The Secret Heiress (36 page)

Her bedroom door.

With great patience he inched on. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, he finally reached the door. He drew a Heckler & Koch double-action, semiautomatic pistol fitted with a silencer out of his pocket, holding it pointed at the ceiling, his elbow bent, ready to bring it down to fire. Reaching down with his free hand, he slowly tried the doorknob. It turned smoothly and silently in his hand. The door wasn’t locked.

In a single fluid motion, he swung his body around on the ball of his right foot and eased his left foot down onto the floor. He stood squarely in front of the door now, ready to open it. He turned the brass knob again, held it, and slowly pushed it open a few inches, relieved that it hardly made a sound. It was a long way down the hallway and the steps, out the front door and across the lawn, and over the wall and down the road to his car. He didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence now.

He put his face to the space between the door and the jamb, his eyes scanning that part of the room within his view. Although the draperies were closed, he could make out the canopied bed in the dim light. And on it, he could detect a figure sheathed by a sheet. His mark: the young woman.

Easing the door open, he crept silently into the room. When he reached the side of the big draped bed, he brought his arm down, aiming the semiautomatic at her sleeping form. Her back was to him, but it didn’t matter. One dead-on shot would pierce her back and leave an exit wound the size of a melon.

He pulled back on the trigger, but paused a moment before shooting. Behind him, he thought he heard something, more a disturbance of the air than an actual noise. He started to look, but before he could turn his head all the way around Matt sprang from the doorway, his powerful arms extended, letting out a bellow of fury as he did so.

“Nooooooo.”
The roar came from deep down inside him, so loud and animallike that the man was momentarily stunned.

Matt was a mere blur in his vision before the assassin felt the weight of Matt’s entire body thrown against him, hurling him to the floor. The pistol flew out of his hand, clattering loudly as it skipped across wood. The assassin’s head hit a bedside table with a dull thud, overturning it, sending a lamp and clock crashing noisily against the wide pine-board planking, scattering glass.

Before the assassin could move, Matt was on top of him, pinning him with his muscular arms. He heaved against Matt with all his strength, but Matt took the assassin’s head in his hands and smashed it against the floor, over and over. When he heard the man moan and felt him slump limply in his hands, Matt let go.

The room was suddenly bathed in light, and Matt jerked around. Ariadne stood at the doorway, her eyes widened in horror as she surveyed the scene. “What—?” she cried.

“I’m not sure yet,” Matt rasped, catching his breath. “I think it’s safe to say that this man just tried to kill you.”

“Oh, my God,” Ariadne said. “Are you all right?”

Matt nodded. “I’m fine.”

They heard footsteps in the hallway, and Sugar, soon followed by Adrian, stood in the doorway. “What the hell?” Sugar cried. She rushed to Ariadne and put her arms around her.

Adrian stared at Matt. “Who is it?”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “I’ll question him after I’ve tied him up and gotten him out to the pool house.”

“Ariadne, why don’t you come with me?” Sugar said.

“No,” she replied. “I’m staying here with Matt.”

Matt was going to protest, but he saw the determination in her eyes. “Adrian, why don’t you take Sugar downstairs? Have a drink or something while we finish up here.”

“I don’t think—” Sugar began.

“Let’s go,” Adrian said, taking Sugar’s arm. “We’re only in the way.”

“Well . . . okay,” she agreed.

When they had left the room, Matt took Ariadne in his arms. “I could’ve lost you.” He hugged her firmly to him and felt a slight tremor in her body. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Yes, really I am.”

“Okay,” Matt replied, knowing that she was being very brave. “Do you have some panty hose handy?”

“Panty hose?”

“Yes. I want to tie him up, and I don’t want to go downstairs or out to the garage to get some rope.”

Ariadne quickly opened a dresser drawer and handed several pairs of panty hose to Matt.

“Now, while I tie him up, see if you can find his gun,” Matt told her.

Ariadne looked about the bedroom, and her eyes soon alighted on the pistol. It lay menacingly on the floor against a closet door. She picked it up, examining it as she took it to Matt.

“Careful with that,” he said. “Here. Let me have it.” With one hand, he held both of the assassin’s, reaching for the pistol with his free one. When Ariadne handed it to him, he shoved it between the mattress and the box spring of the bed, concealing it from view.

He began expertly tying up the assassin, rolling him over on his stomach first. He wrapped the panty hose around his wrists several times, securing his hands first. He repeated the process with his feet, but left about six inches of space between them, so he could walk, just barely.

“This will do for the time being,” Matt said.

Ariadne, who had been staring at the man, nodded. “I’ve never seen him before in my life,” she said. “At least not that I know of. It’s so weird to think that he tried to kill me.”

Matt got up off the floor and put his arms around her. “We’ll find out who he is,” he said. “Not that it’s any comfort.”

“You saved my life,” Ariadne said.

“I guess so,” he said, hugging her. He could feel her shaking harder now, and knew that the reality of what had happened was beginning to sink in. He wanted to keep her busy for the time being to help keep her mind off it. He needed to get the assassin out of the bedroom and out to the pool house, where he could question him.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Anything.”

“Go to my bedroom and get me some clothes. Just pants, shirt, and shoes.”

At that moment Ariadne saw that he was wearing only his Jockey shorts. “I didn’t even realize . . . ,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.”

When she left the room, he searched the man’s trousers, looking for identification, but all of his pockets were empty. He untied his track shoes and took them off his feet. Likewise. Nothing hidden in them.
I’ll do a complete search once I get him out of here,
Matt decided.

Ariadne returned with his clothes, and he quickly put them on. He took the pistol from its hiding place and shoved it down the back of his jeans at his spine. He looked at Ariadne. “Now, why don’t you go downstairs and make us both a drink? I’m going to take him out to the pool house to get some answers out of him.”

“I want to stay with you,” she said.

“I insist,” Matt replied. “I’ll have a much better chance of getting information out of him if we’re alone. You’ll be a distraction for both of us.”

“But—”

Matt shook his head. “No buts,” he said. “You were just nearly killed, Ariadne, and I’m going to find out who this creep is.”

She saw that he was serious and realized, too, that he didn’t want her to watch if he had to use force to get answers from the assassin.

“Please go downstairs to the library,” Matt said. “I won’t be a long time.”

“Okay.”

When she was gone, he went into the bathroom and filled a glass with water, then went back to the bedroom. He threw some in the man’s face, but there was no immediate reaction. He kicked him in the thigh, not hard enough to do him injury, but enough to get a response. Matt heard a moan, then watched as the man opened his eyes and began to struggle against the nylon that bound him tightly.

Matt roughly grabbed his arm. “Get up,” he ordered.

The man didn’t move, and Matt repeated his command. “Get up. Now. Unless you want me to call the police.”

The man did as he was told with Matt’s help, gaining purchase on the floor with his bare feet. When he was upright, Matt took him by the arm and led him downstairs and out the front door. He wanted to avoid the others, if possible. He frog-marched him out to the pool house, where he started his interrogation, thankful for once that he’d been trained in a number of methods by the CIA.

 

They had been sitting in the library for what seemed like hours.

“I can’t understand what’s taking so long,” Sugar said.

“Leave it to Matt,” Adrian said. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“Do you think we should call the police?”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Adrian said, “but we’ll ask Matt when he comes in. There would be publicity. Articles in the newspaper. That sort of thing. We don’t want any questions about anything or anyone. Especially Ariadne.”

“Of course not,” Sugar agreed.

They heard a door open and close, and Matt came into the library from the direction of the kitchen. Ariadne jumped up off the sofa and rushed to him. “You’re okay?”

“Yes,” he said. “And you?”

“Worried about you. That’s all.”

Sugar and Adrian looked at each other, and Sugar nodded as if to confirm what they believed had been going on for some time.

“Let me get you something to drink,” Ariadne said. “Wine or something stronger?”

“Wine’s good.”

“What did you find out?” Adrian asked.

Matt sat down on the sofa, and Ariadne quickly sat beside him, handing him a glass of wine. He took a sip, then set the glass down. “Very little,” he said in a guarded voice. “He claims he doesn’t know who sent him. Only a voice at the other end of the phone. Payment was a wire from one numbered Swiss account to another.”

“Do you believe him?” Adrian asked.

Matt nodded. “Actually, I do. That’s the way these things often work. Nobody wants his or
her,
” he said with emphasis, “identity known.”

“Makes sense,” Adrian said. “Did he say whether the caller was male or female?”

“Female, for certain, although that doesn’t necessarily mean she was the person who hired him.”

“What do you think?” Adrian asked him.

“I think we have to be a lot more careful,” Matt said. “Whoever sent him will try again.” He took Ariadne’s hand in his.

“And the assassin?” Sugar asked.

“He’s gone,” Matt said.

“Gone?” Ariadne said.

“Think about it,” Matt said. “Since calling the police is out of the question, I had no choice, unless I was supposed to off him and get rid of the body. I don’t think he’ll be back, like I said, but we’re going to have to be very careful. Just because whoever it was failed this time . . .”

Ariadne squeezed his hand.
My twin sister’s probably trying to have me murdered,
she thought,
and I’ve never even met her.

T
he big night was at hand. In midtown, Nikoletta was ensconced in her penthouse triplex atop the stunning new PPHL headquarters building that would be inaugurated this evening. Sixty-eight stories below, the red carpet had already been rolled out, and with binoculars she could clearly see it through the floor-to-ceiling windows in her apartment. She could also see up the Hudson River and the West Side of Manhattan past the George Washington Bridge to the Palisades and beyond. When she looked east, she saw past the modern sculptural top of the Condé Nast Building in Times Square, across the entire East Side to Queens, Brooklyn, and Long Island beyond. If she looked south, the missing towers of the World Trade Center, which had once been a lodestar to Manhattanites, immediately came to mind, despite the view of the Verrazano Narrows and Staten Island in the distance.

Putting down her binoculars, she slipped into a pair of flats, threw on a trench coat, and rang for Butch, one of her security guards. “I want to go down to the lobby for a few minutes to see how things are going.”

“I’ll get some of the men,” he replied.

“No,” Nikoletta said. “Just you.”

“I think—”

“I don’t give a damn what you think,” Nikoletta said. “Let’s go.” She took a pair of sunglasses from her purse, slipped them on, and pressed the button for the private elevator that traveled directly to her entrance foyer, before Butch could get it. It opened immediately, and they stepped in.

Descending to the lobby in the high-speed elevator took only a very short time, and after they stepped out, Nikoletta began quickly walking toward the main lobby, with Butch at her side.

Nikoletta stopped to survey the huge space. Thanks to the acres of marble, the clever use of mirrored screens, and over sixty crystal chandeliers made especially for the occasion, Lawrence Lowell, the party planner, and his theatrical set-design wizards had transformed the towering lobby and the vast atrium, with its various mezzanines, from functional architectural spaces into a Galerie des Glaces worthy of Versailles, as he had promised. Nikoletta made a mental note to use Lawrence again and possibly try to talk him into an exclusive contract with PPHL, so that none of her competitors, whether business or social, would have the privilege of using his services.