The Mayan Apocalypse (17 page)

“I should be surprised, but I'm not.” He moved past her. “This way, please. We'll sit in the living room.”

She could hear tension in his voice. “Thank you. Wait, did you just say you're not surprised?”

He led her to a living room the size of her apartment. The assessment was probably an exaggeration, but not by much. The marble tile gave way to a carpet so thick and lush that she wanted to lie down on it. Furniture that would cost her a year's salary populated the space. Paintings—fine reproductions of paintings by well-known impressionists—in wide, ornate frames hung on the walls. At least she thought they were reproductions.

“You strike me as the kind of person who doesn't take no for an answer.”

“I did call.” A blanket, pillow, and a couple of paperback books cluttered a large sofa next to the wall. Two glass tumblers with a film of their dried contents rested on the floor. Was he sleeping down here?

“Yes, you did. Let's talk in the sitting area. It's cleaner.” He motioned to a pair of sofas with flowery print fabric in the corner. His wife's choice, she assumed. A round, glass coffee table sat centered in the space. It struck Lisa as odd that there would be a “room” within a room, something she had seen only in magazines. “I should apologize for the mess. As you know, I'm a bachelor now.”

A weak joke.

“No need to apologize to me. I showed up unexpectedly. I seem to have got you mid-workout.”

If being dressed the way he was embarrassed him, Lisa couldn't see it.

“My second workout of the day. I was at the gym earlier.”

“A light workday?” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. His frown made her guilt worse. “Sorry. I still have control issues with my mouth.”

“Which is why I didn't call you back.”

“I didn't think I had been that rude.” She sat on one of the sofas. He sat on the sofa across from her.

“Rude enough.”

“I did apologize.”

“Yes, you did, and I know I'm overly sensitive, but the more I thought about our conversation, the more it ate at me.”

“I apologize again. I shouldn't have pried into your personal business or offered counseling I'm not qualified to give.”

A slight, polite smile appeared, the kind a man who has been offended gives the one who had offended him. “I work out a lot. It's how I deal with stress, and I have a great deal on my mind.”

“I pace. I've ruined my share of carpet by logging miles and miles of pacing.”

“So where is it?”

The question caught her off guard. “Where is what?”

“Your car. I live off the beaten path. I doubt you walked here.”

“Maybe I took a cab.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. You seem like the kind of person who plans well. I need to know if I should call a taxi for you. Do I?”

“No. I parked down the road, on one of the side streets. Then I walked here.”

“I figured it was something like that. Clever in its own way, but a bit manipulative, don't you think?”

“You're kind to say that it's just a ‘bit' manipulative.”

His smile turned genuine. “By ‘bit,' I meant ‘way over the top.' ”

“Oh.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Lisa, why are you here?”

“First, I wanted to apologize again for being so nosey and pushy when all you did was go out of your way to get me home.”

“You've already done that, and you could have done that on the phone.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, you got me. You could have done that on the phone if I had returned your calls. What's the second reason you're here?”

Lisa had seen video of the members of the Polar Bear Club— people who, every winter, jumped into freezing water with nothing but a swimsuit on. She felt as if she were about to do the same. She inhaled deeply and held it for a moment. Then she let it out. “My editor wants me to do a story on people who believe the world will end in 2012.”

“There are tens of thousands of people who believe that. Why me?”

And there it was: the question she didn't want to answer. “Because you're rich.”

He straightened. “What's that got to do with anything?”

She bit her lip. “Okay, cards on the table. You're not like the others. Let's face it. Some people will follow any wild-eyed cultist.”

“Wild-eyed cultist?”

“You know what I mean. You're different than most people. It's not just your wealth, but your education, your success in business, and your intelligence. I want to do a story about people like you who—it seems—would dismiss the 2012 theory in favor of…” This time she caught herself.

“In favor or something more logical?”

“Well…yes.”

Morgan sighed and rubbed his face. Before he could speak, his cell phone rang. He retrieved it from his jeans, looked at the screen, and closed his eyes. “Excuse me.” He stood and raised the phone to his ear. “Hello, Candy.”

Candy?
She looked around the room, trying to appear disinterested. She saw nothing, but she heard everything Morgan had to say.

“Actually, I'm kinda busy.” He listened. “I know I haven't called, but I've been swamped with things. I apologize.” Another pause. “No, I'm sorry, I'm not available tonight.” He began to pace faster. “I have a meeting tonight…Yes…No…Yes, there's a woman here, but…Candy…Candy, let me talk. It's not like that. She's a reporter. Then I have a video conference soon, and…Candy, listen to me… Yes, I enjoyed our dinner, but…Candy? Candy?”

Morgan lowered the phone and returned it to his pocket.

“Should I ask?”

“Probably not.” Morgan stared at her for a moment. “Let me ask you a question. Do you like Indian food?”

“Are you trying to curry my favor?”

“Oh, a punster.”

“The pun's the thing.”

His smile broadened. “And Shakespeare too.”

“To answer your question, I love Indian food.”

N
o she didn't!” Lisa laughed louder than she intended, drawing the attention of several of the patrons in the Star of India restaurant downtown. “She said, ‘Indian food like maize?' ” She laughed again, holding her sides. “That's rich. Th at's…I don't know what it is.”

“Apparently you think it's pretty funny.” Morgan was grinning. “I didn't see the humor in it at the moment.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh. It's rude—” Another belly laugh erupted.

“My chauffeur found it amusing too.” He raised a glass of water to his lips and took a sip. He gazed at her through the clear glass. Her laughter was as contagious as it was loud. Her normally slightly pale face was reddened.

Lisa raised a hand and dabbed at the tears forming in her eyes, careful not to touch her eyeliner. Morgan found it endearing.

He straightened the napkin on his lap, spreading it over the fresh pair of jeans he had donned. He wore a gray long-sleeve shirt and a dark blue sports jacket.

“Did things get better from there?” She took several deep breaths.

“No, the whole thing started off slow and then bogged down from there. I'm afraid one drink after another didn't improve her any.”

“That's cold.”

“But accurate. She did, however, invite me up to her place. She made it clear she had, um, intentions.”

Lisa's smile evaporated. “Oh, really? Well…”

“This is where you ask if I accepted her offer.”

“That would be impolite.” She picked up her glass of sparkling water and took a long sip.

“Come on. I know you know how to be impolite.”

Lisa snapped her head up. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Morgan didn't reply. He did broaden his grin.

“Okay, okay. I had that coming. So, did you take her up on her offer?”

“Nope. I kissed her on the forehead and ran like a scared Cub Scout.”

“I bet she liked that.”

“Not so much. If looks could kill, you'd be dining with a corpse.”

“Oh, yuck. Woman trying to eat here.” A moment later, she chuckled. “At least you're not sitting around the house feeling sorry for yourself.” Her own words shocked her. “I didn't mean—”

“No problem, but who's to say I'm not sitting around moping?”

“I just assumed…” She pursed her lips. “I don't know what I assumed.”

“Everyone and their dog is trying to get me back into the dating scene. I was never good at that. I met my wife in college. She's the only one I've dated…well, until Candy.”

“People are really pressing you to date?”

He nodded. “My aunt, three vice presidents, four of their wives, my personal assistant, and my chauffeur.”

“Are you going to see her again? I mean, she did call you.”

“She's called me a dozen times. Okay, I may be exaggerating, but she has called several times. Apparently my aunt Ida gave Candy my number.”

“Between me and Candy, you may have to get a new phone number.”

“I may do that.”

“So you're not interested in dating.”

He folded his hands on the table. “What's the point? I can't get over my wife, and besides…”

“Besides what?”

“You know. December 21, 2012. Who knows if any of us will be around?”

“And you really believe that?”

Morgan said he did. “Don't you Christians believe the rapture is coming? You know, that event when believers will be caught up in the air to meet Jesus?”

“Yes, but that's different.”

He leaned back in the chair. “Not in my eyes.”

Morgan watched her, waiting for a sharp retort. Instead, she looked sad but said nothing.

The waiter appeared and set down a plate of Tandoori chicken in front of Lisa, and a plate of lamb curry before Morgan. The sight and smell revved his appetite. That and two challenging workouts in one afternoon had left him in need of sustenance.

Morgan seized his fork and was about to stab a cube of lamb when he noticed Lisa sitting with her head bowed. His son had started praying over meals a few months before his death. The sight of the silent conversations drew sad memories from the well of his soul. He waited for her to finish. When she raised her head, he took his first bite. The spice made his eyes water and threatened to cause his tongue to combust. He wouldn't have it any other way.

“How much time do we have left?” Lisa asked as she pulled the chicken from the bone.

He glanced at his watch. “About an hour-fifteen. We have time.” When she had agreed to join him for dinner, he told her that he had to be back home by eight. Jasper Kinkade had sent him a text informing him what time Quetzal would call. He also received an e-mail from Charles Balfour sharing his excitement about the upcoming chat.

“So, how much can I ask you about the video conference?”

“That's an odd question.”

She shook her head, took a bite, closed her eyes, and moaned
with satisfaction. “This is fabulous.” She chewed for a few moments. “I asked the question because I know I've pushed the envelope with you. I'm surprised you didn't leave me standing at your gate.”

“No, you're not. You're working me, and I know it.”

“Then why invite me to dinner?”

He shrugged. “I was hungry. I'm not as upset with you as you imagine.”

“Really?”

“No, I'm upset with you, but I believe in new beginnings. That and I want to have dinner with a woman that has a brain.”

“Now, now, Candy has a brain. Let's not be cruel.”

Morgan shoveled another bite into his mouth. “I'm a cruel man.”

“No you're not. You're firm, you're determined, and you're your own man, but you're not cruel. A cruel man would have called the police on me for trespassing and maybe apply for a restraining order.”

“And you're determined, a tad pushy, overly religious, and results-orientated.”

“Does that mean I can't ask you about your meeting?”

“Maybe over dessert.”

“Dessert. This day just gets better and better.”

Morgan wondered what he was going to do with the bulldog sitting across the table from him.

Candy Welch—Meredith Roe on her birth certificate—paced her condo. Things hadn't gone according to plan, and no matter how hard she tried to regain her footing, she couldn't. Jaz wasn't happy, and if she couldn't turn things around, she would be on the bad end of his wrath.

She swore at herself and then at the absent Jaz. She had never failed a mission before. It was why she was the highest paid operative in Jaz's empire. That, and she was called upon to do what other
operatives wouldn't do. Some were good at surveillance, but she was good at seduction. That is, until Andrew Morgan came along.

Where had she gone wrong? The man was ripe for the picking: a lonely widower with a high-pressure job. She had taken scores of such men to bed.

She stepped into the bedroom and let her eyes drift to the two hidden video cameras.

“What a waste.”

Her cell rang. “Oh great.” She took a deep breath. “Hello, Jaz.”

Jaz tossed the phone onto the front passenger seat. He wanted to throw it through the windshield of his rental car, but that would serve no purpose. He would have to deal with Meredith and her failure later. He had gone through a lot of trouble to orchestrate a plan that would involve Morgan's aunt. He had drawn several scenarios, but the easiest was to take the
real
Candy Welch out of the picture. That was easy enough. Aunt Ida was one of the last of Morgan's family still living. On a hunch, he had placed an operative on her, tapped her phone, and followed her. They hit gold early. His company did all the background checks on anyone who Balfour and Quetzal thought might be interested in their organization.

Sifting through thousands of IP addresses of those who visited the site had been made easier by a custom software application. The website recorded the Internet addresses of everyone who visited the site. A computerized search of the information led to a name and other data. If the physical location was in a wealthy area, that information was gathered and passed to a worker who did additional research. They had been on Morgan's trail for some time. When he showed up in Roswell, he became a prime target.

Jaz pushed those thoughts to the side. He had another problem. He was tailing a young man and woman. Tailing a car was easier. Following pedestrians while in a car was nearly impossible. It would
take only a few moments for the subjects to notice a slow-moving vehicle behind them.

He had let them get a block away before pulling from the curb, but once he was moving, he had to drive past them and turn onto a side street. If he saw that they hadn't caught a glimpse of him, then he could drive by again. Normally, a successful tail like this required several operatives spread out along the subject's anticipated path, but he didn't have the luxury. In fact, he hadn't anticipated following anyone from the apartment.

He assumed the couple lived nearby; otherwise, they would have driven or taken the bus. Jaz drove down the street, made a right on a side street, turned around, and pulled back to the intersection. He parked near the corner and raised his binoculars. Wherever the couple was headed, they were in no hurry.

They made a left and continued down the sidewalk. Jaz looked at his GPS unit and identified the street as Beech Avenue. He had done his research. There were no apartments on that street, just older homes that looked as if they had been around for more than fifty years. He pulled into the street and drove a parallel course to the one on which his prey was walking. He felt a wave of anxiety. If he was too slow, and if one of the old homes was their destination, then he would have to stake out the street until they reappeared.

He made the first left he could and drove slowly across the intersection, gazing down Beech. His timing was perfect. He saw the couple walk to an olive green bungalow-style home.

Jaz parked again, giving the couple time to enter the home. Only then would he risk driving down the street to scope out the house.