Читать книгу The Christmas Clue - Delores Fossen, Delores Fossen - Страница 7

Chapter Two

Matt stared at the photo, and he stared at it some more. Even though he tried to tamp down all the wild scenarios that started to fly through his head, he wasn’t completely successful. The little girl was a dead ringer for him.

“You’re a fugitive from justice,” he pointed out, talking just as much to himself as his breaking-and-entering visitor. “So, why I should believe anything you say?”

“Because I’m telling the truth.”

No hesitation. None. It still didn’t help convince him otherwise, and she obviously realized that, from the Arctic look he gave her.

“The truth?” he questioned, upping that icy look a notch. He handed her back the photo, and she put it in her pocket. “I doubt it. You probably had the picture doctored. Or maybe that wasn’t even necessary. Maybe you just found some kid who looks like me and decided to use her to run this…whatever this is.”

She looked genuinely insulted. “Why would I make up something like that?”

“Easy. To convince me to help you get this so-called evidence from Dominic Cordova’s estate.”

That earned him a glare. And she was good at it, too. Those cat-green eyes could slice, dice and dismiss all in the same glance.

“Then, if you follow that through to its logical conclusion,” she countered, “I must be telling you the truth about there being evidence to exonerate me. Or else why would I need your help?” She paused, and let that hum between them for a few seconds. “Now, do me a favor and take that even one step further. If I’m telling the truth about that, then I’m also telling the truth about the little girl in that picture. She’s your daughter.”

Matt shook his head. “There’s nothing logical about that conclusion.”

And that meant he had to figure out the next step. He could just call the cops and have her arrested. One call. A simple solution. He could have her out of his house within twenty minutes. Maybe less. But his instincts told him to take a little detour first. Not that it would change the outcome. Not that it would prevent her arrest, but it’d make him sleep a little easier if he confirmed, or disproved, a few things.

First things first though. He reached out and grabbed her tranquilizer gun. He definitely surprised her, because judging from the look on her face, she had no idea it was coming. Only after he’d successfully disarmed her did Matt take his cell phone from his pocket.

“No!” she practically yelled. She grabbed him, clamping onto his arm and shoving him against the wall. “I can’t let you call the cops.”

He actually had to bite back a smile. The woman had courage.

Or something.

Maybe desperation was the great equalizer because he towered over her and outweighed her by a good seventy pounds, and still she tried to hang on to him. While they were practically plastered against each other.

She noticed that, too.

Her gaze slipped from his eyes and landed on his right thigh and groin that pressed against her jeans. With her free hand, she reached down and gave his thigh a shove, which was a necessary adjustment. Unfortunately, her hand wasn’t too steady, or else she wanted to torture him. Because her touch was more of a grope, and she almost gave him an erection in the process. It was surefire reminder that it’d been a while since he’d been this close to a woman.

“Why don’t we take this conversation out of this narrow hallway so we’re not practically standing on top of each other?” she suggested. “And then we can discuss why you can’t call the police.”

“I’m not calling them,” he informed her. “Yet.”

“Then who?”

“A friend. And I don’t plan on telling him you’re here. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my problem, not his. I just want some information.” And Matt didn’t want to try to get that info while trying to keep an eye on his visitor.

She waited a moment, staring at him. “What’s your definition of a friend?”

Matt decided to keep things vague. “Someone who can prove you’re lying.”

“Oh.” And she actually relaxed a little.

A reaction that had Matt tensing a lot. It couldn’t be possible. Cass Harrison couldn’t be telling the truth.

“This call would be to someone we both can trust?” she asked. “By that, I mean to someone not in the Justice Department.”

Again, he kept things vague. “The call will be safe.”

She released the grip she had on his arm, took a step back and motioned for him to continue. Matt took her up on that—after he continued to consider her response and then dismissed it as some bizarre mind game.

Yes, that had to be it.

He made the call. To his friend and co-worker, Agent Ronald McKenzie. Definitely someone in the Justice Department. He didn’t have the same reservations about safety that Cass did.

“Ronald,” Matt greeted. He winced when he heard Ronald give a groggy yawn. It was past 10:00 p.m. and obviously bedtime for some. “Sorry to wake you, but this is an emergency of sorts. I need you to run some thing on our old pal, Dominic Cordova. I’d like to know if he’s become a father in the past six months.”

That stopped Ronald in midyawn. “A father?”

It wasn’t just a simple question. Ronald wanted to know what had precipitated this call. But Matt didn’t want to get into that yet. So he trimmed down the details of an explanation and hoped it would suffice. “Yeah. I’ve heard rumors that he adopted a child.” He paused, because he had to. “I’ve also heard rumors that this baby might have a connection to Vanessa.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope. But like I said, it’s probably just a rumor.” Or an out-and-out lie.

“I’ll check,” Ronald promised. “And then I’ll call you right back.”

“Thanks.”

Matt pushed the end call button, slipped the phone into his pocket and looked at her. Her face wasn’t hard to miss since she was right there in front of him. They were practically standing on each other. Way too close. It was time to do something about that, so Matt stepped around her. Unfortunately, his arm swiped her right breast, causing her to suck in her breath. Matt ignored both the swipe and her reaction, and he headed into the kitchen, figuring she’d follow.

She did.

“Too bad you’re not a Navy SEAL,” she mumbled. She brushed her fingers over the tiny one-foot mini tree that had come predecorated with about a dozen tacky ornaments. It was his sole attempt to recognize the holidays. “I hear they’re fearless.”

Matt just glared at her. “That won’t work.”

“What won’t?” she asked innocently.

“Insulting me.”

She scratched her eyebrow. Auburn eyebrows that didn’t match her now-chocolate-brown hair. “I was actually trying to goad you.”

“That won’t work, either. So, talk to me about this so-called evidence that’ll exonerate you,” Matt insisted. If there was anything to it, and that was a huge if, he could pass on the info to the authorities once she was in custody.

“Surveillance disks,” she answered. “Dominic records everything that goes on in every room. And I mean everything. Since the murder happened in his office at the estate, I’m sure some information about it will be on one or more of the disks.”

Matt didn’t even try to suppress a loud groan. “And I’m guessing there are plenty of these disks?”

“Hundreds in a vault in the basement. I have the code to get into the vault. That’s not the problem. The problem is, according to someone who’s familiar with the estate, Dominic only keeps each disk one year. That means if I don’t act fast, he’ll erase any evidence I can use.”

He leaned slightly closer. “That isn’t helping your case, you know.”

“You mean because if Dominic records everything, then the sheer volume will make it impossible for us to find the evidence?”

“You,” he corrected.

“You what?”

“You said it’ll be impossible for us to find the evidence. There is no us in this delusional plan, only you.”

“Oh, there’s an us all right.” She shook her head, and sent a lock of her chin-length hair sliding across her cheekbone. “The little blond-haired girl in that picture changes everything.”

“No. She doesn’t.”

And Matt was almost positive he believed that.

Cass Harrison apparently thought otherwise because she just stared at him.

“Okay,” he said trying a different angle. “Let’s suppose for argument’s sake that there is disk evidence. How do you intend to get it?”

“We will use equipment to jam Dominic’s disk surveillance feed. After that, we can gain access to the basement. Since covert measures are your specialty, that shouldn’t be a problem. Then, we’ll open the vault and search through the disks until we find what we’re looking for.”

Matt bypassed the last half of what she said and groaned again. “Equipment? What kind of equipment?”

“That’s another area where I’ll need your help. I don’t have access to the kind of equipment necessary to bypass Dominic’s state-of-the-art security system, and it’s not something I can buy.”

Matt really didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “But I do have access?”

She made an of course sound. “Don’t make me quote questionably obtained intel reports about the recent rescue of an American businesswoman who was being held hostage in South America. The only way the military and the Justice Department could have gotten her out was if they’d used the exact kind of jamming equipment that we need.”

He scowled at her. “And you think the Justice Department just leaves this equipment unsecured so anyone can use it?”

“No. But I think you can get it if it becomes necessary. And guess what? That little girl in the picture makes it necessary.”

Matt leaned in. “Yet another example of totally faulty reasoning. Or maybe it’s just a lie.”

She groaned. “I wish you’d stop accusing me of lying.”

“Sorry.” An apology Matt definitely didn’t mean, and his tone conveyed that. “It’s just that I get a little testy when someone breaks into my house, holds a tranquilizer gun on me and then demands that I steal classified equipment, break ranks and join in a halfassed, stupid plan that would almost certainly get both of us killed.”

“It’s not a half-assed, stupid plan.” But then she paused, shrugged. “Okay, maybe it does have some half-assed, stupid elements to it, but I’m doing the best I can with what I have. And what I have is you, Matt Christensen. You’re a highly trained federal agent. You can get us into that estate.”

In most cases, that would be true.

But not this time.

Judging from the intel reports he’d read, Dominic Cordova’s estate was a fortress. With reason. The man had enraged at least a dozen people, criminals, who killed as easily as they breathed. And that kind of situation made a person paranoid about security.

“Why didn’t you just ask the authorities to check out Dominic’s place, huh?” Matt asked. “If the evidence is there, they could find it—legally.”

“First of all, the authorities wouldn’t believe me. And if by some miracle they did, they wouldn’t risk offending their new ally by requesting the necessary documents to do a search of his estate. Plus, I’m about ninety-nine percent sure there’s a leak in communications. I think Dominic may have an insider in the Justice Department, and this person might be feeding him official information.”

Interesting. Matt hadn’t heard that particular accusation. Perhaps because she’d just made it up. He certainly wasn’t about to assume it was true. “Is that a guess, or do you actually have proof?”

“Proof. I did a test a few days ago and phoned in some bogus info to a person I thought I could trust in the Justice Department. Then, I timed it. In less than an hour, Dominic received a call on his secure line at his estate. The caller spoke through a computer voice scrambler so I have no idea who he or she is, but the person relayed the bogus info verbatim to Dominic.”

Matt considered all of that and decided it could mean nothing. It did, however, warrant some further investigating. “Do I dare ask how you gained access to Dominic’s secure phone line?”

“No.” She had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “That’s not a good question to ask.”

If this entire conversation hadn’t been so frustrating, Matt would have smiled. But he doubted he’d be doing much smiling tonight. “How’d you ever hook up with Dominic Cordova in the first place?”

She angled her head and stared at him. “Is this small talk?”

“In a way.” Matt checked his watch. “I’m waiting on my friend to call back. If he doesn’t within the next ten minutes, I’m phoning the cops. I figure this is as good a way as any to pass the time.”

For a moment Matt didn’t think she’d answer. Strange, since she’d volunteered everything else. But then, he’d probably riled her with that threat to call the cops. Which wasn’t exactly a threat. He would call them.

As soon as Ronald verified that she was lying.

“Dominic,” she mumbled, saying his name as if it were a persistent infection. She thumped a tiny Santa figure dangling from the Christmas plant and sent the Santa swaying. “He sought me out, attending the same parties, the same social functions. He pursued me. At the time, I didn’t realize it was a setup, that he wasn’t interested in me nearly as much as my multimillion-dollar trust fund.”

“He’s that good an actor?”

Her sigh was laced with regret. “He’s that good, and I can usually spot a phony. My parents might have been wealthy, but they weren’t born that way. They were streetwise, and before they died they were always warning me about guys like Dominic.”

“But you missed the signs with him,” he pointed out.

“Obviously.”

She quickly looked away after her gaze landed on his bare chest, making him wish he’d taken the time to rebutton his shirt after he’d realized he had an intruder in the house. This was not good. Even with all the unreasonable demands, Cass Harrison was still a woman.

An attractive woman who had a unique way of reminding him that he was a man.

“I missed the signs because I was thinking with the wrong part of my body,” she explained. “It took me seven weeks to realize that Dominic wanted to use my money and business contacts to carry out illegal activities.”

Matt didn’t doubt that part, but he also believed that Cass had loved getting involved with a dangerous man. It was what bored socialites like her did. And he should know. Vanessa had done the same thing to him.

She’d loved his job. The danger of it. The excitement. It’d gotten her hot. But that heat had fizzled out very quickly when she grew bored with him and his lack of massive amounts of money.

That was something he had to accept. And it was a realization that still caused Matt to curse himself for ever getting involved with a blue-blood heiress in the first place. At least it was a lesson learned.

And one he wouldn’t repeat.

Ever.

Even if the heiress across from him was causing him to have a few lustful thoughts.

Cass pulled in a hard breath and stood. “You’re not going to help me, are you?”

“No.”

She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her well-worn jeans. It was a little maneuver that had her navy blue sweater tightening across her breasts and hitching up to expose an inch or two of her stomach. No bra. And how did he know that? Because the sides of her jacket were far enough apart that he could see the outline of her erect nipples.

Oh, man.

Why didn’t he just hit himself in the head? He shouldn’t be looking at her. She was as off-limits as any woman could possibly be. When this was over, he really did need to take some time and get laid.

“I can’t recover the evidence on my own,” she said, her voice a little quavery now. More than quavery. Feminine. Not good. That quavery feminine voice teased his protective instincts while her semibare midriff teased a part of him that needed no such teasing. “And if I do nothing, I have to stay on the run. Not exactly how I want to spend the rest of my life.”

He made a grunt of agreement and forced his attention away from that snug sweater. “You know the old saying about being between a rock and a hard place. Guess that’s where you are right now.”

She made a mimicking grunt of agreement, and while the sound was still reverberating in her throat, she pulled her right hand from behind her. Not slowly, either. She was fast. Damn fast. And her hand wasn’t empty, either.

She aimed a gun—a real gun—right at him. “I always carry backup,” she let him know.

“Hell,” he mumbled, and he silently chastised himself with some much-stronger profanity. How had he let the situation come to this?

Oh, wait.

He knew what had caused his lapse in judgment. It was her nipple-showing sweater and that quavery voice. He’d stupidly let them distract him, and now that stupidity might have some serious consequences.

Matt glanced at her and then took a better look at her weapon. He instantly recognized the model. A Kahr PM9. A trim 9 mm with a tiny three-inch barrel. Heck, the whole gun was only five inches long, so no wonder he hadn’t noticed it in what was no doubt a slide holster tucked in the back waist of her jeans. But Matt knew this was a case where size truly didn’t matter. It was a combat weapon and just as deadly as any gun in the wrong hands could be.

“This is a mistake,” he insisted. Not his best attempt at reasoning, but Matt was still berating himself for allowing the situation to escalate into this.

“A mistake? I don’t think so. I have a different saying for you—a woman’s place is behind the trigger. Guess that’s where I am right now.”

Man, she was as good with the wise comebacks as she was at distracting him. Too bad he’d have to be the one to make sure she was arrested. And it was really too bad that he didn’t like having to do that. It was his job to protect and defend, he reminded himself. But a part of him, a very small part of him, wouldn’t have minded if Cass Harrison had somehow been able to find evidence to clear her name. Especially since that would send Dominic to jail for the rest of his life.

“So, what now?” Matt asked her. “I’m your hostage?”

She nodded. “Temporarily. Take off your pants.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to sexually assault me?”

That earned him one of those glares and a nasty little huff. “You wish. I’ll use them to tie you up. I don’t especially want to go rifling around your place to find something to restrain you.”

Oh, so she did have a plan.

Such that it was.

Matt unzipped his pants, all the while looking for the opportunity to disarm her. It wouldn’t take much. Just a split-second distraction, and then he could launch himself at her. A tackle of sorts. And then he would call the authorities. Her time was up.

Stripped down to his shirt and boxer briefs, he extended his arm in front of him and dropped his pants on the kitchen floor.

In the three feet of space that separated them.

She scowled, probably because she knew it would be a major mistake to try to reach down and pick them up. Instead, she kept her gaze fastened on him and used her foot to drag the pants closer to her. She didn’t stop there. Cass began to back up, moving farther away from him.

The sound of the phone ringing sliced through the room. It was exactly the distraction he’d been waiting for. She automatically glanced at the phone mounted to the wall, and that glance cost her.

Matt launched himself at her.

She didn’t fire. In fact, she didn’t even attempt to shoot him. She turned, as if to run, but Matt latched on to her shoulder. His full weight slammed into her, and the momentum sent them both crashing to the floor. They landed between a pair of bar stools.

Somewhere amid the sounds of the struggle, he heard his answering machine kick it. “It’s Matt. Leave a message.”

Matt relied on his training. He turned, maneuvered and adjusted until he had her pinned down, and then he wrenched the small gun from her hand. Because her knee could quickly become a painful weapon, he literally pressed her entire body against the floor so she couldn’t move.

“Matt, are you there?” Agent Ronald McKenzie said into the answering machine. It was a call that Matt would have liked to answer, but there was no way he would let go of Cass now that he’d subdued her. Well, sort of.

He might have gotten her physically restrained, but she was hurling eye daggers at him and was mumbling some rather creative profanity through bursts of labored breath. It was obvious she wouldn’t give up and was probably already looking for another way to escape.

“I checked on our friend for you,” he heard Ronald say. “I found something.”

Matt couldn’t help it. That comment captured his complete attention. It obviously captured Cass’s, too, because she stilled, her body practically going limp, and her gaze drifted in the direction of the phone.

“Just asking the question seemed to make a few people uncomfortable,” Ronald explained, his voice noticeably laced with anxiety. “Still, I asked, and here’s the answer I got—it appears that six months ago Dominic Cordova did indeed adopt a baby. He named the girl Molly.”

Matt felt as if someone had slugged him.

Oh, man.

All he could do was lie there while Ronald continued.

“I hope I’m wrong, but I doubt it, so here goes. The adoption might not have been aboveboard. It’s all tied to that illegal adoption ring that the San Antonio PD recently broke up. And if you’re thinking this kid belongs to Vanessa, you’re right. The timing is dead-on. Vanessa did have a baby, and Dominic’s adopted child was born in the very hospital and at the very minute that Vanessa gave birth. But here’s the clincher, and believe me, it’s not a clincher you’re going to like.”

Matt looked down at Cass at the exact moment she looked up at him. He tried to brace himself for whatever Ronald was about to say, and judging from the sympathetic look that passed through Cass’s eyes, he was about to get some very shocking news.

“According to my source, Vanessa didn’t get involved with another man after you.” Ronald paused several snail-crawling moments. “If I were a betting man, I’d say yes, Dominic Cordova has your daughter.”