“No one knows why. But all the ladies think Amalie left Lincoln. Think about it, Gabe, because I sure have. None of us have seen Amalie in over five years. Where is she?”
“When I ask, he says she’s in France, that she doesn’t like it here,” Gabe said as he continued to chew his lip. “Why would he beat that beautiful creature? She’s gentle, she’s kind, she’s sweet, and a wonderful person. He also told me more than once that his private life was none of my business. And he’s right, it is not my business.”
“I don’t know the answer to that question, Gabe. I always liked Amalie. She was so shy, and I thought the two of them were in love. I should have known better. Lincoln Moss only loves himself.”
Gabe tried to make sense out of what his wife was saying. “Why? I never had an inkling of any kind that he could or would do something like that.”
“You don’t live with him, Gabe. Amalie did. Nothing is as it seems, you know that. Lincoln is a control freak. I think Amalie was afraid of him. I’m thinking, and this is just my opinion, that she got fed up and just up and left. No one has seen her in over five years. At least no one who will admit to it.
“Five years is a long time, Gabe. Lincoln always has an answer as to where she is. Saturday night will tell the tale.”
“Why do you say that?” Gabe asked, still trying to digest the fact that his best friend in the whole world was a possible wife batterer.
“Because there is a rumor going around that Amalie is going to attend the gala on Saturday night. Sans Lincoln. Just this morning, my personal secretary told me that Amalie Laurent will be the guest of the Director of the FBI. And that they will both be sitting at a table bought by the Countess de Silva? What do you think of that, Gabriel?”
They were back to Gabriel, with both feet in hot water. “Is that definite or a rumor?”
“The RSVP came back from Director Sparrow with his name and his guest’s name. It said Amalie Laurent, not Amalie Moss. Now, does Lincoln know that? I have no clue. If there’s nothing else, I need to go to my meeting. I’m already a half hour late.”
“Tell anyone who wants to know why you’re late that I was chewing off your clothes and making wild passionate love to you. They’ll cut you some slack then.”
Emily laughed out loud. “Okay.” She kissed him on the cheek before she left the kitchen.
Gabe missed his wife the moment the door closed behind her. He knew he was late for his next appointment, but he didn’t care. He got up and cleared the table and washed the dishes. He knew how to do laundry, cook, and clean because his mother taught him how to take care of himself. He was even a fair-to-middling plumber. He wished right now he could go outside and mow the lawn. He loved the smell of new-cut grass. He looked around the kitchen to make sure it was clean and tidy. What the hell, why not? He started stripping off his clothes as he headed for the master bedroom, where he pulled on a pair of threadbare gray sweatpants and a muscle shirt. He tied up the laces of his Nikes, fished around in the closet until he found his Atlanta Braves baseball cap, and squashed it onto his head.
Outside in the corridor, the President’s Secret Service men looked at him, their eyes popping. “Where to, sir?”
“The work shed. I’m going to mow the lawn.”
“But sir . . .” Protests followed the President’s long-legged stride all the way to the secluded work shed.
“No buts, gentlemen, I’m climbing up on that John Deere, and I am cutting the lawn. You can ride alongside or trot or watch me, your call.”
And that’s exactly what President Gabriel Knight did that sunny afternoon in July. Not only did he cut the lawn, but he sang, off-key, at the top of his lungs, as he tooled along at three miles an hour. Every news channel carried the event on the evening news. The commentators started off their hourly news by saying, “Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to see is something never before shown on TV.” The picture that popped up on the screen was the President waving to one and all as he buzzed around the White House lawn, a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon on his face. It was clear to one and all that he was having the time of his life. And as the news commentators said, why shouldn’t the President have the time of his life. He was, after all, the leader of the free world.
The moment Lincoln Moss saw the picture flash on the screen, he went from placid to nuclear, knowing that a picture was worth a thousand words and that Gabriel Knight just jumped up twenty points in his approval rating. He smashed up his state-of-the-art kitchen, where he was eating his solitary dinner at the kitchen counter.
“Son of a bitch!” he cursed.
Chapter 17
T
he boys sat around Myra’s kitchen table, drinking coffee. “I don’t get it, why are we even here? What’s going on? I feel like I should move my stuff here and take up residency,” Dennis grumbled.
“Sometimes, it’s good to be on the down low, kid,” Ted said as he poured fresh coffee into everyone’s cup. They were on their third pot since their arrival a little after sunup.
Harry, the only one not drinking coffee, looked at the tea leaves in the bottom of his cup as though the answer to all life’s problems could be found there. He mumbled something that sounded like, “We’re just the second string.”
“How’d you guys like those pictures of the prez on the news last night?” Jack asked, grinning. “I actually did a double take. Good for him.”
Ted joined in the laughter. “Those pictures made it around the world in like sixty seconds. Feedback was positive the world over. That’s what’s been lacking in the guy’s presidency, the human side of him. Not the side that Lincoln Moss wanted presented to the world. I gotta say, though, he can’t sing worth a damn.” Another round of laughter rang through the kitchen.
“Men perceived him like just a guy you could belly up to the bar for a beer with. Nikki said women would view it as if he was doing his honey to-do list. Just another guy mowing the lawn. Personally, I thought it was great even though I didn’t vote for him, either time. I would vote for him if he were able to run again, though, ” Jack said. “You know what else, it wasn’t a photo op. It wasn’t staged. I think the guy just got a burr in his jockeys and decided to do what he wanted to do at that moment in time. That’s what made it so great,” Jack said.
“Moving right along here, what’s going on in the war room that we can’t be there?” Abner asked.
“They’re plotting and scheming and strategizing, that’s what they’re doing,” Ted said.
“Where are the two ladies?” Dennis asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant.
“Upstairs. I heard Myra tell them to stay up there till they got back,” Espinosa mumbled as he fiddled with his camera. Anyone know what’s in all those FedEx boxes piled up in the foyer?”
“I do believe but am not certain that those boxes contain the women’s outfits for Saturday night. I looked at the return label, and even I know the names of Donna Karan and Vera Wang. I think Annie is friends with or knows them. Something like that,” Ted said.
“What about us? Are we chopped liver?” Jack grumbled.
“I think the boxes labeled Hugo Boss are our designer duds. Something about Fergus knowing someone at that fashion house. Don’t you guys know anything? It’s not what you know, it’s who you know, especially in the fashion business,” Espinosa said.
“And you know all this . . . how?” Jack snorted.
“I know it because Alexis told me. Everyone knows Alexis has fashion sense and can create something out of nothing. I’m not being a wiseass either, Jack. What I said is true,” Espinosa said, pointing his camera and snapping a picture of Jack with his mouth hanging open.
The talk turned to the new pool Nikki and Jack were putting in on the property they were in the process of buying from Nellie.
“I never realized how much earthmoving equipment was needed to dig a hole for a pool. We have mountains of earth piled everywhere. Now it’s mud, with all the rain we had. Things are at a complete standstill. We’ll be lucky if it’s finished by Labor Day, then it will be too cool to swim. But Nikki wanted a pool, so we’re getting a pool.”
“Does that mean you and Nikki are selling your house to Jack Sparrow?” Harry asked.
“Last week, Sparrow wanted to buy it. Then he changed his mind the other day, then he changed it back to wanting to buy it. He can’t make up his mind if he wants to be a homeowner or not. The deal’s on if he wants it,” Jack said.
“Since we’re obviously not needed here, why don’t we head back to town and see if Sparrow can join us for lunch. I think we need to powwow with him in regard to Saturday night,” Ted said.
Dennis was up and off his chair as he rinsed the coffeepot and turned it off. The rule was no one ever left Charles’s kitchen a mess. As in ever. He hung the dish towel over the oven door on the handle, looked around, and announced that they were good to go.
“Should we leave a note?” Espinosa asked.
Jack scribbled a note and stuck it on the fridge.
“I just sent Sparrow a text, and he said he’ll meet us at the Squire’s Pub at twelve-thirty,” Ted announced.
They all piled into the
Post
van. Dennis lagged behind, hoping he’d catch a glimpse of Rosalee, but the farmhouse remained quiet. No curtains moved, the dogs didn’t bark. It was like there was no one home. Maybe later, if they decided to come back to the farm after lunch, which didn’t seem likely since Ted was expounding on the afternoon schedule. He wished Rosalee had a phone so he could text her, but he knew his life would hang in the balance if he tried to sneak her one. He sighed mightily as he slid into his seat and buckled up. He did his best to shift his thoughts to the girls and what they were doing in the war room.
What the girls were doing, as a matter of fact, was staring at each other as they tried to come to terms with a resolution to what they called the Lincoln Moss Debacle.
The picture of Lady Justice on the big-screen plasma TV kept them on their toes as Charles and Fergus did whatever they were doing up on the dais. They could all hear the
pings
and
whirring
of the copy machine and fax as they tried to concentrate on the best outcome for Amalie Laurent and Rosalee Muno.
“The way I see it,” Kathryn said, “we have two choices. Either we take him out at the Four Seasons on Saturday night, or we wait a few days and hit him where he lives. Secret Service will be crawling all over the Four Seasons, and we don’t even know for sure if Moss is going to attend. When it comes right down to it, we don’t know anything about the bastard other than that he went off on Maggie yesterday. That tells us he’s on edge, so he’s going to be superalert.”
“I don’t think he would expect anything to go awry at the Four Seasons for the very reason you just articulated,” Isabelle said. “He knows now that Amalie is going to attend. Unless he thinks that was some kind of ploy to draw him out. But, having said that, he doesn’t know we’re after him.”
“We could have it all down pat, get everyone in place, then he’s a no-show. All that wasted time and effort. Personally, I don’t think he’s going to show,” Yoko said.
“We need to start thinking the way Lincoln Moss thinks,” Nikki said. “For starters, he thinks no one knows Amalie bailed out on him five years ago. He’s managed to cover that all up. Now, suddenly, things have changed. First was the picture and article in the tabloid. At that point, he had to start thinking that someone knew what had happened. Without a doubt, he has hired the biggest and the best investigative agencies around. Abner verified that from his checking account. He’s spent over a million dollars trying to find Amalie, all with nothing to show for it.
“I’m thinking he won’t have the guts to show up Saturday night. But what I think he will do is be there in disguise, sitting in the lobby or hiding behind a palm tree or something. And if it isn’t him in the lobby or behind a palm tree, it will be someone he hires, someone who will let him know if his wife really is attending the gala. For that matter, he could sit in the parking lot and watch unobserved,” Nikki said.
“Wrong!” Maggie said. “Secret Service will be swarming all over the place. The guests of the hotel will probably be assigned a separate entrance, so that means no one will be hanging out in the lobby. Ted and I have covered enough of these events to know that that is how it works. However, there is a possibility, if Moss has the juice he says he has, that he could have booked a room in advance and, therefore, be a guest. With his clout, he could probably still get a room at the last second. Scratch the parking lot. I heard on the radio on my way out here this morning that the District police will be in charge of the parking lot. They said they were canceling all leave and bringing in everyone to help. Moss has got to know all that.”
“Or he could do the unexpected and show up as himself and try to pull it off. As himself, he doesn’t have to go through anything other than to show up. All it will take is one look to see if his wife is there or not. What he does from that point on will be a mystery to us, at least for now. My guess is he would leave ASAP once he saw his wife,” Nikki said.
The women started to talk on top of one another, but in the end, they all agreed that Moss’s showing up was the best working scenario that they could count on.
“If what you’re saying is he’s going to be in and out, there’s nothing we can do in a room full of people,” Annie said.
“Not so fast, Countess,” Myra said. “We could surround him and
you
, my dear friend, can gush all over him. He’ll be hard-pressed to dis
you.
But then what will we do? Remember, there will be well over a thousand people there if what Maggie said turns out to be true.”
The women went back to jabbering and pointing fingers and at one point yelling at each other. Kathryn put her fingers to her lips and let loose with a bloodcurdling whistle. “Enough already! Obviously, it will be too dangerous to do anything at the Four Seasons, and by that I mean dangerous for us. I think we all realize that now. So now we have to make a plan to take him out at his home. I’m thinking we may need Amalie to guarantee that for us.”
Yoko raised her hand. “I think it’s a given that Moss is going to have some private-eye types casing the Four Seasons to see if Amalie does show up. He’ll have her tailed at the end of the evening. It won’t matter that she’s with Jack Sparrow. What are we going to do about that? Where is he going to take her at the end of the night?”
“Off the top of my head, I’d say this is a job for Abner and Avery Snowden. Once Abner gives us the names of the detective agencies Moss used, Avery and his people can start tracking them. It will be a case of operatives trailing operatives. I’m almost sure that Director Sparrow will have some of his special agents on duty Saturday night also. I’m not worried about Amalie. Director Sparrow will get her to safety, I guarantee it,” Annie said.
“Did we decide if Amalie is going as Amalie, the way she used to look before her surgery, with Alexis’s help, or the way she looks now?” Nikki asked. “Maybe we should take a vote.”
“Maybe we should ask Amalie what she wants?” Kathryn snapped irritably because her leg was starting to ache, which meant that rain was on the horizon. She apologized immediately for her sharp words.
“Right now, Amalie has no say in the matter. We make all the decisions. She’s too vulnerable and fearful at the moment to know what is best for her. She’ll do whatever we tell her to do because she just wants to put all this behind her and get her life back,” Myra said quietly.
Maggie let out a whoop of sound. “Ooooh, wait till you hear this! Lisa from the paper, our girl Friday, just sent me a text saying the biggest flower arrangement in the world just arrived for me. She said there are six dozen champagne-colored roses in a decorative bushel basket sitting on my desk. And they are . . . drumroll, la-di-da, from Lincoln Moss! The note said he apologizes for his ridiculous threats yesterday and blamed it on a killer migraine. Well, will wonders never cease. Guess I can stop worrying about being on Homeland Security’s terrorist list and sigh with relief that the IRS isn’t going to come after me. I’m texting Lisa to divvy up the arrangement into separate bouquets and have one of the copy boys take them over to a hospice two blocks from the paper. I don’t want any flowers from Lincoln Moss. I don’t want
anything
from Lincoln Moss,” Maggie said through clenched teeth, her eyes sparking dangerously.
“Good for you. I would have done the same thing. Just out of curiosity, Maggie, did you believe Moss’s threats?” Isabelle asked.
“I did believe that he would try to do what he threatened to do. Because that’s the kind of mean, spiteful person he is. I’m not above being scared out of my wits when someone threatens me. But did I think he would succeed? No, not really. Still . . .
“Six dozen roses. That’s seventy-two roses. Yep, guess he would need a bushel basket for that many.” Maggie laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. “What’s my next move, girls?”
“I guess calling him to thank him. I think I’d call him on his landline at home if I were you, though. Then throw him a bone and tell him he’s inching up to the number one slot for your Man of the Year contest,” Alexis said.
“Okay, I’ll do that later. I don’t want to appear eager or anything.”
“Back to our game plan,” Yoko said. “What is it?”
“We need to know first and foremost how serious Moss’s security is at his home. How many guards there are for one thing? And is the security 24/7 or just at night? Why does the guy need security anyway? And dogs, we need to know if there are dogs on the premises. Is his help live-in or do they go home at night? Amalie might know, but then again, things might have changed after she left,” Nikki said.
“Not to change the subject, but do any of you read the financial page in the morning?” No one raised her hand. “Well, I do,” Annie said. “Several days ago, there was an article about
La Natural
and how Moss’s crown jewel of his holdings is tanking. The company lost its billion-dollar status and is now only a million-dollar company. Regardless, the company made him mega billions since he bought it. The bastard still has enough money to live a life of luxury over a thousand lifetimes.”
“No! No! No, Annie! He only has the use of the money until my husband hits the one key that takes it all away.” Isabelle chortled.
“There is that, you’re absolutely right,” Annie agreed, laughing. “I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes it’s all gone.”