Stop it! You’re here for business he scolded himself. “So,” Ryan said. “I don’t have a lot of time; anything I need to know before the big presentation tomorrow?”
Like a fly fisherman stalking a wily bass, Anne felt Ryan slip the hook. No matter, she knew time was on her side. “Okay, first things first; how much of the thirty-four million do you want to put in the foundation?”
“Funny you should mention that,” Ryan said. “When I first agreed to take the money, I thought I’d put all the money in the foundation. But the more I think about it, the more I think I should keep some of it for myself.”
“I agree completely,” Anne said. We’re going to need a few million to live on, she thought. But she said, “Once the money is in the foundation, you won’t be able to use if for personal use. So if you put, say, half the money in the foundation to get it going — seventeen million dollars is an incredibly generous initial donation by the way — and kept seventeen million for yourself, that would enable you to take time to assess your personal needs, and if you decide you want to donate more to the foundation later, you can.”
Seventeen million was a lot more than Ryan had considered keeping. But Anne was right; he could always donate more later. “Tell you what,” Ryan said. “Let’s start with a twenty-million-dollar donation; it just sounds better, you know, giving away more than half. That still leaves fourteen million for me, but I’m sure I’ll donate most of it to the foundation later.”
Not if I have anything to say about it, Anne thought. But she said, “Excellent idea. And the press will eat it up.” She dropped her voice imitating a newscaster, “Cop donates tens of millions to charity.”
“I’m really not comfortable with the media,” Ryan said. “They’re not exactly a detective’s best friend.”
“But they’ll be the foundation’s best friend. The more people who know about the foundation, the more people you’ll be able to help.”
Ryan was very uncomfortable with his face all over TV, magazines and newspapers. A natural modesty was one reason, but there was also a nagging concern about the tow truck driver. He could see Ryan on TV, remember him, remember losing his own Lotto ticket and realize the money is really his.
It’s still not too late, Ryan thought. Once he took the money, he’d committed fraud. For the rest of his life he’d feel guilty about it. For the rest of his life he’d be worried about a phone call from the tow truck driver.
Anne saw the sudden concern wrinkle Ryan’s forehead. She knew what that meant; he was worried about something, and for a righteous man like Ryan it could only be one thing. “Stop it,” she said.
“Stop what?”
“Stop over-thinking it, Ryan. You’re worried about the tow truck driver, aren’t you?”
Ryan nodded.
“First of all, he probably doesn’t even remember buying the damn ticket much less losing it. Second of all, even if he did, there is no way he would have remembered you. You were standing in line behind him. Third of all, even if he did remember you, he didn’t see you pick up his ticket, because if he had, he would have asked you to give it back. And finally, there is no way he could know whether you bought your own Lotto ticket. He can’t prove anything. He has absolutely no legal standing. Plus, remember, if you don’t take the money, nobody gets it. You’re going to do wonderful things with this money, Ryan. So, relax. Enjoy Fate’s fickle finger.”
Anne’s words soothed Ryan. “I always knew you’d make a great lawyer.”
Anne reached across the table taking Ryan’s hand. “Reminds me of what you said the first time you kissed me? Remember?”
He smiled, remembering. “I do. I said, ‘I always knew you’d be a great kisser.’”
Anne suddenly leaned across the table and kissed Ryan; a sweet, tender kiss, short but full of promise. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you yesterday,” she said, hovering, her lips inches from his, waiting for him to make the next move.
“That bitch!” Syd said. She was watching them through a pair of binoculars from one of the hotel’s pool-facing rooms. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course; there’d been no way for her to plant a bug with such short notice. But she didn’t need sound to see what was going on. That bitch had kissed Ryan, whispered something to him and was now waiting for Ryan to kiss her back. “Don’t do it, Ryan,” she said to the empty room.
Syd had called her friend, Kevin Osaka, who was the Hilton’s head of security. Syd had led an undercover sting at the Hilton when she worked vice. A string of hookers were using the Lobby Bar as a feeding pool and while the well-heeled male executives staying at the hotel appreciated the convenience of free cable, wireless internet and plentiful hookers, the many female executives staying in the hotel found the ladies of the night degrading. Or unfair competition. Either way the hotel management had to do something about it so the LAPD was happy to oblige. Kevin and Syd formed a friendship and when she called him a half hour ago asking for a room with a view of the Trader Vic’s lounge, he hooked Syd up, no questions asked.
Syd wasn’t surprised Anne was trying to seduce Ryan. It’s what Liz predicted, and from Syd’s limited exposure to Anne, what she expected.
This was the ultimate test, Syd realized. She’ll finally find out if Ryan really loved her. She had her concerns. From the beginning of their relationship Syd had been the aggressor. She’d jumped him in the file room. She was the first one to say I love you. It took Ryan another two weeks before he said those magic three words, two weeks filled with Syd saying “I love you” followed by expectant gazes. In a way she felt she guilted him into it. A feeling reinforced when Liz told her that Ryan had trouble committing to relationships after Anne left him.
So, let’s find out where we really stand, Syd thought. Okay, Ryan, your move.
Ryan’s lips tingled. His heart raced, his dick was rock hard. Jesus God he wanted to kiss Anne. He wanted to ravage Anne. Her skin was so soft, her scent intoxicating. A montage of images from the hundreds of times they made love flooded his brain: fingers, feet, lips, the nape of her neck, the sweet taste of her clitoris, her deep-throated orgasms, the massage of a million small kisses, his explosive orgasms.
Ryan’s eyes went from Anne’s big brown eyes to her full, luscious lips. For years Ryan had wondered what he had done wrong. What had he done to lose Anne? He relived countless conversations looking for a clue. And he spent hours dreaming of a way he could win her back. He’d finally given up, feeling silly and juvenile.
But deep down he’d always hoped for a moment just like this, another chance to kiss her, another chance to make love to her, another chance to win her back.
And here it was.
And though a fleeting image of Syd seared his conscious, the biological beast that rules the subconscious blotted it out. After all, it’s just one kiss. That can hardly be classified as a betrayal.
Just one kiss.
Ryan leaned forward, their lips met, and then their tongues. And she tasted just as good as he remembered.
“Oh, Ryan,” Syd sighed. Syd lowered the binoculars, heartbroken. Syd knew that her world had just tilted; she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.
Her cell phone rang. She answered. “Hello.”
“Alex Cortez, here, Syd, how you doing?”
“Fine, Detective,” Syd said, and her own problems vanished as she heard the excitement in his voice. “You’re calling me with good news, aren’t you?”
“Does the name, Alice Waterman, mean anything to you?”
Syd ran it through her mental database. “No.”