Bait (7 page)

“What do you want?” she asked, her mouth so dry that her voice sounded croaky. Like she had no idea. Like she hadn't been dreading this day for years. Like she hadn't expected that sooner or later they would show up ...

“To talk to you.” The black-haired man took a step toward her so that he was once again close enough to make her feel crowded. She could see the tiny lines around his eyes, the deeper ones bracketing his mouth. Too close. Oh, God, she couldn't deal with this. She wasn't ready.
She wasn't ready.
Her stomach did its best imitation of a pretzel. Her heart was already pounding so hard that she was surprised he couldn't see its panicked beating beneath her thin silk shell.

Things had been going so well,
she mourned.
At least, they had been going so well until someone had tried to kill her ...

“I'm Special Agent Sam McCabe. This”—McCabe threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the larger man—“is Special Agent E. P. Wynne. You
are
Madeline Fitzgerald, right?”

What are my choices here?
Maddie asked herself wildly in the split second before she replied. With escape no longer even remotely possible, they were basically down to two: tell the truth—or lie.

“Yes,” she said, and to her own surprise her voice sounded perfectly calm. Or maybe it wasn't so surprising after all. The first hot rush of panic had receded; she was cold now, icy cold, so cold that her lips felt bloodless, her fingers and toes numb. Her pulse raced; her palms were damp; goosebumps prickled her arms. But she looked steadily back at him, meeting his gaze without, she hoped, giving any of her inner turmoil away.

Play the hand out.
She could almost hear her father saying it.
It's not over till it's over.

She had to force herself to breathe.

“We want to ask you a few questions about what happened last night,” McCabe continued. “Do you have a minute?”

About what happened last night.
It was so unexpected that it was disorienting. Maddie blinked once as the words sank in. Her lungs deflated like a punctured balloon as all the air suddenly whooshed out. They wanted to talk to her about
last night.
Waves of relief washed over her. Of
course
they wanted to talk to her about last night, she scolded herself. What else could they possibly want to talk to her about?

What else indeed,
she thought, still feeling faintly dizzy. Still, the sooner she got away from them the better. She needed a little time to recover her composure, at the very least.

As shaken as she was, it would be way too easy to let something slip.

She got a grip and shook her head.

“Actually, I'm late as it is. I have an important meeting in just a few minutes. And you made me miss my elevator.” The faintly accusing note in her voice as she said that last was, she thought, pitch-perfect for the occasion.

“Sorry about that,” the big one—Wynne—said with an apologetic grimace.

“Could you come with us, please?” McCabe reached for her arm again. This guy obviously wasn't used to hearing the word
no.
His fingers slid around her elbow, making her glad for the long sleeve of her jacket, which kept him from touching her skin. As his grip tightened, she felt as if the marble walls of the lobby were closing in on her. Suddenly, she felt like she was suffocating.

Déjà vu all over again,
she thought with a stab of near hysteria. Here was one more FBI agent doing his level best to intimidate her. Only this time, it wasn't happening. This time, she was all grown-up.

The thought put some steel back in her spine.

“Sorry, Mr. Special Agent, I really am in a hurry.” Her voice was cool as she pulled her arm free for a second time. “What is it, exactly, that you want to know?”

McCabe's lips compressed with obvious displeasure. His eyes darkened, seemed to weigh her. Whatever he saw in her face must have convinced him that the only way he was dragging her off somewhere was if she went kicking and screaming, because he didn't try to grab her again.

Which was a good thing. Making a scene was the last thing she wanted to do. Although, if she had to, she would.

He glanced around as if to assure himself that no one except his oversized friend was near enough to overhear, took a step forward, and lowered his voice. “You were a guest at the Holiday Inn Express on Peyton Place Boulevard last night, right?”

“Yes.”

He was crowding her. Maybe deliberately, maybe not. Either way, his nearness made it an effort to breathe. Stepping out of his path was not an option. With the wall at her back, she had no place to go.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Between shattered nerves and no sleep, she wasn't quite operating on all cylinders, and she knew it. Still, his interest made no sense. She knew the kinds of things the FBI investigated, and an attack on an anonymous woman that hadn't even resulted in significant injury was way beneath their notice. Was there something here that she was missing? Or were they playing with her?

The thought was galvanizing. It made her palms grow damp.

Don't panic,
she warned herself even as she looked at him warily.

“Since when does the FBI care about stuff like that?”

“Since now,” he said. “Could you just answer the question, please?”

For a moment their eyes clashed, and the issue hung in the balance. But answering his questions was probably the quickest way to make him go away, Maddie realized, and what she wanted more than anything else in the whole wide world right at that moment was for him and his partner to do just that.

“A man attacked me in my room.” She swallowed before she remembered that swallowing hurt. Quite above and beyond her reluctance to have anything whatsoever to do with the FBI, recalling the previous night's near-death experience was not something she wanted to do. If luck, God, whatever had not been on her side, she wouldn't be here now. She would be in the city morgue, with a tag reading
Madeline Fitzgerald
tied to her toe. “Look, I've already gone over this with the police. It should all be in their report.”

Never mind that the only reason she had talked to the police was because they had shown up at the hospital and she had been left with no choice. And the only reason she had gone to the hospital in the first place was that Jon had taken advantage of her shocked state to take her there. Mr. Special Agent here didn't know that. All he would see was that in the aftermath of the attack, she had done just exactly what any other upstanding citizen would be expected to do: go to the hospital, talk to the police.

McCabe ignored her attempt to dismiss him. “What time did the attack occur, exactly?”

Maddie made an impatient gesture. “I don't know. I realize it was shortsighted of me, but when I woke up and found a man in my room, it didn't occur to me to check the clock. Sometime between midnight and three is the best I can do. I fell asleep just after midnight, and I was at the hospital by a quarter after three.”

Her sarcasm seemed to roll off him like oil off waxed paper. If anything, his expression grew more intent. “Did you get a look at him?”

Maddie repressed a shiver as she remembered the terrifying bulk of the man.

“No.”

“Nothing? Not even a glimpse? Come on, you must have seen something.”

“I didn't see anything, okay? It was dark. No.”

Their eyes clashed. A beat passed.

“So walk me through what happened, step-by-step.”

Maddie took a deep breath.

“It upsets me to talk about it, you know? If you want details, read the police report.” Her stomach was doing its twisty thing again. The urge to escape was so strong that she could practically feel the muscles twitching beneath her skin. But escape was impossible for the moment. With the elevator gone, there was, once again, no place to go. That being the case, she needed to not lose it with him, she reminded herself. She needed to stay cool, calm, and in control. All the things that at the moment she definitely was not feeling.

His eyes slid over her face. He rocked back on his heels, folded his arms over his chest, and appeared to consider her.

“Is it my imagination, or am I sensing some hostility here?”

She had to fight the urge to swallow. He was watching her too closely for such a telltale action to pass unnoticed.

“I just don't see the value in going over this umpteen times. Like I said, it upsets me.” Her voice turned tart. “Anyway, aren't you the FBI? Don't you always get your man? So why don't you go get him, and stop harassing me?”

“That's the Mounties,” McCabe said dryly, as, unable to help herself, Maddie cast a longing glance to her left.

“Miz Fitzgerald ...”

As if on cue, the elevator closest to them arrived with a
ding.
The doors opened, and a gush of people spilled out into the lobby.

She met his gaze, summoning the best she could manage in the way of an “it's been nice” smile.

“Look, I really have to go. Like I said, I already went over the whole thing with the police. You should be able to get whatever you need from them.”

With that and a dismissive nod, Maddie stepped away from the wall and turned to battle her way through the once again surging crowd. Using her briefcase as a makeshift battering ram, she managed to wedge her way through the stream of riders disembarking and make it onto the emptying elevator ahead of the hordes still more or less politely waiting their turn.

It did her absolutely no good.

“Miz Fitzgerald ...”

McCabe was right behind her, damn him, his Southern drawl unmistakable, persistent as a dog after a pork chop as he followed her toward the back of the car. Finding herself nose to nose with the gleaming brass wall as a jostling crowd filled the elevator, Maddie tensed as she realized that, once again, she had nowhere to go. Seconds later she experienced a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Glancing up, she discovered that, sure enough, he still loomed like the big bad wolf behind her and was, in fact, watching her reflection. For a moment their gazes met and held. They stared at each other, a pair of faintly blurred golden images apparently equally surprised to find their gazes colliding in a too-shiny wall.

Her stomach clenched.

Then,
be cool,
Maddie ordered herself fiercely, and pulled her gaze from his. Grabbing hold of her vacillating courage with both hands, she turned around, deliberately bumping his legs with her briefcase and forcing him to step back a pace.

“Sorry,” she said in a voice as bland as milk. Then, to the group at large, “Could someone hit fifty for me, please?”

“Fifty. Got it,” a man replied from the front.

With a slight lurch the elevator headed up. A glance around the packed car told her that McCabe was alone. His supersized friend hadn't made it on board.

Like the proverbial elephant in the room, he was impossible to ignore. But she tried, staring ahead at the elevator doors. Unfortunately, they too were made of brass.

Their eyes collided in the reflective wall. He was, she realized, once again watching her reflection. Since ignoring him was proving impossible, she decided to take the war into the enemy's camp.

She turned her head. Their gazes met, but this time without the softening buffer of the brass.

“Are you
following
me?” That the question was muttered almost under her breath in no way detracted from the force with which she said it.

“Looks like it, doesn't it?” He gave her the smallest of mocking smiles.

Maddie scowled. She fumed. She thought. Then, after an ostentatious glance down at her watch, she met his gaze again.

“Look, I have a really important business meeting in exactly seventeen minutes,” she said, low-voiced. “What, exactly, does it take to make you disappear?”

FIVE

Talk to me,” McCabe said, his voice equally low. “Five minutes of your time. That's all I need.”

“Then you swear you'll go away?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Fine.” Maddie glared at him. Whatever happened, she couldn't let him follow her up to the fiftieth floor, where Brehmer's Pet Food reigned supreme. Not unless she was prepared to kiss the account good-bye. She would give him five minutes. She would be super-careful. And then, if she was lucky, he would be satisfied and go away, and leave her to get on with her life.

The elevator slid to a stop and the door opened.

“Is this the third floor? Could you let me out, please?” A woman on the other side of the car was edging toward the front. Maddie found herself wedged even more tightly against the back wall as the population of the elevator shifted. It was so crowded that several people were forced to step out into the corridor to let the woman exit.

“Come on, then,” Maddie muttered with a resentful glance up at McCabe, and used her briefcase to clear a path. When both she and McCabe had been disgorged, the elevator doors closed behind them. The woman who'd gotten off just before them was already walking away. A gold-framed mirror hung above a walnut console table on the wall directly in front of the elevators.
Funny,
Maddie thought, catching a glimpse of her reflection, except for the big bad wolf beside her—who, incidentally, was once again wrapping his hand around her arm—she looked unchanged. No one seeing her would guess that icy shivers chased one another up and down her spine or that her legs felt like rubber bands. A quick look around told her that to the left was a solid wall, covered like the others in blue-patterned wallpaper. To the right, the hall opened up into what looked like a mezzanine level. Groupings of beige leather couches and chairs stood in front of a polished metal rail that gave promise of a large open area below. At the far side of the open space, a towering wall of windows provided a panoramic view of cerulean sky peeking out between the surrounding skyscrapers.