Intrusion (15 page)

He’d left his Porsche parked at the curb. Our aged doorman leapt to assist us with an alacrity born of a well-placed bribe and the hope for more. Some folks inspire that kind of treatment, but I had never mastered the knack.

“We could have walked, you know, or taken a cab. The hotel’s not very far from here.”

He shook his head and made the risky transition into Boston traffic. “You look much too exquisite for a stroll, no? And cabs …” His brows
raised
. “That simply would not do. Let me handle the transport while you tell me the plan.
The truth, this time.”

I’d flunked Prevarication 101. That made
lying
an unappealing option. Lucian would peel apart my story layer by layer until he exposed the truth. Better to get it over with.

“Tommy had a concern or a connection, something with Richard
Chernikova
. I don’t understand it, but he left me a clue. I hoped that seeing
Chernikova
might help somehow. I know it sounds stupid.”

Lucian looked straight ahead. “There’s more. You’re hiding something.”

It was risky telling him things. Lucian was a stranger and might well be the killer. True, he had given me the disk, but that could be a clever ploy or a cynical sleight of hand. My social skills are limited, but I’ve always had keen business instincts. Why else would Kai have called me Wonder Woman? I went with my gut and trusted Lucian.

“Tommy sent me a list of four names. Three of them are already dead, and
Chernikova
is the fourth.”

“Hmm, names.
Nothing else?”
He applied the brake and turned toward me. “Who were the others?”

“No one particularly famous.
You probably read about one of them, Judge Jacob Arthur. He died during a big tax fraud trial. Another guy made the news, too. Ian Cotter dropped dead in some bimbo’s bed. Lots of jokes about that one, you know, dying with a smile on his face.”

Lucian wedged the Porsche between a stalled pickup and a motorcycle.
“And the third?”
His voice showed absolutely no emotion.

I sighed. “That was a suicide, a friend of Candy’s actually. Mary Alice Tate.”

He swung into the hotel entrance, joining the line for valet parking. “Why did this woman take her life?”

“It was a money thing. Word got out that she wasn’t really related to the
Tates
, and that meant she wouldn’t share in the estate. Someone got the results of a DNA test.”

“There is a connection, I presume.”

Now came the hard part. It was supposition, not fact. He could demolish any argument I made with one spurt of logic. Good thing I went to law school. Banter is my stock in trade.

“The three dead people were clients of CYBER-MED. I’m not sure about
Chernikova
.”

Lucian waited for me as the attendant helped me alight. My movements were ungainly, more lurch than light. It’s not easy to navigate a sports car when wearing a sari.

He gripped me firmly around the waist, keeping me steady.

I liked feeling his arm around me. It was comforting, familiar. I shook off sentiment the way Della shed water, vigorously.
Easy does it, Lizzie Mae.

As we followed the crowd toward the Grand Ballroom, I saw a familiar face. Rand Lindsay, looking surprisingly svelte, was checking invitations. He grinned like a Cheshire cat when he saw us.

“Mrs. Buckley.
Luc, my man.”
He gave my escort a bro-hug and checked our table number. “Wow, you’re at the head table. I’m impressed. That’s where Dr. Meg and her hubby always land.”

Lucian looked unperturbed. I wasn’t as sanguine.

“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea. We don’t have to stay, if you’d rather not.”

“Nonsense,” Lucian said. “I enjoy seeing old friends. Will
Arun
Rao
be there also?”

Rand did a quick shuffle.
“Nope.
He’ll be sitting way back in Siberia. That’s part of our job tonight, filling in for absent guests and paying attention to single ladies.” He took my hand and twirled me around. “I declare, Ms. Elisabeth, you are a knockout. Dr. Meg will claw your eyes out.”

It was my turn to flush. I’m not good at accepting compliments. I always suspect their sincerity. Tonight was a different matter, though. Lucian’s reaction buoyed my spirits and helped me believe in myself. If not an outright knockout, I might be at least a TKO.

“You’re a terrible flirt, you know, but thanks anyway.” I winked at Rand and followed the waiter to our seats.

Meg and Carter Cahill were enthroned in the middle seats of a large, elaborately decorated table. Beautiful silver candelabra highlighted a centerpiece of orchids and baby’s breath. I recognized the man across from them as Cap Coleman, the president of the Harvard Medical Center. He had once been Kai’s squash partner in a charity tourney.

Meg’s jaw dropped slightly when she saw us. She recovered nicely, stretching her lips into a seamless faux smile. Her husband was oblivious. Carter Cahill, a large, florid fellow, sized us up with the challenging stare common to little league coaches. He had already drained his wine glass and was actively seeking more.

“Elisabeth, how nice of you to come.”
Meg checked my sari with a practiced eye.
“And Dr. Sand.
An unexpected pleasure.”

Lucian gave her a half bow and shook hands with her husband and the other guests. I renewed my acquaintance with the Harvard honcho, who reminisced about Kai and his tragic loss. Lucian eyed me speculatively as though gauging Kai’s impact on my psyche.

I don’t discuss Kai’s death with strangers. They never understand. Kai died, but he’s never left me. Even now, as my cheeks glowed from Lucian’s kiss, my husband was by my side, cheering me on. “I’m your number one fan, Lizzie Mae.” That’s what he’d always said.

Shortly before nine the lights dimmed. A pair of muscular agents preceded the Secretary of State as he ascended the dais and took his seat. His tablemates, all executives of the
Joslin
Center, gave Richard
Chernikova
a hearty welcome. A phalanx of waiters immediately circulated with our blameless, tasteless repast of boiled scrod, squash and red cabbage.

“Meg tells me you’re the new honcho at CYBER-MED.” Carter Cahill’s tone was one notch short of snide. Like many self-made men, he occasionally dipped a toe over the line between audacious and obnoxious.

I activated my charm initiative. “I’m trying to learn the ropes with Meg’s help. It’s quite an enterprise.”

Lucian barely moved. He dabbed the corners of his mouth as they twitched in a smile. His foot gently nudged my toe in appreciation of a superior snow job.

Cahill nodded vigorously. “You bet it is. My wife left one of the best practices in the nation to start CYBER-MED. We expect a payback, right, Hon?”

A faint tinge colored Meg’s cheeks as she patted her husband’s arm. Lucian and the Harvard honcho jousted about the relative merits of Harvard versus MIT, a debate that had raged for decades.

I was fascinated by our guest of honor. He picked at his food while fixing the crowd with a bright, unwavering gaze. His prominent nose and skeletal hands reminded me of a raptor, a bird of prey prepared to devour any enemy.

Why was his name on Tommy’s list? This man had already survived two assassination attempts and was as closely guarded as the President himself. CYBER-MED was the least of his concerns.

The evening’s host tapped the microphone and made a few self-deprecatory remarks. No one paid much attention. The crowd was focused on our guest of honor. The Secretary of State approached the podium, acknowledged the applause and surveyed the crowd. A hush descended on the room.

“I’ve spent my life fighting the enemies of our great nation,”
Chernikova
said. “Tonight we’re here, Democrat and Republican, to battle another one: diabetes.” He thumped his chest. “If it weren’t for this little pump, I probably wouldn’t be standing at all.”

Nervous laughter swept through the ballroom, but our table bucked the trend. Meg’s face was a stone sculpture. Her husband took refuge in his wineglass.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my Washington days,”
Chernikova
grinned, “but one of them doesn’t bother me at all—guinea pig. Yep, I’m one of the lucky ones testing an implantable insulin pump that allows me to jet all over the world. Thanks to my doctors and the fine staff at CYBER-MED, I’ll be plaguing my detractors for at least another decade.”

That answered one of my questions. Tommy knew that Richard
Chernikova
was a client of CYBER-MED, and something made him think the Secretary was in peril. Lucian gave me a quick, enquiring glance. Meg exhaled, looking as if an enormous boulder had come off her perky little shoulders.

“Nice plug for CYBER-MED,” she beamed. “Another satisfied A-list client.”

I didn’t mention the
dissatisfied
ones. That would be rude. Jacob Arthur, Ian Cotter and Mary Alice Tate wouldn’t speak up. Death had put paid to that. After a few more rah-rah speeches, a top-flight jazz quartet appeared. I knew from experience just how good they were. I’d heard them once before.

“Dance, Elisabeth?” Lucian asked. He put his arm around my waist, guiding me toward the dance floor. Meg left her husband’s side and claimed
Arun
Rao
as her partner. Despite the age gap, they made a handsome couple.
Rao’s
dark hair played brilliantly off Meg’s platinum locks. If only he hadn’t spoiled the effect by scowling at Lucian.

The first selection was so familiar it stung my heart, that old Billy Holiday
tune
, “But Not For Me.”

Lucian maneuvered us to a secluded spot and held me closer than dancing demanded. For once in my post-Kai life, I didn’t fight it. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder until a whiff of Creed jolted me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, it’s just your cologne.”

He stopped dancing and cocked his head. “It offends you?”

Embarrassment swept through me like a brush fire. “No, no. It isn’t that.”

“What then?” Lucian wouldn’t let it go.

I hate stammering. It’s so uncouth. “I thought it smelled like Creed, Silver Mountain Water.” How gauche I am. I’d offended him and probably spoiled our evening.

Lucian’s face was untroubled.
“Bon.
Not many people would recognize it. I spent a lot of time in Switzerland as a boy, and that scent reminds me of the Alps.”

I turned my head, blinking back tears. “Forgive me, Lucian. That was Kai’s favorite fragrance, too. Forget about it. Let’s get back to
Chernikova
.”

“I’d rather resume dancing for the moment. Do you mind?
Arun
is glaring at us. Let’s keep him guessing.”

Lucian was a superior dancer, transcending my lackluster performance by whirling me around as if I were an expert. When the set ended, he squeezed my hand and guided me back to our table. Immediately, I went on alert: Meg was entertaining the guest of honor.

“Good thing your husband’s here tonight, little lady, or I’d be tempted to tuck you under my arm and steal you away.”
Chernikova’s
sparkling eyes radiated mischief and a whiff of entitlement. “Give your favorite client a big hug.”

Meg fluttered what I knew were false eyelashes at him. Oh
oh
. From the vibes she was putting out, I’d bet Sir Richard was very familiar with that leather bustier.

Carter Cahill stifled a yawn. No spousal jealousy there. He shrugged as
Chernikova
playfully tugged his wife toward the dance floor. It seemed like a typical charity gala until the screaming started.

Thirteen

Lucian knocked
me flat on my back, shielding me with his body. For a moment I couldn’t breathe or make sense of anything except that shrill voice shrieking, “Murderer!”

A lithe, smartly dressed woman brandishing a broken wine glass advanced toward Meg Cahill. “CYBER-MED murdered my husband!” She got no second chances.
Chernikova’s
bodyguards pounced on her, wrestling the would-be assassin to the ground.

As partygoers stampeded for the exits, the master of ceremonies rushed to the podium, begging for calm. “Everything’s under control, folks. Relax.
Just a little misunderstanding.”
Pleas for calm seldom work, but in this case, the well-heeled crowd showed remarkable fortitude. Instead of vanishing, most of them milled around the bar, energized by the unexpected entertainment.

His agents hustled
Chernikova
out the side door before I could catch my breath or introduce myself. Hotel security ringed our table while the disarmed culprit continued her tirade.

“They killed him. Ian was perfectly healthy until they murdered him.”

Aha! Now it made sense. This must be the betrayed wife, Mrs. Ian Cotter. She was quite a looker, although tears hadn’t improved her makeup much. Screaming was no beauty plus either.