He signed papers on the vehicle then stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. January in New York was cold. The trench coat he’d grabbed from wardrobe at the last minute had been a good decision.

  The Pinto lurched as he adjusted to the gears. He pulled onto the road and cringed at the grinding noise. Once he got the hang of it, he sailed down the strip toward his temporary home.

  He couldn’t wait until they caught Alexi in the act of doing something illegal. Then he could go home. Then he could ask Ericka on an official date. Maybe they could talk about going to Mercy Hospital in Miami again. They could go together.

  He’d not heard her mention going one time since their arrival back in New York. Of course, her mind was preoccupied with other things but surely it was something she wanted to pursue.

  He arrived outside the apartment building. Kids played basketball at a court across the street. He locked the car and headed for the entrance. He might return to no hubcaps, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like the Pinto was a James Bond car with tricks and gadgets.

  That would be cool though.

  Inside the lobby he took the stairs two at a time. The elevator was an enclosed space that one could be trapped in. So, he opted for the stairs. By the time he reached the third floor, he was barely breathing heavy. One peek through a slit in the door revealed the hallway was empty. He started to step out, but a door opened. A gentleman with a girl hanging half on his shoulder staggered down the hallway. They laughed as if drunk and stumbled into another apartment door.

  His apartment door.

  He held his breath.

  Blake should let the mistake pass. Ignore it as if it didn’t happen. Most people in the complex wouldn’t answer to that kind of noise. But Blake wasn’t most people.

  The door opened.

  Blake wore a stained white T-shirt that covered a rotund belly. He gripped a beer bottle in one hand and he burped loudly.

  “What do you want?”

  The gentleman with the girl held up a 44-magnum pistol.

  Blake lifted his hand in the air, backed into the room, and closed the door.

  Tito breathed a sigh of relief as the drunken couple continued to stagger along the long hallway.

  By the time Tito entered their hideout Blake was in the throes of receiving congratulatory back slaps.

  “I thought I was going to strain a muscle making my stomach protrude like that.”

  Tito thought instead of worrying about his making sure everyone knew about his perfect physique, Blake should have been worried about his body almost decorating the walls, but he kept that to himself.

  Once the posturing was over, the team decided to watch in shifts since the operation was clearly going to take longer than anticipated. He knew they were looking at the wrong apartment, but Blake wanted to say that Alexi just hadn’t come into view because he knew they had put the camera there. Tito thought he was wrong, but he’d let it go, for now.

  Maybe if Tito was lucky, he was there to replace Blake. If he had to listen to Blake talk about how great he was for the next twelve hours, Tito might have to find the guy with the 44 and ask to borrow it for himself.

  ****

  Ericka heard someone clear their throat as she went to the bedroom.

  “Hello, are you listening to me?”

  The earpiece.

  “I’m so sorry, Rosetta! What did you say?”

  “I said the music was so loud in the studio I didn’t think you heard my suggestions.”

  At the piano she’d thought she was hearing something. She’d pressed the piece to her ear. Truthfully, she hadn’t heard a thing, then or afterward.

  “You’re playing and singing was great by the way.”

  “Thank you.” Ericka felt heat flood her cheeks as she flopped onto the edge of the bed, leaned back with her hands on the bed, and wiggled her toes in the carpet.

  “Truthfully, when you go to the studio tomorrow, I’m a little worried.” Rosetta’s voice was higher, and she spoke faster than normal.

  “Don’t be. Everyone really wants to hear you.”

  “That’s why I’m going to make the track in the tour bus, and we’ll switch them out.”

  “Oh.” So she didn’t trust Ericka to mimic her. Ericka wasn’t really offended. Who could blame her for not wanting her music tainted by someone else? In years to come people might question it and what would she say?

  Maybe by then the truth.

  “I can’t have my fans getting confused.”

  “I get that.” Ericka paused. “Wait, your tour bus?”

  “Yeah, I had the driver park it close to the hotel.”

  Rosetta had been housed at the Bowery Grand Hotel. There weren’t many places that a bus could park close to that. And none that wouldn’t be obvious.

  Ericka rose so quickly she knocked the lamp off the table. “But—”

  “Don’t worry I had it rewrapped so it says, Greyhound or something. No one knows it is my tour bus.”

  “Greyhound?”

  “Sure. That’s safe, right?’

  Ericka internally groaned. She needed to talk to Greg and quick. If Rosetta’s tour bus was discovered close by someone might believe she is in the area. That was just what they needed.

  ****

  Ilsa buried her hands in her pockets and shifted back and forth. Wind blew and lifted loose tendrils of her hair. The fur coat hugged her fit frame. The fur trimmed hat barely kept snow from her eyes and she slipped on the reflective sunglasses.

  One lone figure strolled around the bus one way, changed directions, and headed back the other direction. He could be a sentry posted to guard Rosetta’s tour bus, but his demeanor was more of someone who was bored and just needed the exercise.

  The Greyhound sign plastered on one side of the bus hadn’t fooled Ilsa in the slightest. Not to mention the installed GPS had led her right to it. Law enforcement in charge of protecting Rosetta was incompetent at best. Why was the tour bus sitting here in the middle of town in a parking lot with barely any cover?

  It was ridiculous.

  She lifted her cell phone to her ear. “I found it.”

  “Is the plan the same?”

  “Yes. Günter knows what to do, yes?”

  “He does.”

  “Then do it, Yuri. The election grows closer and closer every day. We need to make sure that we have success. Also, find a way to connect it back to Barnes.”

  “No problem. I’ve been working on that already.”

  Ilsa hung up the phone and placed it in her pocket. She backed up into the alley with a wide smile on her face. By the time this little action was complete the election would be in the bag. The power she enjoyed would be hers for another two years.

  Maybe it was time to start looking for something bigger and better. Maybe something that lasted longer.

  She could do it.

  They could do it.

  Chapter Ten

  “She what?” Greg could feel his blood pressure rising.

  “Apparently, she had them park the bus close because she plans to record the demo in there and change out the one that I make.”

  Rosetta might be great, but vanity was still there.

  “This isn’t safe. We told them to take the tour bus out of town.”

  “She said they added a Greyhound sticker.”

  Greg threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “Even better. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry is going to be trying to climb aboard and go to Albuquerque.”

  Ericka coughed to hide laughter. Although he was trying to be humorous it truly was a serious matter. Rosetta would be putting them all in danger so that her voice could be singing the song the minute it was recorded. It wouldn’t even be hitting the airways for some time.

  “I’m going to reach out to Director Manis and have him talk to Representative Vilo. Surely, he can convince his daughter to listen for her own safety.”

  Ericka’s eyebrows shot upward, and her head twisted to the side in a “yeah, right” kind of way. The lines for how to take care of this issue were blurry at best. He was technically undercover. He couldn’t come out of hiding to confront Rosetta any more than anyone else on his team.

  Tito was also out of pocket.

  Manis was his only hope.

  God help them.

  The phone rang.

  Greg answered. “Hello?”

  “We have standing orders for fried tofu and vegetables for a Benji Hunley. Is that still needed?”

  He hated tofu, but Benji loved it.

  He loved it enough to have a standing order at a hotel that he and Rosetta frequented when in the area.

  He was Benji. What else could he do?

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be needed?”

  That was a question. Why would they believe it wasn’t needed while he was there since it was clearly a standing order?

  “We were checking because the new chef… well, he doesn’t do tofu. I’m afraid he may, well, ruin your dish.”

  “I see.” If he could ask for steak he would, but it could be a trap. How would Benji react?

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, um, have him try fixing the tofu, he may find he enjoys cooking it. Also throw in a few more veggies just in case.”

  The staff laughed. “Very good. Also, the usual before singing for Rosetta?”

  “Of course.”

  “We’ll have it there right away.”

  The phone line went dead in his hand. Rosetta had stayed at the hotel before they were aware of this. What they hadn’t been aware of was how much the staff knew about her. They knew the food she had before singing. That was extremely detailed. They should have stayed somewhere less familiar because the staff would be easier to fool. They would just have to stay hidden when the food was brought.

  “Quinn!”

  “Yes?” Quinn slid into the room in front of him.

  “Room service is bringing up my and Ericka’s special food. You are to take it, check it, etcetera while we hide out in the bedroom. Also order food for you and the guys with extra, but not too much extra. That way we can eat that, but not seem like we are.”

  “I’m assuming your food is disgusting.”

  “Exactly.” He paused and Quinn went to leave until he added, “These two were regulars here. I really think they came here often. This was something we didn’t know. That worries me.”

  “We’ll double check everything.”

  “Thank you.”

  Quinn turned to leave.

  Greg paced the room and tapped his finger to his chin. If someone came to kill Rosetta and they knew she was a regular with a specific menu that would be a good way to get to her.

  They definitely wouldn’t be touching the food from the hotel. The more Greg thought about it the more worried he became.

  ****

  Michael Barnes sat at the hotel bar nursing a cola. He’d stopped drinking five years ago. After a drunk driver killed his youngest daughter, the desire left him completely.

  He was supposed to meet his opponent in the bar to discuss their campaigns. Don had said to come alone, meet him in the kitchen. Apparently, they had much to discuss. Michael hoped Don planned to bow out gracefully. He was losing in the polls. Money spent on Don’s campaign would just be a big waste.

  Michael sipped at the cold cola. He’d waited in the kitchen for over an hour, but Don never showed. When the staff started questioning why he was there, he tried to explain then he gave up and came out to the bar to sit and wait longer.

  Bar, kitchen, he could have mistaken one for the other during the conversation.

  He sighed.

  Why was he here?

  He’d run a clean campaign. It was Don who had gotten nasty. He’d brought up Marion’s depression. Stated that she’d spent time in a facility. They’d lost a child, who wouldn’t be depressed.

  When Don had summoned Michael to New York he’d decided to come. One, he wanted to tell Don to back off his wife, and two, Michael wanted to get away from home. The campaign had taken a toll on his family. Maybe he shouldn’t have done it despite the fact that he was winning.

  A commotion started in the kitchen. Pots clanged and yells echoed. He rose and looked through the kitchen door.

  “It was him! He wasn’t supposed to be in here.”

  Michael looked behind him. That guy pointed at him. But that was crazy. Don had told him to meet him there. He’d been in there just for that reason.

  Don had told him… by email.

  Michael was still trying to reason out what was happening when his arms were wretched behind his back. Cuffs tightly clasped his wrists. A man in uniform rattled off words that he barely heard or understood.

  What was happening?

  A man stood at the door and leaned against the door facing. The tip of his lit cigarette glowed against the lower light of the hotel restaurant.

  Michael swallowed and tried to go with the police willingly.

  He’d been set up. Set up for what he wasn’t even sure.

  He was in a foreign state with nothing but an email to prove the meeting had even been requested. What was he going to do now?

  Chapter Eleven

  Ericka chowed down. The gooey cheese pulled from the crust as she took a bite. She’d looked up what to eat before singing, pizza wasn’t on the list, but she was singing tomorrow. And it seemed like Rosetta had every intention of switching out the tapes before the song went out to the public, so she should be able to eat anything she wanted.

  Right?

  Alarms from an ambulance sounded and echoed up to their floor. She lowered her pizza to her plate, rose, and walked to the window but Maggie pulled her back.

  “No windows.”

  Ericka started to protest but stopped as Maggie looked out the window and frowned.

  “Kitchen staff is being rolled out on a stretcher.”

  “What?” Ericka smooshed her face to the cool pane and Maggie dragged her back again.

  “We’ll go find out what’s going on.” Tim and Sam exited into the hallway. Director Manis had included them on her detail to look like she was truly a star. She’d never seen them before, but they seemed nice enough.

  Quinn started to eat something that had been brought from downstairs, but Maggie grabbed his hand and pulled it back from his mouth.

  “Stop. I have a bad feeling about that.” She pointed to the room service tray and the food atop it.

  Ericka swallowed. If Rosetta had come close to being poisoned the people after her were becoming closer and braver than before.

  She took a seat and clasped her hands in front of her, waiting on an update. Her legs bounced until her calves cramped. She would have done something if Maggie would have let her. Although she wasn’t sure what that something would have been.

  Greg had come out of the bathroom.

  The door opened. Tim frowned. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.”

  Tim might be Manis’ flunky but still persisted in calling Greg boss. The time for that title had passed.

  “Let’s have it.”

  “One of the kitchen staff is in critical condition.”

  “Okay.”

  “He taste-tested the food you received.”

  Ericka eyed the rolling cart.

  Maggie had been right.

  Greg turned on the television. The top story was a news report showing a man running for house representative in the state of North Carolina. He was in cuffs being escorted to a patrol car.

  “He’s being blamed? Isn’t he Vilo’s opponent?”

  Greg narrowed his eyes at the screen. “You’re right.” He straightened. “What is happening?”

  “Good question.” Ericka whispered the words under her breath. She couldn’t help herself. Something more than what they had been aware of was going on behind the scenes. They would need to determine what that was before Rosetta could take her rightful place on the stage and in the limelight once more.

  ****

  Don watched the national news. Every station reported Michael Barnes had been arrested. Don smiled. This could only help his campaign.

  He narrowed his eyes. The hotel in the background looked familiar—really familiar.

  New York.

  He was in New York.

  When he had a campaign to run and family issues at home, why would he be in New York?

  Don narrowed his eyes. The hotel he was arrested in front of looked a lot the hotel where Rosetta’s double stayed. But why would Barnes be there poisoning the kitchen staff?

  He swallowed.

  This couldn’t be good.

  The phone was in his hands, and he was dialing Director Manis, his eyes still glued to the television.

  “Manis.”

  “Director, it’s Representative Don Vilo.”

  “Sir, how can I help you?”

  “Is my daughter safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about her double?”

  “Detective Stone is fine. My officers didn’t consume any of the food.”

  Don sighed with relief.

  “What about the staffer?” He was glad he remembered to consider the worker in the kitchen.

  “Latest word is he will survive.”

  “And Michael Barnes?”

  “Mr. Barnes had been detained for questioning.”

  The short answers meant he was only getting professional courtesy but nothing more. He’d cut his losses with Manis and ask other people. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out what was happening.

  “Thank you, Director.”

  “Of course.”

  Don hung up the phone. He stalked toward the liquor cabinet and poured himself a whiskey neat. Amber liquid swirled in the bottom of the glass.

  His opponent had been an alcoholic. He’d sought treatment. Don’s campaign manager had run ads reminding the populace of Micheal’s previous infirmity. It was ironic. Don often considered himself a heavy drinker. At too many social events he’d been carried out.

  There was proof.

  Pictures.