Sidney Sheldon - Chasing Tomorrow

The only silver lining to the entire trip had been hooking up with Randy. Randall Bruckmeyer was everything that Oleg Grinski wasn’t. Handsome, good in bed and generous. Admittedly his net worth was a fraction of Grinski’s. But Randall had already promised Svetlana the pair of diamond earrings she’d been hankering after from Neil Lane. Her only quandary now was how to jump ship without Oleg getting vengeful. The last mistress to jettison Grinski had wound up with a glass of acid thrown in her face.

Randy was supposed to be here tonight. Svetlana had worn her sexiest evening dress for his benefit, a skintight red Cavalli that left nothing to the imagination. But so far he hadn’t shown up, further souring her mood.

“Oh my God! Watch what you’re doing!”

A clumsy dark-haired woman bumped into Svetlana from behind, so hard she almost went flying. Her glass flew out of her hand, dousing the man in front of her in red wine.

The dark-haired woman moved forward. Pulling a handkerchief out of her purse, Svetlana began dabbing ineffectually at the huge purple stain on the man’s dress shirt.

He brushed her away, irritated. “It’s fine. I’ll go clean up in the bathroom.”

“What happened?” Bianca Berkeley turned around. The man with the stained shirt was her publicist.

He gestured toward Svetlana. “This chick just dumped a glass of red all over me!”

“How rude! It wasn’t my fault.”

Voices began to get raised. Butch Berkeley joined the discussion, quizzing the second Scientology minder while the first argued loudly with Svetlana. Jean Rizzo’s antenna shot up. This is it! Something’s going down. He walked toward the group, but Oleg Grinski stepped in front of him, wrapping an arm around his mistress and temporarily obstructing Jean’s view.

By the time Jean got past the Russian, Bianca Berkeley was nowhere to be seen.

IT HAD HAPPENED SO quickly, at first Bianca thought she’d misheard. But the dark-haired woman repeated herself, leaning in close to Bianca’s ear.

“FBI. You’re in grave danger, Miss Berkeley. Please come with me.”

A frisson of fear, tinged with excitement, ran through Bianca’s body. Butch mocked her, called her a conspiracy theorist. But she’d always known there were dark forces out there, trying to harm her. Here, at last, was the proof.

She followed the woman into one of the powder rooms and locked the door.

JEAN RIZZO RAN OUT onto the fire stairs.

No sign.

His heart rate began to quicken. It was happening, now, somewhere in this building, and he was going to miss it. Somehow, Kennedy and Stevens had outsmarted him. But they weren’t even here! It made no sense.

Back in the conservatory, he grabbed a waiter. “I’m looking for Bianca Berkeley. Do you know who that is?”

“No, sir. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“She’s wearing a long black dress with her hair up.”

“I’m sorry, sir. There are a lot of black dresses.”

“She has a huge emerald necklace on.”

“Oh! Yes.” The man’s face lit up. “I do know the lady. She came through here a few moments ago with her friend.”

Jean’s heart tightened.

“I think they were headed to the powder room. It’s right over . . .”

Jean was already running.

“YOU UNDERSTAND, MISS BERKELEY?”

Bianca nodded, her eyes wide with fright. The excitement had all gone now. This was no made-for-TV drama. This was real.

“The ambulance is on its way? You’re sure.”

“My colleagues already called. You’ll be fine, ma’am. You have time.”

“Oh God!” Bianca started sobbing. “I can feel it already. My skin! It’s burning!”

The FBI agent took her hand and squeezed it. “Help is on the way. Try to stay calm. You understand I need to leave now?”

“Of course. Go. GO!”

JEAN RIZZO HAMMERED ON the locked door.

“Mrs. Berkeley! Mrs. Berkeley, are you in there?”

A strangled voice came from inside. “Are they here yet?”

“Are who here yet?”

“The ambulance.”

“Ma’am, this is the police. Please open the door.”

“I can’t! I have radiation sickness. You might be contaminated!”

Jean took a deep breath. He knew Bianca Berkeley was a kook but this took the cake. “Open the door, ma’am.”

Slowly, the door opened. Bianca Berkeley flung herself into Jean’s arms, crying hysterically. “Where are they?” she screamed. “She said they’d be here! I don’t have much time left.”

She was clutching her neck.

The emerald choker was gone.

ELIZABETH KENNEDY WALKED SLOWLY but purposefully out of the building. The dark wig still itched, but she no longer cared. Swinging her evening bag, she felt the weight of the Tiffany choker inside and grinned.

Jeff said it couldn’t be done. But I did it.

Now he’ll have to admit I’m the best.

She could see the Metro-North station, just a few yards away.

BIANCA BERKELEY WAS SO hysterical, it took Jean Rizzo some minutes to get the description he needed. Silver dress, dark hair. A large green evening purse.

“That’s where she kept the device. The radiation scanner. It’s Russian intelligence, you see. They’ve used this technique before, because it’s untraceable.”

Jean ran into the street.

THE METRO-NORTH STATION WAS CLOSED.

Elizabeth asked the cop outside, “What’s going on?”

“Bomb threat. They think it’s a hoax but no more trains’ll be running tonight. You’d best get a cab.”

IT WAS PURE CHANCE that he saw her. A flash of silver caught his eye from fifty yards away. She was crossing the street in front of the train station, apparently looking for a cab.

No getaway driver. No partner coming to meet her. She just wanders out into the city without a care in the world.

Tracy was right. The lady had balls.

Putting his head down, Jean quickened his pace. Elizabeth was forty yards away now.

Thirty.

Ten.

A yellow cab pulled up. She leaned in to talk to the driver. Jean ran forward. At the exact same moment another male figure darted toward the cab from the opposite side of the street. The man wore an overcoat and turtleneck sweater and Jean recognized him from the way he ran as one of the guys from Barneys. A split second later, the second man emerged from the shadows—also from Barneys. Also running.

This time, Jean Rizzo knew where he’d seen them before.

Elizabeth opened the door to the cab and had one leg inside when Jean grabbed her wrist.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

At the same time the other door to the cab opened.

For a split second Interpol Inspector Jean Rizzo and FBI Agent Milton Buck glared at each other.

Then both said simultaneously: “You’re under arrest.”

CHAPTER 18

INTERVIEW RESUMED, DECEMBER TWENTY-FIRST, four fifteen A.M. Miss Kennedy, Mrs. Berkeley has made a statement that you posed to her as an FBI agent. Is that the case?”

Elizabeth Kennedy gave Milton Buck a look of withering disdain but said nothing. Just as she had said nothing to all of Buck’s questions for the last five hours.

“You told Mrs. Berkeley that the emeralds in the choker she was wearing had been irradiated. You further convinced her that her life was in danger from exposure to the irradiated gemstones, a deception you maintained with the use of a number of simple props, including these.”

Milton Buck placed an oval-shaped piece of plastic on the table. Not unlike one of those monitors people used to listen in on their sleeping babies, it was battery-powered and flashed red with a crackling sound when you pressed a button at the back.

Elizabeth smirked.

“Is that what happened, Ms. Kennedy?”