First Family (20 page)

The tools went back in and her concentration redoubled. Now she could feel the pins glancing off the pick. One by one she lifted them to the sheer line, all the while holding the tension tool so rigidly that her forearm and wrist started to ache.

The last pin fell into place and she pulled the pick out and turned the tension tool like a key. The dead bolt vanished into the door. She drew a deep breath and mouthed a prayer. Turning the lantern down to its lowest level, she listened intently and then swung the door open.

Willa waited a few moments and then slowly moved out into the darkness.

S
EAN SIPPED HIS COFFEE
and watched the gate of the condo building through his camera’s zoom lens. It was in the mid-eighties in Jacksonville and he’d taken off his jacket and thrown it on the passenger seat of his Avis rental and had the air cranked up. The parking lot of the condo building was in full view behind a fence of imposingly scrolled wrought iron.

A minute later he sat up and put the car in gear. His target had just walked out the sliding glass front doors and taken a moment to slide on her Maui Jims against the bright sun. He noted that she was loaded for bear in a pleated miniskirt, high heels, bare, tanned legs, and a tank-top blouse that showed off cleavage so deep a man could easily get lost.

She pointed her key fob, there was the ubiquitous chirp, and she climbed in her car. The combination of the low chassis of her Mercedes convertible and a sneaky breeze caused her skirt to lift enough to where the slim line of the white thong underneath was momentarily revealed along with her tanned upper thigh. She smacked a button on the console and the metal top mechanically hinged up and slid back into its receptacle.

Her car whipped through the automatic gates and sped off with the ocean gusts sending her hair straight back. The sight would’ve made a lovely car commercial for the Germans. Sean eased after her.

Her first two stops were dry cleaning pick up and a pharmacy run. Maybe birth control pills, thought Sean as he watched from the opposite curb.

He just had to smile though because the woman knew how to
work it. Wherever she walked—and the lady definitely knew how to
walk
—men gawked. When she climbed in and out of her car, the woman seemed to do so in slow motion, displaying for an astonishingly long moment in time all the things that made men sweat at night and fantasize during the day. And when she slowed all the men seemed to slow with her. And then they would finally freeze in place until the tanned legs, perfect butt, and titillating cleavage disappeared in a Mercedes-Benz burst of power.

Her next destination, an exclusive residential neighborhood, was more promising. Sean watched her pull into the driveway of a magnificent and beautiful stucco and red tile house with palm trees out front. Using his zoom lens on the camera, Sean was able to see the person who answered the door. The gent was tall, distinguished, with thick graying hair and dressed in slacks and a polo shirt with a blue blazer.

Sean snapped several shots of them before they went into the house.

Sean noticed the mail truck working its way down the street. After it deposited the mail in the mailbox of the house, he waited until the truck had turned the corner before driving his car over to the box, flipping open the lid, and checking the mail there.

“Greg Dawson,” he read off one envelope. He kept going through the stack. Another letter caught his eye. It was obviously a solicitation sent out to anyone on a database tied to a business. “Greg Dawson, Vice President, Science Matters, Ltd.”

This was getting more and more interesting.

He put the mail back, drove down to the end of the street, and did a quick recon of the area. He saw an avenue of opportunity, a vacant tree-filled lot two doors down from Dawson’s. He slipped out of his car and, camera in hand, walked through the vacant lot, jumped a small wall, skittered through the backyard of the house next to Dawson’s, and peered over a stucco wall separating the properties. The coast clear, he scaled the wall and dropped down at the rear of the lot and crouched behind a grouping of bushes.

The backyard was lushly and professionally landscaped. He eyed the large pool, waterfall, and the pool house that matched the materials
used on the main house. Dawson definitely had money. There was a table next to the pool. A pitcher of lemonade and two plates were laid out there. He focused his camera and waited. An Hispanic woman in a maid’s uniform came out with a tray of food, laid it out, and then went back inside.

Dawson and Cassandra came out a few minutes later. Dawson held out the chair for Cassandra and they sat down to eat. Cassandra had a smile on her face as she looked around at the luxurious surroundings. Sean could easily discern the lady’s thoughts. She could get used to this lifestyle real fast.

When Dawson pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across to Cassandra, Sean managed to get shots of this too. Dawson said something, but Sean couldn’t hear over the sound of the waterfall. She opened the envelope and Sean saw the edges of cash as she slid some out. He got shots of this too.

A bit later Cassandra kicked off one of her stilettos, stretched a long leg out, and boldly planted her foot squarely in her lunch companion’s crotch. The lady wasn’t subtle, thought Sean. However, the man scowled at her and said something. Sean couldn’t hear, but the lady looked severely put off as she hastily slipped her high heel back on.

He didn’t know Dawson, but Sean applauded the guy’s ability to so rebuff Cassandra, Queen of the Sluts.

After lunch, Cassandra drove back home. When she got there Sean dropped his tail and called David Hilal. Without telling him what he’d just learned he asked about Science Matters, Ltd.

“They’re one of our competitors on the contract.”

“You know a Greg Dawson?”

“He’s heading up the entire biodefense bid for Science. Cagey as hell and not above doing whatever it takes to nail a win. Why?”

“Just running a theory down. So you’re counting on Cassandra’s ties to DHS to win you the contract?”

“Well, we feel our proposal and technology is superior to Dawson’s team, but having Cassandra really helps. She knows the project, the players, and the government side cold. Other things being equal, if it’s a toss-up, the tie will probably go to us.”

“So weren’t lots of people trying to get her, like Science Matters? And they’re a lot bigger than you, right?”

“Sure they are. And I know they probably offered her a lot of perks and probably more money, but Tuck was able to convince her to come with us.”

Sean nodded thoughtfully. “Any idea how?”

“It’s
just
an idea.”

“Let me hear it.”

“He might have offered her part of his equity stake in the company. I know she gets a salary because I pay the bills. But the equity part would be papered just between them.”

“Even though you’re a partner?”

“Like I told you, a
minority
partner. Which basically means I have to eat my gruel and ask for more, politely.”

“But if Tuck and Cassandra are having an affair and it comes out?”

“It would not be good for us.”

“Any reason why she might
want
the affair to come out?” asked Sean.

“I don’t see why. If she does own a piece of the company it would just hurt her, right?”

“Not if she has a Plan B that pays her even more, Dave.”

T
WO HOURS LATER
Sean waited until a car drove through the gates of the condo building and he followed it in, the automatic gates closing behind him. He parked in a visitor’s slot, grabbed the slender box off the front seat, and walked into the building’s foyer.

The concierge, a wiry, balding man in a too-big blue blazer, looked up from his newspaper. “Can I help you?”

Sean patted the box. “Flower delivery for a Ms. Cassandra Mallory.”

“Okay, you can leave ’em here.”

“No can do. My sheet said personal delivery only. She has to sign for them.”

“I can sign for them. We don’t like delivery people using the elevators.”

“Come on, give me a break. They barely pay me enough to cover my gas. I live on my tips. You’re not going to tip me, right?”

“Those flowers ain’t for me, so damn right I’m not.”

“Look, I’m just a working stiff trying to make a living. I got a dozen long-stems in this box and another fifteen deliveries to make before eight tonight. I’m busting my butt for chump change.”

“You look a little old to be schlepping flowers.”

“I used to have my own mortgage finance business.”

The man gave him a knowing look. “Oh.”

“So can you just call up and tell her I’m here? If she doesn’t want them, no sweat.”

The man hesitated but then picked up the phone. “Ms. Mallory. It’s Carl at concierge. Look, I got a flower delivery for you here.”
He paused. “Uh, I don’t know. Hang on a sec.” He looked at Sean. “Who are they from?”

Sean riffled in his shirt pocket and consulted a blank piece of paper. “A Greg Dawson.”

Carl repeated this into the phone. “Right, okay, you’re the boss.”

He hung up and looked at Sean. “Your lucky day. She’s in Unit 756. Elevator’s over there.”

“Super. Hope she’s a good tipper.”

“You’re a good looking guy, so if you’re really lucky she might
tip
you something else.”

Sean feigned puzzlement before saying, “What, are you saying she’s a babe?”

“Let me put it this way, friend, when she saunters across the lobby I feel like I’m in a
Playboy
fantasy. Only reason I keep this crummy job.”

Sean rode the glass elevator up, staring out at an incredible view of the coastline. Cassandra must’ve been waiting by the door because it opened only a second after he knocked. She was barefoot and wearing a terrycloth robe that stopped mid-thigh. Her hair was damp; she might have gone for a swim or taken a shower.

“Flowers?” she said.

“Right, from a Mr. Dawson.”

“I have to say I’m surprised.”

Sean gave her the once-over. “Ma’am, you strike me as someone who gets lots of flowers from gentlemen.”

She flashed him a smile. “You’re sweet.”

“Just need you to sign here.” He held out his pad and a pen. While she signed, he opened the box. Inside were twelve long-stem roses that he’d bought from a street vendor for four bucks.

She held one and smelled it. “They’re beautiful.”

“You have a vase to put them in? Good to get water on them right away.”

She glanced up at him and her smile deepened. As she ran her gaze over his lean six-foot-two-inch frame and handsome face, she said in a throaty voice that made Sean feel suddenly unclean, “What’s your name?”

“Sean.”

“I haven’t seen you around before,
Sean
.”

“I haven’t been around before. My loss, I guess.”

“Why don’t you bring the flowers in while I look for a vase?”

As she turned she managed to slide her breasts across his forearm. It was done so well that Sean could only conclude the lady had perfected the motion over the years. He followed her in and closed the door behind them, the lock automatically clicking into place.

The condo was a luxury one and Sean noted details of great expense everywhere. The lady also had good taste in art, furniture, and oriental rugs. She reached the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and bent over. The view this presented to Sean actually made him blush. A pair of tiny black panties had replaced the white thong, but the rest was all Cassandra.

Still bent over she turned, obviously to make sure he was watching. As her gaze followed his she feigned being startled. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

He managed a grin. “I’m not. The female body is beautiful, why hide it?”

She smiled back. “I like your attitude.”

She took so long retrieving the vase he could have identified her dead body by her butt cheeks alone. She finally straightened up and turned to him.

And stopped smiling.

She stared at his camera screen, at the shot of Greg Dawson handing her the envelope.