In the background, he could hear the beginnings of Felicity’s conversation. Her voice was rising and falling as rhythmically as the hypnotic ocean swell before him. It became white noise, as if he could hear the waves below. None of her words caught his attention until a demand broke through.
“If I don’t have the cash within seventy-two hours I’ll come and get it. And don’t be thinking I won’t.”
Morgan spun and leaped to her side in one long bound.
“Red! What are you doing?”
“I have friends, you know,” Felicity snapped into the telephone, ignoring Morgan. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Don’t tell them we’re coming,” Morgan said in a harsh whisper. “You’re throwing away the advantage of surprise, you idiot.”
“I won’t take it, Stone,” Felicity shouted, waving him to be quiet. “It’s my money or it’s your arse.”
When she slammed the telephone down, Felicity looked up as if she was expecting an argument, but Morgan reacted with neither rage nor resignation. His initial response to her conversation was a dumbfounded silence. Slowly he moved to sit on the edge of her plush sofa, which turned out to be real velvet, not just velour as he had assumed.
“Did you just say Stone?” he asked after a moment. Felicity nodded her head.
“Tall dude? White hair? Kind of pale eyes?”
“You know him?” she asked.
“We’ve done business in the past,” he said, settling into the deep, totally comfortable couch.
“Well that’s a bit of luck,” Felicity said, perching on her oak cube. “What do you know about the man?”
“He’s an old pro. Sort of a general contractor.” Felicity’s puzzled look prompted him to continue. “Say for example, somebody has the dollars and wants a dirty job done. He contacts Stone. Now, Stone doesn’t actually do stuff, but he knows how to find the people who do. He’s connected. You need mercenaries, a hit man, a bodyguard, a courier…”
“A thief,” Felicity added.
“Yeah, or maybe some Mafia muscle. He can get them. All for a fee or a percentage, of course, and no risk to himself. As a matter of fact, he was the contact man for this last raid I executed. This raid I didn’t get paid for in Central America. You and me, we got some things to discuss.” He tossed back what remained of his drink. “By the way, you got any real liquor in here?”
With a thoughtful expression, Felicity picked up the remote control unit resting in a space apparently cut into the oak block for just that purpose. She thumbed a button, and suddenly Brahms filled the room, seemingly from everywhere.
Morgan was no lover of classical music, but he considered himself a connoisseur of fine stereo equipment, and the quality of the sound reproduction impressed him. Glancing around, he spotted four of the tiny but powerful Bose jewel cube speakers. There would be an Acoustimass module hidden someplace for the base..
Felicity had wandered back to the bar and when she returned she held a glass of amber liquid at his eye level.
“Chivas Regal okay?” she asked.
“More like it.” He gratefully tipped the glass to his lips. Felicity stretched out catlike on the couch, her skirt rising high on her shapely thighs. This was not the hyperactive feline he’d met on the trail. She was completely relaxed there on her own home ground, too relaxed for his tastes. Now that he had signed on for a job, he felt he needed to take command. The tactical situation, mostly unknown, was growing worse.
“Tell me what you know about the opposition,” he said, sitting up straight. “Who’d Stone hire you for? Where’s your real client? What kind of backing and resources does he have?” From his jacket pocket he produced a small note pad and the sharp stub of a pencil he always carried. Felicity examined the ceiling for several seconds and took a long pull on her drink before she spoke.
“Wish I could tell you. I worked blind for Stone. That phone number I just called? It’s in Denver, but from the time lapse and the clicks on the line, I think it’s transferred through to another city. I really have no idea who I was actually doing the job for, or what kind of organization he might have at his base, or even where his base is for that matter. Had no reason to want to know at the time. I guess we’ll have to find out somehow.”
“Yeah, well, good luck,” Morgan said, getting to his feet. “I figure either this guy couldn’t afford to pay you, or he’s so rich he don’t have to bother paying you. If he’s small time, he’ll just drop out of sight, fade into the woodwork. On the other hand, if he’s big time, he could have a dozen thugs on our necks in a couple of days.”
“So what do you suggest we do?”
“We?” Morgan said with a smile. “I think you mean you. You better get busy trying to trace that number. I’m a mercenary, not a private eye. I’ll hang around here for three days. You’ve got seventy-two hours to get a line on this mystery man. After that I’m splitting. I’ve got my own snake to find. Even though that job came through Stone too, I can probably find the client easier than the flunky. I’ll get after him if your job falls through, and my trail starts south of the border.”
13
The beautiful blonde bent forward to help Adrian Seagrave out of his hot tub. Ashleigh was completely naked, and bending that way put her most prominent features very close to Seagrave’s face. She had no trouble concealing the distaste she felt when she was with him. After all, she was a professional. She had been with plenty of short, pear shaped men before, as pockmarked as this one, with the same dull lifeless eyes and brown straggly hair.
She had a more difficult time disguising her fear. She had never been intimate with a known killer before. It took a lot of money to attract her to so deadly a meal ticket, but for what this man paid for her company, she would have slept with Al Capone. Besides, he had probably never killed anyone with his own hands. The rich and powerful seldom do.
Smiling broadly, she rubbed Seagrave’s body dry with a thick terry cloth towel. That done, she helped him into a black oriental silk robe and silk slippers. Cool air chilled her as they left the room dedicated to the hot tub and walked across the wide contemporary study. Against the far wall stood what looked like a gilt edged cage. At the push of a button the cage doors opened like the petals of a golden blossom and folded into the wall.
“See you soon,” Seagrave said, pinching her hard on the rump before stepping into the cage. Ashleigh watched the silent doors slide closed and the cage descend in slow motion. After she heard the elevator car stop at its destination she turned to return to the bedroom.
Ashleigh gathered up her clothes, marveling anew at the rooms Seagrave lived in. Clearly a professional decorator had furnished the place. It wasn’t personalized much, at least, not in any way that showed a woman’s touch. The few things that clearly were not a decorator’s work, like that awful velvet painting hanging over the crumpled bed, were definitely the man’s work.
Halfway through getting dressed, Ashleigh stopped to make the bed. It wasn’t an impulse of neatness, but rather an act of respect. When she thought about what she did to make money, she had to admit that her own life sucked. Still, all things considered, she pitied the wife.
One floor below Seagrave’s apartment, the elevator opened. When Seagrave stepped out, he faced a long conference table. Beyond it, the oak paneled room widened out. The room was laid out in a “T” shape, with the long table aligned with its base. From Seagrave’s left, sunlight filtered in through two huge picture windows behind the head of the table. Rich maroon velvet drapes muted the sun.