“No need for sarcasm,” Lyra said. “I really am impressed. So we’re going to confront Kevin Draper and get some answers.”
“We’re not going to talk to him here at the hotel. We need privacy for this conversation. We’re going to follow him after his shift ends tonight. With luck he’ll go to a bar for a late-night drink or drive straight home. Either location will work.”
“What if he goes to a girlfriend’s house?”
“I’m told he doesn’t have a girlfriend.” Simon paused. “Which strikes me as odd.”
“Boyfriend?”
Simon shook his head. “The housekeeper I talked to said Draper isn’t seeing anyone. She told me he was delighted to show off his new Buick when he first got it. Everyone wanted a ride in it. But after a fewdays he stopped inviting people to take a drive with him. She described him as being in a low mood lately. Withdrawn and depressed.”
Lyra smiled. “Your informant was a maid? Well, well, well. Sounds like people talk to you, too.”
“Sure, but only if I pay for the information or scare the living daylights out of them.”
“I’m assuming that in this case you paid for the details about Draper’s private life?”
“She’s got a sick husband who can’t work. They need the money.”
“Sounds like the money went to a good cause,” Lyra said. “Which approach do you intend to take with Draper?”
“Judging by the car he’s driving, cash probably won’t get his attention, at least not the amount I have in my wallet. I’ll probably go with fear. It’s cheaper.”
Lyra gave him a disapproving look. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“I have no idea. But it usually works.”
Chapter 24
Ridley Billingsley let himself into his private quarters on the third floor of the hotel and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a stiff drink. He needed something to settle his nerves.
It was all coming apart. His beautiful game was in danger and it was his own fault. He should never have agreed to arrange the kidnapping of Raina Kirk. He had known from the outset that it was a risky thing to do. Yes, the client had offered a small fortune for the job, but he didn’t need the money. He had inherited all he would ever need. His game had never been about making money. It was about a much more gratifying reward—the thrill of power and the satisfaction of listening to the women plead with him. Nothing excited him more than savoring the helpless terror in their eyes when they realized they were his to do with as he pleased.
But Guppy had insisted on taking the Kirk commission. She said the client knew everything about their operation and had threatened togo to the press if they didn’t grab Raina Kirk. Guppy said that when they delivered Kirk to the client it would all be over. Finished. They would be out of it.
He knew better. After all, he was in the extortion business himself. Once you had leverage over someone, you never gave it up. Leverage was raw power, and he now held that power over some very important people, including a couple of tycoons and a potential congressman who might become president.
Knowing that someone was not only aware of the game he and Guppy had been running for the past year but had forced them to carry out a special, commissioned kidnapping was infuriating. There would be more requests for “favors” in the future. That’s how it worked. No one knew that better than him.
Glass in hand, he started to prowl the suite, pausing every few steps to swallow some of the whiskey. It was the interview with Cage and his wife that had forced him to admit to himself the situation was deteriorating rapidly. In spite of Guppy’s assurance that the disaster in the steam chamber could be handled with the claim that it had been a terrible accident, he sensed in his bones that it had put his precious game at risk.
It was Guppy’s fault. He never should have gone into partnership with her. She had been incredibly convincing, however, and back at the start of their association in New York he had believed she was the key to fulfilling his vision.
The threat of an impending disaster had forced them to close down the spa and move west. Initially he had taken great satisfaction in redesigning the game and luring fresh players. But now, once again, disaster threatened, and all because of Guppy.
He made another circuit around the room and stopped to refill his glass. He needed to calm down and think. He and Guppy had not realized the danger when Cage and his wife had checked in, but when Mrs. Cage had insisted that Frampton provide her facial, they had knownsomething was wrong. Guppy had panicked. The result was the botched attempt to get rid of Lyra Cage in the steam chamber.
The arrangements for the routine kidnappings were carefully planned. In the end, no one talked. No one went to the police. But Cage and the woman were a different kind of problem. They had to disappear permanently, and it had to look like an accident.
He picked up the house phone. “Get me Madam Guppy.”
“Yes, Mr. Billingsley,” the hotel operator said. “I’ll ring her suite.”
Guppy answered after only one ring. “Yes?”
“It’s Billingsley. We need to talk. Tonight. The usual place. Usual time.”
He did not wait for her to acknowledge his orders. She would show up. She had as much to lose as he did.
