Steal My Heart (8 page)

A few minutes later, Paige had parked her
Acura in the next block, gathered up her shopping bags—which brought a raised brow as well as a helping hand from Mark—and walked with him back to a rather worn-looking Chrysler.

He’d parked the car just across the street from the gym in a spot that gave them a good view of the entrance.

They stuffed the bags in the trunk, got inside. Mark handed her a dark blue ball cap.

Paige frowned at it. “What’s this for?”

“If the same guy from this morning shows up here, he’ll recognize you. Put this on and stuff your hair under it.”

With a sigh, she took the cap and did as he said.

For what seemed like an hour they sat in silence watching the customers come and go, most of them hefty men with duffle bags who looked like professional wrestlers.

At last a black Mercedes slowed and pulled into a spot right in front of the building. A man got out. It was the large man in the white suit from this morning. Now he had on a dark blue suit. It looked pricey. Guess he could afford an extensive wardrobe in his line of work.

The bulky figure headed up the concrete steps to the front door.

“Time to go,” Mark murmured.

Her nerves on edge, Paige slipped out of the car and hurried across the street. With Mark on her heels, she willed her footsteps to go faster as she crossed the pavement.

“Slow down,” Mark whispered as they reached the curb. “Don’t make it obvious.”

Again he was right. She slowed her steps and they casually followed their target into the gym.

There was an entrance sign over double doors behind a front desk. No clerk. The absence of personnel made Paige feel only a tad less nervous.

Jimar had a keycard and buzzed right through the double doors. Silently Mark slid inside before they could close, and held one open for her. They waited, making sure the man didn’t hear them or look over his shoulder before they crept after him down a long hall.

They passed a door to a large open area where dank, sweaty smells, grunts, and the noisy creaking of weight lifting equipment seemed to float up to the high ceiling.

The grunting and creaking grew louder as they approached, the air stuffier. But the big man in the blue suit ignored it all and headed straight through the door to the locker room.

Mark gave a hand signal to wait. She watched him silently count to ten. Then they opened the door and stepped inside.

All Paige could see was rows and rows of dingy gray double-decker lockers, some with dents and graffiti marks.

No Jimar.

They tiptoed down one aisle, then another. Had they lost him? She was about to step into the next aisle when Mark grabbed her arm, pulled her against the metal. His eyes ablaze, he pressed a finger to his lips.

She nodded. Holding her breath, she dared to peek around the corner.

Jimar hovered in front of a closed locker, glaring at it like it was an enemy he was about to beat up. From the numbers on the neighboring boxes she knew it was two-forty-three. The number in the first letter.

She stepped back behind the metal wall that hid her. Glancing down, she saw that Mark had drawn a gun. She slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. She hadn’t even realized he was carrying. Sneakiness must be a quality for FBI recruits as well as jewel thieves.

Pretend you’re on an assignment
, she told herself. Like when she’d interviewed the governor and was a nervous wreck until she imagined him in his underwear. Somehow that didn’t seem to work with a thug like Joel Jimar.

She looked into Mark’s face and saw confusion. There was no sound. What was the man doing at the locker?

Once more, she dared to peek around the corner. The locker was open now. The huge man stood staring at it. Her stomach quivered as she watched him fist and unfist his hands. The necklace wasn’t there and he was fuming about it.

Then he pulled something out of the locker, put it into his pocket with a growl, and slammed the door shut.

Paige jumped, feeling the jolt like a gunshot.

Jimar turned and stomped down the aisle to the exit.

“Let’s go,” Mark whispered as he stepped in front of her to lead the way.

She hurried after him, but the lumbering criminal was out of sight by the time they reached the front desk again.

They rushed through the front door and scrambled down the steps.

“There he is,” Mark said as they had crossed the street to his Chrysler. They jumped inside just as the Mercedes took off.

Mark jammed his keys in the ignition and squealed out of his parking spot, making what was probably an illegal U-turn. They followed the Mercedes onto a residential street, then to Ocean.

“Do you think he saw us getting to the car?”

“If he had, he’d turn around and come after us.”

Made sense. She hoped Mark was right. And that Jimar didn’t have a sixth sense telling him he was being followed. The awful man was going to lead them to Holly. She had to believe that or she’d lose her mind.

The black car merged onto the expressway heading back toward Manhattan. As Mark did the same it began to rain. He turned on the wipers. Traffic grew heavier and they slowed, making nerves claw at Paige’s stomach.

By the time they neared the tollbooth, the Mercedes was several cars ahead.

“Does he know we’re behind him?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty good at tailing people. And he doesn’t know my car.” Mark reached for some change in the dash, tossed it into the receptacle, and they headed over the East River.

The Mercedes’ blinker went on and it changed lanes. Mark waited a bit then moved one lane over. Now they were four cars behind Jimar.

Paige put her hand to her face. Her skin was cold. They couldn’t lose him. Not now. Mark knew what he was doing. She had to trust him.

She had to find a way to take her mind off the traffic. Make conversation. “What did you put in that locker back there?”

He shrugged. “My cell phone.”

“Cell phone? Why?”

“High-powered GPS receiver.”

She frowned at him. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Mark?”

He nodded. “It trilaterates your position using at least three satellites.”

She thought about dropped calls when she drove near underpasses like the one they were under now. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere in the world with about a ten meter accuracy.”

Something else struck her. “What if he turns it off?”

Mark gave a low, sexy chuckle. “Then the accuracy is only fifteen meters. It’s always in standby mode. Unless you take the battery out.”

“I’m impressed.”

Mark gave her a sly grin.

Jimar had been angry when he didn’t see the necklace in the locker, but he’d taken the bait and shoved the phone in his pocket. So now the FBI could track him. She had to admire Mark’s ingenuity. And his guts. “That was a pretty risky thing to do.”

“Yep.”

“I guess sometimes there is no good move,” she admitted with a sigh.

“Sometimes.” His voice was low and full of understanding.

Dark clouds loomed over the city in the distance. Pretending she was studying them, Paige stole a look at Mark’s handsome face. She eyed his tight jeans and the deep blue knit shirt that set off his black hair and his striking eyes. As he steered the car, a muscle flexed in his forearm, making her heart lurch.

She’d always been drawn to him. He was such a remarkable man. His strength, his intelligence, his ability to handle himself in any situation. It had been years since she’d been in a car with him. She was flooded by sudden memories. Riding with him to get a pizza on a Saturday night. To the park on Sunday afternoon for a stroll in the sun. Or to Fifth Avenue to shop. She remembered laughing together when he told her she was the only woman in the world he’d go dress shopping with.

They’d been lost in each other. They’d been so much in love.

He gave her a sidelong glance and she wondered if the same memories were going through his mind.

“I’m sorry, Paige.” His tone was more sincere than she’d ever heard it.

“Sorry?”

“For all the lies. The half-truths and fabrications. I’m sorry I deceived you. I’ll never lie to you again.”

Could she believe him? She wanted to. For an instant, she wanted to wipe away all the heartache of the past years and start all over. But she didn’t dare. It was too soon. Besides she was under too much emotional distress right now. All she could give him was a nod to acknowledge what he’d said.

She pushed the past out of her mind and concentrated on the horrible present and the steadily moving vehicle car in front of them. “Do you really think that man will lead us to Holly?”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”

They followed the dark car along the river, past the airport, through the city and the Theatre District. Finally it led them to the last spot on earth Paige would have guessed.

The Piazza hotel in the middle of Manhattan—the same building where Adolphus’ party had taken place less than twenty-four hours ago.

Without any hesitation, the big man pulled up to the hotel entrance, got out of the Mercedes, handed his keys to the valet and marched inside. He certainly was focused on where he was going.

Paige felt her stomach go tight. “What do we do now?”

“Find a parking garage.”

Down the street, Mark pulled under a Park sign and took a ticket. He found a space and soon they were out and heading for the hotel lobby.

But by the time they reached it, Joel Jimar was nowhere in sight.

Mark reached for Paige’s hand and led her across the gleaming tiles of the hotel’s reception area. He forced himself to stroll like a tourist, taking in the half-modern, half-antique decor of the expanse. Its stained glass accents, its flower-lined archways leading to restaurants and shops, its glittering chandeliers that bathed it all in a soft golden light. Ah, the opulent life. The life he once lusted for.

And to think, right here, less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d been chasing his stubborn, spirited ex-wife down these halls. What a difference a day made. Last night here in this lobby, she’d tried to give him the slip and failed. So would Jimar, he feared.

Still, he was silly with relief that she’d finally seen his point about the kidnapper. She wouldn’t be facing him alone.

Putting on his best clueless rich-boy act, he sidled up to the yawning teakwood desk.

The clerk finished with a guest and turned to him. He was a short, round faced man with rosy cheeks and thinning hair. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Maybe.” He scratched his head trying to look as lost and helpless as possible. “My wife and I are supposed to meet a friend in the lobby and—gosh this is embarrassing—I’m not even sure we’re in the right hotel. We’re from out of town.” He gave the clerk an awkward laugh.

“I told you to write down the directions,” Paige snapped.

Mark caught the gleam in her eye and saw she was picking up on his idea with a vigor and inventiveness that made his heart swell. It did a flip when she turned to the clerk, shook her head, and groaned. “Men.”

Smart. Instantly, the clerk was on his side. “Who are you looking for, sir?”

“A Mr. Jean-Claude Laroche. Is he registered with you?” He felt Paige tense beside him. He hadn’t mentioned that name to her. But she didn’t break the pretense. Instead, she huffed and hid her anxiety by tapping a foot and glaring at the gaudy domed ceiling in fake exasperation.

“One moment.” The clerk’s fingers raced over his keyboard. Male bonding trumps security any day. “Yes. Mr. Laroche is with us. Would you like me to ring him?”

Paige made a face that almost frightened Mark. “Good grief, no. Do you want to ruin everything? It’s supposed to be a surprise.” She put a finger in the clerk’s face. “Don’t you dare tip him off.”

The man’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. He shook his head vigorously. “Oh no, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh oh,” Mark said sheepishly.

Paige scowled. “What now?”

“I’m supposed to call him in a few minutes. After we bring in his present. I forgot to write down the room number.”

Paige gritted her teeth. “Of all the stupid, lame-brained things. This just takes the cake.” She turned to the clerk. “Look what I have to put up with.”

He bristled visibly, totally on Mark’s side. Damn, what a job Paige was doing. “I’ll get you the room number, sir.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. It’s got to be against regulations.”

“Nonsense. I’ll take full responsibility.” He handed Mark a slip of paper and gave Paige a sneer.

“Thanks, man.” Mark gave him a relieved smile.

“Hmpf,” Paige said, hooked her arm under Mark’s and turned him around. “C’mon, witless. Let’s see if we can pull this party off without your screwing it up.”

“Yes, dear,” Mark whined, finding it hard not to laugh. As they passed a column where an arrangement of Louis the Something chairs sat, he leaned toward her ear and whispered. “You didn’t have to lay it on quite so thick at the end.”

“Didn’t I?” She batted her pretty lashes at him.

He had to laugh now. “I didn’t know you were such a good actress.”

“You’d be surprised what I can do, Mark Storm.” In the corner, out of view of the clerk, she stared at him wide-eyed. “Now what?”

Mark opened the slip of paper. Twentieth floor. Just where he thought Laroche would be. Old habits die hard.

Paige turned to him, keeping her voice low. “How did you know what name to ask for?”

He was wondering when she’d ask. He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

“Another person you used to work with?”

He gazed into those smoky grey eyes. She’d figure it out sooner or later. But this wasn’t the time for lengthy explanations.

As if she realized that, she put her hands to her face. “I feel like I’m hovering over a cliff, Mark. I want to rush up to that room, burst in, and tear Holly away from that awful man.”

But they both knew that was a good way to get all of them killed. “We need a plan.”

“I’d say so. You’re the FBI man. What have you got?”

As he pondered, his gaze wandered to the window and the tall building across the street. The Godiva. The Piazza’s rival. Both had a perfect view of each other.

“You know the layout of the hotel, don’t you?” He showed her the piece of paper. “Does this room face east?”

She looked at it for a moment then nodded. “I think so. It should overlook Fifth. Why?”

“I’ve got an idea.” He took her by the arm and, making sure the clerk didn’t notice them, exited out the front door.

“Where are we going?” It was only a half-protest.

“To do some spying.”