“My accountant,” he answers as if on cue. “She’s been through hell. Give us a minute, a long one.”
Clearly, Victoria considers her options. She and Grace meet eyes, and Victoria nods, more to Grace than to Knox. “I am downstairs.” She collects her purse and cell phone, taking her time. Finally, she leaves.
“You make things so complicated,” Grace says weakly as Knox leads her by the arm into the bathroom and starts the shower, supporting her all the while.
“Sometimes, they make themselves,” Knox says. He unbuttons her shirt and helps her out of it. Unbuttons her pants and unzips them.
“That’s enough, John.” She forces a grin. Her eyes are sad and tired and he thinks he could kiss her. “Thank you,” she says.
“It’s not as if—”
“I need no reminder.”
Knox has seen her naked. Another time. Another op. Little remains about these two that would surprise the other. It’s as unique a relationship with a woman as Knox has ever had; platonic, yet deeply intimate.
“Call me,” he says.
She nods and again he wants to kiss her, to express how pleased he is to have her back.
The shower runs for twenty minutes. Finally, Knox taps on the bathroom door; when there’s no answer, he opens it to find the room a thick cloud of steam. Grace is sitting in a tight ball, arms around her shins in the corner of the shower, the water beating down on her. He opens the shower, takes her hand and leads her from the stall. Wraps her in a towel, the steam swirling magically around her, crosses it in front of her and hugs her. She hesitates, then accepts the embrace, locking her tiny hands around his strong forearms and holding to him, her grip painfully tight.
“It was nothing,” she says finally. The water is still running, the steam enveloping them. “I do not know why I should feel like this.”
Knox closes the embrace, their bodies pressed together, his front to her back. She sags her head against his biceps, her wet hair soaking through to his skin. He feels himself growing aroused and releases her out of embarrassment. He shuts off the water and slips past her. She reaches out for him, her fingers catching his shoulder. He pauses. It’s her way of thanking him.
Grace emerges in one of Knox’s long-sleeved T-shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts rolled at the waist. Her black hair is neatly combed. The room is small. He’s in the desk chair. She tucks her legs beneath her and lies back against the headboard in a riot of pillows.
“What the hell?”
She so rarely curses, Knox has to look over to make sure it’s her.
“You tell me.”
“They knew that I’d called the university and breached their firewalls. They tried to sound like Eastern Europeans speaking English, did a decent job of it, but they swore in Persian.”
“Makes sense. The safe house is Iranian. Phone numbers from the cell I recovered in the street? All Iranian country code.”
“You made contact with David.” She can fill in the blanks; he appreciates this about her.
Knox doesn’t have the heart to punish her for drilling so deeply into Nawriz Melemet, to inform her that Dulwich’s star pupil has gone too far for once. She’s in as fragile a state as he’s seen her.
“He’s being a bigger bastard than usual,” he says, “but played good backup to your rescue; I’ll give him that. Honestly, I think this one is getting the better of him. He doesn’t seem like himself.” He could easily mention Dulwich’s discontent with her efforts; he has teed up his own ball. Elects otherwise.
“All they got from me was that I am your accountant. That I was hired to conduct a background check. Had my escape failed… We would be facing a more difficult situation.” Her eyes wander to the door, and he knows what she’s thinking.
“Her name’s Victoria Momani. I used her as a cutout in the shipment of the Harmodius. She… It didn’t work out exactly as I planned. She shows up here wanting a cut. Has me in a bind. She’s involved herself — not the way you think; there’s none of that — in a way that I can’t undo. We can’t have her compromising the deal. So, for now she squats. You know the expression?”
She nods.
“Basically, we’re stuck with her.”
“The client may want her killed.”
“Which makes it all the more tricky. That’s not going to happen.”
“What is Mr. Dulwich’s opinion?”
Knox says nothing.
“You withheld this information?”
“Need to know,” Knox says, mocking Dulwich.
Grace shakes her head, mulling it over. “This is a mistake.”
“You’ll stay here with me,” he says. “I’ll put her in another room.”
“She is in this room? With you?”
“She won’t let me out of her sight. Doesn’t trust me.”
“I cannot return to my apartment, but I do not need to stay here, John.”
“You do, and you will. I have the Harmodius in a second room down the hall. I need to move it. If she finds out where… She’d as soon steal it as take a cut.” He considers his options. “It can’t be here. At some point, my room will be searched. I’ll think of something.”
“I have inconvenienced you.”
“You have.” He wins a faint smile from her. But she looks scared. “It’ll be over soon.”
“No worries,” she says.
It’s an expression he uses with her; her using it on him gestures to a larger conversation. He tries to find an appropriate retort, but he’s at a loss.
“You are a good man, John Knox.”
“Don’t let that get around.”
She closes her eyes, looking as if she will sleep.
Knowing Victoria’s greed to be the most immediate threat, Knox pays a bellman to move the crated Harmodius to the bell stand storage. A priceless relic, or a hell of a good copy, now sits in an intermittently locked closet on the lobby level, along with the roll-aboards of guests waiting for rooms to open up.
The conversation with Victoria takes place outside on the sidewalk terrace beneath a string of colorful lights surrounded by dancing bugs. It’s a cosmopolitan crowd drinking exotic martinis. The women are beautiful, the men competitive, the cigar smoke annoying. Victoria holds her own, her posture erect, her lips moist, her eyes alluringly tired. Made peevish by Grace’s intrusion, she taps out a distress code on the sweating cocktail glass with her index finger.
“If you are making lies, you will regret it,” she says.
“That’s not happening. She is necessary to the deal. Akram may have been compromised.”
“I would know this.”
“May be working for the ministry, setting a trap for businessmen such as myself. My partner excels at following money trails. She will ensure the financing is legitimate. I will not walk into a sale where the cash has been supplied by police or the ministry.”
“The cash comes from Mashe. Possibly small consortium of men like Mashe — art lovers not willing to let piece like this escape. It is not entrapment.”
“And for all I know, you’re part of the ruse. Convenient that you showed up here just before the sale, isn’t it?” Knox enjoys twisting the story back on her, watching her squirm as she sees her actions from another point of view. They both know it’s not true, but he pushes her back on her heels, right where he needs her.
“I swear!”
“And so would any woman sent into a sting operation to convince the middleman the deal is safe. You don’t think I know the price I’ll pay if caught? You don’t think every move I make is motivated by the consequences of failure? You are a variable I hadn’t planned for, and I plan for everything.”
“Do you threaten me?”
“I caution you: the consequences are not mine to bear alone. My reach is longer than you may think. No jail, no morgue will prevent this from coming back on you. You betray me, and neither prayer nor pistol will protect you.”