The Gemini Deception

Chapter Two

Porto Carras, Greece

Next day, December 17

“Which one’s yours?” The man who spoke was of average height and build and was fairly attractive, with a neat, short haircut and piercing blue eyes. He wore the conservative dark suit that was standard fare for his profession, and Agent Shield wore the feminine equivalent—a crisp white blouse and navy suit tailored to fit her lean, five-foot seven-inch figure. Standing side by side against the wall by the curtains, they provided, as always, the perfect balance between subtlety and warning.

Others of their ilk occupied similar positions around the perimeter of the banquet hall, watching the dignitaries. The lavish state dinner at the Porto Carras Grand Resort in northern Greece was the final event of a three-day international conference on global warming, so there was at least a pair of bodyguards for every major figure seated at the long table.

Shield adjusted her earpiece. “Francois Legard,” she replied in a low voice, never taking her eyes off the French prime minister as the waiter poured him a glass of wine. Not bad, she thought, noticing the thickness of the gold liquid and the label. Wine was Harper Kennedy’s passion, and regardless of where she was, whom she was with, or whether or not she was on a job as Shield, wine never escaped her attention.

The only other interesting entity at the table was the incoming American president, the first female to hold that office. Elizabeth Thomas wouldn’t even be officially sworn in for another few weeks because of a court-ordered recount, but the outgoing president had invited her to represent the U.S. at the conference. To all appearances, the woman looked calm and in control, but Shield picked up on the minor nuances that transmitted her newness and nerves: she listened too attentively and fidgeted with her napkin, albeit discreetly.

At forty-three, Elizabeth Thomas was poised to soon become the youngest U.S. president since JFK, and that meant all eyes were on her, not only because of her age but because she was such an attractive woman. Her short brown hair was a bit too stern and immaculately coiffed for Shield’s taste, but like anyone in the president-elect’s position, she probably didn’t have a choice in the matter. Beautiful, powerful women appealed to Shield because they had something to say and didn’t feel the need to decorate every sentiment with three adjectives. Plus, she found something sexy about their dominant composure, which usually carried over into bed.

“He seems decent,” the agent beside her replied, his accent placing him somewhere from the American Midwest. Like Shield, his eyes constantly scanned the room.

“I guess. When it comes down to it, they’re all the same.”

“I know what you mean. My name’s Joe, by the way.” He made no move to offer his hand, as that would have drawn attention to them. They were communicating so discreetly, in fact, that others in the room were unaware they were even talking.

Shield didn’t feel the need to share her own name. Instead, she checked the time and tapped the watch with her finger.

“Bored?” he asked.

“Numb.”

“How long have you been sitting?”

“Legard?”

“In general.”

“Twelve years, give or take.” In her peripheral vision, Shield caught him lifting one eyebrow.

“Long time,” he said.

“I guess.”

“For the French?”

“For whoever.”

“But you’re with the French SS, right?” he asked.

“I’m not with anyone.”

“Oh. You have a bit of an accent, so—”

“Private security.” It was bad enough that the protection jobs had become tedious and tiring. She despised occasionally having to put up with conversations like this—trivial niceties about absolutely nothing.

To most, she sounded American, but to those who, like her, had been trained to pick up on details, she clearly had a slight accent. He was wrong to peg her as French, though. She’d been stationed in Italy for two months at the age of twenty-three while on her first assignment with the Elite Operatives Organization and had fallen in love with the country. Though it took a while to convince EOO chief Montgomery Pierce to agree to base her there, he finally gave in, and she’d spent her off time the past dozen years at her villa in the mountains of Tuscany.

Joe mumbled all quiet discreetly into the transmitter in his sleeve. “I see. You don’t say much, do you?”

Shield shrugged. “Not if I can help it.”

He smirked and ignored the hint. “I’m with the American president-elect.”

“That’s nice.” They both knew Shield was aware of whom Joe was sitting, but the never-ending need to point out the obvious seemed ever present and ever irritating at functions like this. Shield glanced at Thomas. Maybe some of her irritation had to do with the fact she envied Joe. If she was going to be taken away from the country she loved and halted from doing what she wanted most, then the least she could do was have someone interesting, or at least novel, to guard.

Joe must have read her mind or her eyes. “Not as interesting as you might think,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Europeans have a certain taste for…intrigue that Americans don’t. And definitely not this one.”

“Because European officials are all extramarital affairs, booze, and wild parties?”

“Well, they do seem to have a rep for—”

“They’re just not as concerned about hiding their missteps,” Shield said. “Or they’re not as proficient as the CIA at covering them.”

“You have a point there.”

“I know.”

“This one’s all work and no play,” Joe said of his charge, his tone one of disappointment.

“She’s new and has too much to prove for too many reasons. Add that to the fact that she lost her husband a couple of months ago and she has every reason.”

“Never talks to anyone who’s not family or an official,” Joe went on. “I’ve been with her for four months, and I’ve never so much as gotten a hello or how are you from her. All she does is nod.”

“Why waste words unless you have something to say?”

“Because it’s polite.”

“It’s also fake, since she clearly could care less about how you are.”

Joe smiled. “Fair enough.” He remained blissfully silent for a few minutes, then, “Hey, what time do you get off?”

“Why?”

“I’m free around ten. What do you say we grab some beers somewhere and talk?”

“I have no interest in any of the three.”

Just then, the dignitaries at the table got up, and all the bodyguards—even those in the kitchen and powder rooms—sprang to high alert. Some remained in their positions, while a few made their way to the table. Still others, she knew, were securing the entrance and exits, while the rest positioned themselves in the parking lot.

Joe and Shield both started toward their subjects, who were engaged in a quiet discussion off to one side.

“Three?” Joe asked, clearly confused by her response.

“Men,” she replied as they neared the two political leaders.

As they waited discreetly a few feet away from the pair, Elizabeth Thomas glanced over at them, and her gaze lingered on Shield for several long seconds. That wasn’t unusual since she was the lone woman agent in the room, and the president was a strong proponent of getting more women into male-dominated professions.

Soon after, the politicians ended their chat and separated. She just had to see Legard to his car now, and then she was free to return to her beloved Tuscany.

*

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“There you are,” Marty said to himself when he saw the guy get out of his car and head up the steps to his front door. “Get comfortable, pal.” Marty knew his boss wanted results, and if he wanted to get paid, and, more importantly, keep the Broker happy, he’d better be quick about it. He watched his target go inside and then obsessively checked his watch until exactly twenty minutes had elapsed. “It’s time.”

He waited a few more seconds, until the street emptied, to get out of his sedan. Marty walked casually up the steps to the door and looked around one more time to make sure no one was in view before he pulled the automatic from the back of his waistband. The house was ideally situated for his purposes, set back from the street and with tall hedges that helped conceal his presence from curious neighbors.

The guy inside had barely opened the door to his knock when Marty jammed his size-ten loafer into the gap. “I need to talk to you about a friend.” He pointed the gun at the man’s stomach and, with his other hand, pushed him inside.

“What the—”

“Do what I say and you’ll be fine.” Marty followed him in and locked the door.

“What’s going on? Who are you?”

“I want you to help me with a certain friend we have in common.”

“I’m sure we don’t have any friends in common, so get the hell out of my house before I call the police.” Despite the man’s bluster, beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and his pupils were enormous.

Marty punched him, gun in hand, in the gut. “If I say we do, then we do.”

The guy bent over in pain, trying to catch his breath. Marty grabbed him by the hair and lifted his face. “You okay?” he asked in a bored tone.

“I have some money hidden in the bedroom,” his target managed between coughs.

“Good for you, although if you refuse to cooperate, you won’t need it.”

“What do you want?” the man asked.

“Like I was saying before you fucking interrupted, we have a common friend.” Marty grabbed him by the collar and dragged him roughly toward the couch. “Have a seat.” He shoved him so the man fell back against the cushions. “I won’t hurt you unless you make me, Tim.”

“Okay.” Tim looked both confused and terrified at the realization his intruder knew who he was.

“Her name is Ryden,” Marty said. “She’s the florist you’ve been jerking off to.”

The man’s pupils grew even larger. “What about her?”

“I need you to call her and ask her over.”

“Why?”

Marty bent over so his face was only a few inches from Tim’s. “Because I say so.” His tone was calm, but the smile that followed was feral.

“I hardly know her. What’s this about?”

“I want to talk to her.”

“I can tell you where she works.”

“I know where she works, stupid. I want her here.” Marty snatched Tim’s phone from its charging station on the coffee table and threw it at him. “Make it happen.”

“Look, I don’t know what she’s done or why you want her,” Tim said, “but I guarantee you I had nothing to do with it.”

Marty punched him in the stomach again, hard enough to get quick compliance. He deliberately avoided Tim’s face or anywhere that would leave a bruise. “Just get her the fuck over here.”

Doubled over in pain, Tim rasped, “How?”

“This is what you’re going to do. Call and ask her to deliver some flowers. Tell her you’re sick and can’t do it yourself.”

“What if she can’t?” Tim asked. “Or won’t?”

“It’s her fucking job.”

“I’ll…” Tim coughed. “I’ll try.”

Marty dialed the florist’s number and put the call on speakerphone before handing it to Tim. “One wrong word,” he said, pointing the gun at Tim’s head as they waited for someone to answer, “and you’re screwed.”

A female voice came on the line. “Bloom Room. This is Ryden. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Ryden. It’s Tim. Listen, I can’t make it in today, so I was wondering if you could deliver?”

A brief hesitation on the other end of the line, then, “What’s wrong?”

“Stomach problems, I think.” Tim was clutching his abdomen, and Marty had to smile at the guy’s unintentionally witty reply.

“Um…Tim, listen. You’re a nice enough guy and all, but you gotta understand, I’m not interested. So, if this is your way of getting me to your place, then—”

“It’s nothing like that, Ryden. I—”

Marty shoved the end of his gun hard into Tim’s stomach.

“I’m really…not well.” Tim’s tone was convincing, with good reason. He looked like he was on the verge of throwing up or pissing his pants.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Ryden asked. “You don’t sound too good.”

“Doc said I need some bed rest. I think some flowers will help make me feel better, too.”

“Um, yeah…okay. I can be there in an hour.”

“Hurry…” Tim shrank back against the couch when he caught Marty’s scowl. “I mean, that’s great.”

“Do you have any preference?”

“No, it’s up to you. You know what I like.”

“I’ll see you later. Get some rest.”

Tim disconnected and gave the receiver back to Marty with shaking hands.

“You did good.” Marty stuck the phone in his jacket and sank into the armchair opposite the couch. “Looks like we’ve got an hour to kill.” He leaned back and made himself comfortable. “So, how’s life?”

Before Tim could answer, the doorbell rang. Marty scrambled back to his feet. “Who you expecting?” he asked in a low voice.

“My ex-wife.”

“Fuck.” Marty pulled Tim up roughly and pushed him toward the door. “Go answer and no bullshit. Same drill. Tell the bitch to go away.”

As Tim stumbled forward, Marty stayed on his heels, his gun pointed at the back of Tim’s head. He hid himself behind the door and motioned for Tim to open it.

“Hi, Rhonda. I know we’ve got things to discuss, but today’s not good.” Tim’s words poured out in a rush. “Looks like I came down with some stomach thing, and—”

Before he could finish, a forty-something redhead trailing cheap perfume pushed past him and into the room. “I don’t care what bug you’ve got crawling where,” she replied, half shouting the words. “You’re late again with this month’s—”

When Marty slammed the door shut, Rhonda wheeled around and found herself looking down the barrel of his gun. She went ashen and froze.

“Plant your ass on the couch.” He waved the gun in that direction. “One more word out of you and it’ll be your last. Got it?”

When she hesitated, her eyes glancing about for escape, Tim grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her across the room. They sat side by side, Rhonda clutching Tim’s hand so hard he winced.

“Loud-mouth bitch, aren’t you?” Marty said as he settled back into the armchair, enjoying the sudden change in her demeanor. Her eyes were about to pop out of her head, giving her a vaguely owlish look. “Used to have one of ’em myself,” he added, looking empathetically toward Tim. “Always bitchin’ about something.” Glancing at his watch, he saw they had forty minutes more to wait. Plenty of time. “Now, where were we?” he asked Tim. “Oh, yeah. You were going to tell me about your life.”

*

“I have to make a delivery.” Ryden shouted so Magda would come take her place at the counter. “I’m going straight home after that.” She’d chosen a mix of wildflowers to cheer up Tim. They were colorful and would keep well but weren’t too pungent for a queasy stomach.

“Who are they for?” Magda asked as she emerged from the back room.

“Tim.”

“Ah.” Magda nodded knowingly with a mischievous smile. “Your Tim.”

“He’s not mine, and I’d really appreciate it if you stopped insinuating otherwise.”

“All I’m saying, dear, is that he’s a nice man with a decent job, and he’s smitten with you. You’re the only reason he comes in every week, you know.”

“I do know, and I don’t care,” she replied.

“You didn’t seem to mind his rather prolonged visit last time. I even saw you smile.”

“Oh, my, could it be I’m desperately in love with him and am subconsciously playing hard to get?” Ryden sighed. She didn’t know why she bothered to even reply. Magda wouldn’t get her sarcasm any better than she’d get any of the dozen other ways she’d tried to dissuade her from matchmaking. “Anyway…whatever, I better get going.”

“See you in the morning.” Magda smiled. “Have a fun time with Tim.”

Although she liked her boss, at times like this Ryden wanted to throw her in the stem cutter. The only way to end the debate, at least for now, was to shock Magda’s conservative sensibilities. “You know, I might just stay there all night. Hell, maybe even all week. Hide in his apartment and have wild passionate sex till I need resuscitation and then go back for more.”

Magda blushed. “Ryden!”

“See you.” Ryden winked at her and left.

Not long after, she arrived at the address they had on file for Tim, a ten-minute walk from the flower shop. It was a two-story, single-family home in a quiet neighborhood, nearly obscured from the street by tall greenery.

She was about to ring the bell when she noticed the door was ajar. She rang anyway, and when no one answered, she pushed the door open another few inches. “Tim? You there?”

When no one replied, she cracked the door a little farther and stepped just inside the threshold. “Tim,” she shouted, much louder this time. “Are you okay?” Still no answer. She started to worry. He hadn’t sounded well on the phone. What if he’d been so violently ill he’d passed out…or worse? Perhaps, she considered, he’d been rushed to the hospital and the paramedics hadn’t shut the door properly.

She couldn’t just leave. “Tim, if you can hear me, I’m coming in.” She stepped into the living room and placed the flowers on the coffee table. Tim wasn’t the tidiest guy, but aside from the open door she didn’t see anything unusual to prompt her niggling sense of alarm. She glanced into the kitchen and dining room, and everything seemed okay there, too. Perhaps she was just being paranoid. Maybe the memory of the guy who’d been following her the other day had stuck with her more than she cared to admit. Tim had probably just stepped out to the pharmacy for some medicine.

Just to be completely sure the poor bastard wasn’t home and in pain, she’d do a quick check of the bedrooms upstairs. If he wasn’t there, she’d leave a get-well note with the flowers and go. She’d never intended to charge him, anyway. These were on the house because he was such a good customer.

Convinced now that no one was home, she hurried up the stairs to ease her conscience and be on her way. She walked down a long hall, bypassing an office and then a kids’ bedroom—bunk beds, toys and baseball gear on the floor, posters of athletes and racecars on the walls. Tim had never mentioned having children.

At the end of the hall, she knocked on the only closed door. “Tim, it’s me. Ryden.” She waited several seconds, her ear to the door, before trying the knob.

The bedroom’s heavy curtains were closed so it was too dark to see much, but the ambient light streaming in through the sides of the windows allowed her to make out a silhouette on the bed. “Tim, are you all right? she asked louder. No response, and the figure didn’t move. “Shit,” she mumbled. Tim was either an extremely sound sleeper or something was very wrong. Skimming her hand over the wall, she found the light switch and flicked it on.

She blinked a few times, so shocked she was unable to fully register the scene before her. When she finally realized the magnitude of the horror, dizziness washed over her and she had to fight to keep upright. “Oh, my God.”

Tim was naked and facedown on the bed. Countless stab wounds all over his back explained the widening pool of blood on the sheets and floor.

She was going to be sick. With her hand over her mouth, she ran headlong for the adjoining bathroom, only to trip over something on the floor just inside the dark room. Scrambling to her feet, she inhaled a vaguely metallic scent and was aware her hands were wet as she reached for the bathroom light switch.

She was standing over another naked body, this time that of a woman she didn’t recognize. This victim had also been stabbed, but she was lying on her back. Blood still oozed from her wounds onto the tile.

“Jesus fuck.” Ryden realized for the first time that the killer might very well still be in the house, and her urge to vomit vanished, replaced by the need to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. She bolted down the stairs and out of the house, not stopping until she reached the middle of the street. Breathing hard, she reached for her cell phone, only then seeing the blood on her hands, jeans, and jacket. She was shaking so much it took three tries to successfully dial 911.