Friends of Leana’s. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Do you honestly believe I’d let whoever did this to me-to us-get away with it if I knew who they were? Give me a break, for Christ’s sake. If I knew who was responsible for shattering my fucking leg, Diana, I’d bypass the police and take care of them myself.”
At least that rang true. “You’ve got to have some idea,” she said.
“Take your pick,” he said. “I’ve pissed off a lot of people during my years at Redman International. I’ve made a lot of enemies, especially while working on the deal with WestTex. You know that as well as I do. It could be anyone.”
She leaned back in her chair. So, maybe he didn’t know. Did she care? She didn’t know that either and a part of her hated herself for not knowing. She finished the last of her coffee and poured another cup. “So, what are you going to do now?”
“What do you mean?” Eric said. “I was hoping I could stay here.”
“I’ll bet you were.”
“Only until my apartment is repaired.”
“Really?” she said. “That’s presumptuous. And fixing your apartment will take months. I don’t see it happening. I don’t see you here.” She nodded at the jewelry. “Sell those. That should put a roof over your head.”
“I need your help.”
“I know you do.”
“I’d like to stay here.”
“Tell me,” she said. “How do you plan on paying for the repairs on your apartment? You have hospital bills to pay, lawyer fees to pay and, if you lose the case, a ruined van Gogh, two botched Monets and destroyed Henry VIII furniture to buy. I don’t see how you’re going to pay for the apartment, Eric, let alone the rest of it.”
“Looks like I’m going to have to get a job.”
She wanted to laugh. “Well, God knows you’re a catch, Eric. Naturally, any reasonable person will overlook the fact that George sent you packing, they’ll overlook the headlines you’ve been making, and they’ll just hire you just because you’re the great Eric Parker.”
“One man will.”
“And who is that?”
“You’ve seen the roses Louis Ryan has been sending me. He obviously wants me at Manhattan Enterprises. He’s also got as much money as George-and we all know how those two feel about each other. If I play my cards right, I might get myself out of this mess completely.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Do exactly as I say and you won’t get hurt.”
His voice was unnerving. Celina stood at the edge of the footbridge, a bungee cord no larger than the size of her wrist strapped to her ankles, a blindfold covering her eyes. Although she couldn’t see the river twisting below her, she could sense the coolness of the water just as she could sense the sheerness of this height.
She clenched her teeth and waited for her instructions.
“I’m not comfortable with you wearing that blindfold,” the man standing behind her said. His name was Steve Simpson and his company, Vertigo Fever, owned the footbridge they were standing on. “No one’s worn one before-not Jack, not even myself. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Celina removed the blindfold and looked at the man. Although she was nervous about jumping, a part of her even frightened, she tried to appear calm. “That may be so,” she said. “But you’ve told me time and again that this sport is safe.”
“It is safe,” Simpson said.
“Then what difference does wearing a blindfold make?”
“Probably none. But you’re a beginner and it’s a 320-foot drop. I’m not comfortable with it.”
“So, I can’t wear it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I would feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if someone with experience put the blindfold on and jumped first-like Jack. That way I can see how it goes and hopefully feel more comfortable with it.”
Celina was about to speak when Jack held up a hand. He looked at Simpson and said with a grin, “I wish I could go first, Steve. But she won’t let me.”
“Won’t let you?”
“That’s right.”
“Why not?”
“Because we tossed a coin before we left the city and it came up heads. She jumps first.”
“I don’t believe this.”
Celina crossed her arms. For a moment, her fear of jumping was replaced by impatience. She wanted this over with. “Believe it,” she said. “Now, can we get on with this? I’m sure these other people would like a chance to jump.”
Simpson looked at the group of twelve other jumpers who were waiting behind them, saw the impatience on their faces and made his decision. “Forget it,” he said to Celina. “Either you jump without the blindfold, or you don’t jump at all.”
Celina felt her face flush. This was ridiculous! What harm was there in wearing a stupid blindfold? Before she could protest, a tall man with dark hair and sharp features stepped away from the group of other jumpers and said, “I have a suggestion.”
Celina looked at the man. He was wearing a black T-shirt, white shorts and dark sunglasses. He looked familiar to her, though she hadn’t noticed him on the walk up. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Why don’t I jump first? I’m experienced, you’ll still be able to jump before your friend and I’ll wear the blindfold so Steve here can judge for himself if it’s safe.”
Celina turned to Steve. “Well?” she said. “What do you think?”
“Depends on how long he’s been jumping.”
“Two years,” Vincent Spocatti said. “At a park in Texas.”
“My partner is in a raft anchored beneath the bridge,” Simpson said to Spocatti. “If you lean forward, you can see him.”
Spocatti gripped the footbridge’s wooden handrail, leaned forward and saw bobbing in the river an orange raft that seated eight. The man sitting in it waved up to them. Although it was difficult to tell from this height, the man looked half Spocatti’s size.
“You about ready?” Simpson asked.
Spocatti nodded.
“Take a deep breath if you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
Simpson had noticed this. Even experienced jumpers started to sweat a little when it came time to jump. This one would be wearing a blindfold for the first time-and yet he seemed absolutely cool.
“You sure you want to wear that blindfold?”
Spocatti glanced over at Celina, who was standing behind him with her arm around Jack. She smiled at him. He smiled back, relieved she hadn’t recognized him from the opening of The Redman International Building. He supposed the sunglasses, strapped to his head, helped.
“I’m sure,” he said.
“Then let’s do it.”
Simpson knelt, wrapped a nylon strap around Spocatti’s ankles, pulled it tight and snapped a series of buckles. While the bungee was being hooked to the strap, Spocatti glanced downriver. Parked in a discreet clearing next to one of the park’s many dirt roads, two of his men were waiting for him in a Range Rover.
Simpson stood and slapped him on the back, indicating it was time to jump. Holding onto the railing with one hand, Spocatti lowered the blindfold with the other. With the sudden darkness, his senses became acute. He could hear the river roiling beneath him, the cry of a crow flying overhead. Against his thigh, he could feel the small pocketknife he had zipped into one of his pockets.
If Celina gave him too much trouble, he would carve her a new necklace.
“I’m going to count down from five,” Simpson said. “When I’m finished, I want you to dive out as far as you can. Understand?”
Spocatti nodded.
The countdown began.
When Simpson reached zero, Spocatti pushed off the bridge without hesitation and plummeted to the river in a graceful arc. Celina moved forward with the crowd and watched. His arms outstretched, his head lifted high, Spocatti seemed to be flying-then the bungee went taut and cracked him like a whip.
He didn’t scream or yell or shout. There was no whoop of joy or exhilaration. He simply shot back toward the bridge and began to bounce. It was over in less than a minute. He was lowered to the raft.