Lethal Affairs (18 page)

Only then did she become aware Hayley had fallen asleep.
Luka wanted to lie there forever, locked in the circle of her embrace.
But Domino had work to do.

hen Domino crept back into the living room, she immediately saw her image from the assassination tape frozen on Hayley’s TV screen. She played the DVD and felt a cold chill down her back when she got to the place where it had been enhanced. The area of enlargement showed a small shadow where makeup had failed to completely conceal her scar, the result of a knife thrust during a training exercise at the school.
Damn.
Had Hayley made the connection when she’d seen her scar while undressing her? Surely she wouldn’t have made love to her the way she did if that were the case
.

But how long would it be before she did make the connection? And then what? She couldn’t afford those thoughts right now, she had work to do. She played the DVD again and left it paused at the same spot.

As she perused the Castellano case file, which lay scattered on the couch and coffee table, she listened to the second Frankie the Fox tape through the iPod earphones she found in Hayley’s purse, but kept one ear free so she could hear any sound from the bedroom. Hayley had apparently just started to listen to the tape. It was in the cassette deck, paused only a few seconds into the interview.

Ten minutes in, Frankie got to the really damaging stuff. The rough location of the school. Descriptions of a few of the people he knew, information about some of the training. Damn amateur, they probably owed someone a favor when they took him in. No wonder his stay was short-lived.

She knew that all the senior operatives—members of the Elite Tactical Force—and most of the regular ops had been adopted as infants by the EOO, as she had been, and brought up fully within the system. You could immediately single them out by their presidential surnames. It was rare the Organization used someone like this man, who was obviously lacking in so many of what they considered essential skills: strong self-discipline, keen intellect, resourcefulness, ingenuity.

She could not allow Hayley to listen to the tape. The Castellano case file was less worrisome. Nothing potentially damaging to the Organization there, at least not obviously so. And nothing in the rest of Manny’s case files, or on the rest of the tapes, though she wasn’t able to read and listen to everything in the box as thoroughly as she would have liked.

Domino left everything exactly as she’d found it and slipped back into bed beside Hayley about an hour before dawn. She couldn’t sleep. Listening to Hayley’s soft breathing and admiring the soft swell of her breasts, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window, she was too caught up in planning how she could keep her out of trouble.

Hayley groaned and slapped blindly at the alarm clock. Workaholic that she was, she didn’t ordinarily mind pulling a holiday shift. It came with the job. News stopped for no one. But when she’d volunteered to sub for a colleague today, she’d had no idea she’d be waking up next to Luka.

The vision that greeted her when she opened her eyes and stretched was of a smiling Luka, propped on one elbow on her side, watching her. The sheet was pulled up, leaving the toned muscles of her shoulders and arms exposed, but hiding those magnificent, firm breasts and flat stomach she had so enjoyed exploring with her hands and mouth just hours earlier.

The memory of their coupling sent a quick rush of arousal through her, and she unconsciously pressed her thighs together to feel the vestiges of the wetness Luka’s touch had produced. The faint scent of sex hung in the air.

Luka’s unexpected arrival had turned her inside out, made her forget entirely about the evening of work she’d planned. It had been the most wonderfully satisfying evening she’d had in years, both sexually and emotionally. Their growing connection had compelled her to confess her growing feelings for Luka.

At the time, she had been too turned on and caught up in the moment to dwell on Luka’s response to her declaration—hitting the wall, her face a study in torment. Now Luka’s words echoed in her mind, demanding further consideration.
Don’t say that. You can’t fall for me. You can’t fall for a lie.

“And a good morning it is,” she replied, smiling back at Luka. “I really wish I didn’t have to go to work today.” She wanted to find out more about this lie that haunted Luka. And she
really
wanted to linger here in bed and have some more of what they’d had last night. But she didn’t have time for either.

“Impossible for reporters to just take the day off?” Luka frowned playfully in disappointment.
She softly caressed Luka’s hip. “Believe me, I would if I could.” She knew she should continue going through Manny’s box after work. But the thought of more intimacy with Luka and the opportunity to get to talk to her about what was happening between them was too compelling. “Tonight?”
“Definitely.” Luka moved nearer until their bodies were close. She pressed her lips against Hayley’s forehead as she enfolded her in a warm embrace. “What time?”
“How about here at six? We can have some dinner and make some fireworks of our own.” She sighed and closed her eyes, relishing the feel of their bodies wrapped together. Luka’s thigh slipped between hers, and she pushed her hips forward in response. “Mmm.” She squeezed Luka tighter to her. “You can get me started again way too easily. I better hit the shower, or I’ll be late.”
“Whatever you say.” Luka kissed her wetly on the cheek, making no move to loosen her embrace.
“Here I go.” But instead of pulling away, she turned her head to meet Luka’s mouth with her own, and they kissed, slow and languid and long. At some point, Luka moved on top of her and their bodies began to rock against each other, and she would have been very, very late to work if it hadn’t have been for the shrill interruption of her cell phone.
“I could kill whoever invented those things.” She rolled away from Luka reluctantly and hurried into the living room to retrieve it, horrified to see they had already kissed away her breakfast and early morning news-program time. She’d be lucky to take a shower.
And it wasn’t a good day to be late. Her colleague Amy was calling from the office, to tell her about an impromptu staff meeting that would begin in less than an hour.
She darted into the bathroom after she hung up, long enough to turn the shower on to warm up. Then she returned to the bedroom to find Luka dressing. She had her shirt on, but her bottom half was still wonderfully, distractingly naked. “Sorry I have to hurry like this but I have to get to a meeting.”
“No problem. Should I be sorry for making you late?” The smile on Luka’s face said it was a rhetorical question and that she wasn’t about to apologize.
Hayley smiled back mischievously. “Yes, and you should think of a way to make it up to me…later. Now get yourself some coffee, I’ll be right out.”
It took her five minutes to shower and fifteen more to get dressed and do her hair and makeup. Luka had fixed her a cup of coffee, but she only had time to take a couple of swigs from her mug as she threw Manny’s tapes and case files into one of the boxes. She also included the DVD of the enhanced assassination tape.
Manny’s personal belongings went into the other box. She’d see those were returned to his apartment so his family would get them. But she would keep the tapes and files with her. If the EOO could search his apartment, they wouldn’t hesitate to break into hers, either. Until she could go through everything, she wouldn’t let the evidence box out of her sight.
“I called a cab while you were in the shower,” Luka said as she gathered up her things. “I’ll wait outside for it. I had a friend drop me off last night.”
Something—jealousy? doubt?—twisted in Hayley’s gut and made her wonder exactly what kind of friend Luka had been with. And what had propelled Luka to her door so late at night, suddenly ready to consummate their sexual attraction when she had been so intent on taking things slow? Some kind of lie was standing between them. Was Luka with someone else?
“You’re not going to take a taxi all the way to DC, are you? I mean, I’d drive you, but—”
Luka cut her off as they both headed for the door. “It’s fine. I’ll take the cab to the train station and be home in no time. See you at six.”
She shifted the box to one hip so she could kiss Luka good-bye. “You’d better be prepared to see all of me at six.”
“I’ll be counting the minutes.”
As she pulled out of the lot, she waved at Luka, patiently seated on the stairs leading into her apartment building. Maybe Luka would begin to open up to her tonight. She hoped so, because she had a growing certainty that what was happening between them could grow into something very special if she did.
Today she was supposed to cover the myriad acts performing at the Inner Harbor Amphitheater, which kicked off Baltimore’s Fourth of July events. And that didn’t start until eleven. So, after the morning staff meeting let out, she spent the next ninety minutes calling the numbers listed on the yellow notebook paper she’d found in the Castellano case file. She had no idea whether it was indeed the “short list” of suspects Manny had promised her, a list of his powerful sources, or something else entirely, but it was certainly worth checking into.
The calls hadn’t yielded much. Of course, she was only making somewhat general inquiries at this point. She couldn’t very well refer to the tape, or ask if the person she was talking to had a gambling problem.
Nearly all of those she reached claimed to have no knowledge whatsoever of the Angelo Castellano case or an organization called the EOO, and couldn’t recall speaking to a Detective Manuel Vasquez about any murder case.
The eighth name on the list was a David Rabinowitz, and the number had a Washington, DC exchange. She didn’t recognize the name, but it was unusual enough that she Googled
David Rabinowitz Washington
while she waited. A Web site for Political Perspectives
,
a team of independent political advisors, came up. A David Rabinowitz was one of them.
His online bio indicated he had eighteen years’ experience behind the scenes in politics, having served as speechwriter or press secretary to a dozen members of Congress before starting his own advisory group. Most of the names of his former bosses were familiar, because many were still in office and she’d interviewed a few of them.
“Mr. Rabinowitz?” she inquired when he came on the line. “Sorry to interrupt your holiday. This is Hayley Ward. I’m a reporter.” She didn’t want to give the name of her paper, because she didn’t want anyone at the
Dispatch
to get wind of what she was up to. But she knew her status as a journalist might keep anyone from hanging up on her.
“This is David Rabinowitz. What did you say your name was?”
“Hayley Ward, Mr. Rabinowitz. I’m a freelance reporter, doing a story about organized crime in New York and an organization called the EOO. I ran across your name in connection with the Angelo Castellano case. He’s the mob boss who was killed three years ago in Brooklyn?”
“Freelance, you say?” he asked after a long silence. “Who are you doing this story for?”
That was interesting. He hadn’t started the conversation with
I don’t know what you’re talking about
, like most of the others had
.
“I’m not sure where this story will appear yet, Mr. Rabinowitz. Though I’ll keep you informed when it does. Did you talk to a Detective Manuel Vasquez about the Castellano case?”
“I know nothing about this case of yours, or any Detective Vasquez. I’m sorry, Miss Ward, but I have to take another call. Good luck with your story.”
“Wait, please! Don’t hang up.” She didn’t hear a dial tone, so he was still on the line. “Here’s my cell phone number. Please call me if you think of anything or know of anyone who might be able to help me.” She gave him the number.
“Good-bye, Miss Ward,” he said and disconnected.
It was very much like the other calls she’d made, but different enough that she put a star by his name before she continued to the next.

When Hayley left for work, Domino waited on the steps of her building for a few minutes to make sure she didn’t double back before she returned to the surveillance apartment across the street. She was certain Hayley was driving straight to her office and relatively sure she would keep the box of evidence with her until she had a chance to go through it.

Trying to retrieve it from Hayley’s car at work was risky—or worse yet, from inside the
Baltimore Dispatch
building itself, right under Hayley’s nose—but it was the best way to get it without casting suspicion upon herself, so she walked over to her surveillance apartment, pulled out her makeup kit, and started transforming herself.

An hour later, wearing worn-out jeans and a sweatshirt, she was unrecognizable, with a black wig, brown eyes, and much darker complexion. She put on yellow plastic cleaning gloves and emptied wastebaskets in the
Dispatch
newsroom into a large rolling cart she’d found in one of the janitorial closets, happy it was a holiday with few people around. At one point, she got close enough to Hayley’s desk to see the box beneath it. Now she needed her opportunity.

She waited. She watched. She cleaned. And a little after ten a.m., when Hayley stepped away from her desk and headed toward the break room, she was very, very quick.

Hayley was halfway through her coffee before she realized the box she had shoved beneath her desk was gone.
Oh, my God.
The shock hit her like a blast of icy air. She stood up and searched the newsroom for an unfamiliar face. There were none.
“Hey, Phil,” she called out to the weekend assignment editor, who was proofing copy on his computer fifteen feet away. “Did you see anyone near my desk?”
He looked at her above the bifocals pinching his nose. “Huh? Sorry?”
“Did you see anyone around here in the last couple of minutes? I had a box under my desk.” She held up her hands to roughly measure the dimensions. “It’s gone.”
Creases of concern knitted his forehead. “Gone? You mean stolen?” Now he looked around as well and reflexively patted his back pocket to reassure himself his wallet was still there. “No, Hayley, sorry. What was in it?”
“Never mind,” she said quickly, trying to head off any further explanations. But she knew despite her best efforts her voice betrayed her growing panic. Somehow, someway, the EOO had gotten in here in the scant two minutes she was down the hall in the break room and had made off with Manny’s box.
How the hell did they know I have it? That what was in it was worth the risk?
She couldn’t finish her workday. The theft of the box had ripped any remaining sense of safety from her. She kept looking around, almost expecting someone to come back for the list or to catch some unscrupulous colleague keeping tabs on her.
No. Impossible.
But the anonymous note had said the EOO had contacts in the media. Was it so far-fetched and paranoid to think someone at the
Dispatch
might be involved in all of this? Was that how she had been selected to receive the tape in the first place?
All she knew for certain was she was being watched...closely. And for the first time, they had invaded her turf, violated one of the few places where she had felt absolutely secure. To chance coming into the
Dispatch
offices in broad daylight surely meant they would do anything, go anywhere, to keep their secrets from being discovered.
What would they do next? She reached for the phone on her desk and took it apart, looking for something that didn’t belong. What did a bug look like anyway? She wasn’t sure she’d know one if she saw it. She should have asked Manny about them when he was checking out her cell phone. She found nothing, which reassured her a little, meaning they might not know about all of the phone calls she’d made that morning. She fished in her pocket for the list of names. At least she still had that. Thank God she hadn’t left it lying on her desk.
She regretted most the loss of the second Frankie the Fox tape. Although Manny had told her Frankie hadn’t disclosed the location of the Organization, it sure sounded like he had something concrete to offer about it. After all, they had gone to the trouble to steal it from her. That had to be a measure of its significance.
Nowhere is safe. Nowhere. Certainly not my apartment. I can’t stay there.
She told the supervisor on duty she had a personal emergency and needed to leave, then headed toward her car. Her gut instinct told her not to go home at all. But she’d left in such a hurry that morning, she’d taken nothing but her purse, Manny’s box, and the clothes on her back
. I’ll leave now, while they think I’m still at work, and make a quick stop there.
She’d pack a bag, grab her checkbook, laptop, a few clothes. Quick in and out. Should be safe. She tried to reassure herself, but she wondered whether she would ever feel safe again.