Dangerous Alliance Page 5

  He’s kept it all these years.

  Carefully I put the letter back and then pull out my phone and Google Cathy Earnest Lind. There are about three hundred thousand results on Google, and just over seventy-eight hundred when I plug in Cathy Lind and put quotation marks around the name.

  I go to Google Images and scroll through her pictures. She’s still pretty . . . maybe even beautiful. There are pictures of her on the red carpet for various functions, one of her standing by her husband’s side while he shares a laugh with New York’s mayor. She doesn’t have a Wikipedia page or anything like that, and if she works I don’t see any evidence of it here. But her husband, Eli, is a renowned oncologist at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and his father is a named partner in one of New York’s more respected law firms lauded for its willingness to do certain cases pro bono if it truly believes in the cause. Eli is known as a generous philanthropist and appears to be a genuinely good guy. The weird thing is, she doesn’t seem like a genuinely good girl. I obviously could be wrong about that, but there’s just something about that letter she sent to Travis. If nothing else, her letter made it clear how important money and power were to her, and while everything she said was affectionate, none of it was exactly, well, nice.

  Still, to keep it all these years. As the letter noted, Travis is not a sentimental guy. But he is meticulous, so the possibility that he might have just forgotten about these pictures and this book seems unlikely.

  And that means that Jessica may have been right, Travis might still be hung up on this woman. Maybe he’s even obsessed with her. It’s certainly easier to believe that than that he might actually be capable of love.

  Using my phone and my credit card I’m able to run a quick online background check on Cathy and get instant results. Now I have her birthdate. I also know that she has no children and no siblings and that both her parents are now gone. I have her address, the date of her wedding, and it seems that she does a lot to support local and state politicians, donating both time and money.

  She likes to support politicians . . .

  Oh, this is too good.

  A new strategy starts to map itself out in my head. It’s a little risky, but if it works, I’ll be back in Travis’s good graces and he’ll never even come close to sleeping with me, not merely because I’ll refuse, but because he won’t want to. And if things really work the way I hope they will, Travis will become distracted, maybe even distracted enough to make a mistake.

  It’s a scheme that is ripped right out of the fairy tales and myths that I used to read so often: the strong man brought down by his infatuation with a woman he cannot have. Love. It.

  I’m almost giddy as I rush back to Jessica’s office and find a spare invitation to the fund-raising dinner. Using Jessica’s fountain pen, I carefully write out Catherine’s address on the envelope. And then I turn the invitation over and write a personal note in the kind of penmanship one might expect from a man:

  Dear Mrs. Lind,

  I’ve been impressed by your work in the political field over the last several years and believe we share many of the same values and goals. I hope you will come to my dinner where I will detail my vision for both the state and the city of New York. The dinner fee will of course be waived for you.

  Thank you for your time,

  Sam Highkin

  I smile as I wave the invitation in the air for a moment, letting the ink dry before sealing the envelope.

  “Doncia, did you search the maid’s room?”

  I look up to see Lander standing in the doorway giving me a peculiar look.

  “Almost done in there. I, um, got distracted.”

  “You got distracted,” Lander says flatly.

  “Look.” I rush over to him, holding the sealed invitation, “I found something—”

  “Will it help us put Travis in prison?”

  “Well, not directly, no.”

  “I can’t be here for very long, we have to stay focused.”

  I bristle slightly at his tone. “No one is more focused than I am,” I say as I carefully put the invitation into my purse, which I place on the chaise longue. “I’ll finish the maid’s room, and you should check his kids’ rooms. Then I’ll meet you back in the master bedroom. Does that work for you?” I ask, almost sarcastically.

  He smiles slightly, as if amused by my irritation. “I doubt it’s in the children’s rooms, but I’ll check.”

  “Good.” I push past him back to the maid’s room and resume my search, which turns up nothing, of course. And even if we do find a safe, who’s to say that there will be anything interesting in it? As far as we know, Travis is using the safe to store his Rolexes.

  I stand in the middle of the room, double-checking to make sure that there isn’t something I missed. I haven’t actually been working for Travis and Jessica for that long. The fact that I’ve gotten them to trust me as much as they do is an accomplishment I’m actually quite proud of. But Lander, he is a Gable. He’s a VP at HGVB and he’s been trying to dig up dirt on his family for almost as long as I have. So why hasn’t he turned up a smoking gun yet? Because he’s looking for the wrong things, that’s why.

  Frustrated, I leave the maid’s room and go back to the master bedroom. Minutes later, Lander meets me in there. “I’ve checked the kitchen and dining room too,” he says. “Nothing.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have a safe anymore.” I look behind the dresser and then the bed.

  “He has it. I talked to the people at the store who sold it to him. He paid for home installation—it wasn’t a temporary item. So . . .” He gestures with his hand as if to say that it has to be here somewhere.

  I give him a look. I’m still not sure I’m buying this. But instead of protesting I go into Travis’s closet. It’s huge. All the clothes here are expensive and there is enough space on the bar to prevent anything from getting wrinkled. There are built-in drawers and shelves that stack almost to the ceiling . . . in fact . . .

  “Lander?” I call.

  “Yes.” I turn to see him leaning against the doorframe.

  “Do you see something odd about these shelves?”

  He cranes his neck up to examine them. “They’re not very practical,” he notes. “They’re so high you can’t get to them without a stepladder.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, turning my gaze back to the shelves again. “I can’t even really see if there’s anything on the top one.”

  I feel him move behind me, his breath now in my hair. “You can’t see portions of the wall behind some of those shelves either.”

  “There’s a ladder in the laundry room,” I say quietly.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  In less than a minute Lander is back by my side, stepladder in hand. I take it from him eagerly and climb to the top as he holds it steady.

  “Well?” he asks hopefully.

  I place my hands on the edge of one of the shelves as I scan its surface and see . . . nothing. Nothing but dust bunnies and a dead spider. All of the shelves are empty. “No dice.”

  “Damn it,” Lander grumbles as I begin to step down. But then something catches my eye.

  “Doncia, are you all right?”

  “There’s something in the door.”

  “What do you mean there’s something in the door?”

  “The top edge of the door. There’s a round metal thing in it; I mean it’s in it. It looks like someone drilled a hole and put it in there.”

  “What kind of thing?” Lander asks.

  “Maybe it’s a washer? But then why . . .” I climb down and move the stepladder to the door before climbing right back up again. “It definitely looks like a washer . . . and . . . yeah, someone made a hole in the door specifically to fit this thing in. You can tell.” I try to get my fingernail into the very small space between the washer and the wood to pull it out but it’s not working. Still, just doing that gives me a better sense of what I’m dealing with. “Lander,” I breathe, “it’s not re
ally just a washer. That’s just a makeshift lid to something.”

  “Get down,” Lander orders. I do so quickly and he takes my place on the stepladder. “Do you have a nail file?”

  I don’t, but it doesn’t take me long to find one in Jessica’s bathroom. When I bring it to Lander he digs into the hole, but he still can’t get the cylinder out.

  “It’s a genius hiding place,” he mutters. “But how the hell does he get it out of . . . Doncia, go to the kitchen and see if you can find a magnet.”

  “They have a stainless steel refrigerator, why would they have a magnet?”

  “Just go.”

  I rush to the kitchen and start a serious search. It takes me about five minutes to find a magnet wedged way in the back of a junk drawer. It’s a small, old-fashioned horseshoe magnet at that. Now why would they have this? I bring it to Lander, who takes it and places it above the washer . . . and the washer connects with it immediately. Slowly he pulls out a metal cigar tube. “Well,” he says slowly, “isn’t this interesting.”

  “What’s in it?” I ask.

  He climbs down and opens the tube. I hold my hands out like a child waiting for candy. And like a benevolent adult he pours the treats right into my palm. Two keys, taped together so they almost look like one, and a USB stick.

  Almost reverently Lander takes the USB stick from my hand, holding it up to the light as if he’s examining a fine jewel. “If this is what I think it is, we may have them,” he whispers.

  We both fall silent as we examine the delicate little device in his hand. It was meticulously hidden, the way truly damning sins should be. Between his thumb and forefinger Lander holds something that is capable of holding an ocean of information . . . and if it does, it could be powerful enough to open the floodgates of hell.

  Lander turns to me, his eyes dancing with the light of possibilities, his smile broad and unaffected as he slips the flash drive into his shirt pocket. “We may actually have them.”

  I giggle and throw my arms around his neck, clutching the keys in my hand as his lips press against mine. When we finally break away I squeal, “We might have them!”

  Lander laughs and picks me up as I wrap my legs around his waist. I feel like there should be music, confetti, fireworks, everything! This could be the defining moment of my adult life!

  And I’m sharing it with Lander.

  I bend my neck and find his lips again and this time the kiss is even more passionate. My free hand moves into his hair as he pushes me up against the hard wood of the open door. His kiss, his strength, the heat of his body . . . it all feels like delicious victory.

  “I want you,” I whisper as his lips find my throat. “Right here.”

  I feel his smile against my skin as my nipples harden, scratching against the lacy fabric of my bra, pressing against him, broadcasting my desire. And all the while the words we have them, we have them, we have them are echoing through my mind.

  While I cling to him, his hand moves to my panties, which are already wet for him. He pulls them aside and I groan as his fingers find my clit, his heat mingling with mine.

  My entire body shudders against him and I bite down on his shoulder, practically ripping the fabric of his shirt with my teeth as he continues to play with me. His erection is now against the most sensitive skin of my inner thigh, the rough fabric of his trousers a frustrating reminder of all that separates us.

  “Enter me,” I whisper. “Here, in this room.”

  “In the home of our enemies,” Lander replies as he uses his free hand to unfasten his belt. This is everything I’ve wanted, everything I’ve worked for . . . and so much more.

  “Adoncia,” he whispers.

  I open my mouth to say his name in response but the word that comes out is “Triumph.”

  I taste the salty skin of his neck as the fabric of his pants falls lower. Now I can really feel him. He removes his hand from between my legs and uses his cock to massage me, teasing me, bringing me to the brink of a new, luscious insanity.

  Because that’s what this is. This risk we are taking is insanity. Our victory dance could be our undoing.

  And yet I know it won’t be. Because I’m Adoncia, his sweet warrior.

  And he’s Lander.

  When he thrusts inside me he fills me with his power even as I embrace him with mine. I feel the flash drive pressed against me, wedged right there between our two hearts. Such a mechanical piece of evidence serving as such a sweet aphrodisiac as his mouth finds mine. I cross my ankles as my legs circle his hips, my sex tightening around him as he continues to grind against me, hitting every nerve ending as my back presses against the open door whose secrets have been exposed.

  The orgasm rocks through me and this time I do say his name, calling it out as if it’s my battle cry as he comes inside of me, pulsating with conquest and passion.

  For a moment neither of us move, forehead to forehead, eyes closed, our breaths mingling in chorus, the mysterious keys still clutched in my palm. It’s a perfect moment.

  There’s a sound . . . like the jiggling of a doorknob as someone prepares to enter the penthouse.

  My eyes open wide in panic, but gently, Lander puts his hand to my mouth.

  We hear the door open and then Travis’s voice.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I never meet clients in my home,” I hear Travis say. I wait to see if there’s going to be another voice but there’s just silence and then Travis speaks again. “You know when I’ve met Javier. You helped me set those meetings up. My father never involves himself with this side of the business. Yes, Micah, yes, I know.” Travis’s voice gets louder then softer as he walks down the hall, first toward us, then farther away.

  Slowly Lander lowers me to the floor and readjusts his clothes as I pull down my skirt. Glancing at Lander’s watch I confirm what is now an irrelevant fact . . . Travis wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour at least.

  Regardless, he’s here now. Still struggling to catch my breath, I creep toward the door. Behind me, Lander carefully climbs up the stepladder and replaces the now-empty cigar tube.

  Quietly, oh so quietly, I place my ear to the bedroom door.

  “I’m not lying to you,” I hear Travis say. “I have no need to. Even if Javier was here, it shouldn’t matter.”

  I turn to look at Lander, who is staring pointedly at the stepladder. I don’t need him to speak to know what he’s thinking: even if we’re able to sneak out of here, we can’t put it back.

  With the silence and stealth of a stalking tiger, he folds it up and then lays it on the ground before pushing it under the bed. He gets it so that it’s lying under the center of the mattress. Someone would have to get down on their knees to find it there. Of course if they find it missing from the laundry room . . .

  I squeeze my eyes closed. I can’t let my mind go there yet. I have to deal with what’s happening right now. I put the keys in my pocket and press my ear to the door again. I can still hear Travis talking on the phone; now it sounds like he’s moved into another room, but I can’t quite tell what room that is, and I can’t tell if he’s in a position where he’ll be able to see the hall that leads to the front door.

  Lander comes up behind me and gently moves me aside. He listens for a moment and then opens the door a crack. I can hear Travis a little better now. If I had to guess I’d say he was in the living room. Lander puts his finger to his lips, takes my hand, and leads me out of the room.

  “I see.” I hear Travis’s voice floating down the hall, but when I look over my shoulder he’s still out of sight.

  He’s in another room, talking on his phone, I assure myself. Just get to the door and get the hell out of here.

  “I’m surprised,” I hear Travis say as we get closer and closer to freedom. “Isn’t this a little beneath your pay grade, Micah?”

  If I wasn’t so freaked out right now I’d love to eavesdrop on this conversation. But then I hear more footsteps. Travis is in the livi
ng room . . . and it sounds like he might be moving toward the hall.

  Lander speeds up his pace, pulling me along, and then quickly, silently, he opens the front door and we slip out. I close the door behind us with barely a click.

  Immediately my legs start trembling with relief and the aftershocks of repressed panic. I bend over, resting my hands on my knees as I inhale deep, shaky breaths.

  “Doncia, we have to go.”

  “Yes, I . . .” But my voice trails off as I’m struck with a new, sickening realization.

  I’ve left my purse in Jessica’s office. Worse still, that invitation is in my purse.

  “Adoncia, now!”

  I don’t respond and instead count slowly to ten and then, backward from ten to one.

  “Doncia—”

  I pull myself up, smooth out my skirt, my hair, run my fingers around my lips to ensure there’s no smeared lipstick. And then, after exhaling one more time, I place a hand on each of Lander’s cheeks. “I have to go back in.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?” He’s still whispering but I can hear the edge in his voice.

  I consider telling him about the purse but something stops me. I don’t want him to think I feel pressured to walk back into the lion’s den. I don’t want him to think he has reason to rescue me. I want this to look like a choice. And if I can convince him of that then maybe I can convince myself too.

  “It’s time,” I say slowly, “for me to gain back Travis’s trust.”

  “Now?” Lander asks. “You don’t even know if that’s possible! You—”

  “If Jessica comes home and tells him I’ve been here before I get to try my hand at this then it won’t be possible. And we don’t have time to discuss this. You should go.”

  “Wait—”

  I turn around and ring the bell, giving Lander no choice but to quickly retreat. I watch as he strides around the corner toward the elevator, but I’m under no illusion that he’s going far.

  Still, now that he’s out of sight some of the fear creeps back in. What if Travis has already found my purse? What about the stepladder? How often does he check his little hiding spot to pull out that USB stick? What if—