Bait (6 page)

FOUR

So her throat hurt. So she was bruised and sore and scared. So she was operating on about two hours sleep.
Get over it,
Maddie told herself fiercely as she washed her hands in the Hepburn Building's first-floor ladies' room. She could think about what had happened later, after the presentation was over. If she and Jon did a good job now, if Creative Partners got the account, her struggling business would suddenly, for the first time ever, be on solid ground. Even better than solid ground. They'd be making money—lots of money. Enough money to buy the kind of settled, secure life she'd always dreamed about. Now was clearly not the moment to fall apart. Just because some psycho maniac had broken into her hotel room and tried to kill her was no reason to lose focus.

You gotta have priorities,
she thought wryly. A nervous breakdown would just have to wait. What she needed to do was just stay in the moment. After all, what was the alternative? Turn tail and head back to St. Louis with a whimper while waving a fond farewell to the Brehmer account?

So get a grip.
Maddie took a deep breath and worked on taking her own advice. While she'd been in the hospital basically having her tonsils examined, Jon had already tried to have the appointment postponed, without success. Mrs. Brehmer's people had made it clear that either the meeting went down at ten a.m. today as scheduled or it didn't go down at all. Reliability was Mrs. Brehmer's watchword, as Susan Allen, her personal assistant, had apologetically informed him. If Brehmer's Pet Foods couldn't even rely on Creative Partners to be at such an important meeting on time, well, then ...

Right. Reliable R Us,
Maddie thought, turning off the taps and drying her hands on a paper towel. The show must go on and all that. She had always been good at compartmentalizing, and she would compartmentalize this, tucking it away to be examined in depth later. Popping in another pain-deadening throat lozenge, she grimaced at the Listerine-like taste even as she gave herself one last critical once-over in the mirror. Her hair was brushed into a sleekerthan-usual business-friendly bob. The slight bruise on her cheek had been camouflaged into near invisibility by a crafty combination of coverstick and blush, and the rest of her makeup was flattering but minimal. Her cream linen suit with its slim, knee-length skirt was resolutely conservative. The white silk shell beneath was the epitome of tastefulness. The beige pumps and shoulder bag continued the ladylike theme. The only jarring note in her understated ensemble was the bright blue-and-yellow silk scarf, grabbed on the fly from the hotel gift shop, that she had twined around her neck to conceal the ugly purple bruise that marred the front of her throat.

A shiver raced down her spine as Maddie did her best to thrust the wayward thought back into the “I'll worry about that later” compartment. Jon had reported that Susan Allen's dominant emotion on being informed of what had befallen Creative Partners's owner and CEO during the night had been dismay.

“You know, Mrs. B. is not real big on getting involved in her associates' personal dramas,” the assistant had said doubtfully.

A personal drama.
That was certainly a unique way to look at just managing to escape a would-be ruthless killer by the skin of her teeth, Maddie thought with some asperity. But the bottom line was, Mrs. Brehmer just didn't want to know, which was fine with Maddie.
She
didn't want to know, either. Unfortunately, though, she had no choice: At some point she was going to have to face the reality of what had happened and deal with it.

But not now. She was not going to think about it now. The unavoidable residuals of the attack—terror, panic, questions, decisions—all were going to have to be put on hold until later. Just for this morning, she was going to think about nothing except how much the Brehmer account mattered to her, to her employees, to Creative Partners as a whole, and go out there and do her best to wow the old witch. Or, um, make that wow the demanding-but-rich business owner who could put Creative Partners on the map with one stroke of her pen.

As she held on to that view of the situation with dogged determination, Maddie shook off the shivers, picked up her briefcase, and exited the bathroom.

Jon was standing where she had left him, among a milling group of people in business dress waiting over by the bank of gleaming brass-doored elevators, looking his usual handsome self in a navy suit, white shirt, and red power tie. He smiled at her, and she headed toward him, her sensible two-inch heels clicking on the terrazzo floor. The Hepburn Building was a fifty-story skyscraper located in the middle of one of New Orleans's busiest commercial blocks. It was sleekly modern, an anachronistic new addition to a city that owed its fame to a decaying antebellum charm. Today the brown marble lobby was crowded, and the line at the security desk, where visitors were required to sign in, was growing longer by the minute. Two men, somewhat scruffy for such an elegant environment, were leaning over the counter, apparently holding up the proceedings as they carried on an intense conversation with the uniformed guard behind the desk.

Even as she noticed them, the guard looked around. For an instant his gaze combed the shifting ranks of people waiting for the elevators, walking to and from the restrooms, visiting the small flower kiosk opposite the elevators. Then she must have made some attention-attracting move—perhaps the sunlight filtering in through the oversized windows had glinted off her gold earrings or something—because all of a sudden he seemed to focus on her.

“Over there,” Maddie heard him say, and then to her surprise he pointed right at her.

Me?
she thought. Her eyes widened, her step faltered, and her hand rose in a gesture of disbelief to press against the cool silk between her breasts.

The men who'd been talking to the guard followed the path of his pointing finger with their eyes and looked at her. Finding herself suddenly pinned by the gazes of two unsavory-looking strangers could not be considered a positive development at any time. But after what had happened the night before, her heart could be forgiven, Maddie thought, for the insane attempt it made to leap out of her body through her throat.

Surely there must be some mistake—but if there was, it was a mistake that kept on keeping on. The men straightened and, without taking their eyes off her, began walking purposefully toward her. They made an unlikely pair, as if a street bum had hooked up with a slovenly tourist. Together, they looked so ratty and out of place in these upscale surroundings that Maddie couldn't believe that the guard had even let them pass. But they had gotten through, and they were coming in her direction. As she registered the unescapable reality of the situation, her feet seemed to sprout roots that sank deep into the floor. Her eyes stayed glued to them; she could not look away. Her heart pounded. Her pulse raced. Her fight-or-flight response kicked in, veering strongly toward flight. Unfortunately, even if she could move, which she didn't seem to be able to do, she was out of luck. Barring a retreat to the ladies' room, which was the biggest trap in the world if they decided to follow her in or even wait outside, or the timely arrival of one of the cursedly slow elevators, there was no place in this starkly designed lobby to go.

At the thought, Maddie suddenly went light-headed. Still, she couldn't move. She could do nothing but watch with growing horror as they strode toward her through the bars of light that the tall windows on either side of the lobby threw down across the highly polished floor. They were both good-sized men, but the fair-haired one in the garish Hawaiian shirt and rumpled shorts was taller by several inches, and fat. Too fat to be her attacker?
Yes,
she thought
, yes. Please, God, yes.
Her gaze shifted. Though the bigger man was moving fast, he was still a few steps behind the black-haired guy in jeans whose eyes were fastened on her like she was a refrigerator and they were magnets. He looked like someone on the morning after the night before, with a couple days' worth of stubble darkening his jaw and short but untidy hair that probably hadn't seen a comb since before he had last shaved. This man was definitely not fat. What he was was powerfully built and mean-looking, the kind of guy that she wouldn't want to run into in a dark parking lot or on a deserted street.

At the thought, all the air left her lungs. Was it him? Was she about to be attacked again? Here and now, in this crowded lobby?

Her eyes widened, and her heart went all fluttery.

But then something about the way they moved, about their quick strides and erect posture, struck her.

They're cops,
she thought.
Some kind of cops.

With that, her feet released their death grip on the floor, and she was able to take a quick, defensive step back. To her left, one of the elevators announced its arrival with a
ding.
The population of the lobby shifted noticeably as a herd of people surged toward it. Pivoting, she turned toward the elevator as every instinct she possessed shrieked at her to flee.

With the single exception of the guy who had attacked her, cops were the very last people she wanted to see.

“Perfect timing,” Jon said, glancing around at her over his shoulder. A few quick steps had put her right behind him, so close that her nose was in danger of flattening itself on his slender, tropical wool-clad back. He was clearly unaware of the drama that was playing out behind him, of the oncoming men, of her urgent wish to escape. Caught up in the throng crowding into the elevator, he paused courteously to allow a pair of elderly women to precede him. Ordinarily, Maddie would have awarded him brownie points for the gentlemanly gesture. Today, stuck behind him, she had to fight the urge to place the flat of both hands in the center of his back and shove. Hard.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.
The refrain beat urgently through her brain.

Jon moved at last, clearly one of the final few who were going to make it into the crowded car, then turned to face her, edging back just enough to create a place for her at the very front. In her haste to join him, Maddie got the corner of her full-to-bursting briefcase hung up on the door.

“Piece of crap,” she muttered furiously. Forced to pause long enough to jerk the thrice-damned thing free, she was just about to step into the elevator when a hand caught her arm from behind. Maddie let loose with a sound that was more squeak than scream and practically jumped out of her skin. The strong fingers that gripped her firmly just above her elbow hung on. Her stomach sank as she realized that she'd just been effectively stopped in her tracks.

“Madeline Fitzgerald?” A deep, southern-tinged voice asked.

“Hey!” Jon said sharply, starting forward as he realized what was happening at last. Maddie whipped around, inadvertently clearing a circle in the crowd around her with her ungainly briefcase. From the corner of her eye she caught just a glimpse of Jon's startled expression as the elevator doors slid closed in his face. Then just like that he was gone, and she was on her own. With the elevator no longer available, everyone around her seemed to simply disperse. Everyone, that is, except the guy holding on to her arm.

“Let go of me.”

It was all she could do to keep the panic out of her voice. Instinctively, she jerked her arm free and moved back until she could feel the smooth, slick coolness of the marble wall against her shoulder blades. Left with no place to go, she pressed her briefcase up against her legs like a shield. Her gaze collided with narrowed eyes the color of black coffee.

“Madeline Fitzgerald?” he asked for the second time. From the dispassionate but assessing way his eyes were moving over her, she was all but certain that her original estimate was correct: This guy had law enforcement written all over him.

Her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest.

“Who wants to know?” she parried, knowing that her response was a throwback to her younger days, knowing that it was all wrong for who she was now, for who she aspired to be. But she couldn't help it, she'd been caught by surprise, she was rattled and still recovering from last night and definitely
not
in control. He frowned at her, his eyes narrowing still more as they held her gaze. He was—no surprise—the black-haired half of the pair who'd come chasing after her across the lobby. The mean-looking one.

“FBI,” said the other, fair-haired half of the pair as he came panting up in time to hear her question.

FBI.
Maddie's stomach dropped all the way to her toes. This was far worse even than she had expected, worse than she would have dreamed. Suddenly unable to draw a breath, she glanced his way. He opened the wallet that was already in his hand to flash something—Maddie presumed it was his ID—at her. Panic swamped her, leaving her too unnerved to focus, much less to try to ascertain whether or not whatever he was waving in her face was the real thing. This guy was huge, maybe six-four, six-five, overweight, with a big beer belly that was not flattered by the scarlet hula girl dancing across his middle. Flushed and sweaty, he looked like he'd just run a marathon in the swampy heat outside. A forest of tiny dark gold ringlets sprang up around his head, giving him the appearance of a giant cherub on summer vacation. Anyone who looked less like an FBI agent would be hard to find.

Except maybe the frowning street bum directly in front of her.

Still, she didn't doubt for so much as an instant that they were what he claimed. There was something about him, about the pair of them, that practically screamed
feds.
She should have realized it from the first. Maybe, somewhere deep inside, she
had
realized it from the first. Maybe that's why her eyes had been drawn to them to begin with. Maybe that's why she had felt such alarm on realizing that they were heading her way.