Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (3 page)

Rafe walked over to the liquor cabinet against the wall. Holding up an ornate bottle labeled “Pionneau 1969”, he smiled. “What’s your poison, Senator? A Camus Cognac or the smoothest scotch you’re likely to taste? Or perhaps you prefer coffee?”

The Senator’s smile was almost sincere. “Not coffee, Rafe. Ordinarily I wouldn’t turn down a forty-year-old cognac but a good belt of scotch has more appeal at the moment.”

Rafe rolled his eyes at the Senator’s clumsy attempt at good old boy bonhomie, as if he didn’t know that the Glenfiddich Scotch was as expensive as the Camus. He should have offered him a Budweiser to see if he’d deign to drink that! Rafe turned to Nicki and cocked a questioning brow.

“Nicki?”

“Yes, please. Scotch.”

Tony moved quietly in the background, lighting the fireplace. In minutes the crackling fire sent a warm pleasant glow throughout the room. As he moved to leave, Tony darkened the lights in the dining area and opened the drapes covering the floor-to-ceiling windows. From her seat across the room, Nicki was awed as she always was by the stark beauty of the Pocono Mountains. For a brief second, a wave of loneliness flashed over her, reminding her how much she missed her father. The two of them had spent many long evenings in front of the fireplace in their own mountain home high above Lucerne nestled in the Swiss Alps. Given that he was a virtual recluse, she rarely saw her father but they spoke almost daily. She glanced up in time to see Rafe studying her; his knowing gaze confirmed he likely knew what she was thinking. She looked down, not wanting to share any more of her soul than this unsettling man had already garnered.

Rafe set the bottle of Glenfiddich and three glasses on the coffee table. He poured two fingers of the pale amber liquid in each of their glasses, then handed one to Nicki and the other to the Senator. Filling his own glass he raised it to them both. His eyes were dark, shadowed.

“To the successful resolution of difficult issues.”

The Senator flushed, then nodded and drained his glass.

Rafe pushed the humidor of fragrant Cuban cigars in the center of the table toward the Senator, who took one from the embossed container. Nicki watched as Rafe carefully chose a cigar for himself then made a production of lighting it. He clipped the end with a heavy silver cutter, rolled the unlit cigar in his long slim fingers as if treasuring its feel, then delicately sniffed it.

With a flick of the silver lighter, he lit the Senator’s cigar, then his own. Quietly puffing on his cigar until it was drawing steadily, Rafe settled back in his chair, a cloud of fragrant smoke masking his half-closed eyes. Nicki sucked in a shaky breath watching the careful ritual play out. She was struck by Rafe’s easy elegance. Every movement was lazy, yet controlled. A symphony of orchestrated notes until he reached the self-imposed end of his carefully composed prelude. Never missing a beat, he turned to the unsuspecting Senator who at the moment appeared relaxed, lulled by Rafe’s deceptive hospitality.

Crossing his legs and flicking a nonexistent ash from the sharp crease on his trousers, Rafe’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. They were as hard, as cool as his words.

“What do you need from me, Senator?

The Senator started. Dusky red flooded his cheeks. In one sentence Rafe shifted the balance of power, clarifying the true nature of their relationship. Now the gloves were off. All the rest had been foreplay. From this minute forward the unwritten rules of the game were clear. The Senator was in trouble. And much as he hated to admit it, he did need Rafe. Badly.

Chapter 2

“It’s Hillary, my daughter. She…she’s gone.”

“How long?” Rafe’s voice was soft, calm.

“Since…since Monday.”

“Hmm. Five days?”

“Yes.” A note of anger crept into the Senator’s voice. “Her mother is worried sick.”

“I see. And you’re not?”

The Senator scowled. “I wasn’t. Not at first. Now, I’m beginning to wonder. If it’s more than one of her usual pranks. Trying to get my attention.”

“Have you notified the police?”

The Senator shuddered, running his hands over his stylishly coiffed hair.

“God, no! Jesus, man, you know how “discreet” the police are. The D.C., department is a fucking sieve. It wouldn’t be two hours before the press was all over it.”

Rafe studied the agitated man in front of him. The Senator’s face was flushed, a sheen of sweat marked his brow. But it was anger not concern that radiated from the previously contained politician. Rafe kept his tone cool, bordering on casual. He didn’t want to incite the Senator. He could learn more from the Senator if he could get him to drop his mask.

“How old is Hillary?”

“Seventeen.” Chambers added with a harsh grunt, “Going on thirty, if you know what I mean.” He gave Rafe a quick glance. Rafe saw the contempt in his eyes. Contempt, for his own daughter? Or more likely for women in general. The Senator was a “user”, a known philanderer. His sly glance confirmed he thought he saw a kindred spirit in Rafe. Just one more reason to despise the guy, Rafe thought, disgust churning in his gut.

Rafe puffed thoughtfully on his cigar.

“You mentioned her previous behavior. Has this happened before? Has your underage daughter ‘left’ for days at a time without letting you or your wife know where she is?”

The senator snapped, dispensing with his usual civility.

“Look, Boudin. You can cut the sarcastic crap. You know what I’m dealing with here. You know damn well the implications for my political career of an incident like this. The press would pillory me with it. Hillary is outrageous. Uncontrollable. It’s been one episode after another. All for the purpose of embarrassing me.”

He went on, sneering. “Apparently the finest education, a clothes budget that exceeds the average income of a middle class six person family, plus potentially being the daughter of the President of the United States isn’t enough for my ungrateful spawn.”

Senator Chambers grimaced then his expression hardened further. He shifted in his chair and pinned Rafe with a fierce glare.

“Let’s be clear, Boudin. The reason I’m here is because this could be a public relations disaster. There’s no telling what mess my daughter has gotten herself into now. But one word of this latest prank of hers hits the press and you won’t get a dime!”

Rafe leaned forward and tapped his cigar into the ashtray in front of him. Settling back in his chair he returned the fuming man’s gaze.

“Indeed, Senator. Let us be clear. First, I have not agreed to take your case. If I do, and that will depend on a number of factors, I make the rules, you don’t. Since you seem concerned about the financial aspects of our potential arrangement, let’s address that issue before we discuss the obvious safety concerns for your young daughter. My fee is $500,000.” At the Senator’s gasp, Rafe puffed on his cigar, then continued.

“The first $250,000 is due before you leave tonight and is non-refundable. The remaining $250,000 is due when we return your daughter to you. Plus expenses, of course.”

Purplish red splotches stained the Senator’s cheeks. His voice was thick with outrage. He blustered, “You’ve got to be joking! That’s insane. A half a million dollars to find a spoiled brat who’s likely holed up somewhere high on coke with a bunch of low-life social climbers who would like nothing better than to knock up the daughter of a sitting United States Senator?”

Rafe shrugged. “It’s your choice, Senator Chambers. Those are my terms. My additional terms are that you and your wife open your doors to me and my team and that you answer every question we ask no matter how personal. You came to me for a reason, Senator. I’m not yet clear what that is. From what you’ve said, you value discretion above all else. In addition to discretion, ISA is effective. If I decide to help you, we’ll find your daughter, Senator Chambers. On my terms, not yours.”

He leaned forward and ground out his cigar. Unwinding his lean frame from the overstuffed chair, Rafe walked to the desk against the far wall. He removed a Mont Blanc pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and took a pad of paper from the drawer. Scribbling on it, he tore off the top sheet.

He folded the paper and handed it to the Senator.

“Both of these men are excellent private investigators. They charge a tenth of what I do. Given your description of the situation, their skills are adequate for the job. And both men are discreet. I recommend that you put your staff on the public relation components. I’m confident they have a wealth of experience maintaining your public image without letting the details of your private life sully that façade.”

The Senator reared up. He looked apoplectic. The vein in his temple throbbed dangerously. Rafe’s fighter instincts kicked in. The Senator looked ready to charge.

Then, as if the air had been let out of an overinflated blimp, the deflated man sunk back in his chair, his face pale, jaw slack. He coughed—a practiced signal. His aide who had been standing discreetly in the hallway stepped into the doorway.

Without looking up, the Senator waved him in.

“This is Ken Peters, my chief of staff. He’s the only one on my team I trust.”

The small bespeckled young man entered, his face tight with concern. He nodded politely to both Rafe and Nicki.

Senator Chambers looked up and met Rafe’s gaze.

“It’s…it’s more than that. More than a public relations problem. Or maybe the biggest public relations problem I’ve faced.”

He hesitated but at Rafe’s calm expression, he continued.

“I… got this note…. Give it to him, Ken.”

Rafe took a silk square from his inside jacket pocket and accepted the folded sheet of paper Peters held out to him. He read it at a glance then handed the note to Nicki. She took it, carefully holding the corner of the paper in the silk cloth as she read it.

Rafe turned to the Senator.

“When did you get this?”

“Two days ago. I thought it was another of Hillary’s clumsy grasps for attention. Wanting to upset me. Thumbing her nose at me. This kind of thing is not beyond Hillary. She’s into drama, just like her mother. Anything to get attention. It doesn’t help that she despises me.”

He met Rafe’s stern gaze and stammered.

“Look, dammit. What can I say? I didn’t take it seriously. What the hell is a Volkov? Is that supposed to be a takeoff on some Russian name? Christ, I thought it was some kind of a joke. Something Hillary and her skanky friends cooked up. I…I didn’t think it was real.”

He ran his hands through his hair taking care not to muss the precisely positioned layers.

“And now?”

The Senator’s voice dropped.

“Now…. Now I’m not so sure.”

Rafe nodded.

“So that there is no misunderstanding, Senator, and in the interest of full disclosure, my fee just doubled.”

At the Senator’s shocked gasp, Rafe added, “The other terms remain the same.”

Chapter 3

Rafe spent thirty minutes updating Caleb and Grayson on the crisis. None of them had heard of a sex trade ring with the name Volkov.

“Look, men, it may be someone’s name or who the hell knows. It could even be a red herring, to lead the chase off base. It would be ironic if that fucking asshole is right and his daughter or someone close to her is responsible. We’re not making any assumptions. Gray, contact Vlad and the team in Chechnya. That’s the hottest human trafficking arena in the world at this time. God help Hillary if by some fluke she’s ended up on their radar. “

When they finished laying out preliminary plans, Grayson and Caleb headed for the Cave, the affectionate nickname for their twenty-five-hundred square foot, state of the art technology center. Rafe prided himself that although it wasn’t the Pentagon, it was pretty damn close—all the more impressive since it supported an international team of forty, rather than the 25,000 plus who worked at the Pentagon. They agreed to pull the team together at 0700 and patch Vlad and his Eastern Bloc lieutenants into a conference call. When he was able to get some true privacy, Rafe planned to call the man who knew about everything Russian, and a hell of a lot more about the dark side of humanity: Yuri Petrakov, Nicki’s father.

~~~

As the other men headed out the door, Rafe signaled to Nicki to stay behind. He poured himself a healthy dose of scotch and raised the bottle inquiringly to Nicki. She nodded in agreement. He filled her glass, handed it to her then raised his in a salute.

He smiled at her. “You were wonderful tonight, Nicki. In addition to looking beautiful, you seemed to share my distaste for our guest, which in my mind indicates you are a sound judge of character.”

Nicki shrugged and returned his smile. “Did you honestly think Rafe, given my father’s various associates, that I am not able to recognize a pretentious prick when I meet one?”

Rafe chuckled. “Yeah, Nicki, I’m sure you’ve met some unusual characters over the years. But I have to tell you, Chambers tops the asshole scale for me.”

He strode restlessly over to the fireplace. Placing his hand against the mantle, he focused on the flickering flames, as if seeking the answer to a knotty problem. He frowned, his face contorting with disgust.

“Fuck, he actually spent two and a half hours preening like a peacock before mentioning that his seventeen-year-old daughter has likely been kidnapped and is being held for ransom. Shit. A fucking public relations problem is how he views the fact that Hillary may be a victim of an international sex ring.”

Rafe paced across the room, tugging at his neck, twisting his head from side to side to loosen the tension. Nicki resisted the impulse to reach out to touch him. She wondered what he would do if she offered to massage the tight muscles. Shaken by the daring thought, her cheeks flamed. Gratified that Rafe didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment, she focused on his passionate description of the Senator.

“He’s a scoundrel, Nicki. All his life, he’s had everything handed to him on a platinum platter. Nothing and no one is allowed to intrude on that storybook life. Think about it. He’s spent years creating the perfect image and now his daughter might screw it up for him. Must be tough when you’ve worked as hard he has on his public persona to have his private life interfere. And now the fucker is annoyed that his teenage daughter might undo all that hard work. But hell, won’t be the first time a politician has been brought down by what happens in the back room.”