John Miller - Upside Down

As he opened the door, Nicky looked down and spotted a small sliver of paper fluttering to the carpet. Adams had put it between the door and the jamb so he'd know if he'd had any visitors during his absence. The paper was close enough to the color of the carpeting that it wouldn't be noticed by anyone who wasn't looking for that trap. Not exactly something the FBI should feel a need to do. Nicky took the sliver and placed it inside the door on the carpet, planning to replace it when he left. He checked his watch, knowing he couldn't afford to spend more than five minutes inside the room.

At first Nicky didn't see anything unusual. An inexpensive suitcase was perched on the folding rack at the foot of the bed. He knelt and studied it. The thumb releases had been polished so that any finger oil would leave a visible print. Using a tissue as a makeshift glove, Nicky opened the case. It had been packed with precision. Moving as fast as possible, he memorized the positions of everything on the top layer, then exposed the next layer with the care of an archaeologist. The shirts, slacks, and undergarments were all new. There were no hidden compartments in the case. Disappointed, he replaced everything exactly as he'd found it. He looked under the bed, checked the closet, where there was a lone gray suit-a duplicate of the one Adams was wearing-hanging, but Nicky hadn't seen any neckties. A man who wore suits every day should have had several.

The bathroom gave Adams away. The toilet articles were all unused. This room was a decoy. Nicky knelt and studied the knob on the adjoining door and found that it was also polished clean, not something most hotel maids would think to do. He looked and spotted a single broom straw leaned against the bottom left edge of the door that opened directly into the next room.

Nicky opened the door into John Everett Adams's lair. Clothes were thrown over a chair. An open suitcase on the floor contained more clothes. There were two Brioni suits, two pairs of slacks, and an Armani sports coat. There was a suitcase beside the dresser which contained eyeglasses, mustaches, wigs, and makeup. The Halliburton case on the bed contained a foam bed cut out for two handguns, two knives, an array of bullets, a noise suppressor, and assorted electronic devices. Carefully Nicky moved the upper foam insert and discovered six envelopes there. He opened one of them and slid out a Swiss passport under the name Hans Krutz. The picture was of Adams, but with his oiled hair combed to his skull. There were credit cards and photos of him with a wife and two kids.

“Well paint my butt red and call me a baboon,” Nicky whispered.

Obviously Adams, or whoever he was, was a professional, but what was he after and who was he working for? What was his interest in Trammel? Or was it Porter that he was interested in? Had he joined them to get to the girl? Was he covering Bennett's or the cops' backs-a safety in case Massey found her first? How could he know so much about Winter Massey and, for that matter, himself? He had to keep an eye on Adams, and first chance he got he would let Winter know that Adams was a fraud-a very dangerous one.

Nicky heard someone out in the hallway, so he returned the items and pocketed the envelope. It wouldn't be Adams, but he might have a partner staking out his hide. He pulled Trammel's. 45 and closed the case.

Nicky saw the shadows of feet pass under the door to the hallway. He approached the door, held his breath, and waited. Someone pressed against the wood and he aimed the pistol at the door, bracing himself for someone to burst in. In his mind he saw the shots and his exact escape route from the scene-the corpse he would leave behind.

He heard voices, and he moved to the door and pressed his ear against it. He smiled as he identified two distinct voices, almost whispering. A man and a woman. It sounded to Nicky as if she was being pressed against the door.

“Let's go into my room,” a male voice urged.

“What if he comes back and I'm not there?”

“He's with George and them. They'll be drinking for hours.”

“I guess so. What are you doing? Damn it, Frank, not here.”

“Come on, Betts, you're wet already.”

She giggled. “Stop it. What if somebody comes?”

“ I'm going to come. Feel that? It's about to explode.”

“All right. Ten minutes and I mean it.”

“I'll make it in five.”

Nicky looked through the peephole and saw an overweight couple disappear into a doorway across the hall.

He retraced his steps, replacing first the straw and then the chip of paper as he left.

John Adams had dismissed him as an incompetent, crippled bum. Nicky Green knew the value of having people underestimate you.

Sometimes Providence smiles. Nicky was heading back toward the River Club when he spotted the black Lincoln Town Car parked on the edge of a public lot across the street from the Wyndham Hotel. He drove slowly by the car, making sure it was the right license plate. How can it get any better than this? He scanned the lot, looking for the couple, but didn't see them. Well, they'll be back. His radio coming to life startled him.

“Nicky, we're all done. You still on the pair?”

“I'm at the Lincoln. I got caught in traffic. They parked in the lot and they're on foot. I'm trying to spot them. You guys meet me here, and we can spread out and look for them.”

“We're on the way,” Winter said.

Concord, North Carolina

When the phone rang, Rush Massey was sitting in the porch swing listening to the latest Harry Potter novel on CD over a portable entertainment center roughly the size of a breadbox that sat on a Stickley side table.

Nemo, who had been sound asleep on the tile floor beneath the swing, barked in alarm.

“Like I couldn't hear the dang phone, Nemo.” He stood and went inside with the dog close behind him. The call wouldn't go on to the answering service until the sixth ring because Sean hated to have to run to answer it. At that moment she was across town grocery shopping. Rush would have let it ring but for the chance it might be his father calling with news about Faith Ann. More likely it was Sean with a question about something he might not eat. She was still getting accustomed to his tastes, so if he didn't accompany her to the store she often called for his food-related advice. He turned into the home office and, putting the book down, lifted the receiver.

“Massey residence,” he announced. “How may I direct your call?”

He was stunned to hear the sobs and Faith Ann's fractured voice. “I… I… I. Rush. It's me, Faith Ann. Please… I need help.”

“Faith Ann. We've been worried sick about you! Where are you?”

“Rush, Mama's dead. I saw him… So is… Aunt Millie and Uncle Hank.”

She cried loudly, and his heart went out to her. “I know, but Hank's not. He's just unconscious-he's not dead. He's at the hospital where they have real good emergency doctors. Daddy went there when they shot him in the leg.”

“He's not… dead? Are you sure? I saw him. I thought sure.. But… Rush, I saw them run over them.”

“He's not good yet, but he's alive.”

“Who ran over them?”

“I'm not sure. Have you seen my daddy yet?”

“No.”

“Well, he's looking high and low for you.”

“Where?”

“In New Orleans.”

“Where in New Orleans?”

“Sean knows the hotel name. She'll be back in a few minutes.”

“Can you ask her and call me back?”

“I can call her on her cell phone. What's your number?”

As fast as she told him, he had it committed to memory.

“Faith Ann, Daddy said you didn't ever call the police. Why didn't you tell them about your mother?”

“One of them did it.” She was crying again. “They're trying to kill me too.”