All the Way (10 page)

She lifted her glass in salute to her father. He would be proud of how she was handling the Sherman-Payton situation. And he would kill her husband.

 

 

“I've got some information about the driver of the SUV.”

“Now we're getting somewhere.” Sherman paced the length of the pool, watching for Cecily's appearance. She was due to return to Charlotte today, and he would be ready to play the doting husband when she arrived.

“He's a reporter,” Hiram continued sheepishly.

“A reporter!” He'd been foolishly certain the man had been delivering papers out the back of the SUV. “A reporter helped Payton get away from the Adam's Mark? And the motel? Do you have any idea what this means? Reporters are worse than prosecutors. If she tells him what she saw—”

“I understand.”

Sherman snatched up a lounger in anger, dropping the phone. He tangled with the chair, tossing it into the pool. Garth appeared, carrying a silver tray with two tropical drinks. Witnessing Sherman's angry explosion, he stopped, frozen, at a distance.

“Give me the phone!” Sherman shouted. He took several deep breaths before snatching the phone from Garth's hand. His voice was tight with anger when he spoke to Hiram. “I don't think you do understand. If a reporter is helping Payton, it's possible she's already told him everything she knows.”

“She won't get away the next time, Mr. Grazicky.”

“I'm getting close to ending our affiliation,” Sherman warned. “If you can't get this done—”

“I'll take care of it.”

Sherman gave Hiram an earful of curse words that categorized his annoyance with Hiram's performance thus far. “Did you get anything from the brother?”

“I have someone monitoring his phone. She called. Told the brother she wanted to see him. I put a man on the house in case she shows up, but I gotta tell you, Mr. Grazicky, I don't think she's heading that way. Why would the reporter take her all the way to St. Louis?”

A question Sherman couldn't answer. “What do we know about this reporter?”

“He has a reputation of being a loose cannon. He's been in touch with his partner, so I put a bug on their phones. I'll find out where they're headed.”

“Don't make a mess. I can't stand any more publicity.”

“Yes, sir. You'll be happy.”

“I want this problem taken care of,” Sherman reiterated.

“I understand.”

“Bring Payton to me.”

“What about the reporters?”

“The reporters are expendable.”

Chapter 11

If pretending to be Adriano's wife wasn't enough to make Payton nervous, Tom, an African-American albino, opened the front door of the quaint house nestled between a klatch of trees behind the tobacco fields. She was curiously apprehensive of the white-haired man until he pulled them inside, happily introducing them to his wife, Lila. The couple had promised Mr. Conners help without asking questions, and they'd done just that, insisting she and Adriano eat dinner before cleaning up.

Southern hospitality aside, Payton got the feeling Tom and Lila were lonely on the tobacco plantation and welcomed any company they received. She enjoyed the warm, homey feeling that embraced her while sitting in the living room talking about the life of an African-American albino tobacco farmer living in South Carolina.

It made her miss her brother, Patrick. She couldn't help but worry about him, but Adriano assured her he would be fine as long as she didn't contact him again. Jake promised to keep the situation under surveillance and let her know if anything took place with her brother and his family. She and Patrick had never been as close as they should have been. They loved each other but didn't spend much time together. Patrick lived in the Midwest; she lived in Charlotte. Other than the occasional commercial greeting card, they hardly communicated. A terrible pang of guilt punctured her chest. She had almost been killed in the Adam's Mark. Did she want to die with their relationship this way? She promised herself she'd visit her brother and his family as soon as this ordeal was over.

A soft tap at the door roused her from solemn thoughts. She tied a towel around her and opened the door to Lila. “Come in.”

A smile stretched across her sagging cheeks. “I heard the water stop. I forgot to leave this.” Lila placed a silver wire basket filled with perfumes, lotion, and powder on the counter. “You two looked so beat, I figured you'd be turning in early.”

“Do you need help with anything downstairs?” She'd offered to help clean the kitchen after dinner, but Lila had promptly and authoritatively shooed her away.

Lila beamed at the offer. “No. Not much to do around here. Tom putts around the house most all day, and I cook. Tom can't stand the sun too long, so field hands take care of the tobacco crop.”

“Thank you again for letting us stay.”

“I hope you and your husband stop in on us again.” She hesitated, her mood becoming solemn. “We don't get many visitors out this way.”

Payton offered a smile.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Almost forgot. Your husband said to draw him a bath.”

Draw him a bath?
She could just picture Adriano wearing an arrogant grin, telling Lila to pass on the message. She remembered their charade and plastered a complacent smile on her face. She was his dutiful wife today.

“You make a handsome couple,” Lila said. “How long you two been married?”

She kept it simple. “We're newlyweds.” She hated deceiving these kind people, but it was best they didn't know the truth.

“I told Tom as much. I can tell by the way his eyes light up when you come into the room.” Lila dropped a bombshell and then retreated for cover. “Well, I better let you get dressed.”

How did Adriano's eyes light up? She had caught him leering at her soaked-through nightgown several times, but that was lust. She felt him fighting the hunger when he kissed her. True attraction, no. Burning lust, yes. Much like the way her eyes drank up every inch of his body when he wasn't looking. But his eyes didn't light up. Did they? She would have noticed that. Wouldn't she? Besides, stressful, life-threatening situations often blew people's emotions out of proportion, and she'd better remember that tonight while pretending to be his newlywed wife.

She'd been apprehensive enough when they came up with the plan, but when she found out she had to pose as Adriano's wife she'd almost called it off. Almost. Posing as Adriano's wife carried its own risks, but common sense told her she couldn't turn away any help. With Adriano being too sexy for his own good, she'd have a hard enough time ignoring the way her heart sped up when he used his tender charm to comfort her.

It had been a brash and dangerous move, but thank goodness she had jumped into his SUV. Commandeering a car had been the only solution with her options so limited. She'd picked the right man to kidnap. He took her safety personally. She shuddered. What might have happened if he hadn't showed up at the motel when he did?

Angel,
Adriano had called her when he tackled her in the backseat.
My angel,
he referred to her as that several times in the living room with Lila and Tom. Men had called her by many cutesy names over the years, but she never believed they meant them. Adriano's earnest, dark gaze confirmed his sincerity. She imagined his friends saw him as a tough, no-nonsense investigative reporter who never backed away from danger. The women probably swooned when he showed his sexy, mischievous grin. He was wild and untamable—she'd glimpsed that part of his personality—but his sex appeal made her consider trying her luck.

If she were an angel, Adriano could be an Egyptian god. Tall, well built, with high cheekbones and a heart-shaped mouth, he was a force to reckon with. He possessed the facial features of an African-American, but the cheekbones and long, silky hair confused the picture of his heritage. Serious lines of determination cloaked his expression when he was on a mission, driving like a professional to elude the hit men, but his patience with her hinted at his passionate side. In bed he would be—

Her cheeks heated with a burning blush.

“Stop it,” she scolded herself in the mirror. “When this is over, I'll never see Adriano Norwood again.” It was silly to let danger trick her into believing there was some sort of growing attraction between them.

Hot water never felt better to Payton. She sank into the bubble bath, shedding her stress over how chaotic her life had become. She languished in the water, scrubbing dried mud, and tending to her battered feet. The steam opened her stuffy nose and soothed her scratchy throat, combating her cold before it became full-blown.

Jake's resourcefulness amazed her. It was clear by his efficiency that he and Adriano had been in tight spots before. Adriano was probably talking with him now on the satellite phone that Jake had provided, planning the next phase of their trip. They needed to get to Columbia as soon as possible, but putting their hands on the duplicate copy of her calendar was equally important. Something on those pages had Sherman worried. He was too scared to kill her—the easy solution to his problem. He needed to see her, to know what she knew—some knowledge even he didn't possess. She pushed thoughts of Sherman and the murder away and sank deeper in the warm tub. She wanted one good night of rest before the adventure that had become her life returned in the morning.

 

 

 

“Hey, you're back,” Carter said, barely making eye contact as she approached. “How was the trip?” he asked as Payton went up on tiptoe to press a kiss against his cheek. He slapped a card down in the center of the table, playing nonchalant. He adored her, and she cherished his friendship in a town where she knew very few people not associated with her job. Despite his dark exterior, he had a heart of gold.

“The trip was great.” She started giving him the highlights, but his cell rang and he was called away on business needing his immediate attention. He didn't elaborate, and she didn't press. She knew certain aspects of the security business were confidential, just as she wouldn't discuss parts of her work with him.

“Sherman around?” Payton asked the lone remaining man at the card table. The other two had called it a night when Carter left.

“Upstairs. Go on up. He asked about you earlier.” The man gathered the discarded cards and began to shuffle and reshuffle them.

Payton knew upstairs meant Sherman was hanging out in one of the suites. He often lingered there when Skye was closed and he was in a deeply reflective mood. Whether or not he wanted to be bothered depended on his mood. Tonight must have been a good night with lots of profit because the guard hadn't hesitated to send her up.

She'd seen Sherman get nasty with members of the staff before, but she couldn't honestly say they didn't deserve it. Running an upscale club came with many headaches and often attracted the wrong kind of employees and visitors. Sherman played the hard-ass to her staff, always reminding them she may give them a second chance but he never would. She'd had her own spirited debates with him, but he never crossed the line with her as he sometimes did with the other employees.

The only time she felt uneasy around him was when he hit on her. The first time had occurred in the back of his limo after entertaining clients at a sporting event. The moment they were alone, he made his move. Challenging her to give in to the feelings he'd seen in her eyes—a projection of his own. Never mind he was her boss: he was married. She didn't get involved with older, married men who held her employment future in their hands. She'd let Sherman down as easily as possible, but it didn't keep him from trying again on several other occasions, this time masked as good-natured ribbing. But she'd seen the way he watched her when he didn't think she noticed. And she'd heard the same rumors everyone else had heard about the man lying beaten behind the club because he had looked at her too provocatively.

If she could accomplish her goals, gain the knowledge she needed, and find financial backers, she could start her own clubs with her own quirky rules, she thought as she came upon the first suite. She heard voices, but they weren't coming from this room. She'd thought the guard had told her Sherman was alone upstairs. She moved down the corridor, testing the doors as she passed to find the suites locked tight. The voices grew louder as she approached the distal end of the floor, past the elevator.

When she was only a few feet away from the last suite, she realized there were two voices and they were angry. She turned to leave, but something Sherman said made her stop.

“I will not lose everything I've built because of you.”

Lose everything? If Skye went under, so did her dreams.

She moved to the door, standing to the side of the doorjamb. She peered into the room from the crack between the door and the seal. A big, burly bodyguard stood sentry over the late-night meeting. His back was to Payton, but there was something vaguely familiar about him. She was certain she'd seen him working security at Skye before. Sherman stood a few feet away from a man Payton had never seen before. The man was older, well groomed the way only a lot of money can provide. He wore a tailored suit with shiny shoes and held a black evening coat over his arm.

As animated as Sherman became, the man never backed down. He remained hard and locked in his convictions. Payton had never seen anyone who didn't cower when Sherman became this angry. “You've made a mess of things here, and you're not going to cost me one more cent.”

“I told you, I'll fix it,” Sherman said, and Payton imagined she saw a bead of sweat roll down his temple. There was a quiver in his voice that said he was in trouble and he knew it.

“It's over.” The man began to put on his coat. “Everything. This club. The business. You.”

“You can't do this, you old sonofabitch!”

The man flinched as if acid had been thrown in his face. He recovered, his voice as calm and smooth as ever. He stepped closer to Sherman, an aggressive act of intimidation. “You maggot. I made you. I'll destroy you. I had hoped to do this the easy way, but if you want to make it hard, bend over and I'll rip your guts out with my bare hands. You're going to learn to never disrespect me. No matter who you are and how important you think you are to me.”

Sherman's fists clenched into tight balls, his body shook, but he didn't speak.

The man turned to the bodyguard. “Get the car.”

Sherman turned to the bodyguard, his face a sinister mask Payton had never seen. In a split second, when he thought he would lose everything, he changed into the representative of pure evil. “Get the car, but kill him first.”

The bodyguard moved for the first time, shedding his statue-still pose to pull a gun from his waistband. Before the man could utter a word, the gun went off and the man slumped to the floor. The bodyguard stepped up to him and fired several more shots—a soft
pop, pop, pop
muffled by the gun's silencer but booming inside Payton's head.

She clamped both hands over her mouth, trapping the bile inside her mouth. She pressed her back against the wall, her mind an explosion of fragmented thoughts.

“Clean this up,” Sherman ordered, his breathing heavy, as if he'd just run a marathon.

Her mind was too jumbled to make sense of what she'd just witnessed, but she didn't need to think. She had to react. She kicked off her heels, snatched them up, and ran as quietly as possible down the corridor. She locked her briefcase underneath her arm, not risking it making a sound as it bumped against her side. She ducked into the stairwell next to the elevator and sprinted down the stairs. When she reached the first floor, she stepped back into her shoes, righted her clothing, and opened the door. She was half the distance to the employee entrance when the guard stopped her.

“Leaving?” he asked, as he checked the doors to make sure they were locked.

“Yeah, I'm tired. Sherman wasn't in his office.”
No, not in his office. In the suite. With the dead body.
“I'll catch him tomorrow when I have my presentation finished.” Surprisingly, her voice sounded normal.