“Stranger things have happened,” said Tracy. “Even if I don’t find him, I’ll hear rumors. Pick up clues. Maybe learn what alias he’s using, what his plans are . . . something. It’s worth a shot.”
“Greg Walton will have you shot if he finds you’re still hunting for Drexel when you’re supposed to be looking for Althea,” Cameron reminded her, pulling on a pair of white linen pants.
Tracy said, “I don’t care about Greg Walton. Besides, I am looking for Althea. That’s exactly why I need to find Hunter before they do.”
A knock on the door interrupted them.
Cameron scowled. “Who the hell can that be?”
“Did you order room service?” Tracy asked.
“No.”
The knocking was getting louder and faster. Hammering.
“What on earth . . . ?” Tracy got up to answer it when Cameron suddenly grabbed her.
“Wait. Don’t open the door.”
“Why on earth not?”
“We can’t afford to take chances, Tracy.”
Pushing her to one side, Cameron pressed his face to the glass peephole. Tracy saw his shoulders relax and his jaw tighten. Tension was replaced with irritation. He sighed deeply.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Who is it?” Tracy asked.
Cameron pulled open the door. “My ex-wife. Tracy, meet Charlotte. Charlotte, this is Tracy.”
Charlotte Crewe burst into the suite like a Greek Fury, slamming the door behind her. She wore simple white shorts and tennis shoes, with her hair tied back in a girlish ponytail.
She’s terribly pretty, Tracy thought. And so young.
But the most striking thing about Cameron’s ex-wife was the expression of boiling, tight-lipped rage on her face. With her clenched fists and almost comically aggressive body language, Charlotte Crewe looked like a human bomb that might go off at any moment.
“What are you doing here?”
Cameron’s greeting was less than affectionate. Perhaps understandably given the way Charlotte was glaring at him. It was all rather odd. Cameron had told her the marriage ended amicably, and the CIA files said the same thing.
“Take a wild guess,” Charlotte hissed.
“I really have no idea.” Cameron sounded bored. “Although, whatever it is, I can’t imagine that we couldn’t have discussed it over the phone.”
“Oh, you can’t imagine? Is that right? You, who haven’t taken a single one of my phone calls, or my lawyer’s phone calls, in the past eighteen months, can’t imagine why I didn’t just ring?”
Tracy stepped forward for the first time. “Tracy Whitney. Nice to meet you.”
She offered Charlotte her hand. To her surprise, Charlotte took it and shook it warmly. “You too.”
Was it Tracy’s imagination, or was there suddenly something compassionate, even pitying, in Charlotte’s tone?
Whatever it was, it evaporated the moment she turned back to her ex-husband.
“You haven’t made a payment in eight months,” she snarled at Cameron.
“That’s not true,” Cameron said smoothly.