The Business of Strangers Read online

  A rush of exhilaration went barreling through her with the speed and intensity of a locomotive. “They’re the same person. They have to be.”

  “Hopefully. But there’s still the difference in the way he signs his name.”

  “It could be an effort to distance his new persona from that of his military one.” Excitement grew, and with it, certainty. “Maybe it momentarily stalls any search on him, if people do start digging. Could be he hoped it would throw off anyone looking at military records from making a connection to the aide to the Secretary of Defense.”

  “It’s possible.” The caution in Jake’s tone was meant to douse her enthusiasm. But she didn’t heed it. Things were starting to solidify. She was surer than ever that she was on the right track. And despite Jake’s warnings, if there was anything in Hendricks’s home that connected him to this whole thing, she was going to find it, regardless of the cost.

  “It’s 1244. The redbrick colonial home.”

  Ria looked out the window of the midsize white van as they slowly rolled through the Old Town Alexandria neighborhood. The cobblestone street and two-century-old architecture gave the feel of a bygone era. Hendricks’s home was one of a few nestled among pubs and museums, restaurants and specialty shops. Although the weather was cold, there were a number of people on the streets, perhaps visitors touring the historic area.

  “What’s real estate go for around here?” she asked.

  Jake looked at the man driving. “Cort?”

  “The place is presently valued at just under three million.” Ria started in surprise as the man went on. “Said on the deed that the place is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. He bought it four years ago.”

  So where, she wondered as they moved slowly past the home toward the corner, did an ex-military man come up with that kind of cash? Family money? Government jobs, including aides to those in high-level positions, wouldn’t pay the kind of salary that would allow a person to afford this.

  It was one more area to check into. But she was well aware that her time was running out.

  “Ready to do this?”

  Ria looked at Jake, nodded. They were in the back of the van, both sides of which were equipped with large windows customized with one-way glass. Each door bore a large magnetic sign with a Tidy Brooms Cleaning Service logo.

  “Turn on Ramsay and go around the block. There’s a parking spot fairly close to the front of the house,” Jake stated.

  “I saw it, too.” Cort turned as instructed.

  Ria could feel her heart hammering. Anticipation had been growing steadily until it was almost an unbearable weight in her chest. But her thinking was clear. This was her best chance at finding answers that had eluded her for six long years. She was going to make the most of the opportunity.

  “Here’s the house’s layout.” Jake unfolded a large piece of paper, handed it to her. “Three bedrooms and a bath upstairs. Downstairs has a living room, dining room, half bath and another room described on the deed as family room-slash-office.” With his index finger, he indicated the different areas. “How are you at picking locks?”

  “Competent.”

  His mouth quirked. “Well, there’s a zippered instrument holder in the false bottom of the cleaning bucket, in case you need it. Are you armed?”

  “Yes.” The dowdy maid’s uniform he’d given her to change into was sufficiently roomy to hide the stiletto fastened to a sheathe around her thigh. Her gun was tucked at the small of her back, concealed by her coat. But neither would be immediately available as she entered the house. The most dangerous time for her would likely be the first minute, as she disengaged the alarm and walked inside.

  “The house is empty. Hendricks entered the Pentagon an hour ago and hasn’t been seen since. I’ve got men watching every exit. There’s no way he could show up here unexpectedly.”

  Jake’s words were meant to reassure her, she realized. And though that wasn’t necessary, she was touched.

  “I’ll be fine. Should be in and out in no more than twenty minutes, half an hour.”

  “Hopefully sooner,” he muttered. His mouth was a thin flat line. “I’d feel better if I were in there with you.”

  Ria cocked a brow, something inside her lightening. “Although I’d give quite a bit to see you in a matching uniform, it isn’t necessary. You’ve taken every precaution. I’ll do the rest.” Each of them wore a tiny transmitter and crystal-controlled wireless in-ear receiver that was more advanced than any of the equipment the sheriff’s department had. It would allow them to communicate while she was inside.

  The van pulled to a halt along the curb. Ria pulled on the white frilled cap that matched her uniform, and tucked her hair up inside it.

  “You remember how to open the false bottom of the cleaning bucket?”

  Because she could detect the worry in his voice, she answered patiently. “I remember. And before you ask, I recall the security code, too.” She looked out at the street. Although people were scattered up and down both sides of it, none were close. There would be no better time to go in. “I’m ready.”

  She reached for the bucket, and the compact carrier that held a mop, broom and hand sweeper. Setting them near the door, she grasped the handle.

  “Ria.”

  With a frown, she turned her head, patience near an end. But instead of issuing yet another warning, Jake dragged her close, covering her lips with his in a bruising kiss. It was over in an instant, but thorough enough to have heat spiraling crazily through her system.

  He released her, sitting back. “Be careful.”

  It took a moment for her to recover. Because she wasn’t sure she could manage a reply, she just nodded, opened the door. She got out and he handed her the bucket and tool caddy.

  The sound of the van door closing behind her sent a keen-edged eagerness snapping through her veins. The rest was up to her now.

  From her experience in law enforcement she knew that the approach of a dangerous operation elicited certain physical effects. The adrenaline rush was accompanied by clarity of mind. Time seemed to slow, each second ticking by with exquisite precision. And action, when it followed, would change all that to a mind-numbing blur of perceptions, reactions and responses made more by instinct than training.

  Ria was professional enough to make sure none of this showed. If anyone noticed her on the street they’d see a cleaning woman on her way to work, wearing a cheap overcoat flapping open to reveal a maid’s uniform. Her air was slightly harried, as if she had a schedule to keep to, but her step was purposeful.

  Climbing the three stone stairs, she set her load down and looked at the touch pad security device mounted next to the door. Jake had warned her that it allowed only two attempts before activating a silent alarm to the security company. She didn’t expect to need more than one.

  She tapped the code in. Waited a couple of seconds. A green light winked and she drew a breath, every nerve in her body ready. Reaching out, she turned the knob, pushed the door open.

  The house was still, save for the ticking of a clock in one of the nearby rooms. Ria stepped inside, setting the bucket and tool caddy on the floor and pushing the door closed with one foot. In the next moment, the gun was in her hand.

  Toeing her heavy black shoes off, she moved silently through the house, checking to be sure it was as empty as it seemed. Once she’d satisfied herself that no one was hiding on either floor, she relaxed a fraction. “All clear,” she murmured.

  “Good.” Jake’s voice came through with amazing clarity. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Although there was a pressure in her chest demanding she begin her search, caution was too ingrained to be discarded easily. Not until she’d checked for escape avenues from the back of the house and the second floor, did she allow herself to give in to the demand. Slipping the gun into the pocket of her coat, she left her leather gloves on for the search, checked her watch. The entire process had taken less than five minutes.
/>   Leaving the tool caddy inside the door, she swiftly removed the cleaning supplies and set them on the floor. Then she picked up the bucket and entered the living room, which was equipped with comfortable overstuffed furniture and obviously expensive stereo equipment. Thick rugs were scattered over the gleaming oak floors. An ornately carved oak fireplace with copper inlay dominated one wall, a large screen TV another.

  The room looked lived in but not messy. A copy of today’s Washington Post lay folded on the arm of the couch. There was a half-empty cup of coffee on the table next to it, as if Hendricks had relaxed in here before going to work.

  Staying clear of the windows, Ria went to the fireplace mantel, looked at the collection of pictures displayed on it. Unlike her own home, his had the personal stamp of someone with a history. With family and loved ones.

  She slid open the false bottom of the bucket and withdrew the compact digital camera, taking several shots of the collection of framed photos. She recognized the person appearing in most of them as the man who’d passed himself off in Jake’s office as Colton, aka Hendricks himself. Studying his image, she realized Jake had described him accurately. Average height, average build…his features were pleasant enough but hardly memorable. But that wouldn’t be why she didn’t remember him from her past.

  “Where are you?”

  Jake’s voice gave her a start. For a moment she’d forgotten he was waiting on the other end of the transmitter. “Taking pictures of his photos in the living room.”

  There were several shots of him with an older man who bore his likeness, a couple of him, much younger, with a woman Ria assumed was his mother. There was none of him with a woman his age, so she was guessing Hendricks was single. His had been the only name on the deed.

  After a glance around, she headed to the next room. What Jake had predicted would be an office was instead, a collector’s room. It was crammed with glass display cases filled with antique military items.

  Each piece had a computer-generated label beside it. She walked up and down the rows of cases, taking pictures of each. A Samurai helmet. A pair of Walther P-38s. An 1898 “potato digger” machine gun. An 1852 Patt sword. World War II German bayonets. A Remington split-breech carbine. Including the collection of knives, swords and handguns hanging on the walls, Ria estimated that there were close to two hundred pieces displayed in the room.

  “What do antique weapons run, ballpark?” she asked Jake.

  His voice sounded in her ear, half-irritated. “What the heck are you doing now?”

  “The other room on the main floor is filled with old military weapons. From the looks of the security system on the cases, this stuff is valuable.”

  He was silent for a moment. “How old?”

  “World War I and more recent.”

  “Antique weapons and other collector items can run pretty steep, depending on their rarity and condition. Most range from a couple hundred to several thousand, although some pieces go for well over that.”

  In other words, it was an expensive little hobby. She’d dearly love to know where Hendricks’s money came from.

  She knew from her preliminary check of the house that the formal dining room, kitchen and half bath seemed normal. She headed upstairs, to a spare bedroom that was equipped as an office.

  One wall was covered with pictures. She ignored it for the time being and crossed to the desk. The drawers were all locked, so she took out the case Jake had mentioned and unzipped it. Withdrawing a pick, she inserted it into the lock of the top drawer and with a few swift movements had it open. The thought occurred to her that she shared more than a few of Jake’s criminal skills.

  There was so little contained in the drawers that she figured the small black, leather-bound notebook inside must be valuable. Flipping it open, she saw it was less than a third full, and held names, addresses and phone numbers. Using the scanner, she recorded each page, then set the book back inside and turned to the filing cabinets nearby.

  Neither of them was locked, which made Ria doubt there would be anything of interest inside. But she went quickly through them anyway. Most files, she soon discovered, held receipts and written histories on the weapons housed downstairs. With eyebrows climbing, she noted that Jake’s estimation on the value had been close.

  Other folders showed routine bills and payment stubs, all for the previous year. She scanned the stubs and mentally calculated Hendricks’s annual salary. As she’d guessed, it fell enormously short of enabling him to afford a house like this.

  She went to the wall of pictures, and saw that most detailed Hendricks’s own military history. There was a younger, unsmiling picture of him, newly enlisted, standing in front of a U.S. Army barracks. In another he was grinning, pointing to the gleaming captain’s bars on his uniform. Still others showed him shaking hands with various army officials.

  One large framed case held what she assumed were his army insignias, medals and patches. Brows rising, she saw he’d reached the level of colonel before leaving the military. From the most recent of the pictures, she guessed him to be about forty-five today. He’d been out of the military at least four years, according to Jake. A fairly rapid rise, but certainly not unprecedented.

  She took pictures of the wall, then replaced the camera in the bucket. A thought struck her then, and she went back to the desk, searching above and below each drawer for anything taped to the interior. She discovered nothing. Undeterred, she probed at each of the drawer linings, looking for a false bottom. Her search was rewarded in the bottom drawer.

  It was deep enough to hold hanging files, though it contained only computer, printer and software manuals. But once she’d taken out the contents and looked more closely, she was able to release a spring-loaded panel and push the false bottom aside.

  There in the space lay a bankbook.

  Ria’s heart began hammering. Hendricks kept his pay stubs and bank records in the filing cabinet, so she knew she’d discovered something else. Flipping it open, she saw it was the bank record for an offshore account. Monthly deposits had been made each of the last five years.

  She might not have discovered the source of his money, but she could be fairly certain it wasn’t legitimate.

  Retrieving the scanner, she copied each page before putting the book back in the drawer and replacing the false bottom. Then she piled the manuals back inside and locked the drawers again, a fierce feeling of satisfaction coursing through her.

  “I’ve got you, you black-hearted bastard,” she muttered.

  “I’m going to assume you’re not talking to me.” Jake’s sardonic voice sounded in her ear. “You found something?”

  “Looks to me like Chad Hendricks is blackmailing someone. I wondered where all this money was coming from.” She gazed at the computer. “I wish I had the know-how to break into his electronic files.”

  “Not this trip. Finish up and get back out here. It’s been twenty-five minutes already.”

  She didn’t need the reminder. But before she left the room she stopped in front of the pictures one more time. Scanned rapidly, they were a collage that spanned the younger Hendricks’s steady rise in the military. His achievements, his friendships. One photo showed him with his arm thrown around the shoulders of a younger man wearing a uniform with a Ranger’s tab. Noting the insignia, Ria gazed more closely at the man’s face.

  Her breath stalled in her lungs as recognition slammed into her. The man in the picture was none other than the one who’d come to kill her on Santa Cristo. The same man who’d murdered Luz.

  Chapter 9

  Other than a few snarled comments, the trip back to the airport was accomplished in silence. There was no mistaking Jake’s mood, however. It was lethally menacing.

  Ria ignored him as much as she was able. With her thoughts in tumult, she welcomed the quiet, even when it was as charged as a stick of dynamite. Once on the plane she changed back into her own clothes, putting the transmitter and receiver on top of the folded maid’s uniform
. Entering the cabin again, she dropped heavily to the couch, welcoming the moment of solitude while Jake talked to his pilot.

  Leaning her head back against the cushion, she let her eyelids slide closed. At least two of the men on the team she’d been a part of were dead, by her hand. It shouldn’t be too difficult to match the man in the picture to one of the deceased soldiers on her list at home.

  Things were starting to come together, at warp speed. The dizzying avalanche of information and conclusions needed to be sorted out, and new options explored.

  She felt Jake sit down next to her, and her eyes popped open. Given his mood earlier, she figured she needed all her wits about her. “Feeling civil yet?”

  The look he sent her was smoldering. “You were in there for an hour. That’s more than twice what we’d planned. I almost came in after you twice.”

  Her lips curved. “So you said.” Other statements, much less polite, had been muttered, as well. A more timid person would have considered them threats.

  “After finding the bankbook in the false bottom of a desk drawer, I decided to look more thoroughly, in case he had documents hidden elsewhere in his house.” She’d done a careful search of everything she could think of, including the appliances, walls and floorboards, to no avail.

  “What in the hell made you do that?” His tone was biting. “This was supposed to be an in-and-out venture. You’ve got the bankbook. You know he was the commanding officer at the posts of at least two of the men.”

  “I recognized someone in a picture with Hendricks,” she said baldly. That had been the catalyst that sent her hunting for even more tangible evidence. “It was the first assassin sent after me, in Santa Cristo. He killed the woman who saved my life, then came for me.”

  There was no change in Jake’s expression, but she felt the charged air between them defuse slightly. “You’re sure?”

  “I remember that face.” Her gaze was turned inward. She could still picture both men who had been sent after her. The scenes replayed endlessly in her nightmares, in vivid Technicolor. “He spoke, the other assassin never did. Said I was a traitor. That more would be sent after me. He was right.” Until she’d dived so deeply undercover that no one could find her. Before now.