“Bad first.”
“Bad is he’s still here, and he’s in a meeting. He bumped hisflight.”
“Shit.” I lean back in my leather seat and run my hands through my hair. “What the hell do I do now?”
“Good news,” Rita says, in answer. “His flight tomorrow leaves at seven in the evening, so he’ll be gone by six, and this place will be quiet.”
That’s different, then. “You should’ve started with that.”
“You always ask for the bad news first.”
True. “So we get the whole evening in his office.”
And damn, I just told Vicky I’d pick her up. She’s going to think I’m abandoning her again. That won’t go down well.
I almost text her back, but I wait. Maybe she won’t be feeling better, and she’ll cancel before I have to. If not, I can check on her then.
“That works,” I say. “I have some errands to run tomorrow, so I’m going to be out.”
“What kind of errands?” Rita asks. “Seeing your—”
“The next word better not be ‘vapid,’” I warn.
She inclines her head, acknowledging the point.
“The answer’s no, anyway,” I continue. “It’s practical stuff. A trip to Westchester, another to my apartment here. Luggage, clothes, valuables. Passports.” I already have Vicky’s. That’s convenient. “And I’m meeting Daniel Easton.”
“Your wealth manager?”
“Yeah.”
Rita nods. “That’s probably—”
She breaks off as someone raps on the door, and it opens immediately. DeLuca steps in.
“Evening Alexander.”
“Marco.” I lean back in my chair with as much nonchalance as I can muster. “I thought you’d be on a flight to California.”
“Something came up. I bumped it to tomorrow.”
His tone’s off, and the way he’s watching me makes me uncomfortable. Or maybe it’s paranoia. I use all my control to keep my face composed.
He comes farther into my office, not bothering to sit but standing by the window, looking out. It’s still raining.
“In fact,” he says, “something came across my desk that affects you.”
“Oh?”
“Or that investigator of yours, more accurately.” He turns to me as he says it, watching for my reaction.
“What’s she done this time?” My attention is on the screen, affecting disinterest, while I casually minimize the window showing her dot in Brooklyn.
“Investigated,” DeLuca replies dryly. “Do you know what she’s working on?”
“A construction company,” I say. Though by now, it’s damn clear that’s not true.
Vicky’s lied to me.Something cold moves through me, and I’m not sure if it’s anger, or worse.
