Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One (33 page)

Max sipped his wine. “We’ll put an agent on all the exits just to make sure Chalmers doesn’t decide to leave early.”

“That’s a good idea.”

There was a pause. Then Max asked unexpectedly, “You nervous?”

“No, why?”

He nodded at her hands. “You’re turning that piece of bread into confetti.”

She glanced down to see that she had torn apart the slice of Italian bread. “Maybe I am a little nervous,” she confessed.

“Don’t be,” Max said. “Just be good.”

She nodded and rose, leaving the food he had ordered for her untouched. “You’ll be at the rehearsal, and at the party afterward?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said. Then he shook his head. “It’s a wonder you don’t pass out on your feet, Charley. You never eat anything.”

She grinned, and leaned over and patted his stomach. “You do enough eating for both of us,” she said, and turned to leave.

Well, they were into the homestretch now, she thought as she walked through the restaurant. And as soon as this was over, she was going to tell Max that she needed some time off to sort things out. She’d take it all one step at a time. Right now, though, she had to deal with Reese.

He was waiting for her, standing nonchalantly by the restaurant door. He dropped the attitude of disinterest the instant he saw her, however.

“Well, what did ‘Uncle Max’ have to say?” he asked eagerly.

“He agreed that Chalmers was a likely suspect,” she said. “And something else. The exchange is to take place tonight, at the party. I’ve got to follow Allison. And, Reese, I won’t be able to concentrate if I know you’re following me.”

“All right,” he said. “You win. I’ll ride this one out.”

She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her and, for a moment, held her close.

Chapter Ten

Backstage at the theater, preparations for dress rehearsal were in full swing. It was like walking into a tornado, Charley thought as she entered the large communal dressing room. Nervous chatter filled the air. The room was crowded with actors and dancers and technical people. The head of wardrobe was going to each actor in turn to remind him or her about last-minute costume changes; the props person was following in her wake, making sure each actor knew which props he or she was responsible for. Some cast members had clustered in various spots around the room to go over their lines. Others were wandering around, doing vocal exercises. Charley could also glimpse some of the dancers warming up in the green room across the hall.

She made her way through the dressing room, weaving among the various people, to the long makeup table that lined one wall. Almost all the chairs were taken, but she spotted a free one at the end, right next to Allison. Waving to Carol, who was studying her reflection with despair, Charley walked the length of the table and sat down.

“Hi,” she said to Allison as she set her makeup bag on the table.

Allison flashed her a quick smile. She was obviously nervous.

“How’s it going?” Charley asked, pulling her hair back in a ponytail in preparation for applying her makeup.

“Okay,” Allison said.

The slight tremor in her voice told Charley Allison wasn’t okay at all. This was Allison’s first crack at the “big time,” Charley thought, and undoubtedly all her energy was focused on her upcoming performance. Charley wondered if Allison was giving any thought at all to the potential repercussions of the evening. Probably not. The woman wanted to be a star. National security couldn’t hold a candle to fame.

Charley felt her gaze harden as she looked at Allison. She forced herself to smile sympathetically. It wasn’t easy.

“You’ll be great,” she said, squeezing Allison’s hand for good measure. That hand was ice-cold.

As she waited in the wings, listening to the orchestra play the overture, Charley could feel the excitement and tension all around her. This was only a dress rehearsal, but it was as important as opening night to the cast. The show’s angels and their families and friends comprised the audience. Everything had to be letter-perfect.

Although for Charley the real drama of the night was to take place after the performance, she couldn’t help but feel excited about the show. She hadn’t been on stage in front of an audience for a year, and the familiar adrenaline and stage fright were pouring through her. Maybe acting didn’t hold the thrill for her that detective work did, but there was still something electrifying about walking out onto a stage and creating an illusory world for an audience. She knew this show would never open, at least not with its present cast and director, and she wanted this performance to be spectacular.

She glanced at Allison, who was waiting in the opposite wing. Charley would have liked to stand next to her, but that wasn’t possible. She tried to catch Allison’s attention to signal good luck to her, but she was looking over her shoulder. Suddenly Chalmers appeared behind her, and Charley’s eyes widened in consternation.

What was Chalmers doing there? she wondered. He was supposed to be sitting in the house with the rest of the audience. He whispered something in the actress’s ear, and Allison’s expression changed from nervous anxiety to surprise.

Dammit, Charley thought. What was he saying to her? Then she saw Reese walk past them, and decided the whole world had gone mad. Reese was supposed to be in the lighting booth, calling the lighting and sound cues.

Before she could do anything, even gesture to Reese, the music stopped, the lights went up, and she had to go onstage.

Charley wasn’t sure how she ever got through her opening lines. It was as if someone else had stepped into her shoes, mouthed the words, made all the appropriate moves. All she could think of was what Chalmers could have said to Allison.

Maybe it was nothing, she told herself as Allison’s character launched into a rhapsodic monologue about the man she had just met. After all, Chalmers was the director. Maybe he had been giving Allison last-minute instructions. She needed all the help she could get.

But something in the pit of Charley’s stomach told her that, whatever Chalmers had said to Allison, it had nothing to do with the play.

Both Charley and Allison were onstage for most of the first act. Finally, though, Charley could make her exit. She had just reached the wings when a hand grabbed her arm. She whirled around.

“Reese!”

“I’ve got to talk to you,” he said, drawing her to one side. “It’s about Chalmers.”

“What about him?” she asked in a low voice.

“I overheard him talking to Allison just before the curtain went up.”

Charley grabbed his arm tightly. “And?”

“They’ve switched the time for the exchange. Allison’s out of it. They’re going to do it now instead of at the party.”

“But isn’t the congressman out there?” She nodded toward the house.

“It sounded as if they’d forced him to remain in his room. Then Chalmers saw me walk by and stopped talking.”

Charley’s mind began to race. The FBI agent assigned to tail Chalmers wouldn’t show up until after the performance. But Max had said he’d post agents at all the exits, and she could only hope that one of them had spotted Chalmers and followed him. However, if the exchange was taking place now, that agent and the one stationed in Graystone’s room would need backup.

She glanced back at the actors on stage. They were in the middle of a musical number. She estimated Act One would end in about ten minutes, and then there would be a ten-minute intermission. She was due onstage in the first scene of Act Two. She would have just enough time. Maybe.

As she turned away, it struck her as ridiculous that she was worried about being late for her entrance, when the congressman and the documents he had were in danger.

Reese’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“To the hotel. Tell Max.”

“What?”

“He’s in the third row, aisle seat. You can’t miss him.” With that, she raced toward the dressing room. She was going to need her gun.

“Charley,” Carol called in a loud whisper as she ran past. “Where are you going?”

“The dressing room. My allergy is killing me.” She wiggled her nose slightly for effect. “If I don’t take my medicine quick, I’m going to wind up sneezing my way through the third act.”

She didn’t wait to see if Carol accepted her excuse. In the dressing room she also ignored the startled looks of the few actors and dancers there as she dashed across the room for her purse. She grabbed it, made sure the gun was in there, and ran for the stage-door exit.

The exit opened onto a clean but poorly lit alley. As she cautiously stepped outside, Charley saw that a fog was setting in. All she needed was a werewolf to complete the scenario, she thought, and shook her head.

The stupidest things come into your mind when you’re nervous
, she mused. And she was nervous. Very. She knew she would have been a fool not to be. The enemy agency played for keeps.

There was no one covering this exit, so she hoped the agent had followed Chalmers to the hotel. With one hand on the gun inside her purse she started for the street. She had taken no more than five steps when a hand touched her shoulder. She froze.

“Please come with me,” a gutteral voice instructed.

She turned around slowly and looked into the roundest face she had ever seen. Small, deep-set eyes appraised her. In the dim light they looked as if they were black. A cold, feeling-less black. Her gaze darted around the alley, looking for some way to escape, then fell on a motionless figure lying on the ground. The other FBI agent.

Charley made a quick decision and bolted for the street, thinking that perhaps she could outrun the man. He had at least two hundred pounds on her. She didn’t get very far. Two huge, powerful hands closed over her ribs, lifting her off the ground. She struggled, but it was useless. In this position she was no match for the man holding her.

“It is not polite to cut a visit so short,” he said, panting slightly.

“Where are you taking me?” Charley demanded.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he half carried, half dragged her to an empty car. But as he threw open the door, Charley grabbed the roof and hung on, bracing her heels against the bottom of the car. She screamed for all she was worth.

The man clamped a hand over her mouth and she bit down on the fleshy palm. This time the man screamed. In a reflexive action, he let her go.

She turned to run again, but the gleam of a gun barrel stopped her. It was pointed right at her. She knew she didn’t have a chance of escaping.

The man’s smile was ice-cold.

Then, right before her eyes, the smile faded and the man slumped forward, hitting his head on the pavement. His revolver bounced out of his hand.

“Reese!” she cried when she saw him standing over the fallen foreign agent, a two-by-four in one hand. She felt both surprise and the greatest surge of relief she had ever experienced. “Why aren’t you with Max?”

“I just saved your life and you want to know why I’m not somewhere else?” he asked, stunned.

She shook her head. “I’m grateful, but Max needs—“

Reese dropped the piece of wood and took her into his arms. “I’m not interested in what Max needs. What you need is—“

This time she cut him short. “We’ve got to get to the hotel.” She stooped to pick up the fallen gun and shoved it into her purse.

“What about him?” Reese nodded at the unconscious agent.

“There’s no time.”

They ran across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a taxi as it zoomed down the block.

“Why didn’t you tell Max?” Charley asked as they entered the hotel lobby.

“I sent him a message.”

“A message?” she echoed incredulously.

“With the assistant stage manager. My first priority was you.”

She paused and looked into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said simply.

There were a few guests in the lobby, and they cast questioning looks in Charley’s direction. Her ivory-colored dress was torn in one place and streaked with dirt.

Scarcely aware of the attention she was drawing, she hurried to the front desk.

“What room is Congressman Graystone in?” she asked the desk clerk.

The man looked at the disheveled woman in front of him, and a haughty expression came over his face. “I’m sorry, but that is confidential information. He does not wish to be disturbed.”

He was about to turn away, when Reese roughly grabbed his arm and Charley pulled out her FBI identification. The clerk looked from the shield to Charley, then back again.

“Now will you tell me?” she asked.

“Room Ten-Forty.” The man’s voice came out as a squeak.

Charley was already on her way.

“Hey, the elevator’s this way,” Reese called as she dashed right by it.

“We can’t risk it!” she yelled, throwing open a heavy fire door. For all she knew, the congressman might already be dead and the papers gone. Anything was possible. But she had to think positively.

“Why can’t we risk the elevator?” Reese asked.

“Because it might be the last ride we take.” She had no doubt that there were more foreign agents posted strategically around the hotel.

The stairwell was poorly lit and filled with grotesque shadows. The sounds of their running feet and harsh breathing filled the space, echoing eerily. Charley silently cursed the high-heeled shoes she’d worn onstage, which threatened to trip her every time she rounded a corner on the stairs.

By the time they passed the seventh floor her head was throbbing and her legs felt rubbery. When they reached the tenth floor her lungs were straining from lack of air, and she paused a moment to steady her breathing. Then she motioned to Reese to stay back and took her gun from her purse. Cautiously she pulled open the heavy door.

The hall was empty, except for a room-service cart two doors away. Room 1040 was just beyond that, on the other side. Charley was tempted to dash to the room, but instinct held her back. Why wasn’t someone posted in the hall to keep a lookout?

“Here,” she whispered, shoving into Reese’s hand the gun she’d taken from the agent.