“Oh… my…,” he said.
Nora was naked on the chaise lounge, except for her sling-backs. She purred into the phone. “See anything you like?”
“As a matter of fact, I see a lot that I like. I don’t see anything I don’t like.”
“Good. Don’t hurt yourself running down the stairs.”
“Who said anything about using the stairs?”
Jeffrey opened the window, climbed out, and shinnied down the copper-plated downspout. Very athletic, actually. All to the delight of Nora.
Whatever the world record was for a man shedding his clothes, it was promptly broken. Then Jeffrey slowly crawled up to her on the chaise lounge. He dug his hands deep into the seat cushion and wrapped his muscular arms around her back. He was a sexy man once you tore him away from his computer.
Nora closed her eyes. She kept them shut the entire time they made love. She wanted to feel something for Jeffrey. Anything. But she felt nothing.
C’mon, Nora. You know what has to be done. You’ve been here before.
The voice inside her head didn’t sound like an old friend now. More like an unwelcome stranger, someone she almost didn’t know. She tried to ignore it. It was no use. That just made it louder. More insistent. More controlling.
Jeffrey climaxed, then rolled off her, out of breath. “What a terrific surprise. You’re the best.”
Ask him if he’s hungry, Nora.
She wanted to cry out against the little voice inside. But that would just be a waste of time. There was only one way to make it stop.
And she knew it.
“Where are you going?” Jeffrey asked.
Nora had risen from the chaise without a word. She was already heading inside the house. “The kitchen,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m going to see what I can make you for dinner. I want to cook for you.”
Chapter 44
OH, BROTHER—what to do, what to do? This is a disaster so far.
The Tourist sat alone in the small, dingy room with another Heineken. He’d already had four. Or was it five? At this point, keeping count didn’t strike him as being very important. Neither did the Yankees game droning on his TV. Or eating the sausage-and-onion pizza getting cold on the table in front of him.
On the table were newspaper clippings about the shoot-out in New York. There were easily a dozen articles about the “Sidewalk Showdown.”
The story had legs, which didn’t exactly surprise the Tourist. He’d left behind a host of unanswered questions. A lot of ink was being devoted to conjecture and speculation; some of it credible, most of it wacky. The short note that came with the clippings summed it up. The circus is in town. Keep your head down, Tourist. Will be in touch.
He smiled and re-read the conflicting eyewitness accounts. How was it, wrote a columnist from the Daily News, that the same event could be seen so differently by people who were no more than twenty feet away?
“How indeed?” the Tourist said out loud. He sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the table. He had every confidence that his identity would remain a secret. He’d taken the necessary precautions, covered his tracks. He might as well have been a ghost.
There was only one thing bothering him now, and it bothered him a lot.
What was the list he’d copied off the flash drive all about? All those offshore accounts.
One point four.
Billion.
What about it?
Was it worth some poor schmuck’s life outside Grand Central?
Apparently so.
Was it worth somebody else’s life?
Like his?
Definitely not.
Was it part of a bigger picture that might make sense eventually?
Who could tell? But he sure as hell hoped so.
Chapter 45
JEFFREY PEERED ACROSS the candlelit dinner table at Nora. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“Of course I am,” she said.
“I don’t know, you seemed a little put-off when I suggested we go out instead of eating in.”
“Don’t be silly. This is wonderful.” Nora tried to match her body language to her words. That took some serious acting. She was supposed to be back at his brownstone, busy preparing his last meal. She had made up her mind.
Now here they were at Jeffrey’s favorite restaurant. Nora had never been more on edge. She felt like a racehorse at a starting gate that refused to open.
“I love this place,” said Jeffrey, looking around. They were at La Primavera in the North End of Boston. The decor was simple and elegant with white linen tablecloths, gleaming silverware, soft lighting. When you sat down it was assumed you wanted regular water, not bottled. And frankly, Nora could have cared less.
Jeffrey had the osso buco, Nora the risotto with porcini mushrooms. But she had zero appetite. The wine was a Poggio dell’Oliviera Chianti Classico, the ’94 Reserve. The wine, she needed. When the plates were cleared, Nora steered the conversation to the following weekend. Her unfinished business was weighing heavily on her mind.
“You forgot,” said Jeffrey. “I’m traveling, darling. That book festival down in Virginia.”
“You’re right, I did forget.” Nora felt like screaming. “I can’t believe I’m letting you loose with hundreds of your adoring female fans.”
Jeffrey folded his hands in front of him and leaned on the table. “Listen, I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said. “It’s about the way we’ve treated our marriage. Or, really, the way I’ve treated it—the secrecy. I think I’ve been unfair to you.”
“Have you sensed that it’s bothering me? Because—”
“No, actually, you’ve been so understanding. It’s made me feel worse. I mean, I’ve got the most wonderful wife in the world. It’s time the world knew it.”
Nora smiled, as she should have, but inside, the warning lights were flashing. “What about your fans?” she asked. “All those women next week in Virginia who want to see one of People magazine’s sexiest and most eligible bachelors?”
“Screw ’em.”
“That’s kind of what they’re hoping for, honey,” said Nora.
Jeffrey reached for her hands, clasping them lightly. “You’ve been understanding and I’ve been incredibly selfish. But no more.”
Nora sensed there was no talking him out of it. At least not right then. He was such a typical guy. He had his mind made up about what was best for her, and there was no changing his mind.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Do your book fair, wow the ladies with your looks and charm and erudition, and then we’ll talk about it when you get back.”
“Sure thing,” he said in a tone that suggested otherwise. “There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?” Nora asked. You want to propose to me again, in the middle of this crowded restaurant?
“Yesterday, I did an interview for New York magazine. I came clean and told them about you. The wedding in Cuernavaca. You should have seen the reporter, she couldn’t wait to put the scoop in her article. She asked if the magazine could get shots of the two of us. I said sure.”
Nora’s poker face finally folded. “You did?”
“Yes,” he said, clasping her hands tighter. “That’s not a problem, is it?”
“No, it’s not a problem.”
Not at all, she thought. It’s a big problem.
Chapter 46
NORA RETURNED to Manhattan late the following afternoon. She missed her loft apartment, the comfort and quiet of it, the things she’d bought for herself over the years. She missed what she considered her real life.