Cindy Dees - The Medusa Proposition

Paige snagged a flute of champagne from a strolling waiter and downed the thing in a single gulp. When the next waiter passed, she exchanged the empty glass for a full one and sipped this one a little more temperately. Although she’d been gone for two years, the faces were mostly the same. She had interviewed many of the dignitaries in the room and made polite small talk with them as she cruised the ball.

A number of her fellow journalists were clustered around a bar at the far end of the huge room, but she avoided them. They had an alarming tendency to reminisce about Jerry with her, and frankly, she avoided those memories whenever possible. She might have come to terms with her role in Jerry’s death, but it didn’t mean she wanted to wallow in her lingering guilt.

She felt eyes on her and glanced up, her gaze colliding with the dark, amused one of Thomas Rowe halfway across the room. Jerk. She looked away pointedly. But she couldn’t resist peeking his direction a minute later. Dammit! He was still staring at her!

She yanked her gaze away, vowing to herself not to look at him again tonight. But then the darnedest thing started happening. She’d glance innocently at something or someone, and there he’d be, smack-dab in her line of sight. It was like he was trying to make her look at him. Surely he wasn’t that juvenile.

And then he started moving in on her. Oh, it was a gradual thing, and to the innocent observer would undoubtedly be completely undetectable. But she was aware of every foot closer to her that he came. Was he stalking her? She actually had to curb an impulse to sidle away from him. Double jerk.

The annoying game was interrupted when she overheard his name mentioned among a group of women clustered just to her right. Paige recognized one of them as the wife of the American ambassador to China, a woman she’d interviewed before.

Paige moved in smoothly. “Mrs. Carrillo. You look fabulous! Tell me, are you still working with that international women’s rights group?”

“Why, hello, Paige. Yes, I am. You’re looking lovely yourself.”

“You’re too kind. I didn’t mean to interrupt you ladies … please, don’t stop on my account.”

A woman Paige didn’t know but who sported a thick European accent—French, maybe—laughed. “I was just telling them about Mimi Ando’s rather sordid past.”

Paige said winningly, “I’m sorry. I thought I overheard you mentioning Thomas Rowe.”

The Frenchwoman replied, “You did. He and Mimi were quite an item a few years back. They had a scandalous relationship, even by Parisian standards.”

Curbing her eyebrows, which seemed to want to sail upward, Paige encouraged the woman. “Do tell.”

“Well, they partied their way across Europe and had spectacular fights in the most inappropriate places. And then she met Takashi and dumped Rowe cold. He hasn’t dated another woman seriously since. Rumor has it that she broke his heart.”

Indeed? A jilted lover, was he? Funny he hadn’t shown more reaction to Ando’s body this morning, then, even if to show a certain satisfaction at a rival’s death. But he’d acted entirely unaffected. Not even surprised, come to think of it. Had he known what was in that bag? Was it possible? Had Thomas Rowe murdered Takashi Ando? Over a woman? Her instinct was to reject the notion as absurd. But her training, both in journalism and things military, demanded that she consider every possibility, no matter how outrageous.

She risked glancing around the room in an attempt to spot Rowe. There he was, speaking to a very tall brunette with the kind of body that made other women feel completely inadequate. “Who’s that Rowe’s talking with over there?” Paige asked.

The other women looked around and the Frenchwoman burst out laughing. “Speak of the devil. That’s Mimi Ando.”

Another woman murmured, “While the Takashi cat’s away, the Mimi mouse will play….”

The Frenchwoman shrugged. “Maybe their romance isn’t as dead as it seemed.”

Paige flinched at the reference to death. Ando’s body was still in her refrigerator, awaiting the American forensics team due in later tonight. A gruesome image of his remains flitted through her head. Surely Tom wouldn’t say anything to Mimi about her husband’s death before the American team had a chance to examine Takashi’s remains. And even he wouldn’t be so callous as to tell a woman in a public venue like this that her husband had died.

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I could use another glass of champagne. Enjoy your evening.”

“Look me up the next time you’re in Beijing, dear,” Mrs. Carillo called as Paige drifted away.

Paige stepped into the hotel lobby and paced the length of the cavernous space, troubled. Why would Vanessa Blake send a possible murderer to help her this morning? If Rowe was some sort of agent of the U.S. government, had he gone rogue? She opened her cell phone and dialed Vanessa’s private line as she stepped outside into a lush garden in search of privacy.

“Hey, Viper.”

“What’s up?”

“Who was that you sent me this morning? I mean I know who he is. What capacity do you know him in?” “A professional one. Why?”

Paige frowned. “Could you be a little more specific than that?”

“Mind me asking why?”

“Were you aware he had a torrid relationship with Mimi Ando that she broke off so she could marry Ando?”

A long silence greeted that announcement. Finally, Vanessa said heavily, “I’m forced to acknowledge the relevance of that, but I’m having a hard time believing what you’re suggesting. I’ve known Tom for years. He was on Jack’s team.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. Vanessa’s husband was Colonel Jack Scatalone, a longtime Special Forces officer and team leader. He was still one of the Medusas’ primary instructors. And Rowe had worked for him?

“Are you telling me Thomas Rowe is … was … one of us?”

“He was. He’s not an active operator anymore.”

Paige asked grimly, “So, if he wanted to go off the reservation, he’d know how to do it?”

Vanessa sounded surprised. “You seriously think he’s turned? That he killed Ando?”

“I think we can’t rule it out.”

“Jack’s going to have a cow at the idea. He thinks the world of Tom.”

“So don’t tell him about it just yet. Let me poke around a little and see what I can find out.”

Vanessa sighed. “That’s not how Jack and I do business, but thanks for the offer. Call me if you learn anything new.”

“Right, boss.”

She lifted the phone away from her ear thoughtfully.

“And what are you poking into now?” a male voice asked from directly behind her.

Paige whirled, startled, and almost dropped her phone in her shock. Thomas Rowe. “That’s none of your business, Mr.

Rowe.”

“Ah. So the journalist likes her secrets, too, does she? Are we being a hypocrite, perhaps?”

She scowled at him. “You wish. I’m just doing my job. What’s your excuse?”

He laughed, a low masculine sound that scraped across her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “You’re missing all the fun, Miss Ellis. Come inside.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to dance with you.” That made her stare. “What on earth for?”

“To start rumors and wreck your credibility should you attempt to do some sort of negative report on me.”

“I thought you don’t give a damn what the press says about you.”

“I don’t want them to say anything about me at all. That’s entirely different.”

“Dancing with me isn’t going to shut me up.”

He grinned. “I doubt much of anything could do that.”

“And on that insulting note, Mr. Rowe, you can take your invitation to dance and shove it.”