“I’ll drive.”
As they raced to the front door, Sam whipped out his Berry and punched in Rosie’s number again.
It rang the standard four times before dumping him once more into voicemail. Shit, all electronic devices had to be left at the gate.
Scott unlocked the doors to the limo, holding the back one open until Sam threw himself in. He braced himself as Scott peeled the limo out of the parking lot and headed for the beltway, then dialed Thalia’s number and started praying that she’d pick up.
She did, on the second ring.
“Why, Thalia? If it’s revenge, don’t take it out on Rosie. Please.”
Even over the noise of the car engine, he could hear her sigh. “Oh, Samuel. It’s not revenge we’re after.”
We’re? Plural. So she and Chad were in on it together, Spencer too. “Then what is it you want?”
“Come to the club, Sam. We’ll talk about it when you arrive.”
He clutched the Berry so hard its case cracked. “Don’t hurt her, Thalia. Don’t let anyone else near her. Promise me.”
“We’ll talk when you get here. But Sam? Don’t take too long.” She broke the connection, leaving Sam staring at his phone.
“Scott?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Floor it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Spencer held open the door to Thalia’s office, motioning for Rosie to go in. The door behind her, leaving her staring not only at Thalia, but Chad, Andy and a dark-haired Hispanic man she recognized as Sam’s junior partner from Dallas, Mark Rodriguez.
“Hello, Miss Ramos. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.” Mark stood and greeted her, though she couldn’t miss the thorough assessment he made of her.
“I didn’t realize you were in D.C., Mr. Rodriguez.” Rosie put her hand on Andy’s shoulder, worried that he might blame her for Sam trying to fire him. “Hey, Andy, how you doing?”
“I’m okay, Rosie.” But he didn’t meet her gaze.
Chad however did meet her gaze, nodding his head only slightly, his expression unreadable.
“Sit down, Rosie,” Thalia said. While her voice was quiet, it contained an unmistakable order.
What the hell was going on? It was like facing a firing line, or…oh, my God, while she’d been obsessing about combing through the files, something must have happened to Sam. Her breath tight in her throat, she stared at Chad. “Is it Sam? Is he hurt? Did the stalker get him?”
Mark firmly grasped her shoulders and led her to the chair, pressing her into it. He knelt beside her and laid his hand over hers as it clamped onto the arm of the chair. “Sam is fine. He’s safe in his office. You don’t need to worry.”
“Then what-”
“Rosie, we need you to listen and not say anything until we’ve finished,” Chad interrupted. Since she’d taken his chair, Mark walked to the door, closed it and then leaned against it. Was he standing there to stop her from leaving? What the heck was going on?
“We ask that you keep an open mind about what we tell you,” Thalia said.
Not knowing who to look at or what to expect, Rosie grasped the arms of the chair and nodded.
“All right. I’ll keep an open mind.” But that’s all she’d promise. “Now what’s going on?”
After exchanging a glance with the other three, Chad took a deep breath. “There is no stalker, Rosie. There never has been.”
She glanced at Andy, who stared at his feet, then at Thalia, who met her gaze evenly and nodded slowly. Mark smiled as if he were in on some huge joke. Except there was nothing funny that she could see.
“I don’t understand. What about the photos? The phone calls?”
“All of us took the photos.” Chad circled his finger at the group. “Thalia took the one at the club, Andy and I took the rest. And I made the phone calls using a spoof card, just like you originally surmised.”
No wonder they’d not found any fingerprints at the phone booths. Considering Chad had made the calls, he’d probably never had them checked in the first place.
“But someone broke into his apartment and trashed it.”
Chad held up his hand. “That would also be me.”
Andy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And I diverted the guard.”
“Why? Why did you do this?” Damn it, what the hell was going on here?
The four of them exchanged a glance. Chad nodded and began explaining, “You know about Sam’s part in the club right? You understand why he’s involved?”
“Yeah, the FBI sent him and his partner-” his fiancйe, she couldn’t say, “-in to catch a serial killer. Except she got killed in the process. What’s going on, Chad? Why did you need to stalk him?” She glanced toward the door assessing how she could take Mark down and get past him. How far she might get before they caught up to her? Would she have time to reach a panic button?
“It’s not what you think, Miss Ramos,” Mark said quietly. “You’re in no danger from us.”
Chad leaned forward in his chair. “You know that Sam holds himself responsible for Jill’s death, right?”
“And for me being in a wheelchair,” Thalia added.
Rosie nodded. “Is that what this has been about, Thalia? Vengeance.”
“Not vengeance. Compensation.” Thalia folded her hands in her lap and frowned. “Sam’s not allowed himself to become emotionally involved with anyone since Jill died.”
“I still don’t understand-”
“Don’t you remember what I said to you that first night Sam approached you?” Chad picked up the conversation. “About how Sam was attracted to you? That’s why Jodi asked that you bid on Sam at the auction. We’d hoped he’d make a move on that date he took you on afterwards. But then you came back and said he’d behaved like a perfect gentleman and nothing happened between you after that.
“So we decided to force his hand. To put him in daily contact with you. The only way we could think of doing that was by setting you up as his bodyguard. We figured that at some point one of you would act upon your attraction for each other.”
“So it’s all been some gigantic matchmaking scheme?” She sank back into the chair when they nodded as one. “Well, I hate to tell you this but your plan failed.” Miserably. “Sam broke it off with me.”
Chad ran his hand through his hair. “I know. But Sam’s just as miserable as you are. That’s why we figured we needed to come clean with you.”
Thalia leaned forward. “We have a plan, Rosie. But we need your help.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sam threw the car door open before the limo had stopped. Scott hot on his heels, he raced to the front door, which opened seconds before he could open it himself.
Fredriksson stepped into the doorway; Sam tried to cannonade past him. The floor rushed up to meet him, his forehead hitting the tile with a resounding thud. When he tried to roll to his feet, more than one body held him down and the cold steel of handcuffs bit his wrists.
Fighting them, he shouted for Scott to call the police. Restraints were fastened around his ankles. An unseen force tugged on one leg, the other moving with it. Shackled, goddamn it.
“That should hold him,” Scott said from behind him. “And there’s no need for the police, Mr. Watson.”
