Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (6 page)

His lips urge mine apart, but I squirm out of his
embrace and fish the key out of the silk flowers.

When I fumble for the lock, he says, “Let me.”

In one fluid move, he puts his left arm around my
waist and jams me to him while snatching the key from my right
hand.

He’s no gentleman, and there’s no doubt he’s
aroused. How am I going to get out of this one without a direct
knee to the groin?

We fall into the darkness and it’s all I can do to
keep the panic out of my voice. “I better get that coffee going.
Remember the long drive?”

I find the switch and the room fills with light.

He releases me to take in the pre-war oak floor and
the fourteen-foot ceiling. “Not bad. Not bad at all. A few years
ago I looked at several townhouses in this area. I might have seen
this property then.” He points toward the stairs. “Two bedroom
suites? One on each floor?”

Those fire ants begin to crank up. His description
is much too close to the mark.

His voice breaks in. “How long have you owned this
place?” “Almost eight years.” I edge toward the kitchen. “Make
yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”

He catches up with me. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not
letting you out of my sight for one minute.”

What’s he going to think when I start pawing through
the cabinets for the coffee? I’m supposed to live here. When I
pause at the kitchen entrance, he almost runs me over. I turn and
give him a coquettish wink. “As you must know, pre-war kitchens
that haven’t been remodeled are very cramped. If you could just
give me a few minutes, we’ll be so much more comfortable on the
couch.”

Lucky for me, the coffee is next to the pot. When I
return to the living room, the Cardinal is seated on the couch and
beckons for me to sit next to him.

Once I’m settled, he grabs my hand. “You are so easy
on the eyes. I’m glad Jay Three brought you back.”

“So am I. And I’m so glad we could connect this
time.”

Big mistake. He’s all over me. His tongue greedily
mining my mouth while his hand gropes my breast. My first instinct
is to bolt. Then I remind myself I volunteered for this duty.

When he comes up for air, I wiggle out of his clutch
and stand. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Who needs coffee?” he pants.

“You do.” I make for the kitchen before he can
regain his balance.

It’s in the kitchen that the brilliant idea
blossoms: dump the coffee into the Cardinal’s crotch. I take a
moment to visualize the scene: the shock on his face, his leap from
the couch, his race for the front door. Then the stark realization
dawns that it would be a very good reason for him to remove his
trousers, and while they were drying—nope. Don’t think I’ll go
there.

Resigned to playing it straight, I carry in the
tray, pour a cup for each of us, and ease into the cushions,
praying that the threat of scalding coffee will keep him at
bay.

It’s the Cardinal who begins the questions. “I know
your last name is Armington, may I ask your given name?”

I hesitate. Did Cliff say that was okay? Then I
remember. I’m not to ask the questions. Just answer. “It’s
Angela.”

“And you are an angel. A Southern angel, I think.”
“Yes.”

“And a high-fashion model? You certainly have the
figure for it.”

“Thanks.”

“I thought I recognized you, though your photographs
hardly do you justice.”

The Cardinal drains his cup and sets it on the
coffee table. That means trouble. Sure that only one cup of
scalding coffee won’t be enough to blunt his advances, I quickly
refill his, shove it back in his hand and chirp, “I don’t know all
the rules, but I was instructed not to ask your name.”

“Yes, that’s one of the rules. It’s for our
protection, as are the names we are given.”

“Cardinal? Like the bird?”

He studies me for a moment, probably trying to
figure out how much I know. “That’s right. I’m just a poor little
red bird. Your Jay Three is much more important than I.”

When he sets his empty cup on the coffee table and
stands, my heart soars. Am I going to be let off this easy?

To my dismay, he heads for the stairs. “Is your
bedroom up there?”

He’s on the third step when the kitchen extension
rings. Greene’s come through.

I hurry through the dining room with the Cardinal in
hot pursuit, scoop the phone from the wall cradle and turn to face
him. “Hello?”

It’s a relief to hear the detective say, “Sounds
like you could use some diversion.”

Grateful that Greene suggested I make up a story in
advance, I smile and fill my next few words with enthusiasm. “Mom!
This is a surprise. But, you’re a day early. Where on earth are
you?”

I shoot the Cardinal a discouraged pout. “Grand
Central? Oh, dear. I have no car. You’ll have to get a cab, but it
shouldn’t be a problem at this hour.”

I make a few more sympathetic “oh dears” before I
hang up. “I was expecting my mother tomorrow, but true to form
she’s arrived a day early. I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to
go.”

He sidles toward me, a hopeful look on his face. “If
your mother looks anything like you, I’d love to meet her.
Threesomes can be so interesting.”

I almost choke on that one. Think, Allie. Think. To
buy time, I place my hand beneath his elbow and turn him in the
direction of the front door.

“That’s so flattering. I’m sure Mother would love to
hear what you said. But Dad is with her and I’m afraid he wouldn’t
quite understand.”

His face falls. “Oh, I didn’t realize your
father—that is rather unfortunate. Perhaps it would be prudent to
make a quick exit.” When we reach the front door, he circles me
with both arms. “So beautiful. I’ll be proud to have you by my side
at the next gala. I’ll send your dress in a few days.”

He pulls my arms to circle his neck then runs his
hands down my body. “I think it should be red—to match my cape and
emphasize your coloring. Size four, I’m guessing?”

This guy’s in la-la-land, I haven’t seen a four
since I
was
four. Oh, well, it’s his nickel. I lean to his
ear and whisper coyly, “How very flattering, but I’m really a
perfect ten.”

He pulls back for another looksee. “Impossible.
You’re so svelte. But, if you say so, I’ll send a ten soon enough
to be altered to the size four I’m sure you are.”

He nuzzles my neck and croons, “It’s against policy
to have contact with the lovelies until after we trade them to
another escort. But I’m aching to see you again—aching so badly
that I can’t wait until next week. Perhaps we can arrange a quiet
tête-à-tête here—” He thinks a moment. “How about Wednesday around
four?”

I go ice-cold. This is definitely not a good move.
No time to panic, he’s almost out the door.

“Oh dear, aren’t you the naughty boy.” I put on a
pout and touch my forefinger to his mouth. “You mustn’t break the
rules. What would they do to you if they found out?”

He starts at that. “But I’m—”

I can almost hear the wheels turning. The Big Kahuna
wondering how much of a risk he should take, especially since it
was he who made the rules.

Caution triumphs over lust.

Before I can answer, his mouth covers mine for what
seems like an eternity.

“You’re bright as a penny, my dear—much brighter
than the usual—I’ll be counting the days.”

INSISTENT RINGING jars me out of half-sleep. Though
I didn’t have but a few sips of champagne the night before, I’m
feeling plenty punk now.

Detective Benjamin Greene sounds like he’s talking
through a tin can and string. “I thought we were getting together
at eleven. You keeping DA’s hours?”

“Hardly.” I squint at the digital clock on the
bedside table. Eleven forty-five. “Sorry. It was a long evening.
How’s two?”

By a quarter ‘til, I have been to Gristede’s and
back, stocked the refrigerator and made myself a spectacular turkey
sandwich. All I have to do is walk to my main mode of travel—the
subway at Lex and Ninety-Sixth. It’s so easy to hop on there and,
just a few minutes later, hop off at Sixty-Eighth.

As I turn the corner, I see Greene standing on the
sidewalk in front of the station talking to a man who seems very
familiar. My heart quickens and I pick up my pace, straining to get
a closer look. Have my eyes deceived me? Or do I desperately need
that to be Bill Cotton, the man I once thought might share my
future?

I fell for him two years before when he was a DEA
double-agent posing as the Sheriff of Uvalde County, Texas. His
efforts broke up a major drug-trafficking operation that crossed
the Rio Grande, but the minute the sting went down, he disappeared.
Damn him. Not a word since the trial in El Paso.

When Greene spots me, waves and calls my name, the
man glances my way, then hunches into his overcoat and hurries
toward Third Avenue.

I take the last fifty yards in a lope and am so
winded, it’s all I can do to blurt, “Who was that?”

The detective shrugs. “Nobody you’d know.”

I can’t let it go at that. “But, he looked
so—familiar.”

“Trust me. There’s no way you could begin to know
him.” Somehow, I don’t believe Greene, or I don’t want to.

The detective leads me into the warmth of the
building and down the hall to his cubbyhole. “Danes will be here
soon.”

After helping me shed my coat, he points me to one
of the chairs in front of his desk.

Greene settles in his. “We were able to contact the
Montoya family a couple of days ago. No easy task,” he says. “Not
just anybody can get through.”

Caro’s contorted body looms before me for a brief
second as the whole scene replays. I choke back rising bile to
murmur, “Will someone be coming for her?”

“No word on that, yet.”

Greene grabs a file from the stack on the console
behind him. “Want to see who you’re dealing with?” He opens it and
pushes it to my side of the desk.

The Cardinal stares up.

I suppress a shudder and mutter, “That’s him.”

“We’ve had him under surveillance for some time.
Name’s Jason Lodge Kingsley-Smythe with the accent on Lodge. He’s
pushing seventy-five, but still heads a high-profile downtown law
firm, Kingsley-Smythe and Templeton. Married. Grown children.
Grandchildren. Big mansion in Greenwich.”

Greene produces an aerial shot of waterfront
property. “Take a look. Ten acres, a tennis court and a couple of
swimming pools with waterfalls.” He stabs the bottom of the photo.
“And six hundred feet on the Long Island Sound with
beachfront.”

I cringe at the memory of that man’s tongue drilling
my mouth, hating that I went along with it.

“He’s sending me a red dress to wear next week.” “So
we heard.”

Cliff ’s whine comes over my right shoulder. “Oh,
God, you didn’t give the Cardinal your phone number. If you did,
I’m dead meat for sure.”

I give him a long stare, then mutter, “Actually, I
thought you might have done that for me.”

He shakes his head and slumps into the empty chair
next to mine. “Believe me, I’m not that stupid.”

It takes him a few seconds to notice the Cardinal’s
picture. When he does, he jerks forward to jab the photograph with
his forefinger. “Are you saying Kingsley-Smythe is the main
man?”

He glances my way then back at the picture. “I’m
absolutely flabbergasted. I know the members are prominent figures
in their communities, but Jason Kingsley-Smythe? He never misses
the Governor’s prayer breakfasts. He’s one of the chosen few who
sit at the head table.”

The detective runs his finger down what looks like
some sort of resume. “Senior Warden of his church. Past chairman of
the United Way, Planned Parenthood, the Boards of two museums and a
ballet company. Certainly seems public spirited.”

My spine puddles. A respected man like Jason
Kingsley-Smythe mixed up in drugs, prostitution and murder? The
idea both repulses and intrigues me.

Greene draws another file from the stack. “We have a
list of the initiated names for the first tier headed by the
Cardinal and the Archbishop.”

Cliff leans forward. “I can tell you who Javelin is.
Feldon McCrae. I went through Exeter with him. Never could forget
that voice. The guys called him ‘Squeaky’ right to his face.”

The detective runs his ballpoint down the list and
puts a mark by a name. “Thanks, Danes, you’ve been a big help.”

Cliff lets out a long breath and stands. “Is that
all?”

The detective waves him out. “Just don’t leave town.
We might need to talk to you again.”

Greene gathers the photographs and shoves them into
their file, then turns to me. “How did the cleanup go?”

To my relief the professional crime-scene cleaning
service crew spent hours detailing Caro’s suite—at my expense.
Seems the NYPD doesn’t “do” crime-scene cleanups.

Every shred of evidence connected to Caro’s violent
end has been removed. Still, each time I pass the second floor, I
shudder.

Her remaining possessions are in a cardboard carton.
Pictures of her family: her mother and father, a handsome
couple—older than I expected; a distant shot of a man I supposed
was her brother, who bore a striking resemblance to Caro, but
looked ten years her senior; lastly, a shot of two smiling little
girls that looked so much like Caro, they had to be sibs. I
wondered if they were smiling now?

A surge of sorrow overwhelms me. As far as Greene is
concerned, that part of the case is over. But seeing Carolina
Montoya strapped to that headboard will forever remain in my
mind.

I shove my emotions to the back burner. “So now
what?”

He rises and starts for the opening to his cubicle.
“It’s back to The Castle for you. This time on Kingsley-Smythe’s
arm.”

“But, that’s almost a week from now. Can’t I do
something for the department while I’m waiting? Maybe some kind of
research?” Greene shakes his head. “There’s nothing more you can do
for the project right now. Newark has just loaned us a real
computer whiz. Detective Mindy Cha.”