Mallory Kane - Covert Makeover

The eyes in her sketch looked sad. Before he left, the sadness had been replaced by distaste.

She held the sketch closer to the light, studying the hint of sadness she’d caught. Did he still love his wife?

Shaking off the question, which was none of her business, she picked up her phone to tell Vicki to cooperate with him in arranging meetings with the staff.

Then she tried to go back to work on her latest assignment, but her curiosity got the better of her. She accessed the archived designs on her laptop. There it was. The Majors/DuVall wedding. Their snow-white invitation had featured two gold-embossed hearts linked together.

She glanced across the salon at him as he spoke with Vicki, then back at her notepad. Pen in hand, she drew two identical hearts, one broken. She swallowed and scratched out the image.

At least that would never happen to her. Not again.

IN A PRIVATE office in an expensive villa overlooking the capital of Ladera, seven men sat around a polished wood table. Three of them smoked cigars. Each of them had a cup of steaming black coffee close at hand.

When the eighth man walked into the room and sat at the head of the table, the other seven sat up straighter. The tall, white-haired man nodded at the servant pouring his coffee.

The servant quickly bowed and exited the room.

“You know why we are here,” he addressed the other men.

A rotund middle-aged man lifted a finger. “Is it true that DeLeon’s kidnapped fiancée has been traced to Ladera?”

“There are rumors. Someone in the Miami area is investigating her whereabouts.”

“And doing a good job of it,” another man commented.

The white-haired man pinned him with a dark glance. “Yes. I have it on good authority that the police are staying out of this investigation, nor have federal officials been called in. But that could happen at any moment.”

“Who is the contact?”

“That is not your concern. You should be squashing interest in DeLeon’s antidrug bills by whatever means necessary while he is preoccupied with the search for his missing fiancée. The Laderan people are counting on the legislature to keep their livelihood from being taken away from them because of DeLeon’s crusade. We must continue to paint him as a fanatic, only interested in revenge for his ex-wife’s mental illness caused by illegal drugs.”

“Juan DeLeon is very popular.”

The man sighed and sipped his coffee. “Exactly. That is why I took the chance of bringing you all here at this time. You are my most trusted allies. Before you leave, I need to make sure that each of you understands your role within the next days. DeLeon has several senators poised to demand an immediate vote on two bills, the first to oust legislators found guilty of corruption, and the second to impose term limits.”

There was a hushed muttering around the table.

“I expect to hear shortly of a development in Sonya Botero’s kidnapping. We must ensure that the votes are timed to coincide. We can’t take the chance that DeLeon will return before the vote is taken. Several of DeLeon’s allies have vulnerabilities that we can use to our advantage. This is where you come in. Hector, let’s start with you. Here’s what you must do….”

SEAN SPENT the rest of the morning grilling the employees at Weddings Your Way, including Sophie Brooks. He left with little more information than he’d come with. Then he drove by the hospital to check on Craig Johnson.

He spoke with him briefly, but the young man seemed too medicated to respond much. Sean was suspicious, but the nurses confirmed that he’d been agitated earlier and the doctor on call had ordered a sedative.

Sean spoke briefly with Johnson’s physician by phone and let him know that he had to speak with Johnson the next day. The physician hired and paid for by Carlos Botero assured Sean that Johnson would be alert the next day.

Sean headed back to his office at the Botero estate and studied the police reports and went over the security tapes. Just as he suspected, he found nothing he hadn’t already seen or heard from the police.

By the time he’d finished, it was after six o’clock and there had been no word from the kidnappers. Michaela would be waiting for him. He picked up the intercom phone.

“Javier, a phone call may come in from the kidnappers. If so, let Mr. Botero speak to them, but you patch me through immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks. Let me speak to Mr. Botero.” After a brief pause, Carlos’s voice spoke weakly into the phone. “Mr. Botero, do you need me this evening?”

“No, no. Javier will be here, as will Cook. You go on home.”

“Thank you, sir. If anyone contacts you, Javier has instructions to patch me through, although I doubt we’ll hear from them tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

By the time he got to his apartment off old Route One, it was almost seven. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt as he rode up in the elevator from the parking garage. He unlocked the door and stepped into his brightly lit living room.

He’d barely had time to shrug out of his jacket and toss it onto a chair before Michaela came running in.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! You’re late!”

The blond curls and the wide grin of his precious daughter greeted him like a burst of sunshine after a gloomy day. He dropped to his haunches and held out his arms.

“Hi, sprout. What have you been doing today?”

Michaela giggled as she threw herself against him. “Me and Rosita are making tea cakes. See?” She held up her hands. She was covered in flour and cookie dough.

“Michaela, what did I tell you?” Rosita bustled into the room. “You go and wash your hands right now.”

Michaela pushed away and looked at him solemnly. “I got to wash my hands, Daddy. So I don’t get your suit all dirty.”

He nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

She ran out of the room.

“Too late, but a good idea.” He chuckled as he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. “Rosita, send these to be cleaned tomorrow, will you? I apologize for being late.”

“Mr. Sean, you get into your room before you take off anything else. It is not proper for you to unclothe in front of a woman of my age.”

Sean laughed and tossed his shirt and tie to her. “Right. Like you didn’t powder my bottom when I was a baby.” He headed toward the master bedroom, which was separated from Michaela’s room by the kitchen and dining room area. At the door, he turned.

“I may be late for the next several days.”

Rosita picked up his suit jacket and rolled it up with the shirt and tie. “No problem. My son and his wife have gone to Disney World. They ask me to go, but I told them all that walking was for young ones.”

“What are you, Rosita, ninety?”

“I am sixty-three, you bad boy. I made you paella for dinner. As soon as the tea cakes come out of the oven, I’m leaving. Tonight is my favorite television night.”

Sean showered quickly and pulled on an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt that said Miami Heat. When he came out, the apartment smelled of cookies. Michaela was waiting in the kitchen doorway. When she saw him her whole face lit up.

“Daddy! Try my cookie.”

He swept her up into his arms and took a big bite of the strangely shaped cookie she held.

“Mmm. It’s good.” He kissed her sugary cheek and breathed deeply of her precious, bubblegum, little girl scent. “Who’s Daddy’s favorite sprout?”

“Me!” She pointed her thumb at herself.

“That’s right. And don’t you ever forget it!”

“Don’t you ever forget.” She shook her finger in his face, and he grabbed it and pretended to bite it off.

His eyes stung as she giggled and jerked her finger away.