I PUSHED MY WAY through the crowd of very well-heeled partygoers making their way to candlelit tables. Dinner was being served now. Steak and lobsters, lots of champagne, and pricey wine. Everybody seemed to have worn their Dolce & Gabbana, their Versace, their Yves Saint Laurent couture. I had on faded jeans and a blue FBI windbreaker.
Coiffed heads turned and eyes flashed at me as if I were a party crasher. I was. The party crasher from hell. These people had no idea.
“FBI,” Mahoney called from behind as he led his heavily armed teams into the crowd.
I knew from Sterling what Pasha Sorokin looked like, and I headed his way. He was right there. The Wolf had on an expensive gray suit, a blue cashmere T-shirt. He was talking to two men near a billowing blue-and-yellow-striped canopy where the grills were working. Enormous cuts of meat and fish were being prepared by smiling, sweaty chefs, all of them black or Hispanic.
I pulled out my Glock, and Pasha Sorokin stared at me without moving a muscle. He just stared. Didn’t make a move, didn’t try to run. Then he smiled, as if he’d been expecting me and was glad I’d finally arrived. What was with this guy?
I saw him flash a hand signal to a white-haired man whose arm was draped around a curvy blonde less than half his age. “Atticus!” Sorokin called, and the man scurried over faster than kitchen help.
“I’m Atticus Stonestrom, Mr. Manning’s lawyer,” he said. “You have absolutely no reason to be here, to barge into Mr. Manning’s house like this. You’re completely out of line, and I’m asking you to leave.”
“Not going to happen. Let’s move this private party inside. Just the three of us,” I said to Stonestrom and Sorokin. “Unless you want the arrest to take place in front of all these guests.”
The Wolf looked at his lawyer, then shrugged as if this were no big deal to him. He started to walk toward the house. Then he turned, pretending he’d just remembered something. “Your little boy’s name,” he said. “It’s also Alex, isn’t it?”
Chapter 101
SHE WASN’T DEAD! How good was that? How amazing?
Elizabeth Connolly was lost in her own world again, and it was the best place. She was walking a perfect beach on Oahu’s north shore. She was picking up the most amazing seashells, one after the other, comparing the textures.
Then she heard shouts—“FBI!” She couldn’t believe it.
The FBI was here? At the house? Her heart pounded, then nearly stopped, then pounded again even harder.
Had they finally come to rescue her? Why else would they be here? OhmygoodGod!
Lizzie began to shake all over. Tears spilled down her cheeks. They had to find her and let her out now. The Wolf’s arrogance was about to burn him down!
I’m in here. I’m here! I’m right here!
The party got terribly quiet suddenly. Everyone was whispering, and it was hard to hear. But she definitely heard “FBI,” and theories as to why they were here. “Drugs.” Everyone seemed to think so.
Lizzie prayed this wasn’t about drugs. What if they took the Wolf to jail? She would be left here. She couldn’t stop shaking.
She had to let the FBI know she was here. But how? She was always bound and gagged. They were so close. . . . I’m in the closet! Please look in the closet!
She had imagined dozens of escape plans, but only after the Wolf opened the door and leashed her to go to the bathroom or walk in the main part of the house. Lizzie knew there was no way to get out of the locked closet. Not tied up the way she was. She didn’t know how to signal the FBI.
Then she heard someone making a loud announcement. A male. Deep voice. Calm and in control.
“I’m Agent Mahoney with the FBI. Everyone leave the main house immediately. Please assemble on the back lawns. Everyone is to leave the house now! No one leaves the grounds.”
Lizzie heard shoes scraping the hardwood floors—rapid footsteps. People were leaving. Then what? She’d be all alone. If they took the Wolf away . . . what would happen to her? There had to be something she could do to let the FBI know she was in here. What?
Someone named Atticus Stonestrom was talking loudly.
Then she heard the Wolf speak, and it chilled her. He was still in the house. Arguing with someone. She couldn’t tell who, or exactly what they were saying.
What can I do? Something! Anything!
What, what?
What haven’t I thought of before?
And then Lizzie had an idea. Actually, she’d had it before but always dismissed it.