Our Little Secret Read online

  Lauren could guess what kind of trips those were. Rising from Meg’s chair, she told Drew, “I think we can assume they’re together, wherever they are.”

  Drew’s eyebrows pulled together into one tight line. “Looks like it.” Although reaching that conclusion didn’t seem to make him any happier. He shook his head and banged a fist against a file cabinet. “Damn it. What the hell’s going on?”

  He brooded about it as they returned to the lobby and were greeted by freezing rain and sleet. Lauren looked from the icy sidewalks to her black leather pumps with dismay.

  “No sense in all of us freezing,” Drew said. “You two stay here. I’ll get the car.”

  At least he had some redeeming qualities.

  Fifteen minutes later Lauren spotted his car pulling into the long line of cars waiting to pick up passengers. “Come on,” she told Gerald, plucking at his coat. “Let’s save time and meet him down there. It’s going to take him forever if we have to wait for all these cars.”

  Lauren clung to Gerald’s arm as they started down the icy sidewalk.

  They passed an idling black Lincoln, its driver slouched against the passenger door, head tucked against the freezing rain and trench coat flapping in the wind. Gerald gave the man an appraising stare and leaned close to Lauren.

  “That’s money, honey,” he said in a confidential murmur. “Chauffeurs must be well paid these days. That’s a Burberry trench, and not the low end, either. Nice.” Lauren smiled, half expecting a wolf-whistle from Gerald.

  She stole a few curious glances at whatever arrogant VIP in the backseat made his driver stand outside in this weather. She wouldn’t recognize ninety percent of the senators or cabinet members, but who knew, it might be the secretary of state, or even the vice president. She mentally matched the few political faces she knew against the dark hair and hawkish nose of the passenger as they drew closer.

  Lauren paid no attention to the driver leaning against the front of the car and had almost passed him when he leapt toward her, grabbing her arm with one sharp yank.

  She yelped in surprise. Gerald yelped, too, and staggered as her arm slipped from his.

  The man who grabbed Lauren braced himself, legs apart and both arms grasping her waist. He’d expected her slip and caught her nicely. “Get in the car,” he ordered. He let go with one hand to open the front passenger door.

  “Stop!” Gerald yelled, then uttered a short scream as the passenger threw open the rear door and barreled into him. They both landed on the slick pavement, the larger hawk-nosed man on top of Gerald.

  “Gerald!” Lauren fought her confusion. For some reason the two men had attacked them—one of them, anyway. Gerald was obviously being attacked; the other was intent on abducting Lauren. It didn’t matter that they were in a public place. All that mattered was getting away.

  Lauren wriggled against the man’s arm and was surprised to pop free of his grasp. His grip hadn’t been very tight. Perhaps he’d expected fear to make her to do as she was told. The force of her efforts jerked her forward, feet skittering on ice. Unfortunately, the slippery black pumps were made for looks, not traction, and Lauren landed with a jarring thud.

  Several feet away, Gerald wiggled frantically under his captor. “Get off me, you overweight ox! This is an Oscar de la Renta suit!” When his squirming had no effect, Lauren saw him reach out and grab a handful of hair.

  “Ow! Damn it, he bit me! Hurry up with the woman!” Hawknose yelled, grappling with Gerald as he pried at the fingers clutching his hair.

  Lauren scrambled to her feet. Several people stopped to stare at the spectacle, and she felt one of them assist her from behind. She turned to thank him as her feet regained purchase and stared into the face of the trench-coated driver. It was the first time she’d looked at his face, and she gasped with recognition. It was the man who’d bumped into her at the bank.

  “You!” she said.

  “Get in the car, Mrs. Creighton!”

  “What? No!” She pulled her arm from his grasp as they both slipped and dropped like stones.

  Fear mixed with confusion, but one thought was inescapable: Her assailant had mistaken her for Meg. A horrible possibility skittered through her mind. This was what Meg had run from, and if Drew was right, it was what she’d known would happen to Lauren in her place. Lauren didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it, but had no time to reason it out while some strange man tried his best to kidnap her.

  With four people down, bystanders seemed reluctant to risk ending up on their backsides. No one made a move to help, but Lauren noticed a couple of people had pulled out cell phones. She hoped they were calling the police. She placed her bare hands on the cold pavement and rose cautiously. Trenchcoat would have the same disadvantage and wasn’t likely to be any quicker getting to his feet. She turned, noticing the man was on hands and knees, attempting to stand, when something crashed over the hood of the car behind him and landed on his back like a panther pouncing on prey. He flattened with an audible “Oof.”

  Lauren stared at Drew, spread-eagle across Trenchcoat’s back, forcing him to the pavement, and took back all the bad thoughts she’d had about him. No matter what doubts he’d voiced about her sister, he’d just turned her kidnapper into a Burberry pancake. She tried to imagine Jeff leaping to her defense, but couldn’t. Pulling out his cell phone and calling 911, yes. Hurdling parked cars and smashing bad guys to the ground, no.

  Drew looked up from atop Lauren’s assailant, hair mussed and concern puckering his brow. “Are you all right?”

  She did a mental inventory of body parts, all of which seemed to be in working order. Discounting her bruised tailbone, she nodded.

  Trenchcoat raised his head. “You fuckin’ asshole, I’m gonna—”

  His words ended with a loud smack as Drew’s fist connected with his mouth. The man’s head hit the pavement. Lauren saw his eyes roll upward. If he wasn’t knocked out, he was at least badly stunned. She was liking Drew more every second.

  “Hey!” Hawknose looked in horror at his crumpled partner and let go of Gerald. “Get away from him!” Planting a knee on Gerald’s back to keep him in place, he reached into his coat and came out with a gun. With a two-handed grip, he took dead aim at Drew’s chest. “Don’t move, asshole!”

  Lauren froze. Barely aware of the stinging pellets of sleet hitting her face, she stared at the gun. It looked even more terrifying than the ones she saw on TV. As unreal as this whole situation was, that black cylinder pointed at Drew was too real, too horrifying to comprehend.

  “Lauren!” Drew’s yell penetrated her dazed mind. His gaze was on the gun, but his words were aimed at her. “Get out of here, now!”

  Was he kidding? Run, and make herself a target? Or run, leaving Drew and Gerald to be shot? She couldn’t do either. Gerald was still pinned under Hawknose’s knee, cursing up a storm. And Drew… Drew had saved her from a kidnapper. She couldn’t just cut and run.

  Undecided, but knowing she should at least get to her feet, Lauren backed against the Lincoln. Grabbing the outside mirror for support, she watched the gun as she pulled herself up and eased around the front of the car, putting it between herself and the drama playing out on the sidewalk.

  As she suspected, the gun stayed on Drew. She’d bet on the fact that they wanted her alive and wouldn’t shoot her. But they might have no compunction about shooting someone else. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Drew’s attention was on the gun, too. He held perfectly still as he knelt over Trenchcoat’s body.

  “On the ground, asshole! Hands behind your head!”

  She heard Hawknose bark orders at Drew as she crept around the car. She couldn’t see him, which meant he probably couldn’t see her, either. With his partner out cold, at least for the moment, and Gerald pinned beneath his knees, Hawknose focused on Drew as the threat to eliminate. He’d either forgotten about Lauren or didn’t consider her a threat. If she played it right, that would be his mistake.


  Drew saw her as she rounded the back of the car, coming out behind Hawknose with Gerald struggling and cursing beneath him. Drew’s mouth dropped open as his expression changed from caution to fear. She knew he wanted to warn her off yet didn’t dare give her position away. Tension vibrated from every muscle as he froze in place, watching her stealthy advance on Hawknose.

  “Now! On the ground!” Hawknose screamed at Drew, sighting along the gun as he braced his other hand on the back of Gerald’s neck.

  Bystanders scattered at the sight of a gun. She couldn’t blame them, but it meant there was no one to help Drew but her.

  She saw only one option. Her purse was too small to be an effective weapon, and bashing Hawknose over the head with her shoe wouldn’t even give him a headache. But she could land a kick that would make him see double for hours. The trick would be staying on her feet.

  The back door handle of the Lincoln provided the best support. Grasping it with her left hand, she raised her knee, turned her foot sideways, and kicked as hard as she could. Her leather pump impacted with Hawknose just behind his ear with a satisfying smack.

  Hawknose pitched forward. His out-flung hands hit the pavement and the gun slid across the frozen surface.

  It happened fast, but Drew wasted no time deciding on a course of action. “Go!” He was already on his feet, and lunged toward the car, grabbing Lauren’s hand. “This way,” he said, tugging her into the drive. “There’s no ice.”

  She hesitated just long enough to see Gerald scurry across the ice on hands and knees to the trunk of the car, where he pulled himself to his feet.

  Drew wasn’t waiting for Gerald. He practically shoved her past the Lincoln to an area where traffic and vehicle exhaust had kept the ice melted. Pulling her down the row of waiting cars, they ran for Drew’s rented Taurus with Gerald on their heels.

  Lauren spared a glance backward. The man had retrieved his gun and tucked it back inside his coat before turning to his prone partner. By the time Drew shoved her into the passenger seat, the black Lincoln had roared to life. Tires spinning, it slid into traffic and fishtailed, disappearing up Second Street with Hawknose at the wheel.

  “They aren’t coming after us,” she said with relief.

  “Too many witnesses.” Drew swerved the Taurus around the waiting cars, eliciting angry honks, and took a cross street away from the Hart Building. His gaze left the street for several seconds to sweep over her with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true. Her whole body shook from the inside out.

  “You sure? No cuts or bruises? Sprained ankle?”

  She shook her head.

  “Torn fingernail?”

  She managed a small smile. “Not many here to tear. I’m fine, Drew, really. You can watch the road, I’m not going to pass out or anything.”

  She concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths as Drew sped along the wet streets, casting occasional glances at her. He followed a weaving course through the city that looked to Lauren like a tour through her high school civics textbook.

  “Are you afraid they’ll try to find us?” she asked.

  “I’d say that’s a given.” He looked at her. “They think you’re Meg. And it’s no secret where Senator Creighton lives.”

  She flopped back in her seat, stunned at the implication. “You’re right. So you think they’ll come after me at the house?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. But if those two goons are looking for Meg, she’s in some big trouble. She must have been dodging more than the press when she used you as a decoy.” Drew shot a glance at her as he drove. “By the way, nice sister you’ve got there. Setting you up to meet those guys without a warning.”

  “Meg wouldn’t…” Lauren’s protest trailed off. What was the point? She would. She had. Lauren’s mind rebelled at the idea of her own sister purposely putting her in danger, but clearly Meg had been trying to mislead someone when she’d arranged Lauren’s arrival. Lauren simply couldn’t believe that her sister had known how dangerous things would get. She fell into a brooding silence, watching the ice-slicked city go by while she pondered Meg’s actions.

  Drew shifted his attention to the backseat. “Any major injuries back there?”

  “Yes, damn it,” Gerald responded, still brushing grit off his coat. “Besides all the potentially fatal internal injuries I might have, that overgrown grizzly bear ripped a button off my vest and tore the pocket on my London Fog topcoat. He’ll get the bill, too, once they catch him.”

  Drew smiled at the rearview mirror. “I hope you get to collect.”

  “Oh, I will,” Gerald’s voice rang with certainty. “I got a good look at the behemoth before he landed on me. That man’s going down.”

  Detective Rasmussen of the metropolitan police department sat at the Creighton kitchen table, pen poised over his notebook, eager to take down the facts. But his face grew more confused as he listened to Gerald’s description.

  “… and his hair was dark, a burnt sienna, barely long enough for me to get a grip on. His eyes were a deep umber, with evil little glints sparkling in their depths.” Gerald wiggled his fingers in front of his eyes in demonstration.

  The detective stared.

  Drew sighed and tapped the notebook. “Brown hair, brown eyes. Just write it.”

  “And he wore this godawful sepia overcoat, probably from Sears.” Gerald shuddered. “I mean, can you imagine?”

  Rasmussen looked at Drew.

  “Brown coat.”

  “Oh, and he had one of those college-type rings on his right hand, a big hunk of gold with an oversized fuchsia stone.” He wrinkled his nose. “Terribly garish. Probably from some lower-rung community college.”

  “Red stone,” Drew supplied, rubbing his forehead as if he felt a headache coming on.

  Rasmussen wrote it down, muttering, “Man’s a goddamned walking box of Crayolas. Spell that red one for me.”

  Gerald patiently spelled out “fuchsia,” then added, “He has a bite mark on that hand, too. Put that down as an identifying feature.”

  Rasmussen stopped writing and looked at Gerald. “You bit him?”

  “Right on the fleshy part between the thumb and index finger. No blood, but lots of bruising. I ground my teeth.” He flashed a perfect set in a satisfied grin.

  Detective Rasmussen lifted an eyebrow and nodded slowly. “Good man.” He wrote it down. “Anything else?”

  The three of them looked at each other, then shook their heads. Lauren was impressed with the descriptions Gerald had provided of both men, right down to the lapels on the Burberry overcoat. She’d been so stunned she couldn’t even be sure her attacker had hair at all, much less what color it was.

  “They weren’t very distinctive,” Drew told him. “And it all happened so fast, we didn’t have enough time to get a good look.”

  “He did.” The detective indicated Gerald with grudging approval. “Very observant.” Gerald took the compliment as his due. “If that’s all, then, I’ll notify the Secret Service and someone will be in touch with you tomorrow.”

  “The Secret Service? Isn’t this a matter for the D.C. police?” Lauren asked.

  “We’ll let them decide that, but I think they’ll be interested. You have a connection to Senator Creighton, and he seems to be pretty important, as senators go.”

  “No kidding. He’s president pro tem of the Senate.” Gerald’s tone implied he’d have to be a complete moron not to know that. “That means he’s third in the presidential line of succession.”

  “And if no one has been able to reach him for two or three days, I think those boys will want to look into this,” added the detective.

  Lauren noticed he wasn’t too disturbed by the idea of handing over the case to another agency, and wondered if that meant there wasn’t much chance of finding the culprits.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Rasmussen said, “Don’t worry, we got a couple nine-one-one calls about the incident. One of those
people might be able to provide more information. Although, I doubt we’ll get a better description of the men.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I doubt we’ve ever gotten a better description of a perp. Thanks again. Someone will be in touch.”

  Drew stood to follow as the officer left. Passing Gerald, he leaned down to mumble, “Burnt sienna? Umber?”

  “I was being precise.”

  Despite Drew’s grumbling, Gerald seemed pleased with himself. He winked at Lauren. Lowering his voice so the departing Drew couldn’t hear, he said, “He’s always worried I’ll piss someone off and he’ll have to defend me. He’s the protective type.”

  “Do you need protection?” As slight as Gerald was, Lauren had the feeling he was resourceful enough to take care of himself.