Unwritten Rules (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 1) Page 12

  “That’s what it looked like. Another warning, but much more serious this time.”

  “Warning? What is this?” Syed demanded.

  Carter described the threatening letters and the events of the past few days. “I thought it was just some crank.”

  “A very dangerous crank. Do you have any idea who is behind this?”

  “None at all. You’ve read the book. There’s nothing there.”

  “Nothing that disturbed me, but there may be others in your past with different interests and concerns. Have you talked to your friend, Mr. Witkowski?”

  “Ski? What makes you think he would know anything about this?”

  “Nothing in particular, but I have found it is always best to consider every possibility. Not everyone may find you as innocuous in your retirement as you hope.”

  “No one else knew we were coming here tonight.”

  “That’s not true,” Madelyn interrupted. Both men turned, but her gaze never strayed from Carter’s face. “You accepted the invitation in the middle of a crowded reception. We were surrounded by people. Any of them could have overheard.”

  He tried to remember who had been standing nearby while he talked to Syed but drew a blank. He’d been trying to concentrate on his new job as a writer and had dropped his customary guard. In the old days, that could have gotten him killed. Apparently nothing had changed.

  Madelyn turned to Syed. “Have you called the police?”

  “No. We are not technically covered by their jurisdiction, and I prefer to investigate this myself. My men are combing the area now.”

  “They won’t find anything.” Of that much, Carter was certain. Anyone with the ability and experience to set up a shot like that at night would know enough not to leave evidence behind.

  “No, I do not expect they will, but regardless of the intended target, a shot fired at the Egyptian Embassy is an attack on my country. I will take every necessary step to determine who is responsible.”

  “Let me know if you find anything.”

  Syed nodded. “If I can, I will, assuming you were the target.”

  “It was his forehead,” Madelyn pointed out.

  “Yes, but the shooter missed. Perhaps he realized at the last moment that the man in his sights was not his intended victim.”

  Carter hadn’t considered that possibility, and in light of the threats and other incidents he didn’t think it likely. He couldn’t believe Syed was suggesting Madelyn had been the target. Perhaps his friend had reason for concerns about his own safety.

  At that moment, a black-uniformed guard carrying an automatic assault rifle pushed through the front doors. He conferred with Syed in low tones then left.

  Madelyn slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. “May we leave now? We need to get back to the hotel.”

  Syed nodded. “My men have found no sign of the shooter. I have ordered one of the embassy cars to be brought around for you.”

  “I can drive our car.”

  “The embassy car is armored.”

  She pressed her lips together, and a muscle in her jaw flexed, but she didn’t object.

  “One of my men will drive your car back to the hotel.”

  “I have to get my gun first.”

  “Of course.”

  A tense silence enveloped them as they rode in the back of the big, black car. She had finally released his arm but sat perched on the edge of the seat, clutching her purse with both hands, her fingers tapping the clasp in a staccato rhythm. She kept glancing from the back of the driver’s head, to his hands on the steering wheel, to the street signs out the window. The moment they stopped in front of the hotel, she sprang from the car with her purse in one hand and reached for Carter with the other. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

  He had no argument. Attack by an invisible enemy was nothing new to him, but he’d never get used to it. Even in the armored embassy car, his pounding heart rate had barely slowed. His damp shirt had begun to dry, but every hair on his body still stood at attention. He wouldn’t sleep much tonight.

  They hurried through the revolving glass door and across the lobby to the bank of elevators. He glanced up as he pushed the button. Great. None of the cars was near their floor. He counted to ten and slowed his breathing as he watched the lighted numbers descend. Beside him, Madelyn glanced back and forth between the lobby to the left and a long, empty corridor to the right. Her left hand held her open purse with her right hand slipped inside, ready to draw her weapon at the first sign of trouble. They both jumped when a soft ding announced the arrival of the elevator.

  When they reached their rooms, he extended his hand. “Give me your key.”

  “No, I’m going in first.” She had the Glock out of her purse and gripped firmly in her right hand, every inch the Special Agent. “You’re not armed.”

  She was right, and it would be the last time. A year ago he’d decided to follow the Agency shrink’s advice and make a complete transition to civilian life, but now it seemed someone wouldn’t let him.

  “We’ll clear my room first, then yours,” she said. Keeping her gun in her right hand, she reached in and flipped the switch with her left. “Step in behind me and close the door. Someone might come down the hall.”

  After searching both rooms, she set the gun on her desk. “All clear. Now I want to know why.”

  The same frustration burned in his gut. Someone had taken a shot at him tonight. Whether or not they intended to kill him didn’t matter. “Believe me, so do I. You could have been hurt.”

  “You could have been killed. We both could have been killed. This is escalating, and we need to know why. There has to be a reason, and you know what it is.”

  “I sure as—“

  “You may not realize it, but you’ve got the answer somewhere.”

  But where? Logic, training, and experience told him she was right, even if he had no idea how to drag the information from his own subconscious. “The string of attacks does seem very purposeful. Unfortunately, I don’t know what the purpose is, other than to shut me up. I’ve asked myself every question I could think of and still come up blank.”

  “Do you have a copy of your book? I’d like to read it.”

  “I’ve been over it a hundred times.”

  “Maybe you’re too close to it. I might see something you missed.”

  “I suppose that’s possible, but I don’t have a copy of the actual book. Herman might have a couple in his room, but I don’t want to wake him at this hour.”

  “No. He needs his sleep, and I’d rather not say anything to him about the shooting, at least for now.”

  He agreed. There was no way the publicist would have arranged for someone to shoot him. He couldn’t write any more books if he were dead. But the shooter had missed, possibly on purpose. Maybe Herman thought an attempted murder would boost sales. After the car accident gone awry and the fake bomb, Carter couldn’t dismiss the possibility. Then he remembered something.

  “I’ve got my laptop and a copy of the book on a flash drive in my bag.”

  “That would be great. Can you get it?”

  “You want to read it tonight?”

  She nodded. “There’s no way I can sleep.”

  “I know what you mean. I feel like I could run a marathon with energy to spare.”

  He went to his room, came back with the computer, and set it up on the desk. As he stepped back, he realized how badly he wanted to stay. He’d known Madelyn less than a week, but with everything they’d been through, those few days seemed like months.

  “Want some company?”

  She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Go to bed.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Yes, you are. You’ll collapse the minute you let yourself relax.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  “You could, but it wouldn’t get you anywhere. I’m going to stay up and read your book, and you’re going to bed. Now.”

  “Did
anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”

  “Too many times to count.”

  He stepped closer. “I’d rather stay here. I won’t bother you while you read.”

  She angled her head. “What would you do?”

  “I don’t know, watch TV.”

  “And of course that wouldn’t bother me.”

  Her deadpan expression brought a smile to his lips. He touched her shoulders then slid his hands down her arms in a light caress. His smile deepened when a tiny shudder passed through her body. “We could try to find a way to relax each other.”

  Her eyes mocked him as she backed out of reach and pointed to the door. “Nice try, Casanova, but you’re on your own. If you need help relaxing, there’s always Pay-per-View.”

  Burned. He laughed and shook his head. “All right, all right. I’m going.” With his hand on the doorknob, he turned. “Oh, by the way, in case I forgot to mention it earlier, nice lipstick.”

  ****

  Nice lipstick. Nice lipstick? Oh, yeah!

  Madelyn pressed her lips together. In spite of everything, he’d noticed. Nothing could be less important now, but he’d noticed. In fact, he’d more than noticed. Another couple of minutes alone with those magic hands and the evening might have ended very differently. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t, get involved with him on a personal level. He was a client, damn it. But it had taken every ounce of willpower she could dredge up to send him away. Maybe her response had been leftover adrenaline talking, but it sure felt like a lot of other hormones thrown in for good measure.

  She hung her dress in the closet, slipped into a T-shirt and knit pants, and went into the bathroom to wash off her makeup. After scrubbing her face, she grabbed a brush and attacked her hair with long, hard strokes. What she needed were a couple of hours in the gym, maybe with boxing gloves and a punching bag. Even the discipline of Hsing I wouldn’t do it tonight. She needed to hit someone or something. She was mad at herself for her reaction to Carter and even madder at whoever had taken a shot at him—her client—while she was supposed to be protecting him.

  The shot had been an attack on both of them, but not in the way he thought. It was an assault on more than her person. It was an assault on her ability and purpose. She knew a bodyguard had to be prepared for an attempt on the life of her client, but that knowledge had failed to prepare her for the reality.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the fear, the rage, but it was the sense of utter helplessness that infuriated her the most. Fear she could accept as rational, and anger served as motivational fuel for action, but helplessness was poison. She’d been helpless when she’d messed up last year and allowed that kidnapper to take her captive, and she’d been helpless when he nearly drowned her in Lake Michigan. She’d sworn never to feel helpless again.

  She could win this. She had the training. She had the resources. And she had Carter.

  In the beginning she’d tried to consign him to the role of cooperative, obedient client. Tonight she had to acknowledge he was more, much more. She’d felt safer with him near. She wasn’t proud of it, but there it was.

  After what happened tonight, changes would have to be made. The would-be assassin had changed the rules and raised the stakes, so she would adapt. She would call Risa in the morning and have her arrange for an armored car to be delivered to the hotel and change all future rentals to armored cars as well. If anyone could handle an urgent special assignment like that, it was Risa.

  And there would be no more appearances after dark. She wasn’t sure how to explain it to Herman without divulging the shooting, but he would have to accept the new rules. At the moment, the enemy had the advantage, but she would not be beaten. Nothing was going to happen to Carter.

  She could always grab her gun, haul a chair into the hall and park herself outside his door, but that was certain to invite an uncomfortable conversation with hotel security. After all, he wasn’t a foreign dignitary, and she preferred not to have to explain the situation to the police. She doubted there would be another attack tonight, so he should be safe in his room.

  In no mood for sleep, Madelyn sat at the desk and brushed her thumb across the computer’s touch pad to banish the screen saver. Carter had opened the file, and the first page of The Man Behind the Curtain glowed back at her. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on the desk, and began to read.

  Soon she was engrossed in his story about a CIA agent in Somalia who found himself caught up in an elaborate double-cross and was betrayed by his own superiors. The nonstop action and vivid descriptions of Africa sucked her in until she lost track of time.

  The hero of the book bore an uncanny resemblance to Carter, causing her to wonder about the other characters. He swore they were purely fictional, but that proved nothing. The clue she needed might lie buried elsewhere in the story if only she could recognize it. She squirmed on the hard chair and resumed reading.

  Eventually, a burning ache in her neck and back broke her concentration. She stretched and rubbed her shoulders. Sitting at a desk for hours was a miserable way to read. She much preferred curling up on the sofa or taking a good book to bed, but she couldn’t stop now. She still hadn’t seen anything to connect the story to the threats on Carter’s life, and besides, she had to find out what happened next.

  She carried the computer to the bed, rubbing her numb backside with one hand. She couldn’t spend another minute in that chair, but if she got comfortable, she might be able to finish the book before the laptop battery died. Piling the pillows against the headboard, she dove back into the story.

  Chapter Ten

  An insistent pounding dragged her from the depths of sleep. Was it her head? She rubbed her temples. No. She waited a moment then flinched when the noise sounded again. It seemed to be coming from the wall behind the bed.

  She groaned and stretched to straighten her legs and back. Nothing wanted to move. Everything hurt. Her lids grated like sandpaper when she dragged her eyes open to face the dead black screen of Carter’s laptop. She squinted against the light glowing through the curtains. What time was it?

  Three more loud thumps sounded, followed by someone calling her name in a deep, muffled voice. Carter. She should get up, but none of her body parts seemed willing to function in concert.

  “It’s not locked,” she called, her voice husky from sleep.

  He opened the connecting door and walked to the side of the bed with a piece of paper in his hand and a scowl on his face. He hadn’t shaved, and his hair looked like he’d barely escaped an encounter with a hungry goat.

  He looked wonderful.

  “You look awful,” he said.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He motioned to the computer half-buried in the duvet. “Did you stay up all night reading?”

  She struggled to right herself. “Almost. The last thing I remember was the hero confronting his boss at gunpoint in a deserted Paris Métro station in the middle of the night.” She slid her fingers into her hair where they caught in the tangles. “What time is it?”

  “Eight-thirty. You can’t have been asleep more than an hour or two. That scene is very close to the end. You didn’t come across any clues, did you?”

  She grimaced. “Not that I remember. Although at this point I doubt I’d recognize a clue if it bit me on the nose.”

  “You shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

  “It wasn’t a waste. I was wide awake—at least when I started—and then I got caught up in the story.”

  “Well, I’ve got a clue for you now.” He slapped the page into her hand.

  That was your last warning.

  He glowered while she read. If the message was intended to frighten him, it had clearly failed.

  “I guess that answers one of our questions about last night,” she said. “The shooter did miss on purpose. When did you get this?”

  “I just found it. It was slipped under my door sometime during the night.”

  Madelyn swore under her breath. “I
knew I should have guarded your door.”

  Carter swore back. “If you think I would have let you sit in an empty hallway in the middle of the night with this nutcase on the loose, you’re as crazy as he is.”

  “That’s my job.”

  His expression hardened. “I’m the client. I decide what your job is. And it’s not to put yourself at that kind of risk.”

  She sighed. He was spoiling for a fight, and she didn’t have the energy right now. “I don’t want to argue with you, but technically Herman is the client. And I’ll do whatever the job requires.”

  “We agreed to be partners.”

  “True. But that doesn’t mean you get to protect me.”

  “It’s what partners do. You know that. Even Feebs work with partners.”

  He had her there. “Okay. What do you think we should do next, partner?”

  “I’m going to take Syed’s advice and talk to Ski.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, but we have to be a lot more careful about where we go and how we get there from now on. I’m going to have Risa arrange for an armored car with bulletproof glass, and we are not leaving the hotel until it arrives.”

  “I’ll ask Ski to come here.”

  She nodded.

  “But first things first. I’m starving. We need to eat. We’ll both feel better.”

  She scrunched her face. “Speak for yourself. The first thing I need is a shower. I’m barely human.”

  He rubbed his bristly jaw. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll order room service, and by the time we’re cleaned up the food will be here.”

  “Fine. Now go.”

  As soon as he left, she called Risa then hit the shower. Her tight, aching muscles gradually loosened under the hot spray. Breakfast shouldn’t arrive for at least a half hour, and she meant to make the most of every minute.

  Her hair was half dry when Carter poked his head into her room and called out, “Room service.”

  She turned off the dryer and walked out of the bathroom to find him setting an overloaded tray on the coffee table. He lifted the aluminum lids and stacked them on the desk. Plate, after plate, after plate.