Chapter 18
Last Loose End
T wo days later, the call finally came through from Snakepit. Ottilie felt two emotions in equal measure. Relief her mission was finally at an end. And…disappointment. Wasn’t that a confusing revelation?
“He’s just checked in, as you predicted. Room 522,” Snakepit reported.
“Check the rooms on either side of his. Are either empty?”
Keys rattled quickly. “Both are. How’d you know?”
“He’d request it, if it was possible, knowing him. Gives him a sense of security. Foolish man.” She smirked. “Although it’s extremely useful for me.”
“Do I want to know?” Snakepit asked, sounding slightly afraid. And a little awed.
“I don’t think you do,” Ottilie said, hiding her amusement. “But it won’t be anything terribly onerous at my age.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to cross you at any age. Anyway, g’luck, ma’am.”
“Thanks,” Ottilie said. “I’ll pay you a bonus for all your extra work and diligence. You’re an excellent hacker, Mr. Snakepit. Why don’t you relocate for a little while? I think DC might be a little too…hot…right now if you want to stay out of trouble. Sooner or later, various political and police investigations will try to find out how The Fixers knew so much. It’s not safe, even for you.”
“Yeah. I kinda came to that conclusion myself. I’m making plans. Duppy, my old hacker friend in LA, has offered to put me up for a bit.” He snickered. “Can’t wait to break it to him I could buy his whole condo block now.”
“Well, then,” Ottilie said. “Happy life.”
“You too, ma’am. Bye.”
She hung up and smiled to herself at the idea of having a happy life. At last. She was one meeting away now from finally retiring. Pacific island. Beaches. Mai Tais. Sold .
Except, now she also had a sense of loss about leaving. And she was damned sure it wasn’t over Las Vegas.
* * *
Ottilie situated herself on Alberto Baldoni’s hotel room balcony, sipping a coffee she despised, poured from a Thermos. She’d placed a second empty cup, saucer, and spoon in front of the chair beside her and waited.
“Christ!” came a muffled masculine explosion ten minutes later. The door to the balcony wrenched open, and Baldoni appeared. He shook his head. “How the hell did you get in here?”
He turned to glance at the door to his hotel room as if confirming it was still locked and chained. It was.
“Mr. Baldoni,” Ottilie said, “never acquire a room with a balcony. Being a former security operative, I’d have thought you’d know it’s too easy to breach from next door.”
He pivoted to look at the frosted shoulder-high divider between the balconies and then eyed her. “You scaled that ?” His sharp black eyes widened.
“You make it sound hard,” Ottilie drawled, sipping her coffee.
Her contact in housekeeping had let her in next door during her rounds. Not remotely difficult.
And if Baldoni looked over the balcony divider, he’d find a tall chair had been pushed against it. The jump and roll she’d effected over the top of the tempered glass barrier from the chair was a testament to her yoga skills. The not-entirely-graceful landing was a testament to her age. Her knees would probably give her hell later, but such was life.
“So my little stalker’s finally caught up to me.” Baldoni dropped hard into the chair next to her, irritation thick in his tone before his eyes fell to the Thermos. “You drink coffee now? Since when?”
“Not…exactly. I brought some for you, since I’m aware it’s your obsession. Well, one of them. Think of it as a peace offering.”
Ottilie pointed to the spare cup, spoon, and open Thermos before him. She pushed a few sugar sachets his way as well, in case he wanted them. “After you left The Fixers, we acquired an enthusiastic employee who extolled the virtues of organic coffee. This was the least obnoxious strain of the ones on offer. I thought you might like it. It’s Laughing Man’s Ethiopia Sidama.”
He made no move toward it. “Poisoned, I presume?”
“This is the reason I’m suffering through a coffee,” Ottilie intoned. “To prove it’s not been interfered with.” She reached for the Thermos and added a little more of the black liquid to her cup and then slowly drank it. “And your imagination runs wild if you think I’d ever bother poisoning you.”
Baldoni’s nostrils twitched. The brew truly did have a delightful aroma, if your weakness lay in coffee. He reached for the Thermos, poured it to the cup’s brim, and then peered hard at the sugar sachets. His gaze darkened with suspicion.
With an eyeroll, Ottilie reached for the sachets, mixed them all up, grabbed one at random, then dumped its contents in her own coffee. Priming herself, she forced more of the liquid down her throat. “Ugh. Too strong for my taste. Now, tea is a gentler brew.”
That earned a derisive smile. As if liking strong coffee was for real men. Baldoni took two sugar sachets, emptied them in the full cup, and stirred ferociously with his teaspoon. When he tested it, his eyes lit up. “Fuck, that is powerful.”
“It is,” Ottilie agreed, still wishing she could get the taste out of her mouth.
He swallowed another mouthful and grinned. “So you have my attention. Although it’s a bit hard to avoid it when you break and enter.”
“Mr. Baldoni, you might have saved us both a lot of trouble by making yourself available when I first requested we meet. I shouldn’t have to break into your room to get an audience.”
“I assumed I was about to be stitched up as a scapegoat for your dirty little organization. I decided I rather liked my freedom.”
“Nonsense,” Ottilie said. “Have I not always treated you fairly? Long after you departed The Fixers?”
“You mean, whenever you asked me to do your dirty work? By dangling the carrot that it would annoy my ex-wife?”
“Both those things can be true simultaneously.”
He laughed, and his legs sprawled out halfway under her side of the outdoor table. A power play.
She adjusted her chair to face him instead.
Baldoni was an elegant, dangerous man with a bone structure sculptors would weep for. The facial symmetry was ruined by a jagged scar that bisected one cheek, the result of a confrontation with the reporter Lauren King. He wore his damaged face with swagger.
To Ottilie, he was slick, smart, and borderline odious—an occasional necessary evil. Bitter and angry about losing his wife, Michelle Hastings, to journalist Catherine Ayers a decade ago, he’d done everything he could to hurt Michelle ever since. He didn’t care that the former Fixers CEO had, in turn, ruined Ayers—and, as a result, become an icy, miserable wasteland herself for years. No, the man was still fixated on the corpse of his broken marriage.
Ottilie withdrew an envelope from her bag. “This is why I’m here. These are the names that are never to be linked to The Fixers. If you leak them directly or indirectly, you will be ruined. That is a promise.”
Looking bored, he held out his hand. “Let’s see who the exulted few are on the safe list.”
Ottilie handed it over. “You will add my name too.”
He nodded, read it, then put it down. “Interesting.”
“How so?”
“My ex-wife’s name is on there. Second last.”
“And?”
“Michelle’s name stands out. All the other names are either agents I barely knew or department heads who were small potatoes. Daphne Silver? Phelim O’Brian? And the espionage pair? Why save them? The board wouldn’t even be able to pick them out of a lineup. This is not the board’s list.” He eyed her pointedly. “It’s yours.”
Ottilie inhaled. Damn him. “Is that so?” she said neutrally.
“I also know you have no burning desire to protect any of these people. Yet, apparently, you’ve been jet-setting all over the world, demanding that various well-placed former employees don’t leak these names to the media. Why?”
Ottilie didn’t speak.
“No comment? Well, here’s my theory.” He leaned in. “The names are red herrings to throw people off your real game. Only one name on that list has any significance. There’s only one person you even know well enough to concern yourself with their fate. So: why are you protecting my ex-wife so much that you’d go to these lengths?”
Ottilie cursed inwardly. Baldoni had been an effective bloodhound for The Fixers, often seeing patterns others didn’t. He could work out motives faster than anyone on the security team. No one else had figured out the truth.
While she had no special fondness for Michelle Hastings, beyond finding her occasionally clever or amusing, she would move heaven and earth to protect Hannah.
Ottilie had always been protective of those she cared about—especially given how few there were. She’d wanted to spare Hannah the media circus of seeing her beloved granddaughter named and shamed as a former CEO of the discredited organization.
It would only take one thoughtless ex-Fixers staffer—or, worse, one with a vendetta—for Michelle to be exposed. It was bad enough her voice could be heard on a few of the damning client videos the media were airing, but so far, no one had identified her.
Given it was easily within Ottilie’s power to prevent that happening, her blackmail world tour—visiting the ex-employees most at risk of leaking—had been the logical next step. It was a way to ensure Michelle’s name never saw the light of day. That had felt like such a simple thing she could do for Hannah, who’d come to mean a great deal to her.
She debated what to say. That Baldoni was right: the other names were a smokescreen and had nothing to do with the board. She’d listed people who had either made her job easier, treated her well, or who were relatively decent people—as much as one could be when working for an ethically dubious organization.
“I don’t agree with tarring every CEO with the same brush,” Ottilie said. “She’s not like the rest. The others, with one exception, were terrible people. She was fair. Michelle doesn’t deserve destruction.”
“Oh, she most certainly deserves destruction,” Baldoni snapped. “For humiliating her loyal husband.” Fury lit his eyes, then faded. “But what’s the real reason? Because you don’t care about fairness; you never did.”
“I care. You just never saw it.” She’d never shown it to him, she meant. He was so twisted, he’d perceive it as weakness.
“I saw enough. You were no saint. Now, enough with the bullshit. Why are you protecting her?”
She sighed. He’d always been far too shrewd, and he’d be relentless until he got his answer. “Fine. I’ve become friends with Michelle’s grandmother. If Michelle’s involvement with The Fixers ever got out, it would ruin Michelle, and devastate Hannah.”
“You’re protecting that bitch? That old bat took one look at me and called me dangerous and ruthless . To. My. Face. I don’t know why I’d lift a finger to help Hannah Fucking Hastreiter now.”
Ottilie’s opinion of Hannah went up another notch. A frail old woman telling off a nasty piece of work like Baldoni was brave. “Are you not dangerous and ruthless?” she asked silkily.
“That’s not the damned point!” Baldoni snapped. “The woman sabotaged my marriage!”
“No she didn’t,” Ottilie said with a huff. “It was already sabotaged. Michelle was suffering PTSD from her FBI work. She was vulnerable, and you seemed like a protector, swooping in to save her. You know that’s why you wanted her. You felt like a hero. But you must surely know the truth: she never loved you.”
Baldoni scowled at her.
No denial. He did know. Or had at least suspected.
“Right,” Ottilie said, keeping her tone curt. “Are we done with your justifications? Or do I have to sit here and listen to all the reasons, a decade on, that you still obsess over a woman not interested in you? It’s pathetic, Alberto. You cannot force someone to love whom they do not. Besides, Michelle’s long since moved on. She’s happy with her new woman.”
His eyes widened.
“You didn’t know?”
His shoulders relaxed.
“What?” Ottilie peered at him.
“I thought being with Ayers was a one-off. But maybe Michelle was never into men at all.”
Ottilie had long suspected that might be true. She said thoughtfully, “Does that make you feel better? Because I must say Michelle looks at her girlfriend in a way she never looked at you.”
Baldoni scowled. “What would you know about anything? I loved my wife. You wouldn’t know love if it bit you on the ass.”
“Foolish boy,” she scorned, finally losing patience. “You don’t even know what love is! Love makes you want to give that person everything they’ve ever wanted, not make them miserable at every opportunity as you’ve been trying to do.”
Alberto snorted. “Well, well, listen to you. Don’t tell me you’ve finally found someone who’ll put up with you? Is watching you alphabetize your filing a naughty kink they have?”
Adopting a bored look, she muttered, “If you’re quite finished?”
“You and love would be like buzzkill and sunshine.” He smiled sweetly then, all rumpled and boyish, and for the briefest of moments, Ottilie could see the charmer who’d reeled in a younger Michelle Hastings. “Now I’m finished.”
“Back to the point,” Ottilie said. “I will protect Hannah. With or without your help. But with gives you protection.”
“And without? What have you got on me?”
“Every dealing we ever had. I’d throw you under the bus so fast, it’d barely bounce running over your body.”
He smiled. “You’re making me hard, all this ruthless talk.”
“Don’t be crass,” she snapped.
“And what if I threw you under the bus?”
“What proof do you have I was anything other than a clueless, sweet secretary? I would play that card and destroy you in the process.”
“Well,” he said. “You likely could. You’re a good little actress when it suits.”
“And you’re out of options. So, do you agree to my terms?”
“With one stipulation.”
“What?”
“Tell Michelle that a showgirl headlining in a big production has fallen for me and that I’m letting her move in with me. Give the girl a good name. Something that says she has big boobs and looks hotter than Michelle ever did.”
How petty. “If that’s what you want, I’ll tell her.” Michelle likely wouldn’t believe it anyway. Ottilie would be sure to mention that big showgirl productions didn’t exist anymore.
“Good.” His eyes gleamed, doubtlessly imagining his ex-wife’s displeasure.
Ottilie studied him for a long moment. “I want to be clear about one thing: after today, all your petty revenge against your ex-wife ends here.”
“You enabled me,” he shot back. “Offering me odd jobs here and there, saying they’d annoy her.”
“I did do that. I was goal oriented. I shouldn’t have reached for an easy solution just because it was efficient. And you should have said no.”
“It was too tempting not to.”
“I’m well aware. But that’s over now. You won’t be getting any more work from me in any capacity. I’m tired of looking at you, and I’m tired of hearing about your ridiculous vendetta. It all stops. Now.”
He lifted his chin. “Yeah, whatever. Oh, hey, tell my lovely ex the dancer’s name is Lulu .”
“Fine,” Ottilie muttered and made to stand. “ Lulu . If we’re done here?”
He rose too. “It’s been an experience knowing you. You had everyone fooled. Well, everyone else . I worked out you were the toughest person in the entire Fixers the day I met you.”
“Me?” She raised a mocking eyebrow. “There were former FBI, CIA, MI5, Mossad, and KGB agents in that building.”
“I said toughest. Not meanest or cruelest. Because you were neither of those. But in the apocalypse, Ottilie Zimmermann, there will be only you and the cockroaches.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” he protested lightly.
“Wasn’t it?” She smiled sweetly and p icked up her Thermos. “By the way, the coffee wasn’t poisoned. The sugar either.” Ottilie then carefully picked up his teaspoon and held it up to the light. “This was.”
Baldoni’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Oh, don’t worry. Nothing lethal. Your spoon was dipped in a clear laxative oil before I placed it on your saucer.”
He gasped.
Alberto Baldoni had done a lot of evil in his life and had paid for little. This felt surprisingly satisfying, even if it was minor. “Five drops is all that’s needed. You probably consumed fifteen. It means you’ll spend Vegas’s richest poker tournament in the bathroom instead. Better luck next year.”
Fury washed across his face. “Why?”
“You inconvenienced me. I would have already been retired by now if not for you. Next time, if there ever is a next time, answer my call promptly.”
And with that, she left.
* * *
That night, Ottilie rang Michelle and dutifully passed along her ex-husband’s news about Lulu the fake dancer. She didn’t bother to hide her disdain as she did so.
With a snort, Michelle said, “I’d say good luck to her, but we both know he’s lying. He’d never bother with a woman like that.”
“A woman like…that?” Suddenly, a defensiveness arose in Ottilie on behalf of the talented dancers she’d met in Vegas. Women like Cleo and Sahara weren’t cheap or disposable.
“Women he thinks are easily turned by his slick suit or charm. He loves the challenge of the chase. The hard-to-get woman. He’d see Vegas dancers as too easy.”
Ottilie’s hackles went down.
“But why are you even bothering to tell me?” Michelle continued curiously. “You had to know he’s lying. It’s not like you to involve yourself in someone else’s dramas unless it benefits you.”
She had her there. When they had worked together, Ottilie’s focus had only ever been on furthering her own aims. She wondered whether to tell Michelle that she was attempting a fresh start—at being better at life, beginning by not positioning efficiency above all else.
But even if Ottilie believed that, she doubted Michelle would. There was too much between them, lies and secrets, a sludge of ethical murkiness that would never sit well. In short, Ottilie wasn’t exactly a reliable witness.
“I told Alberto I’d tell you, and I have,” Ottilie said. “I didn’t tell him that you wouldn’t believe it even for a second,” she added with amusement, “that you were far too smart for that.”
“You think I’m smart?” Disbelief filled her voice. “Since when?”
Ottilie pursed her lips. “Michelle, I have always thought you were smart.”
“The day I was fired, you made me believe you’d been pulling all my strings. I was little more than a puppet! You couldn’t contain your derision.”
Running a hand down her thigh to reflexively smooth out her skirt, Ottilie admitted, “Michelle, the day you were fired, I was angry at you for forcing the board’s hand. I knew your firing would make my life difficult. Dreams of an easy final year until my retirement were in tatters. I knew it would be much harder to manage Kensington as CEO, and I took that out on you. I said things to belittle. To…punish. So you’d feel some of the aggravation I felt.”
“You succeeded expertly,” Michelle murmured, voice lined with ice.
“Yes, well.” Shame seeped into her. “I know I implied none of your CEO decisions were your own. That I had been the puppet master at all times. That was not strictly true. Yes, I had a lot of power, far more than most were aware, but you also had far more autonomy than I let on. I wanted you to question everything, to feel useless. I’m not proud of that.”
Silence filled the air, and only Michelle’s breathing told Ottilie she was still listening.
“I was still angry when I saw you next,” Ottilie went on, “when I went to your apartment with my plans to destroy The Fixers. By then, I had been suffering under Kensington’s hands for many months. She was a terrible CEO, and my enduring her was a direct result of your actions. I was stressed, overworked, and fed up with being treated by her and the board as little better than sentient pond scum. So I was petty and took some delight in making you feel like a fool for not knowing how brilliant I was.” Ottilie grimaced. “That was unworthy of us both. You did not deserve to be the target of my wrath. I apologize.”
“And now?” Michelle asked, after a long beat. “Are you still angry?”
“No.” Ottilie blinked at the realization of how not-angry she was these days. A weight had lifted when she’d left The Fixers. “I’m not.”
“Hannah seems to think you’ve ‘found a reason to live now’. That was all she’d say and I didn’t want to press her about your private business, but I have my suspicions.”
“Your grandmother is an astute woman.”
“Although I admit I’m curious as to who your special woman is. Someone who could manage to turn even your head.”
Ottilie froze in shock. She hadn’t even told Hannah she was dating a woman. How—
“I see things too, Ottilie,” Michelle said dryly. “I’m glad for you.” And she sounded it.
Michelle had always been a better woman than Ottilie, a decent woman caught in a terrible situation. Smart. Ethical, as much as she could be. “In spite of all that’s been said and done,” Ottilie said finally, “I respected you. Then and now. I should have said that before.”
“I…appreciate that. But why are you telling me any of this?”
“I suspect this may be the last time we ever talk. Besides, you didn’t have to help me destroy the senator. I’m grateful for that. The truth is the very least I could give you in return.”
“The downfall of Phyllis Kensington,” Michelle mused, sounding satisfied. “Oh, yes, that was a spectacular event.”
Ottilie hummed in agreement. “It was.” She waited a beat. “Before I go, I should say, most genuinely, Michelle, I’m pleased you’ve found happiness. You’ve earned it. I’m certain Ms. Lawless is busy keeping you on your toes, between one protest endeavor or another.”
“Naturally,” Michelle said evenly, although the smile was evident in her voice.
Ottilie chuckled.
And that was that.