Lethal Affairs (5 page)

Monty Pierce paced in front of the large picture windows of his office, impatient for an update on the latest developments. He couldn’t see anything but the lights of the campus below; the sun wouldn’t rise above the Rocky Mountains outside for another half hour. But he couldn’t sleep.

The EOO was all he knew. One of its first students, he had been raised within its environs, watched it grow and prosper. And his lifelong devotion to duty had earned him his position and a one-third share of the Organization along with Arthur and Grant, which its founder had presented to them when he retired.

He could allow nothing to jeopardize its future. But for the first time in its history, the Organization seemingly faced a serious threat. It had taken two days to discover what had happened to the security tape of the Guerrero job, and the news wasn’t good.

One of the detectives on the case had accepted a ten-thousanddollar bribe to switch a blank tape for the real one just before it was sent to lockup for the evening. Though his anonymous contact had advised him against it, the cop foolishly deposited the entire amount of cash in his wife’s bank account the next day, which led the EOO to him. He gave them what they wanted when they threatened to expose him, but the trail had ended there.

Pierce stared down at a folder marked
Strike/Hayley Ward.
It contained a wide-ranging profile of the reporter and a color photo—the one on her Maryland driver’s license. Inside was also a copy of the dictated note the cop had sent her along with the tape.

His greatest concern was the author of the note. Clearly, a powerful person who knew about the EOO and wanted to bring it down.
An inside job, he wondered. Arthur, or Grant, or perhaps someone else from within the Organization, ready to offer him up in a deal with a foreign government or some Boy Scout federal prosecutor, in exchange for immunity? He prayed it wasn’t Joanne.
No one can be trusted
, the note said. Probably good advice. It was best to be prudent. For the time being, he decided not to brief Grant and Arthur about what was going on.
He glanced at his watch. It was eight a.m. in Baltimore. Their most immediate problem should be leaving for work any time. And once she did, an EOO team would search her apartment and plant listening devices on her phone and in every room.
From the logos on their van and carpenter’s coveralls, any nosy neighbors would think Hayley Ward was getting new floor tiles from a firm called Absolute Renovations. But with luck, the Organization would profit from their labors.
At two p.m., Pierce received confirmation that the sweep of Hayley’s apartment had been completed. Her computer files showed she’d been digging for information about the Organization and unsolved political murders, but the crew did not find the missing surveillance video. Hayley Ward was a pack rat—a sentimental collector with so much crammed into her two-bedroom apartment to search, they had no time to open every CD case and scan every DVD to see if it contained a digital copy of the tape.
Five hours later, the tap they’d placed on Hayley’s phone gave Pierce his first usable information. In a call to her sister, Hayley revealed that she planned to attend an AIDS benefit in Washington the next night. There they could attach an operative to her, and since their intelligence indicated Hayley was a lesbian who favored blondes, Pierce sent for Cameo.
As he waited for her to arrive for their briefing, he mulled over other options for the evening.
The benefit would draw movers and shakers from all over Washington, a lot of whom Pierce knew personally, and he considered it entirely possible Hayley might try to ask some of them questions related to the tape. He might also be able to determine if she had solicited a colleague to help her.
He didn’t often go out in the field any more, but he
was
the best person suited for this task. And he preferred to brief as few Organization people as possible about this whole affair until he was certain it wasn’t an inside job. His paranoia was running overtime.
So they’d need two invitations. No,
three
, he realized. If everything went according to plan, he wanted to accomplish one more objective tomorrow night.

omino’s layout was one of her most inspired yet, with bridges, drops, curves, and stairways composed of neat stacks of dominos. She was always careful to insert securities as she built—gaps or wooden barriers—to prevent the premature toppling of a work in progress. And for some time in her setups she had used colored dominos, which made for more spectacular and eye-catching effects than the ivory or black bones with pips used for gaming.

Three days of meticulous work and she still hadn’t finished the piece. While some modern-day enthusiasts strove to create layouts that mirrored real-life objects, she always produced abstract patterns— complex, colorful designs that sometimes filled nearly every inch of her condo’s available floor space.

The precise meticulousness required for such an elaborate setup demanded her full attention, so when she needed to escape mentally, she used her dominos as a routine and welcome distraction. Especially after a hit, she needed something to engage her mind and free her from the haunting images of blood and death.

Her extensive music collection, heavily weighted with alternative rock and independent labels, also helped her flee the violence of her profession. On this particular night, Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” was playing so loud her cell phone rang three times before she heard it.

“Good evening. I need you to join me at a benefit in DC tomorrow night.” The caller didn’t identify himself because he didn’t need to. Monty Pierce had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember.

“Business?” As she spoke, she absently twirled a domino between her fingers, like a magician keeping limber with his disappearing coin.
“Undetermined. Dress up. It’s an AIDS fundraiser. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.” The line went dead.
She stood still, staring at her cell. His unusual request made her curious. She rarely accompanied Pierce on a purely social outing.

A late-model limo awaited Domino, its driver a young man she guessed to be one of the Organization’s current crop of senior students— dark-haired and about seventeen. When he opened the door for her, Pierce was seated in the back, handsome in formal black tie. Beside him sat another ETF op named Cameo—an attractive blonde, close to her own age—dressed to seduce in a low-cut red cocktail dress and stiletto heels. Though this development surprised Domino, she revealed no trace of her reaction in her expression or greeting.

“Good evening,” she hailed them both, as she slipped into the empty seat on the other side of Pierce. Her own black dress was only slightly less provocative than the other woman’s; both were standard fare for female ops assigned to a social event where they might have to extract information or make an impression. And that morning she’d finally had her straight, medium brown hair trimmed to just below her shoulders, the long bangs styled to sweep away from her oval face in soft waves. Her makeup was understated,—a bit of rouge, a hint of eye shadow and mascara to enhance her blue-gray eyes, and a shimmery bronze lipstick. She had designed her entire appearance to convey tasteful elegance.

“You remember Cameo?” Pierce said as the limo pulled away from the curb and headed toward their destination.
“Yes, of course. Nice to see you again.”
“Good to see you, too,” the blonde answered. “Long time.”
She wanted to ask Pierce whether he had learned anything about the Miami tape, but now wasn’t the time. Although the car was a safe environment, they all knew not to discuss any specifics of their assignments—past, present, or future—with other operatives. “What brings us together tonight?” she asked instead.
Pierce plucked a trace of lint from the crease in his trousers. “Cameo is going to make a new friend.”
“Why am I joining in?”
“You will arrive separately, avoiding contact with either of us,” he replied, handing her an invitation to the event. “Mingle with other guests until Cameo signals you. You’re to make sure her new friend has no problems with you.”
“If they do?”
“Then you are to leave ASAP and contact me from somewhere safe,” he replied. “Cameo will introduce herself as Michelle tonight, and I want you to use the name Jennifer.”
“Understood.”
The gala affair, in the candlelit ballroom of the Washington Hilton, had the formal ambience required when soliciting generous donations for a worthy cause. Crisply starched white linen covered the tables, the wineglasses were fine crystal, and one of the city’s leading chefs was supervising the preparation of the five-course gourmet meal.
But the attendees didn’t include the usual mix of big-money conservative businessmen who so often dominated fundraisers in the nation’s capital. This benefit to help fund AIDS programs always drew an eclectic mix of guests—hip Hollywood stars, conservative politicians, trendy artists, flamboyant queens, rock legends, preppy students, medical professionals, and nearly everyone else imaginable. The cause united them, for a red AIDS ribbon was pinned on nearly every lapel and gown.
“Good evening. May I see your invitation?” The young man at the door was representatively dressed in a black tux with a whimsical pink cummerbund and tie that said the evening should be a lively, fun affair.
Once inside, Domino scanned the area like a predator looking for a vulnerable stray. Though solitary by nature, she had learned to fit in, to make light conversation, to observe. She grabbed a glass of wine from the tray of a circulating waiter and headed for a distinguishedlooking man about her age who stood nearby staring at his drink.
“Interesting crowd, don’t you think?”
After a brief, superficial conversation, she moved on to an older woman, a doctor with the Centers for Disease Control, and from her to a budding young artist with a mohawk. As she nodded politely to his discourse on the state of federal funding for the arts, she sensed she was being watched and looked beyond him at an attractive redhead studying her from across the room.
Nice.
She favored this type—the right age and height, with appealing curves displayed to perfection in a clingy, low-cut, lavender dress.
When their eyes met, the redhead smiled, conjuring up wonderful dimples, and Domino smiled back. As she decided to strike up a conversation with this woman next—and perhaps mix a little pleasure with the business at hand—someone called her name, her
real
name, all too loudly. “Luka. I thought that was you.”
She turned to find the assistant director of the Smithsonian American Art Museum, her contact for a lengthy art restoration project she’d tackled a year or so earlier. “Madeleine. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has. Too long,” the woman agreed before she acknowledged the young mohawk-artist Domino had been talking to with a tilt of her head. “Hello…Bernard, isn’t it? I saw your exhibit at the Anton Gallery last month. You have a unique perspective.” Domino had heard the line often when someone had to acknowledge an artist whose work was lacking.
“Thanks.” The young man grinned. “Some people don’t get my stuff. I know it’s kind of out there…” He clearly planned to continue, and probably for a long while, but Madeleine cut him off.
“Would you excuse us, dear? I need to talk business with Luka, see if she has a place in her schedule to work on a painting for us.”
“Oh. Sure. No problem.”
As he ambled toward one of the open bars and Domino tried to decide how to cut short this conversation, the attractive redhead she’d been staring at earlier suddenly appeared at her elbow.
“Luka, is it? And you’re an artist?”
“Art restorer,” Madeleine curtly answered for her, obviously perturbed to lose one competitor for Domino’s attention only to gain another. “And we were about to discuss some private business.” She smiled as though this explanation compensated entirely for her rudeness.
“Let me give you a call tomorrow, Madeleine.” Domino said, finding it difficult to keep from staring at the redhead’s cleavage. “I have your number, and tonight should be about pleasure, not business.”
“Indeed it should,” the redhead flirted back, addressing her response exclusively to Domino.
Madeleine frowned, clearly outnumbered. “Of course. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Her tone was pure pout, but she took the hint and left them alone.
“Luka’s an unusual name. What’s the rest of it?” The dimples made another appearance, and Domino had to keep reminding herself she was here on a job, which she’d better get back to. But this woman was too damn attractive to brush off for good. She’d get her number, and perhaps they could meet later for a drink and an evening of fun. It had been too long since she’d been out with anyone.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” she replied. “How about giving me your name?”
“Hayley.” The redhead offered her hand. “Hayley Ward.”
“Nice to meet you, Hayley. And I’d like to get to know you better, but I actually
do
have to work some tonight. I’m supposed to be looking for a friend.” Domino looked around for Cameo but didn’t see her immediately. The crowd was getting thick as people continued to arrive. “Perhaps we can get together later?”
“Oh, I’d like that. Very much,” Hayley replied.
A cluster of partygoers dispersed, and Domino finally spotted Cameo standing by one of the bars, alone. And she was staring at the two of them.
What the hell?
What was she doing?
“Well, come find me.” Hayley sounded disappointed, and her body language as she departed spelled reluctance, which Domino found immensely encouraging.
I’ll find you.
As soon as she could determine what she was doing here and how fast she could get away.
Domino focused on Cameo, but she also remained peripherally aware of Hayley Ward. For later.
As she sipped her wine and moved into the throng, stopping now and then to exchange pleasantries with someone, she watched Cameo do the same, working her way discreetly toward her.
Hayley was off to her right, chatting with an older man in a blue suit while taking notes. Once or twice, Hayley caught her looking and smiled.
Cameo brushed past her then and said in a voice only she could hear, “I’m on my way to see a friend.” To her dismay, the blond operative walked straight to Hayley Ward.
Domino saw them shake hands, could almost hear Cameo introduce herself. She focused now solely on the two women. She hadn’t recognized Hayley, and her instincts told her the woman didn’t “have a problem” with her.
They made small talk, and now and then Hayley peered over Cameo’s shoulder, as if to see if she was still there. When the growing crowd obscured her view of them, she moved closer, but off to one side, to watch them in profile. Cameo appeared to be engaging the redhead’s interest, for now and then Hayley would laugh at some remark or nod and smile.
When dinner was announced, she waited until the two of them took seats at one of the large round tables, then claimed a seat opposite them. If Hayley had a problem with her, whatever that meant, she would know it soon enough.
The look on Hayley’s face when she sat down was one of pleasant surprise, and Domino felt a small sense of satisfaction when the redhead turned from Cameo to concentrate her attention exclusively in her direction.
“Hi again,” Hayley said, with a wry smile. “Glad you could join us. Did you take care of what you needed to?”
“Yes, for the moment,” she said, smiling back. “I didn’t mention it earlier, but you look familiar. Have we met before?”
“Highly doubtful,” Hayley replied. “I’m certain I’d remember.” All at once she seemed to remember the woman at her side. “Luka, this is Michelle.” As the two operatives shook hands, Hayley added rather pointedly, “We just met.”
Other guests began to fill in the seven other place settings at their table, but Hayley’s attention remained on Domino. “So, what brings you here this evening?”
“It’s a good cause, and I know a few people here,” she replied. “Big affairs like this aren’t usually my scene, but once in a while they take you by surprise, and you find yourself seated next to someone inspiring.”
Hayley leaned forward with a pleased expression and, almost unconsciously, Domino did as well, wanting to bridge the distance across the table. “I’d agree with that assessment, for sure. So, you’re an art restorer. What kind of medium do you work in?”
“It varies,” Domino said. “I take on the occasional painting, but mostly I do murals in churches and cathedrals. I actually prefer those.”
The waiters began serving, but the arrival of dinner did nothing to impede their discussion. Out of the corner of her eye, Domino noticed Pierce seated at the next table, positioned facing them. He seemed engaged in conversation with other guests, but he was watching them closely.
Not for the first time, she wondered what he was doing there. He rarely played a personal role in any assignment, but so much about this job was out of the ordinary, almost surreal. What was Cameo’s objective with Hayley? And why had Pierce kept her in the dark about who they were to meet?
“Please tell me you’re in Washington because you live here, and not merely for a restoration project,” Hayley asked between the first and second courses.
“I do live here. I’m just back, actually, from a job in Malta.”
“What paper do you work for?” Cameo inquired, breaking the spell and finally forcing Hayley to acknowledge her.
“The
Baltimore Dispatch
,” she replied, more to Domino than the woman who had asked the question.
“What do you do there?” Domino asked.
“I’m a reporter.”
Pierce’s words came to mind. She wondered why a reporter might “have a problem with her.” “That sounds interesting. What are you working on now?”
“Well, I’m currently covering this.”
“That explains a lot.” Domino kept her tone light and teasing.
“What do you mean?”
“All the questions you’ve been asking,” she explained. “I hope they were all off the record. If not, then allow me to give you a worthwhile quote.”
“Oh, I’m always receptive to what someone interesting has to say. Whatcha got?”
She thought a moment. “An artist’s dream is to have inspiration fall in her lap.” Domino could see in her peripheral vision that Cameo was staring at her, but she kept her attention on Hayley, delighting in the laugh her comment had produced.
“Does inspiration usually come to you that way?” Hayley asked with a crooked grin.
“No, that’s quite exceptional,” Domino replied. “Where do you find inspiration, Hayley?”
“Anywhere and everywhere,” she said. “Usually when I least expect it. Take tonight, for example.”
“What about tonight? Are you feeling particularly inspired?”
“Definitely.” Hayley’s grin widened, exposing those delightful dimples again.
Before she could ask anything further, Cameo tried to inject herself back into the conversation. “What will you write about the event tonight?”
“You mean aside from a certain artist’s interesting quote…” Hayley never took her eyes off Domino. “The usual boring stuff. How much money was raised, a plug for the sponsors, a mention of the VIPs who attended. I really want meatier stories like investigative stuff, or politics, but those usually go to more senior reporters. Any I do, I have to enterprise myself.”
“Are you working on anything of that sort right now?” Cameo asked.
That would’ve been Domino’s question if a subtle signal from Pierce hadn’t distracted her. He got up and headed toward the restrooms.
“Actually, yes. I may have a pretty big one in the works,” Hayley replied. “But it’s still too early to tell.”
“Please excuse me for a moment.” Domino got to her feet and followed Pierce. He was waiting for her out of Hayley’s line of sight.
“She likes you. Use it.” He said it in a low voice when she got within range, but he didn’t outwardly acknowledge knowing her, and he continued toward the men’s room.
Domino lingered in the women’s room for another couple of minutes before she returned to the table. Pierce’s instruction was to turn on the charm, get Hayley to like her. She’d been asked to do that many times before, had been trained for it, so she didn’t question such instructions. But this particular assignment wasn’t unpleasant at all.
As the waiters cleared away their dessert dishes, music began to play, the lights dimmed, and several couples started toward the dance floor. Cameo began to rise, clearly intending to ask Hayley to dance, but before she could, Pierce appeared behind her.
“Michelle. I thought that was you,” he exclaimed as he put an arm around her waist. “I almost didn’t recognize you, it’s been so long. How’s your father? Still spending every spare minute on the golf course?”
“Hey there, what are you doing here?” she replied, giving him a friendly peck on the cheek. “I’ll tell Dad you asked after him, and yes, he’s much worse since he retired.”
“Favor me with a dance?” he asked. “I’ll try not to step on your toes.”
“You’d better keep that promise this time,” she replied, turning briefly to Hayley and Domino. “If you ladies will excuse me.”
They joined other couples, gay and straight, who were swinging to an up-tempo Michael Buble version of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” Then Domino turned to Hayley. “Do you know what would make this night perfect?”
“Tell me.”
“If you would dance with me.”
“I’d love to make this night perfect for you,” Hayley said. “Especially since it would do the same for me.”
Domino rose and extended her hand, Hayley rounded the table to take it, and when they reached the dance floor, they fell into an easy swing step so comfortably in sync they seemed to have danced together many times before.
If Pierce and Cameo hadn’t been so near, Domino might have had to force herself at times to remember she was here on business, for Hayley was engaging company. The dress she was barely wearing clung to her as she danced, outlining her hips and breasts, and from the provocative way she moved, her sexual interest in Domino was unmistakable.