Part 31 (1/2)
They watched as Steve dropped the bags abruptly before taking his place in line, leaving the boys standing slumped along the wall.
”They don't look too thrilled,” Chuck whispered. ”I've got a car right outside. What do you think?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.
Celeste watched anxiously as the Diamonds drove away. All of this was so strange. Why hadn't Greg told her he planned to use her condo? It wasn't like him to let strangers use it. He was always so considerate of her property and her independence. Only once before, about a year ago, he'd arranged for a client of his to use it, and he had made a big deal of checking with her, getting her approval. Maybe he just didn't care enough about her permission anymore. Or maybe he figured what was hers was theirs, and maybe that was okay now that she was so close to a real commitment that would merge her - her possessions, her needs, her very soul - with Greg.
Or maybe the reason that he didn't tell her was the possibility of real danger. Danger to the Palmer child. And Molly Palmer was still in there. Well, she'd check to make sure the family was okay, and pick up the design sample books she'd left there last time. Then she'd drive back to Tampa. She certainly couldn't stay here with the Palmers. It was just before six, and she wouldn't get home until midnight. Maybe she'd check into a motel off of I-95. If only she'd brought her travel kit and something decent to travel in, she could leave from the Jacksonville Airport. She'd left enough business clothes in Atlanta, but then her car would be stuck in Jacksonville. It had been really silly to come here.
As she drove up the long drive lined by tall red hibiscus, she gazed with approval at the lush manicured lawns and flower-studded gardens before wondering whether Greg had given the Palmers her garage door opener. Rather than drive all the way down to the underground garage just to find their car in her a.s.signed spot, she decided to park in the lobby lot out front. It was then that she saw that same car - that dark sedan. Yes, a dark blue Mercury with tinted windows, sitting in a parking spot directly in front of the building. A stab of fear cut through her. Her instinct had been right. Someone had followed Carrie.
She knew that she had to warn the Palmers. She quickly swung her silver BMW into the nearest s.p.a.ce in the visitors' section. As she walked toward the lobby, she was tempted to peek into the other car, but she was too scared and too much in a hurry. Besides, with those dark windows, she probably wouldn't be able to see inside.
Instead of calling up from the lobby, Celeste used her key to access the elevator to her third floor suite. Once she exited the elevator, she'd be in a small foyer. Then she'd knock at the door, expecting the Palmers to let her in. What she met when the elevator door opened was the barrel of a gun aimed at her chest. She gasped at the weapon and the buff young man with the floppy blond hair and matching, bushy eyebrows who held it.
”Who are you and what are you doing here,” he demanded, Gestapo-style.
”Please put that down,” she said, once she'd caught her breath. ”I'm Celeste Marin. I own this condo. What's -”
”Oh,” the man said, the eyebrows shooting up in confusion. ”You have identification?”
”Sure,” said Celeste. ”I'm just going to get it out of my bag. Okay?”
”Slowly,” he stepped closer to monitor her careful movements.
”Listen, I can clear this up. I just spoke to Carrie Diamond, the lady who just left with her daughter. I know that you're here protecting a child. I know that Chuck Dimer hired you. He's working with my fiance, Greg Klingman.”
She must have sounded credible, because the man holstered his weapon as soon as he'd scrutinized her driver's license.
Celeste read the embroidered insignia on his cream-colored golf s.h.i.+rt: D. J. SECURITY SERVICES.
”Okay, ma'am, why don't you come in?” he said, opening the door between the foyer and living room. ”Name's Regis Adamsky.” Inside suitcases in various stages of packing were strewn about. ”We were just getting ready to leave.”
”Yes, I think you should leave, but -”
”Tried to get in touch with Mr. Dimer,” the security guy interrupted. ”Let him know about the couple that just came and took their little girl. I was supposed to protect them both, but I couldn't stop that mother. I hope I didn't f.u.c.k - oh, I'm real sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean for that to slip out.”
”Hurry up, Dirk,” Celeste heard a woman's voice call from the master bedroom.
”Let's think this though, Sally,” a man's voice. Must be Mr. Palmer, Celeste figured. ”Carrie Diamond didn't say anything specific, and I don't think Don even wanted to take Elizabeth. n.o.body knows where we are. That was the deal. And with this Regis guy here -”
”I wish he wouldn't keep that gun in plain sight. It frightens me,” the woman's voice said.
Celeste's eyes flew to the bulging holster on the security guy's hip and she cringed, wondering if he'd ever had to use it.
”Let me help you, missy,” Adamsky said, stepping forward.
Celeste turned to see a little girl in pigtails hauling a canvas suitcase out of the guest bedroom.
The big blonde man rushed to help her, and the child rewarded him with a generous smile. The little girl then looked expectantly at Celeste. Remembering that she was deaf, Celeste waved to her and smiled encouragingly, not knowing what else to do or say.
Adamsky set the suitcase down by the elevator, before grabbing a blue blazer and slipping it on. ”Why are you here, ma'am?”
”Mr. Adamsky, I'm glad you're leaving,” Celeste said, still fretting about how to communicate with the child. ”Listen, I think that Carrie Diamond was followed out here. You see, she came to my house. I live in the Carrollwood section of Tampa. There was a car outside my house - dark blue Mercury, heavily tinted windows. And that same car, I'm pretty sure, is out there.” She pointed out the window toward the parking lot.
”Holy s.h.i.+t,” Adamsky's face turned red. ”Holy s.h.i.+t. Followed? All the way from Tampa? You sure?”
”Quite sure,” Celeste said. ”That's why I came here. To warn the Palmers.”
”Man, I gotta get them outta here,” Adamsky ran both hands through his already ruffled hair. ”But how? To where? s.h.i.+t, I gotta try Dimer again.”
”Somebody followed Carrie? Is that what you said?” asked a middle-aged man, tanned with wavy brown hair, and startling blue eyes. He'd emerged from the master bedroom with a querulous expression and his hand thrust forward. ”By the way, I'm Dirk Palmer. You are?”
”I'm Celeste Marin, and yes, I think so,” Celeste said, reaching to shake his hand.
”Let's go then,” he directed Regis, who was still on the phone, looking like he was on hold.
”Sally, you gotta get a move on,” he shouted toward the master suite.
”Miss Marin owns this condo,” Regis said as soon as he'd disconnected the call.
”What's going on?” demanded Palmer.
”I talked to Tracy Epstein at the Dimer Agency,” Adamsky reported with authority. ”She said to hold tight. She's trying to locate Mr. Dimer.”
By now the pretty little girl had sidled up to her dad, her smile transformed to a worried frown.
”Miss Marin,” he said, using his hands in sign language. ”I want you to meet my daughter, Molly.”
Celeste held out her hand toward Molly who smiled again.
”And Molly, this is Miss Marin. This is her condo.”
Molly responded, enthusiastically communicating with both hands.
”She says she loves it. Wants to stay longer. Wants us to let her go swimming in the pool and in the ocean.”
”Please tell her, when all this is over, I'd love for her to come and stay and do all that.”
Dirk did, and the little girl grinned shyly.
”Who are you talking to, Dirk?” the same woman's voice.