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Authors: Sidney Sheldon
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some sort of inside information, some magic power to find her and do their jobs for them. The whole thingâs ridiculous! I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole!â
âOK, Tracy. Calm down.â
âAnd even if it werenât ridiculous, even if I could help, which I canâtâIâm not leaving Nick. Not ever.â
âI understand that.â
âActually I donât think you do.â There were tears in Tracyâs eyes now. She was angry and visibly upset, although whether it was with Blake Carter or herself she couldnât have said. âI think youâd better go home, Blake.â
The old cowboy raised an eyebrow. âOK. If thatâs what you want.â
Before Tracy could gather her thoughts, heâd picked up his hat and left. Tracy heard the sound of Blakeâs truck pulling away, followed by a loud blaring of angry teenage music coming from Nickâs bedroom. Tired and miserable, she cleared away the plates and went to bed.
TWO HOURS LATER, TRACY was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
She thought about Blake Carter. Why did he have to be so good, all the time? So damn selfless and upstanding and righteous? Didnât he realize how annoying it was?
She thought about Nicholas, and how like his father he was. Jeff would have laughed at the fart video. She tried to deny it to herself, but there were times when Tracy missed Jeff so badly it felt like a stone slab pressing on her heart.
Finally, despite her efforts to shut them out, she thought about her two visitors today. The short, charming CIA chief, Greg Walton, with his earnest entreaties; and the bullying, hateful Milton Buck with his not-so-veiled threats.
âIâm sorry.â
âYou will be.â
Tracy hadnât told Blake about that part. She hadnât wanted to worry him. Blake didnât know about the jewel heist Tracy had pulled off only a few years back in L.A., stealing the Brookstein emeralds from under the nose of her rival, Rebecca Mortimer. The FBI had made a deal after the Bible Killer case, promising Tracy immunity on that and a string of other crimes. Tracy had scratched their back, and theyâd promised to scratch hers. But if Tracy knew one thing about Agent Milton Buck it was that the man had no scruples. Heâd think nothing of reneging on their deal and sending her to jail if he thought it would advance his career.
Iâm not going back to jail, Tracy told herself. Not ever.
Milton Buck wasnât the only one with dangerous secrets up his sleeve. Blackmail, Tracy had learned long ago, was a two-player game, and Tracy had prepared her own next move long ago. If Buck tried to come after her over this Group 99 business, sheâd be ready.
Eventually, sleep began to come to her. As she sank into its embrace, floating in and out of consciousness, Tracy thought about Althea, this mysterious, murderous, wealthy woman that had the President of the United States and all his many minions clutching at straws.
Who is she?
Where is she?
And how does she know my name?
How had she gotten involved with Group 99? And was she the one responsible for turning them from an organization of peaceful, subversive, idealists into brutal terrorists, as bloodthirsty and ruthless as all the rest?
Blake Carterâs words came back to her: Itâs not about what I want, Tracy. Or what you want. These people need to be stopped.
Exhausted, Tracy Whitney finally slept.
CHAPTER 6
S ALLY FAIERS WAITED PATIENTLY for the four keys in front of her to merge into one so that she could unlock her front door. It would help if the door would stop swaying too. But after four large vodka and tonics, one couldnât have everything.
Sallyâs flat was on Beaufort Street in Chelsea, one of hundreds in a typical, redbrick Victorian mansion block. By journalist standards it was a nice place. Expensive part of London. Decent transport links. Not covered in mold. An award-winning
âOK, Tracy. Calm down.â
âAnd even if it werenât ridiculous, even if I could help, which I canâtâIâm not leaving Nick. Not ever.â
âI understand that.â
âActually I donât think you do.â There were tears in Tracyâs eyes now. She was angry and visibly upset, although whether it was with Blake Carter or herself she couldnât have said. âI think youâd better go home, Blake.â
The old cowboy raised an eyebrow. âOK. If thatâs what you want.â
Before Tracy could gather her thoughts, heâd picked up his hat and left. Tracy heard the sound of Blakeâs truck pulling away, followed by a loud blaring of angry teenage music coming from Nickâs bedroom. Tired and miserable, she cleared away the plates and went to bed.
TWO HOURS LATER, TRACY was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
She thought about Blake Carter. Why did he have to be so good, all the time? So damn selfless and upstanding and righteous? Didnât he realize how annoying it was?
She thought about Nicholas, and how like his father he was. Jeff would have laughed at the fart video. She tried to deny it to herself, but there were times when Tracy missed Jeff so badly it felt like a stone slab pressing on her heart.
Finally, despite her efforts to shut them out, she thought about her two visitors today. The short, charming CIA chief, Greg Walton, with his earnest entreaties; and the bullying, hateful Milton Buck with his not-so-veiled threats.
âIâm sorry.â
âYou will be.â
Tracy hadnât told Blake about that part. She hadnât wanted to worry him. Blake didnât know about the jewel heist Tracy had pulled off only a few years back in L.A., stealing the Brookstein emeralds from under the nose of her rival, Rebecca Mortimer. The FBI had made a deal after the Bible Killer case, promising Tracy immunity on that and a string of other crimes. Tracy had scratched their back, and theyâd promised to scratch hers. But if Tracy knew one thing about Agent Milton Buck it was that the man had no scruples. Heâd think nothing of reneging on their deal and sending her to jail if he thought it would advance his career.
Iâm not going back to jail, Tracy told herself. Not ever.
Milton Buck wasnât the only one with dangerous secrets up his sleeve. Blackmail, Tracy had learned long ago, was a two-player game, and Tracy had prepared her own next move long ago. If Buck tried to come after her over this Group 99 business, sheâd be ready.
Eventually, sleep began to come to her. As she sank into its embrace, floating in and out of consciousness, Tracy thought about Althea, this mysterious, murderous, wealthy woman that had the President of the United States and all his many minions clutching at straws.
Who is she?
Where is she?
And how does she know my name?
How had she gotten involved with Group 99? And was she the one responsible for turning them from an organization of peaceful, subversive, idealists into brutal terrorists, as bloodthirsty and ruthless as all the rest?
Blake Carterâs words came back to her: Itâs not about what I want, Tracy. Or what you want. These people need to be stopped.
Exhausted, Tracy Whitney finally slept.
CHAPTER 6
S ALLY FAIERS WAITED PATIENTLY for the four keys in front of her to merge into one so that she could unlock her front door. It would help if the door would stop swaying too. But after four large vodka and tonics, one couldnât have everything.
Sallyâs flat was on Beaufort Street in Chelsea, one of hundreds in a typical, redbrick Victorian mansion block. By journalist standards it was a nice place. Expensive part of London. Decent transport links. Not covered in mold. An award-winning
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