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“Oh, I don’t plan to stay up,” Darcy assured him, “but my phone will wake me.”
“I’ll call,” Griffin promised, and he gave her a good-bye kiss meant to linger in her memory the whole time he was away.
Once Griffin reached Seattle, he waited until most of the other passengers had left the plane before he rose from his seat. He yawned sleepily, grabbed his carry-on bag and tuxedo which had been hanging in the luggage alcove near the hatch. He made his way along the narrow ramp to the arrival area where families were hugging their loved ones and friends were being joyfully reunited.
Off to one side, a silver-haired limousine driver held a small placard with his name. Recognizing him instantly, Griffin walked over to him, and the driver took his bag.
“Good afternoon, sir. How was your flight?”
“I can’t say. I slept through it,” Griffin confessed and raised his hand to suppress a wide yawn.
“Then it was a good one.” The driver kept up the friendly patter until Griffin was safely seated in the back of his limousine. As they began to weave their way through the airport traffic toward the hotel, however, the chauffeur dropped his jovial manner and became Griffin’s Interpol link.
“The concert is sold out,” he disclosed. “If your reviews are decent, Vaughn should appear soon.”
Griffin responded with a succinct obscenity. “The critics love me, but Vaughn might be content to stay home, wherever that is, and listen to my latest CD rather than risk arrest at a public concert.”
“You underestimate the man’s arrogance,” the driver warned, “probably because you share the same flaw. Are things still placid in Monotony Bay?”
Rather than react to the insult, Griffin glanced out at the passing traffic. “I’m seeing an unusually perceptive young woman who believes I’m tracking more than fan interest on my computers.”
“You are. Dump her before she gets any smarter.”
“Not an option.”
The chauffeur stared at Griffin in his rearview mirror. “Keep your focus until Lyman Vaughn is no longer a threat.”
“I agreed to do all that I could
, but I’ll not sacrifice my heart and soul in the process.”
The driver responded with a mirthless laugh. “Forgive me if your budding romance just doesn’t compare to the need to apprehend an arms dealer who may soon hold a garage sale to unload nuclear weapons.”
“Spare me the gruesome threats. I’ll do all I can to trap the conscienceless freak, but my personal life will remain off limits to your manipulations.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Moore, whatever you say, sir.” The driver’s voice dripped with a venomous disgust. “Just be on the alert for Vaughn. He could turn up Saturday night as easily as he could in Budapest.”
“You needn’t worry. I already see and hear far more than I wish to. Pick me up at ten o’clock Sunday morning.”
“Ten it is. You know how to reach me, should the need arise.”
Griffin nodded and carried his own luggage into the exclusive hotel which catered to the few who could afford its luxurious accommodations and exquisite service. The drive there had left him tense and angry, but after an hour in the gym filled with the latest in exercise equipment, he had relaxed enough to play the Steinway thoughtfully placed in his suite. It was his own composition he rehearsed, however, rather than those planned for yet another sold-out concert.
Thursday and Friday, Griffin’s rehearsals with the Seattle Symphony Orchestra went well, and Saturday night’s concert was extraordinarily fine. In response to the crowd’s enthusiastic pleas for an encore, Griffin made a brief announcement that he would be delighted to play one of his own compositions for them. He then gave such a spellbinding performance that at first he was greeted with a stunned silence; then the audience flew into frenzied applause that went on and on as they begged for still more. Griffin knew the value of a timely departure, however, and he bowed, gestured toward the orchestra and conductor, then left the stage to call Darcy.
“It went surprisingly well,” he confided nonchalantly.
“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry not to have time to say more, but I have to attend a private reception for major donors. Without you, it will be no fun at all.”
The longing in his voice filled Darcy with guilt. “Let’s have our own party when you get home. Have a safe trip.”
Darcy hadn’t been able to sleep before he’d called, and as soon as he’d wished her a good night, she punched her pillow. She couldn’t help but wonder how many beautiful women in designer gowns would slither up to him at the reception. She could picture them so easily. They would be very blonde, or auburn-haired, supremely confident and so rich they would never have to leave a lover’s bed to dash to work on time.
It was after four o’clock Sunday afternoon when Griffin walked into the Defy the World nursery. Darcy had just rung up a sale of half a dozen cacti when she looked up and saw him moving down the crowded walkways with a long, masterful stride that sent astonished shoppers scurrying out of his way.
He’d sounded so blissfully relieved when they’d spoken last night, but now he wore an expression of such fierce determination that Darcy quickly handed the customer the cardboard box filled with cacti and left the counter. Fearing Griffin’s reviews must have been horrid, she rushed to meet him.
