Kiss Me While I sleep (7 page)

Lily went downstairs to wait for the taxi, standing where she could see the street but her watchers couldn’t see her. She had thought about walking the several blocks to a taxi rank and waiting in line, but that would have given Rodrigo time she didn’t want him to have, and also tired her. Once-only a little over a week ago-she could have sprinted the distance and not even been winded.

Perhaps her heart had sustained little damage, just enough for Dr. Giordano to detect the murmur, and this insidious weakness would eventually go away. She’d been very sick for over three days, eating nothing, flat on her back. The human body lost strength much faster than it gained it She’d give it a month; if she wasn’t back to normal in that length of time, she’d have some tests run on her heart. She didn’t know where, or how she’d pay for it, but she’d manage.

Of course, that was assuming she was still alive a month from now. Even after she escaped from Rodrigo, she’d still have to evade her former employer. She hadn’t computed those odds yet; she didn’t want to discourage herself.

A black taxi stopped outside. Picking up her carry-on bag, Lily murmured, “Show time,” and calmly stepped outside. She didn’t hurry, didn’t in any way appear nervous. When she was seated, she took a mirrored compact out of her tote and angled it so she could watch her watchers.

As the taxi pulled away, so did a silver Mercedes. It slowed, a man darted over and practically leaped into the passenger seat, then the Mercedes accelerated until it was right behind the taxi. In the mirror, Lily could see the passenger talking on a cell phone.

The airport was about thirty kilometers out of the city; the Mercedes stayed behind the taxi all the way. Lily didn’t know if she should be insulted or not; did Rodrigo think she was too stupid to notice, or that she would simply not care if she did? On the other hand, normal people didn’t check to see if they were being followed, so the fact that her watchers were so blatant could mean Rodrigo still didn’t really suspect her of anything, despite having her watched and followed. Judging from what she knew about him, she thought he would do that until he discovered who killed his father. Rodrigo wasn’t one to let a loose end go untied.

When they reached the airport, she walked calmly to the British Airways desk to check in. Her passport said her name was Alexandra Wesley, British citizen, and the passport photo matched her current coloring. She was flying first class, she wasn’t checking any luggage, and she had carefully built up this identity, over several years, with numerous stamps on her passport showing she visited France several times a year. She had several such identities, prudently kept private even from her contacts at Langley, for just such emergencies.

Boarding for the flight had already been called by the time she went through all the security checks and got to the designated jjate. She didn’t look around her, instead carefully studying her surroundings with her peripheral vision. Yes, that man there; he was watching her, and he held a cell phone in his hand.

He didn’t make any move toward her, just made a call. Her luck was holding.

Then she was safely on the plane, effectively in the hands of the British government Her designated seat was next to the window; the aisle seat was already occupied by a stylishly dressed woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Lily murmured an apology as she slid past the woman to the window seat.

Within half an hour they were in the air for the hour’s flight to London. She and her seatmate exchanged pleasantries, Lily using a public-school accent that seemed to put the woman at ease. The British accent was easier to maintain than the Parisian one, and she almost sighed with relief as her brain seemed to relax. She dozed briefly, tired from all the airport walking.

When they were fifteen minutes out of London, she leaned over and pulled her carry-on bag from underneath the seat. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said hesitantly to the woman beside her, “but I’ve a bit of a problem.”

“Yes?” the woman said politely.

“My name is Alexandra Wesley, perhaps you’ve heard of Wesley Engineering? That’s my husband, Gerald. The thing is-” Lily looked down, as if embarrassed. “Well, the thing is, I’m leaving him and he isn’t taking it at all well. He’s set men to following me, and I’m afraid he’ll have them grab me. He’s a bit abusive, set on having his way, and… and I really can’t go back.”

The woman looked both uncomfortable and intrigued, as if she didn’t like hearing such intimate details from a stranger but was fascinated in spite of herself. “You poor dear. Of course you can’t go back. But how can I help?”

“When we leave the plane, will you take this bag for me and go to the nearest public loo? I’ll follow you and take it back. It has a disguise in it,” she said quickly, when the woman’s face showed alarm at being asked to take a stranger’s bag in this age of terrorism. “See, look through it.” She quickly unzipped the bag. “Clothes, shoes, wigs. Nothing else. The thing is, they might think of that-that I’d disguise myself, I mean-and pay attention to the bags I take into the loo with me. I read a book on how to evade a stalker and it mentioned this. He’ll have men at Heathrow waiting for me, I know it; as soon as I step out for transportation they’ll take me.” She wrung her hands, hoping she looked suitably distressed. It helped that her face was still thin and drawn from illness, and that she was normally lanky anyway, making her look more frail than she was.

The woman took the bag from Lily and carefully went through every item. A smile broke over her face when she examined one of the wigs. “Hiding in plain sight, are you?”

Lily smiled back. “I hope it works.”

“We’ll see. If not, we’ll share a taxi. Safety in numbers, and all that” The woman was getting into the spirit of things now.

If her seatmate hadn’t been a woman, Lily would have improvised, taken her chances, but this gambit slightly increased her chances, and at this point she was willing to grab at the least advantage. Agency men could be waiting for her, as well as Rodrigo’s goons, and they wouldn’t be as easy to fool.

Depending on how they wanted to play it, they could have her arrested as soon as she stepped off the plane, in which case there was nothing she could do. They usually played it much closer to the vest than that, though. If they could avoid involving the British government in what was essentially a housekeeping chore to them, then they would.

The plane landed and went to the gate with a minimum of fuss. Lily took a deep breath, and her cohort patted her hand. “Don’t worry,” she said cheerfully. “This will work, you’ll see. How will I know if they’ve spotted you?”

“I’ll tell you where the men are standing. I’ll look for them when I go into the loo. Then I’ll leave before you, and when you come out, if they’re still there, then you’ll know it worked.”

“Oh, this is exciting!”

Lily really hoped not.

The woman took the carry-on bag and exited the plane two people ahead of Lily. She walked briskly, looking at the signs but not staring at the people waiting at the gate. Good girl, Lily thought, hiding a smile. She was a natural.

There were two of them waiting for her, and again they made no particular effort to disguise their interest. Glee rose in her. Rodrigo still didn’t suspect anything truly unusual, didn’t think she would notice she was being followed. This might really work.

The two men trailed in her wake, staying about twenty or thirty feet back. Up ahead, her cohort went into the first public restroom. Lily paused just outside at a water fountain, giving her followers time to choose their positions, then entered.

The woman was waiting just inside and handed over the bag. “Is anyone there?” she asked.

Lily nodded. “Two of them. One is about six feet tall, largish, and he’s wearing a light gray suit. He’s standing directly across from the door, against the wall. The other is smaller, short dark hair, double-breasted blue suit, and he’s in position about fifteen feet ahead.“

“Hurry and change. I can’t wait to see you.”

Lily went into a stall and swiftly began her identity change. The severe dark suit and low heels came off; in their place went a bright pink tank top, painted-on turquoise leggings, stiletto knee-high boots, a fringed turquoise jacket, and a short, spiky red wig. She dumped the clothes she’d removed into the carry-on, and stepped out of the stall.

A huge smile lit the woman’s face, and she clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”

Lily couldn’t help grinning. She swiftly added blusher to her pale cheeks, a thick coating of pink lipstick, and dangling feathered earrings. Slipping a pair of pink shades over her eyes, she said, “What do you think?”

“My dear, /wouldn’t have recognized you, and I knew what you were about. I’m Rebecca, by the way. Rebecca Scott.”

They shook hands, each delighted for different reasons. Lily took a deep breath. “Here I go,” she murmured, and strode boldly out of the restroom.

Both of her followers involuntarily stared at her; everyone did. Looking directly beyond the dark-haired man who stood practically in front of her, Lily waved enthusiastically. “I’m here!” she squealed to no one in particular, though in this crowd that would have been difficult to determine. This time she used her own distinctly American accent, and dashed past her watchers as if joining someone.

As she went by the dark-haired man, she saw him jerk his gaze back to the restroom entrance, as if afraid that moment of inattention had allowed his quarry to escape.

Lily walked as rapidly as she could, losing herself in the crowd. The five-inch heels put her close to six feet tall, but there was no way she intended to wear them any longer than necessary. As she neared her departure gate, she ducked into yet another public restroom, and changed out of the eye-grabbing disguise. When she left that bathroom, she had long black hair and wore black jeans and a thick black turtleneck sweater, with the same low-heeled shoes she’d worn on the flight over. She had wiped off the pink lipstick, replaced it with red gloss, and exchanged the pink shades for gray ones. Her papers as Alexandra Wesley were stowed in her tote, and the ticket and passport in her hand stated she was Mariel St. Clair.

Soon she was on a plane headed back across the Channel to Paris, this time in coach. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

So far, so good.

Rodrigo was furious. He said, carefully, “how, precisely, did you manage to lose her?”

“She was followed from the moment she exited the plane,” replied the British voice on the phone. “She entered the public facilities, and never came out.”

“Did you send someone in to look for her?”

“After some length of time, yes.”

“Exactly
what
length of time?”

“Perhaps twenty minutes passed before my men became alarmed, sir. Then I had to wait until a female could be brought to the location to enter the facilities and search.”

Rodrigo closed his eyes as he tried to rein in his temper. Bumblers! The men following Denise must have become distracted and not noticed her leaving the facilities. There were no other exits, no windows or trash chutes or anything else. She could only have left the same way she entered, yet these idiots had somehow completely overlooked her.

The matter wasn’t terribly important, but inefficiency annoyed him. Until he got the answers he wanted about Denise’s background, he wanted to know exactly where she was and what she was doing. In fact, he’d expected to have those answers the day before, but the bureaucracy was being as inefficient as usual.

“One thing is puzzling, sir.”

“And that is?”

“When my men lost her, I immediately checked with Customs, but we have no record of her.”

Rodrigo sat upright, a sudden frown drawing his brows together. “What does that mean?”

“It means she disappeared. When I checked the passenger list of the inbound flight, there was no Denise Morel listed. She did get off the plane, but then she somehow disappeared. The only plausible explanation is that she got on another plane, but I have no record of her doing that.”

Alarm bells rang in Rodrigo’s head so loudly they were almost deafening. He went cold, frozen by the sudden horrible suspicion. “Check the records again, Mr. Murray. She must have done.”

“I have already double-checked, sir. There is no record of her entering or leaving London. I was very thorough with my search.”

“Thank you,” Rodrigo said, and hung up the phone. He was so enraged he was dizzy from the force of his emotions. The bitch had played him for a fool!

Just to make certain, he called his contact in the Ministry. “I need that information immediately,“ he barked, not identifying either himself or the information in question. He didn’t need to.

“Yes, of course, but there is a problem.”

“You can’t find where this particular Denise Morel exists?” Rodrigo asked sarcastically.

“How did you know? I’m certain I can-”

“Don’t trouble yourself. You won’t find her.” His suspicions confirmed, Rodrigo hung up again and sat behind the desk trying to contain the sulfuric rage that blasted through him. He had to think clearly, and at the moment that was beyond him.

She
was the poisoner. How clever of her, to also poison herself, but with such a small dose that she would be sick for a time but would survive. Or perhaps she hadn’t intended to sip the wine at all, but his father had insisted and she accidentally took a larger swallow than she’d intended. That part didn’t matter; what mattered was that, ultimately, she had succeeded in killing his father.