The Wrong Hostage by Elizabeth Lowell Read Free Book Online Page A

yoga?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “The next two days will be hard on you. Find a way to relax that won’t fuzz your mind.”
    Dwayne broke the connection, called San Diego, and got the cell phone on its way to her. Then he went to work on his computer. If he was going to dump someone unexpected on his boss, he’d better be prepared with a more thorough background than he had right now. He launched a program, watched for a few minutes, and pushed back from the desk.
    It was only a few steps to Steele’s suite. The mammoth mahogany door pivoted at its center and opened into a six-sided room with two walls of glass that looked out over Manhattan. The glass had the special sheen that came from being bulletproof, soundproof, and one-way. It was the kind found in high-tech interrogation rooms around the world.
    As usual Steele was facing three walls of video screens, speaking into a headset, and sorting through various documents on his desk. Occasionally he typed on one of the computers that stood by waiting to be used, patient as only machines could be. The sixth wall was taken up by electronics and a huge, colorful clock that divided the world into time zones showing light and darkness. The time zones were made by man; they didn’t change. The areas of day and night across the globe did.
    Without looking up, Steele covered the mouthpiece of his headset with his hand. “What?”
    “You have a video telephone conference at two hundred local,” Dwayne said.
    “Who?”
    “Federal Judge Grace Silva, Southern District of California, San Diego.”
    “Why?”
    “She insisted on speaking only to you,” Dwayne said.
    “So do a lot of people.”
    “The number she called belonged to Joe Faroe’s cell phone. Apparently Judge Silva didn’t have the recent code, because her call was routed through to the public St. Kilda number.”
    Steele spun around and looked at Dwayne. “Interesting. Do we have a good background on her?”
    “I’m working on it.”
    “Work harder. Get help. Anyone who knows Joe Faroe’s cell phone is someone I want to know.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Steele didn’t answer. He was talking into his headphone again.
    Without a sound Dwayne shut the door behind him and went to work on Judge Grace Silva’s background.

O CEANSIDE, C ALIFORNIA
S ATURDAY, 10:55 P.M.
8
    G RACE LOOKED AT THE woman who was driving her to a destination she hadn’t shared. In fact, the woman hadn’t shared much of anything but the car. Her bearing was military, but her smile and long nails weren’t. The glittering tangerine polish was striking against her black skin. The watch she wore was solid gold. Grace knew, because she’d seen one just like it in the window of one of La Jolla’s more expensive jewelry stores.
    The driver checked the mirrors as often as the road ahead. Other than making turns without warning, sitting with her lights out, and then taking off in a different direction, the driver was very efficient. So was the car. Dark, Japanese, powerful, anonymous.
    Grace had the unsettling feeling that she’d fallen through a hole in reality and was now in a totally different world.
    Because I have, she told herself. It’s called the illegal world. What did Faroe call it? The shadow world .
    The world where Lane is prisoner .
    This can’t be happening .
    It’s happening. Get over it and deal .
    The night guard at the office park waved the car through without a pause.
    Three minutes and six locked doors later, Grace found herself in whatlooked like an ordinary video conference room. One of the three large flat-screen monitors was on. It showed a handsome black man wearing an expensive three-piece suit and what looked like a two-carat ruby in his right earlobe. He was looking at Grace’s driver.
    “Were you followed?” he asked.
    “Possibly, but not for long.”
    “Just possibly?”
    “You told me to keep a low profile,” Grace’s driver said. “Playing tag on crowded streets doesn’t qualify.”
    The man frowned.