She sipped at her coffee, trying to figure out how to approach this. Ultimately, she decided that direct was best. “Charlie, is there something you’re not telling me? Something you had firsthand knowledge of seventeen years ago that’s driving you now?”
Clearly, the question startled him. His eyes narrowed. “Where are you going with this?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just the way you said that, about doing this for my father and me, you sounded…I don’t know, invested.”
“I am invested,” he replied flatly. “I thought the world of your father. I think the world of you. Anything I can do to set things right, I will.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Morgan wasn’t ready to back down. The feeling she had wasn’t going away. And her instincts were rarely without basis. “I’m not questioning your motives. I’m questioning your suspicions. You were working for the D.A. when my father was killed. Were you privy to something that didn’t seem right, but that you dismissed as unrelated at the time?”
Charlie’s gaze hardened. “Don’t pump me, Morgan. I’m a prosecutor. I manipulate information out of people, not the other way around.”
“Right. And you work for the D.A. Your allegiance has to encompass more than just my father and me.”
“It has to. That doesn’t mean it does.”
“What are you—” Morgan bit off her question. She was dying to push this. But something in Charlie’s expression made her back down. She’d have to bide her time. Otherwise, she’d blow one of the few inside connections she had.
“Okay,” she said carefully. “Let’s drop this for now. Whatever it is, you’ll tell me…when you’re ready.”
A flash of irony flickered in his eyes. “Count on it.” He resumed eating his sandwich.
Taking a deep breath, Morgan changed the subject. “Let’s talk about the weekend. How did things go with your dates?”
“Very well.” Charlie’s words seemed forced, complimentary or not. “Rachel might be young, but she’s a real go-getter. I admire her ambition. Hell, I see it in myself. Anyway, we went to dinner, saw a show, then had drinks and debated the death penalty until three a.m. As for Karly, she’s great-looking, charming, and intuitive. My energy level was low the night we got together. She picked up on that right away, and kept things mellow. We had a leisurely dinner at La Grenouille. Actually, we saw Congressman Shore there. He was with Daniel Kellerman and several other businessmen. I would have said hello, but they seemed to be in the middle of a heavy discussion.”
A shrug. “Probably about the bill Arthur’s sponsoring. He has dozens of meetings between now and January, when Congress reconvenes.” Morgan dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “So back to Karly and Rachel. Any sparks? Any desire to see either of them again? Because it sounds to me more like you’re delivering a keynote address than reporting on dates with two incredible women.”
Charlie’s lips curved slightly. “Does it? I didn’t mean for it to. They were both lovely. Maybe it’s just my state of mind right now. Maybe I’m just distracted.”
“Then I’m not doing my job well enough,” Morgan declared. “Because I’m supposed to help you find someone who’ll overcome that distraction.” She eased her plate aside and flipped open the file to a clean sheet of paper. “Let’s talk specifics. I’m hell-bent on finding you the woman of your dreams.”
Charlie raised his coffee cup. “Then here’s to specifics. May they hold the key to my happiness.”
RACHEL OGDEN AND Karly Fontaine had never met.
So they had no way of knowing they crossed paths on Madison Avenue at one-forty that afternoon.
Rachel was on her way to the St. Regis hotel for the consult she’d scheduled with Morgan. She’d just finished up a half-day meeting with a major advertising firm she was working with on acquisition candidates. Her mind was in a million places at once, and she was striding through the city on autopilot.
She should be getting back to the office. She really didn’t have another hour to devote to her love life. But Morgan had a way of inspiring confidence. Her approach promised results. And with the way Rachel’s career was skyrocketing, the long hours she was putting in, she wouldn’t have a minute to personally seek out fascinating men. So why not have Winshore do it for her? They were pros, and besides, she’d done a lousy job of managing her love life on her own. Her track record stunk. The men she found were either totally self-involved, unwilling to compromise or commit, or married.
No more of that. Time to level the playing field.
Rachel reached the corner of Fifty-third and Madison, and was waiting for the traffic light to change. That’s when Karly Fontaine approached, coming from the opposite direction.
Karly’s day had been equally hectic. Botched photo sessions. Massaging delicate egos. Soothing irate magazine publishers. Her modeling agency had been like the set of a bad soap opera since 8 a.m. Now she was headed for the subway station to catch the E train downtown, in the hopes of putting out yet another fire.
The two women never saw each other. The corner was jammed with pedestrians elbowing to gain advantage. Rachel edged her way between two people and stepped into the street the minute the light turned green. Karly was half a step behind her.
It happened in an instant. A beat-up white van screeched around the corner and struck Rachel head-on, sending her flying through the air and then crashing to the street, where she rolled to the curb. Several bystanders screamed. Cars swerved to avoid her. Even taxis slammed on their brakes.
The van never stopped.
Without glancing back, the driver weaved through traffic, racing up Madison Avenue until the van was swallowed up and gone.
FOURTEEN
Morgan glanced at her watch for the fifth time, this time checking it against the clock in the hotel lobby. No mistake. It was almost two forty-five. Rachel was three-quarters of an hour late.
At first she’d attributed it to whatever accident was causing the past hour’s traffic tie-up. Sirens had wailed by in rapid succession. Morgan’s concern had prompted her to step outside. She’d spotted the flashing red lights down the street, and hoped it was nothing serious. But she’d also noted that the road was partially blocked off, so maybe Rachel had had to take a detour to get to the St. Regis.
On the other hand, she hadn’t called. That seemed odd, given Rachel’s type-A personality.
Flipping open her cell phone, Morgan pressed send to redial Rachel’s number, since she’d called it three times already. The number rang and rang, then went to voice mail.
Morgan left a brief message, then punched off. She couldn’t wait here much longer. She had a thousand things to do, plus an appointment with Karly Fontaine in less than an hour. Frowning, she fished in her purse and pulled out her PDA, searching until she found Rachel’s office number. She’d call her there. If nothing else, maybe her assistant could explain what the holdup was, and reschedule their appointment.
The direct line rang twice. Then a young female voice answered, her tone distraught and nearly drowned out by a commotion in the background. “Rachel Ogden’s office.”
“Hi, this is Morgan Winter. Rachel and I had an appointment slotted for two o’clock at the St. Regis. I’m still waiting, but—”
“Oh, Ms. Winter, I’m so sorry,” the young woman interrupted. “This is Nadine, Rachel’s assistant. I meant to call you, but the office is in chaos. Forgive me. I’m just so freaked out and in shock.”
“In shock? Why? What happened?”
“Rachel was taken to emergency. She was mowed down by a hit-and-run driver on her way to the St. Regis.”
“Dear Lord.” Morgan raked a hand through her hair and sank down into a lobby chair. “Is she all right?”
“I don’t know. From what the police told us, she’s alive, but in pretty bad shape. Fortunately, a woman standing near her at the intersection called 911 immediately. The paramedics took her to New York–Presbyterian. She’s either still in the emergency room, unconscious
, or she’s in surgery. That’s all I know right now.”
Morgan was having a hard time processing all this. “You said it was a hit-and-run—someone must have seen the car.”
The background noise was getting louder, and Nadine was clearly distracted. “It was a white van. I’m sorry, Ms. Winter, but I’ve got to hang up now. The police want to speak to me.”
“Of course.” Morgan cut the conversation short. “I’ll let you go. Please keep me posted. I’ll say a prayer for Rachel.”
“Thank you.” Nadine’s voice broke. “She needs all the prayers she can get.”
THE MINUTE HE got home, Lane snatched up the package the Central Clerk’s Office had messengered over. He unlocked the door to his digital photo lab, flipped on the light, and deactivated the alarm system. With almost a quarter of a million dollars of equipment and highly sensitive information inside these four walls, his photo lab was a secure lockbox, off-limits to everyone except him.
The windowless room looked similar to most offices with computer workstations, except on a larger and grander scale. The equipment was state-of-the-art—way beyond most budgets. Then again, most budgets weren’t partially subsidized by the U.S. government, since most photographers didn’t take on covert assignments for the CIA.
Lane wasn’t most photographers.
And his lab wasn’t most labs.
The IBM T221 LCD monitor alone cost $10,000, and Lane had two of them. With twice the resolution of other high-quality displays, the monitor made it possible to see minute details in digital images—details other monitors wouldn’t even show. And that was only a small portion of the elaborate digital darkroom.
Lane walked over and turned on the air-conditioning unit. Even in wintertime, with all the equipment running, the room would quickly become an oven. One by one, he powered on each piece of equipment in sequence, and as they hummed to life, he turned and opened a drawer underneath the work surface, removing the necessary equipment and supplies to transform the film into digital images.
His mind was racing faster than his hands, reflecting on the conversation that had been taking place at Lenny’s when he arrived.
He’d been ten feet from his father’s table for a good five minutes before announcing himself. He’d perched behind the coat stand, leaning over his camera bag, his back to the table so as not to be spotted. Having heard the name George Hayek, he’d decided to eavesdrop.
He’d been bugged by the George Hayek link to Lenny all weekend. He’d been stunned, and baffled. Given what he knew through his CIA connections, he couldn’t figure out where Hayek fit into the picture. Monty, of course, wasn’t privy to the same information he was. So, like the pro he was, Monty was pursuing the angle like a dog with a bone. But nothing in the conversation Lane had overheard had triggered any warning bells. Still, given what Hayek was currently involved in, he planned to keep a close eye on things, and act on them, if necessary.
Turning back to the work at hand, Lane completed his preparation. Then he opened the envelope, extracting the negative carrier and carefully removing the first negative strip from the sleeve. Taking his ionizer gun, he eliminated the accumulated dust with blasts of electrically charged air. That done, he held the strip up to the light, pleased to see there were very few fingerprints on the film. He carefully placed it inside the SlickMount drum and, using a pipette, carefully added a few drops of oil between the film and the inside surface of the drum. Then he inserted the drum into the scanner and closed the cover. Returning to his workstation, he fired up the ScanXact software and the scanner came to life.
He was eager as hell to get started. For Monty’s sake. For justice’s sake.
And, yeah, for Morgan’s sake.
She was getting under his skin, that was for sure. There was something powerful happening between them, something downright riveting. And it wasn’t just sexual tension, although that crackled like a live wire. But there was more, something that was entirely new and extraordinarily intriguing.
In the midst of all this, she was hurting, fighting a nightmare she’d never escaped and was now being forced to confront again.
He was determined to help her.
JONAH STOOD IN the reception area of Congressman Shore’s office, fiddling with the F-stop on his camera as he waited for the congressman to finish up. Jonah was nervous. This was the first solo assignment Lane had given him; and it was a big one. He was responsible for capturing just the right photos of the congressman—shots that depicted him as the charismatic, committed representative of the people of New York that he was.
Right now, he was chatting with one of his local aides, a perky young woman who emanated good looks and wide-eyed admiration. She was gazing up at the congressman as if he were a superhero, and he was answering her question with warmth and intensity, his body language conveying a keen interest in what she was saying. He was leaning toward her, his head cocked slightly to one side, his forehead creased in concentration as he listened, nodding every minute or two, alternately listening and talking.
Impulsively, Jonah raised his camera and snapped a couple of shots. It would round out the photo essay to show the congressman interacting with his staff as well as interacting with his constituents.
“Don’t bother.” It was a woman’s pained monotone, coming from just behind Jonah’s shoulder. “There are enough of those shots in the Enquirer.”
Startled, Jonah turned. He recognized the petite, attractive middle-aged woman immediately. “Mrs. Shore,” he managed, feeling self-conscious at the strain on her face, in her voice. “I didn’t mean to…I’m just assisting Lane Montgomery in his…”
“I realize that.” The look in her eyes was hollow, like she’d been through something bad and was desperately trying to come to grips with it.
She stared directly at her husband, swallowing hard as she did. “You’re just doing your job. You want to capture the congressman doing what he does best. Which you are. But trust me, this isn’t what Time wants. If anything, it’s what they want to avoid.” She turned away. “So do I.”
MORGAN CALLED THE hospital to check on Rachel while she waited for Karly at the Greenwich Village café where they’d arranged to meet.
Karly walked in just as Morgan was finishing up. She snapped her phone shut, feeling moderately encouraged by what she’d been told. The doctors had operated on Rachel. Her prognosis was good, although she’d need a fair amount of physical therapy to come back to herself. Fortunately, she was young and strong. But she’d suffered internal injuries, including a ruptured spleen and several broken ribs. There’d been internal bleeding, and a pelvic fracture, so the prediction of pain was almost guaranteed to be true.
Karly slid into her chair, looking as depleted as Morgan felt, although she forced herself to smile. “Hi. I appreciate your going so far out of your way to meet me. My last appointment was way downtown. It was pressing or, frankly, I would have bagged it and just gone home. This day has been…” She shook her head. “Anyway, after we talk, I’m heading home. I can’t even think of going back to the office.”
“I hear you,” Morgan murmured. “It’s been a hellish day—obviously for both of us.”
“Amen.” Karly massaged her temples. “But no business crisis seems to matter—not after what I witnessed a few hours ago. I was on my way to catch the subway at Madison and Fifty-third, and I saw a young woman get struck by a hit-and-run driver. It was horrible. I can’t get the image out of my mind. The creepy part is, I was right behind her. Five seconds later, and it could have been me. That van flew out of nowhere. The whole thing happened in an instant. I didn’t even have a chance to react, much less to prevent it. One second she was brushing by me, and the next she was lying in the street bleeding. I could scarcely keep myself together long enough to call 911.”
Morgan’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about Rachel Ogden?”
“Yes, that was her name.” It was Karly’s turn to look surprised. “Do you know her?”
“She’s a client. She was on her way to the St. Regis to meet me when the accident happened.”
Karly exhaled sharply, interlacing her fingers. “I had no idea. What a horrible coincidence.” A tentative, questioning look. “Do you know how she’s doing? I called the hospital, but they wouldn’t release any information to me.”
“I just hung up with them. Rachel’s assistant was kind enough to get my name put on the list of family and friends.” Morgan gave a weak smile. “She’ll be okay—eventually.” Briefly, she filled Karly in on the update she’d just received.
“That poor girl.” Karly’s throat worked as she visibly battled emotion. “Life is so random. Like I said, seconds later, and it might have been me lying in that hospital. On the one hand, I feel lucky and relieved. At the same time I feel guilty for feeling that way. Most of all, I feel responsible. If only I could have grabbed her.”
“Well, you couldn’t, and you’re not.” Morgan reached across the table and squeezed Karly’s arm. “If anything, you should feel good about yourself. According to Rachel’s assistant, you saved her life by calling 911 so fast. A few more minutes and she might not have pulled through.”
“I’m glad. To be honest, I barely remember using my cell. The whole thing was a blur. I know I made the call, but I was frozen in place when I did. Everything felt surreal. I remember the sirens and the flashing lights. I remember the paramedics doing their jobs. I talked to the cops. I told them what I saw, which wasn’t much. I didn’t get a license plate, didn’t get a make or model, didn’t even see the driver. He was hunched over the steering wheel. I guess he realized what he’d done and was trying to escape without being seen. The bastard. Why didn’t he stop?”
“Because he was a coward,” Morgan supplied. “He knew he’d be arrested for reckless driving, or maybe even drunk driving.”