Trust Me Once Page 13

  “You are a jack of all trades, aren’t you?”

  She ran her fingers through her short crop of hair. “I try to be.”

  “What did you find out?”

  She leaned her hip on the side of the desk. Owen tried to focus on the paper in her hand.

  “I think I am getting close. Look at these.” She placed the pad on the desk so he could see. “As I was expecting, he has been meticulous about everything. I’ve categorized the information. Personal contacts, business contacts, legal ones, old and new cases. Of course, there are overlaps, but I just came across something that is a lot more important than all of these.”

  He could hear the excitement sparking her voice.

  “Look at this.”

  He stared at where she was pointing. “July 10 through the 14?”

  “There is nothing here that makes sense. All of a sudden, it seems that Judge Arnold decided to create a special code for his notes and appointments.”

  “Was he away during those days?”

  “Nope. And it’s not as if he left the days blank. See, it’s just very different. No names, no phone numbers, just letters that make no sense. It looks as if he was afraid of someone knowing who these people were that he was in contact with.”

  “Do you remember anything about that week?”

  “Absolutely. That was start of it all,” she replied. “And interestingly enough, after the 14, he starts recording information again, but it’s not the same. After that date, he is very cautious in his entries, as if he knows or thinks he is being watched.”

  The ringing of the phone on Owen’s desk drew both of their eyes. For a moment he considered letting his answering machine take care of it, but the same impulse that had driven him all day to function with an air of seeming normalcy made him reach for it.

  “Owen Dean here.”

  “Mr. Dean. Hello. This is Evelyn de Young.” The woman’s voice was loud and breathless. “I’m so glad you answered. We were getting so concerned when you hadn’t shown up here yet. The TV crews are here. Most of the guests have already arrived, and all of us are eager, of course, for the arrival of our guest of honor.”

  Owen closed his eyes and cursed silently.

  “Shall I send my driver, Mr. Dean? I know you aren’t scheduled to make your speech until six o’clock, but the cocktail party is in full swing. You never know what kind of traffic jam you might run into. Of course, we have valets to park your car.”

  “I’m leaving in about fifteen minutes, Mrs. De Young. And no, you don’t have to send your driver. I’ll be there. Thanks for calling.” Owen hung up the phone and saw the smile tugging on Sarah’s lips. “I guess you heard everything.”

  She nodded. “I had a ticket to that event myself.”

  “Do you want to go, anyway? You could go as my date.”

  The prettiest of blushes crept into her cheeks. “I think I’ll have to take a rain-check on that.”

  He rose to his feet. “I have to give a twenty-minute talk and then schmooze for a few minutes for the cameras. I’ll only be gone an hour at the most.”

  She stood up, as well. “I’ll be here.”

  He took a step toward his bedroom and then turned around again. “You aren’t going to turn yourself in to the police while I’m gone, are you?”

  She shook her head and tried to sound breezy. “Not until you get back.”

  A sudden feeling of anxiety gripped him. Owen found himself genuinely worrying about her. She was putting up a great show of valor, but after all she’d been through, he guessed she must be just about ready to crumble beneath it all.

  “One hour.” His hand reached for her fingers. They were icy. He could feel the slight tremble she was trying so desperately to hide. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  Chapter 12

  Hal Van Horn looked up from the paperwork on his desk as a willowy young woman tapped softly on his office door. “I was getting ready to leave for the day. Was there anything else?”

  “Any more news of Gwen?”

  “She called about a half hour ago from the hospital. You were on the phone, so I just took the info.”

  “How is her son doing?”

  “He is out of surgery. I guess they had to insert a pin in his leg because of the break. Gwen said he might end up with a body cast from the chest down before he is done.” She walked inside the office and picked up Hal’s empty cup from his desk. “I can stay late if you want me to. I—”

  “Did you send a basket to the hospital?”

  “I sure did. Balloons and teddy bears and the whole nine yards.” She leaned her hip against the desk. “Seriously, Hal. I have nothing to do tonight…so staying late would be no trouble at all.”

  The suggestion was unmistakable, but Hal was not interested. “I’ll be okay. Plan on coming in early tomorrow, in case Gwen’s late getting in. I’ll see you then.”

  Hal paid no attention to the woman’s pouty frown as she huffed out of his office. There were still piles of work left ahead of him before this day was done. He pushed aside the phone messages from the previous days and reached for the stacks of contracts requiring his signature. After five minutes of perusing paperwork, he heard the front door of the outer office open and shut. His clerk-turned-assistant-for-the-day had let herself out.

  Twenty minutes later, when Hal saw his direct-line light up on the phone, he picked it up on the first ring.

  “Hal Van Horn.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Just remember…you are too young to have a heart attack on me, Hal. This is Sarah.”

  “Sarah!” The pen slid through his fingers and dropped on the papers.

  “In the flesh…well, sort of. Listen, I don’t feel very comfortable talking because I think someone might be tapping your lines at home…or at least has been listening to your messages or something. They might be doing the same thing here, and I don’t want this call traced.”

  “You are alive, Sarah! My God! Are you okay? Where are you?”

  “Could you meet me somewhere, Hal? I have something I want you to take a look at. It has to do with Avery’s safe-deposit box. I need your help.”

  “Where?”

  There was another pause. “Do you remember where we had lunch three Saturdays ago? The last time we met.”

  “Yeah, at…”

  “Don’t say it. Just go there. And please make sure you’re not followed. Someone…some people are after me, trying to kill me, so please be careful.” There was another long pause. “It’ll take me at least an hour to get there. I’ll see you in front.”

  “I’ll be there, Sarah. God, it’s good to hear your voice!”

  Hal stared blankly at the phone for a moment after hanging up. Suddenly, a noise in the outer office drew his attention. Picking up his keys, he walked through his partially open door and glanced around the spacious room. Two empty cubicles. Gwen’s organized desk. The doors to the other three offices were tightly shut. The computer’s quiet hum was the only noise that he could hear now. He turned to leave and saw the front door to the office was slightly ajar.

  Keeping his eye on the door, Hal reached for the phone on Gwen’s desk and dialed a number he was getting to know by heart.

  ~~~~

  Sarah frowned with disapproval at her reflection in the mirror. She removed her favorite earrings. Hurrying, she changed into a pair of well-worn jeans that were buried deep in her suitcase. Pulling on a pair of flats, she rummaged through Owen’s closet until she found an oversize navy blue sweatshirt and a baseball cap of the same color.

  Putting on his clothes, she studied her reflection again. The shoes had to go. She changed into her sneakers and pulled the peak of the cap lower on her face. Searching in her briefcase, she found a package of gum left over from her flight and stuffed all of it into her mouth. No makeup, no jewelry, she struck an attitude in the mirror. She looked sixteen at the most.

  Sarah dialed the number for Newport Cab Company and then hurriedly pushed everyt
hing back into her suitcase. It took only a few minutes to restore some semblance of order to Owen’s bedroom. Before leaving the apartment, she wrote him a long note, explaining where she was going and what she was about to do. She left it on the counter.

  She couldn’t risk going out through the terrace. Without a key, she couldn’t lock the glass door. Going out the front door through the building’s entry foyer offered the only route of escape. Sarah tucked the list she was going to show Hal into the pocket of her jeans.

  As she opened the door and peered down the hallway, all kinds of images flashed through her mind. Neighbors seeing someone they didn’t know leaving Owen’s apartment, someone underage. Great. Paparazzi hiding in the bushes outside, ready to take pictures of Owen Dean’s new Lolita. Brilliant. Oh well, there was no help for it.

  Sarah moved briskly down the hallway. It wasn’t until she was passing through the great hall of the building that she saw anyone.

  The couple was walking through the entry foyer, and in a moment of panic, Sarah paused by the door. The woman pursed her lips suspiciously as they came face-to-face with her.

  “Can we help you?”

  Sarah dropped her chin, refusing to offer a better view of her face. “No. My dad already called for a cab.” She tried to look around the man’s shoulder while mumbling her answer.

  “Your dad?” the woman repeated with some interest. “And in which unit does he live?”

  Catching sight of the taxi coming down the drive was all Sarah needed. “Thanks for your help.” She slipped by the two and was out the door in an instant.

  Sarah needed no eyes in the back of her head to know she was being closely watched by the two. So she scuffed her sneakers on the walkway and snapped her gum until the cab pulled up in front of her.

  “Bellevue. The Tennis Hall of Fame.”

  Sarah didn’t release the breath she was holding until the cabbie had rounded the drive and was heading back out onto Ocean Drive.

  And that, she thought, was probably the easiest part of what lay ahead of her.

  ~~~~

  Owen knew he may have set a new land-speed record for walking in, giving a speech, and walking out of a fundraiser. An annual event for Save the Bay, the affair was well publicized and very well attended. He knew the media had not been too happy with the minute and a half he gave them for questions. The socialites had obviously felt snubbed, too, because he had not come sooner or stayed longer. The average ticket holders in the crowd were clearly pleased when he did stop to talk for a few moments to those in the back rows.

  All in all, the organizers, led by Mrs. de Young, appeared pleased, for in addition to the fact that Owen Dean had previously arranged for his speaker fee to be donated back to the organization, he had also written a very large check to the foundation before departing.

  He’d even had the valet keep the car running by the front door.

  Now the brilliantly golden rays of the sun were slowly losing their battle against the lengthening shadows of the late summer evening. It had been a very long time since Owen had had anyone but himself to worry about. Nearly thirty years, he recalled, speeding his car along Ocean Drive. He did worry about Andrew, he corrected himself. But that was different, for there wasn’t a thing that he could do for the man other than just being here.

  His own feelings toward Sarah were confusing the hell out of him. He’d never been one to bring home an injured animal. Hell, for most of his childhood, he’d been little more than a wounded animal himself.

  It had been difficult focusing on his speech. Even tougher talking to people before and after the brief talk. His thoughts constantly drifted back to that woman in his apartment. Sarah. Of course he was worried about her. Passing Brenton Point, he cursed himself for not having had a better security system installed in his apartment. He’d reached for his cell phone twice, but then had decided against calling her. She wouldn’t answer his phone anyway.

  Owen saw the taxi pulling out of the long driveway as he approached the chateau. The rays of the descending sun reflected off the windows of the cab, blocking his view of the passenger in the back. But for an insane moment, he thought that Sarah might be in the cab.

  No, she wouldn’t just go like that, he told himself. It was not yet the end of the day. And one day was what she’d asked for.

  As the taxi sped off toward Bellevue, Owen fought down his anxiety, turned down the drive, and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. She said she wouldn’t go anywhere until he got back. She would be there. Waiting.

  ~~~~

  Porsches, Mercedes, Lincolns, and Hondas sat at every intersection along the clogged thoroughfare that had been named Bellevue in a far more genteel era. Drivers waited with varying degrees of patience for halter-topped and polo-shirted pedestrians to crisscross between their standing vehicles. Traffic, as it always was at this time of the evening, was slow, but moving.

  On the wide sidewalk in front of the restaurant, middle-aged preppies in green shirts and red-checked pants maneuvered around tattooed bikers in leather vests and black, sleeveless T-shirts. Teenage boys with hair the color of nothing found in nature skateboarded in figure eights around throngs of women wearing flowing flowered dresses and Italian shoes. Small groups of well-dressed diners, all waiting for tables inside, stood chatting and drinking, casually vigilant of the skateboarders and one another. The evening held all the promise of a great party night. A night no different than any other summer evening in the bustling tourist town of Newport.

  “Stand by. Yes, I see him.” The man spoke into his cell phone from a gray sedan parked in the lot across the street.

  “What about her?”

  “Not yet.” He paused. The sounds of people and cars filled the interval. “He’s crossing the street toward the restaurant. He is glancing at his watch. Looking up and down the street again. There are too many fucking people around.”

  “Focus! We cannot afford to screw up this assignment.”

  “You need to get here now.”

  “Just stand by. And don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll get there as soon as Lard Ass heads your way.” He snorted as Frankie O’Neal stopped to light a fresh cigarette from the butt of his last one.

  “Do we really need him to clean up after us again?”

  “The boss wants it, so shut up and focus on your end of the assignment.” Another pause. “This time, Lard Ass won’t just clean up. This time, he takes the fall. Stand by. We’re moving…”

  ~~~~

  Instead of getting out of the cab where she had originally planned, Sarah asked the driver to go past the intersection and turn into a narrow side street. Paying him, she stepped out and turned toward Bellevue.

  The same streets that she had not so long ago considered absolutely safe, now struck her as threatening. Every tourist and summer resident looked strange, suspect, dangerous. She pulled the peak of the cap lower over her eyes and watched a group of teenagers go past her in the same direction that she was headed. Mimicking the bored attitude showing on their faces, she tucked her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and fell in behind the last of them.

  At the light by the busy intersection of Memorial Boulevard and Bellevue, everyone stopped to cross. As she waited with the rest for the light, Sarah found herself standing beside a short, heavyset man with the butt of cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was frowning and peering straight ahead between two people, at the milling groups on the opposite corner. There was something familiar about him—the clothes, his build, his hair. She held back a little, keeping him in front of her as he moved with the others across the street. It took only an instant for her stomach to twist into a painful knot of recognition.

  She spotted Hal standing in front of the restaurant and glancing at his watch. The heavyset man went right by him without even giving him a glance, and stopped to look into the display window of the antique store just beyond the restaurant. She hesitated at the corner and looked around. Across the street, she spotted a pol
ice car in the large parking lot, facing the restaurant, a single officer inside talking on a phone.

  They were everywhere. Panic washed through Sarah, cold and deadening. She buried her hand deeper into her pocket and clasped the piece of paper. She practically brushed against Hal, moving by him, but he never saw or recognized her.

  The hostess standing in the open doorway of the restaurant looked curiously at Sarah as she approached.

  “May I borrow your pen for a moment?”

  “Well…sure.”

  Sarah took the paper out of her pocket and scribbled a note to Hal on the back. Returning the pen, she turned again to the street and found Hal standing by the curb.

  She folded the paper and walked directly to him.

  ~~~~

  The red light created a mini traffic jam at the intersection, and this suited Owen just fine. He scanned the sidewalk for some sign of her.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “A needle in a goddam haystack.”

  He was mad as hell at himself. He was mad as hell at her. But what pissed him off the most was that he didn’t know why in hell he was coming after her, anyway. He’d asked her to wait for him, but she’d decided to come and meet her boyfriend alone. For chrissakes, he’d offered to bring her to the son of a bitch. He’d never been a third party in any relationship, by God, and he wasn’t going to start now.

  In spite of that, a nagging feeling had forced him to come after her. He was worried about her, goddammit.

  He recognized Hal Van Horn from the pictures he’d seen in the papers.

  “Well, what do you know.” he muttered under his breath, immediately irritated at the man’s polished looks. Before he had any time to dwell on his animosity toward Van Horn, Owen spotted Sarah wearing his baseball cap and sweatshirt, and moving at a pretty good clip toward the guy.