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Out of habit, she took her normal route, heading up Central Park West and then going into the park. She picked one of the jogging trails that would keep her close to the street, yet still get her away from the noise and pollution of the traffic.
As she ran, her feet kicked up water from puddles which drenched her legs. She could feel the sweat of her skin meet the cold dampness seeping through the sweats and she pushed herself a little harder.
She'd gone about a quarter mile when she realized someone was following her.
Her first thought was that it must be John and she wanted to curse when she realized what she'd done. He was going to be irate that she'd taken off without him and had every right to be.
What the hell had she been thinking?
Not much at all, she thought as she slowed down and turned around.
It wasn't Smith.
Fear flooded her senses, temporarily wiping out the feel of her body, the sounds in her ears, everything. She quickly assessed the person behind her. She couldn't see the face because whoever it was had on a raincoat with the hood up. She didn't wait to get a good ID.
Grace started to sprint, looking left and right in hopes of seeing some other joggers. Because of the rain, she was all alone on the path.
Running as fast as she could, she hurled herself headlong through the trees and across the grass, trying to remember how to get to the street. Her heartbeat was ripping through her chest and her legs were numb from exertion, but she pressed on.
She looked over her shoulder. Whoever it was, they were keeping pace.
Images of Mimi, Suzanna, and Cuppie, all dead with their throats cut out, came to mind. She reached down into her legs for more speed. Angling toward home, she tried to reassure herself she could make it back.
But she wasn't sure she'd be able to.
Was this it, she thought with terror. Here in Central Park? In a flash of panic, she remembered what Smith had said about his clients living longer lives because they did what he told them to do.
She had broken one of his simplest rules.
Suddenly, through the rushing sound in her ears, she heard a hoarse voice calling out. She realized the person following her was yelling something.
And then a word she never again thought she'd be referred to as broke through her fear.
"Starfish!"
Her father's voice came to her, Buck up, Starfish, let's see that smile.
Grace's stride broke as she wrenched around in surprise and tripped. Hitting the pavement in a slide, she felt her shin and knee getting scraped, but that was the least of her worries. As the stranger came upon her, she raised her arms up as if to ward off blows.
"I—I’m not going to hurt you ..." Grace was surprised to hear a woman's voice, one that was harsh from heaving breaths. "Really..."
When her pursuer did nothing threatening but instead propped her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath, Grace thought she might just have been spared.
As soon as she found her own voice, she said, "Who are you? And how did you know my name—"
The stranger pulled back her hood and Grace frowned.
There was something familiar about the woman's face, as if she'd met her before or seen—
Oh my God, Grace thought, going cold.
Her father.
The stranger had the same coloring he'd had, the same: shaped face, similar deep-set, blue eyes.
Squinting against the rain and the impossibility of what she was seeing, she wondered if she was losing her mind.
"I'm ... your ... half sister. Callie," the woman said, still breathing heavily.
chapter
20
Smith got out of the shower, thinking it was a damn shame he'd missed taking one with Grace. Even though they'd made love three times during the course of the night, he wanted more. He couldn't believe he'd thought a single: night with her would be enough. He was going to need, months, maybe even years.
It was a tragedy they didn't have that kind of time.
Waking up next to her had been another revelation. After years of leaving women as soon as he could get his pants back on, he'd rolled over next to Grace and had no interest in being anywhere else. He'd watched her as she'd slept, absorbing the look of her lashes against her cheek, the slight parting of her lips, her hair as it flowed over the pillow.
Smith toweled off, threw on some clothes and went out, expecting her to still be in her dressing room. When she wasn't, he looked at her bed and got caught up in remembering what she'd done to him in the night. As she'd grown more comfortable and confident with him, she'd become bold, demanding ... innovative. His body began to overheat.
He was definitely taking a shower with her tomorrow morning.
Smith was about to go out and find her in the kitchen when he saw the count's rings on the top of her bureau. He picked up the engagement one. The thing was heavy, the stone a glorious dark blue, the diamonds on the sides sparkling with white fire.
