Triumph Page 11

  Two hours later, Kelly was on her way back to the station. Her phone rang from deep inside her handbag. She ignored it. For the moment, no news was good news.

  The afternoon routine at WBRX settled her down. The morning visit from Deke and his colleague had made her nervous. Huxton Smith seemed a little suspicious of her after he’d been informed that she’d interviewed Gunther Bach. And Deke had been . . . all about Deke.

  She saw him more clearly now. His interest in her was professional, with a little flirtation thrown in to ensure her cooperation. Kelly pulled her car into a parking space, got out, and locked it.

  Good old WBRX. Inside the station walls, she didn’t have to think or worry or scheme for the next several hours. She just had to do what was expected of her—and what she was paid for, she reminded herself. She walked past the newsroom, not glancing at the cubicles to see who was in today.

  A page in a blazer handed her the script for tonight’s broadcast shortly after she got to her office. Kelly looked it over. The lack of hard news lately was almost alarming. Without it, the newswriters were forced to make mountains out of molehills. Whatever. She was a pro, she would deal. With the right delivery, a dull story could sound almost as exciting as one that was breaking hot and fast.

  Almost.

  Kelly was aware that she was craving another rush of adrenaline. Playing Gunther Bach for a sucker had been entertaining while it lasted—until the financier had played her back.

  There was no role for her to play in the shootout investigation. The scene had been processed and sealed. The Atlanta PD didn’t need her to double-check for clues.

  On Deke’s side of things, he knew much more than he was willing to tell. Knowledge was power, and he was in charge. She really, really didn’t like it. But she knew there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Yet.

  Kelly pushed a button on a computerized photo screen looking for the one that always cheered her up. She didn’t keep it on the wall for a reason. Too personal. She stopped on her grandmother’s beloved, sun-weathered face, smiling at Kelly the day she’d taken the picture.

  It worked. It always worked.

  Her gran’s encouragement and pride in her had gotten Kelly further than either of them ever dreamed. But she wasn’t sure that digging up dirt on criminals would have impressed Nelda Johns. Her grandmother preferred tales of good-hearted perseverance and grit, preferably with a moral that was short enough to embroider.

  Her phone rang again. Out of habit, Kelly had taken it out and placed it on her desk. She guessed it was Deke before she even looked at the screen. With a frown, she answered it, vowing to do the talking before he could coax her into doing him another favor.

  “Hi, Deke. Thanks for stopping by this morning,” she rushed. “The Interpol report was interesting. Never saw one before. And oh, I liked Huxton. You can tell him that. Oh my—here’s the—” Let Deke fill in the gap. “Guess what just landed on my desk. More work. I gotta go.”

  There was a pause. “In a sec. I have a question for you.”

  He was so self-centered he didn’t even notice when she was being obnoxious. “Go ahead.”

  “Do you have to work all the time?”

  “What?”

  Deke clarified. “Do you do the evening news on weekends too?”

  “No. Monday through Friday only. Why?”

  “How would you like to fly to Dallas with me after the broadcast?”

  “What?”

  “Something big is about to go down. We track Internet chatter on money laundering, and the buzz really picked up last night. A lot of it tracked straight to Gunther Bach’s ISP addresses.”

  “Interesting. But not surprising.” Kelly found a pencil and paper to make notes.

  “His so-called bank and that hedge fund require a constant supply of fresh cash, and Atlanta is getting too hot—Georgia regulators are starting to crack down on Bach and others.”

  Kelly stopped scribbling. “Which means—?”

  “They move on and move out. New city, new suckers. Which brings me back to Dallas. There’s a gala fund-raiser for the arts this weekend. Tickets for two are going for two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Criminals want to crash the party.”

  Kelly leaned back in her mesh chair. “And do what? Pick pockets? Steal diamonds? No one wears the real stuff out in public anymore, Deke.”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “Just tell me what you’re going to be doing.”

  “Watching the action. Looking for certain people on our list. Finding out who they talk to.”

  “And why do you want me to tag along?”

  “I thought you might be interested.” His bland tone gave away nothing. “I promise you it’ll be a lot more fun than that lunch.”

  “I don’t think so, Deke. Besides, I can’t simply pack up and go.” That was more than a white lie. Kelly had been doing just that for years.

  “Why not?”

  “Um, prior commitments, I think. I have to check my calendar.”

  Undaunted, Deke tried something else. “You know, I checked out some of your investigative pieces on YouTube. You were really something. Disguises, fake identities—there was nothing you wouldn’t do to nail someone.”

  Kelly laughed a little. “I probably still have some of that stuff.”

  “Bring it.”

  She got serious again. “I haven’t agreed to anything. Besides, I did those undercover reports a couple of years ago. I’m out of practice.”

  “You’ve got what it takes, Kelly.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “All expenses paid,” he said. “Swanky hotel. Maybe even a penthouse suite.”

  “Do I have to share the suite with you? I hate sharing.” If he thought she was going to tumble into bed with him after they’d done a little light snooping, he needed to get over that notion right now.

  “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Annoyed, Kelly tapped the pencil she was holding against the edge of the desk. He’d have to do better than that. But she was feeling a tingle. A sure sign she was craving excitement. She fought back by asking Deke more questions, trying not to seem interested.

  He laid it out. The event had a memorable name, that was for sure. “The media are calling it the Billionaires’ Ball. Come with me, Kelly. How can you resist?”

  “I’ve been to events like that before. Sorry if I don’t sound more excited. Who’s the sponsor?”

  “Natalie Conrad.”

  The name rang a bell with Kelly. “Oh—I know her. Not personally,” she added quickly. “But I met her several years ago, more than once. At benefit galas for different things—charity, the arts. She’s very generous.”

  “She can afford to be. Harry Conrad left her everything.”

  “I looked him up once,” Kelly said. “Megarich. Mansions and estates all over Europe and the US, controlling interests in huge corporations, et cetera. Money to burn.”

  “Well, his widow is keeping up the tradition. This ball is supposed to benefit a new art museum to be named after him. It hasn’t been built.”

  “The Conrads were world-class collectors,” Kelly said. She was intrigued but not at all ready to say yes. “Is she actually going to be at this ball?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s newsworthy,” Kelly mused aloud. “I remember hearing that she’d become a bit of a recluse.”

  Deke pounced on that. “Another reason to go—you could snag an exclusive interview with her.”

  “You sound like our news director. Monroe would love the all-expenses-paid angle. The bean counters have been breathing down his neck.”

  “Your weekends don’t belong to Monroe Capp,” Deke pointed out. “Can we leave him out of this?”

  “Okay,” Kelly said cheerfully. “Sounds like I can go as myself. If I go.”

  “Tell me what I need to do to persuade you.”

  “What will I get out of it? Who’s coming to this thing? Give me a rundown
.” She poised the pencil over the paper, ready to make notes again.

  “Besides the billionaires?” Deke replied. “They head the list and they got the engraved invitations, but there’s not that many of them. Moving down, some celebrities, lots of models, second-tier socialites, and people like that were contacted online. And then we get to the attractive undesirables. I’ve already identified a couple of high-level con artists among the RSVPs by their e-mail addresses.”

  “You’re such a snoop. Is that proper etiquette? I guess Emily Post doesn’t cover criminal investigations,” she joked.

  “Look it up. Let me know. Anyway, one is a friend of Bach and the other—”

  Kelly interrupted him. “How did you get an invitation?”

  “In the mail.”

  Kelly rolled her eyes. “And I had to ask.” She thought it over, still deliberating. “I’m not sure I want to waste a weekend on this.”

  “Remember what you said about going after the biggest guy? We think he’s going to be there.”

  Kelly was inclined to stall, although Deke had pretty much sold her on the idea. His deep voice was a little too persuasive. “Can I call you back?”

  “Make it soon. There’s space available on a private jet leaving Atlanta Hartfield tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  “That’s free too. But we have to jump on it. The pilot won’t wait.”

  “We?”

  “Just you and me, Kelly.”

  She looked at her watch. Kelly thought some more. Deke was basically offering twenty-four hours of pure fun, no strings attached. Dallas was a great city, and she hadn’t been back in ages. Flying there in a private jet was a plus. No check-in lines. No fans recognizing her at the airport. Another chance at a story that had more twists and turns than a snake on a hot rock.

  “Okay. I’ll go.”

  Kelly swiveled to face Deke in a huge chair upholstered in butter-soft leather. Sleek built-in consoles held creature comforts behind doors that opened at a touch. Liquor. Snacks. Two widescreen televisions.

  If not for the faint vibration of the engines, she could be in a very luxurious living room. It wasn’t the first private jet she’d flown on, but it was definitely the nicest.

  The pilot had come aboard and was going through the preflight routine in the cockpit, not looking back into the cabin once. Someone outside on the Jetway slid the door into place. Kelly watched it auto-latch from the inside. Deke got up to check it and came back.

  “Do you know how to fly this thing?” she asked him.

  “No. But I know how the doors work. No flight attendants, as you can see. Just the pilot.”

  “Should I say hello to him?” Kelly murmured. “I can’t catch his eye.”

  “You don’t have clearance to fly out with me,” Deke explained. “So you are officially invisible.”

  “I am?” Kelly had to smile. “I don’t think that’s ever happened to me. Invisibility is an interesting sensation. Very interesting.”

  “Thought you’d like it.” Deke rocked back, taking in the cabin fittings with a look of approval.

  “Is this a government jet?” Kelly asked.

  “Are you kidding? No. Private all the way.” He patted the upholstered arms of his swivel lounger. “It belongs to a concerned citizen of Atlanta with an interest in our investigation. Sometimes he lets one of us hop on if the pilot is flying to meet him at a different airport.”

  “How convenient.”

  The pilot flipped the last switches. A prerecorded female voice came over the speakers with the usual passenger information.

  “Buckle up,” Deke said. “How long since you’ve been back to Texas?”

  Kelly searched for the ends of her seat belt. “Years.”

  They both leaned back as the jet began to taxi toward an open runway. She looked toward a window at the small blue lights that edged it, twinkling in the darkness. The cabin illumination dimmed.

  “Do you have family there?” Deke asked softly.

  “Not anymore.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Kelly watched and listened from the other side of the lobby of the Hobart, a new hotel in Dallas that had been designed to evoke a vanished era of wealth and privilege. It boasted a spectacular ballroom—a panoramic view of it was playing silently on a widescreen above the reservation desk.

  She smiled to herself. Deke was charming a front desk clerk into revealing that both penthouse suites were available. Apparently the billionaires were staying elsewhere.

  The young woman hesitated, then nodded when Deke asked to see the manager. It wasn’t long before he came out of the front office with two keycards and a triumphant grin on his face. The bell captain personally saw to their luggage while Kelly signed the register and offered up her driver’s license to a different clerk. She assured him that she would enjoy her stay. No one asked questions. It was liberating not to be recognized.

  The door closed behind the bell captain before Deke would explain.

  “I showed the manager my badge, dropped a few hints about our mission, let him make a couple of calls for verification, and that was that. Nice guy. He comped everyone on the team and us,” Deke said when the door closed. “This ball is a security nightmare. All he wanted to know was why we hadn’t contacted him sooner.”

  “You’re very persuasive.”

  He laughed, looking pleased with himself. “Anything for the lady who doesn’t like to share. Go ahead, pick a suite. I don’t care which one I get.”

  Kelly opened the adjoining door. “They’re exactly the same. But—the view’s better in this one.” She stepped over the threshold, leaving the door open.

  An hour later, traces of shower steam drifted in through the open door. The drinks and relaxed conversation they’d shared on the private jet had brought them closer—but not that close. The carpeted threshold between the suites could have been an invisible force field. In unspoken agreement, Kelly and Deke stayed on their respective sides as they conducted an off-and-on conversation without once looking at each other.

  It hadn’t taken her long to hang up her clothes and lingerie organizer and get her cosmetics set out. Her travel routine never changed. She took out a small zippered case she kept on a high shelf in her closet at home. There were things in it she could use tonight. Kelly wanted to look them over before she showed them off to Deke.

  He’d showered in the meantime, blasting the water at full heat on his side. Kelly had done the same but finished first. After several more minutes, she heard him shut off the spray. There was the unmistakable sound of a towel snapped off a rack.

  It was easy to imagine that slung around his hips. Kelly remembered Deke as she’d seen him at the hotel pool in Atlanta. Only here, there would be nothing on under the towel. She smiled. She heard Deke open something, probably a grooming kit. The items inside it rattled.

  Pfft. The scent of aerosol cream alerted her to his next move: shaving. He didn’t say anything for a minute, concentrating on what he was doing.

  She returned to what was left in her suitcase: bagged shoes, sleepwear, a couple of magazines, and a paperback book tucked in at the last minute. Hotel rooms were where she did her reading. Kelly tossed all of it on her bed in a jumble, which wasn’t like her. The spicy fragrance of his shaving cream was distracting.

  “I almost forgot to ask you,” he called. “Do you know anyone in Dallas?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “So you’re cool with doing this. You don’t have to, Kelly. Just wanted to make that clear. Again.” There were long pauses between each sentence, as if he were trying not to nick himself.

  “Deke, I wouldn’t have said yes if I thought there was an outside chance of running into anyone who knows me. This far from Atlanta, I’m not exactly famous.”

  Another pause. Another pfft of aerosol. She couldn’t wait to see him squeaky-clean and baby-faced. “That’s only a matter of time,” he said. “You will be.”

  She heard
the water running in his sink, then splashing, as she picked up an armful of garments she’d draped over an armchair before her shower.

  “I’m working on that,” she said, hanging up the clothes. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Just keep my name out of the final story.”

  “You bet. Which reminds me. Are you using a different name tonight?”

  Deke was humming to himself. He might not have heard her. He didn’t answer.

  She visualized him rinsing off the shave cream and patting his handsome face dry. Wrapped up in a huge towel herself, her legs and shoulders bare, Kelly sat down at a vanity table with a round mirror. Her hair was up in a loose knot. She hadn’t needed to wash it. When her hair was unpinned, a touch of backcombing would give her straight locks a little oomph.

  Gotta work with what you got, she thought as she studied her unmade-up face. Kelly poked around in the cosmetics on the counter, selecting shades.

  Deke finally replied. “I think I’ll be Russ Thorn again. Can you remember that?”

  “Yes.” Kelly began to apply makeup. Her shower had refreshed her and left her skin looking dewy. She decided to skip foundation and let her light freckles show. Looking different was a good idea. Dramatic eye makeup, bigger hair, and chandelier earrings would be an amusing change. She was pure Texan, after all.

  She studied her reflection and applied berry-stain lip gloss, then slipped the thin tube into the zippered case. Next came eyeliner and shadow, more than she usually wore but not too much. The final result was . . . sexy. There was no other word for it, even with her hair still in the prim knot.

  Her on-air look was conservative and classic, but June at WBRX had done Kelly’s makeup for late-night glamour events, too, and taught her plenty of tricks.

  Dallas, here I come. She rose from the vanity and walked over to the wraparound window that framed the glittering skyline. The metropolis stopped at the Trinity River, a flat expanse of shoals and shallow water barely visible at night. Around her stood the towering new buildings of Dallas’s downtown, some outlined in jewel-toned lights against a black sky without stars.