The Warrior (14 page)

John made a mental note to delve further into that statement later and grabbed both their suitcases, then added one last comment.

“We're going down in the elevator together, but do not look at me or talk to me. For all intents and purposes, we don't know each other. When we get off the elevator, you go through the lobby first. I'll be right behind you. I'll get a cab. When you see me loading the suitcases, start walking toward the corner. I'll pick you up there. As long as no one sees us together, we shouldn't ring any bells.”

Alicia nodded, but as they started toward the elevator, she heard voices behind them.

“Don't look and don't stop walking,” John said quietly.

“God in heaven,” Alicia mumbled. Then, when she heard a man's low chuckle behind them, she put an extra swing in her step and lengthened her stride. By the time she got to the elevator, her flushed cheeks were a nice match to her red lips.

To their relief, the men who were behind them didn't get on the elevator. When the door closed and they were finally alone, she started to shake. John put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hang in there, baby,” he said softly. “You're pulling this off like a pro.”

The minute the endearment came out of his mouth, he wished he could take it back, but it was too late. The longer they were together, the more of an affinity he was feeling with her.

There was a roaring in Alicia's ears. She kept praying to God she wouldn't faint. She was vaguely aware that John had said something but hardly even noticed when he touched her out of concern. All she could think of was getting across the hotel lobby. She knew people would look at her, but hopefully without recognition.

Then the doors opened.

“Here we go,” John said softly.

Alicia nodded, stepped out in front of him and started across the lobby toward the front doors. A bellman on the way to the elevators did a double take, then whistled beneath his breath.

A tall, leggy blonde actually smirked at her as Alicia caught her eye. But it was the older woman who sniffed in complete disapproval that made her relax. They really thought she was a whore. Hot damn, she was pulling this off. By the time she walked past the doorman, she was strutting.

John, on the other hand, felt almost naked. He was an Indian. Although they hadn't shown his picture, there was no way around his appearance. But he hadn't signed in under his name, only the name of his company, and lots of people couldn't tell the difference between Native Americans, Mexicans and East Indians. Hell, this was Washington, D.C. He could be any one of a dozen nationalities without looking out of place.

Alicia, on the other hand, might be missing her calling. The stage was almost visibly beckoning. If they weren't in such a damn mess, he would be enjoying this.

Finally he, too, was across the lobby and out the door.

A bellman followed. “Do you need a cab, sir?” he asked.

John nodded and set down the suitcases as the bellman
stepped forward and blew a whistle, then motioned toward the next cab waiting in line. Within moments John was in the backseat and heading out the drive.

“Take a right at the corner,” John said. “And…see that woman in the blue shirt and high heels?”

“Yeah, man, I see her just fine,” the cab driver said.

“When you get to her, stop.”

The cab driver glanced up in the rearview mirror, grinned and nodded. “Sure thing.”

John didn't give a damn about what the man thought was happening. He just needed Alicia back under his wing. Then, the moment he thought that, it startled him. When had she become something other than a means to an end or a simple responsibility?

Moments later, the driver pulled to a stop. John opened the door. He didn't even have to say anything. In seconds, Alicia was in the seat beside him. She took a deep breath, folded her arms across her knees and rested her forehead on them.

John put his hand in the middle of her back. The thud of her heartbeat was rapid and strong against his palm. Then he slid his hand upward, cupping the back of her neck, then urging her up. She came without arguing and buried her face against his chest.

They rode all the way to Corbin Woodliff's house without speaking a word.

When the driver let them out, Alicia had pulled herself together and John was trying to forget how it had felt to hold her close against his heart.

A
fter the tension-packed exit they'd made from the hotel, arriving at Corbin Woodliff's house was anticlimactic. It was nearing nightfall. Lights were already lit inside the houses they were passing, emitting a warm orange glow from behind the sheer curtains. She imagined families inside those houses, going about their lives without drama, and wished she belonged to one of them instead of being her father's daughter.

The cab driver pointed to a house a few lots up.

“You said 3100, right?”

“Yes.”

The neighborhood was made up of homes from a bygone era, many architectural masterpieces. The Woodliff home itself was an unassuming two-story Tudor, with tall, stately trees making their own statement along the avenue. Rosy pink azalea and lavender crape myrtle bushes bordered the long driveway leading to the house, like flowers along the brim of a woman's hat. Abundant and lush, their pastel colors softened the
dark stucco and darker beams. Normally Alicia might have appreciated both the architecture and the landscaping, but right now, there wasn't anything normal about her life or reactions.

“We're here,” John said.

As the driver parked and got out to retrieve their suitcases, she shivered from a sudden attack of nerves and automatically reached up to smooth down her hair when she felt the stiff, back-combed mess, and remembered she was still in disguise. She knew what she looked like. Lord only knew what Corbin Woodliff would think.

“No one is going to take me seriously looking like this,” she muttered.

John knew she was nervous, but he was afraid that too much sympathy would push her over the edge. It made sense that anger—or at the least aggravation—would be an easier emotion for her to handle.

“One man's hooker is another man's eye candy,” he drawled. “Relax. Corbin is an all right guy. I'm thinking he's going to admire your disguise.”

Unaware that he'd intentionally pushed her insult button, she gave him a cool glare. “Such a sweet-talking man. Be still my heart.”

Relieved to see the fire back in her eyes, he stifled a smile. “I meant no disrespect. Just stating a fact.”

Speaking of facts, she wondered if they were still alone. She turned in the seat and looked back at the way they'd come.

“Do you think we were followed?” she asked.

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm Cherokee. My people have been known as ex
cellent trackers for centuries, and I've been paying attention. Yes, I'm sure.”

Since he'd been the one to bring up the subject of ethnicity, she made herself face him.

“Um…about that…I'm sorry I called you Tonto the other day.”

John grinned. “I just called you a hooker. Consider us even.”

At that point, the cab driver knocked on the window and gestured that he'd finished removing their suitcases from the trunk, so John and Alicia exited the cab. As the driver set Alicia's bag in front of her, he gave her an appreciative look. When she stuffed a wad of money in his hand, he winked.

“If you need a ride later, give me a call,” he said, and handed her his card.

Her nostrils flared in anger.

John grabbed her elbow before she could fly off the handle and turned her toward the door.

“I was going to pay,” he said as the cab disappeared back down the driveway.

“I've already told you. I pay my own way.” Then she pointed toward the cab. “Did you hear what he said to me?” she asked as John picked up their bags.

“Give him a break, lady. The disguise was your choice. You did a good job, okay?”

“It's easy for you to say. I've been labeled a nutcase by my own father—who wants to kill me, by the way. I look like a whore, and you hate my guts. All in all, these last few days have been something of a revelation.”

“I don't hate your guts,” he muttered.

“Could have fooled me,” she said, then turned her back and rang the doorbell.

John sighed. Her spurt of attitude was gone. He knew she'd led a privileged life. This was not only hard
on
her, it was hard
for
her. He couldn't imagine what must be going through her mind, knowing her father was willing to kill her to shut her up.

“Look, Alicia, I—”

Before he could finish, the door opened inward and Corbin Woodliff was standing there, eyeing both of them with something akin to shock.

It had been at least fifteen years since John and Corbin had seen each other face-to-face, although they had kept in touch, but Corbin was at least twenty-five pounds heavier. His hairline had receded noticeably, and the hair that was left was almost entirely gray. And, as was the way of many men who begin going bald, he was growing facial hair. His beard was a grayish red, clipped in a neat Van Dyke style. He was wearing dark slacks and a white polo shirt, untucked over his burgeoning belly.

John braced himself for the comment he got most often, which was, “You haven't aged a bit,” set down the suitcases and held out his hand.

“Corbin, it's been a while.”

“That it has, my friend,” Corbin said. “A very long time since that coup in Venezuela.”

The two men shook hands, then hugged briefly before stepping apart, and John's looks were never even mentioned, though at that point Corbin allowed himself a good look at the tall, wild-haired woman standing behind John. Her belly was bare. Her face needed to be. She was almost as tall as John and had a glint in her eye
that mirrored his. Oddly enough, and despite their situation, they were rather well-matched.

“Miss Ponte, I presume. Please come in…come in.”

“This is a disguise,” Alicia offered as they paused in the foyer.

Corbin grinned. “It's a doozy.”

Alicia sighed. “Considering the circumstances, thank you for seeing me.”

Corbin glanced at John. “I owe John a favor. Come on. I think we should go into the library, where it's more comfortable. I'm assuming you two weren't followed,” he added as he peered out before quickly closing the door.

“We're good,” John said.

“He's Cherokee,” Alicia snapped.

John grinned and shook his head at Corbin, indicating it would be wise not to follow up on that remark.

Corbin stifled a smile as he led them into the room across the foyer.

The faint scent of cigar smoke and that smell familiar only to rooms that house old books was pervasive. But Alicia was past being bothered by off-putting aromas. Weary to the core, she sank into an overstuffed chair. The oxblood leather was butter-soft beneath her palms as she scooted back in the seat, watching the two men as they spoke quickly in tones too low for her to hear. She knew they were talking about her—or, at the least, John's dilemma after becoming associated with her. She could have argued the point that he was in this as deep as she was, and for his own reasons, but right now, she just wanted the secret out and the burden off her shoulders.

“Can I offer either of you something to drink?” Corbin asked as John took a seat in the chair beside Alicia.

“Not for me, thanks,” John said.

Alicia shook her head.

Corbin eased himself down on the matching sofa on the other side of the coffee table, then leaned back and crossed his legs, leaving his big arms loosely folded in his lap.

Alicia felt like a bug pinned to a mat as she waited for him to speak. He waited too long.

Nervously, she scooted to the edge of her chair. “I understand you've heard the bullshit my father put out about me.”

John shifted in his seat. Good. At least her attitude was back. The last thing he wanted was for her to start crying. It was the single chink in his stoic countenance that neither age nor time had changed. He couldn't withstand a crying woman.

Corbin nodded. “I did, and I have to say, he seemed sincere.”

Alicia's eyes glittered angrily. “Hell yes, he seemed sincere. He wants me back in the worst possible way, and preferably in a body bag.”

Corbin's position shifted from one of nonchalance to intensity as he glanced at John, as if trying to read his expression, then back to Alicia.

“Pardon me, Miss Ponte, but—”

“Call me Alicia.”

He nodded. “Alicia…you have to understand. It's difficult for me to think a man would put out a hit on his own daughter. You're going to have a tough sell trying to make that stick.”

“Someone's already made an attempt on her life,” John reminded him.

“You sure it wasn't a bid for the million-dollar reward, instead?”

John answered sharply. “He shot at her. The gun had a silencer. The reward was for her safe return. You figure it out.”

Corbin nodded thoughtfully, then shifted his focus to Alicia.

“What do you know that your father is afraid you'll tell?”

“I overheard a conversation between my father and his business associate, Jacob Carruthers, that I wasn't meant to hear.”

“Are you referring to Jacob Carruthers of the Boston Carruthers?”

“Yes, although he's just Uncle Jacob to me. I've known him all my life.”

“So what did you overhear?”

“My father and Jacob are selling munitions to al Qaeda.”

“Christ Almighty!” Corbin said, then stood abruptly and grabbed a digital recorder from the desk behind him. He turned it on as he sat back down. “Are you sure you didn't misunderstand what was being said?”

“How many Osama bin Ladens can you think of who are associated with al Qaeda and would be needing fresh munitions for Fallujah?”

Corbin appeared to be in shock. Alicia knew how he felt. For a few moments, he just sat, staring at the floor. She didn't know if he was gathering his thoughts or still doubting what she'd said. Then he looked up.

“If this is true…Don't get me wrong…. I'm not saying you're lying, I'm just trying to wrap my head around the vastness of these ramifications—not the least
of which is that this would make him a traitor to his country. And in a time of war. Dear God.”

Alicia didn't know how pale she'd become, but she was all too aware that she was shaking from the inside out. Even though she believed her father was trying to kill her, she didn't have the same darkness in her heart. Just saying the words that would guarantee his death felt sickening.

“Can you prove any of this?” Corbin asked.

“No. I just heard what I heard.”

“Does he know your intentions were to tell the authorities, or is he just guessing and trying to cover his ass?”

“Oh, he knows,” Alicia said. “It wasn't my wisest or finest moment. I'd been dodging his phone calls for three days when I finally answered. I didn't start out intending to tell him, but…well…it just happened.”

“Since he's been forewarned of your intentions, this could be near impossible to prove. And making the authorities believe you enough to even start an investigation will be difficult now, considering the announcement he made about your mental state.”

“I know. I wasn't thinking. The three days I wasted running, I could have used to start the ball rolling, but my father's reach is long and deep within the government. He's been furnishing munitions to our armies for years, as well as to many European countries. I had no way of knowing who to trust.”

“I see what you mean,” Corbin said. “Can you remember anything else? Did he mention names…dates…money transfers?”

“Only that the delivery would fall on the thirteenth, which seemed to be a problem because it was some religious holiday, but he didn't say what month. I also
heard another name, although I don't know if it was a go-between or the person to whom delivery was going to be made.”

“Do you remember it?” Corbin asked.

Alicia sighed. “I remember all of it. I've thought of nothing else since the moment I realized my father and Uncle Jacob were betraying our country and our soldiers. The name he mentioned was in conjunction with a place in Afghanistan. He mentioned the Kurds, then a man…Mohammed al-Kazir.”

Corbin's eyes suddenly widened. “Are you sure that's the name?”

She nodded. “Why?”

“According to the latest intel, the present leader of al Qaeda is reported to be a man named Mohammed al-Kazir. They think he's embedded somewhere within the mountains of Afghanistan, although I heard a bit of gossip regarding Turkey. I do know there hasn't been a sighting in months.”

Alicia felt sick. The reality of what she'd heard suddenly solidified. Her stomach lurched. “Bathroom. I need to use your bathroom,” she said, and put her hand over her mouth.

John jumped up. “I saw one off the foyer,” he said, and grabbed her by the hand.

Alicia ran with him, too afraid she was going to embarrass herself to argue. The contents of her stomach were at the back of her throat as John slid to a halt and all but shoved her into the room on her right. She leaned over the toilet and threw up her guts as the door swung shut behind her.