Kat Attalla Special Edition (37 page)

“How much?” Jack asked.

“Five dollar,” the boy returned.

A boy with no formal education could speak clearly in English when it came to money. As in most countries, dollars were the preferred choice of payment. “I only have a twenty.”

“I make change.”

He paid the money and held the change in his hand until the boy disappeared from sight. Folded in the center of the money he found the note he’d been expecting. He knew Yousef wouldn’t meet him in the open. Collaborating with Americans, even towards noble causes, wasn’t wise in the Middle East, a place historically known for its distrust of foreigners.

Everything had been arranged. He would meet Yousef in his shop the following morning to pick up the travel documents. He wondered how Lilly would react to being moved on a cargo plane, but after everything else she had been through, he figured she would cope.

By the following evening, they would be back in New York. Feeling better that the plan was back on track, he returned to the house for lunch.

* * * *

Lilly busied herself in the kitchen, giving Hanan some time with her family before Mustafa had to return to sea again. Jack strolled into the room, and the temperature rose a full ten degrees. So did her temper when his arms circled her waist from behind.

“Hi, honey. I’m home.”

She tensed but didn’t shove him away with Mustafa in the next room. “I’m going to burn the food if you don’t stop, dear.”

“I can see that it takes all your concentration to watch a pot of water boil. Just relax. I have to talk to you for a minute.”

She might have found that easier to do without his soft breath tickling her neck. She twitched and swatted at him as if he were an annoying fly, but that only amused him. “So talk.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow morning. By evening, you’ll be back in New York. If all goes as planned, you’ll be able to call your family.”

She spun around and searched his face to make sure this wasn’t another one of his ploys. “Really?”

“Really.” She let out such a big sigh of relief that he smiled. “By next week, you’ll be back in Iowa watching the corn grow.”

She got so caught up in her excitement that she didn’t stop him from inching her closer. “How did you know my father raised corn?”

“I know everything about you. You have three older brothers and a little sister. You attended Iowa State University on a scholarship, and you have a business degree. And your father was very disappointed that you left for New York to work instead of marrying your high school sweetheart and raising a pack of youngins.” He’d done such a perfect imitation of her father’s accent that she would swear they’d met. “Do you think he’ll find me a suitable son-in-law?”

“He would get along with anyone who took me off his hands.”

“He sounds like a nice man.”

She laughed at the similarities between the two of them. “He’s a male chauvinist who lives in the Stone Age.”

“He’s a father who worries about his stubborn, opinionated, and mule-headed ‘Poppet’. What’s wrong with that?”

The use of her childhood nickname startled her. That could not have been coincidence. “You’ve spoken to him.”

“I had to. He was so distraught when you left the country that he called his congressman two times a day to have him intervene. It would have put the operation in jeopardy, so I promised to call every week to let him know you were all right if he would remain quiet.”

She marveled that he’d taken the time to pacify a worried father. “You did?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why? Wasn’t that just as much of a risk as if I called?”

“No. I called at his neighbor’s house. I told you your family was all right.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d spoken to them.”

“No,” he said, lifting his shoulders ruefully. “You weren’t supposed to know who I was working for. You would have tried to call. And after Nice, that wasn’t possible any longer.”

“Oh,” she said simply, knowing he was right but reluctant to admit it. After all, he let her spend the past two months thinking he was out to kill her while her father had been informed of Jack’s true profession.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

One good deed didn’t wipe out all he’d put her through. Unfortunately, her temporary lapse of anger had enabled him to trap her in his web. “No. It means I might not stick you in the combine machine and turn you into fertilizer when this is over.”

He grinned and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Will you take me for a roll in the hay first?”

Only Jack could take her best threat and turn it into something sexual. How could she get through to a man who was without one redeeming quality and proud of the fact?

“Why don’t you take a cold shower while I finish cooking?”

He rested his hands firmly on her bottom and pulled her hard against his body. Her involuntary gasp gave him another reason to snicker at her attempt to remain indifferent. “I don’t think it would help.”

She wondered if Jack suffered from a permanent affliction. If she wanted to be truthful, which she didn’t, it excited her to know she had that effect on him. She couldn’t stop herself from wanting his perfect body, and she’d tried. Foolish her, she’d always believed that men cared more about the physical attributes than women.

Still, he hadn’t allowed her the pleasure of making him suffer for his boorish behavior. “Jack. Don’t mess with a farm girl when she’s angry.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know just what it takes to turn a bull into a steer.”

His hands dropped immediately. His face contorted in pain, so she knew he received her message. However, he laughed when he made his retreat, letting her know he didn’t take her seriously.

* * * *

“Lilly. Wake up.”

Lilly ignored the gentle tap on her arm. She pulled the sheet around her and made a last ditch attempt to shut out the sounds of the morning. Another nudge followed, and then a push to her back. She still refused to open her eyes.

She’d had trouble falling asleep the night before, wondering where Jack had been until all hours. Only when she heard him return to the apartment had been able to relax and get a couple of hours of sleep.

“If we miss the plane, you might be stuck with me even longer.”

The inspirational words moved her to action. “I’m up.” She pushed her hair away from her face and sat up. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.”

As she peered out of her half-closed eyes she found little consolation in the fact that Jack didn’t look as if he had slept any better. She did catch the heavenly aroma of fresh coffee and turned her nose in the direction of the bedside table. “An oasis in a vast wasteland of exhaustion,” she muttered, reaching for her morning fix of caffeine. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He yawned and joined her on the bed for a cup. “We have to leave in an hour.”

His yawn was contagious, and she found herself stifling one. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

“It’s almost over, baby,” he said, slipping his arm behind her head.

She managed a weak smile. “Is it? And if they don’t get him? Then what?”

“We’ll get him. We’ve already intercepted one of his shipments. That’s why I tried to take you in Lisbon. After you slipped me, Santana left the country for a while on business. He returned last week.”

Lily took sip of the coffee. “If you have the evidence, why is he still free?”

”Your signature is on the bill of lading. It’s your word against his.”

“I explained that.”

“And you are the one who ran, even though you had good reason.”

“And what would I have to gain?”

“Money.”

She laughed at the irony. While living in New York, she’d barely made her rent payments each month. “What money?”

“Does the number 101285 mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“How about 10-12-85”

She stiffened and sat forward. “That’s my birthday.”

He removed the coffee cup from her hand and set it on the nightstand. “I know. It’s also a coded number for a bank account in Zurich that has received regular deposits from some of Santana’s clients. The most recent right before the shipment we intercepted.”

“It’s not my account,” she denied hotly. “Ask the bank.”

“Swiss bank accounts rarely use names on them. That’s why so many people keep their money there. We can trace the money from its origin, but it’s impossible to tell who receives it. Only the person with the password can withdraw it.”

She met his serious stare and wondered aloud, “And you think I know the password?” He still seemed to have his doubts about her innocence.

He shook his head quickly. “Not at all. I believe Santana intends to withdraw the money himself when he is sure he has you pinned to the wall and framed tighter than the Mona Lisa.”

In different circumstances she would have appreciated his play on words. “And he does have me framed, doesn’t he?”

“No. Using a birthday or Social Security number on an account isn’t enough evidence to convict you alone. He had access to them. That’s why he wants you dead. That file you have ties him to everything.”

Lilly had her own doubts. If they believed Santana the brains of the organization, why were they going to such extreme lengths to bring her back? Until the moment that she had actually consented to return with Jack, he had taken a huge risk. When he’d kidnapped her, he had blatantly violated her civil rights. As far as she knew there was no warrant for her arrest.

Then again, she never asked. “Does your boss think I’m innocent, Jack?”

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, Lilly. Santana only needs to be able to put a doubt in the jury’s mind if it comes to trial.”

He changed the subject, and that made her nervous. “That wasn’t the question.”

“They don’t know about the file yet,” he said, still evading a direct answer.

She no longer needed confirmation. She knew. “That means yes. They plan to charge me, too, don’t they?”

“Two customs agents are dead. One, possibly more, are involved right up to their noses. They don’t plan to file charges against you if you testify but, yes, they question how much you knew at the time.”

She nodded sadly. Not the firm promise she hoped for. He probably had his own questions about her. She had a little trouble believing her own naïveté. No, her stupidity. Although frightened, she found strength in an unshakable belief that innocent people were never punished. Not in America.

Edward Santana had seemed like such a nice man when she worked for him. He was cultured and articulate. He never raised his voice when he told her she’d made mistakes, even though it happened frequently according to him. She’d only witnessed her ex-boss’s temper once. Right after she confronted him with her suspicions. Even then, she thought his anger sprung from indignation rather than violent rage. She got the message when her apartment blew up, killing her landlady.

Jack touched her shoulder. “We have to make a move now, Lilly.”

“Sure,” she mumbled, swinging her feet off the bed.

“One thing, before you get dressed.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “What?”

“Once I explain about the file, I’m sure you will be cleared of any suspicion. There’s no question in my mind about your innocence.”

She wished she could believe him, but his behavior of the day before proved he still didn’t trust her completely. Some stranger assigned to the case thinking her guilty troubled her less than any doubt Jack might harbor.

* * * *

Lilly dressed in the caftan and veil for what she hoped would be the last time. Before leaving she removed the wedding ring and put it on the dressing table. Mustafa had already left so there was no need to play out the little charade.

She said a tearful goodbye to Hanan. For the first time in a long, long time she felt at home and welcomed. She tried to focus on seeing her own family again, but until she set foot in Iowa, anything could go wrong.

The Sunday morning streets bustled with people making their way to work. Jack and Lilly arrived outside a small herb shop fifteen minutes before it was due to open for business. Jack led her to the back of the building and knocked twice on the door. After a short pause he knocked again. She watched him through the narrow slits, noting that he frowned. Something bothered him.

He turned the handle and pushed the door in. Taking her hand, he walked through the back storeroom and into the shop. Fresh cumin, cinnamon and mint lingered in the air. Large burlap sacks, holding an array of herbs and spices she couldn’t identify, lined the narrow aisles of the darkened store. A grandfather clock ticked off the time like a tribal drum tapping out an obscure warning.

Lilly stayed close to Jack. With her limited field of vision, she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. She slammed into him at the same time she heard his sharp intake of breath. He turned and caught her waist, moving her back to the counter.