Did you ever realize how difficult it would be to kill the first lady and get away with it? Think what a kick it would be for me to show those bastards how stupid they are.”

“I thought about it.” She stared directly into his eyes. “But then you'd be on the run and the game would be over. What a disappointment. I can stretch out the game for a long time.”

His hands tightened until he knew there would be bruising. Hurt her, make her back down.

She didn't flinch. “I have a list for you.” Her voice was hoarse. “Or, rather, an addendum to the list you were given before.”

His grasp didn't loosen.

“I knew you'd like lists. I told Timwick so. That's why he gave you—” She drew a deep breath as his hands fell away from her. “Thank you.” She rubbed her throat. “Timwick told you to check out Kessler?”

“Yes, but he didn't seem to think it was important. He's more concerned with Sandra Duncan.”

“She's also important. I may have to make a decision about her shortly, but I don't want Kessler overlooked. Unless you reach him immediately, Kessler will be making DNA tests, probably not at the university. Find him. Don't let him have time to get the results.”

“DNA?”

“On the skull. You know about the skull.”

He smiled. “No, you tell me about it. What's so important about that skull?”

“You know all you're going to know. Except that I want the skull and you're going to get it for me.”

“Am I?”

“I hope you are. I'm not Timwick, I'll never take you for granted.”

He tilted his head. “Now, I wonder who you killed? A lover? A blackmailer?”

“I need that skull.”

“You're an amateur, or you wouldn't be in all this hot water. You should have let an expert handle it.”

“I realize my mistake. That's why I'm having an expert handle the matter now.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here. My private digital phone number is on the back. Unless it's an emergency, please try not to call me before seven in the evening.”

He looked down at the folded paper in his hand. “You're taking a chance. Your fingerprints must be all over—” Gloves. She was wearing leather gloves. “Then I assume it's also not handwritten?”

“Computer, and you won't find any prints on that sheet but your own. My phone is under another name and the paperwork is buried so deep that it would take years to unearth it.” She reached for the door handle. “I'm very efficient too, Fiske. That's why you and I will work so well together.”

“I'm not saying I'm agreeing.”

“Think about it.” She got out of the car. “Read the list and think about it.”

“Wait.”

“I have to get back. You can understand how difficult it is for me to get away unnoticed.”

“But you did it. How?” he asked, curious.

“I explored those possibilities the first week I moved in. I wasn't about to become a prisoner. It's not too difficult.”

“And you're not going to tell me.” He thought about it. “There was a rumor about a subterranean tunnel linking the White House to the Treasury Department. Supposedly Kennedy used it when he wanted to meet Marilyn Monroe. Is that how—”

“Would I tell you? You'd regard getting into the White House as a plum in your list of accomplishments. The difficulty factor might just make killing me too tempting to resist, and I want you focused elsewhere.”

Shake the bitch. He suddenly leaned forward. “There are at least thirty-five secret agents and over a hundred uniformed guards at the White House at any given time. It's good to know there are ways to avoid them.”

Her face was without expression. “You have the numbers down pat.”

“As you say, it's a challenging scenario. The possibilities have always intrigued me.”

“But you have to remember that I have Timwick schedule those Secret Service men at times and places that make it easy for me to avoid them. Timwick's not going to help you.”

“Not even if I tell him that you asked me to meet you tonight?”

“You won't do that. It would be against your interests.”

He was silent a moment. “You don't fool me. You were scared like all the rest. I could feel your heart jump under my thumbs. You're scared now.”

“I am. Some things are worth being scared about. Call me.” She walked away from him and down the street.

Tough woman. Tough and smart and gutsy. A hell of a lot more guts than Timwick.

But maybe she was too smart. She had come very close in her assessment of him, and it made him uneasy. He didn't like the idea of anyone predicting how he would react in any given situation. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of working with a woman.

“Read the list.”

She had guessed how a man of his temperament would appreciate a list. But why had she thought reading her list would make him favor her?

He unfolded the paper and bent closer to the lights of the dashboard.

He started to laugh.

The phone rang as Lisa was walking into her bedroom.

“Okay,” Fiske said. He hung up the phone.

A man of quick decision and few words, she thought dryly as she returned her phone to her handbag. Not to mention a certain lethal impulsiveness for which she had not been prepared. She would have to hide the bruises from Kevin tonight and wear a scarf tomorrow.

“Lisa?” Kevin called from the bedroom. “Where have you been?”

“Just for a walk in the garden. I needed some air.” She hung her cape in the closet and grabbed a bathrobe with a cowl neck. “Now I need a hot shower. I'll be in soon, Kevin.”

“Hurry. I want to talk.”

Talk. God, she wished it was only sex. Listening to Kevin ramble and inserting the appropriate praise and encouragement was a strain she didn't need. For a moment, when Fiske had put his hands on her throat, she had thought she was going to die. Handling Fiske was going to be very difficult.

But she could do it. She had to do it. Don't think about how frightened she'd been. She had done good work tonight. Fiske was hers.

She stepped beneath the hot spray of the shower and let the water run over her. God, she felt dirty. Just being in the same car with that filthy murderer had made her feel contaminated.

But she was a murderer too.

Not like him. She would
not
see herself in the same light as that beast.

Don't think about him. She closed her eyes and commanded her muscles to relax. This was her moment. Enjoy it. She had very little time to herself. She almost wished she were free like Eve Duncan.

What are you doing now, Eve Duncan? Is it as hard for you as it is for me? She leaned her head against the wall of the shower and whispered, “Where are you, Eve?”

Fiske would find her. Fiske would kill her and Lisa would be safe. Why was there no comfort in that thought?

“Lisa?” Kevin was outside the bathroom door.

Dammit, couldn't they let her have one moment alone? “Coming.” She stepped out of the shower and dried her tears. Christ, what was wrong with her? Fiske must have shaken her more than she could have believed. She slipped on her robe, zipping it up to the chin, then ran a brush through her hair.

Smile. Be warm and sympathetic. Don't let him see, don't let any of them see. She swung open the door and kissed Kevin on the cheek. “Now, what's so important that you couldn't wait to tell me?”

“This isn't a very nice motel. I think there are bugs,” Bonnie said.

Eve turned over in bed. “We had to find a place that was unobtrusive. Bugs shouldn't make any difference to you. You're ectoplasm, remember?”

Bonnie smiled. “Anything that makes a difference to you makes a difference to me. You always hated bugs.” She settled herself in the chair next to the bed. “I remember how you yelled at the exterminator when he didn't do a good job getting rid of the roaches in my room.”

That had been the summer before Bonnie had disappeared.

Bonnie's smile faded. “Oh, dear, I didn't mean to remind you of anything sad.”

“Did it ever occur to you that your coming to me automatically reminds me of something sad?”

“Yes, but I'm hoping someday you'll realize that I'm always with you.”

“You're not with me.”

“Why are you trying to hurt yourself? Just accept me, Mama.” She changed the subject. “You did a good job on Ben but, then, I knew you would.”

“So now you knew who it was all the time?”

“No, I keep telling you that I don't know everything. Just sometimes I get a feeling.”

“Like about the bugs in this crummy motel room? That's pretty safe.”

Bonnie giggled. “It is, isn't it?”

Eve found herself smiling. “It was my first thought when I came into the room.”

“And you think I'm using that?” Bonnie clucked reprovingly. “How suspicious you are, Mama.”

“Then tell me something I don't know. Tell me where you are.”

Bonnie tucked one leg beneath her. “I like Mr. Logan. I wasn't sure at first, but I think he's a good man.”

“Whoever said ghosts have good judgment.”

Bonnie smiled slyly. “Progress. That's the first time you admitted I might not be your imagination.”

“The judgment of figments of imagination are questionable too.”

“Well, your judgment is pretty shaky too. You shouldn't be so hard on Joe.”

“I'm not condemning Joe.”

“Yes, you are. Because of me. But he's a good man too, and he cares about you. Don't push him away.”

“I'm very tired, Bonnie.”

“And you want me to go away.”

Never. Never go away. “I want you to stop preaching at me.”

“Okay, I just don't want you to be left alone.” Her smile faded. “It's dangerous for you to be alone now. I'm afraid of all the bad things that are coming.”

“What bad things?”

Bonnie shook her head.

“I can handle them.”

“You think you can handle anything because of what you went through with me. Maybe you can. But maybe you can't.”

“And maybe I don't want to handle them,” she said wearily. “Maybe I just want to let things happen. God, I'm so tired of it all.”

“And I'm tired of you mourning me.”

“Then go away and forget me.”

“That's not an option, Mama. The remembering goes on forever, just like the love does. I just want you to be happy again.”

“I'm . . . content.”

Bonnie sighed. “Go to sleep. I guess there's no talking to you until you're ready.”

Eve closed her eyes. “Where are you, baby?” she whispered. “I want to bring you home.”

“I am home, Mama. Whenever I'm with you, I'm home.”

“No, I need you to—”