Seduction and Lies

“Call me later and let me know how it went.”

“I will.”

Danielle disconnected the call and headed across town. Hopefully, Nick had gone to his own gym down in the West Village and not Pause for Men.

The last of the rush-hour traffic extended Danielle’s half-hour drive to nearly an hour. It was all the residual effects of the U.N. Summit, which had tied the city in knots for almost a week.

She eased onto 135th Street in Harlem, on the lookout for any signs of Nick’s car. She pulled the Navigator around the corner and parked. It was only seven forty. She hoped Ms. Jean “Rules and Regulations” Wallington-Armstrong didn’t mind her being early.

She approached the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. Bernard Hassell was crossing the street in the direction of Pause for Men. His back was almost to her, but if he turned his head, she’d be right in his line of vision. She took several steps backward, ducked around the corner and watched him from the side of the building until he’d gone inside.

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she could barely breathe. For a moment she shut her eyes and shook her head. This was crazy, she thought, before easing around the corner. She hurried to the building, intermittently checking the house across the street. At the downstairs door she rang the bell, and the few seconds that ticked by seemed like an eternity.

“Good evening, Ms. Holloway. Nice to see you again,” Margaret said. “Jean is waiting for you. Go right up. Do you remember the way?” she asked, stepping aside to let Danielle in.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I remember. Are you here…full-time?” Danielle asked as they entered the foyer.

“You could say that. With all that’s going on in the world, solving its problems is a full-time job.” She stopped at the bottom of the staircase. Danielle turned to her. “Good luck,” Margaret said with a wise smile. “You’ll be fine.” She turned and walked away.

I sure as hell hope so, Danielle thought as she walked upstairs.

When Danielle approached the door, she could hear Jean talking to someone. She didn’t hear anyone else and realized she was on the phone. For an instant she debated about announcing herself or listening for a minute. Her curiosity won out.

“…I understand that. Is there really a reason to get Homeland Security involved? I see. You know I’ll help in any way that I can on the local level. You do understand that the people I’m working for on this case cannot be involved. It’s the reason why I was hired. Of course. Keep me posted and I’ll do the same.”

What the hell was that about? Danielle wondered. She stepped up to the door and knocked.

“Come in.”

She entered as Jean was hanging up the phone.

“Close the door, please.”

Danielle did as she was asked, crossed the room and sat down.

“This shouldn’t take long,” Jean said, a line of worry bunching her brows together. She went to a file cabinet on the far side of the room and took out a thick folder, then brought it to her desk. She flipped the folder open and put on her pink-framed glasses.

“We’ve completed our background check on you Danielle, and for the most part everything came back fine.” She extracted several photographs and pushed them across the table.

It was a series of pictures of her with Savannah and Mia at The Shop, her and Nick several weeks ago on one of their evening walks, her getting into her SUV, and even a photograph from that morning of her visit to Michael Preston’s studio.

Her eyes flashed at Jean. “You’ve been following me?”

“Of course.” She pushed another document across the table. It was her credit report and another series of papers detailing her entire life, everything from where she lived to the schools she’d attended, her parents’ information and the loan from the bank to get her business operational.

“It’s very easy to find out anything you want about someone. It’s the business we’re in. And of course we had to be sure that your lifestyle and your associations wouldn’t hamper your ability to do this job. I’m sure you understand.”

Danielle didn’t know what she understood or what she thought. She felt so violated that she was speechless.

“Any questions?”

Danielle blinked. “No,” she murmured.

“Good.” She opened her desk drawer and took out a very legal-looking document and passed it to Danielle. “Please look this over, and if you agree, I’ll need your signature.”

It was pretty much what Savannah described: a confidentiality statement in addition to a clause that stated if she were caught, the Cartel would do what they could from behind the scenes, but they would never acknowledge her association with them. Her temples began to pound.

If she was caught. Ugly images filled her head, first of old, dank warehouses with her inside—tied to a chair and being interrogated by men in dark clothes and indistinguishable features—filled her head, then of a two-bunk cell that she shared with a woman whose nickname was Big Bertha and, finally, being thrown from a speeding car onto some desolate road, where she’d be left for the vultures—man or beast.

She stared at the words until they blurred. Her and her big mouth. She could have said she was busy, too. She wouldn’t have been lying. But, noooo, she had to volunteer and even asked for a gun. God, Savannah was her dearest friend, and she would do anything in the world for her, but this…Identity theft sounded mundane on the surface, but what if it wasn’t?

What had she gotten herself into?

“Is there a problem?”

Jean’s strident voice snapped the final thread that connected Danielle the woman she was to Danielle the woman she was crossing the threshold to becoming. If she signed her name, there was no turning back. For a moment she hung suspended, unsure whether to leap across or crawl back to the other side.