Sidney Sheldon's Reckless by Sidney Sheldon Read Free Book Online Page A

drifted in from the kitchen, reassuringly normal and sane.
    â€œI’d love one, darling,” Frank called back.
    One day, this would all be over.
    One day they could all return to normal.
    BUNDLED UP AGAINST THE bitter New York wind in a full-length mink coat and matching hat, her Tiffany diamond drop earrings sparkling like stalactites in the dazzling winter sunshine, Althea ran a black, gloved hand along the top of the gravestone, lovingly tracing a finger over the one-word inscription.
    Daniel.
    â€œHe’s dead, my darling,” Althea whispered. “Bob Daley’s dead. We got him.”
    Watching the Englishman’s skull explode across her computer screen had been gratifying. But it hadn’t brought Althea the closure she’d hoped for. She’d come to Daniel’s grave today in hopes that it might bring her some peace.
    It hadn’t.
    Perhaps it’s because he isn’t really here? The simple marble slab was just a memorial. Nothing lay beneath it. Thanks to them, Althea would never know where her beloved Daniel really lay, or whether he had even been buried. They had stolen that comfort from her, just as they had stolen everything else.
    That’s why I don’t feel closure, she realized suddenly. Captain Bob Daley was just the beginning.
    I must destroy them all.
    Just as they destroyed me.
    Althea wondered why the CIA hadn’t called in Tracy Whitney yet.
    It was vital that Tracy be a part of this. Her message had been crystal clear on that point. Why were they waiting?
    If that moron Greg Walton didn’t act soon, she’d be forced to take matters into her own hands. As the icy wind bit into her cheeks, Althea hoped it didn’t come to that.
    Wrapping her mink more tightly around her, she turned and walked to her waiting limousine.
    It was nice to be rich.
    But it was even nicer to be powerful.

CHAPTER 5
    T RACY WHITNEY WATCHED THE SNOWFLAKES FALL SOFTLY TO THE ground outside her window as she sewed name-tapes into her son’s soccer kit. Nicholas Schmidt, 9G. This was the second kit Tracy had had to buy Nick since the summer. At fourteen, her son was growing like a weed. He must be taller than Jeff now, Tracy thought.
    Nicholas knew Jeff Stevens as Uncle Jeff, an international antique dealer and old friend of his mother’s. He believed his real father was a man named Karl Schmidt, a German industrialist, who’d died tragically in a skiing accident while Nick was still in his mother’s womb. It was the story Tracy had told him and everybody else in Steamboat Springs, the small Colorado town that had been their home for almost fifteen years now. But it wasn’t true. There had never been any Karl Schmidt, or any ski accident. Jeff Stevens was Nick’s father. He was also a con artist and a thief, one of the best in the world. Although never quite as good as Tracy.
    Putting aside the shorts, Tracy got to work on Nick’s shirt. The dark blue team colors brought out the color of Nick’s eyes—piercing blue, like his father’s. He also had Jeff’s athletic build and thick dark hair, and that irresistible combination of masculinity and charm that had drawn women to Jeff Stevens like moths to a lightbulb. Tracy hadn’t seen Jeff in three years, not since she saved his life, rescuing him from a psychotic former agent named Daniel Cooper. But she thought of him often. Every time Nicholas smiled, in fact.
    That last encounter with Jeff Stevens had been a crazy time in Tracy’s life, a brief, brutal return to the adrenaline and danger of a world she thought she’d left behind forever. Afterwards, she’d struck a deal with the FBI to grant her immunity from prosecution and returned to the peaceful anonymity of Steamboat Springs. Uncle Jeff had visited once, and kept in touch with postcards from far-flung parts of the world. He’d also set up a trust fund for Nick worth tens of millions of dollars. What can I say?